#where they just have plants... everywhere

[jinxvex]

OH MY GOSHHHH CRYBABY READER AND CAITLYN 😵‍💫😵‍💫 can we have something like caitlyn fucking crybaby reader with her strap and she is soooo mean about it ☹️ like our makeup is running and she's being so condensing UGH I NEED HER BADDDD

♱ lesson learnt. ♱

lil drabble bc i��m lazy! + (a oneshot that may or may not involve ellie williams is in the works though…)

syp. mean mommy!cait fucking you with her strap after you got smart in front of her colleagues at a fancy event.

cw: nsfw content!!, strap-on sex, mommy kink, she slaps you once, choking, degradation/mocking, rough sex, vulgar language/cursing (obv), she's real mean!!

at this point in time, you were unsure what you had said or done to make it to this point.

did you have too much wine? say or do something fucked up because of it? have a little too much attitude? arrogance? conviction? nerve…?

your vision went white simply thinking of reasons as to why or how?

‘where was i?’

‘when the hell did i get here?’

nevertheless, it’s a certain ‘who’ that snaps you out of your self-questioning turmoil with a striking *SLAP!!* across your tear-stained cheek.

“are you even listening to me, whore?” caitlyn spits at you with a venomous tone which is a daunting contrast to her usually sweet and caring voice.

she’s currently looking down at you from above—hands gripping the skin at the back of your thighs and legs planted firmly on the end of the bedspread. her hair is falling out of her neat ponytail and her eyes are dark. the darkest you’ve ever seen them. she has your legs resting on her strong shoulders with your hands bound together by a rope above your head.

the position you’re both in should be considered missionary on steroids because of the way you can feel her cock pressing against your cervix so magnificently yet, almost painfully. she’s pounding into you mercilessly, forcing you to take her cock for the way you acted towards her in public.

“you are so lucky i’m even fucking you right now. so lucky. do you have any idea how foolish you’ve been tonight? a disrespectful little slut, is what you are.”

as you look at her, eyes threatening to roll to the back of your head and tears streaming from your face, you can’t help but silently beg her, what for? who knows? her roughness sparks a string of desire that courses through your veins up to your brain.

“aww, poor girl. it’s so fucking deep, isn’t it? i bet you can feel it in your throat.” she’s taunting you. her dick thrusting inside of your cunt makes nasty, loud sloshy noises—makes your pussy drench the space below you.

“maybe that’s why you’re unable to speak.”

wrapping her hand around your throat, she squeezes harder the faster she moves in and out of you, “you love this. you love it, don’t you, darling? i can tell by the way you’re getting me all wet. so dirty.”

“ungh—f-fuck! y-yes, mommy!!” you respond to her for the first time in what seems like forever.

you feel the pure frustration seeping through her skin into yours, not just because of the sweat dripping from her brow onto your neck but because her stare sears daggers into you everywhere all at once.

“hmm. mommy can’t even punish you properly because you enjoy it. you enjoy being treated like a toy… solely for my usage. mine.”

the more she taunts and teases you, the more slick pools out of your puffy cunt—the more you tip closer to the edge.

“since you enjoy acting so heinously, you’re going to cum so much. so much, you’ll be begging me to stop, sweetheart. but i’m not going to.”

“not until you’ve learnt. your. fucking. lesson.”

…

AHHH!! i jumped 4 joy when i saw this rq thank u thank u!! 💋

(yes i used the british spelling for ‘learned’ on purpose.)

[internerdionality]

#I paid off my student loans maybe 8 years in or so#but it was only $40.000 and it’s over now#YOU GET CHARGED MONEY FOR HOLDING YOUR NEWBORN WHAT THE FUCK#is there really a fee for crying???#that one definitely sounds fake#multiple jobs yeah here too#Bank account low balance penalties too#the lawn one in HOA groups maybe but that can’t be everywhere

Charged for crying: arguably true but mostly false. This is one of things where doctors who routinely charge through private health insurance find ways to drive up bills because that's what insurance companies make you do in order to get paid. One of those itemized things is doing an "emotional/behavioral assessment" (i.e., my patient got upset and I had to comfort her so I'm marking that down so insurance will pay me extra) and several people who saw that on their bills interpreted it as "getting charged for crying." There were a bunch of clickbait articles about it over the last couple of years so that's where they're getting that.

And yeah, the whole lawn ones are all greatly exaggerated or not true at all. HOAs can't actually make things *illegal*— you can't get arrested for them. You just get fined. There might be some places where it's illegal to plant invasive species or HOAs that restrict what you can grow, and most cities have penalties if you own property and let it get entirely overgrown with weeds (like, to the point where it's a hazard), but even then all that's gonna happen is you get fined if you do it, it's not an actual crime. Otherwise none of that is true. Most Americans who own property, and plenty who don't, are responsible for their own yard care, and either choose to grow grass or other things, and care for it or not. I have beds of vegetables and raspberries and a fruit tree in my backyard, along with a low-lying creeper interspersed with flagstone and mulch and various flowers, and three flower beds and a maple tree along with a paver plaza in my front.

being on this app is so surreal. americans are usually the ones that learn about other places and people everywhere else already know about america because we're everywhere online. we've never been on the opposite side where other people are learning about us -- and they are horrified about our "normal"

the country america spent our whole lives trying to convince us is miserable and suffering under an oppressive government that starves everyone and controls their media? that's just projection. turns out besides like... housing prices and few available jobs, china is doing pretty great. they originally believed we were all living it up "the american dream" way and now they're all thankful they were born in china and have no idea how any of us are even alive

[mylovesstuffs]

OT13 reaction to their s/o cutely asking for kiss

Request: hiii my love🥹🥹 i love your writing so so much (。･ω･｡)ﾉ♡ i have a request for you if you’re up to it!! how would svt ot13 react to reader asking (cutely) for kisses? only if you’re up to it ofc!! i feel like your writing style would suit something like this so well eeeee sjkshak ♡＾▽＾♡ i hope you have a lovely day !!! (´▽｀).。ｏ♡

A/N: It may not be perfect and up to expectations, but I really hope you like it.

Content: Fluff and me cussing because I got no self control, sorry.

Seungcheol: He’d immediately melt, his heart practically liquefying at the sight—your cuteness. Seriously, this man has no defenses against it. His gaze soften with that soft, lovesick gaze of his. He’s way too in love to even pretend like he's cool about it. His hand finds the small of your back as he pulls you closer, his warmth enveloping you completely. He’d plant a featherlight kiss on your forehead—because god forbid you think he doesn't appreciate you being this adorable, then, his lips brush yours, soft and deliberate like he’s savoring every second. His other hand tilts your chin up just slightly, and the kiss deepens—not rushed, but slow and intoxicating, the kind that leaves you feeling weightless. He’s totally aware of the power you hold over him. You're the softest, most lovable thing he’s ever seen, and he’s fully prepared to kiss the hell out of you whenever you ask (•̀o•́)ง

Jeonghan: This man. This Man. He wouldn't give in so easily, because where's the fun in that? The moment you looked at him with those big, pleading eyes, he'd tilt his head, smirk tugging at the corners of his lips like he's got all the time in the world to tease you. And he does because he's Jeonghan, and your patience is his favorite thing to toy with. He'd wait until you started to pout, yes, the pout, and then it's game over. His smirk would break. And then, boom-attack mode activated. He'd lean in, catching you completely off guard as he kissed you everywhere. Forehead, cheeks, nose, lips-this man's got zero chill when it comes to your cuteness. You'd barely have time to breathe before he's back for more, because yeah, he's a menace, but he's also so fucking whipped.

Joshua: Joshua fucking Hong. He's a soft yet calculated menace (evil twin for a reason) who knows exactly how to make you melt. He'd glance at you, his ears turning the most adorable shade of pink, before reaching out to cup your face so softly. And then, The kiss. It'd be so gentle, so sweet, but Joshua isn't done. He'd pull back just slightly, only to press pecks all over your face. You'd think he's finished, but then-bam-he's back for your lips again, It's enough to make you want to scream into a pillow, because how is this man real?! He's soft and teasing and completely ruining you all at once, and he's smiling so sweetly the entire time, like he doesn't know he knows the chaos he's causing.

Jun: Before you could even blink, he’d lean in, his hands cradling your face and start smothering you in kisses. And I mean everywhere. Your cheeks, your forehead, the tip of your nose—nothing is safe from his assault of affection. You’d be giggling uncontrollably because, how do you not laugh when someone is this aggressively adorable? And when your giggles turn into that breathless kind of laughter that makes your cheeks hurt, Jun would pause for just a second, giving you the softest look ever (ಥ﹏ಥ) before diving back in for more. Seriously, are you kidding me? This is the cutest shit ever.

Hoshi: Soonyoung would have zero chill like a tiger. Like, none. You’d ask for kisses, and this man would scream, “KWON SOONYOUNG WILL DELIVER!” And then, boom—couch tackle. I’m not kidding; he’d literally throw himself at you like it’s a wrestling match, his weight knocking you back into the cushions as he grins like an absolute madman. He’d pepper your face with so many pecks that your cheeks would be flushed, your hair a mess, and your stomach would hurt from laughing so much, but does Soonyoung stop? Absolutely not. He’s all-in because of how cute you are. I mean, come on. This man’s kisses are a fucking serotonin boost (｡♥‿♥｡)

Wonwoo: Wonwoo would literally freeze, like his brain just blue-screened. You’d watch as he blinked at you, clearly trying to process how cutely you asked. The way his ears would start turning the tiniest bit pink. But then, oh my god, the smile. That shy, little barely there smile would creep onto his face, and it’s game over for you. He’d lean in so carefully, as if you might shatter, and place the softest fuckass kiss on your lips, pulling back just enough to whisper, “You’re adorable,” ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Sir? Hello?? And the way he looks at you after, like you just handed him the moon? Yeah.

Woozi: Flustered Woozi is a whole mood, and you’d get front-row seats to the show. The moment the word ‘kisses’ leaves your lips, he’d stammer, his face turning about twelve shades of red faster than you could blink. It’s adorable, but also, Jihoon? Get a grip, bro. He’d try to act all nonchalant, but you know he’s losing his mind. Shit, this is red too. BUT no matter how flustered he gets, he can’t resist you. He’d finally lean in, quick as lightning, pressing a shy kiss to your lips before pulling back. He’d then grumble something like, “Don’t ask like that, it’s too much,” while still avoiding your eyes because you’re TOO cute, and he can’t handle it. Honestly, Woozi being this soft is enough to make you (us) want to sob (｡T ω T｡)

Dokyeom: Oh, Seokmin. Sweet, sunshine Seokmin. His face would light up like a goddamn Christmas tree the second the words leave your mouth. “Of course!” he’d exclaim, already grinning from ear to ear. He’d lean in with all the drama of a lead in a romantic K-drama, his hands cradling your face as he starts peppering sweet, playful kisses across your lips and cheeks. He’d be giggling the whole time, because your cuteness is literally too much for him. Honestly, are you fucking kidding me?! The way he’d pull back just to give you that soft, adoring smile before diving back in for more? Yeah, you’re ruined. Completely and utterly ruined ♡

Mingyu: He lives for riling you up. The second you ask, he’d shoot you this cheeky smirk, leaning closer like he’s trying to interrogate you. “Oh? You want kisses from me? Is this a bribe?” he’d say, all smug, because he’s that guy. And before you can even start protesting because seriously, who bribes for kisses?!—he’s already scooping you up like you weigh nothing (show-off) and smothering you in kisses. Like, everywhere. Your cheeks, your forehead, your nose—hell, he might even go for your hands if he’s feeling extra (which he is). “I’m kidding,” he’d whisper in between kisses, his voice all soft and warm. “I’d kiss you all day if you let me.” And the way he’s looking at you? Like you hung the damn stars in the sky? Yeah, Mingyu wins. We all lose. Someone call a medic, because this is too much.

Minghao: Minghao would give you the look. You know, the one that’s equal parts of amusement and disbelief, like he’s genuinely questioning you? “Kisses, huh?” He’d make you repeat yourself. Not once, but twice. Because apparently, your cute little request wasn’t enough for him the first time. The audacity! But oh, when you finally repeat yourself, all shy and adorable, his smirk would soften, and he’d lean in to place the most deliberate, gentle kiss on your lips. And then he’d just pull back, shrugging like it’s no big deal like he’s completely unfazed. But don’t let that fool you—inside, he’s melting, because how are you this fucking cute?! And honestly? Same, Minghao. Same.

Seungkwan: Sweet, dramatic, extra Seungkwan. He’d gasp so loudly you’d think you just insulted his entire family tree. “Aigoo, you want kisses from me? What are you, a baby?” he’d exclaim, all mock-offended and ridiculous. But then, you pout. And here’s where the real magic happens. Because Seungkwan? This man would immediately crumble. Before you know it, he’s absolutely peppering your face with kisses and in between, he’d be muttering something like, “Why did I tease you? I’m such an idiot. You’re too cute.” He’d pull back just to check if you’re smiling again, and when you are? More kisses. Because Seungkwan doesn’t half-ass anything, especially when it comes to you.

Vernon: The moment you ask him for kisses, Vernon is the type to get caught off guard so easily, it’s kind of adorable. “Oh, uh… sure?” he’d say but he’s secretly dying inside, because how could you be this cute asking for a kiss?! Vernon would lean in as if he’s got it all under control, but you just know his heart is doing somersaults as he places the softest kiss on your lips. When he pulls back, laughing a little, he’d look at you with that adorable grin of his, completely charmed by your cuteness. “You’re cute for asking like that, though,” he’d say, shaking his head. Because, really, how the hell did you get so cute, and how are you making him feel this flustered over something so simple?! You’ve got him wrapped around your finger, and he knows it.

Dino: Okay, can we just talk about how freaking excited Dino would get? He’d practically bounce in place, heart eyes and filled with excitement, as if you just offered him a lifetime supply of ice cream. It’s honestly ridiculous, and you’d probably start laughing at his reaction, which would make him even more fluffy. He’d lean in quickly, planting an exaggerated kiss on your lip. “You’re the cutest thing ever!” he’d shout, and you’d barely have time to process before he’s back again, giving you another kiss, this time on the cheek, because he can and also, he’s obsessed with how you look when you ask. Dino would be so so fuzzy.

[managone16]

Regulus looked up at James, who stood in the corner of the room. His lips looked so soft, it made Regulus want to run away. Run away and hide from him so he wouldn’t do anything impulsive. Just as he was about to turn, James stopped him.

James turned him around, grabbing his arm and kissing him fiercely. It was an overwhelming kiss. It was everything at once. Sweet, sour, bitter, soft, strong—

Regulus could feel James’ tongue slip into his own mouth, the wetness feeling like heaven. He wanted more, so he pushed. Pushing, pushing, pushing. James seemed to have gotten the memo,, as he became faster. More kissing, less breathing. It was as if Regulus’ darkest fantasies coming true.

James then snaked a hand around his waist, dragging it gently down to the rem of his pants. He hovered it around his zipper, as if asking for permission. Regulus nodded frantically, because his mouth could not utter a single word right now other than more.

James immediately unzipped, slipping it in. His hand toyed with the rem of Regulus’ underwear, teasing gently. Regulus groaned, mind still chanting more, more, more.

James was probably a seer. Perhaps that is why he knew exactly what Regulus wanted, because the hand was now touching. Where? Well, everywhere. It was in contact with him, and Regulus felt himself shudder. He could feel himself get shaky, legs a bit wobbly as he almost fell, caught by a strong, warm hand leaving his arm and encircling his waist, pulling him up. 

“Jaime—“ Regulus rasped out, breathless from all of it.

“Hush, love.” James’ mouth had now left his lips, and before Regulus could protest it was on his jaw, kissing, biting, nibbling. He could feel himself practically shivering, but he did not protest. Why would he? He was in heaven.

James’s mouth travelled to his ears, where it seemed to stay for longer than anywhere else. James used his tongue to lick his lobe, sucking on it as it moved upwards, teeth grazing on the cartilage. Regulus didn’t realise when he had tilted his head for James to perform easily, it moved on its own accord. One hand working in his pants, the other clutching his waist.

The sinful mouth of his did everything Regulus could ever want and more as it travelled down, down, down. Regulus couldn’t comprehend everything happening, as it was all too quiet. The only sounds were shuffling of their bodies and the occasional sound Regulus tried very hard to bite down. 

The hand would sometimes move, and sometimes it wouldn’t. It was like James was trying to focus at one thing at a time, and Regulus didn’t like it. He wanted James everywhere.

“Jaime—don’t stop—“ he choked out, trying very hard to make out words in his brain. They seem to have done the trick however, as James’ hands begun once again, a large grin plastered onto his face.

“Baby, don’t worry—“ James cooed, leaning closer to his ear once again, biting at it. 

“I’m not leaving until I see you come.” He whispered, and Regulus didn’t even bother to hide the moan that left his mouth, leaving James far too smiley. He tilted his neck, allowing more of James.

Regulus felt warm. James’ hands were everywhere, touching everything, at all times. Regulus didn’t want it to end. James’ lips were soft, planting wet kisses all around his neck. The occasional bite would make Regulus gasp ever so slightly, and James would only go deeper.

All of a sudden, the hand stopped. Regulus failed to hold back the whine that escaped his lips. But then, James’s lips traveled. Down, down, down.

[dravidious]

After beating Trauma Team I was kinda disappointed with Twisted Rosalia because like that's it? That's the final boss? I beat it first try, no problem! Come on, give me a final boss like savato!

I just got to Aletheia in Under the Knife 2 and uh. Wish granted. This thing kicked my ass

[beef-brisket]

Adam: Aaand THIS-!

Adam held up a heavy looking pot with a small plant growing inside it.

Adam: Is a lily!

Lucifer smiled: Wow, that's... amazing Adam.

Adam: Thanks- it won't flower for a few more months, so I'll have to show you when it does. That's if you're interested, of course.

Lucifer chuckled as Adam out the pot down. He was definitely more nervous than he was before. It was almost adorable.

Lucifer: I'd love to see it! I'll make sure that I'm still around~.

Adam: It must be so nice to just leave whenever you want. Go wherever you want... not having to listen to anyone. I won't lie, I'm a little jealous.

Lucifer's gaze softened: You can do that to.

Adam: ...I don't think so, I've never left this place. I don't have any friends anywhere else so I don't know where I'll go... where have you been? Where did you come from before coming here?

Adam sat down and gazed at Lucifer, making the shorter man laugh: Well... I can from the sound. The deep south. But my favourite place I've been... was Holland.

Adam gasped: You've been to Holland?! I've only seen photos- it looks so beautiful.

Lucifer smiled and listened to Adam gush over all of the places he's dreamt of going. Lucifer hadn't been to Holland. He wasn't called the Prince of Lies for nothing. But it was worth it to hear Adam talk.

Adam: My mother said I have ancestors from Scotland and a few other places, and she showed me photos and everything... man, I'd love to go to Scotland. And Ireland. And- well... everywhere, I guess.

Adam looked down: ...Anywhere that isn't here.

I also really love Nun Adam. But this time let him be a real nun and Lucifer come up as the devil looking for a new human bride 👀

I'm weak for aus like this.

I love nun!Adam au's!

Maybe too much.

Who am I kidding? There's no such thing. I'm so keen for this btw!

Let's start a new rp!

[zenobiaseptimia]

[tree voice] i need 2 LEEEEEEEEAN

[plantaffinity]

Can we just talk about this thing with shopping. Forget about the overconsumption conversations, forget the judgement over shopaholics, forget about whatever fast fashion and calling women vain and whatever. Forget it. Can we talk about the feeling you get when you buy that perfect little thing and bring it home? Why does it feel so good? It can be anything, even groceries. It feels so good to buy things and bring them home and put them where they're supposed to be. Why is it so god damn sayisfying

[pepperyduck]

this is love ft. kento nanami

a/n: a few sappy slices of life with my main man :3 enjoy as i dig up motivation to finish kinktober. 18+ mdni!

"honey?" kento's voice is muffled through the door as he calls out to you, "everything okay?" the door rattles as he tries to open it, knob jingling.

"uhm, yeah! everything's fine!" you nervously shout, much too loud, and rush to unplug the iron that had melted your husband's favorite shirt. you panic and yelp when the hot iron scorches the side on your hand, throwing the stupid device to the ground in a clatter.

"why is the door locked—are you okay?" he asks, voice becoming more concerned as he hears the movement inside.

"i'm—i'm fine! promise! just give me a minute!" you're rushing into your shared master bathroom to run cold water over your hand, and kento’s using a screwdriver pulled from thin air to break into your bedroom. tears well in your eyes when you catch the sight of kento seeing his favorite shirt burnt and melted to his own ironing board. "i’m so sorry…"

in reality, he doesn’t care about the shirt—he’s already at your side to inspect your burnt hand. after a few seconds, he speaks.

"did you try to iron my shirt for me?" nanami asks, a small smile on his face, "you didn’t have to do that." he turns off the faucet and takes a small towel to dry your hand off.

"i tried to, i’m sorry—i didn’t know it would do that." you apologize, looking down at the cold tile flooring in defeat.

"oh, honey." he coos, "it’s only a shirt."

"have you seen your father?" you ask your son, yū, who’s sat at the dining table, eating breakfast. he shakes his head no, and when you look at your daughter, mayu, she does the same.

"jeez," you grumble to yourself, bedroom slippers pattering down the hallway as you go to search for your husband. saturday mornings were his time to sleep in, but realistically, he never slept past 9am. and currently, it was nearing 10am.

you check everywhere. he isn’t found in the bedroom, living room, his office, the garage, the patio or in the little garden he kept. upstairs, downstairs, everywhere, he isn’t there. and when you check in your bedroom for the last time, you hear a soft buzzing coming from the bathroom. upon entering, you see your husband bent over the counter, leaning close in the mirror as he shaves his stubble with an electric razor.

"there you are—when did you get that?"

kento had always been a clean shaven kind of man, going to a barber shop once every two weeks for his straight razor shave. it hadn’t even crossed your mind he didn’t go after work yesterday.

but when he looks at you—you burst out laughing. he’d shaven most of his beard off, but a few fuzzy patches remained on his cheeks, along with a mustache grazing his upper lip. peach fuzz and a few knicks litter his chin. this was the first time you’d seen him unable to do anything perfectly. and he looks ridiculous.

"is it really that bad?" he groans, pouting when you wrap your arms around yourself in a giggling fit. you shake your head, although your unforgiving laughs are a testament to the opposite.

"no—no, let me help," you say after calming down.

after gathering a new razor and some shaving cream, you sit atop the counter and your husband stands between your legs. kento is surprised how flawlessly you shave his face, without creating any more marks or cuts. you giggle and kiss him, getting some shaving cream on your face.

"ken?" you shout from the kitchen, where you’re sat, working on your dissertation. it’s been a long road of blood, sweat, and many, many tears; but you’re finally getting towards the end. about to earn a doctorate.

"yes, darling?" kento replies, walking into the kitchen on queue, his timing impeccable.

"can you read over this paragraph, please?" you kindly ask of him, pointing to your most recent written paragraph. he leans over you, planting one firm palm on the table, the other on your back; his eyes read along the sentences and his fingers tap along your spine.

"ah," his finger becomes more focused on a certain word, "wrong 'there', honey."

"no it's not..." you instantly retort, squinting your tired eyes to read over your writing. and you're right, it was the correct one the first time. this was his version of teasing you. but kento couldn't keep up the face much longer before he's giving in with a shit-eating grin you didn't see that often. "you're funny." you groan as kento stands back up.

after reading over the paragraph for about the nineteenth time, you notice kento silently slipping you some tea before turning back around to keep himself busy with cleaning. you absentmindedly take a few sips, then some more...and you find yourself becoming more and more sleepy...

and you're out like a light, forehead pressed directly against the table as a puddle of drool forms on the papers below. kento already has a warm blanket straight from the dryer to drape over you, and you stir just enough to get comfy on your arms.

kento knows that his back will hurt in the morning, but he sits around the corner of the table next to you, settling his head into his arms to drift off to sleep alongside you.

music of your taste plays rather quietly in the kitchen. you stir the pot of soup and inhale the flavorful aroma that wafts through the air.

kento sets two bowls next to the stove, then rummages through your silverware drawer to find two spoons. the kids are at their grandparents for the weekend, it's only you and your husband, converted into the duo you were long ago.

you step away from the stove to go fill up two glasses of wine, the brand kento had as his favorite had slowly turned into your favorite over time, too.

kento fills up the two bowls to the brim of the delicious food, grinning on the inside at the simplicity of it all. just you and him. he lids the pot with the matching glass top and makes his way over to the table.

you set out place mats for the both of you, then place the wine glasses in their prospective areas. kento places the bowls on top of the mats as you grab the spoons from the counter.

in the kitchen, your bodies subconsciously dance around each other. carefully, in perfect tune and pace. delicate steps of a routine formed over so much time together.

in the universe, your souls are tied, striding alongside one another in each lifetime repeated.

and this, is love.

[moonlight0934]

Damian is dead, and nothing Bruce does can change that. The blood is coating his hands, and clinging to his costume.

“I did good, right?” Rings around in his head, drowning out any thought other than the fact that his child is dead.

He failed another of his children, and he hasn’t even gotten in contact with the other two after the incident. Neither of them have been reachable by comms, and he hasn’t been able to get their trackers to work. Some part of him knows how bad this is, and that part has him running around the city frantically looking for them. Especially since the plant activity has stopped, and he has nothing to go off of where they could be. The rational part of his brain knows that searching a city this big in this way is completely hopeless, and he shouldn’t even be trying. But with one kid lying in a freezer in the cave, he’s not willing to take any chances. There’s something buzzing in his ear, but he’s not sure if it’s the adrenaline, or someone trying to get his attention through the comms. Nothing is registering properly, and he can’t think past his growing panic.

There are vines everywhere, the streets are cracked, and the city is just in complete chaos. Most of the civilians have been brought to the relief centers near the edges of town, since that was one of the first tasks for the cops and Robin. The thought brings tears to Bruce’s eyes, and he has to swallow back the lump that forms in his throat at the thought of his youngest child. Then something swings in front of his line of vision, landing less than a foot in front of him. He skids to a stop, barely avoiding hitting it. Then arms are being wrapped around Bruce, and his vision starts to come back, his hearing filtering in too. Dick is sobbing into Bruce’s shoulder as he hugs Bruce as tightly as he can as though Bruce will disappear if Dick loosens his grip.

“Nightwing?” Bruce whispers, one hand coming up to gently press across Dick’s back. He sounds unsure of if Dick is even real.

“I heard,” is all Dick manages before beginning to cry again.

Bruce sighs, his shoulders dipping. It’s almost as though someone else admitting it out loud makes it real. That he won’t come home to his baby pacing around the cave, because Tim and Stephanie were stupid enough to worry him. That Bruce won’t even get to spar with him again, or get home from a long day at work to find Damian drawing at the table. That Bruce is going to have to find something to do with all of Damian’s animals, because there’s no way he’ll be able to take care of them by himself. There are just too many of them. Suddenly all of the impact that Damian made on him crashes down as his oldest cries on his shoulder. He slowly raises his other arm, and holds his son close.

“I’m so sorry.”

Dick pulls back. “This is not your fault, but this can’t turn into another Jason. It can’t. We need you. Please, Bruce. Don’t make me and Tim do that again.”

Bruce blinks away his tears, caving in on himself a little bit. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t find them.”

“I know, and I’m here to help. Oracle is trying to find some way to track them, and we’re looking into other ways to figure out where Ivy went. You and I are just going to have to track their movements since their trackers went offline. How about we look at the logs together?” Dick suggests, motioning for Bruce to pull them up.

Bruce knows that Dick is just trying to keep him engaged so he doesn’t fall apart, but right now that doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. Bruce pulls up Tim and Stephanie’s tracking logs, putting them up beside each other on the screen. They’re together for the first bit, and then Stephanie’s comm blinks out. Tim’s tracker goes out at the same time, putting them both somewhere near the police station. Tim’s comm only lasts a few minutes after that while Stephanie keeps working her way uptown, but her tracker goes offline a few minutes later. Bruce dimly realizes that they both barely missed him on comms since that was right before he got back to the cave. He pushes the thought away, not wanting to endure the idea that something happened to his team, and he was just barely too late to stop it.

“Ok, how do you wanna work this?” Dick asks, his tone level.

“I sent Black Bat back to the cave, but you should comm her. You and her work on finding Spoiler, and I’ll work on finding Red.”

Dick nods, and he’s gone just as fast as he came, barely more than a flash of black. Bruce rewinds the log back to when Tim’s went off, swiping Stephanie’s away all together. There’s no way with Dick and Cass tasked with finding her that she wouldn’t be home within the hour. So that just leaves Bruce, who feels so heavy and tired, but he can just imagine Tim dying somewhere. That’s enough to have him running since he can’t grapple or drive through that area due to the structural damage to the buildings and roads. He heads to Tim’s last known location, which takes him about ten minutes. It’s practically nothing but debris, and the worst case scenario immediately takes over Bruce’s mind.

Pulling Jason out of the rubble, cradling his dead son as he cries. His image truly shattered for the first time, but certainly not the last.

He doesn’t realize how hard he’s shaking until he hits the ground.

Then a voice comes over the comms, “Hey, Robin, it’s Spoiler. Are you still there? I stopped Ivy, and managed to get my spare comm.”

“Spoiler, it’s Batman. I need a status update.”

“B, you’re here. That’s good. We were so screwed. I got thrown around a bit by Ivy, but no major injuries. Maybe a minor concussion, and a lot of bruises. Other than that, I’m coming up on the biggest relief center where the police have set up. Red is trapped somewhere underground. When my comm got busted, he got thrown through the crumbling road. I think something fell over the hole, but he definitely got through first. I haven’t talked to Robin since then either, and I’m not really sure where he is anymore.”

“Was the hole near the police station?” Bruce asks, his voice choked up.

“Yeah, I think so. Are you alright, B?”

“I found the hole, but there’s no way for us to reach him through here. We would need some heavy machinery to get through this mess. He must have been launched into the cave system under Gotham, but that means he could be anywhere. We have to regroup, and split up to check any possible routes he could have taken to try and get himself out. Nightwing, Black Bat, are either of you there?”

“Yeah, we’ve been listening. We’ll take the entrance that connects to the cave since I don’t know of any other entrances that could head towards the precinct,” Dick says, and Bruce hums affirmingly.

“Why do I feel like I’m missing something?” Stephanie asks, sounding hurt and anxious. Bruce opens his mouth to respond, but then she keeps talking, “Gordon. Can you take Ivy, and get her into custody please?” After a few seconds, “Thank you. Alright, I got her dropped off, so that’s done.”

“Good. Head back to the cave, and let Alfred check you out. Call the doc if you need to.”

“Ok, I can head there now. I’ll join you once I’m done, unless you’ve already found Red by then.”

“Only if you’re cleared,” Dick replies sternly.

“Yeah, yeah. You got it, boss,” Stephanie replies, obviously trying to sound sarcastic, but it just comes off tired.

Her comm goes silent, and Bruce heads to the nearest tunnel that runs anywhere near the precinct. He can hear his comm go out once he gets far enough underground, and pulls it out with a sigh. All he’s going to get is static anyway. He’s not sure how long he’s down there, tracing each possible tunnel that Tim could have been forced into, or tried to use as an exit. Finally, after what feels like hours, he sees a flash of red amongst the dark, dusty tunnel. He runs forward, finding Tim slumped against the wall. It looks as though he was probably off balance already and fell, but there’s so much blood. It covers his entire face, and has created a pool underneath his dark hair.

Bruce can feel his chest constrict at the gore on his son’s face even though he can’t get a good look at the injury causing it. He reaches a shaking hand to Tim’s wrist, gripping it a little tighter than necessary. Some part of him thinks that he’s imagining the weak pulse beneath his fingers, but the other part of him says that it doesn’t matter what he thinks. If there’s a chance he can save his child, he has to get him back to the cave. So, Bruce takes Tim gently in his arms, trying not to jostle him, and runs back the way he came from. Tim is quiet and still in his arms, but he doesn’t seem to actively be bleeding, and Bruce clings to that fact like a lifeline. He slips the comm back in his ear as he’s reaching the surface, and all of the sudden, it’s not quiet anymore.

“We’re back topside, but we didn’t find anything. We both covered as many bases as we could without getting lost. I knew I should have learned the cave systems,” Dick says, sounding frustrated, scared, and sad.

“It’s alright. We’ll find him,” Cass replies, her voice small and level.

“I found Red. He hit his head, and he hasn’t been responsive since I found him. He’s alive though,” Bruce says, the words coming out too fast and yet not fast enough. He’s tripping over himself as though that will get Tim help any faster.

“Leslie is already here checking over Ms. Brown. Bring Timothy here, and he’ll be alright,” Alfred says, his calm voice a solid rock for Bruce. He’s always been there, pulling Bruce through the worst times of his life. This time is no different, and it’s something familiar for Bruce to pull himself out of his head with.

“Ok, I’ll be there soon.”

He can still hear the others talking, but he doesn’t actually listen, because he doesn’t have the bandwidth. All he can think about right now is getting Tim help.

Tim wakes up to find out that his brother is dead. That he was taken by Scarecrow and died while Tim was bleeding out in the tunnels under Gotham. Everyone is reasonably distraught, except for Jason, who hides everything behind his anger. Tim can’t blame him. After all, anger is so much easier than the pain that follows. Especially since the funeral had already passed by the time Tim woke up from his coma. Apparently he’d been out for almost two weeks. Now he’s just left feeling numb and kind of empty. As though everything that made him human was scooped out.

He still kind of expects Damian to come back, because none of this feels real. The grief from Dick, the void from Bruce, and the anger from Jason. He’s not sure who had to reach out to the Kents, but he doesn’t envy whoever that was. Now he’s sitting in Damian’s room on Damian’s bed with Titus at his feet. It feels colder than it used to. One of Damian’s sketchpads is still sitting on his desk with colored pencils. His bed was made except for the little cat sized loaf in the middle.

Tim isn’t even sure what exactly happened to Damian, and he hasn’t had the heart to ask. He doesn’t want to see Dick or Bruce break at the question, and doesn’t want Jason to hit him. He hasn’t seen Cass or Stephanie since the incident. Cass is probably hiding somewhere, trying to figure out how to deal with her grief on her own. As for Stephanie, Tim has no idea where she is, or what she’s doing. He wants to reach out, to find her, and to somehow make her feel better. He wants to make everyone feel better, but nothing he does is going to make this better; not this. That was impossible, even though he’s been trying to cure other people’s grief longer than he cares to admit.

It’s harder now with the fact that his brother is gone, especially with how much he loves him. He had a rough start with Damian, but it grew into a very special relationship that Tim wouldn’t trade for anything. He feels like if he stops to grieve what he lost, he’s going to start drowning. He’s going to lose himself like everyone else already has. This is far from his first loss, but this one feels different. So, for now, he pushes it away, and keeps telling himself that he’ll only do it until he figures out how to handle this. For now, he’ll let himself feel just a little bit, sitting in Damian’s room. Then he’ll pull himself together so he can face his family.

Tim takes one last look at Damian’s room before calling Titus out with him. He securely shuts the door, holding back a large sigh. Tears prick his eyes, but he wipes them away as quickly as he can. He finds Dick and Bruce are sitting at the table downstairs, not talking, just sitting together.

Well, we’re already doing better than last time.

“Hey, what are you guys doing?”

“Nothing. Just thinking,” Bruce replies, not looking up from the table. His eyes don’t look quite so far away though.

“That’s a dangerous pastime.”

Dick laughs, glancing up to meet Tim’s eyes. His eyes are full of tears, but he tries to smile. “How are you feeling?”

Tim pauses, taking stock of his body. His head still kind of hurts, and he still feels a bit wobbly, but all together, it’s a lot better than when he woke up a week ago.

“Better. How are you?”

Tim doesn’t directly pull Bruce into the conversation since it’s easier to get him involved through other people he cares about. As if to prove his point, Bruce perks up a bit. Dick looks down at his hands for a second before glancing back up at Tim.

“I really don’t know. I’m trying to work through how I’m feeling, but I can’t seem to wrap my head around the fact that I’m not going to see him again. I got to watch him grow up. I got to watch him learn how to make friends, and I was able to help him find his own identity outside of the assassin he was raised to be. He was troubled, but he was so good, and… I don’t know how to cope with him being dead.”

“Me neither,” Tim honestly replies, sliding into the chair between Dick and Bruce. He leans back casually so they can still see each other if they want to. “You live through so much grief, and you think it’s going to get easier, but it never does. There’s no way to force it either, but maybe we should all think about getting ourselves therapists.”

This was something that Tim tried a few times after he’d been Robin for a few months. It never worked, but this is a different time and a different circumstance.

“Yeah, maybe. Most of our issues can’t be dealt with by a normal psychologist, but I’m sure they’re used to hearing about losing a family member.”

Tim nods, not wanting to interrupt.

“What do you think, Bruce?” Dick asks, lifting his weary gaze to their father.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you can think about it, but there’s no harm in trying. Worst you lose is a little bit of time,” Tim offers meekly, still a little scared of triggering the man’s anger.

Bruce takes a deep breath. “I guess I’m not doing anything else anyway. Can you set that up, Tim?”

“Yeah, I’d be happy to. I can find people that work in the same place for you and Dick if you don’t mind that,” he says, turning to Dick.

Dick nods. “Thanks, Tim. Are you gonna see someone too?”

“Yeah, I will. I already have a therapist that I see occasionally, so I’ll just start seeing her more often. Have either of you heard from Cass or Stephanie since everything happened?”

“I’ve heard from Cass. She’s staying in town for a while, so she’s somewhere around here. Do you want me to talk to her about therapy too?” Dick asks.

Tim nods. “But nothing from Steph?”

“No,” Dick and Bruce echo.

“Ok, I’ll call her. Thanks, guys.”

“I’ll talk to Jay,” Bruce says, straightening up.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Dick asks.

“Yeah, I do. He may not listen to me, but I can try.”

Tim gets up. “I’ll leave you guys to talk, but thanks for listening to me.”

Dick nods, and Bruce gives Tim a tight smile. Tim walks to his room, and changes. He doesn’t try to call Stephanie, instead he walks to her apartment. He’s still not allowed to drive, and really isn’t supposed to be out walking. That’s why he said he was going to call, because he knows he’s not supposed to be doing this. Her mom is the one to open the door. Crystal gives Tim a sad smile, and holds the door open for him immediately.

“Please come in. She’s in her room. I don’t know what happened, but I’ve barely seen her in weeks.”

Tim nods, not caring to bring her up to speed about what’s been going on. He walks to Stephanie’s room with her mom trailing behind. Tim knocks on Stephanie’s door, three gentle little knocks. Stephanie recognizes his knock immediately, and opens the door for him.

“Hey, Tim.”

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah, sure.”

He takes in her unkempt appearance with a twinge of sympathy. Her hair obviously hasn’t been washed, and she still has a few healing cuts. All of the stitches have been taken out, but they’re still really noticeable.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his eyes still trained on a bandage around her right arm.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m sorry that I didn’t come to see you. I just didn’t know what to say. Tim, I’m so sorry. I failed him, and I wasn’t there.”

Tim wraps his arms around her, letting her bury her face in his shoulder. “You did the best you could. I mean, I wasn’t able to help either. It doesn’t mean that what happened to him was our fault,” Tim says, his voice breaking at the end.

“I can’t even think about him without crying. How did this happen?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t know that there would ever come a time that I couldn’t say my little brother’s name out loud. I can’t even make myself, but that doesn’t mean we can wallow. We have to try to pick our heads up. We have to keep doing what he would do in our shoes.”

Stephanie nods, pulling back. “Ok, I can do that.”

“You have to realize that this wasn’t your fault. I’m glad that you’re ok.”

She squeezes her eyes closed, a single tear dripping down her cheek. “Thanks. I’m so sorry that I didn’t come to see you, I really am. I was just too stuck.”

“It’s alright. I understand, and I just want you to feel better. I know that won’t be possible right now, because I can’t even feel better right now. However, with enough work, maybe we can find a new normal. We can’t wait until things get worse to deal with it, alright?”

Stephanie nods. “Yeah, I understand. Thanks, and remember that I’m here for you. I know you’re going to divert your efforts into fixing your family, but I love you, and want you to be ok too. Promise me you won’t neglect yourself?”

“I promise. I can take care of myself and my family.”

Stephanie hugs Tim again, whispering in his ear, “And anytime you feel like it’s too much, come see me. We can just take a step back and breathe together.”

Painful Realization

Damian sips his tea as his family continues to argue over breakfast. They really can argue about anything. Bruce is sitting at the head of the table, looking like he’s questioning his decision to adopt so many children. Tim and Cass are currently debating whether pancakes or waffles are better, but they’re each arguing both points. Damian stands up.

“I’m going over to Jon’s house. Do any of you need anything before I go?”

“No, but make sure that you’re home in time for patrol. We have to leave early today,” Bruce reminds him.

Damian nods, grabbing his plate, then taking it to the kitchen. He heads to his room to change clothes. He pulls on a pair of jeans that he ripped falling down the stairs, but if anyone asks, he bought them that way. Then he grabs his Nightwing hoodie and his backpack, then heads out.

It’s cold, and the wind is biting pretty hard, but Gotham has always been a place of extremes. Summer is blazing hot, and fall and winter are both bitingly cold. Damian makes it about a mile before the ground starts to shake slightly. Damian pauses, but the shaking only gets worse. Then the ground underneath his feet explodes, and plants fly out.

It knocks him backwards, but he’s still able to catch himself on his elbows. Pain explodes up and down Damian’s arms, but he’s still quick to jump to his feet. He looks around quickly, and plants are everywhere. People are screaming, and running in different directions.

Damian clocks each person in his head, then takes off to find somewhere he can change into his costume. It’s not hard to find somewhere, and he slips his comm into his ear once he does. He hides his backpack with his clothes in it somewhere that no one is going to look for it.

“Is anyone on the line yet?”

“Yep, I’m here, and Spoiler is here,” Tim says. “Batman went to the Watchtower right before this happened. So, he’ll hear about it eventually, and come help. For now though, we’re going to work with what we have, because I can’t reach him over comm.”

“What about Black Bat?”

“She went with him, and Hood is in Star right now, so it’s just the three of us. I’m not sure who all is working together, because we don’t have eyes on it yet, but we’re making our way to the center of the madness right now. I’ll let you know what we’re dealing with as soon as we can figure that out.”

“Do we have any idea where the most damage was caused?”

Tim rattles off a street number after a few seconds of silence.

“That’s where the most structural damage was inflicted. Are you heading over to work on getting the civilians to the relief center?”

“Yes, I’m going to an evaluation of the buildings as soon as I get there since the firefighters probably won’t be able to get their equipment through the vines.”

“Ok, just check in whenever you have the time.”

Damian hums, already making his way towards the ruined part of town. He looks around the street that Tim gave him, and whistles.

“Red was not exaggerating. This place is falling apart. I guess I have to be quick then.”

He races into the first building only pausing to listen for any people. He makes his way through each story of the building, keeping himself light and on his toes. The structural damage only gets worse as he gets further up.

Damian can hear a child crying on the top floor, but there are four apartments, and he can’t tell if any of the other three have people in them. So, he heads into the one with the crying baby first. The floor creaks, and pieces of it fall into the floor below. Damian takes a deep breath before continuing.

There’s a woman on the floor, she’s unconscious, and it looks like she fell and hit her head. She’s not bleeding a lot, but head wounds are tricky. So, Damian quickly checks her for any potential spinal injuries before heading into the nursery. He gently picks up the baby, who is the only person in the room. The baby quiets down as Damian bounces him gently as he checks the other rooms.

The last room he goes into is the master bedroom, and there’s a dog in there who immediately starts barking once he sees Damian holding the baby.

“Shh,” Damian says, holding his free hand out towards the dog.

It takes a minute for him to calm the dog down, and the whole building shakes as he walks back into the living room. Damian is thrown off balance, and has to grab the wall for support. Damian whistles, and the dog follows him though he seems scared. He grabs the woman, putting her over his shoulder while still holding the baby with his other free hand. The woman is much larger than him, which makes for an awkward position, but he manages.

None of the people from that apartment building were conscious, or have woken up, so he stops to contemplate what to do upon getting back outside.

“Ok, I have six civilians, most of whom have varying levels of head injuries, and a baby that no one can hold. I still have three more apartments to check… I guess you’re coming with me, huh?”

The baby pulls on Damian’s ear, who just gives him a soft smile. He flips the comm channel on so they can hear him again.

“I’m almost done with the first building, how’s it coming?”

“We’re fighting Ivy, but we think Scarecrow might be loose in the city somewhere. Gordon said that they got out together, but we haven’t seen him. So, just keep your eyes peeled. Also, remember that Croc is still loose in the sewers, and he might try to take advantage of all of the chaos,” Tim says, sounding out of breath, and slightly pained.

“Ok, keep yourselves safe, and don’t let her hit you with any toxins or anything.”

“We won’t,” Stephanie says, sounding more cheery than Tim did.

Damian smiles as he starts hiking back up the stairs. All of the apartments are clear, and the building is only shaking more, so Damian heads straight for the stairs upon exiting the last apartment. The first stair on the second floor crumbles as soon as Damian puts his weight on it. Damian tries to catch himself on the banister with his free hand, but he misses, and ends up falling down the stairs. 

He covers the baby as much as he can, and he hits the ground floor, which creaks in protest. The baby is crying now, but he seems unharmed. Damian sits up, looking at his ankle, which is throbbing in protest. He gently climbs to his feet, the baby still secured to his hip. The mom is crying when he gets outside, and she only starts crying harder when she sees him.

“Ma’am, can you take him?” Damian asks, and she nods.

She reaches out, and he gently places the baby in her lap, manually wrapping her hands around him.

“Just make sure you do not drop him. Help is coming.”

Damian flips to a different channel on his comm.

“Oracle, can you autopilot the Batmobile to my location?”

“Of course I can. It’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Ok, thank you.”

He flips it back off before turning to the next building. On this street there’s another apartment building, and two shops on the other side of the road. He takes the shops first since they’re smaller. They’re both already empty, so he turns to the other apartment building. He repeats a similar process, but the Batmobile shows up after he clears the second floor.

“Ok, Oracle, the car is here. I’m going to get the people in, but you can’t leave yet. I have four more floors in this building, and I want all of them to go to the relief center as soon as they can.”

“You want me to pilot it there? Where are you going to go?”

“I’m going to find another unstable area to clear. There’s always more to do.”

“Ok, I can do that. Just let me know as soon as you’re ready for me to take them to the relief center.”

“I will.”

He flips his comm off, leaning heavily against the wall.

“Ok, only a few more floors. Then I can take a quick breather, and they can get to the relief center. I should check in with Red and Spoiler when I do that.” He keeps quietly talking to himself as he makes his way to the third floor.

This building seems even more unstable than the first one, so he moves quickly. Luckily most people weren’t home since it was the middle of a work day. The whole third and fourth floors are empty, and the fifth one only has three people, one of whom is able to get himself down the stairs.

The last floor has vines twisting through the windows, crawling towards anything that moves. Damian can hear the terrified crying as soon as he hits the top landing. He lets it guide him as he moves quickly through the apartments. There are two people trapped in their living room by vines. There’s one parent, and one little girl who can’t be older than nine.

Damian starts slicing through the vines, but they only get more aggressive when he does. So, he starts trying to worm his way through them, which is a slow process. It’s just as Damian steps out of the other side that the vines snap against the floor. The weight combined with the previous damage to the floor causes it to give out. The part that the girl and her dad are on is the first part to go. The little girl’s leg was wrapped in a vine, so she doesn’t end up falling all the way, but the momentum slams her into the wall while her dad falls through the first floor, then another.

Damian is forced to watch like everything is in slow motion as blood pours down the little girl’s head while he’s too far away to do anything. Then the floor gives out underneath him too. He grabs one of the vines, which immediately latches onto his hand too. His wrist is almost dislocated, but he keeps a hold of it. He swings until he’s sure that he has enough momentum to reach the girl, then he cuts the vine.

He manages to grab the girl and cut that vine too. He positions himself to fall through the second hole, then catches the ledge. He lowers them both down gently, putting his body between the girl and her dad. Her dad is obviously already dead, but Damian had to come down to be sure. The girl’s eyes are unfocused, and there’s a huge gash covering the back of her head. Damian tries to get her outside, but she barely lasts to the stairs.

Damian can feel tears pricking his eyes when he realizes. He goes to get her dad too so they can both be buried properly by whatever family they have. He flips his comm back on as he reaches the first floor.

“Oracle. I’m coming out of the building. There were two civilians that didn’t make it, but can you make sure that the first responders get their bodies if I put them in the far back?”

“Yeah, of course I can. I’m so sorry, Robin.”

Damian forces himself not to cry, keeping his voice steady as he says, “I did what I could.”

He manages to keep the bodies out of view from the other civilians, then makes sure that everyone is safely packed into the Batmobile.

“You’re ready to go.”

The Batmobile starts, and takes off down the street. Damian flips his comm channel.

“How’s it going?”

“I lost Spoiler, and Ivy buried me in the cave system under the city. I think Spoiler might still be fighting Ivy, but I’m trying to find a way out of here,” Tim responds.

“Is she not responding over comm?”

“No, she’s not. Can you head downtown? That’s where we were last.”

“I can, I’ll head there now. Just be careful of more cave-ins, and debris.”

Damian grabs his grapple gun, scanning the area for a building that’s secure enough for him to swing from. It doesn’t take long, and he’s on his way downtown in less than two minutes. He barely makes it to the edge of downtown before a vine explodes out of a building and snaps his line. He lands on the fire escape, but is immediately pulled through the window by large arms.

“Oracle just caught me up. Who all is out, and where?” Bruce asks over the line.

The man punches Damian in the head, smashing his comm into his ear in the process. Damian’s vision fades along with his oxygen since the man’s arms are around his neck by then. When he wakes up, he can feel his heart beating in his ears. Crane is standing in front of him, and he’s obviously restrained to a chair from the height that he’s at.

Damian glares at Crane, who just smiles. Damian feels his anxiety spike, and his heart rate skyrockets.

“You get to be the lucky bird who gets to try my newest concoction. It causes extreme anxiety, at least that’s what it’s supposed to do.” He keeps talking, but Damian can’t hear him past the roaring in his ears.

He pulls his hands free, and swings at Crane. Crane looks shocked and thrown off as he steps back. Two men run towards Damian, and he knocks them both out. More goons flood the room while Crane retreats to the corner. Damian keeps taking down people, the bodies starting to pile up. None of them are dead, but the voices in his head are warring.

Maybe they are dead. Maybe you hit them too hard, and your father won’t want you any more. No, you need to kill them if they are alive, because your mother will punish you if they live.

Damian blinks hard, but as soon as he falters, one of the goons buries a knife in his gut. He twists it, then pulls it out. Damian snatches the knife from him, taking out the last two goons with it before dropping to the ground. The floor is already slick with blood, and Damian dimly realizes that he’s bleeding way faster than he should be. 

Anxiety causes increased blood flow, so you’re going to bleed out much faster.

Crane runs for the door, but Damian slips a Batarang out of his boot, then hits Crane in the head with it. He’s knocked out immediately. Damian drops back down, his vision blurring. Time speeds up, and slows down, and Damian’s mind can’t keep up with what’s happening. He thinks back to the little girl.

I wonder if she felt this way, or if she was scared. Maybe I was enough to ease her fear a little bit even if I am the most violent Robin. Maybe I was enough.

Thoughts become too hard at that point, and he’s unable to really string them together. He hears someone calling out to him, but for some reason, he can’t figure out where it’s coming from. Then his Father’s face appears in his vision, and he wants to cry from relief. At least now if he dies, he’s not going to be alone.

He can’t hear what Bruce is saying, but it looks like his mouth is moving. Damian tries to reach a hand up, and Bruce catches it in his own.

Damian’s vision clears, and he whispers, “I did, good, right?”

He can see the heartbreak in Bruce’s eyes when he nods.

“Of course you did. You did so good, baby.”

Damian feels the corner of his mouth turn up weakly, and everything goes black.

[gutsby]

Who’s Your Daddy?

Pairing: Stepdad!Joel x Reader

Summary: You get stuck in the washing machine. Thankfully, your stepdad is around to help you out.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Deadbeat-Perv-Peepaw LOVES corny porn tropes and women over half his age. Stepcest & dubcon technically bc Reader’s locked inside an appliance, but she’s into it (getting fucked, not stuck). One (1) kick in the dick. Spanking. Brat-taming. Choking. Daddy issues. Size kink. Praise kink. Infidelity. Creampie.

Note: Saw this post by @ovaryacted and started BARKING. For my Old Man lovers/daddy issues crew, this one’s for you.

Word count: 8.3k

It was the closest thing to porn you’d ever done before.

Still, you weren’t quite ready to call it that.

And why should you? Financial straits were no anomaly to a girl your age, especially in this economy, and almost everyone you knew had a side gig of some kind. It just so happened that your job required slightly skimpier attire. And a webcam. And some very special…accessories that would likely send your grandmother into cardiac arrest if she ever took a peek inside your bottom dresser drawer.

Okay, it was definitely porn.

But you never showed your face, so it didn’t really count as the same kind of stuff that your family condemned.

You scampered out of your room the second you heard the front door to the house slam closed all the same. Arms laden with G-strings, stockings, satin bralettes, lace and tulle bodysuits of almost every style imaginable, you ran a quick, perilous path to the living room window and made sure to keep your head ducked low as you did. You peered out through the gap in the curtains and had to squint hard to see anything in the midafternoon sun.

Then you saw it and felt instant relief—they were leaving.

Your grandma for one, your mother for second, and wherever the latter was headed, you knew her shadow would be soon to follow. You saw a thick plume of smoke outside and surmised that Joel was somewhere around the other side of the SUV, smoking and droning on about how he was perfectly fi-i-i-ne to drive, don’t be like that.

By ‘like that’ he meant sensible. And by ‘perfectly fine’ he meant two Miller Lites shy of completely shitfaced. You could already imagine the wry smile on your mother’s lips as she tried prying the keys from his hands. Your stepdad would probably plant a wet, sloppy kiss on her cheek to win a ‘yes’ in return—and when she shyly reminded him that he couldn’t afford to get another DUI, he’d get pissed and yank them out of her fist anyway.

Fucking loser.

Fucking triple-the-legal-limit dumbass motherfucker.

It didn’t bother you as much today because you knew they were only driving a couple blocks away to get to the farmer’s market, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t hope he’d get caught. Again. Maybe blow a 0.25 this time and land his old, ungrateful, law-breaking ass in Travis County Jail, where his little brother Tommy was likely keeping a cell bench warm for him, per usual.

At any rate, you didn’t have time to be fantasizing now. It was your turn to embody some guy’s grossest wet dreams for the next two to three hours. Stripping away layer after layer of your latest, tightest ‘costume’ while catering to whatever requests happened to float in your inbox, you knew you’d be up to your eyeballs in work. Though almost routine by now, you had to hurry up.

If you could just get the rest of this ridiculous gunk out of your clothing, you’d be all good to go for the job.

TRMAN22: Pour honey on your tits in the next vid???

TRMAN22: Milk too. All over you.

Looking back, you probably shouldn’t have obliged that request. Now you were facing the consequences—forced to throw all your clothes in the washing machine because the milk and honey you’d dumped on yourself for that video had gotten everywhere, and then swiftly congealed while wasting away in a pile of laundry for over a week.

The whole heap smelled rancid. Still felt sticky, too. Presently, you chucked each one inside the washing machine while holding your breath, and as soon as the last was discarded, you sniffed the shirt you had on.

Tolerable. With the rest of your stuff in the wash, you hoped to get at least one request off the checklist:

TRMAN22: Bet you’d look sexy in a schoolgirl outfit!!

TRMAN22: Why don’t you try one on for me?

It was gag-worthy and gross. Slightly alarming for a man who was more than likely twice your age and old enough to remember Watergate, but you agreed to play along. Your old school uniform was, after all, the only clean clothes you had left, and ‘TRMAN22’ was, unfortunately, your top subscriber. He’d paid $300 for this video alone.

TRMAN22: Wear some NEON pink panties for me too ;)

You squatted in front of the washing machine and stuck a hand inside. You sifted around, furrowing your brows.

The brightest undies you owned were in there, soiled, but you figured you could get away with one gross article of clothing, all things considered. You reached a little further and continued to dig. When you couldn’t find it by feel alone, you peered inside the circular, metallic cavern of the washing machine and craned your neck.

Not here…not here…not—

You tilted forward, venturing a closer look with your head, then shoulders, pushing into the machine.

—here, not here, not—

“EW!” you shrieked.

In your search, you’d inadvertently brushed up against a mildewed piece of clothing that had gotten wedged between the grooves of the washing machine’s interior.

A pair of boxers, it seemed.

You recoiled as soon as your fingers grazed the wet and smelly thing. Your skull went crack against the low-sloped ceiling of the appliance, and a jolt of pain was quick to course through you at the contact. You groaned.

Of course Joel had forgotten some old, cum-stained scrap of fabric out of his last load. Always leaving his shit around for you or your mom to pick up like he owned the place. And here you went, again, angrily plugging your nose and pulling as hard as you could on the shorts to get them free from the washing machine. You hardly thought twice, just made a face and then yanked on it.

The boxers wouldn’t budge.

You tugged even harder. The fabric stayed put.

Something akin to a grunt and a whimper, only far more pathetic, slipped out of your mouth, and you slapped the half-hollow steel wall in frustration. Surrounded as you were—fully encased in metal—the sound just echoed.

“Fucking…CUNT.”

You weren’t sure if you were talking to the shorts, the machine, or Joel Miller in the abstract. Or maybe all three. You just hated the thought of washing your lingerie with your stepdad’s skivvies, and no amount of rational thought or practical reasoning could hold you back now.

The tip of your index finger sank deep beneath the same ridge of the wall where the boxers had gotten stuck. You curled it inward, trying to loosen the material up a little. You wriggled your knuckle even further. And just when you managed to get a hold of the cusp of the tangled fabric—just when it seemed the green plaid cluster was about to give way—you heard a low pop. You felt it, too.

Shortly, your finger was pinched inside the deep, blunt valley of steel that had similarly snagged Joel’s boxers. It seemed you’d pushed the tip of your finger so far that you were caught straight down to the second knuckle—trapped between two grooves of unforgiving alloy inside the washing machine tub with no clear means of escape.

You jerked your arm back, panicked. When the metal sank its teeth even deeper, you didn’t stop. Completely heedless of the pain, you operated on impulse and by the feeling of needing to get the fuck out of that little space, quickly, and instead yanked your hand back even harder.

To your horror, your finger was stuck.

“FUCK!”

You stared down at the poor digit, only half-visible inside the wall at this point, then glanced down at the heap of sweaty, sticky, slutty pieces of clothing that were presently strewn about you, and felt an even deeper stab of dread. Stuck inside your family’s washing machine with every bit of damning evidence one could hope to have—and wearing your old school uniform to boot—you realized at once you were fucked if you didn’t get out.

You slammed your palm against the nearest wall once more, shaking your other wrist like an unruly child.

“FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!”

You weren’t good at solving problems. In point of fact, you sucked at all things prudent resolution-related and regularly made it a habit to capitulate whenever you sensed loss inevitable. You were a little like your mother in that way, quick to give in to life’s uglier challenges. The only way you could conceivably claim to be stronger, the only place you always had the strength to say ‘no’ was—

“Aw, shit.”

—Joel.

Your throat tightened as soon as you heard the voice. Your eyes went wide, and the rest of you went numb.

Bent at the waist and kneeling with half your body inside the washing machine, you remained there, motionless. Back arched and ass out. Thanks to the way you’d rolled your old plaid skirt, the fabric covered almost zero cheek.

Someone behind you cleared their throat. Then coughed.

And coughed again, again, and again. Evidently trying to clear the smoke out of his lungs and the surprise from his eyes as he drank in your sight from the doorway.

“What in the—wh—th—” You could hear Joel wheeze, beating his chest with his fist, “What— in— the hell?!”

“Help me,” you hissed.

You weren’t sure why you chose that as your go-to. It just sounded like the right thing to say, and frankly, you weren’t sure how else to distract from the fact Joel was probably gawking at your ass as he coughed up a lung.

“The fuck do you mean ‘help’?! What are you doing?”

The coughing subsided, if only momentarily. You tried pulling back on your finger again to get out, but couldn’t.

“I-I’m…I was just…” you stammered, heart racing.

You heard the tread of heavy footfalls. You felt them.

“Just—trying…” you ventured again, suddenly at a loss for words and breath alike as you felt a presence draw in.

You could smell him.

That realization alone made you want to stop taking in air altogether. It happened out of instinct, really—feeling the shift of two huge boots settle behind your feet and then flinching inward, further inside the metal tub for…safety? A pang of abject humiliation? You were far past the point of civility with the man, caring what he thought, or fearing for your modesty in a position like this, but something about the proximity now just made you itch.

You wished your finger wasn’t jammed inside this appliance so you could give that feeling relief, somehow.

At length, Joel’s voice dragged you back:

“What’s stuck?”

Too calm. A second passed. Then he added, more stern,

“This some fuckin’ joke’a yours or somethin’?”

“No!”

“Then what—”

“My finger. My finger’s stuck.”

You tried to crane your neck to see behind you, but all your eyes had to feast upon was denim. Bluish-grey stonewashed denim, faded with years of use. Joel stood back for a second, as if considering what to do, and then you saw two hands descend to brace themselves against his knees. He bent at the waist to get a better look below.

When his eyes locked with yours, you got the same twist in your gut as you’d felt before, only sharper. Shameful.

The look on Joel’s face was abnormally bright.

“And how on earth did that happen, dumbass?”

Your shame morphed into chagrin in a blink, seeing the ghost of a smile bleed into your stepdad’s features.

“‘Cause of you, leaving your shit in here!” you snapped. Your chin jerked toward the green fabric, “I was just trying to get your boxers unstuck—and my finger…”

Your finger was kind of fucked.

Joel cast a look inside at the source of your frustration. He extended his left arm and reached over your torso, and as he did, you felt the slightest, albeit solid, sort of warmth press in. The man let out a low groan of exertion—likely at the strain the movements placed on his joints.

The warmth got worse. You weren’t sure where it started.

Vaguely, you were aware of Joel’s thumb pressing into your hand. Gliding down your finger, stroking across the spot where your knuckle had gotten caught, he circled over it, slowly, and made another sound in his throat.

“Well that ain’t…good.” Not one to mince words.

By now, your whole body was on fire. You barely had the strength to keep kneeling, much less speak to the man thumbing your hand and pressing his heat so close—

“Just get me out!” you shrieked.

You heard your mother’s voice in that. A shrill, impatient lilt in her speech that came out, invariably, around Joel. Normally, he would have done something to deserve it. But today, with his hand splayed over yours and his breaths as calm and even-keeled as he could hope to have them while he tried to help, he was blameless.

Evidently, he heard a trace of your mother too, because you heard him laugh. You felt the reverberations of his amusement travel up from his belly all the way to his lips.

“Cool your pits, kid.”

For that, you would’ve loved nothing more than to reach back with your free hand and hit him in the balls. But, as it was, this man was your only hope for escape, and he was being tolerably polite, anyway. He pinched your finger between the tips of two of his and gave it a tug.

“Okay, lemme just—” Joel started.

“Why are you home, anyway?”

The question came out more clipped than you meant it.

“Why are you dressed like that?” Joel countered evenly.

“I asked you first.”

“I asked you second.”

You reckoned he could probably feel you roll your eyes, even if he wasn’t able to see you do it right now. He waited another moment, then leaned back on his haunches and withdrew his arm from the tub.

“Mama don’t like me drinkin’ and drivin’, you know that.”

With that, the warmth was gone. Joel retreated.

“Like that’s ever stopped you before.”

You heard him exhale a little harder through his nose. When he’d steadied himself against the washing machine, gave his knees another second to prepare for getting up again, you could feel his eyes back on you. Maybe he lingered longer than his legs really needed.

Maybe if he hadn’t stayed crouched like that, he wouldn’t have gotten the chance to give your surroundings a second look. He wouldn’t have stopped to watch the rate of your breaths pick up or the way your skin startle to bristle with some strange, unknown sensation. He certainly wouldn’t have felt for himself the fever leaking out from the base of your spine right then.

Today just wasn’t the day for keeping secrets, it seemed.

“And what’s this?” You could feel Joel lean back in.

He was looking again. Peering inside. Steadying his weight with the edge of the washing machine gripped in one hand, while the other snaked its way back inside.

You’d already squeezed your eyes shut by the time Joel got a hold of something. You didn’t know what it was.

But it became painfully clear that it wasn’t just one ‘thing’ that had grabbed his attention at all, but rather a series of items that his hands were just now getting to explore. You didn’t have to see his broad and tan, callus-streaked fingers to feel them roaming over your clothes.

Gross.

Gross.

“Gross,” Joel agreed, as if he’d read your mind. Grinning.

If you thought the embarrassment was bad before, you really only knew a fraction of what humiliation could be. Your finger throbbed along with the pulse in your skull.

Your mother’s husband whistled and lifted something.

“Darlin’, this is just…disgusting.”

You winced. You tried not to pry an eye open, to steal a covert look through the frame of your lashes in that dim and crowded spot, but the inducement was too great—Joel was dangling one of your lime green G-strings like it was a fish he’d just caught out on the lake. Boasting it.

Doting, almost.

“Well I’ll be—”

“Will you quit?!” you snapped.

You grabbed the thing out of his hand and threw it aside.

“Can you be serious? For one fucking secon—”

“Oh, I’m bein’ serious, sweetie,” Joel cut in. Cool as ever, “Serious as the business end of a .45, I swear.”

He paused. Then he reached for a white nylon bustier, drenched in a layer of honey that was as hard as a rock.

“Do you always keep your little…skank tanks so filthy?”

That was it. You kicked your heel back—and up—and made a pass to hit your stepdad square in the balls.

Your aim wasn’t the best it’s ever been, seeing that half your body was trapped inside a home appliance at the moment, but what your jab lacked in accuracy, it made up for in force: your foot plunged into the seam of Joel’s jeans full throttle. From the way the back of your heel plowed into his crotch, and the sound that clawed out of his throat the same instant, you reckoned you did okay.

What you weren’t expecting was a smack in return.

An answer in kind—delivered by the palm of Joel’s hand.

A taut, thoughtless THWACK on the swell of your ass.

Your mouth fell open. Your body barely had the chance to recoil when, shortly, another blow landed on your cheek.

Joel spanked you.

Spanked you.

“Fuckin’ brat,” he spat. His palm had slid up with the weight of his last slap, and now his fingers were clenched in a fist in the back of your skirt. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel him gripping fabric. It was firm.

He was firm—unrelenting in his hold.

Kneeling behind you, yanking back a handful of tartan skirt like it was nothing, then sidling up behind you.

And just when your attention was drawn to some other firm thing, it was shortly diverted by another sensation.

“JOEL!” you shrieked as he gave you another spanking.

The bare skin of your cheeks was on fire. Joel hit hard. Just when you feared you might legitimately whimper with the sting of that last blow, and while the imprint of his palm was still fresh, you felt it move again. Lower.

“Joel.”

That came out more like a whine than a cry of protest. And how could you, now, when he was soothing the raw bite of his hand with a touch that was kneading the skin?

Working the soft, supple flesh of your ass in his hand like he’d never dream of being anything else but gentle to it.

“Good?” Joel said.

Your head flinched to nod, but your brain thought better.

It did feel good. So good, in fact, that your eyelids were starting to droop just a bit and your back was subtly arching into the touch, but those were only instincts. Stupid, useless, brain-rotted reflexes born of years of paternal neglect and replete indifference, the likes of which could bring a grown man to his knees, begging—

“Please.”

But the entreaty was your own, and the voice that spoke it was hoarse. Your belly sank into the circular aperture of the washing machine, and you could feel your ribs scraping close to metal. Nevertheless, you didn’t mind. That ditzy lizard brain of yours was starved for physical touch, and who were you to deny her at a time like this?

No, not when Joel was squeezing like that.

Groping was the more appropriate word for it, really. Notwithstanding the decades of sexual experience that no doubt preceded the man that was standing before you—behind you—today, Joel was unduly coarse. His broad, weathered hand made as if to cool its former sting, but the motions themselves were jerky. Desperate.

He needed this worse than you, the fucking pervert.

Just when the realization had begun to settle over your mind and your legs were getting to feel a little less like jelly, knowing you weren’t the only weak one here, Joel’s palm slowed down. He pressed the heel of it into your flesh as if to force himself to stop, then he took a breath.

“Now use your words.”

“But—” you sputtered.

“I said,” Joel resumed, and you could sense it was through gritted teeth. His movements came to a halt.

“We use our words when we want somethin’, hear?”

It was the first you’d heard Joel attempt to enforce anything close to discipline with you in your life.

That had to warrant a little defiance, no doubt.

Under your breath, quiet: “So ‘we’ includes ‘you,’ too?”

Beneath that one, seemingly innocuous question was lurking another, and both of you knew it: Remember that time you put a fist through the kitchen wall? Was that a good example of what it means to ‘use words,’ Joel? Whether it was adequate provocation or not, you could sense what was coming next before you’d even finished. When the spank landed on your right cheek so loud that it echoed, you didn’t flinch. You did snag your lip between your teeth to keep a sound from spilling out.

“A dad makes rules. Ain’t his to follow,” Joel growled.

You blinked and bit down harder. Watched the broad, amorphous shape of the man’s reflection shift along the back metallic wall in hues of grey and blue and wished you had the strength to turn around and face him then.

“You aren’t my dad.”

“Said ‘a’ dad, didn’t I?”

“You’re not that either.”

Heat was rising to your cheeks again, this time for different reasons. For a cause you were far better acquainted with to date—annoyance at Joel.

“So that means I’m—”

“Nothing. You’re nothing to me,” you finished, tone wry.

Nothing to anyone, you wanted to add. Not with a shiny gold band latched onto your left hand to tell the world that you’re married to my mother, a pack of smokes tucked away in the jeans she washes every week, or a couple years spent under the same roof as me. Nothing.

Your teeth clamped back down—and almost sank clean through your lower lip this time—when next you felt a touch at the plush, covered mound that was normally shielded between your legs. The spot that was hardly ever tilted up in a position like this, exposed to the air and a man’s hungry gaze, now invaded by the press of a single thing: a warm and soft middle finger at your core.

Joel brushed the tip of it against your entrance, through your panties, and sucked a breath through his teeth when both of you felt a tiny squelch at the pressure.

He pressed harder, and the wetness only spread.

You didn’t have to be in Joel’s position to know what he was seeing, but the feeling from his finger overpowered any better sense to speak—or tell him to stop. He traced his slow, cruel circles against your warmth and moved it up to where he knew he’d find your bud, and when you whimpered, he simply added his index to the mix. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind you were leaking heat at that point. You could feel it seeping beneath his touch.

“Nothin’, huh?” Joel breathed, voice low. Your arousal made a sickening hiss beneath his fingers as he rubbed you even harder, “This feel like nothin’ to you, honey?”

You couldn’t speak. He knew you weren’t capable of it.

“‘Cause this sure don’t feel like nothin’ to me.”

Wet and tacky beneath his touch, your warmth supplied the answer that your mouth couldn’t form. It came out in more of a tap, tap, tap, punctuated by breaths that were toiling in earnest not to turn into moans too soon. But, as hulking and clumsy as his hands had once shown themselves to be, the old man knew where to put them, at least. He made circles on your clit with practiced ease.

“You can try lyin’ to me, but she can’t.”

He was right. ‘She’ was a traitor.

You could deny it all you wanted, but the proof was there.

Indeed, she was crying. Aching. Bleeding with desire. Throbbing beneath the pads of Joel’s fingertips and growing only more desperate as he increased the speed of his touch. When he notched the drenched cotton to the side, you had to grit your teeth to keep in a whimper.

Joel whistled.

“See? Seems like she likes me just fine right here.”

Your jaw stayed wired shut with the weight of your own humiliation. Instead of answering aloud, you hummed. Made a sound low and soft in your throat like, ‘Uh-hmm’ and tilted your hips, as if you didn’t know how else to ask. Joel couldn’t see inside the washing machine, but he must’ve felt the gesture, because he greeted it with a motion of his own: he chuckled, and he puckered his lips.

And when you felt the warmth of his spit hit you between your folds, your shame should’ve tripled. Should’ve made you flinch away from his touch and tell him that was so fucking gross, Joel, stop, but then he smeared it up your slit. He pressed in and mixed it with the rest of your arousal; any reproach died on your tongue in an instant.

A part of him was on you now. Trickling in, sticking to the most sensitive part of you, and settling into your skin like a glaze. With his other hand, he found your skirt again.

“Who’re ya wearin’ this for, sweet pea?” Joel murmured.

“No one.”

Another glob of spit landed between your cheeks. Now, the man used the lubrication to sink two fingers inside you—pushing them in until the rim of your cunt met his knuckles. You whined at the stretch, felt him coax your walls open with a consciousness and a carefulness that felt almost mean, but then he stroked down the base of your spine with the hand that still held onto your skirt. He soothed your startled cry with a curl of his fingers.

And he found the soft, spongy patch of flesh inside that made your eyes roll straight to the back of your skull, quickly. Working his fingers in and out, flattening the base of his free hand over the skin exposed by your flipped-up skirt, and watching your body give way to the force of his fingers, he was uncharacteristically patient. Exacting in the way he worked your body open to him.

“What do you care?” you groaned. You winced when you felt a squelch signal that he’d stretched you even wider.

“‘Cause,” Joel started, slow. Pumping his fingers through your folds and likely wondering when he’d add a third, “You got your hand stuck in a fuckin’ washing machine, a treasure trove of this slut stuff piled in a heap…I mean…”

“They’re just clothes!”

“Just clothes?”

In the wake of those terse, incredulous words, you tried your best to match his tone—call his bluff—but the only sound that came out of your mouth was punctured by a pitiful whine. He tried another finger but couldn’t fit it in. As wet as you were, and as strong as he was, your cunt wasn’t quite ready to accept all three of Joel’s thick, probing digits inside. You’d fit more than a thing or two with a girth even greater than that in the past, but you figured your nerves might have something to do with the way you were tightening around the man’s fingers now.

Why you couldn’t take more of him in, as much as you wanted him there, felt, at present, like something of a shortcoming, and a pathetic one at that. You let out a breath, and a second later, Joel slowed his motions.

You didn’t expect him to stop. Didn’t hold out a hope he might curtail his pace and talk you through a quiet, gentle arrangement for fitting a third finger inside you—that just wasn’t him. You didn’t have to share a paper-thin bedroom wall with your mother and her husband for the last however many years to know that Joel Miller was not a tender lover. It simply wasn’t in his nature to care.

So when you heard the clink of a belt coming undone a moment later, your senses strangely flooded with relief. He wouldn’t care, wouldn’t inquire, wouldn’t coddle with false, romantic ideals of how a woman should be treated.

In that way, Joel shared something in common with your father after all: he set standards as low as they could go.

“Just clothes?” he repeated, snapping your underwear against your ass and jerking the fabric further aside.

Then somehow send those expectations even lower.

There was a hand splayed out across the small of your back. Another fiddling with the front of his pants, wrestling the button and zip of his jeans in little more than one, two, three careless seconds, before he drew in closer to your rear. Your slit was messy, wet, and exposed to his eyes once again. For a second, you almost took comfort in the fact that your hand was still wedged inside a groove of steel and you couldn’t meet his gaze.

That was, until Joel slid his bare length along the seam of your cunt. When the inability to see him made it so you had no other choice but to be surprised when he finally touched you was unnerving, to say the least.

And when the head of his cock blended seamlessly between your folds, was drenched in less than a blink and nearly notched straight into the place you needed him most—well, that had an effect on him, too. Joel moved his flat and sweaty palm up your back, found purchase in the hem of your blouse, and gripped it. Tugged it down a little more and let a low groan billow out of his throat while he rocked his hips back and forth.

Desperate, clumsy, pussydrunk Joel was back before you’d even realized he’d left. Only now he was keen to put the disquiet and hesitations to rest; he needed to fuck you before either one of you wisened up just then.

Your parts and his commingled again. First, with the lethally warm trail of precum leaking out from his tip. Then the intrusion that followed, inevitably, glossed with self-indulgence and desperation—soiling any semblance of platonic affection or parental attention—as he fed you the first inch of him. Barely half the head got fitted inside and your grip on that was like a vice. Joel’s was bruising.

Suddenly firm on your hips, carving crescents in the skin:

“When’s the last time you got fucked, baby?”

You reckoned Joel had a guess—and it wasn’t correct.

“Last…week,” you whimpered, words punctuated with a sigh as his cock tried to make room for more of him.

Joel sucked in a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. He’d barely gotten an inch past his tip, facing more resistance than he’d felt in a long, long time, and you were wet, but so tight. He was big but not so massive as that. He couldn’t fathom what you were saying was true.

“That…fratboy fuckstick you went out on a date with?”

“Didn’t think you even saw me leave.”

Joel withdrew, gripped your hips even tighter, then drove his cock to nestle three solid inches inside your cunt. It was extra snug, but he made sure to try to loosen you up with a couple short, shallow thrusts and a hand gradually drifting down between your legs. Of course he saw you.

The circles on your clit and slow-growing movements may as well have been kerosene in your veins. With what limited range of motion you had in that grey, compact space, you let out a sigh and dug the fingers of your free hand into the closest scrap of fabric beside you. Joel’s own touch gradually moved from your hip to drag your hand behind your back, clasping his. He fucked in deeper

“So that’s who this is for?” Thumbing your skirt.

“Y-Yeah,” you lied.

“Wanted to send naughty pics in the schoolgirl getup?”

“Yes,” you lied again. You closed your eyes when Joel sank his cock even deeper and made you stretch inside.

“‘Atta girl,” he praised.

It might’ve been the first he’d validated you in your life.

“Grippin’ this cock extra tight, ain’t ya, sweet girl?”

Never in a million years would you have imagined it’d come this late—or leave Joel’s mouth in a way like that.

‘Elastic’ wasn’t a word you’d ever used to describe your body, either. Frankly, there was no need for it to be; every one of your partners before had been average-sized, and every other object that went inside you, too, had almost always been a comfortable squeeze between your walls. Outside of maybe your first time and a once-off awkward hookup now and again, you were never forced to feel a stretch to this degree. Joel felt huge moving inside you.

He was nearing your cervix and still nowhere close to the base of his cock. Meanwhile, you were stuffed to the brim, saturated with arousal and his spit, and practically keening at every stab of his hips. You couldn’t reach back because Joel’s fingers were still enmeshed with yours, gripping them hard behind your back. As wore down, fucked out, and desperate as you already were, you were less than only a second away from asking him to ease up.

And then he stopped.

Joel pulled out, let go, and pressed onto the old washing machine, where you heard his touch echo through metal.

He was leaning against it. You were about to turn around. Before you could, though, you felt his form mold into yours—this time not in it, but on it, as he drew closer and once more reached into the space where you were stuck.

“Can you be brave for me, baby?” Joel murmured.

“Wh—” you started, soft, only to feel the words plucked straight from your lungs as Joel leaned his body inside. Carefully, and with concerted effort, it seemed, he was trying to squeeze his way into the O-shaped hole of the washing machine, snaking his arm around your torso.

Pinching your finger again. Breathing just gently enough for his exhales to tickle at your shoulders and your neck.

“Can you be brave?” he repeated, and you weren’t sure you’d ever heard him so soft-spoken, or felt him so close.

You nodded, not knowing why.

Without another word, your stepdad pinched the digit even tighter and yanked it out from where it was stuck.

It all happened so fast. Joel freeing your finger, squeezing it tight, helping you out of that hot and crowded space while your legs gave way like mush beneath your weight—and your hand throbbing in pain. You’d never thought a single finger could cause a feeling as strong as that, but it stung like hell. You almost raked your nails through the man’s arm when he tried to hold you back, holding you up just as well as you stood.

“Joel!” you screeched, like the whole thing was his fault.

You flexed your hand and wanted to sob. You could feel the streaks of pain start to claw up your wrist, were just about to shove Joel aside and wallow in agony, when at length, he did something strange and unexpected again.

This time, he lifted your index to his mouth and kissed it.

It wasn’t a sensual kiss. Coming from Joel, it hardly even seemed affectionate. His lips were so warm and firm and decidedly unacquainted with anything approaching a threat of tenderness that his act read almost aggressive. He let your finger rest loosely against his mouth, and he kissed it again, while his eyes burned holes into yours.

‘You’re okay’ came out muffled against your hand.

“You’re okay—hey—baby, you’re good. Don’t cry.”

You hadn’t even noticed the tears had started to form. You blinked and felt one trickle down your cheek. With the hand that wasn’t holding your wrist, Joel brushed his thumb against that lone trail of moisture. He didn’t cup your face, hold you close, or stroke your cheek in the seconds that followed, though he did keep kissing you.

Or, rather, it—your finger.

Joel didn’t have to care for you at all. He just feared he might’ve pulled on your hand too hard in getting you out.

‘You’re okay’ was being mumbled away like a fractured refrain, touch descending gently to your hip, and his eyes grew softer by the second, surely he had to be thinking it.

Sinking inside you, again. He was standing; your hips were tilted to his, and your ass was pressing flat against the front of the washing machine. All it took was an inch or two off the ground and your limbs hanging limply around his hips for Joel to fuck back into you. He sucked on your finger so hard you feared the skin might actually bruise—a hand hickey, of all fucking things—and when his grip tightened on your side, you knew he felt it too.

His teeth succeeded his lips in an instant, and he was biting, gnawing pathetically as a groan shuddered through his chest. If you didn’t know better, you might’ve said the sound was veering perilously close to a whimper.

Fully sheathed inside you, Joel Miller didn’t seem to care. His lids fell like lead across the upper half of his brown, glossy eyes, and the expression behind them was blank.

Safe.

“‘S’alright, baby,” he grunted. Maybe he’d just seen you wince, as he cradled your hand and withdrew another inch, “Keep squeezin’ me, it feels real good. Right here.”

Out of instinct, your gaze drifted down to the spot where his body joined with yours. The sight was hardly a shock, but the feelings it evoked were not—he had you split along two-thirds of his dick, a pretty shelf of belly protruding beneath and gleaming with the arousal he’d drawn out from your body. Tufts of silver and grey littered his skin in every direction, aged muscles tensed with the weight of each thrust, and the warm weathered hand that hadn’t dared touch you once before today was now cupping your chin. Tilting your head closer to him.

“Right here, baby. Look at daddy.”

Wild, unbridled heat flooded your brain in a second. The thing seared the insides of your skull with all the force of a fire and stole the air from your lungs just the same—still, you couldn’t refrain from making a face in disgust.

“What the fuck, Joel?” You shouldn’t have liked it.

His hand ascended your throat in a blink.

“Ain’t that what you want, sweet pea?”

“I—”

Just as you started to answer, though, his cock took a dizzying plunge, hitting exactly the right spot inside you. Like clockwork, your mouth fell open, a whine tumbled out, and Joel took that as his chance to grip your neck even tighter and push your hips against the washing machine, where his height afforded him an easy hold.

“What you want—”

He squeezed harder.

“—what you need—”

You gasped, starved for air. It wasn’t every day a man took your breath away. Not like Joel could, anyway.

“—is me, ain’t it?”

The gaze fixed on your face was alight with desire.

“Bet you miss him somethin’ awful, huh? Been needin’ a man to fill that spot ever since he left, haven’t ya, baby?”

‘He’ required no further clarification. The words stung. You communicated as much by wriggling your hips back and pressing your hand against Joel’s chest, just quit it.

Keep fucking me, but shut the fuck up about my father.

“I don’t miss shit,” you sniffed. Felt the head of Joel’s cock carve a shape somewhere deep inside your body and couldn’t pretend it wasn’t filling a metaphorical void someplace else. You hadn’t got this much attention from a man as many years your senior since…well, ever, really.

You preened beneath his touch. Wanting to feel. Wanting to please. Wanting, more than anything, to be needed.

Joel sated each craving with a simple hand smoothed over your face. His palm moved from your throat to your chin to the hinge of your jaw before coming to rest at the nape of your neck. This time squeezing lightly, bringing your face in close while he fucked you. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, and your stomach tightened inside you.

“That’s alright,” he said, words hardly above a whisper, “No need to miss that man at all, ‘cause I’m right here.”

For once the assurance came as somewhat of a comfort. You suspected it had something to do with the fact he was balls deep inside you and pushing you closer and closer to the brink of release with each painstaking stab of his cock. You fisted his flannel, holding him there. Spreading your legs, accepting his thrusts, taking each movement with ragged, shallow breaths and moans that blended with his own, you felt your body grow warmer.

Almost febrile beneath him as he tilted your head again.

“Who’s your daddy now?”

You winced, shaking your head. You hated that word.

“Who’s your daddy?”

Joel lowered his hand and began to thumb at your clit. Hot pleasure coursed through you, made you whine at the contact and dig your heels even deeper in his back.

“Who’s your daddy, baby? It ain’t that hard to say.”

But it was. Joel stroking your clit, stuffing you full, ghosting his lips against yours without ever furnishing a kiss, just goading you on with: ‘I know you wanna say it.’ Tough grey stubble teased your mouth with each word.

“I know she needs to cum, sweet girl. Know that poor little pussy’s taken a beating—and she’s done so good for me—but she needs to let it out now. All over me.”

His gaze held yours. You couldn’t turn away.

An unmistakable tenderness pervaded that look, and it didn’t seem keen to depart. No matter how tightly you pursed your lips, made fists in his shirt, or choked his cock between your walls in fluttering, desperate pleas, the man remained calm. Attentive. The eyes didn’t stray.

“It’s okay to say it.”

“C-Can’t—”

“Sure can. Be the easiest thing you ever do—D-A-D-D—”

“Please. Please.”

You hardly even knew what you were asking for at this point, only beholden to that big, swollen something in your tummy starting to give way beneath the push of Joel’s cock. Tightening up, leaking out, practically drooling down the length of this man who seemed relentless in his current pursuit. Two more circles on your clit and you were keening, whimpering pathetic as ever:

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease.”

“Say it now. Who’s it for?”

Above you, Joel’s teeth gleamed in a smile—or a snarl, you couldn’t tell. All you knew was the pleasure, the concomitant pain of having to contain this desperation while his thrusts sped up. You were bouncing on him, getting fucked against the washing machine in the raw and terrible central Texas heat wearing a sheen of sweat and a set of clothes that no longer fit your body, but that was just fine. You were okay. Joel was here, and he was holding your head, lips hovering less than an inch away.

“Who’s. Your. Daddy?” His words were slow. Coarse. Spilling into your mouth with every short puff of breath.

You couldn’t take it. You felt a band of pressure come to a head in your belly and the brush of Joel’s cock making its rounds in and out of your swollen cunt, pushing hard, and you knew that you’d had enough. He knew it, too.

“Y-You.”

“Who?”

“Joel.”

“Who?”

Your wet, pearly slick rang a deafening pitch. Enough.

“You, daddy! Daddy—please, fuck—I-I-I’m gonna cum.”

“Gonna cum for me? Make a mess of your old man?”

“Make a m-mess— yes, daddy, yes—” you slurred.

Joel drove his cock, fully coated in you, down to the hilt. He captured your lips in a kiss and didn’t even mind your mouth was whining, hissing, whimpering its filthy pleas for him to fuck a nice, big orgasm out from your body.

“—want yours inside,” you added, without realizing it.

“Sweet girl…” Joel groaned.

You didn’t know what you were asking him for. How badly he wanted it, too. His cock dragged in and out of your precious cunt and was barely more safe from the threat of its grip when you spasmed, at the last. Joel should’ve expected no less, after all the time he’d spent teasing and edging, then begging you gently, in grunts, ‘Cum for daddy, baby. Let me have it, that’s it, good girl.’ Still, somehow, he wasn’t prepared in the slightest.

When you squeezed your eyes shut and kissed him back—that was all it took. When you clenched on his cock, gave the front of his shirt a tug, locked your ankles about his hips so you could more properly increase that friction by fucking him back, grinding in place, he feared he might fairly make an irreparable, unforgivable mistake.

And when the whites of your eyes appeared again—eyelids fluttering open while your lips were glossed with his spit and a lazy smile—and said what you said next, he sensed that his fate was sealed. The old man was fucked.

“Cum inside me, daddy. Please.”

Joel couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried. He shuddered, then flooded your insides with rope after rope after rope of his spend, burying his face in your neck and taking your hips in his hands like a looser grip might lose you to him forever. He fucked his cum deep, deeper, darlin’ don’t move, can’t lose a drop, baby, please, he let out a whimper that made your walls pulse again. You felt him fill you to the brim and keep rutting his hips. Your body and his were shaking by the last of it.

And when he was finished, Joel dropped a kiss along your limp, glistening lips. He slid you back on the metal. By the expression on his face, it was plain to see he was loath to withdraw, but he had to. That tender little hiss and the sounds of your shared fluids trickling out were all the impetus he needed to act quick. As soon as he’d pulled out, Joel was back leaning against the washing machine—tilting your hips back a little, then lowering his sweaty, handsome head to the spot between your legs.

The wrinkles to the sides of his eyes grew more pronounced when he smiled. A happy grin, plastered across his lips, would have struck you as almost smug, were it not for the look of sheer adulation that followed it.

Joel was enthralled, watching his cum leak out of you. He kissed your thighs, flickered his gaze to your own, briefly, then damn near sank his nose inside the place he was watching before your fingers stopped him cold.

It was your body, after all. He had already had his fill.

Hardly knowing what came over you in that moment, you sank two fingers inside your wet, drooling hole and watched the eyes of the man beneath you go wide. He soaked in that sight completely: you pushing his cum back in, drawing it out, using the viscous white liquid as a lubricant of sorts before releasing a pleased little sigh.

Joel closed his mouth reluctantly. It took him more than a second to tear his eyes from that place, but when he did, the motions were quick to grow assured, by turns.

As if remembering something.

In a second, the innocent smile you’d seen before was being infiltrated, slowly, by a look you couldn’t place. Joel’s grin morphed from gentle to contented to plainly enthused and beaming ear-to-ear with a conceited glint. With his finger, he tugged your panties back into place.

“Baby—” he started, only to be cut off lightning-quick.

“What? What is it?”

His smile stretched even wider. By that act alone, you were half-tempted to forget the events of the last hour and set your jaw in a scowl. You looked down, unamused.

“What?”

“It’s just…” The man trailed off, and as he did, his gaze descended with it—straight down to your bare pantyline.

You cast a look there too—“What the fuck is it, Joel?!”

At that, two brown eyes flitted back up to you.

“I thought I asked for neon pink underwear, baby.”

Your breaths slowed. His gaze didn’t waver. Your heart came to a standstill in your chest, and you were amazed you had even half your present willpower then to speak.

“Wait, Joel, wh—”

“Shame you couldn’t get around to filmin’ today. Had me hard as a fuckin’ rock with all that milk and honey stuff.”

You nearly choked on your spit. Joel kept grinning.

“You’re—”

The guy. That fucking subscriber. The one who’d paid almost $500 in commissions in the last month alone.

You stared at Joel with eyes as wide as saucers, and were about to press on, when you heard the front door to the house shriek back on its hinges. Two sets of footsteps followed it, and their entry inside was loud.

Immediately, Joel rose to his feet. It seemed that grin wasn’t meant to stay long on his lips, because the next thing you knew, he was dropping a kiss somewhere soft and sweaty on your face and flipping your skirt back into place, holding his index up to his lips and stepping away. Your mouth twisted into a frown but stayed zipped out of sheer necessity. Seeing this, and likely unable to help himself, your gross, depraved, grinning old man leaned back in and planted his hands on either side of your hips on the washing machine. His nose nudged into your own.

“Between us—” he began, slowly.

“Get fucked,” you finished for him.

Joel nodded his assent, smirk faint. He cast a look over his shoulder, and, hearing what sounded like your mother’s footsteps drawing closer, lowered his voice.

Rubbing his thumb under your chin, making you tip your head back to meet his for one final look—then a kiss:

“You keep my secret, I keep yours, alright?”

—

Note: I’ve never done a real writing challenge before, but hopefully this fic will work for #hotdilfsummerchallenge !!! @hellishjoel this is such a fun ass idea & i hope you enjoy❣️

[snekdood]

so now theres a frog on my balcony???????????

[poguehearted77]

Portugal Nights

Pairing: Actress! Reader x Drew Starkey

Portugal Nights-> The day was tense. Rehearsals were much more heated than the lines intended and the thin rubber band of restraint holding you both apart was bound to snap, and it finally does.

This belongs to my OBX Season 5: Payback For Maybank Series

These can be read in any order!

smut: lots of making out (they've both needed this forever lol), oral sex (f! and m! receiving) , heavy petting, hickeys, shower sex, hand holding, protected sex and unprotected :( , drew is so pussy whipped omg, just passionate sex tbh, sex everywhere?? lmao.

"Action!"

Rafe paces back and forth in the abandoned dungeon-like room with his hands on his head, plotting desperately. You're surrounded by nothing but eroding walls, stained with foreign substances. There's dried blood on the floor that adds slight resistance with every lift of his heel.

You fume silently every time you look at the tall blonde who can't seem to stand still. You reflect on how he got you both in this mess in the first place and your eyes roll reflexively.

Earlier today, a little before dawn you and the pogues had just docked in Portugal, wasting no time to try to find Finch's fortress so you could find Groff, but you were being followed.

You noticed it first around sunset but kept it to yourself not wanting to distract the pogues from the objective of the mission in case you were wrong.

You'd all set up camp a little outside the city, not wanting to catch the attention of any civilians. However, you didn't rest. Not when you knew trackers tend to get a little careless as the sun slips below the horizon. Relying on the shadows of darkness to conceal their footprints and hide their silhouettes.

"I'm gonna scope the area a bit," You said, flipping your signature steel weapon up in the air and catching it coolly as you entered the darkness of the shrubs and out of sight. "I'm goin' after her." Rafe declares, already trailing behind you as Sarah calls for him but it falls on deaf, determined ears.

He's trekking closely behind you, so you stop walking and convey your message without even turning to face him. "Another step closer Rafe and I swear to god they'll have to dislodge steel from places you can't even name." He doesn't back down, nor does he step closer.

"I don't trust you." He says, and you scoff. "I don't care, Rafe," You finally turn, "Why don't you do us both a favour and go back to the others, yeah? I got this." For a moment he goes silent, almost like he didn't know what to say.

"No comeback? No insult?-" You start, always looking for a fair fight with him.

"Shut up." Rafe snaps back, stepping closer to you and your arms crossed while you plant your feet firmly where they are, refusing to let anything about the rich boy intimidate you.

"Looks like I finally got under your skin-" It's all a blur when he suddenly cups a hand over your mouth to silence you, "Will you shut the fuck up?" His words are delivered in a harsh whisper as his eyes scan your surroundings suspiciously.

At that moment, there was no Piper and Rafe. It's you and Drew. He met yours with a wild gaze, something unhinged about the way he was looking at you. Not as sincere and admirable as the longing stares from across the room that you're used to--no, this was something much more perilous.

"You hear that?" He whispers, softer this time. There's another rustle in the bushes around you. Shit.

With your backs turned and the area being so dark, the opposers use the darkness to their advantage and strike you both in the back of the head, knocking you out cold.

Which brings you to where you are now.

"For the love of god, will you stop the back and forth? You're driving me insane." You exclaim from where you rest against the contaminated walls.

"Listen," He now stalks to you slowly, like a predator approaching its prey. "I'm a proactive type of person. I'm not just gonna sit on my ass all day and let Finch come back and kill us!"

"Us? This didn't have to involve you! Maybe if you'd just taken that stick out of your ass for once and stayed with the group you could've saved yourself the trouble." Kicking yourself off the wall, you shout as loud as you can but he doesn't flinch.

Rafe's chest heaves rapidly, trying to calm himself down. "Well we're here now, and If I'm ever gonna make it back home, I have to get out of here alive."

You stand still, silent. Analyzing his features and expression, but your silence makes him uncomfortable and it etched across his face,

"Who is she?" The question is simple, and straightforward, yet far too complicated for Rafe to understand.

"What?" He questions.

Over the last few days you'd spent near the pogues, you'd gotten to know most of them quite well. All except Rafe that is.

"Your dad is dead, your little sister and your money are under your stepmother's possession. What do you have to go back to? Who is drawing you back?" He gulps, his defences crumbling evidently as his shoulders slumped.

For once, he didn't fight you on it.

Sofia. That's the name he shares with you and a little about their recent argument.

"Jus' don't tell anyone, alright? I don't need the others knowing more than they should." You shrug, "I have no reason to tell them about your cute wittle wove story." You couldn't stop yourself from teasing him.

Rafe charges towards you in anger with a glint of jest. You try to run backwards, away from him but your shoe is bound to the floor credit to the various adhesives meant to replicate stains and puddles.

By the time Drew realizes you aren't moving, it's too late and his body is already colliding with yours. Tangling together and sending you both tumbling to the ground with Drew between your legs and his head buried in the side of your neck.

You can hear the blood pumping in your ears. Drew's body completely covering yours on set in front of the crew should have you rolling out from underneath him and returning to reality, but no. There you lay, daring to glance into the piercing blue eyes that were already staring at you.

You take into account the notes of his cologne as they intermingle with the detergent of his clothes. The combination clouds your judgement and sends you reeling into a headspace you've been avoiding for the last three months.

You're in deep. Too deep.

"Cut!" Drew gets up like a kid caught red-handed before offering you a helping hand that you take graciously meanwhile the other guides you at the waist so lightly you'd barely notice it was there had your body not been burning at a thousand degrees.

Something is off. Usually, the two of you would be in knots of laughter after something like this, instead only the crew had giggles to go around but you both stood still. Unmoving, eyes locked on each other, looking within.

Could he see you? You wonder, does he know what you're thinking?

You swallow hard, your lips parting to say something, but no words come out. Instead, your gaze flickers to his mouth, and you catch him doing the same thing, just for a split second before he looks away. His jaw tightens as he shoves his hands into his pockets, stepping back, but the tension doesn’t break.

--

The day progresses into a warm summer night as the cast and crew gather at a charming Portuguese restaurant perched high in the city's hills. Lanterns nestled among lush potted plants cast a warm glow, while fairy lights drape elegantly from flowers cascading down from the ceiling, creating a dreamlike ambiance.

The long table overlooks the rolling hills below, their silhouettes dotted with the golden lights of the nearby city. Beyond, the navy-toned ocean stretches out, its gentle waves shimmering under the moonlight, completing the serene view.

The laughter is bubbly as the champagne flows between the tables. The cast looked amazing tonight, everyone had put on their best outfits for a fun night out with their castmates.

While Madelyn and Carlacia posed for a selfie together, Chase helped himself to the last bread roll left in the baskets the waiters had left earlier.

"Did you--" Drew titls the basket towards him so he can analyze the full damage of Chase's consumption. They both laugh, realizing the basket is completely void. "Maybe if we weren't waiting on JD and Y/n, we could get some real food going around."

The sole mention of your name has Drew on edge. He's recently lost the ability to control his own reactions around you as his body surrenders to the very mention of your name.

"Speak of the devil," Chase says as you and JD enter the restaurant side by side, a little embarrassed. "Fashionably late, as always." Madelyn remarks and you giggle.

"I'm sorry guys! I couldn't find my shoes and I extorted Jonathan for his kindness, so don't get mad at him." Your voice is sweet as you make your way around the table. Drew felt as though there were noise-cancelling headphones blocking out any surround sound.

His eyes fulfill their god-given purpose and stay glued to your frame--a very well-dressed frame might he add. You look stunning. He notices that you styled your hair differently. He's unsure if it's personal preference or a maintenance concern, but you rarely wore your natural curls out.

You're always opting to straighten them or put them up, but he thinks it amplifies your allure tenfold. Maybe he's just biased. That must be the case when he realizes he hasn't taken a breath since you walked in.

You situate yourself in the last empty seat between Madelyn and Chase, directly in front of Drew. Oh, this should be fun.

He clears his throat behind a closed fist, glancing up at you by chance and catching your gaze by luck. He does a double take and straightens up. "You look, just--" The words fade on him and he prays the ground would burst open at the seams and swallow him.

"Thank you, so do you." You return the half-finished compliment. However, it's for the best you don't say much about how Drew looks tonight. You're not sure you'd be able to conclude the sentence without the words 'edible', or 'sex on legs'.

Meanwhile, at the other end of the table, JD leans forward to whisper to Madison. "Remember that bet we made for Drew and Y/n, you predicted they'd get together within three months, and guess what? It'll be three months at midnight."

Madison giggles with a playful roll of her eyes. "What? Do you have this on your calendar or something?" JD does in fact proceed to show her his calendar with a marked date that says "Pay Day." Her eyes squint at him, "You are so ridiculous do you know that? I'm not backing down. The night is still young." She grins, and JD just shakes his head at the girl in clear denial.

The night flows on, filled with warmth and familiar laughter circulating the tables as everyone enjoys their conversations. You glanced down into your lap while Chase recounted a funny moment from earlier today on set.

You're anxiously considering if you should succumb to your sinful nature of greed and steal another glance at the breathtaking man sitting across the table.

You shouldn’t glance up—you know you shouldn’t—but you do anyway, and there he is, already watching you. The corner of his mouth curls into the faintest, most maddening smirk like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

You hate to admit it but it intimidates you. The weight of his gaze sends an electric chill down your spine, prompting you to shift in your seat. Drew reaches for a sip of water from the crystal glass on the table while you shift in place.

You cross your legs and your left heel accidentally brushes the inside of Drew's leg and he chokes. He quickly shields it behind a cough and you look like a deer caught in headlights as his ice-blue orbs are piercing through you.

Your foot hasn't moved, but you decided not to provoke him any further and retract it back within your bounds. Your heart is racing and suddenly you're the one reaching for a glass of water to satiate your thirst, but you both know it's an impossible task since there's only one remedy and he's sitting right in front of you.

-

By midnight the cast made it back to their rooms, ready to unwind from a long day and eventful night meanwhile you're stuck. Your mind is bouncing between the walls that seem to get closer the more you pace back and forth.

You've been at it for the last 5 minutes since you made it back to your room. Any normal person would be putting the night behind them and getting ready for bed--but no.

You're not normal. You're obsessed.

Pathetically hooked on the idea of a man who's just 3 doors down the hall--completely oblivious to the trainwreck Drew was making of himself because of you.

You're chewing at your fingernails, contemplating just knocking on his door. Is that crazy? What if it's all in your head?

The latter possibility didn't weigh enough to hold you back from any impulsive decisions as you're stepping over to his door with your heels still on and all it takes is one deep breath before you're raising your hand to knock but it swings open before it makes contact.

Drew looks like he hadn't taken a seat since he got back either. He looks restless, frazzled, and maybe even frustrated. His chest halts on the incline as he holds his breath, startled to see exactly who he'd been looking for standing right in front of him.

His eyes rake over your figure frantically as if trying to decipher if you're truly standing in front of him.

"Hi," You breathe out, your head angled up to admire his perfect features while he stares down at you.

"Hey," His voice is soft, struggling to mask the undertone of sheer need.

Your mouth gapes, hesitating to say something but you decide to let your body speak for itself. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck and tug him down so your lips crash against his.

The dam finally bursts and Drew's hands fly to wrap around your waist and pull you inside, swiftly closing the door behind you before he has you pinned up against it. His lips worked desperately along the expanse of your neck, trying to be mindful about his marks but he couldn't help himself. He's wanted this for so long-- Needed you for so long.

"Drew-" You gasp as he sucked particularly hard just below your ear, it sends you reeling and your eyes roll back with the little bit of your sanity that remains. "Hm?" He hums into the sweet scent of your skin, the same scent that's taunted him for months.

"Never mind." You dismiss yourself and resume the heated kisses that were paired with your desperate hands. You hastily unbuttoned his shirt while he unzipped the back of your dress, all while never breaking the kiss.

It's intense. Your hands ghost over the definition of his abs and he tenses a little as he curses under his breath. Every ounce of contact you made with his body, lit his skin on fire.

Your dress puddles around your ankles once it meets the floor and Drew wastes no time before he's slowly sinking to his knees, your head shakes repeatedly but no words escape.

You're not even sure why you're denying it, your body wasn't functioning correctly--but could you blame it? You had thee Drew Starkey on his knees for you, and he was about to put his mouth to good great use.

Your point is proved once he had your panties on the floor and one leg hooked over his shoulder. His tongue lapped over your folds, languidly at first, as if to test the passion-infested waters.

"Drew--please." That's all it takes. One airy breath from you and he's consuming you from the core. His nose brushes against your clit every so often as his warm, wet tongue slides over your cunt with an unnatural hunger.

Your hands reach out to hold on to something, anything, but you're left to scratch at the door desperately as he works you to till you're tight-roping across the edge. Drew's just as turned on as you are, the rock-solid boner he's sporting beneath his dress pants a true testament to it.

His focus finally shifts to the pearl of your pussy, and you almost wish he'd never moved to it. X would never recover if they knew Drew Starkey ate pussy with his life.

Your legs are beginning to shake and it's a telltale sign that within seconds his name will be the only word falling from your lips. Once it finally hits you, the world crumbles and you feel like an angel falling from heaven. His mouth had pulled you down into the depths of hell, right into his arms and you couldn't be happier.

You make this clear when you pull him up to meet your gaze, he towers over you but you distract yourself from the effect it has on you by taking his thumb and wiping your slick off his swollen pink lips and sucking it off, wrapping your tongue around his thumb until he snaps.

Within the same second, he moves his hands to grab at the sides of your face, kissing you deeply. It's nothing but tongue and there's spit rolling over your bottom lip by the time you're both pulling back, chests heaving, lungs filled with each other's air, but it still wasn't enough.

He's holding onto you like he can never let you go. "You've got no idea how long I've needed this, needed you." He says and it makes your heart stutter in its rhythm. "Oh please," You dismiss him but his left hand stays on your waist while the other gently cups your cheek.

His eyes scan to search for yours in the dimly lit room, the only source of light stemming from the lone lamp beside the bed. "I like you, Y/n. It wasn't a secret. How could it be? I can't help myself around you." His words put a cheesy grin on your face.

"I like you, Drew. Always have. Big fan of your work, by the way." You giggle, referring to the almost degrading acts he'd just committed between your legs, but it evokes a breathy chuckle from him.

"Yeah?" He teases, stepping towards you and you take one step back, but he surprises you and scoops you up into his arms. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he leads you to the bed, tossing you onto your back and he crawls between your legs.

There's one last soft glance between the two of you. No more yearning, no more stealing glances from across the room. Finally, you're in his arms and you fit more perfectly than he could've imagined.

"What?" You say blankly, wondering what had him warped inside his own mind for so long. A smile stretches across his lips, "Nothin', just happy to be here." It's corny, but you laugh anyway. Moaning into the sweet kiss he dropped down to your lips, holding himself up with those big strong arms of his.

The rest is a blur of strong hands and intoxicating kisses that are used to distract you from the sweet burn that engulfed your body into flames as he rolled his hips into yours, letting his cock push into you for the first time.

The gasps you both let out are innocent, shocked and full of bliss from the moment he bottoms out. "Just l-let me know if you want me to slow down at any time, okay?" The sentiment comes out through clenched teeth as he refrains from any sudden movements.

The heat of your velvet walls convulsing around him is driving him to a point beyond insanity. "Oh god, start moving--please," you whine and Drew's body shudders.

"Fuck, don't beg. I'll give you anything you want, baby." He seals his promise with an accelerated pace, his cock driving in and out of you at a steady rhythm that had you arching into him, eyes screwed shut and unable to meet his gaze."

"Hey, hey, look at me." He deepens his thrusts and it makes the requirements of his words that much harder to meet. Struggling, your eyes flutter open but you shy away under his piercing gaze.

He looked too good for a man fucking your brains out. The way his jaw worked, locked in place from concentrations. His body was coated in a thin sheet of sweat that made him glisten under the rays of the lamp.

"God, you look perfect. So gorgeous." He flatters you and it heightens your high tenfold. Your hands reach out to grab onto the sheets of his bed but he offers you his hand instead. Giving it an assuring squeeze as you tumble into a vortex of euphoria. "I'm-" Interrupted by your own orgasm you short-circuit and the sight of you unravelling underneath him is enough to make him cum.

"Y/n-- shit!" He groans, hips stuttering rapidly until he blows his load and holds his place over you. The room goes quiet, filled with nothing but the consistent attempts for you to catch your breath. When you're ready, he pulls out slowly, tying off the condom and tossing it out.

"I'm gonna head to the shower," It falls from your lips suggestively but Drew waits for you to make your intentions clear. He licks his lips as he watches you strut your way to the bathroom, stopping once you're in the frame.

There's a charming grin you flash him from over your shoulder, "You coming or what?"

He was in fact coming. Twice, in the shower, you made sure the first time you repaid the favour with your mouth that was too talented for him to handle. His palm held your hair tight in a makeshift ponytail, holding onto the glass for his life before he fucked you up against it.

Sensically, there were no condoms available in the shower and you both recognized the risk you'd be taking but anything was worth the risk if it involved you. Besides, you both swore this would be the first and last time you fuck raw.

What a lie.

The minute you felt the unfiltered length of his cock slip into you, you knew it was a done deal. This was going to be a very big problem for both of you in the near future. He's your new addiction and you'll never quit.

The following morning the cast was expected to meet each other downstairs at 11 am for brunch, but here you are, tangled up under Drew's sheets at 1 in the afternoon after waking up only 20 minutes earlier. Your excessive sexcapades from the night before had worn you both out.

The blankets are covering your bodies as Drew slides between your folds with leisure, taking his time and fucking you open intimately. "You think they noticed we're missing?" Drew breathes out and your arms go to wrap around his neck as you answer. "Definitely. I'm not sure, but I think Madison was betting on this."

"Give her whatever she's owed. She wins, and god I'm so glad."

Taglist: @percysley, @lilithblackkk, @rafegf-real, @eternallovers65, @drsza, @wearemadeofstardust0, @cadhlabear, @thepopcultureaddict, @citr0us, @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account, @madi44444,@willowpains, @riaras-everthroner, @iteuosav, @rafeycameronsgf, @moonlitunicorn, @thepopcultureaddict, @livinobx, @rafeycameronsgf.

[aly4khq]

A DRAGON'S LAIR! ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ⋆*

— sum: You were exploring Tarus city as a self mission, trying to find the dragon who was told to have lived in the city for many years to come. You thought that you would encounter barely anything, but you were ever so wrong.

— characters: dragon!sylus

— warnings: pining, he tops ur clothes, double penetrartion (he had too dicks), improper use of his tail, manhandling, biting, fuckin from behind. (if i have missed any, please inform me!)

— wc: 1,746

You've never been one to lerk into unknown territory or to find refuge in a random city that you learnt about in a history book — it's never been in your nature at all. But once you saw the posters, you knew that it was a place of worship and surprise.

Tarus city, a city where it's been claimed to have a dragon that laid in the depths of a special cave. The cave was highly risky for any normal human being, I mean, the image that laid on the posters was frightening enough to keep away tourists. The unusually greyish-red that scattered around the cave's entrance, moving around like a line circling a branch, a black thick coating around it which looked like claws when compared to each other, the singular hand on the top leading to the cave like it was inviting you.

You loved mythical creatures so this was a field day for you, you needed to go.

There was also a garden which yearly grew beautiful flowers there, crimson in colour and rose in shape. They scattered everywhere, and they seemed to have been planted by a very skilled gardener — if there even was one back in the early years of life. Oh how you'd love to distress by rolling in there after a long day, what a dream.

But you weren't just there for the cool looking dragon, you were there for the sword. Like that playground sword that you had to remove from the ground, and whoever could move it was the 'chosen one', there was one that laid outside the cave, imbedded in the beautiful scenery of flowers and healthy grass with its delicate pattern leaving you with mysteries.

"Where did it come from?" "What does it symbolise?" "How did it get there out of all places?"

Who owned it?

Well, let's just say that you weren't too scared to find out. You needed answers and if you had to dig into a random mythical cave then you will. Despite the lack of information, you searched up any little tips to help you navigate inside of a cave.

You needed to be prepared, and properly prepared.

After a while of constant climbing and exploring the beautiful long yards of greenery, you stood face to face with the cave that was feared the most back in Linkon City, aka the Dragon's Lair. In the papers, it looked like absolute horror capturing in a frame but in person, it was gorgeous.

The cave was expanded and opened for anyone to come into, and you'd did just that. Entering the cave, you turned on the flashlight you brought, seeing insta treasures of many different kinds of art scattered around the walls of the cave. "Wow...this is cool..." you softly murmured to yourself, still engrossed in the scenery—

...what the hell was that?

A deep and raged growl sped through the walls of the cave like air, filling your eyes with an intense sound. Hissing, the growl's sound waves led you to an expanded room, where a big bed-like item was in the front, surrounding by more jewels of ancient treasures. You found yourself searching around, looking for what this place could've belonged to.

And after 5 minutes, you dug in, "What's the worst that could happen?"

Searching the amazing rich items on the floor, your bag got heavier and heavier with time. Each jewel that caught your eye went in. Some of them even had ancient symbols on them, now that's a lot of money.

But, a singular gem caught your eye. It was a necklace that had a black substance scattered all over it, laying on the bed that was in the middle of the room. "Oh?" your hand went out, curious, "This is peculiar."

The necklace was a beautiful golden chain, wrapping with ancient knots and twists so it was bonded together perfectly. On both sides of the pendants scattered around the necklace, there were small, very intricate patterns dented into the metal. It had a pocture of a dragon on the front, and it...was weirdly shaped. Like the top half was crossed out, but forget that, you just found a good millions of money in your hands.

"Well, that's been a nice journey here cave, thanks for the new finds and...yeah. I'll be going."

You turned for the entrance where you came from, and it was blocked off by a large bolder. "Huh..? Why...who?"

You turned around to find a way to get out when a tail wrapped around your waist, pulling you down to your knees in a rapid manner. You scrapped your knee on the harsh carpet. "Ah! Hah...ow.." You tired to arise from your forced position when you heard a deep voice.

"Were you never taught of etiquette? Or was it just you who missed out?"

He boomed over you, a...handsome man. He was silver hair, crimson eyes and weird black claws and a tail. His clothes bleeding in with his skin.

This isn't the dragon. I mean, it's a literally human being?

"Etiquette? Who are you?" You replied back harshly, not thinking before you spoke. Remembering quickly, it was too late, his tail went around your body before whipping the skin behind you thighs. You yelped, cursing the man-dragon above you.

"You!—" "Me what?"

He arose from his throne, walkijg menacingly to grab your waist before pulling you up to your feet. He turned you around, your back against his toned chest. His hand went over your chin and upper neck, pushing your head back to his shoulder with a smirk.

"Maybe I should teach you," he bite your collarbone before growling, "how to respect a dragon's cave."

"Gahh—Ugggg, you're so deep!—"

"Focus."

That same dragon had you bent over the same drawer you had stolen from, your clothes ripped from his sharp claws just where you soaked pussy was.Your back arched like never before and his hand still around your chin, his teeth biting and sucking on your collarbone with delight. His hips were slow but deep, reaching your cervix with long strokes, his dick sending you into a wave of pleasure.

"What's the answer?"

He'd made you write down the rules of entering his cave again, the pencil shaking vigorously in your trembling hands. The paper soaking up your falling tears as you begged and pleaded with the man above you. "Hahh— Sylus— please...! Please! I might just—"

His tail traveled down your clit, gently caressing it with the peek of the tail. "Write it down, or I'll do even worse." He threatened, and you obeyed, grabbing the pencil and harshly writing down, "I will be respectfu—"

"Ah!!" His hip gave you a sharp thrust, a warning to behave and write properly. His hand groping your wee cheeks to the point that you could feel his claws digging into your flesh. "You have one more chance." With every word, he thrusted harder until you shrieked, your body bending more forward to escape his powerful hips, you pussy squeezes into the life out of him.

Your hands went back, trying to push his pelvis away from you. "Hm?" He hummed, his eyebrow rising before you hear a chuckle, "Want me to slow down sweetie?" His voice was playful, yet you nodded quickly anyway.

"Too bad." 



He sped up, his hips snapping so fast with your to the point where it echoed in the room. Your hands banged on the drawer, lookijg for a way to soothe to intense pleasure that you were being given. You couldn't even speak, your face fucked out and your body slowly weakening.

"S-Sy...luss...I can't...! Please..." You begged, trying to find a better way to convince him to give you a break. His dick the was so deep that you thought that it was two dicks at once. It felt so huge, and more struggle.

The stretch was too much, you yelled, "Sylus! Why is it—" You gasped loudly, relent that he had two massive ducks in you at the moment, both of them lodged deep in your pussy. In that moment, you nearly passed out. "Ahh ah hah...hahh!!" You cried out, tensing, "Pleaseee..."

"You're fine, just one more." Sylus cheered on, his tail moving up to caress your back, travelling down the straight line. His tail met your ass, gently put slowly digging it into your other hole, "No! No no, please, i can't, please," Your whole body was shaking, your sweat coating your skin.

"Mhm, fine, for now." Sylus replied in a teasing tone before continuing to roll his hips into yours, and by that tight squeeze he knew that you were close. You stood a little, crying, "I can feel it!— I need to pee—Why does it feel like I need to pee?!—"

He reassured you, speaking in your ear, "It's normal, you're fine, just relax." You wasn't breathing at all. He grabbed your chin again before ordering you, "Cum."

Your orgasm hit you, your lungs not being able to take in oxygen due to the sheer force of your release. The intense feeling was still shocking you, your hands braking some of the wood of the drawer due to your grip. Your legs shaking like no ever before you felt his claws tap your chest, "Hey, Breathe."

You took a deep breath in before covering your mouth, instantly being met with fatigue. "I need a rest...I can't feel myself..." Sylus chuckled at your position, his hand goijg around your waist to carry you to his bed. "It's okay, you took both off my dicks, well done."

"I knew you'd come along," Sylus hummed, "so just relax my Queen, I'll take care of you.

this is not proofread! i was too eager to post so sorry hotties!

@ aly4khq, do not plagiarise, translate or copy my work. (30/11/24)

[januaryembrs]

YOU'RE TOO SWEET FOR ME | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

Request: @avis-writeshq says -

HELLO HELLO jumping on your 2k celebration reqs because 2K OMG SO DESERVED ‼️🫶

may i perhaps request a spencer reid x fem!reader fic please 🥹 maybe him post prison w new reader and she follows him around everywhere because she’s just instantly enamoured to him 🤭

thank you so so much lovely and congrats again !!!

Description: thirteen years in the fbi and ten weeks in prison does a number on Spencer, only when he arrives back in the office he meets the sunshine rookie that seems rather taken with him.

word length: 2.6k (this really ran away from me)

warnings: post-prison Reid, slightest age gap, Spencer dealing with coming home from prison, gun shooting?

authors note: hozier’s new song 'Too Sweet' + post-prison reid is a need, not a want.

He smelled her french vanilla perfume before he even knew she was there. But then again, it was all he could smell the minute she waltzed into the office with a tray of coffee, like someone had stuck a sweet dessert in the oven and baked it on full. 

“Good morning!” She chirped, winding an arm over his shoulder and setting down a take out cup and a little chocolate donut on his desk, “Pen said you like chocolate, and I mean who doesn’t like chocolate, right?” 

She was potent when she was so close to him, and in one single breath he caught a whiff of her shampoo, before she had flitted over to her side of the desk that sat opposite his, where Morgan once sat. Noticing his hesitance, mistaking it for discontent she paused, almost spilling her own beverage over the potted plant she kept by her keyboard, scrambling to set it on the surface.

“Y-you do like chocolate right? I mean they had strawberry too, I can switch yours with JJ’s, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind-” She splurged, and her face was much too worried considering it was a matter of a donut, particularly considering he was already eying up the way the thick chocolate was melting in the pastry bag.

“Chocolate is great, I love…” He held up the bag to read the label with squinting hazel hues, “Cocoa Caramel delight,”

He had never heard of it.

He had never even seen this brand, but he wanted to quell her nerves even in the slightest. The BAU didn’t have the funds for a new keyboard, let alone time to send her to the ER if she ended up spilling her coffee over her hand. 

She seemed convinced, and he offered her a small smile, not exactly his most enthusiastic, but then again he hadn’t been much of a morning person since he’d come out of prison. He liked quiet, he liked a moment to himself before Penelope called them into the round table for briefing. But she was sweet, too sweet perhaps for the dark nature of their job. 

He could already see it chewing up her perky disposition and spitting her right back out within a year. It happened to the best of them.

But she smiled back at him, a million watt grin that made him think maybe he was being a little cruel. She was still brand new, still trying to make friends and he remembered how hard he tried when it had been his first few weeks on the team. He turned his gaze away from her in shame, reading the way she’d written his name on the cup in a pink sharpie, framing it with two doodle hearts. 

She all but skipped away, sensing he didn’t feel like talking much anymore, and he heard Emily exclaiming she was ‘A caffeine angel sent from the heavens,’ as she handed her the drink. He watched her braided hair disappear down the hall as she bounced over to Penelope’s lair. 

He picked at the cocoa caramel delight with a kind of self loathing he was familiar with, the french vanilla still a saccharine sugar in his nose. 

-

She caught him again; though this time he felt her bristle past his arm, watching the bullets pierce the target paper with an accuracy that only came from fourteen years of practice. 

“Do you reckon you could teach me how to do that?” Her cadence was light and airy, and he had to stop himself from jumping, from slamming the butt of the gun into her nose on reaction, because he knew she meant well, even though she had no idea how damaged he was.

He was still out of sorts from having to look over his shoulder at every second of the day, and he was surprised he was holding it together so far. He supposed shooting the shit out of a target helped.

Because it was just her, looking at him with soft eyes and a smile that could start wars, and he knew she had no idea the effect she had on the walls he’d tried so hard to build in prison. 

She must have mistook his look for annoyance, because she was quick to fumble with her own loaded gun, taking a step back in retreat, worried that she crossed some line she didn’t know he’d drawn.

“Or I could get Luke to show me, I didn’t mean to bother you, I just am really a shit shot and I know that’s pretty useless in the field-” It wasn’t until he flicked the safety on and took a step to follow her did she look at him again hopefully. 

“No, I’d be more than happy to show you,” He cleared his throat, setting his pistol in its holster and stepping behind her as she lined herself up for the fake body meant to resemble an unsub, “We all have to start somewhere. Show me your form,” 

She raised her arms up in front of her, aiming for a few seconds for the spot in the centre of the chest cavity, her finger reaching up for the trigger. 

She shot once, her face hardened for the first time he’d ever seen, and they both watched the paper rip about half a foot down the unsub’s leg. 

“See, in my head it’s hitting dead centre and then by the time I shoot it’s wiggling all over the place,” She explained, scratching her neck and frowning at the paper body, “I don’t suppose unsubs are willing to stand still and wait while the rookie figures out her shot,”

“Your hips are perfect, wide stance means you get more stability against the ricochet,” She tried not to simper at his words, or the way he sidled up behind her, his hands coming up to her shoulders as if he’d known her for years, as if JJ hadn’t told her how much he hated other people’s germs, “It’s in your shoulders you’re losing balance, try relaxing a little,”

But she couldn’t not when he was breathing down her neck, rubbing those long fingers over her shoulder blades trying to get her to straighten out her posture, hoping he couldn’t feel the way her chest rattled with nerves. 

“Relax,” He reminded, trying not to chuckle when he felt her shake her arms out as a means of hiding the way her skin had warmed under his rough touch, “You know, my unit chief taught me how to shoot. I wasn’t at all good at it when I first started,”

“Oh really?” She asked, her breaths feather light as he reached around her and adjusted her grip on the gun, “H-he must have been a good teacher,”

“He was the best,” Spencer agreed, brushing off the fact she was all but putty beneath his hands, “Three steps for the perfect shot; front sight, trigger press, follow through. Always keep your head forward, always keep your dominant finger ready, and wait until you’ve shot to drop your stance,” 

She looked up at him in admiration, and her soft smile was back as his own musk of laundry detergent and chamomile soap encompassed her as his arms did. 

He brought one of those big hands to the back of her head, moving her with gentle ease to look back at the target, a slight chuckle in his voice as he spoke: “Focus, what’s step number one?”

“Front sight,” She echoed him, fixing her shoulders with determination as he dropped his hands and stepped away from her. Taking a deep breath, she murmured to herself under her breath the next step as her forefinger rested over the trigger. She pulled it after a moment of courage, and froze in spot as she watched it hit where the stomach would sit. 

Not a perfect shot, but certainly a lot better than she had been doing. 

Her eyes widened behind the thick protective glasses, and her hands became fists above her head as she squealed in delight. 

“Did you see that- did you see!” She yelled over the sound proof ear muffs they both wore, and he was quick to grab the gun out of her swinging arms, clicking the safety on for her before she could end up blowing a hole in the ceiling. 

“Very good, give it a few months you’ll be a natural,” He complimented with a smile as she clapped her hands in glee, buzzing on the spot as if she’d chugged five energy drinks or doubled up on her coffee for the day. 

He tried ignoring the way his chest warmed seeing her so happy because of him, especially when she looked at him like that. 

--

“You said you needed those files, Dr Reid,” She’d appeared again, like she always did, and he had barely enough time to glance up from the paper he was already inspecting before he was hit by the perfume again, and he looked up to see two bright eyes watching him hopefully. Her arms were piled high with easily a box full of folders he had asked Anderson to find for him, and he saw the way she strained slightly to keep them held tight. 

“Jesus! Let me help you,” She prayed he couldn’t feel the way her heart thumping against the manilla folders as he leaned over to take them out of her grasp, the way her eyes fell to his light smattering of facial hair as his lips were little more than a few inches from hers. Even when his hands brushed hers, and he seemed to realise she was staring, watching her scramble to look somewhere else other than his amused eyes, embarrassed he’d caught her, “Thankyou. And just call me Spencer,” 

“Thankyou,” She echoed, shaking her head with a girlish smile on her face, her cheeks warm with humiliation, “I mean you’re welcome, any time,” 

For the sake of her self preservation he waited until she turned around to smile to himself, pretending he didn’t see the way she muttered under her breath, or that she almost walked straight into the filing cabinet on her hasty exit out of the office. 

“Seems like you have a shadow,” Emily’s voice met him as he heard her heeled footsteps approach, and they both watched their newest team mate almost bump right into JJ as she kept her head down, stroking her hair nervously, “She was super excited to meet you when you were away, said she went to one of your guest lectures you did with Hotch a couple years ago,”

His brows shot into his hairline, something warm flourishing in his chest when he saw her peek back to see the two of them watching her, and she immediately darted for her seat for an excuse to turn her back to them. 

Spencer smiled again, running a hand through his curled locks as if he was trying to think of something else other than the joy that had over come his features. 

She certainly was charming, in an incredibly girlish way, and he wasn’t the only one who thought it. He hadn’t heard Penelope giggling so much since Morgan had left, nor did he miss the way Rossi and Emily watched her darting around in the field, chasing after her as if she needed one of those leashes people had for toddlers.

Or the way Luke had had to talk her out of bringing a stray cat back to the BAU just two days ago because ‘it looked sad and lonely’. 

She was only eight years his junior, and yet he felt like the job had made him too hard, too mature, too tough against a softness like hers.

Girls had never really been interested in him, at least not for him as Spencer Reid, not as SSA Dr Reid. He had the occasional fling, even Maeve in the grand scheme of things had been a budding romance at best, and just the thought of Cat Adams viper-like eyes had him shuddering. 

He barely wanted anything to do with women at the moment, at least that was what he’d told himself every night he’d been fighting for his damn life in prison. 

But it was almost too easy to feel this way about her, like he couldn’t drink in her sweet smell or even sweeter voice fast enough, or bathe in her gaze that melted like rich chocolate when he took a glance her way. 

He didn’t bring it up with her until they were the last few people filing out of the office. 

“I can drive you,” She chirped, almost dropping the contents of her bag everywhere as she rooted for her car keys, and before he could protest, because it was like all he could see now was how eager to be around him she was and he wasn’t too sure he could keep himself from opening pandora’s box, she jingled her keys, that of course had crochet bluebells hanging from them and all but danced past him into the elevator. “Come on, you can have shotgun,” 

“I’ll be the only passenger, doesn’t that mean I automatically have shotgun?” He asked, following behind her as she stood in the elevator with a beaming smile, her finger clicking the ground floor button a bunch of times even though it made no difference how fast the doors closed. 

“Well, yeah, but it’s going to be the best shotgun you’ve ever had. I’m talking you can be Miss Daisy and I’ll be your Morgan Freeman,” And as if her spirit was infectious, he shook his head with a hidden chuckle.

There was a minute of silence between the two as she played with a loose thread on her cardigan, and it was then he took the chance to ask her the question that had been burning on his lips all day. 

“You didn’t by any chance go to University of Pennsylvania, did you?” Spencer asked, noting the way her eyes fell to the floor and how she licked her lips nervously.

“Yeah,” She replied cautiously, fingers clenched tightly around her keyring, “I know it’s not Caltech, but it was pretty good-”

“Didn't you see my lecture with Hotch?” He asked, and his smile widened tenfold when her hands slapped over her cheeks that burned with horror, moving quickly up to cover her eyes, “Little birdy told me you were quite excited to meet me-”

“Oh, Emily,” She groaned, burying her face in her palms, avoiding his teasing expression like the plague, “I knew, I knew she was going to tell you, I’m surprised she didn’t tell JJ first, unless she did and our whole team know I was some crazy girl who liked the FBI agents so much she switched her major,” 

“You switched your major for me?” He asked incredulously and he only laughed harder, one of the first times since he’d come home, when she groaned louder, turning away from him entirely. 

“Shut up, I did not swap my major for you,” She bit back, and she finally met his gaze, her expression an embarrassed wince, “I just… liked the material. You were very compelling,”

“Did you have a poster of us?” Spencer wanted to stop teasing, knew he was being a little cruel, but how could he resist when she shrieked in between laughter, shoving his shoulder with mortification.

“No,”

“Did you kiss Hotch’s picture before bed like an obsessive fangirl?” 

She gestured to him vulgarly as they left the elevator and headed for the car park, and it made a huge difference to the usual adoration she watched him with, but maybe, he thought, it made him like her even more. 

“No more shotgun for you, you’re going in the trunk like an old rug,” She snapped, though he could tell she was still horrified by the way she avoided his delighted hazelnut gaze. 

“Like an old rug?” He feigned hurt, but when they sat in her car, she finally looked over at him with something vulnerable and yet affectionate, like he’d seen her for all she was worth. He reached over the console to squeeze her hand gently, not missing the way her palm clammed beneath his and she struggled for words, so he continued for her, “That’s really no way to talk to your idol, you know,” 

Spencer swore his chest felt lighter than it had in months watching her laugh like that.

[submattenthusiast]

squirting and suffocating matt the munch

when matt wasn't using his mouth to be a smartass or to make unnecessarily mean comments; his mouth was heaven sent. you thought this nickname was just a unserious joke between him and his friends or some shit — but it was not. the soft kisses he planted on your stomach and around your pussy was greatly contrasted with the way he devoured your sensitive bundle of nerves.

his tongue dragged down your folds messily, sloppily — not rushing but taking his time to taste you; take you in. you let out a soft groan at his cold tongue exploring your warmth. exploring everywhere but where he was needed the most. your clit began to get puffy from the lack of attention. matt noticed instantly. taking care of her, he spread your lips for easy access and his tongue got to work, popping out give soft kitten licks. "don't tease" you warn.

still submissively listening, his mouth wrapped around the bud, sucking at it like a lollipop. your hands found comfort his soft brown locs, parading through them as he ate you out. a certain tug of hair pulled his attention to you, his blue eyes bore into yours as he continued to slurp and lick at your pussy. feeling that his tongue wasn't stimulating you enough, matt brought two fingers to trace circles on your attention-less clit.

the tongue fucking your needy hole and the relentless pace from his fingers had a pressure forming in your lower stomach. and suddenly feeling of having to pee rushed over you. you tried to squeeze your legs together to prevent the squirting from happening and somehow warn matt. "matt matt i'm gonna—" you whine, while trying to push him away. he didn't budge, the tugging of his hair and the clenching of your thighs and walls, didn't phase him one bit. he remained calm and continued to fuck you with his tongue. "i can take it stop fussing" he mumbled into your folds.

with caution, you unclench and let yourself go. simultaneously his hand and tongue gave you that push. the clear liquid shot out from deep inside you, covering his face and the sheets under you. you cried out at the release of everything you'd been holding in. it felt heavenly. your nails dug into his scalp accidentally, but matt kept going, groaning deeply as he lapped up everything that continued to flow out of you.

my take on matt!the munch :)🔖 @luvs4matt @ariestrxsh