#where mitt was a good dad! And he tried! What The Fuck!

[fishofthewoods]

and like just to be clear i dont mean that it accurately represents jay and mitt but i think jay Thinks it does pre-whale. and he is such an unreliable narrator. and that's what makes it fun

wait why is dear wormwood by the oh hellos kind of whalefall coded. Like the Sleep scene as an animatic set to dear wormwood.... that would kind of fuck nasty.

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐑 ! ❞

❝ THE FOUR TIMES YOUR NEIGHBOR TRIES TO HOOK UP WITH YOU AND THE ONE TIME HE SUCCEEDS !! ❞

✧ pairing: uncle! sukuna x neighbor! reader

✧ summary: you had grown up next door to the itadoris, but you never had met their uncle. and for good reason, he had spent the majority of his life in and out of jail. but now he was finally out, and he only had one goal in mind -- getting you in his bed.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, modern au, uncle sukuna, degradation (slut, whore, brat), freshly out from jail sukuna, implied age gap (sukuna probably like late 30s / early 40s, reader is like mid twenties), wet dreams (f!), masturbation (f! +m!), dom!sukuna, sub!reader, dirty talk, oral (f + m), spanking (f!receiving), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, orgasm delay (f! receiving), implied multiple rounds, swearing, fanart found on pinterest (let me know if you know the og artist)

✧ w/c: 8,939

You were a pretty little thing. 

That’s what he thought when he first saw you. And when he saw you smile, his second thought was — how could he have you? 

You were the girl next door. Literally. Grew up next to the Itadori family, you watched the brat on weekends, helped around the house after the mom had left, and even slept over some nights in the guest room. 

The very room you were in now, pinned underneath him, legs spread as your cunt gushed as if you had been the one doing time instead of him. 

“Fuck, girl, did the boys your age not fuck you properly?” He clicks his tongue, the glint of his piercing in the low light of the moonlight that illuminated the barest hint of the room. It was by that light that you could not only see the way his lips curled into a smirk as his hand came down on your needy pussy, but the noticeable bulge in his pants, “g’nna have to fix that,” as he thumbs meanly at your swollen clit, “I’ll have you screaming my name soon enough.” 

“Are the cookies almost done?” Yuji asked, rubbing the back of his head, squinting at the cookies through the oven window, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, “sure you’re not burning them?” 

“I know how to bake cookies, Yu,” you roll your eyes, as you clean the counters off of the flour and bits of dough and sugar that smeared the surface, “why are you so impatient anyway?” 

“He wants to leave before the wrecking ball blows through, and you should do that same,” Choso adds, emerging from his room with a yawn, and you tilt your head, his gaze slides to Yuji, “she doesn’t know?” 

Yuji shakes his head, “I thought Dad was—” 

Choso glances at you, gesturing to his face to tell you that you had something on your own, before his eyes slide back to his younger brother, “You know Jin can barely remember to tell us, much less—” 

You cross your arms, wiping the flour and sugar from your cheek, but you only manage to make it worse, “Can you guys just tell me instead of having an argument about who should have told me?” 

Yuji sighed, leaning against the counter, elbow propped up as he held his head up with his fist flat against his chin, “My dad’s brother is coming to stay for us for the summer,” 

“Your uncle?” and you miss the way Yuji grimaces at the question, too busy pulling on oven mitts, “Your dad’s great — I can’t imagine your uncle being any different,” you pull the cookies from the oven, swatting Yuji’s hand as he tries to take one off the still burning rack, “you’ll burn yourself, just wait,” 

Your own family was scattered here and there now — and the Itadoris had been like your own family as you grew up — Jin was like a second dad to you, he had always looked after you, even after you had graduated from college. The quiet man didn’t say much but he did a lot, and you couldn’t imagine his brother being much different. 

And then the door swung open, a large man caught in the backlight of the summer sun, casting a long shadow across the entryway made your breath stick in your chest as if it was where it belonged — pinned under his mere presence. 

“Looks like you’ve done nothing to change the place, did you?” He takes a step or two in and finally his body is cast into view — tattoos bound like ribbons against his skin, muscles are heavy cords that look more monstrous than human — as no human should be as hulking as he was. But that was nothing compared to his face itself — black tattoos lining both sides of his face in an intricate pattern that stole your breath from your lungs, while his eyes were black holes that cut right through you than at you, a flicker of flames burning underneath, “tch, brat, take my things up—“ he tosses the duffle bag slung over his shoulder at Yuji who catches it with a glare, before his gaze slides to Choso, “and he’s still here?” 

“Don’t be rude to my son and his brother, Sukuna,” Jin sighed, entering behind him as he shut the door, “Choso is welcome, and don’t forget you’re a guest here,” he takes the bag from his son, and takes it upstairs instead. 

And Sukuna’s gaze finally falls on you. It’s heavy, the sharp tip of a sword tracing every inch of your body as it circled its weak points — his eyes lingers on the curves of your body — and perhaps the points he liked too. 

“And who’s this?” he jerks his head towards you gruffly, as if you couldn’t answer yourself. 

You say your name, “I’m their neighbor,” and he nods, eyes darting to Choso, his body growing tense, as he gritted his teeth, but Sukuna was only all smiles, he took steps forward. You can’t help but avert your gaze, as he approaches, fingers outstretched, a slight flinch but it’s gone soon enough. 

You glance up, and find him taking a bite of one of your cookies, tongue darting out to lick the chocolate from his lips, “sweet,” he devours it, “not bad, brat,” and he leans close again to grab another, “but probably not as sweet as you.” 

And your eyes widen, as he bears no reaction, except for a small smirk that graces his lips, as he follows his brother upstairs, “You better not be fucking around in my things,” 

You don’t hear Jin’s reply, still utterly consumed by what just happened. 

“You okay? He’s just like that,” Choso murmurs, “he won’t bother you, I promise,” 

“No, no, I’m okay,” your lips curl in an offer of reassurance, but you’re sure it falls flat, as your eyes glance back at the stairs. 

And that was your first time meeting Sukuna. 

But far from your last.  

The next time you saw him was at a summer barbecue the Itadoris always had to kick off summer break. And most of your time was spent chatting with Choso and kicking Yuji’s ass at Mario Kart, until it grew dark, and Choso was stuck carrying a slightly tipsy Yuji inside.

You laid back in the patio chair, scrolling on your phone to the symphony of cicadas filling the silence, the smoke from the barbecue still lingering in the night — and then you hear the creak of the back door open. 

“You want another drink, Choso?” 

“I’d love a drink, girl,” and your eyes snap over to spot Sukuna, standing with hands tucked into his pockets, a black tank you assumed was several sizes too small. 

“Sure,” you say, slipping from your chair, “but we only have the mix for a sex on the beach,” and his eyes find yours, a ghost of a gruff chuckle on his lips. 

“Sounds perfect if it’s from you, sweetheart,” and you have to suppress the urge to roll your eyes — he may be nice to look at, but he isn’t smooth, you make the drink in relative silence. Until you sense his presence behind you, your head whipping back to find him looming, your breath caught in your throat. 

“Uh—“ 

“Just wanted to see a master bartender at work, you seem like you really know what you’re doing, with, what’s the drink called again?” And you force yourself to look forward, ignoring the weird mix of his musk and alcohol, with the clink of the ice cubes against the glsd breaking the silence. 

“Sex on the beach,” you offer it to him, and fuck, you don’t like it — don’t like him and his smug grin, the way your eyes can’t pull away from his, the way your heart clenched, and the way you wanted nothing more than to wipe the smug smile on off his face. 

“Good girl,” he plucks the drink from you, his fingers brushing yours, “want to have one with me?” 

And you almost find yourself saying yes, find yourself buckling under the heat of his gaze and the summer humidity that clings to your skin and strangles the sense from your head — and you can’t help but think how nice those fingers of his would feel around your neck—

“No, no, I probably should head home. It’s late—“ and just then the back door opens again, Choso standing in the doorway, “Choso, where’s Yu?” 

“I got him to bed. Come on, I’ll walk you home,” and you nod, grabbing your bag with a slight nod to Sukuna before disappearing inside, and you don’t catch the way your best friend glares at Sukuna. 

And you don’t see the way Sukuna stares at you as you walk away either. 

The third time you meet Sukuna is a few nights later — and it wasn’t for lack of trying to avoid him. 

“Can I have some popcorn?” you ask, eyes still glued to the TV, a movie that the two of you had seen a million times before during movie night, “Choso?” you glance over at him, but he’s staring off into space, “hello?” you nudge him, and he finally comes to. 

“Sorry, what?” And you sigh, leaning over and grabbing the popcorn bowl, “sorry I was just—“ he shakes his head, “nothing,” 

“You’re so convincing,” and you see a flush crawl up his neck, “C‘mon, what’s bothering you?” 

You toss a pillow at Choso, the pillow bouncing off his face to land in his lap, the glow of the TV in his dark bedroom giving you enough light to see the glare on his face, “Cho, you’ve been brooding all night — did Yuji call you by your name instead of big brother?” 

He scoffs, “I only got upset about that once,” or twice or maybe ten times, “it’s Sukuna. He’s been really grating on my nerves,” and your eyebrows knit together, as you put the volume of the TV down. 

“What has he done?” and Choso hesitates, several emotions flicker across his face before a stoic look glazes over his face, as he presses his hand to his lips, “you can tell me—“ 

There’s a knock at the door, and Yuji sticks his head in, “Hey, Dad has to sleep now for a meeting, so move to the living room,” and you throw popcorn at him, but he only catches one or two in his mouth and leaves. 

You sigh, “I should probably just go home anyway, I have to get some sleep,” you glance at Choso, who is fascinated with his floor all of a sudden, “you okay?” He moves to get up, but you shake your head, “just chill, I’ll walk back.” 

He opens his mouth to argue, but shuts it,  “I’m fine, just get home safe okay?”

You snort, “think I’ll be fine walking the ten feet to my door,” you grab your things, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” 

And you close the door softly, turning to head up the hallway and out of the house, bag slung over your shoulder, and you’re turning the corner, when you nearly crash into someone. 

A hand curls around your wrist to steady you, “You should watch where you’re going, brat,” and your eyes flit up to find a dark gaze looking back down at you, lips curled in a small grin, “don’t know what you’ll find wandering these halls,” 

You pull your arm away, “I’m pretty familiar with these halls and what wanders them,” 

“Not all of them,” the low tone of his voice sends a shiver down your spine, as you brush past him, avoiding his piercing gaze, cutting through you with practiced ease, “what were you doing here so late anyway?” You ignore him as you go to grab your shoes, but find them missing. 

“Have you seen my shoes?” and he only tilts his head, arms crossed, muscles inked with tattoos that littered up and down, and you knew he could pin you down with barely an ounce of effort. 

“Maybe answer my question and I’ll tell you,” and your lips twist into a scowl, as you begin to look around, checking the coat closet, under the couch, “was he really that bad?” And his question makes you pause, “the cursed brat, in bed? Did he not do the job for you?” 

You haul yourself to your feet, “What is your problem?” 

And his expression is as milquetoast as ever, as if he had asked you about the weather as opposed to asking if you had fucked your best friend, “You don’t have to be fucking sensitive, it’s just a question,” he runs his painted nails through his dyed cropped hair, low light glinting off the black sheen, “unless it was that bad,” 

“Fuck off,” you scoff, trying to walk past him but he blocks you, “what?” 

“Maybe I’ll help you find your shoes, if you have a drink with me,” and you cross your arms. 

“Did you go to jail for stealing? Because with all those muscles and tattoos, I’m surprised you weren’t caught sooner,” and he’s leaning closer, breath warming your lips and your blood alike, boiling under your skin as if he had set you on fire without lying a single finger on you. 

“Didn’t take you to be one to admire me, little one, after all, I’m just your neighbors’ uncle aren’t I? Jailbird, criminal, fucking lowlife, right? And his fingers ghost over your jaw, “but I don’t see you pulling away, do I?” 

And you aren’t. But why aren’t you? Every brain cell is telling you to fucking run, but your body wants nothing more than to lean into his touch, to give in, let yourself be engulfed by him—

The creak of the door has you jumping back, “hey, you forgot your shoes—“ Choso starts, and his gaze snaps between you and Sukuna. 

“Thanks, Cho,” you slip past Sukuna, grabbing your shoes, “i was wondering what I did with them,” you step into your shoes, cheeks still burning as you can’t quite meet your best friend’s eyes, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” 

And you’re gone without another word, the silence of your exit hanging overhead as the screen door clicks closed behind you. Sukuna watches you leave, and as he turns he’s met with a glare from Choso. 

Sukuna only gives a gruff chuckle, walking past as he lets his shoulder bump against Choso’s, “What are you fucking looking at?” 

And now he had visited you in your dreams too. 

“S’fucking wet,” Sukuna has you pinned down with one hand, face hovering over your drenched cunt, as he toyed with it, tugging your folds apart to let some of your pre drip onto your bedspread, “fucking slut, you were begging for this, weren’t you?” 

And a thick digit sinks into you with little resistance, making your back arch as pleasure rips up your spine, “fuck off,” you manage, between pants. 

“I know, brat, that’s what I’m trying to do,” he laughs, as he works a second finger inside you with practiced ease, “like I was made to fuck this cunt open, my fingers are already fucking drenched, and all I’ve done is open you up,” and to punctuate his point, he’s scissoring his fingers to stretch your walls out, dragging against them, as your mouth falls open in a silent moan. 

“A-ah, please—“ and he’s grinning now, a purr as he leans down to meet your blown out gaze. His fingers begin to fuck you open, his thumb rubbing against your clit as your body rocked against his hand. And a grunt has you looking at him, only to see him palming his erection, slit dripping with precum, “Sukuna, please—“ 

“Knew you’d be a good girl f’me, good little slut gonna break my fingers in two,” and his other hand spanks your clit, “now cum,” 

And you do, muscles clenching as you do, a cry of his name on your lips that does nothing but stroke his ego, your orgasm soaking his hand. Eyes fluttering open to find him licking your release from his fingers, as his other hand undoes his pants and tugs down his boxers, his cock already dragging against your still twitching cunt. 

“Fuck,” you mumble, under your breath, and he only smiles. 

“Now you’re getting it, baby.” 

And your alarm jolts you awake, you stare at your ceiling, watching the ceiling fan spin, while you glance at your side to find nothing but your comforter beside you. Not to mention, as you shifted, feeling the telltale stickiness of your arousal and the dull throbbing of your cunt, the aftermath of your dream — your very wet dream. 

“Fuck,” you say, this time out loud and to no one but yourself. This was going to be a problem, if you let this go on. And you couldn’t. Not after the last time — you swing your feet over the edge of the bed and stand, glancing back at the stain of your pre that you flipped your comforter over — and not after that. 

“Have you been avoiding me?” 

Yes, you have done a good job. Until now. 

You gritted your teeth, as you stood in the doorway of the room. But how could you have avoided him in the guest room of the house he lived in? 

And as he loomed in the doorway of the kitchen, dwelling in the shadow of his form, you were kicking the ass of past you, the one that had convinced you it was okay to stay over because Sukuna had been out. 

“Had” being the operative word. 

It had been a few days since you had found yourself at the Itadoris. And more than a few days since you had found yourself dreaming of Sukuna — waking up with his name on your tongue and your panties uncomfortably drenched. You had gone through more underwear this week than you had in a month. And it didn’t help that you felt the need to get off once you did wake, the ache between your thighs was too much to bear before sleep. 

And now here was the subject of your dirty dreams darkening your doorway, as if your dreams were some naughty prophecy waiting to unfold (though you were sure he could fold you). 

“What are you talking about?” 

And you knew exactly what he was talking about. You had made sure Sukuna wasn’t around when you came over (the absence of his motorcycle is a telltale sign), and always left before he returned. But tonight you made the mistake of drinking with Choso, the two of you finishing two bottles of sake before being completely fucked. 

Your head was spinning — you could barely have made it to the bathroom, much less your home. Choso had corralled you into taking his bed, before going and collapsing on his couch. It had been only a few hours into the night before you got up in a haze of confusion with your mouth drier than the Sahara. You pulled yourself up, slipped on thin sleep shorts that you had thrown off at some point due to the summer humidity, before finding your way to the door. 

You made your way to the kitchen, the squeak of the fridge as you pulled it open to grab a water bottle. And that’s when he spoke. 

“And here you are,” and the water bottle nearly slipped from your grasp, “no need to jump, brat, I’m not a monster or a shadow,”

No, but he’s so much worse, he’s real. 

“I was just getting something to drink,” you murmur, and he tilts his head, as he takes a step closer. 

“Just water?’ That’s not the kind of drink you still owe me,” and why was his presence so intoxicating? Several drinks in and you could still hold your own, still speak in complete sentences, and even make your way home on foot. But Sukuna comes near, and suddenly you can barely form a fucking syllable, your limbs feel far too heavy, and your body is nearly burning, as if he had turned your blood to wine without any miracle needed. 

No, it was more of a curse. 

“I don’t remember owing you anything,” and he’s tilting his head, amusement flickering across his lips, a step closer and then another, until you’re utterly engulfed in his presence. You can smell the mix of exhaust and sweat off of him from his motorcycle ride, the way his jaw tenses as if he is holding himself back from taking a bite, and the way his gaze pierces into you as if he has you pinned like a butterfly under glass. 

“Do I need to give you a reason?” And when his fingers ghosted over your swell of your cheek, a featherlight brush from rough, calloused skin that makes a shiver roll down your body, “didn’t think I had to with the way you were nearly melting into my touch when I saw you last, girl,” 

“I wasn’t the one begging for me to be there,” and he clicks his tongue derisively, and you wonder what else he can do with it, before his fingers grip your chin roughly, forcing your gaze to his. 

“Tch, so pleased with yourself just for resisting, are you, sweetheart?” he tilts his head, while his other hand slithers down your side until he finds your waist and tugs you close, lips hanging close, a forbidden fruit begging you to take a bite, “imagine how good you’d feel if you gave in,” and you almost do, melting into his touch, as if you were made to fit in his arms, leaning up so you could feel the warm breath of his welcome—

SLAM! 

You’re sent stumbling back again, clearing your throat, as the sounds of footsteps grow close, and Yuji wanders into the kitchen, mouth pulled open by his yawn, as he blinks as he spots the two of you. 

“Hey, I thought you were asleep upstairs,” he walks past the two of you to grab a water bottle from the refrigerator, and sparing a short glance at Sukuna, “and I thought you had plans,” 

“Plans can change, brat,” Sukuna sighs, his eyes still trained on you — a homing missile with a target, and Yuji was an obstacle in the way, “shouldn’t you go back to bed?” 

“I could ask you two the same,” he leaned against the kitchen counter for a moment, while you only shook your head. 

“I’m going to go to bed,” your only exit opportunity and you’d take it — there had been enough mistakes made, and you didn’t need another to add to the list, and you’re slipping back into your room without another word. 

You don’t see the way Sukuna glares at his nephew, cursing the day of his existence with only his eyes, only gaining a confused stare in return, “What? Ow!”

And you’re only left questioning why Yuji is holding a bag of ice to his head the next morning. 

But you knew you couldn’t avoid Sukuna forever — and you couldn’t avoid how you felt either.

Especially when he gave you exactly what you wanted — space. You had barely seen him for the next week, the former criminal making himself scarce, apparently telling his brother that he had grown tired of “rooming with a bunch of brats,” and had found himself another place to stay for a while. 

Jin had sighed when you had asked over breakfast a day or so after he left, “I don’t know how long he’ll be gone, but we’ll see. The only requirement of his release was to stay in the prefecture—” 

“And that’s already far too close,” Yuji muttered under his breath, earning a sharp look from his dad, “so we don’t even know if he’ll be back huh?” 

Jin shrugs, as he sips his coffee, “I don’t know — your uncle isn’t one to stay in one place — unless there’s something that he wants,” 

“I’ll take any amount of time that he’s not here,” Choso shakes his head, offering you a small smile, “and this way you can stay over in the guest room now,” 

“Yeah, true,” you offered a weak smile, as you continued to pick at your food. This was good news, things were going back to normal, but even so, as you pushed your food on your plate — why did your chest ache so much? 

“Yuck, do people’s heads really explode like that?” Yuji sat with the two of you in the living room, TV playing the movie Yuji had chosen, shoveling popcorn by the fistful. 

“How would we know that?” you snort, stealing popcorn from his bowl, “why did you even choose this movie anyway?” 

“He heard there was a Megan Thee Stallion cameo in it,” and Yuji’s cheeks flushed, visible even in the dim illumination of the TV, as he got to his feet. 

“I’m gonna get a drink, do you two want anything?” And you both shake your heads, as you stifle your chuckle. 

“You wanna stay over tonight?” Choso asks, and you tilt your head, toying with a popcorn kernel between your fingers. 

You shrug, “we’ll see,” your eyes drift back to the movie, but you feel the creak of the bed as he shifts. 

“You don’t have been avoiding staying over, even though it’s just us,” Fuck, your eyes still found themselves on the screen instead of him, anywhere but him, and you can hear the unspoken words — even though Sukuna is not here, “are you sure we’re good?” 

And you couldn’t tell him that it wasn’t him that was bothering you. It wasn’t him keeping you up at night, it wasn’t him who had been tempting you the last few weeks, and it wasn’t him that you wanted to see — no matter how much you didn’t want to admit it, even to yourself. 

So you don’t.  

You smile as best you can, “Everything’s fine, Choso,” and he frowns, still unsure, and you know there’s only one thing that will assure him, if only a little, “I’ll stay over,” 

And so you end up in the guest room — far too late. Even though Sukuna no longer lingered here, his scent still did, even with the sheet change and the small amount of his things gone, he was still very much here. 

And it did little for your sleep. Or maybe too much. 

Again, you dreamt of him, his large palms dragging down your sides, lips pulled in a smirk that he pressed to the hollow of your throat before it’s consumed by a flash of canines that pinch and tease the softness of your flesh. 

“S’fucking wet,” he huffs a chuckle out, “such a little slut, been wanting this for far too long haven’t you?” And he’s undoing your robe with ease, a single tug has your body revealed to him, “haven’t even laid a finger on you and look at the mess you’ve made,” he clicks his tongue, and a whine parts your lips, “already whining like a bitch?” 

He shoves two fingers inside you, a gasp ripped from your throat, thick digits stretching your walls, clenching around the intrusion, “Sukuna—please,” 

“Silly girl,” he murmurs in your ear, “I’m not even the one touching you now,” and fantasy melts into reality as his hand cups your chin, eyes fluttering open, “but I know I can make you cum faster than any dream,” 

Wait. What? 

And suddenly the touch down your body feels all too real, pain ribboning from the fingers squeezing your hips hard, and a gasp as your body trembles, still caught between sleep and reality. Your body can’t move, but it’s not the weight of your own limbs keeping you still. 

Your eyes shoot open completely, sleep shed completely from your mind. 

And you found Sukuna, his lips curled in a smile that was far too familiar from other sleepless nights. But was it? Or was it another dream that he had invaded, far too real as you slept in his bed, rather than your own. 

Your hand reaches out for him shakily, fingers tracing the hard line of his jaw, “Is this real?” you mutter, more to yourself, but he takes it upon himself to answer, his hand darting out to curl around your wrist, squeezing, while the other holds himself up, mattress creaking a divot where his hand pressed in, body heat all too close. 

“Want me to pinch you? Can’t say it’ll be the cheek you’re thinking of,” he chuckles, unable to meet his gaze, “don’t go acting like a shy virgin now, woman. You’re the one having wet dreams about me,” 

“No, I-I, it wasn’t—“ but your brain is short circuiting and his laugh that rumbles against you tells you he’s enjoying this far too much, “what are you doing here? I thought you left,” the statement comes out far too biting, and he raises an eyebrow. 

“I did, but it was just for a week. I had some business to deal with,” and a grin pulls at his lips, “why? Did you miss me, brat? Is that why you’re dreaming of me?” 

You’re squirming underneath him trying to look anywhere but him, “I’m not, it wasn’t—“ and he only hums, dragging a hand down your front, until he’s reaching your shorts, a brief pause to see if you’d pull away, but you don’t, and fingers pressing against your soaked shorts. 

“That why you’re soaked through your fucking shorts?” And the rough pads of his fingers grind against your eager hole, nearly swallowing you in, only the thin fabric of your shorts keeping his fingers from fucking you then and there, “least your body’s honest — so eager to get fucked,” and he’s teasing your drenched entrance, drawing his fingers back to have your pre like spiderwebs between the two digits. 

“Sukuna, please—“ and his lips curl. 

“Tell me to stop, and I’ll go,” a small whine left your throat, the throbbing between your thighs growing with the way his gaze undid you — unscrewed you by your hinges and watched you fall apart, only to ask you to put yourself back together. 

But you couldn’t. Not without him. 

“Sukuna—“ 

“I didn’t ask you to whine, are you going to answer my question—-“ 

“Fuck me,” the words fall from your lips as if possessed, and you can’t find it in you to regret them. 

And he smiles all the same. 

“About fucking time,” and his fingers meanly rub against your clit through the paper thin fabric of your shorts, “didn’t even fucking put on panties and you expect me to think you didn’t want me fuck you open,” and embarrassment burns at your cheeks, “did you get this wet from dreaming about me?” And no words come to your mind, and he gives you a sharp spank to your clothed slit, drawing a sharp gasp to your lips and slick flooding from your folds, “better use your words, woman,” 

“Fuck, please, I need—“ and his fingers practically rip your shorts off, letting your cunt gush onto the sheets. 

“Need me to fuck you that bad? G’nna beg this criminal to fuck you open?” And he’s toying with your folds, tugging your tight hole apart as his eyes rake over your pussy, exposed for him, “after all of your teasing, what makes you think you even deserve to be fucked? Maybe I should leave you like this, fingers buried in your cunt, wishing they were your neighbor’s uncle’s,” and a sadistic smile graces his features as it only can his, “fuck yourself for me,” 

You whimper, as his fingers leave your hole, clenching around nothing as if begging for his touch, “what? But—“ 

“Fuck yourself until you cum, wanna see what you’ve been doing when you’re fucking me in your sleep,” the absence of his touch leaves you keening and needy, for something, anything to get you off. Want overcomes inhibition, and your shaky fingers find their way to your cunt, fingertips tracing the outer lips, a gasp you barely recognize as your own when you rub against your clit, “c’mon girl, gotta open yourself up for me — think I’ll fit if you just rub yourself like that?” And he’s pressing his clothed erection against your thigh — and he’s fucking big — rock hard cock rubbing against you through damp damp sweatpants. 

And his fingers grabs your own, guiding them to your slick hole, letting them slip past your fluttering walls, while his own teased your outsides, “Good girl,” and the praise makes your walls clench, and he’s chuckling, “want to be a fucking good girl, then fuck yourself until I see you cum for me,” 

You swallow your whines, beginning to move your fingers in and out, your insides clinging to you, as if begging for something longer, thicker, better — and you knew his fingers would be. A moan falls from your lips, and he clicks his tongue. 

“Gotta be rougher than that,” and his fingers curl around the base of your own, using your fingers as a glorified fuck toy. Your head lolled back, as he controlled the pace of your fingers, fucking you hard and fast, reaching places you didn’t think were possible with your fingers, “that’s it, you’re close aren’t you? Like being fucked with your own fingers, don’t you, you slut?” And you’re shuddering, soft cries and moans filling the silence of the night with the loud squelch of your cunt. 

“Sukuna, f-fuck, ngh, I can’t—“ and he only begins to rub on your clit with his thumb. 

“Yes you can,” he gruffly chuckles, murmuring in your ear as he leans forward, “cum on your fingers like you have every night for me,” and he forces your gaze to meet his as your fingers brush that one spot that has your back arching, “say my name,” 

And you do, cumming hard around your fingers, as he uses them to fuck you through your orgasm, the wet noises of your folds growing louder as your thighs shake. Your eyes meet his, glassy with tears from your high, and Sukuna leans down to lick the salty tear from your cheek. 

He pulls your fingers from inside you, your sticky cum coating your digits and even dripping onto his own. He smirks as he eyes them, before sliding them into his mouth. A moan pulled from your lips as he sucks your essence clean from them, tongue dragging up the length of your fingers. 

“Shit, that was a nice moan,” and his eyes fall back to your drenched cunt, “Still so fucking tight,” he clicks his tongue, Fuck, girl, did the boys your age not fuck you properly? G’nna have to fix that,” as he thumbs meanly at your swollen clit, “I’ll have you screaming my name soon enough.” 

he hums, taking in your ruined state — tear stained cheeks, your dripping cunt, and your red ruined lips from biting them, “so fucking pretty like this,” and you hear him shift, the distinct sound of his phone camera, making your eyes snap open. 

“No, fuck, no don’t—“ and he’s turning the screen around to show you how absolutely fucked you look, “please—“ 

“It’s a little too late for that, can’t have anyone buying your little virgin act anymore huh?” he’s grinning as he leans forward, pinning your thighs in place as you try to squirm away, “don’t move,” 

His order makes your muscles tense, unable to move your body under the heavy grasp of his hands splayed against your hips. The pads of his fingers dig into your soft flesh, as his lips dare closer to your weeping slit. 

“Fuck, are you a virgin though? You’re still so fucking tight even after that little show you put on for me,” and he doesn’t give you a chance to reply, his breath warming your twitching cunt, “either way, you won’t be one soon,” and he’s burying his mouth in your pussy. 

You moan, covering your mouth before he sucks on your clit, tongue teasing your hole open, a wave of heat flooding your body. The sounds of his licking and slurping fill your ears — and you wonder how the whole house isn’t awake yet. 

You can’t stop your hips from nearly fucking his face, but he spanks your thigh, hard, as he pulls his mouth from your dripping slit, “I told you not to move,” and he spanks your clit for good measure, making you yelp against your fingers, “tell me when you’re about to cum,” and you whimper, “or I can open this door and let the house hear us,” 

You nod, but he doesn’t miss the way your slit twitches at the thought, and his mouth curls in a nasty smirk, “such a fucking slut, maybe I will,” and he’s plunging two thick fingers into your greedy cunt, a gasp ripped from your throat at the intrusion, walls fluttering as they attempt to accommodate his digits. But it’s all squeezing and barely any stretch, as his fingers work you open. 

And it doesn’t take long to get you worked up, his digits knuckle deep and dripping wet, “gonna fucking break my fingers in two with your virgin hole, girl,” he grunts, your body burning with his touch alone, nails dragging against your walls, curling so they can bully that sweet spot just right, “you’re gonna cum aren’t you?” the telltale squeeze of your cunt tells him so, and you’re nodding, and his fingers slip from inside. 

You’re whining, tears burning at the corners of your eyes, “Please, fuck, wanna cum,” the pleasure that had built was throbbing, a dam close to bursting but denied its relief, so it remained, begging and waiting — “please, Sukuna—“ 

“So you do know how to beg like a good little whore, gonna fuck you again, but you can’t cum until I tell you,” and he’s sinking three fingers into you now, eyes rolling back as your back arches, but he’s fucking you meanly, curling and twisting his fingers, until the pleasure is a tight knot in your belly, barely hanging on from snapping, “wait,” he grunts, and it’s as if your warmth is made for him — or now it was, because he’s made it his, “wait,” and you’re sure he’s reached your cervix somehow, fingertips reaching places you’ve only dreamed of (literally), and then he leans down lips around your clit as he orders you, “now, cum,” 

And you do, hard, as he sucks around your clit while fucking you through your orgasm, cum flooding his fingers and face alike, drenching him, even as he slurped and sucked up every bit. 

He finally pulls away, a shiver slips down your spine as he slips his fingers from inside you, pink tongue flicking against his lips, still slick with your cum, What a fucking mess you’ve made,” he sneers, but he’s licking his lips clean all the same, “should make you clean up the mess you made, shouldn’t I?” And he’s pressing the pads of his fingers to your lips, you’re too fucked out to fight, lips parting with ease, “suck,” and you do, opening wide to let his fingers inside, lips and tongue curled around the same fingers that had explored your cunt. 

He watched as you obediently sucked every drop of your juices off, a trickle of drool slipping down the corner of your lips makes his already hard cock twitch in his pants, and he’s pulling his fingers from your mouth. 

“Better than your dreams, huh, sweetheart?” he drags his thumb down your bottom lip, he can’t fucking wait a minute longer, “turn around, gonna fuck this slutty princess cunt from behind,” but you only can watch as he tugs down his sweatpants and boxers alike, his cock slapping against his stomach. 

Fuck, he’s even bigger than you had imagined. Mushroom tip red and hard, as pretty veins run up the sides, and he was looking as if he’d not only split you open, but break you all together. 

Your thighs quaked at the thought, more slick slipping from your needy cunt — and you wanted him to.  

Your knees shake, as you turn slowly, much too slowly his pace, and he grunts, his hands gripping your hips, as he flips you onto your stomach, a yelp leaving your lips as you bounce on the mattress. “have to fuckin’ do everything myself for this whore’s pussy,”

You’re gripping the sheets, nails surely tearing holes in the thin fabric of the sheets, as his calloused palm comes down on your ass, hard, the smack echoing in the silence of the night, a mewl you don’t recognize as your own, “Sukuna, please, I can’t—“ 

“You can, you’ll take whatever I give you, brat,” and another smack finds your ass again, as he pinches the flesh for good measure, drawing another moan from your lips and another chuckle from his, “and you’ll take this cock too,” and he doesn’t spare you a moment as he presses his swollen, dripping cockhead to your drenched hole, smearing his pre all over your ass — as if to erase any doubt you were his, because there wasn’t — before finally sliding in. 

God, fuck. 

Your arms were already shaking, barely able to hold yourself up, but your face nearly plants into the mattress as he sinks into you — he was too fucking big. Even all the prep he had given you was nothing, nothing compared to how much his dick was stretching your cunt. 

He hummed, as your insides swallowed him eagerly, even with the slight resistance of your tight little pussy, watching as your walls parted for him with almost practiced ease, sucking him deeper and deeper, as if you were made for him. And you would be, after he fucked your cunt to his shape again and again — because this was far from the last time he would take you. 

It was only the first. 

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight — am I the first to fuck this pussy?” he grunts, grasping your hips tightly, your warm, wet pussy wrapped around his dick — he had waited far too long for this, too many nights spent grasping at his cock, thinking how much better it would be buried in your pussy. 

“H-hngh, Sukuna, s’big,” you’re nearly babbling as he works himself into you, inch by inch, not even halfway in, and you were gonna cum just from him putting his dick in, “can’t fit—” and he’s scoffing, watching you squirm against his length, but he only continues to fuck his way into your tight hole, another sharp slap to your ass as a warning. 

“I’ll make it fit, girl,” he growls — like fuck he was stopping now that’s gotten this far, there was only one way this was ending — and it was with his cock fucking you full of his cum, “c’mon, did the dream not compare to the reality? Did you think I had a tiny dick?” and he thrusts shallowly against you, sending another inch inside your already stuffed folds, drawing a needy whine from your throat, “so fucking loud, you gonna let the whole house know what we’re doing at this rate,” 

he murmurs, bending down to your ear, and your walls squeeze around him, a vice grip that has him nearly cumming then and there, but no he won’t, not yet, “fuck, did you think about letting Choso know? Maybe I’d let him watch me fuck you, only way he’ll ever see you like this,” and you whimper as he slams into you, finally bottoming out as his tip bullies your womb, making you cry out against your fingers, “to think the pretty girl next door is on her hands and knees like a slut for me now, getting split open by my dick. What would Choso think?”

You’re whining, “Please, fuck, slow down—” but he only pulls out a little to piston back in, balls slapping against your ass as he does, setting a mean pace, as he chuckles in your ear. 

“You’re saying that, but we both know that’s not what you want — slutty fucking pussy trying break my cock in two,” the sounds of your skin slapping against you as his tip brushes against your cervix rings in your ear, even as he murmurs in it, “y’’know he wants to fuck you right? The little brat is always watching you, nearly fisting himself at the sight of you,” he’s forcing you upwards, pressing your back to his chest, “he wants you, but he’ll never have you, because this pussy is mine,” and his hand finds the bulge in your stomach, pressing down, as you keen, head falling back against his shoulder, as tears pooled in your pretty eyes, “but he’d never be able to reach here and fuck you like you want — like a whore,” his other hand pinches and teases your pebbled nipples, before sliding up to your neck, squeezing lightly, “say you’re mine,” 

You can’t find the words, all of them fucked out of your body to make room for his cock seemingly — the only words remaining his name and “please,” but you have to do better than that, and he slows his pace to nothing, as he pulls out so only his tip teases your entrance, a whine leaving your pathetic mouth.

“If you’re not mine, guess I don’t need to let you finish, do I?” and you’re shaking your head, frantic and repentant. 

“I’m yours, i’m yours, Sukuna, please—” and he’s sliding right back into you, fucking you harder, balls slapping against your ass and sweet cunt swallowing him up to the base, a white ring of your pre cum forming around it — and he just knows you’re close, by the twitch of your sweet pussy — and his hand reaches around to rub at your clit,  “I’m—” 

And he ruts into you, hard and deep that you’re sure his length brushes against your womb — and you’re cumming, falling apart around him, but he doesn’t relent — but had he ever? He didn’t relent over these past few weeks, and he wouldn’t now, not until he was filling you up and watching his cum drip out of your hole—

You’re slipping back forward, face forward into the pillow and mattress, as he grunts watching your slick drip down your ass and thighs and onto the sheets — his balls tense with his release, “Fuck—” and that’s all the warning you get before he slams back into you to bottom out, as he blows his load. 

His release is hot as it fills you up, never ending it seems as he slowly fucks you through his orgasm, his spurts slowing with time, until he’s finally stilling, a soft grunt, as he pulls himself from inside your warm cunt. A soft groan at the sight of his seed spilling from inside you — you’re boneless and spent, until he has you jolting forward from the press of his fingers gathering his cum and stuffing it back in. 

“Kuna, fuck, I can’t—” and he scoffs, retracting his fingers for a moment, before he’s deftly flipping you onto your back, “too sensitive,” you whine as his fingers work their way back into you. 

“Did you think I was done, woman?” and his softening erection is already standing tall again, and you’re almost wanting his fingers now at this point, even as your body disagrees, pussy squeezing at the thought of him buried inside you again. He leans forward, lips brushing against yours, a kiss full of nothing of tongue and teeth, the faint taste of your own release on his lips, “we’re far from done.” 

The sound of your name catches your attention, your eyes snapping up from your breakfast, “what?” 

“Are you okay? Choso frowns at you, as he holds his rice bowl, the rolled tamago sliced on his plate, “you look tired,” It was another morning like always, but 

You shake your head, “I just didn’t sleep well, I kept waking up from my dreams,” and it wasn’t exactly a lie — yesterday was the culmination of a million dreams you had. Dreams that only ended when the sun began to come up, with his cock still buried in your cunt as you rode him, back pressed to his chest, as he worked you up and down his dick. 

And finally when he came again, this time all over your back, he finally pressed kisses up and down his back, easing himself out, as his toned arms engulfed you. 

“Should clean up and I should head to Jin’s room,” he murmurs, “I have a feeling I won’t have a place to live if he finds me in here,” and you chuckle, too fucked out and tired, “we’ll have to get used to sneaking around. 

“Oh will we?” you had mumbled, and he answered your question with another bruising kiss to your lips. 

Yuji tilts his head, scratching it, as you lift your glass to take a sip of water, mouth far too dry now, “Is that what those noises were? It sounded like you were having nightmares,” and you nearly choke on it, but force it down, hoping the embarrassment wasn’t evident on your face, stabbing your egg. 

“Yeah, I had a couple last night,” you lied, and even as you suddenly found your breakfast far too interesting, you could feel Choso’s gaze still on you — your cheeks burning as Sukuna’s words about him still rung in your ears — along with the distinct ache between your legs and on your ass he left behind, “I’m fine, I’m just going to need a nap,” 

“You’re not the only one, girl,” Sukuna walks into the kitchen from the rooms, as Yuji and Choso balk at his presence. 

Choso’s eyes narrow, “What are you doing here?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Sukuna’s eyes find yours, the corner of his lip pulled upwards, as his gaze rakes over your form, “what’s for breakfast?” and you knew he only wished that you were the thing placed on the table for him to eat. Jin barely pays any mind, too preoccupied on his phone with his work email, as he passes a plate to Sukuna. 

“When did you even get in?” Yuji asks, as he finishes his own breakfast, leaning back on his two palms. And your insides begin to tie themselves in knots at all of these questions — knowing Sukuna would like nothing more than to tell them exactly what he was doing last night. 

“And where did you sleep?” Choso glares, adding fuel to the fire, as Sukuna looks down on him, lips a thin line,  “you didn’t bother our guest, did you?” and your cheeks burn all the same, a flicker of amusement on Sukuna’s features, lips parting only for Jin to cut in.

“He got in early this morning. He slept in my room,” Jin says with a sigh, “Don’t you two have to get ready? You’re going to your mom’s this morning,” 

“She’s not my mom,” Choso grumbles under his breath, “more like a leech,” but he still gets to his feet all the same, as Yuji follows suit, picking up their plates, a comforting hand on his older brother’s shoulder. 

“I should get to work,” Jin sighs, sparing a sharp glance at his brother, “behave,” and he turns to you, “feel free to stay as long as you want. Yuji and Choso will be back this afternoon,” 

And the three of them find their way out of the house, a rush of bags and feet, as Choso spares a glance at you. 

“I’ll be back soon — you can hang out in my room if you want,” Choso says, before scowling at Sukuna, “let me know if you need anything,” and you nod, waving him off, and the door shuts behind them all. 

Sukuna slides into place beside you, sitting as the two of you eat breakfast in relative silence. You finish up your meal, and move to get up, but Sukuna’s hand finds its way onto your thigh, holding you in place. 

“Are you done?” and you glance at him, plate empty and food untouched, “with eating?” 

“I am,” you raise an eyebrow, “And you?” 

“My appetite wants something else, sweetheart,” he leans forward, fingers inching higher until his thumb grazes your inner thigh. 

“And what’s that?” and he nearly growls his next words, thin patience already tearing in two, just as he would your clothes if you weren’t careful. 

“I’m done playing coy, woman,” he’s lifting you with ease, slinging you over his shoulder as you gasp, and he’s gotten you on top of the counter, the very same counter you had baked cookies on the day he had arrived, but now his hulking body was quickly pressing your legs apart, “there’s only one thing I want to eat in this kitchen, and it’s between your fucking thighs.” 

“Not sick of it yet?” you chuckle. 

“Think I could bury myself in your slutty pussy for days and not get sick of it,” and he looms over you, just as he had that first day, and he leans down to kiss you, stealing the logic from your mind and leaving only the need for his touch behind, “it is the sweetest thing I ever tasted after all.” 

“Really?” and he smirks, as his fingers dig into the fabric of your shorts ripping them and your panties down, the cool air against your already wet cunt. 

“Want me to prove it?” 

And oh, he would. Again and again. 

✧ a/n: i have a problem. i really wanted to write something with degradation ok?

✧ taglist: , @k0z3me , @monstrousbuu , @abiiebibie , @strawmariee , @luciiferslover , @sxnkuna , @psychxbby , @addehehe , @cpu1d , @dreamtardisspace , @authorintheshadows666 , @arcielee , @trxnmagic , @smilk01 , @abcdbleh , @elisaj313-blog , @jinslunv , @n3ptunxe , @pinkyvomit , @being-me-is-not-a-sin , @rat-loves , @spider-fan72 ,, @niks1673 , @lafffyyytafffyyy , @miseraa , @astraxa-xx , @fushitoru , @hanxyy , @milky-milkyway , @nakariabnrb , @johannakhalafalla , @tojicvmbucket , @flyingtranscatofeffed , @vampzys , @caelestine-the-caelicatto , @hatsunemitskislobotomy , @k1ttybean , @catsgomurp , @goddess-ofthe-godless , @i-spilt-ink-on-my-phone , @forest-fruits-jam , @mua-for-now , @pricetagofficial

[dosomethingplease83]

I’m a quite tipsy right now, because election night and my birthday are the only occasions when I drink, so please excuse the spelling errors and inconsistency/inaccuracy in my reasoning.

It hasn’t been called yet, but it looks like Harris is going to lose this election. Fuck.

I think the Supreme Court is going to be conservative (and not *moderate, Mitt Romney-esque conservative*) until I’m at least my dad’s age. Again, Fuck. (Unless there’s some major Supreme Court reform in the next decade or so, but even then, it’s not going to happen in the next four years).

The House and Senate also went Republican, so Republicans (and Trump-Republicans) will be able to push through any right-wing legislation they want with no one to stop them. FUCK!

On top of that, it’s not like 2016 where Trump lost the popular vote, but won the Electoral College. Trump’s winning the popular vote too! I thought that since the first disastrous Trump presidency was in recent memory, non-Trump Republicans and undecided/swing voters would remember how awful it was and either abstain from voting for Trump or vote for Harris. I was wrong, I guess Trump is like a Faustian bargain for moderate Republicans. When Biden was still running, the messaging was that we were voting for him because of the administration he would appoint, regardless of his own incompetence. I guess the moderate Republicans reasoned the same way.

I can’t think of a worse outcome. And I can’t pinpoint a singular point where the Harris campaign went wrong. Were they too pro-Israel? Were they not pro-Israel enough? Was it the time where she said that she wouldn’t do anything different than Biden? Was it Biden’s fault for promising to be a transitional president, and then running for a second term, and then waiting until July to drop out and endorse Harris? Was it the fact that Harris is a woman (and a woman of color at that)? I think picking Walz was a good choice, I’ve never seen anything negative said about him, but it wasn’t enough to save the campaign. “She has to be flawless, he gets to be lawless” indeed.

Even my solidly-blue state of Minnesota went purple this year. I know it’ll turn out blue by morning, but it’s still very disappointing.

If I had to give a piece of advice to the Democratic Party, it would be, “stop running female candidates for president.” America just isn’t ready. I don’t think many people were motivated to vote for her because she’d be the *first woman president*. Sure it’d be historic, it would be a good sign of progress for women in this country, but democrats/leftists of voting age don’t really care about the candidate’s gender. Look, Harris (and also Hillary Clinton) is WAY more qualified to be president than Trump, but America is too sexist to get past the fact that Harris is a woman, and the presidency is way to important to risk. We tried it twice, almost in a row. And the second time, American voters knew what a Trump presidency would look like! And even a mediocre candidate like Biden, who promised to be a transitional president (read: just vote for me to get rid of the awful other guy) won easily! Yeah, it’s wrong to discriminate on the basis of sex/gender, but if we want to win a presidential election (or a difficult, non-incumbent congressional or gubernatorial election), the best bet is a man. And winning is what counts, what saves lives, what changes policy and laws.

Right now, my thoughts are with my nephew, who is to be born in about two weeks. What kind of world will he grow up in? What will his homeschool education teach him about this point in history, and the decade that lead up to it? Will he be glad he was born in this time and country, or at all?

My own public-school was lacking. “World history” was about the classical era around the Mediterranean, and then medieval-WW1 in Europe. In the next few years, I should quit picking up on odd tidbits of history from Tumblr and actually learn world history on my own somehow. I despair when I think of my own life; I have to learn stuff for him, so I can be the cool aunt who teaches him stuff (like how gay people and Muslims aren’t the spawn of Satan).

I’m unemployed because of a yet-to-be-diagnosed disability that means about 80% of my daily energy is spent on survival, and I live with those aforementioned Mitt-Romney-esque Republicans who held their nose and voted for Trump because of the people he would appoint, so I don’t think that attending a protest or joining some activist group is in my near future. But I will focus more on the education that I missed (because I was basically narcoleptic in 11th and 12th grade, sleeping through half of my classes every day. I only passed because I’m very good at test-taking).

I don’t know how we crawl out of this. I’ll survive, many won’t. I don’t know when the 2016 election cycle will finally end. I just know that everything does, eventually, end. Even if not all of us will see it.

[justjensenanddean]

Jensen Ackles | Orlando Convention 2022 (June 26, 2022)

(x)

Jensen keeps getting asked about what superpower he would want for The Boys press. Everything comes with something bad (like seeing the future). “Flying. It’s pure, just let me soar like a bird.” #spnorl  (x)

Jensen: Phil directed Solid Gold. Is Robert Mitchum (sp?) out yet? No? Hold onto your shorts! There’s a whole other one coming down the pipe. I’ll leave it at that. #spnorl (x)

Fan: I found out I was pregnant during a commercial break. I didn’t get pregnant during a commercial break Jensen: how do you know you didn’t do that too lol #spnorl  (x)

Jensen imitates needing to stop the show and run and find a pregnancy test lol #spnorl  (x)

Fan: do you ever get taken out of context and not like it Jensen: yeah that happens quite a bit (x)  Jensen: we get asked questions about ourselves and work more than most. Our answers have evolved and we have grown. Given what we know now and have matured and acquired knowledge over the past two decades, I would give different answers than I would then. (x)  Jensen: it’s the idea that I wouldn’t change the past because it got me to be here today. I wouldn’t be where I am today and it’s looking pretty good for me. (Grateful to be here now) (x)  Jensen: I know I didn’t answer all those questions right. #spnorl (x)

While filming, Kim Manners set up an extra shot (make up redo and everything) to prank J&J. They climbed down a wall and got doused in 15 gallons of water. (x)  They chased him around and he wasn’t a big guy. Jensen: we basically picked him up and put him into the water (x)  They committed so hard to it they actually had an appointment for Jared to get his cast replaced the next day. They planned him a late call and everything and Jared didn’t know why. (x)  A line producer casually asked about Jensen’s new iPhone as a ploy to get it out of his pocket. An AD immediately swooped in and got him on set in such a way he couldn’t immediately get it back. “They worked it concert.” (x)

Jensen would like Tom Hardy to play him in a British Supernatural adaptation (x)

Jensen says representation with the character of Carlos was important from the start and he’s impressed with the actor. #spnorl  (x)  Jensen: (for the show) I’m most excited to see what you guys think of the twists (x)  Jensen: we are not throwing away 15 years of established canon. #spnorl #thewinchesters (x)  Jensen: (someone mentioned) that John didn’t know about hunting until after Mary died. My answer was “oh I am fully aware” #spnorl (x)

.@JensenAckles : I'm well aware John didn't know about hunting. We're not throwing away 15 years of canon.  (x)

Fan: what do you love most about your kids Jensen: unprovoked I love yous… arrow cupped my face and said ‘I love you’ and immediately wanted to be put down. She wanted nothing but to purely tell me she loved me. Zeppelin & JJ do it too. #spnorl  (x)

Jensen only has one pet: “A 16 year old part blind mostly deaf 20 pound mitt. Watching him now is equally sad and entertaining. He runs into walls. Not full force just a thunk. What do you do? He’s just running around running into shit. I’m like ‘aw your dogs broken’” #spnorl  (x)  Jensen: he will stare at his bowls and walk away and I’m like, idk if he knew what he was doing just now. Like he’s full blown dementia. It’s sad but as soon as I pick him up he’s right into my neck. He knows it’s his dad. #spnorl (x)

Jensen says that Anthony Starr told him he was prepared not to like him but in the end Anthony said he really fucking likes him  #SPNORL #Spnorlando  (x)

Jensen tried hard not to drop the ball and especially not to do anything that can be misconstrued as ego or drama to The Boys. #spnorl (x)  Anthony said he was prepared not to like Jensen (a year after the fact). Jensen asked how he did. It made him happy when Anthony said “I really fucking like you man”. #spnorl (x) Jensen loved the set and crew. They’re good people and Kripke laid the groundwork to help them know not to worry. (x)

Jensen: The Boys is Kripke Unleashed. We always knew his mind was like that and now you do too lol #spnorl  (x)

Jensen finished shooting a new Batman voicing two weeks ago #spnorl (x)

(x)

[tobesolonely]

apartment 41

hi y’all! this is my very VERY late submission for @meetmeinfleetwood​ ‘s “To Lovers” challenge (thank u miss sadie for even still accepting this LOL) but here is some good ol fashioned strangers to lovers with the line, “will you stay the night?” . :D enjoy everyone!

warnings: mentions of alcohol, intoxication, smut :)

word count: ~5.2k

my ko-fi! thank you :)

There were many things you loved about living on your own. You loved that your apartment was always clean. You loved that at the end of a long day, you could come back and brood in peace. You loved walking around in nothing but your underwear without the fear of anyone seeing you. You did things when you wanted, how you wanted. As a self-proclaimed introvert, there was nothing you loved more than living by yourself.

However, during slightly inconvenient moments like these, you wished you had someone else in the apartment with you.

You swore you’d been trying to get your favorite jar of pasta sauce open for at least the past ten minutes. It had been a long day at work, and at the moment all you wanted to do was heat the entire jar of sauce, boil a bunch of pasta, and call it a night. You were growing beyond frustrated–– you even contemplated just breaking the jar open. Ultimately, you decided against it lest you be met with a mouthful of glass.

Feeling defeated, you pick up your phone in frustration and hurriedly punch in your father’s number. The phone rings twice before he answers. “Hello? What’s up, hun?”

“Dad, what should I do if I can’t get this jar open? Like, it’s seriously glued shut,” you set it down on the counter probably a little too hard considering it was a glass jar. “I’m so hungry.”

“Did you try running it under hot water?”

You did.

“Hm. Try getting a good grip on it with a dish towel or something?”

Of course, you did.

“Well, I’m not driving over there just to open a jar for you,” your dad pauses. “You have neighbors, don’t you? Why don’t you knock on one of their doors?”

“Isn’t that weird?”

“No weirder than asking to borrow a cup of sugar.”

You thank your dad for the suggestion and hang up with him shortly after. He was right. You just needed someone to quickly open the jar for you and then you’d be back in your apartment, secluded from society until the next morning when you went into work. Besides, you’d been in your apartment for roughly three months now and you didn’t have a relationship with any of your neighbors. You figured now was as good a time as any to at least meet the person who lived directly across from you.

You slide on your slippers and clear the few steps it takes to reach your neighbor’s door. A faded ‘41’ was on their door, and a cheeky mat that read, ‘Did you call first?’ was at your feet.

You tried racking your brain for any memory of what your neighbor may look like, but you were drawing a blank. You were more to yourself than you initially thought you were and made a silent vow to become more social from this point on. You situate the jar of pasta sauce under your arm before placing two firm knocks against the door. Moments later, the door is flung open and you’re met with the smell of something delicious cooking, and a handsome, tall man donning a dirty apron.

“Hi, is everything alright?” he has a concerned look on his face as he looks over the top of your head and into your apartment.

“I— This is a little embarrassing,” you mumble, feeling your body grow warm. “I live by myself and I’ve been trying to get this jar of pasta sauce open for at least twenty minutes and I can’t. Do you think you can?”

His mouth slowly turns upwards into a smile before finally nodding, reaching out his hand to grab the jar of pasta sauce from you. “It’s pasta night at your place too, hmm?” His tongue is poked out of the corner of his mouth as he focuses on the task at hand.

“Yeah,” you reply. “I’m just gonna heat up the entire jar of sauce, boil some spaghetti noodles, and call it a night.”

The pop! of the jar causes you to jump slightly. “That doesn’t sound like very good pasta.”

You retrieve the pasta sauce from him, quietly thanking him. “It gets the job done.”

Your neighbor hums in agreement. “‘M sure it does. If you ever wanna taste some really good pasta though, y’know where I’ll be.”

“I do,” you nod. “Well, thank you again. I’ll let you go back to making your pasta sauce that is just way better than mine.”

He lets out a loud laugh. “I appreciate it. It wasn’t any problem at all, I’m here most evenings if you ever need help opening anything else, uh…” He trails off.

“Y/N.”

“Y/N. Beautiful name. I’m Harry, by the way.”

You look down at the dirty hallway carpet, a wide smile on your face. “Thank you, Harry. It was nice to finally meet you, by the way.”

“You too. Have a good night.”

You give him one more smile before turning on your heels and walking back inside your apartment, gently shutting the door. You quickly look out the peephole and catch him just as he’s closing his door, a dimpled-grin on his face.

It was Friday night when you finally got the chance to speak with him again. You were sitting on your kitchen stool nursing a glass of wine and waiting for your frozen pizza to heat in the oven when you heard someone coming down the hallway. As you had been doing all week since your interaction with Harry, you set your glass of wine down and shuffle over to your peephole, eyes scanning the small amount of hallway that was visible.

Harry comes into view seconds later, four overflowing bags of groceries precariously balanced along the length of his arms.

“Fuck.” You hear him mutter to himself. He attempts to reach in his pocket for his keys but once he realizes he can’t do so without setting at least one bag of groceries down, he lets out a loud huff in what you assume to be annoyance. You scuttle to your shoe rack and slip your shoes on before quickly flinging your door open.

“Hi! Need help?”

Harry jumps and you both watch as the contents of the bag he was getting ready to set down spill at his feet. “Now I do,” he’s already picking his groceries off the floor. “You scared the shit out of me. Also, were you watching me?”

Your face grows warm. “I heard someone coming down the hallway so I wanted to see who it was.”

“Oh, really?” Harry questions, pausing to look up at you. “You came out of your place so quickly, felt like I was bein’ watched or something.”

You know he’s teasing you but you can’t help but feel a little embarrassed that he caught onto what you were doing so quickly. Instead of dignifying his statement with an answer, you bend down and begin helping him pick up his spilled groceries. His hand grazes yours lightly as you both reach for a can of black beans, now slightly dented. It lingers for a moment before he retracts it to retrieve a different item. A quick, side-eyed glance reveals that his cheeks are tinged red.

“What are you making for dinner?” You ask him, standing up and dusting off the knees of your leggings.

“Uh, veggie chili. S’one of my favorites–– hey, is something burning?”

Your eyes widen and you abruptly turn away from Harry without so much as a goodbye, hurrying toward your kitchen that was starting to grow foggy from smoke produced by your oven. You were so preoccupied with helping Harry gather up his spilled groceries that you had totally forgotten you had a frozen pizza in the oven and if the smell was any indication of its current state, it was most likely inedible at this point.

Reaching for the oven mitt you kept next to the knives on the counter, you open the oven and fan the smoke out of your face, holding back a gag from the burnt smell. Your fire alarm immediately goes off once you open the oven and Harry appears a second later, a concerned look on his face. He looks around for your smoke detector and once he sees it he stands on his tiptoes to turn it off. You set your now blackened pizza on top of the oven and turn on the microwave fan. Harry’s already opening windows around your apartment, fanning the air with a throw pillow from your couch.

“Thanks,” you mumble, a wave of embarrassment washing over your body. You feared that Harry probably thought you were the most incompetent person on this planet–– first, you couldn’t get a jar open, and now here you are nearly setting your apartment on fire. “Guess I should’ve set a timer, huh?”

“Yeah, ‘spose you should’ve,” he replies. “It’s okay, though. ‘M about to get started on dinner, you can join me? If you’d like, that is. Maybe you’ll have a new recipe so you can stop eatin’ all this frozen shit.”

“Leave my frozen foods out of this,” you playfully scold him, crossing your arms over your chest. “Thank you for the invite though, that would be great, actually. I’m gonna get this cleaned up and then I’ll be right over?”

“Sounds good,” he neatly situates your pillow back on the couch. “I’ll see you in a bit, Y/N. Door will be unlocked.”

Once Harry’s gone, you move into action, quickly tossing the pizza into the trashcan before running to your bathroom. You try to remember if you brushed your teeth earlier that day but you can’t, so you brush them again just to be safe. You hastily examine yourself in the mirror before deciding you weren’t going to do anything more, not wanting to come off as trying too hard. You were almost one hundred percent certain Harry was just being neighborly–– nothing indicated that he found you attractive, so you didn’t want to make it too obvious that you found him to be the most stunning man you’ve ever seen in your life.

Locking your door, you clear the distance from your welcome mat to his in five steps flat, and take a deep breath before letting yourself in.

It didn’t take long for you to realize that Harry had more skill in the kitchen than an everyday home-chef did. He all but floated around the room, chopping with ease and finesse. The two of you had settled into a comfortable silence as he worked and you watched. Billy Joel played softly over his Bluetooth speaker, and he’d occasionally stop what he was doing to take a sip of his wine and look over his shoulder at you, almost as if he was checking if you were still there because you were being so quiet.

Your head was starting to grow fuzzy as you finished your third glass of wine that night, so you make the (responsible) decision to cut yourself off for the night. “Can I have a glass of water?”

“Course y’can,” he replies quietly, not stopping what he was doing. “Give me just a second and I’ll get ya––”

“Oh, I can get it myself. Just tell me where the cups are.”

Harry stops chopping and turns completely to face you, an amused look on his face. “You’re plastered, aren’t ya?”

“No? Why do you think that?”

Harry laughs. “You can’t hear yourself stumblin’ over your words, but I can. Jus’ stay right there and I’ll get your water. You want ice?”

“How do you know how to cook so well?”

“Culinary school,” he responds coolly. “Ice?”

You’re not sure if you are as drunk as Harry says you are, but you were currently finding the fact that Harry went to culinary school the coolest thing ever. “A chef? No way! What kind of chef?”

“I’m a Sous Chef. Gonna give ya a bit of ice.”

“I can’t believe I live across from a chef! No wonder you were giving me shit for eating canned pasta sauce,” you take the glass of water from Harry’s outstretched hand, thanking him. “Even your water tastes better than mine!”

“I think you’re just pissed, Y/N,” Harry responds, eyes crinkled from smiling. “Do y’like cooked carrots?” Your nose wrinkles in response to Harry’s question and he mutters something about how he’ll leave them out before turning back towards the stove to check on his food.

“How old are you, Harry?”

“Just turned twenty-seven. Yourself?”

“I’m twenty-four!” You exclaim, a little too excited. “Where are you from?”

He turns to look at you, eyebrow raised. “England. What gave it away?”

“Your accent.”

He hums, a small smirk on his lips. “Where are you from?”

“I’m from here. Just moved back home from my college town but didn’t wanna move back in with my parents, so here I am.”

“No roommates, you said?”

“Nope,” you pop the ‘p’, taking a big gulp of water. “You don’t either, do you? I just realized I haven’t heard or seen anyone else since I’ve been here.”

“I do not. I had a roommate when I first moved in but he ended up gettin’ engaged and moving in with his fiancée, so it’s just me for now. I think I like livin’ on my own better, though.” You watch as Harry reaches into his cabinet and retrieves two bowls and starts spooning your dinner into them. He sets the bowl in front of you and hands you a spoon, nodding at you to try it.

You bring a spoonful up to your mouth, blowing a few times before shoving it into your mouth. Your eyes widen at the amazing flavor that fills your mouth, and your eyes diverge to his. “This is incredible!”

Harry looks down at his bowl of food, a shy grin on his face. “Thanks, Y/N. Glad you like it.” He grabs his glass of wine from behind him and moves around to the other side of the island to sit next to you.

“Are you a vegetarian?” You ask, mouth full.

“Somewhat. I’m a pescatarian,” he shovels a spoonful of the chili into his mouth. “More wine?”

“I better not,” you reply, mind still fuzzy from all you’ve drunk throughout the night. “This is seriously so good, Harry. You’re cute, you can cook, you’re nice… you’re like, a triple threat!”

“Callin’ me cute?”

“C’mon, you know you are,” you answer boldly. “I’m just stating the obvious.”

“Thank you, Y/N,” he takes a sip of wine. “You’re a pretty big looker yourself.”

“Are you flirting with me?”

“You flirted with me first.”

“So what if I did?”

Harry lets out a quiet scoff, going back to eating his food. After a moment he says, “I wouldn’t mind.” You smile to yourself and continue eating, bringing the bowl up to your lips and tipping your head back so you could get every last drop of Harry’s veggie chili. He gets up to get another helping of food as you get up to place your bowl in the sink, lifting your sleeves to wash it.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says as he brushes past you, going back to where he was previously seated. “I’ll clean up later. Do y’want some dessert?”

“I think I will take some more wine,” you grab the bottle from the center of the island along with your glass, pouring a generous amount. “This is good. Nothing like the cheap bottles I get from Target.”

“I’m glad you like it. Thought I’d pull this one out tonight, always pairs well with dishes like this…” He trails off. “Anyway, yeah. Glad y’like it.”

You and Harry finish off the bottle of wine no more than thirty minutes later, having by now situated yourselves on his couch. He turned something onto the television (you think it was Iron Chef), but neither one of you were paying any attention to it. Harry was asking about what you studied in college, how you like your current career and your favorite things to do in your free time. You were asking him about England, his family back home, and why he chose to go to culinary school.

He has a way about him that captivates you— just completely pulls you in— and you never want to stop listening to him speak. Harry leans close to you when you talk, almost as if you’re telling him a secret that he doesn’t want to miss out on.

“I think ‘m jus’ as drunk as you are now,” Harry whispers, letting out an adorable giggle. “Goin’ into work tomorrow is gonna be a proper pain.”

“No one told you to try and outdrink me!” You yell, tucking your knees under your bottom. “Now we’re both drunk, what good does that do?”

“Think it’s more fun this way, don’t you?” Harry lets out a little burp, his face flushing. “Wanna help me clean the kitchen?”

“What happened to cleaning it later?” You stand up from the couch, wobbling slightly before catching your balance.

“Well, I didn’t think we’d get drunk off our arses and sit here talkin’ til one in the mornin’, did you?” He stands up as well, his hand moving to rest on the small of your back as he scooches past you.

“There’s no way it’s that late,” you retort, checking the time on your phone. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to overextend my stay. I’ll help you clean this place up and then get going.”

Harry swats a hand in front of his face, shaking his head. “Overextend your stay? Of course y’didn’t, more than happy to have you here. Do you wanna wash or dry?”

“I’ll wash since I don’t know where anything goes.” You move to the sink and roll up your sleeves, moving the small number of dishes in the sink all to one side so you can fill the other side with water. Silence falls over you again as you clean the dishes from dinner and soon enough you’re done, drying your hands on your t-shirt.

“Thank you, Y/N. We make a good team, huh? Got that done quickly, didn’t we?” He folds the dishtowel in half neatly and hangs it over the handle of his oven.

“Yeah,” you yawn, slipping on your shoes that had been discarded earlier in the night by the door. “I’ll get out your hair and let you get to bed, then. Thank you for having me over and for cooking that delicious dinner, I enjoyed it. I owe you.”

“If it’s frozen food, don’t worry about it,” he jokes, moving to open the door for you. “If you want to cook me something, though…”

“How about I take you out for dinner? I stay out of the kitchen, and you’ll get something edible and halfway decent. A win-win?”

Harry laughs. “‘M lookin’ forward to it. Goodnight, Y/N.”

“I couldn’t decide between Italian or sushi but since you’re a pescetarian, I figured sushi was our best bet.”

Harry looks away from the menu and at you, clearing his throat before speaking. “That was really thoughtful. Surprised you remembered considering how loaded you were.”

“For the last time, I was not that drunk,” you defend yourself, gently kicking his calf from underneath the table. “By the end of the night, you had way more than me!”

“Maybe so,” he replies nonchalantly, looking back at the menu. “Let’s not forget who can handle their alcohol better, though.”

You let out an indignant hmph, and get to scouring the menu yourself. You didn’t eat sushi very often so you figured you’d probably just get whatever Harry got.

“Let’s do sake bombs.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Sake bombs? Are you tryin’ to get me drunk again?”

“They’re fun! Just one?”

Harry shakes his head at you and grins before waving over the waitress, asking her politely for two sake bombs. She comes back a few minutes later with the alcohol and chopsticks balanced precariously on a tray, setting them in front of you and Harry respectively.

The waitress stands back and says, “Ichi… ni… san… sake bomb!” The two of you pound the table until your shot glasses fall into the cup and then you throw your heads back, chugging down the cocktail. When you finally finish chugging your drink and look back up at Harry, he’s staring at his watch as if he’s been waiting for you to finish for ages.

“Oh, you’re finally done? I was startin’ to grow old,” he teases, taking a sip of his water. “Do you know what you wanna order?”

“You’re annoying,” you reply, narrowing your eyes at him. “But I’m gonna get whatever you get.”

“Really? You don’t have any preferences?”

You shake your head. “I don’t eat sushi very often so I honestly don’t know what I should get. I’ll try anything, though.”

“You really did pick this place just for me, didn’t you?” He has a teasing tone to his voice, but his gaze has softened.

“I told you I owed you, didn’t I?”

At this, Harry just gives you a small smirk and signals the waitress over once again to order for the both of you. While you wait for your food to come, you fall into easy conversation with Harry again. It seems like you can talk about anything under the sun with him–– no topic was off-limits, and nothing was awkward. He had to have been one of the most interesting people you’ve ever met in your life. He was well-traveled, knew several languages, and loved to sing and write music in his spare time. Although you felt your own life was rather boring in comparison to his, he made you feel just as accomplished and interesting as he was.

“That was good,” he tells you after you’ve both finished eating, wiping his mouth with his napkin and slouching in his chair slightly. “Think ‘m gonna need to unbutton my pants here in a second.”

“Me too,” you answer with a laugh, making eye contact with the waitress. You mouth, ‘check, please’ and she nods, reappearing at your table with the check. As you’re digging in your purse to pull out your wallet, Harry reaches over and grabs the check before you can even look at it. He reaches in his pants pocket for his wallet and slides his card in before you’ve even looked back up.

“What are you doing?” Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Did you forget that I’m the one that owes you?” He shrugs.

“You can make it up to me another way. Don’t worry about it,” his voice is low and gravelly. The waitress comes back to collect the check from Harry and after he receives his receipt, he reaches into his wallet to place a cash tip for her on the table. “Ready to get home?”

Home. You know he only worded it that way because you live directly across from him, but you would like going “home home” with Harry, at least for tonight. There was no denying the sexual tension between the two of you was electric–– anyone who was paying attention to the two of you could probably sense it. You wordlessly nod and follow Harry out of the restaurant, intertwining your fingers with his when he holds his hand back for you to grab.

He stands on the curb and expertly hauls a cab, opening the door and gesturing your in ahead of him. Harry’s hand moves to rest on your leg as he makes small-talk with the taxi driver, asking him if he was having a busy night and how much longer he thought he’d be out for. Harry pays the cab fare and wishes the driver a good rest of his night before all but dragging you out of the taxi.

“What’s got you in such a rush?” You ask Harry, a teasing

“Oh? Did I misread the situation? I thought–– this is embarrassing, never mind…” his tight grip loosens on your hand but you pull him back into you, laughing at how adorable he was.

“Harry! I’m joking, I know what’s going on,” you rub your thumb across the top of his. “I was just messing with you.” You see him visibly let out a sigh of relief.

“Don’t mess with me like that, Y/N!” You’re still standing outside of your apartment complex in the dark, as close to one another as you can be without completely melting into each other. He releases his hand from your tight grip and places it gently on your face instead. “Is it okay if I kiss you?”

“Please,” you reply breathlessly, standing on your toes. Harry cranes his neck to meet your lips and presses them to yours softly, pulling back only when the both of you are near gasping for air.

“Was that nice?” He asks, thumb caressing your face. Your noses are pressed together and you just nod, still too breathless to speak. “Maybe we can take this inside, then?”

Once inside Harry’s apartment, he nearly rips off the new shirt you bought specifically for your date with him, discarding it by his door.

“Careful with that,” you mutter, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I just got that today. Tag is still onnit.”

You feel Harry laugh into the side of your neck, walking your backward towards his couch. “I’ll cover the cost if it’s ruined then, how’s tha’?”

Harry sucks harshly on your neck, causing you to let out a low moan. “I guess that’s fine.”

“That’s fine?” Harry mocks you, guiding you onto the coach. You hum in agreement as you sink further down into the couch, letting out a sigh of bliss as he peppered kisses along your breast.

Your movements are needy— desperate. Neither one of you were trying to hide how badly you wanted to fuck the other. Harry smashing his lips onto yours once more, his breath warm and tongue salty from all the sushi he had earlier consumed. He attempts to pull his own shirt from his body while not breaking the kiss, and you let out a satisfied hum when he succeeds. Now you’re both shirtless and the only thing stopping you from fucking each other proper is being still fully clothed on your bottom halves.

“Can we get these off?” You ask, tugging at your own bottoms. Harry helps you pull down your tight jeans, struggling slightly to get them off your sweaty legs. Once your jeans are off your underwear follows immediately after, carelessly strewn around the room like the rest of your clothing.

“Y/N…” Harry hungrily takes the sight of your body in, eyes darkening with lust. “You might be the death of me, did ya know that?”

“I do now.”

He sucks on his index and middle fingers and lowers them down to your core, slipping them inside you with ease. You hadn’t realized how wet you were until Harry was knuckles deep, curling his fingers tantalizingly slow inside of you. “Do ya?”

You bite down hard on your lip, nodding at Harry’s rhetorical question. “Obviously.”

He flips the two of you over, so that you’re now straddling him and he’s laying below you. “Take what you want, then–– oh wait, condom?” You nod and move as Harry digs around in his pants, pulling out his wallet.

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys that keeps a condom in their wallet.”

He rips it open with his teeth in one swift motion and unbuckles his pants, giving himself a couple of quick strokes before sliding it on. “What if I am? Was quick and effective, wasn’t it?” He rests his hands on your hips and pulls you back on top of him, connecting his lips with yours again. “Now you can take what you want.”

Your hands move up to grip Harry’s shoulders as you slowly sink onto him, wincing at the stretch and burn an unfamiliar partner sometimes brings. You make eye contact with Harry as you take a moment to adjust to his size, noting how his grip on your hips gets even tighter.

“S’big,” you mutter, rolling your hips slightly. Below you, Harry squeezes his eyes shut. “So big.”

“Tell me how badly you want it.”

“You already know. Don’t feel like being teased.”

Harry juts his hips up to meet you slamming down onto him, groaning out loudly from the pleasure the added motion brings. At one point he situates himself so he’s sitting straight up, using his left hand as a support for him to rest back on while his right hand is tweaking at your nipples. He’s letting out a slew of curse words, letting you know it felt just as good for him as it did for you.

“Ridin’ m’cock so good,” he says under his breath, bringing the hand that was playing with your nipples to rest in between your legs. Whenever you slam back onto him you feel him not only deep in the pit of your stomach but also on your clit, bringing you maximum pleasure. “Don’t be so quiet, let me know when ‘m makin’ you feel good, love.”

“I’m already close,” you admit, feeling a bit embarrassed at how it took Harry doing next to nothing to work an orgasm out of you. Well, not literally–– but it felt like it. “Feel s’good inside me, you’re so big.”

Harry lets out a low moan from your words, throwing his head back in pleasure. It hits the arm of his couch with a quiet thump but his pace doesn’t falter in the slightest. “You’re gonna make me cum if ya keep strokin’ my ego like that.”

“You asked for it,” you reply, changing your move from riding to grinding as you were starting to grow fatigued. “I’m close.” You remove your hands from his shoulders and let them roam the expanse of your body, wanting nothing more than to receive maximum pleasure.

“Can feel ya squeezin’ ‘round me,” Harry says, taking his lip in between his teeth. “Know you’re about to come, pet.”

"Harry..." you warn, your movements growing more desperate and sloppy. You weren't normally a selfish lover but your head was so clouded from pleasure, all you could think about at the moment was your release. Harry leans his head back on the couch again and now uses his two free hands to bring you to orgasm–– one is rubbing circles on your clit and the other one is gripping at your breasts as you use your last bit of strength to swivel your hips on him.

You're coming undone not ten seconds later, loudly moaning out the man's name who laid under you. You don't slow your movements, knowing he was right behind you.

"Y/N, fuck, 'm gonna come-" he lets out a low, guttural moan, coming immediately after announcing it.

The sounds of you trying to steady your breathing are the only sounds that fills the room as you both come down from your respective highs. Harry runs his hands along your bare body, eyes hooded from the orgasm that just wracked his body. As you’re beginning to uncurl yourself from Harry, he grabs your hand, pulling you back down.

“Will you stay the night?”

You didn’t know what sleeping with Harry meant for your relationship going forward, but you were glad you knocked on Apartment 41. 

[therogueheart]

What about Billy being spit out of one of the ever-widening cracks in Hawkins as the final victim was taken, alive but so so weak from being stuck in the Upside Down since he “died”, Vecna’s power fluctuating and Billy getting thrown out of the place. Spending time recovering in the hospital when he’s found, gradually being able to go see Max, sticking by her side even when the nurses disapprove no, he should be resting etc etc. Kind of redeeming himself in the party’s eyes by how staunchly he’d start protecting her. Also being able to work with El to try and get Max back, having some good memories to tap into

There's something so viscerally soft about the idea of Billy offering up his mind to El again to help Max. Soft and desperately heartbreaking.

Because I know everyone loves a good big brother Billy storyline but actually; Max is a huge source of conflict and trauma for Billy, and I think at least for the significant formative years of Billy's healing, he'd harbor some resentment towards Max.

Not the kind he did before; violent and volatile, but the way you resent the thorn that pricks you when you pick a rose. Look after your sister, Billy, still rings around his head in Neil Hargrove's voice.

And he hates that. It makes his hands shake and his teeth grind and its something stuck firmly between terror and rage but mostly he's just tired. So fucking tired.

But even so he gets caught sneaking into her room wheezing and limping so often that eventually they transfer them both to a larger room, one where their beds can fit side by side, where Billy doesn't have to nearly hack up a lung just to make sure she's still alive.

He talks to her, sometimes. Reads out snippets of the books that Steve brings him. Tells her how to change a tire and check the oil level in a car. (And tries desperately not to think of his Camaro as he does, throat tight, twisting his shaking fingers in his white hospital blanket.)

Tells her about Neil. His mother. Its the first time he's ever actually told anyone and he cries, wet and ugly and spiralling him into a coughing fit the nurse has to sedate him out of.

When the nurses come to check on Max Billy watches them from where he's slumped in his own bed, scowling as the nurse changes out the IV line, kitten-weak but hissing all the same.

"Hey! You wanna stick 'er a little less like she's a Christmas ham?" he gripes as they take blood samples. "Jesus fucking—brush from the bottom, or you break the hairs!" as they brush out Max's lank, greasy hair. "Oi, Meat-Mitts. She's not a fucking tire, you don't gotta roll her like that!" when they shift Max around to change out her gown.

He doesn't particularly warm up to El—beaten to last place only by Mike—because as grateful as he is to her for breaking the Flayer's control, she's got an open fucking window into his head and he hates that. It makes him feel peeled back and raw, exposed and bloody with no way to protect himself.

Doesn't warm up to her, but still awkwardly volunteers himself to be a helping hand in her revival. Because Billy knows he's not part of her happy memories, but he's always been on the outside looking in. Has a first-hand perspective on a few of them.

Like when she was the flower girl at Neil and Susan's wedding; little and chubby and beaming as she skipped down between the pews, tossing dried petals by the handful.

(He'd been stood off to the side, behind his Dad, starched collar and tight suit hiding the bruises of Neil's drunken rampage the night before.)

Perhaps the only good memory he is actively part of is teaching her to skateboard. She'd begged and begged for a board for her birthday, and she was Neil's little princess so of course she'd gotten one. And of course Billy had to be the one to surrender his weekends to teaching her, jogging alongside the board with her gripping his arm tightly, wobbling along and trying to find her balance.

She'd bought him a Twinkie with her allowance as a thank you, the night after she'd successfully made it down the street without his help or falling off.

The very notion of having Eleven inside his head again, digging around for memories, witnessing it all over... It makes him want to crawl right out of his skin and out the room's window, but he does, because Billy's not really a man of words when it comes to this shut but actions he can do, and maybe this makes them square.

Sorry I was a shitty person, sorry I took it out on you, but look, I'm violating myself to bring you back. Even-Stevens, right?

The first thing he says to her when she's coherent again is; "You look like shit." Her first words straight back are; "Fuck you."

And, yeah. He's not really ready to get over it yet. He's not going to be winning any brother of the year awards anytime soon, but.

They're gonna be just fine.

[bramblequill]

No More Running: Chapter 5 - Like the Beat of a Heart

TW: Abuse & Self Harm

Ronnie's POV:

The cadence of night had settled around you and the boy you had just met. He had definitely taken you by surprise when he showed up in the woods behind you. A part of you felt incredibly stupid that you hadn't heard him approaching... you were usually very much aware of your surroundings but tonight. God. Tonight, had just been absolutely fucking awful. You had just started making friends at the last school, but of course, like he does... dad had fucked it all up again for you both. You half felt bad because you knew a part of him was just drowning in his grief and guilt, but at the same time so were you...

Dad had come home from the bar already three sheets to the wind. This wasn't anything new. It was more surprising if he came home sober, midday after his shift at the plant and had pizza in hand. Those moments were incredibly rare... and even with everything he's put you through, everything he's done to you...he was still dad, and you couldn't bear to hate him. You wouldn't admit it out loud, but those moments of sobriety were one of your most treasured things. Coming home from a particularly shitty first day at the new school you had hoped that it would have been one of those treasured days. But. When you arrived home and saw his truck still wasn't home, your heart fell to your toes. Nope. You weren't that lucky. Of course not. You had been curled up in your bed, reading when you heard the door to the truck slam. You froze, listening intently, counting his steps. Fuck. Those were his pissed off stomps. You rose quickly and ran to the bathroom, locking the door behind you. You knew it really wouldn't do any good but hopefully it'd buy you some time to formulate an escape plan. You hadn't been in this trailer long enough to learn all the routes and tricks yet. The best you could plan for was to run straight to the woods, a natural hiding spot you hadn't had back home.

"Where the fuck are you!?" Your father shouted as slamming the door shut behind him. "LITTLE BITCH I KNOW YOU'RE HERE"

You flinched and stepped into the bathtub, trying to make yourself small. 

 "Ronnie, WHERE are you!?" his steps were thundering down the hall.

You knew he'd check your bedroom first... you waited, holding your breath... 14... 12.... 9... he was almost to your room. 

You quietly climbed out of the tub, gripping the doorknob and bracing yourself. You were going to make a run for it. It was for the best. You knew though that you only had one shot. It was a long shot, but it was your best. 3... 2... GO! 

Quicker than a bat out of hell you flung open the bathroom door, running as fast your legs would carry you. The front door, it was right there! Almost. ALMOST!

You felt them. "Fuck. FUCK!" you thought. He had you. His strong fingers dug into your tender biceps. You were suddenly lifting off the ground, being flung away from the door. You tried to relax before the impact, knowing if you tensed your body would hurt worse tomorrow. 

Your head hit something... the end table by the couch... that's what it was. Dad was crouching in front of your face now, God... his breath was RANK. You closed your eyes tight against stinging tears as he gripped you by the arms again. Hop heavy breath on your cheek as he hissed at you "There the fuck you are. Thought you could hide from me?" His aggrieved fingers gripping you again.

You swallowed hard but kept your eyes shut tight. He wasn't dad. He was just an angry stranger. That's what you always told yourself in these moments. He wasn't the dad who had taught you to ride a bike. He wasn't the dad who had brushed your back gently when you were sick or put oven mitts on you the time you got chicken pox. This was a tomato faced stranger... 

 "God you're so fucking useless. You know that?" he hissed as he shook you violently before raising a knee up to your stomach, letting you fall abruptly. He kicked his foot out and it connected with your shin bone then. 

You let out the breath you were holding, sharply... and tried not to cry out. That ALWAYS made it ten times worse. "Fuck." You were thankful when he lost interest in you as you lay curled in the fetal position on the shag carpet. 

It was a lucky night... you counted his steps again. He was going to the fridge for more beer... this was your chance. Wincing you rose and rushed from the front door, tears spilling. You hurt but it wasn't the worse you'd had. 

You were lucky... Blindly rushing through the trees and dense brush you eventually stumbled upon a clearing. It was obviously a party zone. That's good... at least you won't have to worry about animal threats, right? Surely, they'd know not to come around. 

You sank yourself onto one of the logs and lifted your shirt enough to inspect the already blossoming bruises that spattered across your pale skin. Yeah, not the worst. Your arms hurt and your mind raced at his words. What had you done this time? 

You thought hard... Useless. That was the word this time... I mean you hadn't gotten your room completely unpacked yet, and you didn't start dinner right when you got home. You hadn't been hungry and didn't know when he was expected so you had decided to wait. Was that it? 

You didn't see how he could have known though unless it was just the pure lack of the fragrance of cooking food that had alerted him. How could you be so goddamn stupid. You knew better. You fucking knew better. 

A tight pain coiled itself in your chest and throat. You felt like you couldn't breathe and the tears, they wouldn't stop. You needed it OUT of you. You didn't want to be in your skin right now.

Everything hurt suddenly and your heart felt like it was going to explode. The tightness of your chest sending a shockwave of pain up and down your spine and between your shoulder blades. You needed this to stop. "Can't. Breathe." Fishing into your pocket you pulled the only friend that you'd been ever able to keep through all the moves. 

Prying out the blade as you had done hundreds of times before... pushing up your sleeve. The cold steel bit your flesh. You felt yourself tumbling back into your body... air rushing back into your lungs as you let the steel dance across you skin a couple more times. Never too deep... you didn't want to die... at least not right now. You just needed to.... control? 

That's what it was... You needed to control the pain you were feeling and fuck you needed to breathe. You needed the release that came with it... watching in satisfaction as the little cuts grinned their red little mouths at you. Lost in the seduction of the little droplets, you didn't even hear him. At least not until he made it obvious, he was there. 

"Fuck. Stupid. Stupid. SO FUCKING stupid!" you chastised yourself. You'd been caught. "Please... just go away" you thought. There was a dark heaviness in his eyes as he captured your gaze. He looked uncomfortable and surprised... but also worried? Could he be worried about you? Why would he? He didn't know you. He didn't know what a fuck up you were. He didn't know why he found you sitting in the middle of the woods, slicing your way to freedom. 

 "I'm sorry if I scared you..."                                     ______________________________________________

You didn't know how long you two had been sitting here. Your chest and head were definitely a lot lighter. His presence and his pot had helped with that. He didn't know you but here he was offering his ears and his own experiences. He made you feel like you weren't completely alone in this world. If a hug could be a person...

Your ass had gone numb, but you didn't really want to move. You didn't want to go home. You hadn't been this comfortable in... well you couldn't even remember. Holy shit. You didn't even know his name... you sat here pouring your whole ass heart and soul out to this doe eyed man and you didn't even think to ask his name.

 His eyes... they absolutely were what had made you feel most comfortable in the first place. Some people's kind hearts truly show through their eyes – and for him... his eyes were a goddamn lighthouse beacon. 

When he had first shown up in the clearing you were of course terrified but between his awkward mannerisms and his apparent efforts to try and be there for you... a complete stranger. You were comfortable. Comfortable but absolutely terrified. You didn't want to get close to someone again. You were so tired of being the new kid... never able to solidify friendships. 

 "I am so sorry... I just realized we've talked about our deep traumas, and I don't even know your name." you forced an awkward smile at the wild haired young man who sat toe to toe with you in the dirt

He laughed then, and your brain could have melted right then. His voice was a goddamn angel choir to your ears. 

How could one person be such the epitome of warmth? 

"You know, you're absolutely right my woodland princess!" he held his hand out to you, the very same hand that moments before had wiped your tears away. "I'm Eddie! Eddie Munson. The town freak!" he said with a smile that crinkled the lines around his eyes and brought out a dimple in his cheek

"Ronnie. Ronnie Lewis." you smiled back at him, taking his hand, trying not to focus too hard on just how hot it felt in yours... even more so obvious due to the cold ornate steel that decorated his fingers. 

You didn't think it possible, but his grin grew even larger hearing your name. "Ronnie? Like as in DIO? Ronnie JAMES DIO?" he was practically bouncing in the dirt. 

The sheer sight of him so excited made you giggle "Well, I mean it's actually short for Veronica, but I've always gone by Ronnie. Yeah. I never liked my name." you admitted. 

Eddie jumped to his feet and did a small lap around the clearing, fist pumping excitedly, wild hair bouncing with his every movement "SHIT YES!!!! You have the best name!! You should LOVE it!! Ronnie is a GREAT name! Veronica too, it's beautiful but RONNIE? Ronnie takes the cake man! Infact..." he practically dropped back into the dirt in front of you "We're friends now... and I'm going to call you Dio! You don't get a say in the matter." he declared, grinning

There was that dimple again. You couldn't help but grin back. You'd never been given a nickname before. At least not one you'd wear with pride. 

 "What does that make you to me?" you asked with a smile "If I get a nickname, shouldn't you have one too?" 

"That's entirely up to you sweetheart!" he beamed. 

 "Oh god." you thought to yourself, feeling heat creep rapidly into your face, grateful for the dark that had settled around you two. 

"I'll have to think on it then." you said smiling back at him

The temperature had dropped pretty significantly since when you first had come out into the woods. You were starting to shiver slightly, and goosebumps had taken residence on your chilled skin. He must have noticed because he was suddenly standing beside you, draping his leather jacket across your shoulders. 

You looked up at him with wide eyes, absolutely surprised by the gesture and were met with another one of his dazzling smiles, but this one was so much softer than the others had been. This one ... softened every feature of his face. His beautiful face. You smiled back as you rose yourself up off the ground, standing now shoulder to shoulder.

"I guess we should head back." he said softly, kicking at the dirt, arms crossed over his chest

 "Yeah..." you replied quietly "Probably should. He should be passed out by now."

You didn't really want to go home, but you also knew you needed to sleep. 6 am came so dammed early. 

"Hey so... I didn't really want to say anything but..." he paused; anxiety etched across every inch of his body "If you ever need a place to run... just come knock on my door, okay? I know you don't know me that well yet but... I promise, I won't ever hurt you. Also... I saw you were walking home today... do you need a ride to school and back?"

"I don't want to be a burden." you shrugged and huffed, gripping his jacket tightly around you, trying to hide your face slightly inside it... knowing you were glowing with embarrassment again.

"Don't ever think that way, okay? Not with me. I promise. You're my Dio now!" he grinned awkwardly, giving your hip a gentle bump with his 

All you could do was smile back, completely taken aback. How could he be such a kind person. After everything he had told you about himself, everything he had been through... and he didn't even know you, not really. If he knew what you had done... would he still be looking at you with such kindness? You were a fucking monster. At least that's what dad always told you.                                  _______________________________________________

You regretfully unwrapped yourself from the comforting cocoon of his leather jacket and held it out to him. You two were standing on the edge of the forest now, both of your homes within sight. Your eyes kept flickering between him, his home, and the dark of windows of yours.

"It looks like he's asleep. Thank goodness." you said softly, mostly to yourself.

"Remember what I said ok?" Eddie smiled again "And I'll see you in the morning?" His smile was quickly going to become one of your favorite things... you just knew it. 

"Fuck." You were in trouble. So so so much trouble. But this time, you allowed yourself to like it.

 You nodded and returned his smile. You could feel the tension raising in your body again, but you didn't want him to know you were anxious. 

"I'll see you in the morning sunshine." You felt embarrassment mingling with the anxiety now. Your mouth had been faster than your brain and you quickly half jogged to your door.

 Standing on the little wooden porch watching as he did the same on his. You gave him a little wave before reaching back to grasp your doorknob. Holding your breath as you slipped into the darkness. You stood still as a statue and listened after pulling the door shut behind you – turning the knob ever so carefully as to try and make as little noise as possible.

All was quiet minus the loud sawing snores of your father. He was passed out in his recliner. You were safe. You knew he'd sleep until well past time when you would be gone in the morning.

Still, you were incredibly careful as you tiptoed to your bedroom and locked the door tight. You let out a breath you held automatically in these moments. Every muscle in your body relaxing as much as your anxiety would allow. 

Crossing your room, shedding the clothes from your lower half as you went too tired to worry about pajamas. Exhaustion hit you like a brick. You sighed heavily, allowing yourself to smile as your thoughts returned back to Eddie and how he had pulled you from a very dark place. Being around him was so easy. You couldn't wait until the morning. For the first time, in a very long time, you were excited to wake up early.

Next Chapter - Chapter 6

[moxfirefly]

Okay okay okay I have something. You are so good at writing tmnt so here it goes. What about... Make up sex? ;) I imagine how there has been a huge fight with their girl. So much so that the turtles thought it would lead to breakup. But the SO returns and it ultimately leads to some angsty action. Of course you can imagine it however you want too! Make up your own reasons if need be!!

As somebody who breathes angst this is truly fun. You didn’t specify a turt lad so I hope you don’t mind me choosing and going from there. Just cause I’m intrigued ima go with my orange boi.

TW: Angst/Feels/Arguments

Rated Explicit (18+ only)

His hands hurt so much. When you ball your fists for too long the tendons tend to protest, the digging of nails into palms stings.

Mikey doesn’t like how loud his head feels right now. He sits against the wall closest to his tv, your scent is surrounding him and it only serves to make him more frustrated and gutted. The two of you have never gone past discussion into full blow arguing. He doesn’t like to fight with you, he does enough fighting on a nightly bases anyways.

But you got stubborn and he got selfish. Voices got raised, things were said and each one got hurt. He knows he can’t keep you glued to his shell forever, he’s had to learn the hard way, that there’s a life above that you inhabit and people around he’ll never truly meet. He knows every detail about your home life, knows your mother’s maiden name, how your aunt likes to get drunk at the family reunions and spill gossip. He knows your childhood home’s street name, the first guy you kissed, the first girl you kissed. Every aspect of your life you have told him in confidence, in laughter, in tears.

But Mikey is never gonna be part of it. He can’t really meet your dad and have that ‘if you break her heart I’ll break your legs’ talk. He won’t bond with your mom over their mutual love of cooking and secretly become her confidant. Knowing all these people but never truly knowing them is something he accepts.

It’s you leaving for three months back home. Three months away from him, three months where you’ll be surrounded by nostalgia you miss and love. Where your family will ask about ‘any boyfriends?’ and you’ll have to fake laugh your way through it. Three months of you being amongst people you constantly miss.

Surrounded by normalcy.

And Mikey wanted to be happy for you, he wanted to say fuck it and face time you every morning and night, watch you be happy to be in your hometown and maybe even get a virtual tour of it...

But that little dark part in his brain calls him a freak and reminds him constantly that you’ll get tired of surrounding yourself in craziness, monsters, end of the world scenarios etc. It just can’t seem to allow him to be happy for you. So the entire thing had ended in a fight, where dumb regretful things had been spat and you had marched off pissed and he had remained here equally pissed.

His brothers think he doesn’t get mad, they think he holds himself together through sheer ignorant bliss but it’s never been the case. Cause you’ve seen fire in his pretty blue eyes, you’ve seen those same very pretty blue eyes turn red with tear, you’ve seen so much of what he hides behind his laughter.

And fuck, three months of you away?!

Mikey pushes his knees up against his chest and sighs. His phone hasn’t made a noise despite his efforts to try and call you after he has calmed down. He debated going to your house and apologizing or at least going for a more calmer approach in expressing why this had left him so triggered. He wants to make sure this hasn’t pushed you both to your end, another nagging little thought that hasn’t quite shut its mouth.

Had this been the end? Had you walked out in a fury of frustration and decided this is it? Would you seize all communication and just erase the memories of him and your time together?

He’s hurting himself, he’s also getting angrier. This is stupid, he’s been stupid and immature and so are you for walking off!

It’s two hours before he decides to get up and toss his phone and try to consume his surrounding in order to relax. Mind over matter and all it’s wonderful bullshit. He doesn’t want to leave his room cause he knows the others must’ve heard.

He’s four hours deep into a shooting game when Raph pokes his head in with some food. He doesn’t look up, cause he knows Raph wants to be a good big brother and talk to him but he doesn’t want to when he’s one unfortunate mishandling away from crying. He lets him sit with him, watch him play and run a little bit of commentary that actually makes him smile just a teeny bit.

Even when Raph gets up and runs a large mitt over his head and tells him ‘broads are just emotional, she’ll come around’ he tries his best to not let his eyes betray him. Even when Raph gives the top of his head a kiss and pats his shell, he tries his best to keep it together.

It’s around 4am when he decides to look for his phone, chucked somewhere near his bed and maybe not broken. He finds it under his bed, screen a little cracked and one text message reading ‘r u awake?’ By you, it was sent twenty minutes ago and somewhere between debating calling or texting he hears the curtain in his room move.

You’re there.

Face two parts unreadable and a good topping of frustrated. Your face is bare, a mixture of sleepwear and winter clothing that clearly shows you had tried to sleep it off but couldn’t. “I just saw this... sorry” Mikey wonders if that sorry is related to the unread text or more so this mess. You look away, the energy around you can be felt. That upset way you bite the inside of your lip, how you cross your arms and run through every possible way of starting your side of things to say.

“Why are you really mad about me going back home?” You can’t meet his gaze and Mikey is thankful because he feels an oncoming headache. “I dunno man...” He sets his phone on his makeshift night table and runs his hands through his face, mask being taken off with the motion.

“That’s not an answer, you’re mad about something and I want to know” This time you do look and Mikey’s playing with the shoe string on one of the sneakers that hangs from the bunk bed. He chooses to stay quiet because if he does say something, what are the chances that you’ll understand?

“Mike, talk to me” He huffs a bitter laugh, ‘Mike’ is the he’s in trouble name. But he feels more obstinate than ever because why talk?

He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks down at his feet. “I didn’t come back in the freezing cold to actually work through this if you aren’t going to throw me a bone at least-” Your tone is a mix of exasperation and sadness. “You go back and you forget about me” Mikey cuts through.

You furrow your brows at his statement. “What?” You take a few steps but he side steps you and that somehow cuts you. “You go back home and you realize it’s better to be in a normal environment that isn’t New York, in the sewers, with me-“ He motions to all of him. “And all the crazy shit we do” He glares, not necessarily at you but more so at all of this, the current state of affairs.

Running a frustrated hand through your hair you try to settle your thoughts. “You can’t jump to a conclusion like that and you know it, I’m not skulking off back home and ghosting you! And frankly it fucking hurts you think of me like that” You reach for him because Mikey can’t be still for five seconds if his life depended on it, but he grabs your hands and refuses to let you lull him with your touch. “It’s not a conclusion it’s a friggin possibility! Do you see us actually being endgame in all this shit!” He grips your wrists, you want to get through to him but he’s lost in that terrible negative mindset.

“We both aren’t mind readers! But trust me that leaving you is nowhere on my list of achievements” You manage out of his grip and grasp his face. “You are being unfair and stubborn as fuck but I love you okay?” Your voice sounds almost angry, angry at the very idea of living in a world where you and him don’t coexist together.

“I can’t even marry you! I can’t even knock you up!” Another bitter laugh escapes him, he knows your parents would die for some grandkids. Why is he so different, why does he have to be so fucking different he wonders bitterly.

“I don’t care, I don’t fucking care about a piece of paper or screaming babies, I care about you and I want you and I’m fucking happy with you stop sabotaging it” You press your hands to his hard plastron and scowl. “Stop lying to me then! Don’t pity lie at me when I know you want all that shit” He frowns, eyes watery and not caring if he wakes everybody up in the Lair.

Mikey’s ready for the rant of a life time but then you have to go and kiss him.

Kiss him hard, kiss him with rage bubbling on the skin of your lips. He can taste your words, taste every way you would’ve shut down his words with basic truth and facts. You pull away, forehead still pressed to his and you mutter against his lips. “You’re so fucking insufferable, shut up and listen to me” Your eyes are watery as is, hands at his neck to keep him at eye level.

“I love you, I love you so fucking much” You take a shuttering inhale, fingers skimming up towards his cheeks. Mikey can only watch you, take in every detail he’s been obsessed with for so long. You’re so beautiful to him, even when your angry crying, yelling at him to open his eyes. You’re warm and real in front of him, against his body. You watch his eyes go from that calm before the storm into the aftermath.

He’s so real to you, so lovely and he doesn’t seem to understand it.

There’s a pause. A mere ten second reprieve where only silence and breathing remain. Mikey feels your hands slowly slide down his body, nails scratching his sides. You keep your eyes on him, a hand slides into his shorts, index finger mapping out the slit that encompasses his most intimate part. Mikey shudders, sensitivity racking his body at your touch. He walks you up against a wall, a hand on your neck and another finding it’s way into your own pants.

He teases you, just as you tease him. Knees buckle when he pushes your lips apart and feels your moistening folds. There’s already a bump where your touching him and the way he’s tensing gives way to how he’s trying to hold himself in. “Come on, come on” You weren’t aware just how hard you’ve been breathing till you speak. Mikey’s mouths falls open, eyes closing as he drops down into your warm awaiting hand. You stroke him, teasing the flesh of his head just to make him buck and recapture your lips. His own finger finds its way in you, stretching and making your breath hitch.

The only reason you both pull away is to tear at one another’s clothes, an easy accomplishment when Mikey’s got just his shorts. He isn’t soft with your clothing either, yanking and nearly tearing, his on his knees pulling off your underwear. Your scent hits him and he’s gone, trapped in all that is you. He inhales sharply as he gets back on his feet, arms hooking under your thighs as he picks you up.

You both land on the bed, a huff escaping you and a grunt when Mikey feels you push him so you can straddle him. You don’t quite finesse this, it’s not your usual seductive ways that leave him a mess. It’s rough, there’s still frustration lingering in the air and Mikey’s okay with it because he knows he might go to rough if he runs the show.

So you do.

Sinking down on his hard cock with a long guttural moan. Mikey digs his fingers onto the plush skin of your bottom, just enough to make you sit on his cock and relish it. Eyes closed he just basks, the tightness, the wetness, the warmth. His eyes flutter open when he feels your palms on his plastron, firm and with purpose. His hands know already, they go up and rest on your waist and he swallows a churr when your hips begin to move fast and hard.

That rhythmic slapping of flesh, your rear hitting his lap on each thrust down. Mikey can’t stop churring, eyes on your own or slipping down to your beautiful breasts bouncing. You notice and lean forward, he buries his face between him, arm going around your waist as he lifts his hips to help you cross that line. The sweat of your skin is on the top of his tongue as he sucks a bruise onto your breast, you’re tightening up so much, cussing and begging for him.

You both can’t stop moaning, once you’re cummin and Mikey follows closely behind. He holds you close to him as you ride out the sensations, tightly secured against his strong body, held and loved. You’re a broken record of ‘I love you’s and so is he, filling you up and up.

Collapsed on top of him, chest heaving, you still feel the strength in his arms as he hugs you to him. You bury your face on his neck, body shaking with sobs as he whispers he’s sorry over and over as he kisses your shoulder, neck and head.

You say it too, against his skin.

Where you wish you could stay everyday.

[djarinbarnes]

me olvidarás - six

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Pairings: Javier Peña x female reader

Warnings for the chapter: 18+ smut, fingering, oral sex (f rec), unprotected vaginal sex (be safe pls), soft javi 🥺

Word count: 5.4k

Summary: an undeniable warm summer vacation in Bogotá. simply trying to get away from your nosey, boring parents and live for once, you meet a man who impresses you beyond where your imagination could ever take you.

a/n: we have a cute, flustered Javi trying to cook.... and.... more ;D finally. peep the *flashback*

previous chapter · series masterlist

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Who the fuck knew cooking was so difficult? Javi cursed audibly at the chicken simmering away in the pan, yellow from the ridiculous amount of curry he had accidentally dropped in there. “You still with me?” He heard Connie’s calming voice on the other end of the line, and he nodded. “Javier?”

“Fuck, yeah I’m still here.” People can’t see you nodding through the phone, you imbecile. He cursed again, hearing a soft laugh on the other end of the line. “Sorry Con. I’m just nervous and all. Why the fuck is cooking so damn hard?” He cast a look to the counter beside him, taking in all the different ingredients Connie had made him buy to make chicken enchiladas.

“Javi, calm down. Cooking is only hard because you have little to no knowledge about it.” he sighs into the phone, running a hand over his face before he reaches out for the cigarette pack on the table, placing one between his lips before he lights it, inhaling the smoke deeply. He lets out a cough, remembering the few cigarettes he smoked yesterday, which wasn’t like him at all.

In the few days he’s known you, he’s been so distracted he barely smoked any cigarettes. His cigarettes were his usual distraction, but now, with you in his life, he found a better, more healthy distraction. As if having a semi all damn day was any healthier. He lets out a groan at the memories from last night flowing through his mind, his toes tingling slightly at the thought of you, half-naked in front of him, chest heaving and-

“Javi, how’s the chicken looking?” Connie’s voice pierces through his thoughts and he turns so quickly he gets dizzy, taking in the yellowed chicken on the pan. He quickly finds a tong, turning the chicken around in the grease, sighing deeply at the dark brown backs of the breasts, laying right there in the grease, mocking him.

“Slightly… overcooked maybe. The backs are all brown-ish dark.” He breathes, feeling defeated. The only thing he wanted to do was give you a nice, homemade dinner, but that he couldn’t even muster. Maybe he just couldn’t do anything right for you.

“Oh, that’s alright. As long as it’s not completely charred, it should be okay.” Javi hears the relief in her voice as she lets out a laugh, probably reacting to something Steve said in the background. “So, a date, huh?” She tries and Javi rolls his eyes, bringing the cigarette back to his lips before he turns over the chicken again, seeing the other side way nicer cooked than the other.

“Yeah. A date.” he sighs before taking the pan off the heat, moving it to one of the other flares. “Chicken’s done. What now?” He breathes into the phone, listening and following along to every little thing Connie says to him through the phone, guiding him through the whole ordeal of cutting the chicken and the vegetables, making sure to switch cutting boards (even though the chicken wasn’t raw anymore) and finally getting the enchiladas assembled. When they were finally in the oven, he let out a deep sigh. Something is finally going right.

“Thanks Connie. I owe you, I really do.” He looks up at the clock, noticing the time before he’s scrambling around the kitchen putting the phone down quickly, putting all the used pans and cutting boards into the sink before setting the table with hurried motions. He lifts the phone again just as he pulls off his shirt, slightly out of breath.

“Listen Connie, it’s been a pleasure, thank you again but she’ll be here any minute and I haven’t changed-” He mentally curses himself as he hears the doorbell ringing, letting him know you were here. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” he almost panics at the sudden interruption, but Connie manages to calm him down within seconds.

“Javi, it’s gonna be fine. I know she likes you. Change, let her in, have a good time. I’ll see you later.” Before he can say anything else, Connie has hung up the phone, and he’s running around his apartment, finding a clean shirt, and barely pulling it on before he hears the bell ring again, followed by a soft knock.

He straightens out the shirt, before quickly approaching the door, opening it to reveal you and your sun kissed cheeks, a wide smile plastered onto your face. You hold out a bottle of wine, and he finds himself unable to contain himself with all the serotonin surging through his body at the sight of you. He does nothing else than pull you into his arms, his lips connecting with yours hungrily.

Your arms come around his middle, holding him tight as he kisses you deeply, his hands finding the back of your neck and your waist. It feels so good to be in his arms, feels so good to be tasting him and then the delicious smell fills your nostrils. You hear your stomach rumble slightly before he detaches himself from you, holding you out to take a good look at you.

Your eyes are already hooded in bliss, your lips slightly swollen and kissable and your cheeks are red and blushed over. You’re so god damn beautiful as you stand there in his arms, inviting him into your embrace. You offer him a smile as he keeps looking at you, like you were the one who hung the moon and the stars.

“For you,” you whisper as you move your hand from his back, showing him the wine, you picked up on the way here. He smiles at your gesture - it makes his fingers and his heart tingle. If only you weren’t so fucking perfect. “For us.” you blush slightly before he steps aside, letting you into his apartment.

You love the way his living room is lowered from the entrance and the kitchen, and while you’re discarding your jacket, you wonder what he’s cooked for you. It smells amazing, and you feel the hunger creep up into you. You look around his apartment once more, taking in the sparse collection of pictures in frames hung on the walls, among other things.

One in particular catch your eyes, and you find yourself smiling. You can easily make out Javi, and his dad which he looks very much like. They both sported the same type of beard, they had the same warm, brown eyes, hell, even their grins looked so much alike. You feel him come up behind you, his hand swiping your hair off one side of your shoulder before he leans down, placing a kiss against your neck.

“I hope you’re hungry.” Javi whispers and you nod with a soft giggle, turning away from the picture and following him into the kitchen, watching as he uncorks the wine. He finds two glasses in one of the cabinets and pours you both a glass. “I know we aren’t eating yet, but…” he holds the glass out, and you carefully clink yours against his. “Cheers. Thank you for coming, hermosa.”

You watch him over the rim of your glass as you take a small sip, truly enjoying the deep, rich taste of the wine you had bought. You take a minute to admire him in front of you, his hair mussed and tousled up from the constant running through it his hands were doing. You giggle a bit at it – it was cute to see him so nervous and flustered. You wondered what thoughts went through his mind – his cheeks were occasionally flaring up in blushes, his eyes diverting from yours to anywhere else in the room.

It was cute, really, like he was a young boy again, trying to impress his prom date, and it made you smile even more. You don’t miss the way his hand clenches at his side, almost like it wanted to reach out and touch you, but you were poison ivy that would burn him if he dared to. You silently wish for him to touch you again.

Your prayers are answered when you watch him as he moves towards you, setting both of your glasses on the counter beside you before he’s lifting you onto it by your hips, pushing himself in between your thighs. He reattaches his lips to yours hungrily, and you can do nothing but give in.

His lips are like a drug to you, and you’re dangerously addicted to the taste of him. You don’t even know where the sudden urge to ravish him comes from - okay, yes you do but… That wasn’t the case right now. The whole thing feels so domestic, so good and natural, and you’re slowly losing yourself in the heat of the moment.

You almost let out a cry for more as he pulls away from you, but he quickly grabs an oven mitt, pulling the enchiladas out of the oven, placing it on the stove before he’s back in between your legs, his lips finding yours yet again. You moan at the feeling of his mustache caressing your lip, and he takes your parted lips as an invitation to push his tongue into your mouth.

You feel yourself grow wet between your legs as he holds you, his tongue exploring yours as you wrap your fingers in his locks, urging him closer. You feel his growing erection through his pants, and you smile against his lips. Before you can get too much into it though, you’re pulling him away by the hairs at the nape of his neck, causing him to let out a groan.

“Now, now Javi… It would be rude of us to completely forget the dinner you’ve made for us.” You grin like a Cheshire cat, before pushing yourself off the counter, grabbing the dish from the stove and putting it on the table. Then you take both your glasses, placing both in front of your respective plates. You bring the bottle over as well, just in case.

“You’re gonna drive me insane, hermosa.” He breathes as you both sit down, and you give him a wink over the table. Javi looks at the table he’s set - muttering out a fuck before he rises, picking his lighter from the counter and lighting the candles he’s put on the table for you. Well… He tried to be romantic.

Your wide smile doesn’t go unnoticed, though, and Javi feels his heart going a thousand miles an hour just looking at you. He knows just what you want. He knows what he wants as well, and he’s given you a promise after all. He knows he’s giving into you tonight. Knows that tonight is going to be the night where you lose your virginity to him.

It feels surreal to have you in his home, happily shoving small forkfuls of chicken and corn tortilla into your mouth, making small noises of happiness as you swallow. His heart almost bursts when you compliment his cooking, which wasn’t as bad as he’d told you it would be. He smiles at that, and thanks you.

He’s so god damn enamored with you, and he doesn’t even know what he would do without you at this point. It finally feels like he has a purpose, someone to come home to. Before, his apartment was just four walls and a roof. The liveliness and warmth you just brought into his apartment… It stirred something inside of him.

Something that had to do with marriage, children, growing old together. In all his 39 long years, he never wanted to have children. And yet with you in front of him, he sees the future he’s sure everyone else sees when they meet their soulmate. When they meet the person, they want to spend the rest of their days with.

In that moment, he wants to see you in nothing more than a baby bump. He longs to hear the soft pattering of tiny feet against the floor, hell, he doesn’t even dread the sound of cries from the mouth of children, which he’s always despised.  

It sounds rushed, and to be honest, maybe it is. But he sees himself spending the rest of his days with you. Coming home to each other after long, tiring days, laughing over dinner, and simply enjoying each other’s company to the fullest. He forgets to eat while he looks at you, his mind somewhere completely different.

“Javi?” your voice is soft as it breaks his trance, and he finds your eyes, a slight worrisome expression painted on your face. “Are you okay? You haven’t touched your food.” His eyes fall to the enchilada on his plate, and he quickly shoves the fork into it, cutting off a piece and pushing it into his mouth.

“Yeah, sorry…” he says after the first bite. “I was just… thinking.” he breathes as he takes another bite, followed by another. You watch him as he fills his mouth again and again, almost like he’s trying to get through dinner quickly. Or trying to keep himself occupied.

You discretely extend your foot, finding his leg under the table, drawing his gaze back to your face. “Is everything okay?” You ask him and he does nothing else but nod at your question. “You don’t seem okay.” you tell him before you down the rest of your wine, grabbing the bottle and pouring yourself another glass.

He snorts a bit, and you raise your eyebrow at him, not fully understanding the way he’s acting at the moment. You keep your foot moving up and down his leg, trying to do… anything, really, to get him to open his mind to you. He mutters something under his breath, and you tilt your head with a sorry?

Before you can say more, he’s running his fingers through his hair, sighing deeply. “God damn it, hermosa.” He breathes before he stands up, rubbing the back of his neck. You have no idea what’s happening. You have no idea why he’s acting like this. “I can’t do this.” he breathes before he’s picking a cigarette out of the packet, pushing it in between his lips before lighting it.

You feel taken aback by his revelation. Can’t do what? you hesitate, but then you slowly rise from your seat, walking up behind him and laying a hand on his shoulder. “Can’t do what?” You’re almost sure he’s going to push you away, tell you to leave or something like that. You watch as he runs a hand over his face before he turns to you.

“Hermosa…” he breathes, almost choking on the words coming out next. “I can’t help myself around you.” He murmurs, and you’re not sure you hear him correctly. “Jesus…” He takes a deep inhale of the cigarette smoke before he’s exhaling, his eyes finding yours at the same time he grasps your hands in his.

“All I can think about is… everything that could go wrong when I look at you.” You feel your heart pound faster in your chest, and it feels like it’s going to jump out of your mouth if you dare open it. “I see a future with you, and I just know myself well enough to know that I’m going to fuck this up one way or another.” you both swallow past a thick lump in your throats, from the unconventional situation you found yourself in. “I know it’s crazy, trust me, I know it’s fast…”

You feel a breath getting stuck in your lungs at what you think he’s about to say to you. You have no idea what to say if he does - well, you do. But you’re awfully scared he isn’t going to say what you want him to say. Your heart is beating erratically, and you fear you might be passing out.

I love you. It’s all he wants to say, but yet he doesn’t say the words.

“You mean so much to me.” He breathes, and he almost cheers, like he can’t believe his own mind for not betraying him right at that moment. You blink a few times, truly delighted that he hadn’t slipped the three words that every person either dreaded or loved. “I know it’s soon, I’m so-” He’s stopped in his tracks by your lips attaching themselves to his, and he finds his hands gripping your hips, pulling you close to him.

“It’s alright.” you breathe against his lips, not sure why. “I like you, Javi. I really do.” You know you feel deep emotions for him, unexplainable emotions, but you had no idea if it was love yet. You had no idea what it felt to love someone. Maybe it was what you were feeling right at this moment - nervousness and euphoria from just being around him.

It was kind of funny - you’d just met the man, and you realized then, you were helplessly in love with him. You didn’t want to be apart from him for more than a few minutes, and even though you had to, you hated every minute alone. You feel his hands drag up the length of your spine, pulling you into his body before he’s kissing you again. You knew he must’ve been taken aback with your reciprocation of his feelings, but you didn’t care. You knew how you felt about him, and you were gonna let him know.

Your hands find their way through his hair, pulling him close as his hands travel down to the globes of your ass, lifting you by your hips to walk you through his apartment and into his bedroom. The rest of the dinner wasn’t going to run away. You giggle as you both fall onto his bed, with him on top of you, his lips kissing yours intensely.

“Mm, Javi, the candles.” You giggle against his lips and he curses a bit when he picks himself off you, quickly running out to the table to blow them out before he’s pouncing on you like a hungry animal. His mouth slants over yours, the weight of his body resting heavily on top of you. His hips are warm in between your legs, and you’re loving the feeling of him in between them. His hands come down to ease your dress over your hips, letting it pool on your stomach and around your hips.

Your breathing is languid, deep puffs of breath spilling from your lips at the breathlessness from the intense kiss you’d just shared, and what you hoped would happen in continuation of that. His fingers are gentle against the skin of your hips as he slowly plays with the band of your panties, silently begging for the material to disappear.

You push him off you, climbing off the bed before you turn to him, watching his face as it changes from disappointed to surprise, the hem of your dress falling back to rest over your knees. Your hands find their way to your back, slowly pulling the zipper down before you pull your arms out of the sleeves, collecting the material in your hands before you let it drop to the floor around your feet.

You watch as he visibly sucks in a breath at your attire, the beautiful navy lace adorning your breasts and hips speaking to him in the most sensual language. You slowly take a step back to the bed, leaning down to press another kiss against his lips when he pulls you back to your initial position, rapidly getting back on his knees in between your spread legs. 

“Dios mío…” he breathes, and you tug your lip in between your teeth before you giggle. “This all for me?” he says lowly, the arousal coursing through his veins, thickening the sound of his voice. You nod, desperate for him to put his hands, his mouth… anything on you.

His fingers slowly find both your calves, coarse fingertips running over the smoothness of your skin all the way up to the bend of your knee. He lifts one of your legs, bringing his lips to your skin before peppering sweet kisses onto your calf, the inside of your knee and down the inside of your thigh as he repositions himself, making you shudder.

You watch as he leans down, his lips finding the soft, delicate skin of your stomach, littering kisses along your hip bones on top of the lace. You whimper when he slowly hooks his fingers into both sides of your panties, slowly dragging them down your hips, baring your most private area to him yet again. You silently wish you meet whatever standards he has.

You whimper as you feel him slide further down on the bed, burying his head in between your legs for the second time within 24 hours. He swiftly connects his mouth to your pussy, his tongue darting out to swiftly press against your clit before he’s licking a broad stripe up the length of your pussy, drawing a deep moan from your lips.

You’re instantly thrown back to what happened yesterday in the office, and you’re secretly wishing for him to exactly what he did yesterday, and possibly even more. His tongue is like heaven as it works against you, the thick muscle swiftly pushing inside of you, before the space it leaves is filled with the thickness of two of his fingers.

You whimper out as you feel the slight expansion inside you, along with a hand tightening on your hip. You know he’s loving the taste of you; from the way he’s letting out groans at every exhale of breaths. Your fingers find their way into his hair, tugging on the chocolate strands to get him closer to you.

You have no idea how much of his fingers are buried inside of you, but at this moment you don’t care. You just want to have his dick inside of you. And soon. You know that you’re more than ready for it, after the moment the two of you had shared in the kitchen.

“Javi… Javi please…” you whimper as he curls his fingers, his tongue flicking over your clit expeditiously, drawing you closer and closer to the edge. His fingers and his tongue are intent on making you cum on them, and you feel yourself slowly losing yourself within the pleasure.

“Come on baby, cum for me.” the whisper leaving his lips is low, so low you barely hear it, but the pure vibrations against your clit before he reattaches his lips to the bundle of nerves, sucking the nub deftly into his mouth has you coming at an instant.

You whine as his fingers continue their expert assault on your inner walls, curling them skillfully inside of you, drawing your orgasm longer and longer. You tighten your fingers in his hair, pulling on the strands as you feel the over sensitiveness overcoming you, making every touch of his tickle.

He feels you jerk against him at his actions and swiftly comes to a stop, sitting back on his knees to take in your disheveled state. Your cheeks are flushed over, your eyes blown wide with lust and your mouth hanging open slightly. Your fingers have found their way to your breasts, your palms resting gently against the soft curve of them.

He has no words. He’s never seen something so ethereal in his life - and he’d seen a lot. He found himself swallowing past a lump in his throat as he slowly undoes his pants, getting off the bed to push them down his legs. His boxer briefs follow shortly after, and he watches as you suck in a breath, watching him undress in front of you.

“Are you sure about this?” He speaks as he climbs back on the bed, yet again kneeling in between your legs. He watches you as you nod, your cheeks growing impossibly redder. The hand that hadn’t been buried within you finds your cheek, softly caressing the apple of it. “Words, hermosa. I want to hear you say it.”

“Yes, Javi, I’m sure about it.” you whisper, lost in the feeling of his fingers against your cheek. You feel as they travel over your lips, down your chin and follow the column of your throat, all the way down to your sternum. Both his hands slide behind you as you arch your back, giving him just enough space to unclasp the bra behind your back, and pulling it off your arms swiftly. “Please.”

As you scoot further back on the bed, your eyes are trained on him as he crawls up the length of the bed, in between your legs before he’s kissing you again, his fingers finding their way back in between your legs, swiping up a good amount of your slick. You moan at the contact, your hands coming up to grasp his upper arms.

“I’m ready, Javi. Make love to me.” you breathe, your chest heaving slightly at the intensity of the situation unfolding. You watch his face as he repositions himself slightly before he’s sliding the warm tip of his cock through your folds. You let out another whimper, anxious about what’s about to happen.

Somehow his hand finds yours and brings it to his mouth, leaving a soft kiss on the back of it to calm you down. Your eyes are locked as he slowly pushed his cock into you, the initial stretch awful, but bearable. You whimper as he sheathes himself further into you, the hand on his cock moving to your hip to draw calming circles against your skin.

Javi is watching your face, contorted in pleasure as he slowly retracts his hips before pushing into you again. You whimper, your hand tightening around his as your eyes scrunch up in pain laced with so much pleasure you feel like you could combust from just this. With the weight of him on top of you and the stretch of him inside you, you feel like you were in heaven.

It felt amazing, and you never wanted to be without the feeling again. You open your eyes slightly, making eye contact with his eyes, his lids hooded over the orbs, shielding them slightly. You lean up, attaching your lips to his, urging him to just… do something other than wait for you to be ready. You were more than ready.

“Tell me if it hurts too much,” he breathes, the arousal evident in his voice, and you know he’s desperately trying to contain himself. You shake your head before you slide yourself down the bed just a little bit when you notice his hips aren’t touching yours yet, wanting him to go deeper. You want him closer. Your mouth falls open as he pushes in ever so slowly, the length of him surprising you as his hips come to rest snugly against yours.

“Oh my god, Javi!” you whimper, the pain completely subsided, turned into sweet, sweet pleasure, as you’re thrown headfirst into an amazing orgasm. You feel your pussy convulsing around him, clenching his length as you dig your nails, still resting on his arm, into his skin. He grunts at the pain you’re causing him, but he doesn’t blame you with what he’s doing to you.

“There’s more where that came from.” and just like that, the Javi that you’d come to know is back. You grin up at him, your body warm and trembling slightly as he pulls you down the length of the bed even further, smiling as you giggle. He feels his heart beating erratically at the sight of you, the sight of your breasts and just… The sight of you laying below him.

He slowly retracts his hips, leaning down to kiss you again, his tongue exploring your mouth as he thrusts into you softly, your pussy feeling every ridge and vein on his cock as he moves slowly. You’re a panting mess by now, whimpering every time his hips come against yours, as his cock touches the deepest parts of you.

You lift your leg to wrap around his hip, your feet resting on his back urging him on as he starts to pick up the pace ever so gently. His lips make their way down your throat, leaving deep kisses around the sensitive flesh there, his mustache tickling your skin lightly, his hips now pressing into you a little harder, with a little bit more force. Your eyes roll back into your skull as somehow your hands connect, his weight pressing the backs of your hands into the mattress, as he intertwines your fingers together.

You moan out at the sinful noise that comes from where you’re connected, the soft squelching sound of his cock embedding itself within your slick pussy making you impossibly wetter. He groans into your neck, unable to keep his restraints - that was just the effect you had on him. He’d finally gotten to give into his desires.

Javi has stopped thrusting, and instead his cock is buried all the way inside you, his hips grind into yours, his pelvis grinding against your clit vigorously, drawing another orgasm from you. Your pussy is tightening around him as your fingers tighten around his, and you come undone, thrown face first right back into a dream you had just before you left for Colombia.

Your vision turns white as you arch your back against him, coming ever so close to his chest, where you can feel his heart thumping against his ribcage. He grunts in your ear as he lets himself go, his cock throbbing inside you as he comes against your clenching walls, goosebumps rising on his skin as he lets your hands go, arms coming around you instead to hold you impossibly closer.

He almost cries out at the pleasure of being so deeply buried within your heat, finally getting a taste of what he’s been craving for the past week. Your pussy is fluttering around him as your rapid, heavy breathing is trying to calm you, from not two, but three orgasms he’s given you within the past 20 minutes.

Your hands come up and bury themselves in his hair, as his lips finally find yours again, both your mouths hanging open as you leave open-mouthed kisses against each other's lips. Javi grunts again as he pulls out of you slowly. He lets himself fall onto the bed beside you, his arms pulling you tightly against his body as he places kisses into your hair and onto the forehead.

You grin up at him, completely sated from what just happened. You let out a giggle at the feel of his lips tracing the length from your forehead, down your nose before he kisses your lips, his hands holding onto you like you were going to disappear if he let go. He never wanted to let go again.

The minutes that follow are spent in silence. It’s a good kind of silence though, and nothing like the awkward silence that sometimes had been in between them. You’re wrapped up in Javi’s arms and his sheets, deeply inhaling the distinct scent of him which you have come to adore. You bury your nose further into his neck, feeling the way he tenses against you slightly.

“…smells so good.” You whisper before he feels you relax against him, your arm laying around his middle and over his arm going slightly slack. He absolutely loves the way your breathing feels against his neck, and he closes his eyes, savoring the moment. He knows you’ve fallen asleep – he can tell from the way your breathing got increasingly deeper.

He turns his head the other way, casting a look out of his window at the stars. He absolutely loves the calmness you’ve brought into his life. Your skin is always so soft against his, yet your thoughts are wild and impulsive, but that’s exactly what he fell in love with. At this point, it feels as if he’s holding the entire universe in his arms.

The few moments of deliberation felt so long and drawn out as they did when he felt his eyes close slightly, his thoughts coming to an end. He hadn’t, in his whole life, been exposed to such weakness. He wasn’t going to complain, though – he was simply going to give himself away to the woman in his arms and the exhaustion creeping up on him.

For once in his life, he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

next chapter

[sunsetcurvecuddles]

“Let me bandage you up,” Tía or Ray and Reggie, just to be different. 😁

hi i loved this so much omg. huge thanks to Ángela @angela-feelstoomuch for the spanish help as well, any remaining mistakes are totally my own fault haha. warning for some swearing and mentions of bl00d/minor injury.

ao3 link in reblogs!

--

Honestly, being an honorary Molina is pretty great most of the time. Reggie loves having a little brother, would have done anything to convince his parents to have another kid when he was younger (and alive), though he knew they never would, since one kid was already such a pain in the ass. So Carlos is amazing.

And obviously Julie is his favourite girl ever, and his favourite still-alive person in the world, and she sings like an angel and thinks his country songs are cool and he would do anything for her and et cetera. It’s nice to see Luke and Alex settle in, get more relaxed - Luke doesn’t shy away from Julie every time Ray enters a room, and Alex doesn’t make excuses to miss dinner so that he doesn’t have to say grace, because he’s realised Ray doesn’t make him say grace.

“Niños!” Ray is calling from the kitchen, oven mitts on his hands, grin on his face, “Help setting the table?”

Even from here, dinner smells amazing. “Coming!” Reggie calls, manages not to say ‘dad’ at the end but it’s close, as he and Carlos bounce up off the couch and run to the kitchen.

Ray is the best. Reggie’s own dad was - look, it’s not that he was awful, it’s not that Reggie hates him, it’s just - he saw these dads, in movies, and on TV, and in other peoples homes, and he wanted one even more than he wanted a puppy, or a little brother, and Ray is that dad. He’s understanding, and encouraging, and funny, and a great cook, and he never raises his voice even when he should be mad about something. Reggie feels so lucky that Julie and Carlos let Reggie share their dad, even unofficially.

“Carlos!” Tía snaps, as he runs past her and ducks under her elbow, narrowly avoiding the tray in her hands, “Cuidado! La bandeja está caliente!”

It’s Tía Victoria who kinda scares Reggie.

It’s not that she’s not nice. Tía is nice. She brings over food and drives Carlos to ball games and pesters Ray about dentists’ appointments he almost forgets to go to. It’s just that she’s a little more like the other adults Reggie knew. She barks her words, sometimes, and she doesn’t get Julie’s music thing quite like Ray does, even if she’s supportive for the most part. And she doesn’t always believe Carlos about things, which Reggie understands more now that he’s been conned by Carlos about several random things (for example, Eggos are not in the house-sized waffle business in 2020 as Carlos told him, and they did not manage to breed dragons into existence with new DNA cloning technology) but still. It makes him nervous.

“Sorry, Tía!” Carlos chirps as he slides on his socks into a crouched position in front of the cupboard where they keep all the plates and bowls. Since Carlos has them handled, Reggie goes for glasses instead, reaching overhead for the cupboard on the opposite side of the room.

“Carlos!” sighs Tía again, more irritated than before, and Reggie feels his shoulders tense even though he wills them not to. “Let me help carry some of those, you’ll drop them, sobrino.”

“Fine,” Carlos huffs, and there’s the clink of plates as he passes half his pile off to her and they head for the dining table.

Reggie counts in his head as he stacks the glasses in the crook of his arm. There’s him and the boys, so four - wait, no, three - plus Julie, so four - then Ray and Carlos and Tía so five six seven -

He’s too caught up counting, is the problem, and doesn’t focus enough on how he has the glasses balanced. It probably would have been fine, except there’s a loud thud! Which Reggie registers a moment too late as being Luke, jumping from the top of the stairs to the bottom, enjoying his alive body. The sound scares Reggie about a foot in the air, and he fumbles the stack of glasses, and almost manages to save it.

The glass from the very top of the pile smashes on the floor, a harsh shatter that makes every head in the room turn in his direction. Reggie feels the panic surge up in him like a forgotten pot on the stove suddenly bubbling over. With trembling hands, he puts the rest of the glasses on the counter and scrambles down to the floor, tries to gather the glass shards together into a pile from where they’ve scattered, desperate to tidy the mess, to give some sense of responsibility, instead of just standing there like a stupid kid. “I’m sorry,” he starts, and his voice shakes more than he’d like, almost more than his hands had, “I’m sorry, I can clean it-”

“Reggie!” interrupts Tía, and her voice seems sharper than the glass.

“Victoria-” Ray begins, but Tía doesn’t let him finish, either. She’s already practically at Reggie’s side, crouching down next to him on the floor.

Her closeness makes Reggie’s hairs stand on end, and he’s not sure what he expects, but it’s not for her to gently lay her fingertips on his wrist and say, in a much softer tone, “Mijo, you’re bleeding.”

“Oh.” Reggie blinks. Looks at his arm, next to where her perfectly manicured nails have landed. She’s right, he sees. There’s a few little gashes, nothing huge, trickling blood in tiny streams down his forearm. In a few more moments, the blood would have reached his hand, and he would have noticed, probably. Except when he turns his palms up to look at them, he realises they’re cut up, too. Probably from grabbing glass shards with no protection.

His lip wobbles before he can stop it. He can still feel everyone looking at him. Knows what they must be thinking.

Stupid fucking kid.

“What are you staring at?” Tía says, back to business as usual. He flinches at her voice, before he realises she’s not talking to him. She’s talking to the others. “Come on! Ray, grab the dustpan and some shoes, clean up this glass before anyone else gets hurt. Carlos, finish setting the table, and Luke, go fetch the others para la comida.” In his peripheral vision, Reggie sees everyone bounce back into action, like her words broke a spell on them, and it’s a relief to know they’re not all looking at him any more. Tía continues, as she tucks an arm around Reggie’s shoulders, “Reggie and I will be back.”

“We will?” Reggie asks automatically, as she helps him balance on his wobbly, baby-giraffe legs.

“En un minuto,” she tells him confidently. “But first, let me bandage you up.”

He’s not exactly going to argue with her. Honestly, any excuse to get out of the public space is appreciated when his eyes still feel so close to swimming with tears. Firm yet warm, she leads him to the bathroom and has him sit on the closed toilet lid while she pulls Ray’s first aid kid from the cabinet, pulling from it some disinfectant, bandages and a pair of tweezers.

“Just in case any glass is left,” she explains briskly, settling on the edge of the bathtub and turning his arm over, palm up, so she can see the scratches. She tuts softly. “Your poor hands!”

Reggie ducks his head, whispers, “I really am sorry.”

“¿Por qué?” she asks. “It was an accident, right?”

“Huh?”

She sits back again and looks him in the eyes for a moment. If it was Ray, or one of the boys, Reggie would shy away from the look, but she has the same skill Julie has, to pin you in place with her gaze, so Reggie assumes it’s from Rose’s side of the family. “I know you didn’t throw that glass on the ground on purpose. It was just an accident. These things happen.”

“You’re not angry?” The question slips out before Reggie can think about how silly it sounds, but instead of rolling her eyes, or her jaw clenching in annoyance, Tía’s expression softens somehow.

“No, mijo. Not at all. Estaba un poco preocupada, maybe, but that’s only because I care about you.”

Reggie doesn’t know what to say to that. Bites his lip as she gently applies disinfectant along the wounds, once she’s declared them sufficiently glass-free, and wills himself not to cry as she wraps the bandages around his arm and a little around the palm of his hand. At least if he cries she’ll just think it’s because of the sting, and not because he braced himself so hard to be yelled at and called names and then it never came.

Not because he keeps remembering that he feels like glass himself. Always a moment away from falling onto the ground and shattering, so teeter-y that the kindness of adults he barely knows can almost knock him over the edge.

“Terminado!” she declares, tying off the last of the bandage, and gives him a big smile. It looks genuine enough. Not like she’s bottling anything up to let out at him later. Not like she’s fronting, or lying, not that Reggie’s ever been particularly good at telling the difference with anyone. She must see the puzzlement in his face, because she adds, “Just an accident.”

It really seems that simple. Like everything’s just fixed and okay. Like she doesn’t think Reggie is stupid. The feeling is sort of overwhelming; Reggie’s stomach feels all warm, and - empty, actually. It grumbles loudly in that moment, and Tía laughs, and Reggie laughs with her.

“Vamos a como?” he tries, because he’s been listening, and trying to pick things up.

“Vamos a comer,” she corrects him, but he can’t mistake her tone this time for anything other than delighted, her expression for anything other than fond and relieved as she helps him up. They go back down the stairs, her loosely holding his hand the whole way, not enough to hurt his wounds, but enough to remind him she’s there.

She presents him to the table with a goofy little ta-da! gesture, much to the joy of those already at the table. “Our Reggie, back in one piece!” she says. Laughter and relief radiates from all the others, and Tía grins, pleased, puts her hands on her waist. In that moment, despite all his preconceptions, she reminds him more of Julie than anyone else.

Maybe she isn’t so scary after all.

[peachpitfics]

Culinary Chaos

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Request: Yes

“ Teaching Spencer how to cook and him being all pouty when it doesn't turn out great so the reader comforts him and makes him feel better🥺”

Summary: Spencer meets your Parents and invites them for dinner at his apartment, knowing full well he can’t cook. Even with your help, he still manages to ruin dinner. Luckily, Dad’s got him covered.

Length: 1.3k

Characters: Spencer Reid, Reader, Reader’s Mother & Father

Content Warnings: Curse words

A/N: Hiiii, this probably wasn’t what you were asking for, but its sweet and it’s what fell out of my brain today... I hope you enjoy it :) xx

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Instant regret filled Spencer’s body as he realized what he’d done. Dating for 6 months, you had introduced your boyfriend to your parents at a family dinner they had invited him to. With your background, your Father had cooked this beautiful meal, enjoyed by everyone, but especially Spencer. There was nothing he loved more than home cooked food. You guessed it was because of how he grew up...

And that’s where Spencer decided to invite your parents for dinner, at his apartment, on Saturday night.

As soon as you left and got into your car, Spencer lost it. He frantically ran his hands through his hair and jittered his leg around. Anxiety not only filled his stomach, but yours too. “Why did I do that?” His voice shook. “Because you’re a nice person, and you wanted to make a good impression” You nodded. “Uh huh, yeah, well” You could tell that the higher his voice got, the more he was panicking, “I don’t even own pots and pans” The dread washed over him as he realized he wasn’t capable of making anything that wasn’t coffee or toast.

You wanted to laugh but didn’t want to further embarrass him. Spencer was quiet from there until you got to his apartment. You tried to converse with him, but all he could do was be in his head and bounce his leg up and down. Spencer led you into his apartment, his pace quicker than normal. Before you knew it, he was tearing his kitchen apart, while you sat and watched on in utter surprise. Spencer didn’t half ass things, he always gave it 100% and more often than not, he was successful.

“You need to stop panicking” You said sternly, finally having had enough of this chaotic Spencer. “What am I going to do?!” He near on shouted, frustrated with himself. You approached him, taking him into your arms and holding onto him as tightly as possible. After a minute, he finally melted. You could feel his energy shift. You rubbed your hand up the length of his back, “I’m going to help you, if you would just calm down” You giggled.

When you parted, he was softer, slower. That frantic energy had dissipated. You helped him put his kitchen wares back in the cupboards and decided what he was going to make for dinner. You were going to keep it simple, with a roast beef and vegetables. Something you knew your parents liked & something you could cook, so you could teach Spence. When you explained the logistics and wrote a shopping list together, he calmed and was much happier.

 ——————- Saturday Afternoon ———————

 The shopping was done, Spencer was prepared, and you had brought a baking dish from your apartment for the roast. He had started on the vegetables, Spencer’s concentration through the roof. You stood behind him, lovingly wrapping your arms around his middle and drawing in his scent from the back of his shirt. You planted small kisses on his back and ran your hands down his sides. But Spencer ignored you, he kept peeling and chopping vegetables. “You’re staring at those carrots as if they’re going to run away” You whispered up to him. “They might if you keep distracting me” He chuckled. More time passed, more time where you were not the center of his attention and it was bugging you. Now he was preparing the meat. He was doing everything exactly how you told him. When you were finally fed up with being ignored, you decided to take your shower and get dressed for dinner. Your parents would be here in about an hour, and Spencer was already ready. He’d been ready for hours, perpetually worrying he was going to mess something up.

You came back to the kitchen, smoke billowing out of the oven into Spencer’s face. “I’ve been gone 45 minutes, all you had to do was let it sit?!” You exclaimed, watching him hurricane right back into chaos. “Babe, what’s going?” You asked, now frantic yourself. “The fucking meat is on fire” Spencer’s voice was high and scratchy, his stress filled the room much like a smoke. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Spencer donned odd oven mitts and pulled the baking dish from the oven, a medium sized fire spread across the whole of the meat, engulfing it. Spencer dropped the baking dish into the sink, throwing a tea towel over the top of, hoping to smother it out. An enormous crack rang out, the baking dish breaking in half over the heat.

You took it upon yourself to open all the windows and waved one of Spence’s jumper around to sweep the smoke out of the apartment. Once it was clearer to see in the kitchen, you went back to check on Spencer. He sat against the counter where the sink was, elbows on his knees and hands over his face. “This... is a disaster” He mumbled sadly. You took a seat next to him, linking your arm around his and kissed him on his arm. “Ah, it’s not so bad” You smiled, “It’ll be a funny story one day”. “Not today, it’s not funny today” He grumbled, “Your parents are going to be here any minute. My apartment is smoky, the charcoal ball in the sink is ruined and there’s nothing in the apartment for dinner” He almost began to laugh, but you were sure that was to keep from crying. Spencer wasn’t always this way in regard to failing; this particular meal was very important to him. He’d never been in contact with a partner’s parents before, so this was special.

You stood, reached your hand down to him. Pulling Spencer up, you reefed him into a bear hug. “Everything will be okay” You squeezed him tight, his chin resting on your head. You knew what your parents were like, they wouldn’t have ever held this against Spencer. The doorbell rang out, just what you needed. The kitchen was a mess, and the smoke hadn’t cleared, you didn’t want Spencer to be embarrassed. But he pulled up his metaphorical socks and answered the door. He shook your Fathers hand and kissed your Mothers cheek as they entered the apartment. You greeted them, watching their faces as they observed the chaos. “What’s happened here?” Your Father asked softly, walking into the kitchen, and lifting the tea towel in the sink. The black ball of burnt meat lay underneath. “Dear me” Y/F/n smiled. “Yeah... I... can’t cook” Spencer confessed. “It’s harder than it looks, isn’t it?” Your Mother hummed. She herself wasn’t a good cook. “That’s an understatement” The corners of Spencer’s mouth were twisted into a smile. “Can I give you some advice?” Y/F/n asked gently, not wanting to put him off trying again.

“Of course, Sir, please” Spencer approached the kitchen, excited to learn. Your mother and you stood in the entryway, watching on. “I assume this caught fire” Your Dad laughed, waving soft smoke out of his face, “Which means, your oven was too high and the fat caught fire. The oven then becomes a furnace and suddenly, bam! You’ve lost your roast” Y/F/n chuckled. “So, next time I should do it on a lower heat for longer?” Spencer asked gingerly. “Oh Absolutely, that way is better anyway, it cooks nicer. I wouldn’t worry too much about this though, I set fire to a few before I got a good one, didn’t I darling?” Y/F/n turned back to your Mother and laughed. She nodded along, chuckling herself. Spencer’s anxiety over the whole situation, disappeared. It was comforting for him knowing that even good cooks, like y/F/n, had catastrophes like this. “So, shall we order a pizza?” Y/M/n suggested. “Pizza this time, but next time, we do a roast. Together, I’ll show you how to get it perfect” Y/F/n draped his arm around Spencer’s shoulder, leading him to the living room to order that pizza.

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Tags: @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto @diegoluna-asian

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged for Spencer Reid fics! ✨

[redhairedfeistynerd]

A Very Bucky Thanksgiving

Bucky Barnes x reader, singledad!Bucky, Riley and Piper Barnes, Steve Rogers

Summary: This is the first year Bucky has invited someone special to join in on their Thanksgiving dinner.Will everything go smoothly?

Warnings: some swearing, some sly sexual conversation, teasing, some humour

Word Count: 3K +

A/N: I originally wrote this piece for Canadian Thanksgiving but here we are!  I hope you enjoy another moment with the Barnes family.

For as long as his girls have been in this world, Bucky has been passionate about baking. He figures this came to fruition when his ex-wife started spending more time out of the house and preferred being away on business trips than building a life with him and their young girls. As their relationship slowly deteriorated, Bucky found solace in pastries, cookies, and breads. Navigating his way through forums and how-to videos online, searching for recipes like he once hunted for his latest mission.

His girls had requested their favourites for this last-minute weekend celebration. Pumpkin pie with maple cream, pumpkin walnut scones, and a new treat he was testing out today, pumpkin spiced doughnuts with maple salted glaze, and for his sweet lady friend; a pecan pie.

Bucky could smell the doughnuts before the time reached zero. The soft smell of cinnamon and sugar wafted through his two-story house, reaching him while he tidied up the bathroom from the girls attack on it early that same morning. Wiping down the counter, he flicked off the light, bounding down the stairs to the kitchen as the last seconds wound down on the timer. Oven mitt on, doughnuts pulled out of the oven (he was trying out a baked version this time) he had about an hour before the girls would burst in the front door after a day of shopping the holiday sales.

The weekend plans had changed at the last minute, his ex (Jackie) had cancelled on the girls again. The girls were to fly up to their mothers' cabin in Whistler, B.C. for a Canadian Thanksgiving but a last-minute job had come up and she chose that over her kids.

Bucky was not impressed by her choice. Riley rolled her eyes at the news and muttered “big surprise” when Bucky relayed the message to his youngest daughter.

Jackie always chose work before their daughters. Her new husband had more importance to her these days.

Her influencer status has skyrocketed after she left Bucky, leaving him high and dry to raise the girls. He didn't see it as an issue though, he loved his girls and if he had to do this on his own, then that's what he would set out to do. His Avengers status pushed away a few years before, he found that he was calling Steve a bit more during those earlier years. Sometimes he needs a break, to sit in a quiet room where Riley wasn't screaming at the top of her lungs, which would have Piper in tears. There was something magical about Uncle Steve though, maybe it was his rich voice, whispering sweet words to Riley to ease the screams to a low whimper. Maybe it was the way he sang the sweet songs of the 40s to stop the tears flowing from Piper's bright blue eyes. Whatever it was that Steve had, Bucky was extremely thankful for.  

One of their first Thanksgivings without Jackie, had both girls sick with the stomach flu. He'd never seen anything as disgusting as what his young girls were dishing out.  

Blood, wounds, and other violent memories had nothing on this. Who knew little people could cause THAT much mess?

Bucky was exhausted. Riley had finally fallen asleep on the couch and Piper was sprawled out in the master bedroom on his bed, resembling a starfish.

With one last swipe of the kitchen counter, Bucky tossed the rag in the laundry basket and released a sigh of completion. Turning on the hood fan, he turned off the track lights and walked towards his daughter who was now snoring lightly on the couch, when a soft knocking came from his front door. Puzzled, he turned away from his sleeping daughter and made his way to the entryway. He opened the door to Steve's smiling face.

"What are you..."

"Nat phoned and gave me the heads up that you were literally drowning in shit."

"Language," grumbled Bucky as he opened the door wider to let Steve in.

Steve chuckled and took a good look at Bucky. "Man, you're looking a little rough around the edges."

"You would too if you were knee deep in dirty laundry and had two goblins that were puking so much, they make that scene in the Exorcist look tame.

Steve scrunched his nose and tried to shake the memory of that scene out of his head. The previous year, Bucky had invited his old team over for a horror movie night while the girls were spending the night with their mom. Steve still hadn't forgiven Bucky for subjecting him to that movie. "Absolutely disgusting."

Bucky grunted and shut the door, Steve following him from the entryway and up the stairs to the kitchen.

"Here, Nat made some soup for you and the girls, if they are feeling up to eating it,” Steve said holding out the package.

“Oh ya, thanks. I’m sure the girls will appreciate their Aunty Nat making her famous soup,” he nods his head in thanks before muttering “hopefully it's not pea soup,” and walks across the kitchen.

Steve watches as Bucky tucks the soup away in the fridge, noticing how stringy his hair has become and when he looks his way, the dark circles are around his eyes. “Hey Buck, why don’t you leave the tidying up to me and you go take a shower, relax a bit.”

Bucky shuts the fridge door and looks at Steve. “Are you sure you want to clean up this cesspool?” He asks as his arms waving to point out the mess around the kitchen.

“Yes, I’m here to help you out, all right?” Bucky nods and pats Steve on the shoulder on his way up to the bathroom.

Steve manages to tidy up the first floor of the house, shift Riley from the couch to her bed, and fold a load of laundry. He’s pouring hot water into a mug when Bucky walks back in, looking like the shower did its job. “You want a cup of tea?” He asks Bucky when he sit down at the kitchen table.

“Please, a cup of something black so I can keep my eyes open for a bit longer. You feel like watching a funny movie? I feel like I need a good laugh after what this week has been like.”  

“Sounds good, how about you go on down and put something on, I’ll bring the tea and some snacks for us,” Steve replies and pours a second mug full of water.  

The men settle in and watch a classic comedy, quiet laughter sailing out of both of their mouths, trying to be quiet while the girls sleep. Steve decides on a second movie and they watch until they fall asleep on the couches.  

Bucky wakes up, his stomach twisting, and the pain, THE PAIN. "You've got to be fucking kidding.” He lurches off the sectional and runs to the bathroom by the laundry room.

Steve wakes from the sounds of his friend slamming the bathroom door, the unmentionable sounds have Steve pulling his pillow over his head. When he moves it away several minutes later, all he hears is silence. Steve gets up from the couch and makes his way to the bathroom, gently knocking on the door. "Bucky? Are you alive in there?"

"Fucking kill me, please,” he begs and Steve hears his best friend heave again.

Steve camps out at the Barnes household during that Thanksgiving weekend. There is no turkey, no pumpkin pie, or a dysfunctional family fight. Everything is quiet as Bucky careens himself in his bedroom while Steve manages the rest of the household. He keeps the girls busy and out of Bucky’s hair for several days; visits to the ice cream shop and to the park near their home, keeps them smiling and giggling while their dad is at home, miserable in bed.

Steve sits back on the park bench and admires the colours changing all around him; the leaves sway from left to right, falling gently down to the ground. Piles of brown and yellow sit before him, raked into tidy piles. He gets and idea, something to cheer Bucky up the last few days of having the stomach flu. He calls the girls over and tells them his plan to make their dad smile. He makes a video of them, jumping in the leaves and throwing them around, their laughter warming his heart. When the girls have finished frolicking in the mounds of colourful leaves, he takes each other their hands in his and begins the walk back to the house. He’ll send the little video to Bucky in the morning when he heads out and back to work.  

Bucky still smiles at the memory of that little video. He can now smile about his treacherous first Thanksgiving as a single dad but he made it up every year that followed; this year, he has to make up for what his ex has left behind. Riley is pressuring him to make her mom's famous stuffing (he laughs at this because this is a recipe that she took from a cookbook he had from his mom) Piper has decided that Bucky is THE WORST because he is going to kill an innocent turkey and all she wants is for him to save one (and yes, he does donate to a local farm that saves turkeys later in the week) and have it live the rest of its life, in their backyard. He notes that she will have a plate of vegetables tonight and he has no idea if that is sufficient enough for a teenage girl who that is 15.  

“Cranberries sauce”

“Check!”

“Water chestnuts.”

“Check!”

“Wait, what the heck are water chestnuts for, Pop?”

Bucky is sitting on the kitchen floor sorting through the pantry and about to answer when he sees you creeping into the kitchen, hiding behind his oldest, about to scare her. Her arms wrap around Piper and she squeezes her tightly expelling a high-pitched squeak.  

He will never get over how beautiful her smile is when her eyes meet his. His heart beats so fast that he’s afraid she will be able to see it pounding in his chest.  

The flowers she is holding scream fall – oranges, yellows, and reds – the cute Chinese lanterns that she adores, wobble back and forth as she walks towards him. She reaches for him with her free hand and pulls him into a tight hug, whispering “you look extra handsome today, soldier.”

“He got his hair trimmed for you,” Riley shouts from the top of the stairs and watches as her father’s face turns as red as the Gerbera's in the bouquet. She snorts as she walks down the stairs at Bucky’s embarrassment and hops down the last few steps to pull y/n into a hug.

“Hi sweetness, I missed your smiling face,” Y/N says into Riley’s strawberry blond curls.

“Missed you too. Are you ready for your first Barnes Annual Canadian Thanksgiving?” Riley asks while rocking on her feet.

Y/N looks at her, “Is it any different from the other Thanksgiving I would be having?

“Well duh, this one if full of maple syrup, poutine, and never-ending skits by Bob and Doug Mackenzie!

Bucky bursts out laughing and poor Y/N is looking between the two of them, lost when it came to the last item. “Okay, okay, Ri, leave the poor woman alone. Here love, let me take those flowers and put them in a vase.” Bucky squeezes her waist gently, taking the colourful bouquet from her hands. She follows him to the cabinet housing the vase and sniffs the air.

“What’s is that smell? It’s so-

“Delicious?” Riley adds as she passes by Y/N and hops up onto a bar stool? “Your taste buds are in for an incredible treat. Dad is the best baker this city has!”

“Pretty sure I’m not hun, but thank you for boosting me up a bit.” Bucky’s cheeks changing in colour, somewhat embarrassed by his daughter's compliment.

“Oh, come on dad, that’s why all the moms are always swooning when you join the bake sales,” Piper chirps in.

“The moms swoon over your dad? I’m pretty sure that has more to do with his-” she’s cut off by Bucky shoving a Snickerdoodle in her mouth. Squinted her eyes at him and waving her finger as if she’s promising to get him back later. He can’t help but smirk and squeeze her side.

“Shhh, my sweet. Don’t be telling my girls how irresistible I am,” he whispers into her ear and kisses it.

Riley makes gagging sounds from behind her dad and Piper’s face turns red from the affection their father is showing Y/N. This is the not the first time they have seen their father with a woman but this specific woman has done something to their father. He’s smiling, he whistles while he bakes, and he’s happy.  

Y/N turns to face Riley, “Oh kid, are we embarrassing you? Making you feel a little queasy inside?” She walks over to Bucky as he arranges the flowers in the vase and loudly kisses his cheek and laughs. “How about that Ri?”

“You’re the worst,” Riley chuckles and grabs the serving spoons to put on the table.  

Bucky pulls Y/N into a hug and kisses her lightly on the lips. He can taste the Snickerdoodle and it makes him wish he could fully indulge but he restrains, knowing that tonight they’ll have time alone once the girls head to their rooms for the night. He brings his lips to her forehead before taking the flowers to the table and placing them in the centre.  

“All right ladies, let’s get this show on the road!”  

“Don’t you mean Barnes’, Assemble!” Piper asks with a smirk on her face. Bucky just shook his head, a big smile across his face.

“Tell me where you want me, Barnes,” Y/N said as she looked at Bucky, his smirk telling her that where he wanted her was not in the kitchen.

“Turkey is in the oven, that weird Tofurky thing is in there too, I need to add the water chestnuts to the beans, the pot of potatoes needs to boil, and in a bit, we can get the rest of the veggies going too. Who’s good with making gravy?”

“I hope you made stuffing for me that isn’t in that bird, dad,” Piper said, giving her dad one of her teenage looks.

Bucky slides a bowl across the counter to his oldest so she can see the stuffing he made; animal free. “It’s vegan sweetie, I hope you like it,” Bucky responds. “I found this recipe online, some popular blog.” He watches as she scoops a bit of the warm food in her mouth, and can’t help but chuckle when a groan of satisfaction spills out.  

Y/N can’t help but take a scoop for herself, a squeal of delight escaping her mouth. “Shit, Barnsey, you’ve been holding back! Where have you been all my life?” She laughs and walks back over to him, wrapping her arms around him and going in for a quick kiss. “Let’s get this show on the road! All pots on boil!” She shouts and turns the last pot on.

The Barnes family and their first-time guest are indulging in their feast within an hour. Nothing but chewing and soft music can be heard at the table. It always amazes Bucky that it takes hours upon hours of work for this one evening and within minutes the food is gone. He’s thankful though; for his girls, for the life he now has, and for you. He wouldn’t change anything. One last scoop of mashed potatoes goes into his mouth and he places his fork down. “So, do you three want dessert now or do you want to digest a bit first?” Riley stands up from her seat and throws her hands in the air. “Roll out the cart of desserts for us to feast upon, father!”  

All Bucky can do is laugh, she’s always been the dramatic one and he lives for these moments. “Riley, I haven’t said what I’m thankful for yet this evening but one of those things I’m thankful for the humour you provide in this family.”

“Aww Pops, I appreciate that but can you please just bring out the good stuff?” Riley’s blue eyes sparkle and Bucky pushes his chair in and heads back to the counter where he has the pies and other sugary treats. He brings the doughnuts and pumpkin pie with maple cream out first, leaving the girls to help themselves as he returns to the kitchen to cut Y/N a slice of pecan pie. He places a dollop of fresh whipped cream beside it and carries it to her, his face turns red when he places it before her stating, “I made this especially for you.” A look crosses her face and its one he has only recently seen. He thinks its adoration? Or could it be...love? He’s not sure if it’s either but whatever it is, he hopes she continues looking at him that way. He sits back down across from her and watches as she takes the first bite of pie. Her eyes close and he can see the sparkle in her eyeshadow as the light above bounces off of it. It feels like forever before he hears a sound of approval from her.  

“Wow Barnes. I’m going to say this is almost as good as s-

“Well now, girls, how about you start cleaning up what you can and let Y/N finish up her pie.” He tries to pull back Piper’s chair and is met with resistance.

“No WAY, Pops. I want to hear all about how good this pie of yours is. Right, Riley?” Piper looks to her sister, eyebrow raised in hopes that her sister will join in on the teasing.”

“Hell no, I don’t want to hear about the crap these two get up to. Nu uh, NOPE,” she shouts and she grabs a few dishes from the table and heads to the sink to rinse them off.  

Dishes away and the leftovers wrapped up, Bucky takes Y/N’s hand and walks with her to his room. Door closed and locked behind him, Bucky finally pulls his sweet lady as close to him as possible. “Happy Thanksgiving, baby.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, Buck.” Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulls him into a kiss. “Come on Barnsey, there’s one thing you haven’t warmed up yet this evening.”

“Oh, did I forget to warm up your pie because I can head back-

She quiets him with another kiss, deeper than the last. “You know damn well that’s not what I meant. Now, be good a good man and get ready for the real dessert.”

Bucky can’t help but curl up and laugh loudly. His girl knows all the ways to make him laugh and smile, tonight is no exception. With one pull, she is on top of him, where he wants her this evening; where he can be warm within and thankful for everything his life has brought him.

[laora-ryn]

Not the same anon, but building off of your cooking headcanons for the Meisters... what about the Ptolemy/Ptolemy II crew? What's your cooking headcanons for them?

i mean, lyle + saji + alle apply still

tieria gets less angry about other people not following the recipe to the milligram but he still does it himself because it's more comfortable for him

mileina isn't allowed into the kitchen by herself from experience. ESPECIALLY once they install a coffee maker

anew is a decent cook, but lyle loves cooking so she lets him do it most of the time

oh i just realized i misread your q oops well, ok i'll fix that now

ian practically lives on granola bars until joyce drags him to the mess because he needs more nutrients than that.

linda is also a terrible cook. it's a very good thing they live somewhere where most of their meals are freeze dried and pre packaged

joyce is decent at cooking. he leans toward easy/shelf-stable stuff due to his time as a med student and then abroad with MSF

sumeragi isn't...really...that good of a cook. but alle thinks she's amazing because she's about 34759038402x better than him

chris loves baking!!! she loves it so much, she tries to teach feldt and tries to give her the Authentic Experience by like, splashing flour on her except it was The Worst to clean up in null g so she gets side eyed every time she goes into the kitchen too even though most of the crew would kill a man for her cookies

lichty's not allowed in there alone after lasse watched him almost pull something out of the oven without a mitt on (and it's not like he could explain about the prosthetic hand, so he just accepts his punishment quietly)

lasse probably like, can cook super fancy stuff but can't boil pasta to save his fucking life. i cant tell you why it just feels right

feldt picks up a love of baking in the interim years as a way to honor chris. she's a good cook too but it's more of in the way "i can do this, it's not like i love it though????"

marie isn't much better a cook than alle but she at least doesn't light any fires. she's teachable. saji takes this on as a personal project once he sees alle in the kitchen

can i add graham? i'm adding graham he's sort of cb post-movie now right

because graham loves to cook. he loves to experiment with cooking on a level with the dylandy twins. it's just...he's so bad at it? like usually it's edible, but he doesn't have any sort of grasp on the spice mixes, and his pasta's always a little too done, and just. it's fine, it's just not good

i know she's not canon but i'm putting it in here anyway. amy's a decent cook but doesn't much care for it since she's so impatient, all the waiting around drives her nuts. but she's also a VERY harsh food critic, because her dad was a REALLY good cook so she knows what Good Food tastes like

is that everyone?? i think that's everyone if i forgot someone lemme know lasdkfjoasdjfl

[deniigi]

i have been sick in bed with a stomach bug and re-reading a bunch of your series and these questions have plagued me so pls, for the sake of your fellow samuel chung lover, if sammy was in the Selkie verse, would he be a fae? if so, what kind? ALSO, what would his interactions with jack be like (either in the selkie verse or in the lying by omission verse)? pls and thanks <3

hi!

I’ll answer asks in a bit, but for this one I have a fic that explore a What If Jack Lived/Mike existed scenario with Sam in the Inimitable verse? I know it’s now what you asked for, but it is like 4k already written so that might be smth--an LBO Sam would be tricky because Sam would be itty bitty and Matt wouldn’t have the same kind of relationship with him.

As for selkie-verse Sam? I would have to do more research on Chinese spirts/fae/folklore, but for now, he’s not fae, just human 💖He’s like 12 and can make himself invisible though, which would be very confusing for Sue if she ever bumped into him

(Sue: baby boggart??? come here I love you I will look after you.)

(Sam: please stay exactly 5037 feet away from me! Thank you and I’m calling my mom!)

Here is the What If Jack and Mike thing from the Inimitable Verse.

Jack Murdock was the size of a house. He made Matt look dainty. He made Kirsten look like a kids’ mannequin. And he made Foggy laugh until he wept.

Sam could not understand a goddamn thing he said. Nor could he understand the guy he’d brought with him, who appeared to have had some serious plastic surgery to look exactly like Matt.

Sam could take an unintelligible giant. What he couldn’t take was an unintelligible Matt, and before him, somehow, in this ring of ginger, he’d been presented with two unintellible Matts.

His head was spinning.

Kirsten patted at him sympathetically.

“I’m from New York,” Sam told her mournfully.

“I know, hon.”

“How is this even possible? You’re from New York. How are they—what are they saying?”

Kirsten shook her head.

“Only Foggy knows,” she said. “It’s okay, he’ll translate when he gets back up.”

 --

 Mr. Murdock, the tallest of the gingers, might have been a good three to four inches taller than his boys, and he might have had the biggest hands that Sam had ever had the opportunity to touch in his life, but he was really nothing but a big, shaggy sheep dog.

The reasons Sam couldn’t understand a single fucking word he said came threefold.

1) Mr. Murdock had grown up in mid-century Hell’s Kitchen. That was just how accents from those parts used to sound. They’d lightened with time.

2) He had an extra layer of what Matt called a ‘brogue.’ He was first-generation American. Both his folks had immigrated from Ireland. He talked halfway between the way they talked and the way that the kids in his neighborhood growing up had.

And 3) The man had a lisp?

It wasn’t super noticeable. Sam sure as shit couldn’t hear it among the other layers of stuff going on, but Foggy said it was there.

Apparently, it came out more when he was anxious.

Apparently, he was anxious a lot.

Foggy told Sam to just give it an hour and he’d understand.

 --

  “So your name is Sam?” Mr. Murdock asked him while Sam tried to keep his mouth from falling open.

Matt was holding his facial-copy-cat against the wall by his lapels. The copy-cat had started making kissy noises at him. He egged Matt on to punch him right in the face.  

No one was stopping them.  

Kirsten cleared her throat and brought Sam back down to earth.

“Yeah,” he said. “Sam. Mr., uh—”

“Call me Jack.”

Never.

“Matty hasn’t said much about you, sorry to say.” Mr. Murdock explained. The more he spoke directly to Sam, the more Sam found, to his relief, that he could understand him. “He don’t like sharin’ things his brother can get ahold of and take from ‘im.”

Sam looked from him to the ‘brother.’

“There’s two of them?” he asked.

Mr. Murdock hummed.

“God help us, every one,” he huffed.

You can say that again.

“How long has there been two?” Sam asked hesitantly.

“Mm? Oh, uh. Christ with the math,” Mr. Murdock said, “Michael—Michael—boy, you knock that off; that’s how you lose teeth—how old are you now?”

Nevermind. Sam didn’t need to know.

“I’m ageless, Pops, remember?” ‘Michael’ said, grinning at Matt’s sneer in his face, “Everlasting, never dying. Immortal. Timeless. I’m—” Dude got the wind knocked out his sails from Matt aiming for his solar plexus instead of his face.

“Maitiú,” Mr. Murdock said sharply. “He’s your brother.”

“He earned it,” Matt snapped back at his dad. “You said ‘no teeth,’ I ain’t even touched his goddamn teeth.”

“No, you coward, you wouldn’t, would you?” Michael threw back at Matt with no sense in his head. “You scared of gettin’ stuck on all that metal, huh?”

“I ain’t got my tetanus booster,” Matt deadpanned.

“Oh, get the yellow fever one next time, it’s a hoot—”

“I’m mailing you back to Thailand in a crate.”

“Oh mail me, why don’t you?”

“I’m gonna.”

“Boys,” Mr. Murdock said, exasperated. “Knock it off. You love each other. We get it.”

Kirsten shook with giggles.

“I’d drown you in the open ocean and then kill myself,” Matt said through gritted teeth. His nose was maybe an inch from his brother’s.

Michael just beamed.

“Aw, babe. You’d do that for me?” he gushed.

“HHhhh—”

“Maitiú.”

Sam had never heard someone said ‘Matthew’ this way. It was delightful. It made Matt’s shoulders go stiff as a board and then squirm in barely contained fury.

“Thank you,” Mr. Murdock said. “Drop ‘im.”

Matt didn’t want to, but he released his grip on his sibling. Michael slipped down and then caught himself and straightened himself out.

“Well, I’ll never,” he said. “We come all this way to visit you on your deathbed and—”

“I’m not dying,” Matt said.

“—you worry Dad sick for months on end. Don’t call. Don’t write. He thought the Californians had eaten you—"

“—I told him that it was a dislocation and I’m fine—”

“—and of course I told him, ‘no Dad, there ain’t any more cannibals in California than there are in New York’ but who listens to Mike, huh?”

Mr. Murdock had only been in the house for 15 minutes and he already looked exhausted.

“Where are the dogs?” he asked Foggy.

 ---

 This was the weirdest time-out session Sam had ever experienced and he’d decided that he was living for it. Mr. Murdock went out onto the deck and locked himself out there with the dogs. Matt and his brother had never been more guilty.

Quickly the arguing turned towards scheming, which turned towards climbing out a window, which turned towards getting stuck on the roof and pleading with the Father to lend a hand.

Mr. Murdock observed Matt sobbing with laughter over Mike’s sudden anxiety of stepping from the roof to the deck’s arm railing with only hollowness.

“Mike’s not very super,” Sam pointed out to Kirsten.

“Nope,” she said brightly. “He is refreshingly normal,” she said. “Even the conman part.”

The what?

 ---

 Matt climbed off the roof with ease and took the opportunity to finally give his old man a hug, which Mr. Murdock seemed to appreciate. He smoothed a giant mitt of a hand through Matt’s hair tenderly, like he was a baby.

It was kind of cute.

Mike scowled at them both and announced that he was pretty fine, by the way. He’d just stay there on the roof until the vultures got him.

“Matt’s the younger twin,” Foggy told Sam cheerfully. “He can do no wrong.”

Sam felt like he could suddenly see the forest for the trees.

“And Mike?” he asked.

Foggy snickered.

“He and Jack live together to keep each other in good cardiac shape,” he said. “They drive each other nuts.”

“But they still live together?” Sam clarified.

“Yeah,” Foggy said. “Mike’s what happens when you give a used-car salesman ever so slightly too much brain. He travels all over. Gets shot at and held hostage a lot. He’ll do just about anything for a couple bucks, no matter how hard Jack’s tried to get him to go straight over the years.”

“And Mr. Murdock? He doesn’t mind his son living with him?” Sam asked.

Kirsten and Foggy softened.

“Matt used to check on him more when we lived back home,” Foggy said. “Without him and Mike, Jack’s by himself. He’s got friends and work, yeah, but you know. If it weren’t for Mike, he’d come home to an empty apartment every night. Man’s got too much head trauma for that to be any kind of good. Mike looks after him—probably more than he lets anyone else. He’s too stubborn to let Matt try to help him.”

Aw, cute.

“Be prepared, Sammy,” Foggy said. “Jack’s already adopted you.”

Say what now?

 ---

 Mr. Murdock didn’t outright say that Sam was puny and he was going to fix it, but Sam could see it in his disappointed gaze.

“Don’t like bread?” he asked as Sam chewed his way through an Uncrustable at the kitchen table. Sam froze with the sandwich in hand. He stared at it.

It was bread.

Surely, this was bread.

Right?

“Uh?” he tried.

“Don’t like the crusts?” Mr. Murdock asked him more gently.

Oh.

“I don’t mind them, these are premade though. You know, convenient,” Sam explained.

He got a stare impossible to read.

“Stay there,” Mr. Murdock decided.

It took too long for Sam’s brain to work out what had just happened, and by the time it had, it was too late. Matt stuck his head in the room and asked Sam why he’d told his dad that Matt was starving him.

Sam floundered and tried to explain the sandwiches. Matt absorbed this and rolled his whole head.

“Well, now he’s makin’ a week’s worth for you,” he sighed. “Wants you to eat the crust.”

Dude.

“It’s easier not to question it,” Matt sighed. “What kind of jelly do you want?”

 ---

 Matt didn’t interrogate his father, but Mike did. Unrepentantly. He walked in as Sam was emphasizing that he didn’t want any kind of jelly and he’d make his own sandwiches and understood the entire situation faster than Sam could have possibly explained it.

“FATHER,” he roared. “Leave the boy alone, he’s not starvin’, he’s just short.”

Flattering. Thanks, asshole.

There was no response from the kitchen. Matt told Mike to ease off. Mr. Murdock was trying to be nice.

“There’s nice and then there’s rude,” Mike said.

“And you’re rude?” Matt offered.

There was a pause.

A warm hand found the space in between Sam’s shoulder blades.

“I’m sorry about both of ‘em, kid, they got rocks for brains, it ain’t their fault. Our grandfather was a caveman, you know how it is,” Mike said kindly.

Matt was not amused.

“It’s not a big deal,” he repeated. “I’ll eat ‘em if Sam doesn’t want ‘em.”

“And subject yourself to peanut butter hell for multiple days in a row, Maitiú?” Mike asked, scandalized.

Matt glared in the direction of the stairs.

“Some of us enjoy nut protein,” he said.

Sam blinked in shock as big hands slapped themselves over his ears.

“There are children present,” Mike hissed.

Sam found the guy’s middle fingers and yanked. Mike swore. Matt chuckled.

“He ain’t a baby,” he said fondly. “Sam’s a tough cookie.”

You’re damn right he was.

“Charming,” Mike grumbled as Matt abandoned them for the kitchen again. He scowled down at Sam. “What’s your gimmick then?” he asked.

Sam wondered if he could make his contacts come out by blinking slowly enough. It would be cool as fuck. It definitely wasn’t happening.

“I control typhoons,” he said.

Mike winced.

“Fuckin’ vigilantes,” he said.

 ---

 Mr. Murdock gave Sam a second sandwich. He’d cut it into quarters.

“Matt says you don’t like jelly,” he said. “Bananas are better?”

Sam couldn’t help but like him.

“Yeah. I don’t eat much bread generally,” he said. “My family has always been more about rice.”

Mr. Murdock analyzed him.

“I can do rice,” he said.

Bless. It was okay, really.

“Do you like spicy things, Mr. Murdock?” Sam asked.

“Jack.”

Nice try.

“Spicy?” Sam repeated.

Mr. Murdock considered it.

“Not sure,” he said. “You mean like hot sauce? I ain’t fuck with that ghost pepper shit.”

Sam hummed.

“Before you leave, I’ll cook for you in return,” he said. “I won’t make it too spicy, cross my heart.”

Mr. Murdock considered this and then got a look in his eye that made Sam’s cheeks start to ache a little.

 ---

 Matt told Sam to play nice. Matt told his father to play nice.

There was to be no hiding chilis in Mike’s pasta.

They were caught and scolded.

“Not to worry,” Mr. Murdock told Sam fondly, “There are other ways.”

 ---

 Sam had never seen such outrage over a knot in a shoelace. Matt crossed his arms over his chest, seconds away from tapping his own foot.

“You said you were ready,” he reminded Mike for the fourth time.

“I know what I said,” Mike snapped at him. He’d dug through all the kitchen drawers to procure a metal skewer to apply to this situation.

“We’re going to be late,” Matt said. “I wait for my guide, she doesn’t wait for me.”

“Well she’s waitin’ today,” Mike said. “I swear to god—”

Mr. Murdock stroked the top of Tuesday’s head and asked Mike if he’d tried putting baby powder on it. Mike spat at him to mind his own business and went back to the knot. He managed it get it untangled and the shoe half on just in time to find the second one stuck in the third hole down.

He just about vibrated with fury.

Matt sighed loudly.

“Borrow mine already,” he said.

“Never.”

“Mike.”

“They’re blue. This outfit tolerates only warm colors, Matthew. ONLY warms.”

“We’re late.”

“Style waits for no man.”

“Well, clearly that ain’t the case, is it?”

Mike stood up sharply.

“I’m going to change,” he said. “And whatever elf tied these will rue the day. Mark my words.”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll tell the elf—oh, my bad, the clown, Mike. It’s you. Get your life together. We’re late.”

Hilarious.

 ---

  “Why don’t you move out here?” Sam asked Mr. Murdock as he watched Sam sand away at his latest secret project in Matt’s absence.

“Sun’ll kill me,” Mr. Murdock deadpanned.

“I thought so too, but it’s not so bad,” Sam said. “I miss the snow sometimes.”

Mr. Murdock cocked his head and then knelt down to take the sanding block out of Sam’s hands. He gestured for Sam to give him the hunk of wood in his hands, too.

“Matty says you don’t got papers,” he said.

Sam was surprised. Matt usually kept that secret locked tight. But Mr. Murdock didn’t seem to have any adverse reaction to it.

“No,” Sam admitted. “My mom brought me here when I was really little. I didn’t know what it meant to overstay a visa.”

Mr. Murdock hummed.

“Makes flying tricky,” he said.

Yeah.

“Bus, not too bad, though?”

Mm. Bus was better, yes.

“Train?”

Depended on the train.

“Hm. Well, if you get homesick or need busfare, you just give a shout, ya hear? You’re always welcome to stay with us.”

Aww.

“Or if you really hate yourself, I’m sure Mike would love to come pick you up.”

Oh god.

“He can drive?” Sam asked.

Mr. Murdock paused and held his face in his dusty palm.

“The day he got his license was the worst day of my life,” he said.

Sam snickered.

“Did you guys drive all the way here?” he asked.

“No, thank god.”

“Can you drive?”

“Son.”

Sam looked up from the block of wood into Mr. Murdock’s hazel eyes.

“I take two steps out of New York and I’m gone, that’s me dead. No, I don’t drive. Why the hell would I drive? Where the hell am I goin’?”

Wow, mood.

“I tried to drive once,” Sam said. “Reversed into a fire hydrant. Matt laughed so hard he cried.”

Mr. Murdock handed back the woodblock. It was much smoother than it had been. Sam was chocking that up to the muscles and the practice.

 ---

 Matt and Mike got home and Mike announced that he was disowning that ‘putrid being’ that was the Swamp Monster beside him. Matt told Mr. Murdock that Mike didn’t approve of the swimming part of triathlon.

Mr. Murdock picked leaves out of his hair with supreme patience.

 ---

 “So Dad’s officially decided that you’re his grandson,” Mike informed Sam out of nowhere that Sunday. “He prayed for you at church today.”

Sam almost dropped his wrench. That was so endearing his teeth hurt.

“It’s ‘cause I do woodwork,” he said. “He can smell the handyman on me.”

Mike cocked his head to the side. His eyes were blue like Matt’s. Their mom must have had blue eyes—or maybe hazel like Mr. Murdock’s.

“No,” Mike said. “It’s ‘cause he’s also been a grocery bagger, a janitor, and a contractor.”

He what now?

“He wants to know why you aren’t in college.”

Oh. well—

“Matt tried to explain, but you know, it ain’t clickin’. He don’t get the politics part of things sometimes. Gets confused why people make such a big deal when there’s obvious solutions in front of ‘em. It’s not all his fault, he barely got a highschool diploma back when ‘critical thinking’ wasn’t even a testing category. Anyways, he wants you to go to college. Thinks you’re too smart to be pushin’ paper.”

Sam was going to cry.

“I think he sees a lot of Matt in you,” Mike said with a squint. “So just as a warning, he’s unbearable. Always—well, no. More like 95% of the year. He’s alright around New Years when he’s tired. You can tell him to fuck off at any time, though.”

No, no. It was okay. It was nice to have…more family. That’s what it was.

“I hope you know what this means, Samuel,” Mike said.

Mmm no?

Mike’s hand clasped his shoulder.

“You can call me ‘uncle,’” he said.

Ah.

No, thanks.

 ---

 Foggy and Kirsten couldn’t look at Sam without bursting into merciless laughter, which Sam had realized was a result of Mike’s vocal distress at his rejected offer of uncle-dom. Sam didn’t know what to tell him.

Mr. Murdock was nice. Enormous, yes, but very well meaning and gentle. His and Sam’s priorities and experience in life aligned neatly and Sam was slightly charmed by the way that he expressed himself verbally only to Matt and Mike.

Sam also didn’t hate Mike. He just didn’t want him to have uncle privileges. He didn’t see what was difficult about this.

“Mike’s got a history of rejection,” Foggy said. “And by that, I mean that every woman on the eastern seaboard has rejected him and he tries anyways.”

 ---

 Matt came downstairs and told Sam to ignore everything Mike said to him all day. He also said that they were going out that night, so don’t burn fingers on the soldering iron.

Sam saluted in acknowledgement.

Forty minutes later there was a rap at his door followed by Mike saying through it that he wanted to show Sam something.

Sam did not open the door.

He heard Matt’s name being cursed on the other side.

 ---

 Twenty minutes later there was another knock, this time with Mike saying that Mr. Murdock wanted to bond with Sam.

Sam nudged open his curtains and squinted hard into the backyard where he could see the vague shape of Matt chatting to his dad on the deck stairs, both apparently having a beer and shooting the shit.

This was a scam.

Sam would not be scammed.

He went back to the suit.

There was more cursing outside the door.

 ---

 About half an hour later, there was a knock, followed by Mr. Murdock’s voice this time, asking Sam if his shoes were supposed to be on the front porch.

They were not.

This was playing dirty.

Sam ventured out to go right this wrong and ended up outside on the front porch with the conman himself. Mike closed the door after him triumphantly and proceeded to get them both locked out.

“Are you supposed to be a good conman or?” Sam asked.

Mike gaped at him.

“The best conman,” he said. “Don’t worry, kid, I’ve broken into a thousand houses and won two horses. I’ve got this.”

That was not comforting. Sam was not comforted.

“First, we gotta test all the windows, and, failing that, we get a rock or a gun,” Mike told him with a knowing finger.

Sam blinked at it and then up at Mike. The man’s shoulders twitched.

“Uh?” Mike said.

Ah. The eyes. No contacts today.

“Do you like them? They’re Prada,” Sam said to absolute silence.

“A brick,” Mike announced abruptly. “A brick works too. Like a rock but bigger.”

Okay, so they weren’t talking about it, gotcha. Look, a whole family’s worth of repression styles. Sam was glad that they had a full set of methods.

 ---

 Sam broke into his own bedroom through the window. Mike clapped for him outside. Sam opted to leave him there.

 ---

 He was sort of sad to see the Murdocks go, especially after seeing the effect that the most senior of them had on Matt.

Sam hadn’t seen him this chilled out. He visibly relaxed under his dad’s hand on the back of his neck. He tolerated the fussing and constant hair fixing and the fingers brushing at his cheeks and elbows. Mr. Murdock guided him with the same practiced ease that Foggy and Kirsten did, but his guiding was accompanied by a quiet, ongoing commentary about the street around them, which Sam hadn’t actually heard Foggy do in the same kind of way.

It was like Mr. Murdock was telling Matt a story everywhere they went.

He told him when there were flags hanging up a story above, waving in the wind. He told him about the hanging wire baskets of flowers that Sam forgot about. He huffed a bit while he talked about lines of traffic in the street and a vast lack of color in the group due to the absence of so many yellow cabs.

Mr. Murdock of course, had been Matt’s first ever guide. It only made sense that he had a specialized style of it, just for Matt.

And for Matt’s sake, Sam didn’t want him to go, but alas, New Yorkers, man. The city called them back to the coast like a siren.

“You take it easy, y’hear, kiddo?” Mr. Murdock told him at the airport.

Sam smiled and said that he’d try.

“Take care of yourself. I mean that. Out at night too.”

Copy that, big guy.

“Give us a hug.”

Oh??? A hug??? Sam loved hugs. Hugs were great. He was—er. Leaving this one with double the ribs from the cracks apparently.

Mr. Murdock released him to go break Matt in half and then Foggy and then Kirsten. Mike told him that he couldn’t avoid flying again by hugging people. He also warned Kirsten that he’d see her soon and that then, she was sure to fall for his charms.

Kirsten said that she would be waiting with bated breath, and then that was it. Three Murdocks again whittled down to one.

“God, I should have married your dad,” Foggy moaned.

Matt laughed at him.

“He’s plenty busy avoiding the gaze of every person over sixty in his building. Let him live,”  he said. “Sam? Not too traumatized, I hope?”

Mm. Not so bad.

“Are you sure Mike’s your brother?” he asked.

“Unfortunately.”

Too bad.

“It’s fine, if we ever need a guy to distract the police, we’ve got him on retainer.”

That was true.

“They’ll come back?” Sam asked.

Matt paused before feeling for his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he said. “Or we’ll go to them. I think you’d enjoy watching them in their natural environment.”

 -----------

Hope that’s something for you anon!! I also hope you feel better!

[bailey-whalieee]

Things Are Different Now

TWO

✮

After the incident on Friday, Maggie spent the rest of her weekend boarded up in her room refusing to leave bed unless it meant going to the bathroom or for a shower. Her father’s grew suspicious after the fact she refused to go to the doctors office for a check-up.

Honestly, avoiding them really wasn’t her best option, but at this point what else could she do.

Monday snuck up on the girl uncharacteristically fast, and the moment her door opened and the lights turned on, she hid underneath the blankets. It earned a huff of annoyance from Steve and Bucky.

“Maggs, doll, time to get up,” Bucky sighed, pulling the duvet off of her head, “c’mon..”

No.

Please don’t make me go, she thought to herself.

Her eyes were swollen and red, making Steve furrow his eyebrows. Maggie woke up three times during the night due to a recurring nightmare that wouldn't go away. She took three melatonin pills and listened to mozart for most of the night and still, the screams and the military style boots haunted her dreams.

“Maggie, get up honey. Let’s not make this harder than it needs to be, kay?” Steve softly commanded, patting the mess of hair on top of her head.

Begrudgingly, she peeled the covers off of her body glaring at her two father’s who just chuckled and exited her room. Ding!

Who the fuck was texting her this early?

M&M

police are all over campus today. looking for kid’s who were at the party…

6:36 am

Her heart stopped beating for a second. All the air in her lungs evaporated and expelled itself. This couldn’t be happening. Holy shit. She was at the party. Steve and Bucky would be so disappointed if they found out she went and then didn’t even have the nerve to stop the man.

Maggs

please tell me you’re joking..

6:39am

She rushed trying to find a decent outfit which consisted of a random jumper, leggings, and high-top converses. Maggie didn’t bother to even brush the mop of hair instead choosing to throw into a bun and heading down the stairs.

M&M

maggie deadass, there are fbi agents crawling all over the halls.

6:40 am

Maggie paused mid-step into the kitchen until a clearing of someone’s throat knocked her back to reality.

“Sweetheart, your sweatshirt is on backwards..” Steve informed, taking a sip of his coffee causing a chuckle to elicit from Bucky. She quickly fixed the issue and grabbed a water bottle out of the pantry.

“Maggie, did you hear about what happened at that party? Can’t remember if we talked about or not?”

Her body came to an immediate halt, they know, she was fucked. Maggie could feel her heart thumping at an unreasonable pace and her throat tightened unpleasantly. Gods, now her dad’s knew about this..

“Doll?” Bucky called out, pulling her out of her inner battle.

Gulping, she turned on her heels, “um, I should probably be getting to school. Bye dad, papa.”

Both of their faces were puzzled as she rushed out of the door and the door slammed shut. Harsh breaths escaped her lungs as Maggie sprinted down the cement walkway, evoking a deja vu moment to hit her like bricks.

Immediately, Maggie stopped in her tracks. The gun shots. The blood. The bodies. The screams. The end.

They were like mental snap-shots she made in her mind and no matter how loud her music was or whatever she did to distract herself, nothing would ever erase them. She couldn’t shut it out.

7:50AM

“Fuck!” she stared at time on her phone.. Maggie was late, very late. And that meant a phone call home plus a tardy from her first period teacher. Again, she chased pavement until she arrived at Midtown High.

The late bell had already rang and Emma wasn’t wrong about FBI agents crawling around the school. She passed six police officers just by walking down the hallway, who gently smiled at her as she skidded by.

‘Act natural and they won’t suspect a thing,’ Maggie thought to herself.

But, slipping into first period math wasn’t exactly natural, especially when you were Maggie Rogers-Barnes. She sat in the back trying to avoid the students around her, popping up the hood to her sweatshirt and slouching into the desk. It seemed to work. Nobody noticed her nor did her first period teacher even spare a glance.

“Good morning students, I’m sure most of you are aware of the shooting that took place over the weekend. We ask you to come together as a community to love one another and support each other during this trying time. Friday night we will be honoring the students who passed away, if you have any information that would be helpful on the investigation please come to the front office.”

Maggie clenched her eyes shut trying to forget about everything around her. Her head fell gently against the desk letting sleep wash over her.

✮

It seemed like no matter what Maggie kept running into FBI agents and cops throughout her school day. Guilt ate her alive, but she couldn’t say anything.. Everyone would look at her differently and not to mention the anger both of her father’s would feel.

So, when the DA requested for Maggie to come to the office for an interview, every step held guilt. She went against every instinct in her body. Every little voice telling her to speak up and do the right thing.

Maggie Rogers-Barnes had officially broken all three rules her father’s placed, and the amount of hate she abhorred for herself was shocking. She wanted to tell the truth, but she couldn’t.

“Hello, Maggie. I’m defense attorney Lewis Brooke, and this is Agent Erin Alim. We just want to ask you a couple questions, if that’s okay?” he introduced, allowing her to sit down.

She nodded, picking at the skin around her nails, “of course.”

“Were you at the party when the shooting took place?” Lewis asked, clicking the top of his pen.

She tried to focus on anything, but the legal pad and the lists of names crossed out on it. “No.”

He perched one eyebrow, almost as if he didn’t believe her, “but you do know the students who were at the party? Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt them, maybe even another classmate who would want to hurt them?”

“The only person who I really know is Emma and Peter. I don’t know who was at the party, I’ve just heard of their names, ya know?” she shrugged, chewing on her cheek.

“You’re free to go,” he gave a curt nod, sighing.

Gathering herself, Maggie got up to leave. “Oh and Maggie,” she turned on her heels facing the DA, “I know both of your fathers. Worked with them actually, so I trust that you would tell me if you knew anything. You’re a good kid. I don’t doubt that you would come forward if you knew what happened. Have a good day and if you hear anything, you know where to find me.”

‘I’m most definitely fucked now.’ She thought, giving a brief smile and quickly exiting the office. If her dad’s knew the defense attorney and found out about what happened at the party and figured she straight up lied, god’s they would disown her..

Maggs

you can’t tell them anything, emma. nothing. if they ask if we were

at the party, we werent. got it?

2:25 pm

The final bell sounded above her and kids of all ages skidded and ran down the halls of midtown high. It kept Maggie sane knowing she could at least go home now, even if she didn’t really want too.

“Maggie? Hey!”

Peter Parker waved over at her with a rather big grin appearing on his face.

Being a daughter of two avengers, Maggie and Peter were bound to be best friends. Uncle Tony had practically adopted the boy and Maggie spent most of her life living in the tower up until, four years ago.

So, they spent quite a lot of time together. Even now. Peter and Maggie had routined game nights at Tony’s and movie nights.

“Peter.. Hey,” she sighed, holding onto the strap of her backpack.

His brow furrowed as they began to walk down the crowded hallway, “are you okay?”

Maggie nodded quickly trying to avoid the situation. Peter was a bit of a tattletell.. Although, it completely came out of love especially if she was in trouble or hurting.

“Pete, I gotta go. I’ll see you around,” she rushed out, stumbling out the side door.

Peter tried to call out to her, but she just kept her head down and disappeared into the crowd of kids. Her feet stumbled over one another, almost hitting the pavement at the pace she travelled.

✮

Steve’s laugh echoed throughout the kitchen as Bucky made a huffing noise towards the half cooked failure of a casserole. He tried, and that’s the only thing that mattered to Steve. But, they were going to have to opt for take-out tonight.

The edges were burnt to crisp, and the middle congealed together; a soggy, crisp mess.

“Looks like we are getting chinese again. ‘Least Maggie will be thrilled,” he sighed, tossing the oven mitts to the side.

Steve shook his head pecking his cheek softly, “it’s alright, Buck.”

The inedible food found itself into the garbage can and the two men sat across from each other sipping on their mugs.

“Did you notice how exhausted Maggs looked this morning? God’s Bucky, I almost wanted to tell her to go back to bed. Makes me worried..”

“I know, Stevie.. She was off this weekend, for sure.”

The front door finally opened and their daughter walked through, footsteps heavy and weighed down by a nuisance they were all familiar with. She let the backpack hit the floor with a thud that reverberated through the house.

She contemplated going to her room and hiding again, but her dad’s were already suspicious.

Maggie resided on the couch, body stretched over the whole couch taking most of its space. Her eyes were trained on the wall before her, the buzz of the television coaxed her eyelids to droop the slightest.

Waves of tiredness hit her like a bus.

“Hey doll, can we talk? I’m sure you probably already know what happened though?” Steve’s soft voice astounded.

“Dad I don’t really-”

“Maggs, trust me. We both know you don’t wanna talk about this, but we have too. Sweetheart, we just want to know if you’re okay, s’all,” Bucky hushed, running a hand down her spine comfortingly.

Tears began to build up in the corners of her eyes. She sat up trying to hide the fact that the tears were begging to fall down her cheeks, but something just broke within her. Maggie couldn’t stop the dam from breaking.

And they began to fall down her flushed face.

“Honey..”  

She tried to keep the sobs to a minimum, but it felt like the world was weighing her down. Maggie couldn’t tell them the truth, she couldn’t open up about what happened and it tore her apart.

“I’m so scared, dad.”

Both Bucky's and Steve’s face dropped. Encircling her in their arms, she shook and trembled against them. Her cries turned into soft, futile whimpers.

“Doll, I can promise you that no one is ever going to lay a hand on you or even attempt to hurt you, okay?” Bucky cooed, wiping the fallen tears off her cheek.

‘I wish that were true.’

Maggie clenched her eyes shut hiding her face against Steve’s sweatshirt. His arms wrapped against her protectively and she took in the familiar scent. It brought her back to her early childhood, when she would get nightmares and hide her face in either of her father’s chest.

“We gotcha’ sweet girl. Nobody is going to hurt you,” he smoothed down her hair, shushing her whimpers.

They stayed like that for a while. The two men comforted her cries until her once labored breaths calmed and little snores erupted from her mouth. Steve and Bucky smiled, kissing her on the top of her head.

Both being too oblivious to realize that she just wasn’t scared. She was terrified..

✮

taglist: @rose-moon-mist​

[vanchlo]

Magic Moment

Hello! I could NOT resist writing another blurb about boyfriend!harry for my lovely friend, @bfharry‘s BOYFRIENDATHON after I got this idea! I’ve always loved baseball myself and playing lots of catch at work recently inspired this, as well as falling in love with Queen ;) Enjoy  some fluff about playing catch with boyfriend!harry at your childhood home c:

*

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.4k words

Pairing: Harry x Reader

Music Inspo: This Magic Moment by Ben E. King and The Drifters (click to listen and yes Sandlot *wink*) 

*

“Follow your heart, kid, and you can never go wrong.”

- The Sandlot

“Come on, it wasn’t that bad,” you jest, giggling nervously. The screen door closes with a loud whap! behind the both of you.

“Ya, maybe it wasn’t fer you,” he sighs in a whisper, stuffing his hands into his pockets. His high-top white converses slap! down the wooden stairs quickly. “I think I need anotha beer afta that.”

“Follow me.”

A humid heat hits you in the face when you open the scarlet-colored door to the garage. The familiar smell welcomes you, and so do the sights of your father’s tools hanging up on the walls. The lawn mower still sits in the same spot, his pair of old glasses remain perched on the windowsill, and the tiny mini fridge in the corner awaits your call.

“Thanks,” he mumbles after taking a long pull from the refreshing beer. You opt for a Whiskey-Coke, instead, the carbonation sending shooting stars across your tongue. You watch him wipe away the bead of sweat running down his forehead, and then the subsequent smile that drills the dimples into his cheeks. “Bloody hell, if that isn’t tha cutest thing ‘ve eva seen.”

A questioning ‘what’ barely passes your lips once you spot the miniature lilac colored baseball glove on a shelf. Next, a laugh falls from your lips and he echoes it with his own adorable concoction. 

“Hard t’ believe yer hand was eva that tiny, love.”

“I know, it’s funny that my dad kept it around.”

“I would if I were him, ‘s bloody adorable,” he notes, picking up the battered leather mitt with a content smile. “Ah, lookie here. Up fer a game o’ catch, love? Bet I could whoop yer ass.”

“Harry, you can’t beat somebody in catch!” you protest, the cool liquid gracing your lips, providing you a few seconds of relief from the summer heat. 

“We’ll just see ‘bout that, now won’t we?” he teases with a wiggle of his eyebrows. A tan, leather baseball glove hits you square in the chest, landing in your arms while he slips on a darker twin of it. “C’mon, I wanna see how girly of a throw ya got.”

“Oh, shut up. You have no idea what’s coming for you. You’re dating a former softball player here.”

“Am I now? Ya don’t seem that intimidatin’ t’ me, miss,” Harry laughs softly, the billowy cotton of his red Hawaiian themed shirt catching the wind once your feet find the grass. “Dunno how anythin’ can be intimidatin’ afta meetin’ yer bleedin’ father, tho’. Bloody hell,” he remarks, shaking his head. 

“It really wasn’t that bad, Harry,” you correct him, placing your tall can beside his dark glass bottle. 

“It was. Didn’t know he’d be so fookin’ hard on me, askin’ all o’ those questions. He never even smiled at me once, babe,” he scoffs, sliding the glove onto his large hand and messing around with it until it’s comfortable enough. 

“Yes, he did.”

“No, he didn’t. Or I didn’t see it. Dunno why he was so cold t’ me. Ya’ve always had such good things t’ say ‘bout growin’ up with him . . ,” he exhales, tossing the ancient brown and red baseball into the mitt. His short curls dance around atop his head as he crosses the large backyard, the very same one you played kickball in, where you hit home run balls into the woods, set cartwheel records in, and still have the pieces of wood set into the ground marking the bases. 

“He’s quiet, Harry, that’s all. You just have to find something in common with him, and then you’ll hit it off. I promise you, he liked you.”

“Don’t believe ya there, he was givin' me tha evil eye tha whole time durin’ dinna, even tho’ I was fakin’ likin’ his burgers. They were dry as hell,” he grumbles, soon coming to a stop a good way across the grassy area. Messing with his light-washed denim shorts, he checks his phone before letting it fall back into one of its pockets. “Reckon ‘s cuz yer his li’l girl, loads mo’ protective o’ you cuzz’a that.” 

“Keep going, I’m not a sissy.”

“Oh, so I should go long, ‘s that right? Dunno if ya can make it t’ me if I go back any farther,” he winks, the dimples set into his cheeks all the way from here, you notice.

“Would you hush? I pitched all throughout high school, I can make your hand hurt from catching it, if you keep running your mouth,” you argue. 

“Oooooo, she’s gettin’ feisty now,” he chuckles, raising his voice to carry across the clipped green grass, tall trees framing the yard. He pats his taut fist into the palm of the glove, the baseball snug in his large hand. Why, of course it is, Mr. Huge Hands.

Seconds later, the ball soars through the air and banks to the left, but with a jump, you catch it just in time. 

“What the hell was that?” you laugh, holding up your hands. 

“Erm, ‘m warmin’ up? Y’know, gotta get the old righty back in ‘s place,” he insists, stretching his dominant arm this way and that, ever so dramatically. 

“Whatever. You’re full of shit, Harry,” you call back, adding extra volume to your voice. His bottom lip escapes to between his teeth while his head goes from side to side. You surprise him with your throw and he misses it, pulling a loud laugh from your lips. “Not so confident, are we now?”

“Shuddup! Ya were a bloody softball player, ya got advantage ova me, ‘s not fair.”

“Don’t you start whining now! You’re the one who wanted to play catch with a five time-.”

“Ya ya, we get tha point, babe. Yer a bloody star when it comes t’ softball. I know, I know. Wish I coulda seen ya play, woulda been fun. Ya should join a summer league, they sound like a hoot,” he comments, locating the ball at last back in the woods and landing it in your glove. 

“And I played with my brother all of the time, and he was M.V.P two years in a row on his high school baseball team.”

“Good fer him, maybe he should be out here playin’ with you, instead,” Harry says when your throw to him sails over his head. “God, can ya control that arm o’ yers fer once?”

“Sorry!” you laugh, knowing that he doesn’t believe it for a second. 

“Sure ya are.” 

The ball arrives in your mitt with a pleasing whap! and your hand settles over it. Brushing your fingers along the coarse stitches, the shocks of green grass stains on the leather welcome you back to your childhood, tossing around this very same ball with your older brother and father. The nostalgia brings your hand to your pocket, and your fingers soon tap the screen of your phone. 

“C’mon, slow poke! What’re ya waitin’ fer? ‘Fraid ‘ll beat ya afta all?” Harry quips from across the yard, nearing you to retrieve his beer that he sips from. With a pleased ‘ahhhh,’ he sets it down on the gray cinder blocks of the nearby fire pit after walking back, placing enough space between him and it so he doesn’t run into it. 

Sliding your phone back into your pocket, music soon pours from the large bluetooth speaker in between you against the garage. 

“‘s this just fantasy? Caught inn’a landslide, no escape from realityyyyyy. Open yer eyes, look up t’ tha skies, and seeeeee,” Harry sings loudly, pumping his arms down at his sides and closing his eyes adamantly. “‘m just a poor boy, I need no sympathy. Because ‘m easy come, easy go, li’l high, li’l low.” 

“Any way the wind blows, doesn’t really matter to meeeeee,” you sing back, savoring the large smile painting his face as he catches your throw with ease. 

“Toooo meeee,” he sings back. “Mamaaaaaa just killed a man, put a gun against his head. Pulled my trigger, now’s he dead. Mamaaaaa, life had just begunnnn. But now ‘ve gone and thrown it all awayyyyy,” he sings to the baby blue skies dotted with clouds, adamantly strumming an invisible guitar. He echoes your laugh that flies between the two of you, joining the robins and starlings flitting between the trees. “Knew I picked a good one, she’s got a good arm and a bloody good taste in music. Ya betta play Take On Me next, or all bets are off.”

“Oh, you know that I will. It feels like an eighties night, playing catch in the backyard during the summer. It’s just like when I was little,” you note aloud, jogging to the right to catch his next throw until it falls into your glove. 

“‘Bout tha same fer me, just with footy, think this ‘s how ‘d like t’ spend my summers still . . I loved it so much, playin’ in tha backyard listenin’ t’ tha radio, and think my kids would too,” he says casually, sparking a blush in your cheeks at the mention of him as a father. Oh, what you would do to be able to see him playing catch with a little dark-haired boy or girl who calls him ‘Daddy.’ 

Fuck me, you think hastily. 

Quickly, your shared favorite part of the song comes and he imitates the guitar shredding while you repeatedly toss the ball into your mitt, watching him. 

“But eva since I watched Wayne’s World as a kid, I can’t avoid bangin’ my head when it gets t’ this part,” Harry chuckles, tossing a pop fly towards the overhang of tree branches. “I love tha trees here, ya know, ‘ve neva seen so many.” 

“Me too, I love that part in the movie, and I love them too. It’s crazy to think how long they’ve been around to get this big. Some of them were as tall as I am now when I was little.”

“Huh,” he hums curiously, shooting into the air to grab a high one you tried to trick him with. Your eyes can’t help but wander to his dark fern tattoos that peek out when his shirt rises. “Ya think I should keep it still, or get rid o’ it?” Harry poses to you, puckering his lips at you with a mischievous grin. 

“You almost remind me of Freddie Mercury with that ‘stache,” you say, the laugh growing from somewhere deep inside of you. He shrugs his shoulders and tosses a fast one back to you, hitting your glove square in the center with a heavy slap! 

“Dunno why ya think that’s such a good joke, ‘s a damn compliment, if ya ask me.” 

“Uh oh, are we getting a big head over there because you’ve caught my last three throws?” you joke, watching the ball soar high into the air amongst the green covering of the trees. 

“Hey, be easy on me,” he pouts, his words disagreeing with his actions that send a hot fastball into your palm. 

“Why? You’re never easy on me when we play Mario Kart or Cribbage.” 

“Hey! You don’t have a bleedin’ nearly professional career in any o’ those!” he protests and then curses when your curveball nicks the tip of his glove. 

“So, and neither do you, and you’re still aggressive as fuck when we play them! Huh, what’s your excuse, Harry?” 

“Galileo!” he calls out. 

“Galileo!” you echo, and the rest follow suit between the two of you as the song plays. 

“‘m just a poor boyyyyy, nobody loves me,” he sings loudly, causing you to cough on your drink that you take a swig from. 

“Keep telling yourself that,” you shoot back, setting down the wet can as he approaches you. 

“But I am,” he whines, pushing out his bottom lip that you flick with your finger. 

“Watch it!” 

“Or what?” you counter, savoring the annoyed expression that soon fills his features. There’s just something about pushing his buttons that gets you going, even though you know that you shouldn’t do it. 

“Or else I won’t bloody learn tha rest o’ Blackbird on guitar fer you,” he retorts playfully, taking a long pull from his bottle. 

Now, it’s your turn to shout ‘hey!’ until he scoops you into his arms, your surprised shriek piercing the sky. 

“You better finish learning it! But, I think that I like Freddie better.”

“How? Paul ‘s far betta. ‘ll always love Queen, and The Beatles don’t have anythin’ on Bohemian Rhapsody, but Paul ‘s tha betta musician. Trust me, I should know,” he disagrees, pecking your temple before pulling away and tossing the ball into your waiting glove. 

“But, Freddie had a four octave range.”

“And? So does Paul,” Harry shrugs, raising his left arm in the air to snag your fastpitch that he almost loses. “Paul McCartney ‘s tha superior musician, just trust me on this.” 

“Paul McCartney has nothing on Freddie Mercury,” a voice pipes up, turning the both of your heads to the right where you find your dad stepping out of the garage with a weathered black baseball glove snug upon his right hand. 

You swear that you could hear Harry’s apprehensive gulp from all of the way over here, and when you look, you find his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. 

“But Paul was betta on guitar, bass, and drums,” Harry argues, nervously tossing the ball into his glove repeatedly. 

Your dad closes the door behind him softly, and steps out on the grass, adjusting his glasses. Surprise is absent from your range of emotions when your dad shrugs his shoulders, but you’re sure that it coats Harry’s insides in the next few moments. 

“You’re right there, I like somebody who can stand up for their argument,” he comments, nodding a head towards Harry who out of the corner of your eye is smiling, just the slightest. “I think I might like this one,” he says to you, holding out his glove towards Harry, with his lips curling into his cheeks. 

The smile on your boyfriend’s face almost matches that of your father’s, but he’s got nothing on the grin plastered across Harry’s face because of your next words. 

“I think I do, too, Dad.”