#yeah? I’m about to make it your problem

[victhespookygoat]

Full Transcript Below bc Forbes' Website Sucks:

TRUMP (after a reporter asks if he’s too “aligned” with Putin): If I didn’t align myself with both of them, you’d never have a deal. You want me to say really terrible things about Putin, and then say, ‘Hi Vladimir, how are we doing on the deal?’ That doesn’t work that way. I’m not aligned with Putin, I’m not aligned with anybody, I’m aligned with the United States of America and for the good of the world. I’m aligned with the world and I wanna get this thing over with. You see the hatred he’s got for Putin, it’s very tough for me to make a deal with that kind of hate. He’s got tremendous hatred, and I understand that, but I can tell you the other side isn’t exactly in love with him either. So, it’s not a question of alignment, I have—I’m aligned with the world. I want to get the thing sett—I’m aligned with Europe, I want to see if we can get this thing done. You want me to be tough? I can be tougher than any human being you’ve ever seen, I’d be so tough, but you’re never going to get a deal that way, so that’s the way it goes. Alright, one more question…

PROMOTED

VANCE: Hey, I want to respond to this. So, look, for four years the United States of America, we had a president who stood up at press conferences and talked tough about Vladimir Putin, and then Putin invaded Ukraine and destroyed a significant chunk of the country. The path to peace and the path to prosperity is maybe engaging in diplomacy. We tried the pathway of Joe Biden, of thumping our chest and pretending that the President of the United States’ words mattered more than the President of the United States’ actions. What makes America a good country is America engaging in diplomacy. That’s what President Trump is doing.

ZELENSKYY: Can I ask you?

VANCE: Sure.

ZELENSKYY: Yeah?

VANCE: Yeah.

ZELENSKYY: Okay, he occupied our parts, big parts of Ukraine, part of East and Crimea, so he occupied it in 2014. So, during a lot of years, I’m not speaking about just Biden, but those time was … President Obama, then President Trump, then President Biden, now President Trump and, god bless, now President Trump will stop him. But during 2014, nobody stopped him. He just occupied and took. He killed people, you know? What the contact line—

TRUMP: 2015.

ZELENSKYY: 2014.

VANCE: 2014 to 2015.

TRUMP: Oh, 2014.

ZELENSKYY: Yeah, yeah, yeah, so.

TRUMP: I was not here.

ZELENSKYY: Yeah, but…

VANCE: That’s exactly right.

ZELENSKYY: Yes, but during 2014 til 2022, the situation the same that people have been dying on the contact line. Nobody stopped him. You know that we had conversations with him, a lot of conversations, multilateral conversations. And we signed with him, me, like a new president in 2019, I signed with him the deal. I signed with him, Macron and Merkel, we signed ceasefire. Ceasefire, all of them told me that he will never go, we signed with him a gas contract … Yes, but after that he broke the ceasefire, he killed our people and he didn’t exchange prisoners. We signed the exchange of prisoners, but he didn’t do it. What kind of diplomacy, JD, you are speaking about? What do you mean?

VANCE: I’m talking about the kind of diplomacy that’s going to end the destruction of your country.

ZELENSKYY: Yes, but if you—

VANCE: Mr. President, Mr. President, with respect I think it’s disrespectful for you to come into the Oval Office and try to litigate this in front of the American media. Right now, you guys are going around and forcing conscripts to the front lines because you have manpower problems. You should be thanking the president for trying to bring an end to this conflict.

ZELENSKYY: Have you ever been to Ukraine that you see what problems we have?

VANCE: I have been to—

ZELENSKYY: Come once.

VANCE: I have actually watched and seen the stories and I know what happens is you bring people, you bring them on a propaganda tour, Mr. President. Do you disagree that you’ve had problems bringing people into your military?

ZELENSKYY: We have problems—

VANCE: And do you think that it’s respectful to come to the Oval Office of the United States of America and attack the administration that is trying to prevent the destruction of your country?

ZELENSKYY: A lot of questions. Let’s start from the beginning.

VANCE: Sure.

ZELENSKYY: First of all, during the war, everybody has problems. Even you, but you have nice ocean and don’t feel now, but you’ll feel it in the future. God bless, god bless—

TRUMP: You don’t know that. You don’t know—don’t tell us what we’re gonna feel. We’re trying to solve a problem. Don’t tell us what we’re gonna feel.

ZELENSKYY: I’m not telling you, I’m answering on the question—

TRUMP: Because you’re in no position to dictate that.

VANCE: That’s exactly what you’re doing.

TRUMP: You’re in no position to dictate what we’re gonna feel, we’re going to feel very good. We’re going to feel very good and very strong—

ZELENSKYY: You will feel influence—

TRUMP: You’re right now not in a very good position. You’ve allowed yourself to be in a very bad position and he happens to be right about it.

ZELESKYY: From the very beginning of the war—

TRUMP: You’re not in a good position. You don’t have the cards right now. With us, you start having cards.

ZELENSKYY: I’m not playing cards. [INAUDIBLE] Mr. President, [INAUDIBLE].

[CROSSTALK]

TRUMP: Right now you’re—you’re playing cards, you’re playing cards—you’re gambling with the lives of millions of people. You’re gambling with World War III. You’re gambling with World War III. And what you’re doing is very disrespectful to the country, this country. It’s backed you far more than a lot of people said they should have.

VANCE: Have you said ‘thank you’ once this entire time?

ZELENSKYY: A lot of times.

VANCE: No, in this—

ZELENSKYY: Even today. Even today—

VANCE: No, in this entire meeting. You went to Pennsylvania and campaigned for the opposition in October. Offer some words of appreciation for the United States of America and the president who’s trying to save your country.

ZELENSKYY: Please, you think that if you will speak very loudly about the war—

TRUMP: He’s not speaking loudly. He’s not speaking loudly. Your country’s in big trouble.

ZELENSKYY: Can I? Can I answer?—

TRUMP: Wait a minute. No, no. You’ve done a lot of talking. Your country is in big trouble.

ZELENSKYY: I know. I know.

TRUMP: You’re not winning, you're not winning this. You have a damn good chance of coming out okay because of us.

ZELENSKYY: Mr. President, we are staying in our country, staying strong. From the very beginning of the war we have been alone and we are thankful. I said thanks in this cabinet, [INAUDIBLE], I said thanks—

TRUMP: You haven’t been alone. You haven’t been alone. We gave you—through this stupid president—$350 billion—

ZELENSKYY: You voted for your president.

TRUMP: We gave you military equipment and your men are brave but they had to use our military—if you didn’t have our military equipment, if you didn’t have our military equipment, this war would have been over in two weeks.

ZELENSKYY: In three days, I heard it from Putin, in three days—

TRUMP: Maybe less.

ZELENSKYY: In two weeks, of course—

TRUMP: It’s going to be a very hard thing to do business like this, I tell you.

VANCE: Just say thank you.

ZELENSKYY: I said a lot of times, thank you to American people—

VANCE: Accept that there are disagreements and let’s go litigate those disagreements rather than trying to fight it out in the American media when you’re wrong. We know that you’re wrong.

TRUMP: But you see, I think it’s good for the American people to see what’s going on. I think it’s very important, that’s why I kept this going so long. You have to be thankful—

ZELENSKYY: I’m thankful—

TRUMP: You don’t have the cards. You’re buried there, your people are dying, you’re running low on soldiers—listen. You’re running low on soldiers, it would be a damn good thing. Then you tell us: ‘I don’t want a ceasefire, I don’t want a ceasefire, I want to go, and I want this—.’ Look, if you could get a ceasefire right now, I tell you you’d take it so the bullets stop flying and your men stop getting killed.

ZELENSKYY: Of course, of course we want to stop the war.

TRUMP: But you’re saying you don’t want a ceasefire—

ZELENSKYY: What I said to you—

TRUMP: I want a ceasefire. Because you get a ceasefire faster than an agreement.

ZELENSKYY: With guarantees. Ask our people about ceasefire, what they think. It doesn’t matter for you what—

TRUMP: That wasn’t with me. That wasn’t with me.

[CROSSTALK]

TRUMP: That was with a guy named Biden who is not a smart person—That was with Obama.

ZELENSKYY: That was your president. It was your president—

TRUMP: Excuse me, that was with Obama who gave you sheets, and I gave you javelins.

ZELENSKYY: Yes.

TRUMP: I gave you the javelins to take out all those tanks. Obama gave you sheets. In fact, the statement is: Obama gave sheets and Trump gave javelins. You gotta be more thankful. Because let me tell you, you don’t have the cards. With us, you have the cards. But without us, you don’t have any cards.

REPORTER: One more question…

TRUMP: It's going to be a tough deal to make. Because attitudes have to change.

REPORTER: What if Russia breaks ceasefire? What if Russia breaks [INAUDIBLE]?

TRUMP: What are you saying?

VANCE: She’s asking, ‘what if Russia breaks the ceasefire?’

TRUMP: Well what if they—what if anything! What if a bomb drops on your head right now? Okay? What if they broke it? I don’t know. They broke it with Biden because Biden, they didn’t respect him, they didn’t respect Obama. They respect me. Let me tell you, Putin went through a hell of a lot with me. He went through a phony witch hunt where they used him and Russia—Russia, Russia, Russia, you ever hear of that deal? That was a phony—that was a phony Hunter Biden, Joe Biden scam. Hillary Clinton, shifty Adam Schiff, it was a Democrat scam. And he had to go through that. And he did go through it and we didn’t end up in a war. He went through it, he was accused of all that stuff—he had nothing to do with it. It came out of Hunter Biden’s bathroom. It came out of Hunter Biden’s bedroom. It was disgusting. And then they said, ‘Oh, oh, the laptop from hell was made by Russia.’ The 51 agents, the whole thing was a scam, and he had to put up with that. He was being accused of all that stuff. All I can say is this: He might’ve broken deals with Obama, and Bush, and he might’ve broken them with Biden. He did, maybe, maybe he didn’t—I don’t know what happened. But he didn’t break them with me. He wants to make a deal. I don’t know if he can make a deal.

TRUMP: The problem is I’ve empowered you [looks at Zelenskyy] to be a tough guy. And I don’t think you’d be a tough guy without the United States. And your people are very brave.

ZELENSKYY: Thank you.

TRUMP: But you’re either going to make a deal, or we’re out. And if we’re out, you’ll fight it out. I don’t think it’s going to be pretty, but you’ll fight it out. But you don’t have the cards. But once we sign that deal, you’re in a much better position. But you’re not acting at all thankful, and that’s not a nice thing. I’ll be honest, that’s not a nice thing.

TRUMP: Alright, I think we’ve seen enough, what do you think? This is going to be great television, I will say that.

the transcript btw. It was hard to make it out on the video because of the blowhards yelling and me feeling incandescently blind and deaf with rage

oh, to have a leader with the moral fiber and strong backbone that Zelenskyy has

[tinyd3ath]

🎀🩰 Bulking Weight 🎀🩰

“Come on mama, fuck! Just be a good girl and take it so I can give you all my cum. That’s what you want right.”

Or

Bakugou gets a little insecure about the extra weight he gained while bulking, and you fuck the insecurity out of him.

Originally posted on A03

🎀🩰

“This was so much fun.” You practically bouncing with joy. It’s been forever since y’all have been on patrol together.

“Whatever dumbass, don’t slow me down.” You throw a glare his way.

“Don’t forget I’m still your wife, your ass will be on the couch if you keep talking to me like that.”

He scuffs in response knowing not to test you, but still wanting to have the last “word”. You giggle at him. You find it cute how unbothered he tries to seem.

Today seemed to be a pretty calm day for patrol. So far you’ve only broken up two fights, saved a cat, and taken pictures with a few fans.

You guys got a call that you can end the day early since it’s been pretty slow all over the city. You two are walking back to the agency now. Bakugou can feel the excitement rolling off you. He can’t help, but crack a little smirk. Seeing his pretty wife practically glow with excitement lights something inside him. He thought he’d be over all the puppy love by now, but watching you walk down the street smiling while the sun hits your skin making your cheeks look like those caramel/chocolate commercials makes him just wanna sink his teeth in you. In a good way of course.

“What are you so excited about anyways?”

“I was planning on watching the new game of thrones series when we got back, and now I get to watch it earlier than planned” You squeal.

Gosh you’re such a nerd. He never understood why you like those British shows. They all look like their bodies, and breath smell like ass. Yeah, the fight scenes are cool, but other than that what do you watch it for?

He was too busy thinking about how weird your taste in television was to notice a group of teenagers boys walking down the sidewalk towards y’all. He’s shaken out of his thoughts by the force of the tallest in the group shoulder checking him.

“Watch old man.” The tall box dyed blonde says to Bakugou. The kid’s friends all snicker. Bakugou stops , and turns to the group.

“Didn’t your parents teach you to respect your superiors? Especially the ones out here keeping your ass safe.”

The blonde teen just rolled his eyes.

“You should be less worried about my parents, and more worried about your beer belly. Fat ass.” Before he can stop, and think about it Bakugou goes to grab the kid by the collar. But you are quicker, and grab his arm before he can do so.

“Come on I wanna go home.” You plead with your eyes for him to let it go. He really wants to teach these fuckers a lesson, but his need to please you outweighs his need to rub some random brat’s face in the dirt. He grunts in agreement, and lets you drag him away. He can hear the boys laughing as y’all walk away. But all he cares about is getting his pretty wife on the couch surrounded by your favorite snacks.

You use your quirk to knock the kid on his ass before you guys get too far. Teenagers fucking suck.

—

While sitting on the couch with you later he couldn’t help replay what that brat said earlier. He noticed he’d gained a little fat, but it’s because he’s bulking. Was it really that noticeable? Why haven’t you said anything? He started to feel as if he led you on.

When you first meet back in school he wasn’t all jacked, but he was far from fat. The body you feel in love with. The one you loved so much your panties would get wet just from looking at isn’t the same anymore.

Did you still even find him attractive?

Bakugou can’t bring himself to ask you about it. He says that he’ll just watch you carefully to see any signs of discomfort . The problem was you look so unfazed. He can’t tell if it’s because you haven’t noticed, don’t care, or if you’re trying to look unbothered to not hurt his feelings.

His feelings weren’t hurt, maybe his ego was a little bruised. But the fact you’re the type to go around problems that aren’t problems to protect other’s feelings only adds to the uncertainty.

What Bakugou didn’t notice was that you picked up on his discomfort. You noticed the long looks in the mirror after every shower. The not wanting to cuddle every night like he usually does. Most of all the lack of intimacy.

You guys haven’t had sex in almost a week. Every time y’all start to get hot, and heavy he just eats you out the rolls over and says goodnight.

Head is great. But fuck, you wanna feel the weight of your husband on top of you as he makes love to you.

You decid you’ve had enough. Whatever is worrying him so much you’re going find out and fix. At dinner you decide to finally speak about it.

“Katsuki.” Almost immediately Bakugou looks up at you.

“Yes?” Worry lines your face. Bakugou starts to panic thinking something happened to make you upset. Just as he was about to ask if you were okay you cut him off.

“What’s wrong? You’ve been acting different. You haven’t been as affectionate or intimate. Are you not attracted to me anymore?”

Now he really starts to panic. How could you, his beautiful perfect wife ever think you were the problem? How could he not be attracted to you? You were hand crafted by God himself. You are the only woman he could ever love. Never once had he ever questioned your beauty. Even in school when he thought you were annoying, he still found you breathtaking.

“Are you crazy there’s no way I couldn’t be attracted to you.”

“Then what’s the problem?” He pauses, and shaky breath in. Should he lie, or let you know that some punk made him a little insecure?

No, he can’t lie to you. For this whole ‘death do us part’ thing to work he’s gonna have to be honest with you. Even if it makes him uncomfortable.

“…I’m afraid that you don’t find me attractive now that I’ve put on some pounds.” He’s too embarrassed to even look up from his plate. There’s silence for a minute. He starts to worry that he’s actually right. But when he looks up to see your face it’s filled with nothing, but love. You get up from your seat, and walk over to him. You reach out to stroke his cheek.

“There’s nothing that would make me stop loving, or finding you unattractive. And I have noticed the extra pounds, but honestly it’s kinda doing it for me.” You giggle at his stunned face. You pull him in for a kiss. It starts off tinder. Full of the love you two share. But with new found confidence Bakugou starts to get impatient. He missed this. Your body against his. The kiss becomes more intense as he pulls you closer to him.

He lifts you by the back of your knees, and carries you to your shared bedroom. You let out a squeal as you’re dropped on the bed. Bakugou chuckles at you, but you aren’t given enough time to say anything about before he reconnects your lips. He starts moving his kisses lower, and nips at your jaw.

Between nibbles, and kisses Baukgou breathes out “God I’ve missed this”.

You let out a startled moan when he goes lower, and sucks your nipple through your thin shirt. You feel his lips curve into a smirk at your reaction.

You start to get impatient from all the nipping,and kissing. You’ve been deprived of him for too long. You whine as you tug on his shirt letting him know you want it off. Bakugou can’t help,

but coo at you, and give a kiss to your pouty lips.

“I know pretty girl, I know. Just let me taste you first baby.” He peels your clothes off before laying between your legs. His mouth waters every time he see your beautiful cunt. He watches as more slick leaks from you. He uses his thumb to spread it across your lips, before giving your clit the tiniest rub. It’s a ghost of a touch, and it drives you crazy. You start whining down at your husband begging with your pretty eyes for more, and who is he to tell you no? He replaces his hand with his mouth.

He loves the smell, and taste of you. He never thought there’d be a day he would be obsessed with a vagina, but after y’all’s first time he’s been hooked. He licks you like it give him just as much pleasure. The room is filled with your moans, and the sloppy sound of your dripping hole and his mouth . You grab at his hair, and start rolling your hips up into his face. Bakugou’s eyes rolling back at the feeling of you rubbing your juices all over his lower face and nose.

Bakugou sucks your clit between his lips while flicking the tip of his tongue against it. The clinching in your stomach gets tighter, and you know you’re close. But when he slightly nibbles on your clit you know it’s over. You cry out as you ride your orgasm out on his face. After you calm down Bakugou sits up on his knees to see your fucked out expression, and heaving chest.

As good as him eating you out was, it wasn’t what you wanted. You tug at his pants with pleading eyes, expressing what you really want.

“What pretty girl you can’t use your words?” He says in that mockingly sweet voice. He likes seeing his pretty wife like this. All desperate, and sparkling eyed. It’s impossible not to get hard while watching you squirm, and beg for his cock. It’s when you pout up to him all big eyed, and desperate that he gives you what you want. No matter how hard he tries he can’t say no to you. His beautiful sweet wife. If he could he’d give you the universe. He pulls his shirt off, and tosses it across the room. He then removes his belt, and pants leaving him in just his underwear. He starts to feel a little uneasy showing all this extra skin to you, but seeing the hungry look on your face burns it all away.

You feel yourself getting wetter as you stare at your husband’s changed body. You felt the extra weight, but seeing it makes you so much more hornier than you expected. All his bulging muscles. Instead of being lean like before he’s fuller. His stomach has become slightly rounder, and his shoulders, chest, and biceps meatier.

“Fuck I need you.” A evil smirk breaks out across Bakugou’s face.

“Come get it baby.” You tug his underwear down causing his cock to flop out. The swollen pink tip leaks with precum. You give him a few strokes before leaning down, and giving the tip a sweet kiss. You suck the tip into your mouth while wiggling your hips in the air knowing how much he loves seeing your ass move. Bakugou groans at the display. But you only get two head bobs in before he’s pulling you off, and pushing you on your back.

“That can wait for later. Weren’t you just begging me to fuck you. I gotta give my baby what she want.” He smugly says to you.

Bakugou pushes your knees apart and, taps his fat dick on your pussy. He enjoys watching the slight jiggle of your fat lips. He sit his dick between your lips, and lets his dick sit snug between the two. He thrust slowly. His tip catching your clit with every upward thrust. He loves watching the contrast of his dick sliding between your brown lips.

After an impatient “Katsuki” he lines his tip up with your hole, and slowly pushes into you. You both can’t stop the low whines from leaving your lips as he stretches your tight spongy walls around him. He looks to make sure he wasn’t hurting you, and almost blows his load right there.

Seeing your mouth agape, and face scrunched up in pressure causes his dick to twitch inside you.

He can’t stop himself from breathing out a “Fuck baby” at the sight of you laid out so pretty. He starts moving at a steady pace. He leaves kisses all over your face, and shoulders. He can’t stop himself from telling you how good you are between kisses. Something about your gummy walls makes his mind go foggy, and his tongue loose.

“You’re doing so good baby.”

“Taking all of me so well.”

“Come on pretty girl give it to me.”

“Can’t believe this pretty pussy is all mine.” The steady pace was amazing while you were getting use to his size again,but now you were getting impatient and wanting more.

Bakugou is caught off guard when you suddenly pulled him down by his neck, and cross your ankles around his waist. You can’t stand the no skin to skin. All you want is to feel the weight of your husband on top of you while he beats your walls in.

You look up at him with glossy eyes, and beg “please Katsuki, i need more”.

And who the hell was he to tell you no. He gives you one last peck before getting up on his elbows, and thrusting into you like it was his only purpose in life. Your squeals plus the sloppy sound your cunt starts making, makes his mind go hazy. All he can think about is getting you to cum on his cock then stuffing you full of his cum.

You reach between your bodies to give your clit the attention she’s throbbing for. The added sensation makes you squeeze even tighter around him. It’s too much for you both. Bakugou can’t even hold himself up anymore causing him to lay his full body on you,and starts humping into wet soft heat. He subconsciously starts sucking and licking on your neck like a fucking virgin that’s having their first kiss.

You can’t stop your sobs. It’s all too much, and not enough at the same time. You feel so full, yet you want to suck him in deeper. His tip rubbing against your cervix isn’t enough. You want him inside it, smearing his cum against each area of it.

“Katsuki, fuck!” you wail.

“Daddy please!”

“It’s okay baby you can take.” He coos at you.

“No I can’t, it’s too much!”

“Come on baby take it for me.” He pulls you into a sloppy kiss. When you pull apart he says

“Come on mama, fuck! Just be a good girl and take it so I can give you all my cum. That’s what you want right.”

You get out a little ‘mhm’ between sobs.

You feel your climax on the tip of your tongue. He can tell you need a little something more. Bakugou reaches his hand up, and rolls your nipple between his fingers before giving it a pinch.

Your climax hits you like a wave, and drags Bakugou down with you. He continues thrusting making sure he covers all your walls with his cum.

You two lay there holding each other after coming down from your highs. You run your nails through his hair while waiting for your heartbeats to go back to normal. After a few minutes you decide to break the silence.

“You know, nothing could make me stop loving you.” Bakugou feels an intense swell of emotion in his chest. He tries to hide his red cheeks, and teary eyes by burying his face between your breast.

“Fuck how’d I get so lucky?”

[xoxochb]

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

“well I had a dream last night,” you sigh.

“hm, yeah? about what?”

percy tightly wraps his arms around your waist, keeping you tucked against him as his face goes to your shoulder taking in a large almost comical inhale of your scent. you splay your hands along his upper back to assure he keeps close.

“well it started with me and you and we—”

“I was in your dream? what was I doing… with you?” with feeling his smirk, you don’t really want to respond.

you cut out the part of the dream he would’ve enjoyed hearing and begin from the middle.

“we weren’t doing anything. we were at the dining pavilion and we were eating breakfast—”

“if I may—”

“you may not.”

he nods once. “go on, sweet girl, I’m all ears.”

“you had pancakes with strawberries and I had pancakes with blueberries. you were upset because your strawberries weren’t blue so I offered to make them blue for you.”

“food dye?”

“no. I squeezed the blueberries onto the strawberries and y’know how usually blueberries have red insides? they were blue this time and dyed the entire strawberry.”

you feel percy’s hand rubbing your back in such a soothing mannerism you only wish to curl deeper into him and remain there forever. your brain suddenly feels fuzzy with the affection.

“what happened next?”

“uhmmm…” you bite your lip. you think as hard as humanly possible but his hand so soft and so calloused and so calming and fits so perfectly against your skin like it was made to touch you. “we ate the pancakes.”

“that’s all that happened?” percy’s voice is muffled.

“yeah.”

“that was short.”

“well it got cut short because you woke me up!”

percy pinches your waist. “not on purpose, sweet girl, I’d never do that to you.”

“not on purpose but you have a drooling problem.”

“I’m starting to think you enjoy being covered in my drool. is this a new kink of yours?”

“what— no, perseus!” you tug at his hair.

he shrugs defensively. “just thought I’d ask.”

“maybe.” you pull back not even an inch so you can slide downward and place your index over his mouth. “you should keep your lips glued.”

percy begins to kiss along your finger before taking it into his mouth and beginning to gnaw on it. you remove it quickly and see it covered in his spit. you sigh and take your finger in your own mouth to clean it of his saliva.

only when you began wiping it on the blanket did you realize you had that option the entire time. only after the fact did you realize what percy had been plotting.

[misakiisstupid]

Alright, listen. I know the official story of how Tim Drake became Robin is all well and good—smart kid, figures out Batman’s identity, convinces Bruce he needs a Robin, blah blah blah. But let’s be real. That’s not how it should have happened.

Tim Drake is terrifyingly smart. He’s a strategist, a detective, and, above all, a little menace when he wants to be. You’re telling me this kid, who pieced together Bruce Wayne’s identity from sheer observation at nine years old, just politely asked to be Robin? No, no, no.

Tim absolutely should have blackmailed Bruce into adopting him. Hardcore blackmail. The kind that would make even Lex Luthor step back and say, “Whoa, kid, chill.”

This is my vision of what should have been: a Tim Drake who saw an opening, took it, and left Bruce absolutely shookethin the process. Because let’s be honest—Tim isn’t just some sidekick. He’s a future evil mastermind who just so happens to be on the side of good. (For now.)

So here it is: the real first meeting of Bruce and Tim. Or, as I like to call it, The Time Tim Drake Made Bruce Wayne Regret Ever Underestimating a Nerdy 13-Year-Old.

Headcanon: Tim Blackmails Bruce into Adopting Him

The Official First Meeting Between Tim and Bruce

It was supposed to be a simple meeting. Just a brief introduction. Bruce had been informed by Alfred that a "young man" had managed to infiltrate the Batcave, and though it wasn’t entirely unheard of for new vigilantes to show up looking for guidance, there was something off about this one.

When Bruce descended into the Batcave, he expected to see a nervous kid, maybe someone who would try to look tough in front of him but would still have that wide-eyed naivety. What he didn’t expect was a boy who was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a laptop open in front of him, and a smile that could only be described as unsettlingly smug.

Tim Drake—who had hacked into Wayne Enterprises' database and had pieced together a detailed, uncanny amount of information on Bruce Wayne, Batman, and the Batfamily in a matter of days—was casually drinking what looked like a cup of tea, like he had every right to be there.

Bruce stood still for a moment, his gaze flicking from the laptop to the kid’s face. He immediately knew two things: One, this kid was dangerously intelligent. Two, Bruce Wayne was absolutely screwed.

Bruce: [Slightly unnerved but trying to keep his cool] "How did you get in here?"

Tim: [Not even looking up from his laptop] "Through the security system you definitely didn’t upgrade for the last two years, Mr. Wayne." [A pause as Tim sips his tea.] "And I gotta say, your firewall is incredibly… quaint."

Bruce's mind raced. His mind immediately cataloged the security flaws. How had he missed them? He had top-tier cybersecurity on every level of Wayne Enterprises and the Batcave, but this kid, this Tim Drake, had bypassed all of it in mere hours.

Bruce: [Trying to sound calm but with a slight edge to his voice] "You're saying you just… hacked your way in here?"

Tim: [Finally looking up at Bruce, eyes glinting with an almost mischievous joy] "Yeah. It was a fun challenge, honestly. But the real fun part was piecing together the puzzle." [He taps the laptop, showing a file of meticulously gathered data.] "You’re Batman, Bruce Wayne. And it wasn’t all that hard to figure out, really. Once you see the pattern, everything falls into place."

Bruce’s stomach drops. No one had ever pieced it together so fast, at least not without getting caught before they had the chance. Tim wasn’t just smart—he was terrifyingly good at this. Bruce had underestimated him. And now… now, he had a serious problem.

Bruce: "I assume you’re not here to join the team."

Tim: [Flashing a smile that made Bruce’s skin crawl, like he had all the power in the world] "Well, that depends. I’m here for a couple of things, actually." [He leans forward, his voice lowering with almost unnatural seriousness.] "First, I need a favor. Second, I’m giving you no choice."

Bruce's mind worked quickly, trying to assess how to handle this. Tim was not the kind of kid to be easily intimidated. His confidence was almost unnerving, and Bruce found himself instinctively on guard.

Bruce: [Skeptical] "And what favor would that be?"

Tim: [Pauses dramatically, looking at Bruce like a cat about to catch a mouse] "Well, Bruce, you see, I did a little digging. You did try to keep a certain little fact from the public, didn’t you? Something about your family history and some… interesting personal choices. Now, I’m no fan of blackmail, but I think we can come to an agreement here." [He leans back, crossing his arms and smiling widely.] "If you don't want this little gem to reach the press, you’ll have to do something for me."

Bruce’s heart races. He had no idea what Tim was talking about, but something told him that whatever this kid had uncovered, it was bad. Tim was way too casual about it, like it was a well-played card in his hand.

Bruce: "What do you want?" [His voice low and flat, trying to mask the slight tremor of unease.]

Tim: [In a tone that was disturbingly calm] "It’s simple. You’re going to adopt me. You’re going to make me an official part of your family. And in return, I won’t go public with your little secrets. I know what you’re thinking. You’re a very private man, Bruce. You won’t want your secrets getting out." [He smirks, clearly enjoying this.] "But I figure you’re willing to do a little more than just turn the other cheek when it comes to your reputation."

Bruce is stunned. This wasn’t a simple negotiation. This was full-blown blackmail. Tim was demanding adoption—a child’s ultimate leverage—as a means of keeping Bruce from being exposed. And yet, Bruce could see something in his eyes—this wasn’t just manipulation. This was calculated. This was Tim playing a long game, and Bruce had somehow walked right into it.

Bruce: "You can't be serious. I don't… I can't—"

Tim: [Cutting him off, voice soft but firm] "I am serious, Bruce. And you don’t really have a choice. So, what's it gonna be?" [Tim leans forward again, a glint of something sinister and clever in his eyes.]

Bruce takes a long, deep breath. There’s no denying the kid’s intelligence. Tim had backed him into a corner with no way out. He’d probably outsmarted Bruce in the process, and Bruce had never felt more vulnerable. He realizes, with a sickening certainty, that if he didn’t go along with this, the consequences could be far worse than a simple adoption.

Bruce: [Reluctantly] "Alright. I’ll adopt you."

Tim beams, like he’s just won the lottery.

Tim: [Happily] "Great! Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?" [He practically bounces in his seat, completely unfazed.] "We’ll need to update the paperwork, of course. I’m going to need a new ID, you know. Oh, and don't worry, Bruce. You’re going to be a great father. I’ll even let you choose my new name. How generous of me, right?"

Bruce stares at Tim, who’s practically glowing with excitement. For a moment, Bruce wonders if he’s dealing with a child prodigy or a villain in the making. Maybe both.

Bruce Wayne, for the first time in years, feels completely out of control.

Bruce: [Sighing, rubbing his temples] "I can’t believe this is happening."

Tim: [Smirking, completely satisfied with himself] "Oh, Bruce, you’ll thank me one day. Trust me."

And just like that, Tim Drake—who had blackmailed Bruce into adopting him—becomes the newest (and possibly the most unpredictable) member of the Wayne family.

End of Headcanon

[animamii]

Hit Different | Eren Jaeger 𝜗𝜚 part deux

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ Eren meets his match when Ymir's cousin crashes into his life. Classic playboy meets maneater. ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

𖹭.ᐟ modern aot verse! college au!

.・゜✧﹒☁﹒✧゜・．.・゜✧﹒☁﹒✧゜・．.・゜✧﹒☁﹒✧゜・．.・

The sun is a personal attack. Why the hell does it have to be so damn bright right now? You groan, burrowing deeper into the mess of blankets, only to realize—you don’t remember getting into bed. Hell, you barely even remember leaving the party. Your head throbs in protest as you peel open your eyes, met with unfamiliar floral-patterned sheets and a very judgmental Ymir sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, scrolling through her phone.

“Look who’s finally up,” she monotonously spews, not even glancing at you, just tap, tapping away at her phone. “Thought I was gonna have to throw water on you.”

You blink, sluggish, trying to piece together the events of last night. “Where am I?” Your voice is hoarse, like you swallowed an entire desert. You somehow still taste tequila on your tongue, with the little remnants of your pineapple juice chaser.

"Our guest room, dumb ass. Had to carry your ass in here when you passed out in our bed after I dragged your ass out of that party.” Ymir finally looks up, raising a sharp brow. “Speaking of—what the fuck was that with Eren?”

Your stomach does an annoying little flip, but you mask it with a slow stretch, feigning nonchalance. “Dunno what you’re talking about.”

Ymir scoffs. “Oh, please. The sexual tension in that kitchen could’ve powered the whole damn party.” She looks at you with an obvious look on her face, as if to say, 'don't fuckin play in my face like I'm stupid and blind'. “Dude was looking at you like he wanted to either fuck you or fight you. Maybe both.”

You snort, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You notice your lashes were taken off, now on the dresser next to you. “Not my fault he’s got a staring problem.”

"Right. So you just happened to flirt with Jean all night while Eren practically set him on fire with his mind?"

Before you can answer, Historia walks in looking suspiciously awake for someone who was blackout drunk last night. She holds out a bottle of water and some aspirin like she does this every weekend. "You look like shit," she chirps.

"Good morning to you too," you mumble, snatching the water and chugging it.

“Did you check your phone yet?” Historia asks, perching on the bed beside you as she holds out the tiny pain killers. Taking them from her hand, you toss them into your mouth, swallowing quickly.

A slight sense of dread creeps in. “No? Why?”

Ymir smirks, flipping her phone screen toward you, showing a group chat notification. Connie added Eren to 'Brunch, Bitches'. You groan at the sight of the name, flopping back onto the pillows. Of course. Because why wouldn’t fate be a petty little shit?

Meanwhileeee— Eren wakes up to a headache and text from Connie like he does every Sunday morning.

Connie: Lmao, you tryna get brunch? Eren: Why the fuck would I do that? Connie: Bc ur little crushy crush is gonna be there 😉 Eren: Blocked Connie: Damn bro just pull up, it’ll be fun

Eren stares at his phone, jaw tight, remembering the way you looked at him last night—how you didn’t look at him until the very last second. His grip tightens on his phone. Fuck it.

Connie: Yo, brunch at that spot on 3rd? You guys down?

Ymir: I’m always down for food, babe. But don't tell me we're going to that weird place again with the mismatched plates.

Eren: 😑 It’s good. Stop being a snob.

Connie: I’ll pass on the weird plates place if you bring your cousin,, I still don’t have her number lol

Ymir: lmao what do you mean you don’t have her number?

Connie: Yeahhhh I haven't actually talked to her much,, she kinda makes me scared 😅

Eren: 🙄 You mean you're scared she’ll turn you down like the others?

Connie: Stfu says the one who threw a tantrum cuz she was flirting with Jean ✋🏽🤨

Eren: ... I'm bouta leave ts.

Connie: Yeah that's what I thought ho!

Ymir: ugh. you two stop being dramatic. I'll bring her if she's not too dead

Ymir added y/n to Brunch, Bitches

Connie: Sounds good to me. Jean can’t make it,, btw. He has work. Told him to leave his ass at the office 🙄

Eren: His loss. Those pancakes are gonna smack, I'm ready asl.

Ymir: same. you guys better be on time this time. 😒

Connie: No promises 🙈😜😚😚🦧

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"So we're all just showing up in pajamas huh?" Ymir stands in the doorway of the room, watching as you lazily curl your lashes, leaning against the headboard in their room.

"Yup," you answer, picking up your mascara and applying a coat. "Besides, this is a track suit. It's like multipurpose."

Ymir raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms as she leans against the doorframe. “A track suit, huh? I mean, I guess it does have boujie y2k bitch written all over it...”

You smile, finishing the last stroke of mascara and setting the wand back in the tube with a twist. “Exactly. It's basically brunch attire and I could probably go for a run after if I felt like it. Double duty, extra fruity.”

She snorts, shaking her head as she pushes herself off the door frame. “Yeah, sure, but I’m pretty sure the only thing you’re running for today is the nearest mimosa.”

"And you're running into the nearest Hot Topic wearing that damn flannel and sweats." You playfully quip back, tossing the pillow on your lap at your cousin.

"Somebody say something about my flannel?" Historia's soft voice rings into the room as she steps out of the bathroom, hands busy tying her hair into a messy bun. Her eyes are wide and confused, making you smile at her naivety.

Your eyes dart down to the flannel pajama bottoms she wears. "Can you two get any gayer?? Matching flannel to brunch? Really?"

Ymir lets out a bellow, her hand resting on the back of Historia's neck as she kisses the top of her head, causing Historia's eyes to shut as she beams a content smile. "Mad cause we're in loooooveeee?"

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever, lesbians. I'd be gay too if I had a choice," you roll your eyes sardonically as you stand up and slip your uggs on.

"Oh hell no, we don't need any evil femmes. Regina George is that cautionary tale. Stay being straight, the male population needs their repercussions."

You laugh, zipping your sweater up halfway. "I think the world is far better off with a few evil femmes, if I’m being honest. Less competition, more fun."

Ymir grins, lazily shoving her feet into her sneakers. "Exactly. You get it."

Historia chuckles softly from where she stands by the bathroom mirror, finishing up with her hair. "You look like you stepped out of a 2000's paparazzi photo."

You shoot her a dirty look but can’t suppress the childish smile that creeps onto your face. "Yeah, well, at least I’m not going out looking like a damn lumberjack." You point a finger between the two girls.

Ymir twirls around dramatically, causing the flannel to swish with her movement. "Heyyy, leave my lumberjack alone, you know she loves to climb trees."

"Gross, I don't wanna hear my cousin say nasty flirty shit with her girlfriend, Miri. Save your kinky lumberjack fantasy for the bedroom." You hold a hand up as you step out of the couple's room.

Ymir bursts out laughing, following you down the hallway, while Historia’s face flushes a soft pink. "You're the one who started it," Ymir teases, nudging you with her elbow.

You groan dramatically. "Yeah, well, I should’ve known better than to walk into this disaster of a relationship." Throwing yourself onto their couch, you mindlessly scroll through your phone. “Why does it always feel like I’m the third wheel?”

"Because you are our third wheel?" Ymir says like it's obvious, which it is really. "But it's okay we don't mind being a tricycle sometimes." Taking a seat at the other end of the couch, she props her feet up on your lap.

Historia follows behind Ymir, still trying to hide her smile. "We’re not that bad, are we?"

"You're like an over-the-top romcom couple," you retort, rolling your eyes playfully. "But like, one of those ones that you can’t fully hate because they’re just so damn cute."

Ymir, who’s still grinning, tosses a pillow at you. "Hey, we’re adorable, and you know it."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." You place the pillow under Ymir's feet, not wanting her beat up converse to dirty the gray cotton sweats you were wearing. You were going for low effort, not slob. "Just don’t bring your cheesy couple energy into brunch. I’m not in the mood to be the only one single at the table."

"Oh, please, you’ll be just fine," Historia says with a wink as she slides her crocs on. "And besides, who says you have to stay single? You’ve got options. Plenty really. If you actually stopped with these maneater shenanigans." She nudges you gently, giving you a look more serious than you'd like.

You scoff, locking your phone and tossing it aside, letting it bounce on the couch before it finds a snug spot by Ymir's leg. "Maneater shenanigans? Excuse me, I prefer to call it ‘strategic non-attachment.’ Sounds way more sophisticated." Your nose sticks up in the air in a playfully bratty way, lips forming into a pout.

Historia rolls her eyes as she zips up her sweater, the ziiiiip sound loud just to be extra dramatic. "Sounds like a fancy way to say ‘terrified of commitment.’"

Ymir hums in agreement, stretching her arms behind her head. "Right? Like, you’re out here collecting numbers like Pokémon cards, but let a dude actually like you, and suddenly, it’s ‘ew, feelings.’" She sticks her tongue out in fake disgust as she mocks your tone, making you roll your eyes.

You lazily point at her, feigning offense. "First of all, rude, I don't sound like that at all, cunt. Second of all, you know my philosophy; love is a scam, and I refuse to be a victim."

Historia snorts, grabbing her bag, the plethora of keychains clanging together and making an off-sound symphony of metal, letting anyone in a mile radius know that she picked it up. "Tell that to Eren, who was practically following you around at the party like a lost puppy."

"He’s a player, remember? He’s got a new flavor of the week by now, I’m sure." Your face stays neutral, but the way you grab your phone a little too quickly does not go unnoticed by the girls' sharp eyes. "Anyway," you say, standing up, "we should go before Connie loses his damn mind. He’s already sent, like, three where are you texts."

Ymir smirks, but doesn’t push the topic. "Fine, fine. Let’s roll out, Breakfast Club."

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

“Dude, you look like hell.”

Eren groans, standing in Connie’s kitchen, nursing a lukewarm fruit punch Gatorade like it's the last drop of hydration on earth. His hoodie is wrinkled, his hair a mess, and he still reeks faintly of last night’s Hennessy and bad decisions. He'd still be knocked out at home if he wasn't so abruptly woken up by said friend calling him a dozen times.

"Thanks," Eren mutters, feeling like his eye bags were physically weighing him down. "Exactly the kind of encouragement I needed. I shouldn't even be up this damn early."

"It’s literally noon," Connie says flatly, biting into his bagel, cream cheese spilling out of the sides. "And last night? You were gone, man. Like, barely forming sentences. You kept staring at y/n like you wanted to kidnap her ass and lock her in your basement."

Eren scoffs, taking a sip of his drink. "Was not."

"You so were," Connie says, pointing at him with his half-eaten bagel. "And let’s talk about that, actually. You’ve got that look in your eye—like she’s your next target."

Eren rolls his eyes, placing his hands on the counter to steady himself. "She’s not a target, dumbass. She’s just—" He pauses, searching for the words. "She just seems... interesting."

Connie snorts, finding the way Eren stares off into space a tad bit comical and so dramatic in a way only Eren can get away with. "So, what? You wanna wife her up now?"

Eren makes a face. "What? No. I haven’t even talked to her like that yet." He shakes his head as if he's trying to not imagine the thought of him actually, seriously pursuing you. "She’s just… different, y’know? It’s like a challenge."

Connie raises an eyebrow. "So, this is, what, a side quest for you?" Connie would never be one to admit it, but he was rooting for Eren to finally find love, and to finally stop being a damn fuckboy. He was tired of getting at girls only for them to tell him that they had their heart broken by his friend, Eren always leaving a mark on every single one of his hookup's hearts. He just wanted to meet one girl on campus that hadn't fucked Eren.

Eren smirks, leaning his elbows against the counter. "More like a boss level. She’s not like the usual girls. She’s got that whole I don’t give a fuck attitude, and you know I live for that shit." Eren always wanted things he couldn't have.

"So, let me get this straight," Connie says, licking some cream cheese off his thumb. "You’re telling me you spent all night trying to get her attention, and you still couldn’t bag a conversation with her?"

Eren clicks his tongue, looking annoyed and pouty. "It’s not that I couldn’t, it’s just—" He exhales sharply, that familiar frustration from last night coming back for a second. "She was talking to Jean all night. Didn't even glance at me. And then Historia got too drunk, and boom, she was gone before I even got the chance."

Connie bursts out laughing, finally someone was doing what Eren does to him, swooping in on the girl he wants. "Damn. She really curved you before you even got the chance to spit game?"

Eren glares, thick brows furrowing. "Shut up."

"Nah, man, this is hilarious," Connie wheezes. "Playboy Eren Jaeger finally meets a girl who doesn’t immediately fall into his lap? What’s next? Are you gonna start writing music about her?"

Eren rolls his eyes. "You’re so fucking annoying."

"Nah, you’re annoying," Connie shoots back. "’Cause I know you’re gonna spend all brunch trying to get her attention, and if you strike out again, I’m gonna have to sit there and witness the secondhand embarrassment."

Eren smirks, shaking his head. "Not happening."

"Mhmm. So what’s the plan, lover boy?" Connie asks, raising his eyebrows.

Eren grins, finishing his Gatorade and tossing the empty bottle into the trash. "Easy. I just gotta get her to talk to me. Once that happens? Game over."

Connie hums, finding Eren's words a bit deluded. "Man, I dunno. y/n’s like a you but hotter and meaner. You might be out of your league on this one."

Eren just chuckles, grabbing his keys. "There’s no such thing as out of my league, Connie."

Connie shakes his head, shoving the last of his bagel in his mouth. "Aight, bet. Let’s see how that works out for you."

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Connie picked the perfect spot for a hungover brunch, with the diner being less than busy for a Suday afternoon. The last thing you needed was a packed restaurant full of clanking dishes and obnoxious conversations stabbing through your skull. The scent of coffee and syrup lingers in the air, making your tummy rumble since you hadn't eaten since before yesterday's party. The hostess barely looks up from her tablet when Ymir announces the reservation, tapping at the screen with the kind of dead eyed exhaustion that says she’s one wrong order away from walking out mid shift.

"Ugh, why is it so bright in here?" you groan, slipping your sunglasses onto your face as the three of you follow the hostess to your table. Your feet shuffle against the floor, still wishing you were wrapped up in the heavy duvet in Ymir and Historia's guest room.

"Because it’s daytime, dumbass," Ymir snickers, sliding into the booth with Historia next to her. With a sigh you plop yourself beside Historia, slumping against the plush backing of the booth as if it might absorb your exhaustion. The other side is left empty—reserved for the two idiots who were, as expected, late.

"You’re acting like you weren’t up just as late as I was," you shoot back, lazily flipping through the laminated menu before going straight to the real priority: alcohol. "I need a drink. Immediately."

As if on cue, Connie and Eren show up, strolling toward the table with that casual, 'we definitely didn’t wake up on time but we made it' energy. Connie walks with his usual pep in his step, hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket, looking entirely too pleased with himself for someone who failed at punctuality. while Eren lags behind, looking annoyingly good for someone who was supposedly as hungover as you.

"Would you look at this," Connie announces, sliding into the seat across from Ymir. "The brunch bitches, in the flesh."

"You’re late," Historia points out, arching an eyebrow. Leave it to Connie to be late to something he planned.

"I told you no promises that I'd be on time," Connie dismisses with a limp wave. "We’re here now, and that’s what matters."

You don’t miss the way Eren’s eyes flick toward you as he sits across from you, that lazy smirk playing at his lips. Is this boy always smirking? He doesn’t say anything yet, just leans back in his seat, sizing you up like he’s trying to figure out the best way to approach. You don’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him for more than a second. Instead, you tap your fingers against the menu, eyes scanning over it even though you already know exactly what you want.

"So," you say, flipping the menu shut. "What’s everyone drinking? Because I am not doing this brunch sober." The first thing you do is order a mimosa, needing some sort of substance to numb the shitty feeling your body still harbored.

"Real shit," Ymir agrees, already knowing what's in order. "Mimosas all around?"

"Mimosa tower all around," Historia corrects, already flagging down the waiter with dainty hand.

"That’s my girl," you grin, nudging her shoulder with approval. There’s a silent understanding between you two; brunch isn’t brunch unless you leave a little tipsy.

The server swings by, takes everyone’s orders, and the conversation flows easily—mostly Connie, half-hungover and half-buzzed off life, trying to tell some barely coherent story about a girl he almost picked up last night.

"Bro, she looked just like Jade from Victorious," he insists, hands moving dramatically to prove his point.

Historia gives him a flat look, her usual wide doe eyes now hooded. "You say that about every girl with dark hair and a little eyeliner."

"That’s not even true—"

"It is true," Ymir interjects, rolling her eyes. "Last week it was that bartender at Sina’s. Week before that? The girl at the campus library."

"Okay, but this one really looked like her. Like actually," he tries to defend himself.

"Sure, Connie, sure." Historia nods, knowing how many times he had said this same thing before.

"You have a type," you say in a simple voice, reassuring him . "Own it."

Eren, though? He’s been biding his time, waiting for the right moment. And the second there’s a lull in the conversation, he leans forward, finally addressing you directly.

"So, you," he starts, and you slowly drag your gaze to him. His hair is messy, looking a bit greasy as a few strands fall over his forehead. Who does he think he is? Zayn?

"Me?" you say flatly, feigning disinterest as you take the mimosa flute from the server, keeping your lidded eyes glued on his. Looking away would make Eren feel like he had one up on you in this little staring contest.

"You," he repeats, resting his forearms on the table, emerald eyes locked onto yours. "Tell me something."

"Tell you what, Jaeger?" You take a slow, savoring sip of your drink.

He smirks, realizing you know his name without him ever introducing himself. "Oh, so you do know who I am," Eren smugly drawls, tapping a finger against the table. His posture goes more lax, legs spreading as if he's soaking up the ego that he lost last night.

Your face doesn’t give anything away, but inside, a flicker of irritation sparks. The way he’s looking at you—like he thinks he has the upper hand just because you acknowledged his name—sets something stubborn alight in your chest.

You take a slow sip of your mimosa, letting the bubbles fizz on your tongue before answering. "It’s hard not to when half the girls at that party were either throwing themselves at you or talking about how you used to throw yourself at them." Your memory reels to the blonde girl from last night, calling out Eren's name like he was some sort of damn celebrity.

Connie chokes on his drink, almost spewing his coffee all over the table. Ymir whistles lowly as her eyes dart between you and Eren. Historia presses her lips together, clearly entertained and loving every single moment of this.

Eren tilts his head, clicking his tongue against his teeth as he chuckles lowly. "Damn. You really came out swinging, huh?" He realizes his reputation precedes him, probably making his conquest of you just a little more difficult.

You lift a shoulder in a lazy shrug, setting your glass down with a soft clink. "Just calling it like I see it."

Historia, biting back a smirk, lifts her mimosa to her lips. Ymir’s grin is damn near feral. And Connie? He’s straight up beaming, like he’s witnessing the most entertaining drama of the century unfold before his very eyes.

Eren doesn’t look deterred, though. If anything, he looks even more interested. His elbow rests on the table as he leans in slightly, his gaze on you even more intense, as if that were even possible. "You keep talking like you’ve got me all figured out."

"Oh, I don’t need to figure you out," you reply smoothly, tilting your head with faux sympathy. "You’re a blueprint, Jaeger. Same old story, different haircut."

Connie loses it. "Bro, she just called you a template! A damn copy-paste ass—"

"Alright, alright," Eren cuts him off, but there’s no real bite to his tone. He’s still smirking, still looking at you like you’re a challenge he's determined to win. "I gotta admit, you got a sharp mouth."

"Comes in handy." You wink, picking up your drink again.

"And here I thought you'd at least pretend to be nice to me."

"Oh, Eren," you sigh dramatically, fluttering your lashes. "I don’t pretend for men."

Ymir wheezes. Historia’s dying. Connie is pounding the table with laughter, while Eren just sits back, shaking his head with that same smirk that hasn't left his face.

"You’re fun," he muses, eyes flicking over you, soaking in every detail. "I like fun." His tongue runs over his teeth as one of his arms slings over the top of the pleather booth lining.

"And I like my mimosa," you quip, raising your glass. "So let’s keep this professional, yeah?" You flash him a toothy smile and he would almost say you looked angelic if your attitude towards him wasn't the opposite.

Eren watches you take a sip, something unreadable flashing across his face. Whatever it is, it disappears quickly, replaced with something more playful. "Yeah, yeah. Sure. We’ll see about that."

Connie wipes a fake tear from his eye. "Goddamn, this brunch was worth it." This is exactly why Connie planned this little get together.

The mimosa tower arrives in all its bubbly glory, and Historia immediately starts pouring like she was born to be a rich housewife. She generously pours champagne from the tower's spout and asks everyone what juice they'd like. With the precision of a seasoned bartender (or maybe just a girl who’s been to one too many brunches), starts pouring everyone their custom mimosas.

“Alright, speak now or forever hold your juice preference,” she announces, tapping the spout like she’s about to make a life changing mixology decision. Large pitchers of different juices are lined up in front of her, waiting to be mixed with the bitter bubbles of champagne.

“Orange, obviously,” Ymir says, leaning back in her habitual manner, she could always get comfortable wherever she was, sprawled out like she's on her living room couch.

“Boring,” Historia mutters but obliges anyway, filling Ymir’s glass with the classic.

“Mango,” you say, watching as she pours the golden liquid. She makes yours strong, basically serving you champagne with a splash of mango flavor. Not that you're complaining though, you wanted to get tipsy.

“Classy,” Historia muses before turning to Connie. “You?”

He grins, his eyes scanning over the line up of juice options. “Mix ‘em. I’m feeling chaotic.” You don't know whether to scrunch your nose up in disgust or be impressed by Connie's idiotically genius idea.

Historia rolls her eyes but does it anyway. “Living on the edge, Springer.” His mimosa turns into a dark muddled purplish color.

“Always,” Connie quips, lifting his glass dramatically before taking a sip and nodding in satisfaction.

Then, finally, it’s Eren’s turn. He’s been quiet, just watching, observing, but now he leans forward slightly, lazily tilting his head toward you. “I’ll take whatever she’s having,” he says, eyes looking at the way you hold the champagne flute, making it wonder how your hand would look wrapped around his—

Ymir snorts. “Of course you will.”

You arch a brow at him over the rim of your glass, your lip curling slightly. “Copy-pasting my drink order too now?”

Eren doesn’t even blink. Just smiles at you, taking the glass Historia hands him. “What can I say? I like good taste.”

Historia fake gags. “God, please don’t flirt in front of my mimosa tower. It deserves better.” She downs half her drink like she’s washing away the secondhand embarrassment before refilling her flute with even more champagne and a splash of pineapple juice.

The table dissolves into laughter, the kind that feels warm and familial—like the collective, unspoken agreement that, yes, all of you may be hungover disasters, but at least you’re in it together. Connie and Historia start arguing over whether brunch food is overrated, with Ymir inserting herself into the debate just to get under Historia’s skin. Meanwhile, you feel Eren’s eyes on you every so often, like he’s still turning your words over in his head, still trying to crack whatever code he thinks you are. But you don’t look at him much. He doesn’t get that satisfaction of holding your attention longer than necessary. Instead, you lean back, sip your mimosa, and let the chaotic symphony of your friends fill the space.

"Alright, let’s toast," Connie raises his frankenstein of a mimosa up in the air.

"To what?" you ask with a lifted brow as you slowly raise your champagne flute.

Connie shrugs, trying to think of something clever. "Surviving another night of our dumbassery. And to, uh… new friendships?" He waggles his eyebrows between you and Eren, clearly trying to stir the pot.

Eren meets your gaze over the rim of his glass. He still has that look—the one that says he’s not done with you yet. You don’t react, just clink your mimosa against his without breaking eye contact. It was fun playing this little push and pull game, even if you were mostly pushing.

"Cheers," you say smoothly, a tiny hint of a sly smile on your face.

"Cheers," Eren echoes, mirroring your expression.

The table drinks, and for a brief moment, everything is peaceful—until Connie decides he needs all the attention again.

"So, get this," Connie starts, already grinning. "Eren and I had the most bullshit morning trying to get here."

"Oh god," Ymir mutters. "This better be good."

Connie rubs his hands together. "Picture this. I wake up, head pounding, mouth drier than the goddamn Sahara. I roll over, check my phone, and see like, five texts from you guys asking if I'm alive, and I’m like, ‘oh shit, we should link up and do brunch!’"

"Five texts isn’t even that much," Historia points out.

"Okay, well, it felt like a lot in my fragile, hungover state," Connie retorts before continuing. "Anyway, Eren comes over looking all tired and shit and heads straight for my couch. I tell 'im I'm gonna shower and to wait for me and guess what?? I come out and he's fuckin' snorin'. I try to wake him up, and this dude is fully knocked the hell out, like a damn corpse." He dramatically makes his head fall back, sticking his tongue out like he's dead to mimic Eren.

Eren exhales through his nose, shaking his head. "I was asleep. That’s normal, dumbass."

"Nah, bro, you were dead," Connie insists. "I had to blast music just to get him up."

"Which was so necessary," Eren drawls sarcastically. He swears his ears are still ringing from how close Connie put the speaker next to his ear.

"Yes, it was!" Connie exclaims, still finding the situation hilarious. "Because then this idiot gets up and takes, like, twenty goddamn minutes to stare at his phone instead of—"

"—Because I was looking at something important," Eren interjects.

"Yeah, sure, 'important'. Bro was probably checking his DMs like his life depended on it." Eren doesn’t confirm or deny this, which only makes Connie cackle harder. "Anyway," Connie continues, "we finally leave, and then tell me why this dumbass forgets his wallet, and we have to turn around—"

"I didn’t forget it," Eren argues, taking a sip of his drink. "I just didn’t know where it was."

Historia shakes her head, eyes squinting in exasperation. "That’s the same thing."

"Exactly!" Connie exclaims, arms flailing animatedly. "So now we’re really late, and when we finally get back in my car, the tire pressure light is on. And at that point, I was about ready to just die in my driveway."

"Honestly? You should’ve just let nature take you," Ymir says, stuffing one of the mini quiches the table ordered into her mouth.

"Rude!" Connie gasps, clutching his chest. "Ya know you would miss me if I actually died. Who else would entertain you at brunch?" He tosses a crumple up used sugar packet at her. You glance at Connie and allow yourself a small smile. He’s like a puppy that can’t stop barking, but you kind of like him that way. His antics help distract you from the tension that Eren never seems to let go of. Every time his gaze flickers your way, it’s like a spark of something you can’t name. Not yet, at least.

You softly laugh, finally giving in to the ridiculousness of it all. "So what I’m hearing is, between the two of you, getting to brunch was a damn odyssey?"

"Basically," Connie nods. "But hey, we made it. Even if Eren had to take his sweet ass time getting pretty for you."

You arch a brow at that, glancing over at Eren, whose lips twitch like he’s trying to suppress another smirk. You know Connie’s just stirring the pot, but you can’t deny there’s a certain… appeal in how Eren carries himself. It’s not that he’s trying—he doesn’t need to. And that's what irritates you.

Eren doesn’t even flinch at Connie's comment, instead leaning into it. "Maybe I did," he says smoothly, taking another slow, deliberate sip of his drink. "But even if I didn't I'd still look good enough for ya." It was something about this boy's ego that seemed to tick you off.

You just tilt your head, resting your chin on your palm as you regard Eren with yet another unimpressed stare. "Pretty bold assumption there, Jaeger."

Eren shrugs, an annoyingly smug grin tugging at his lips. "I make good ones."

"Debatable." You gulp the rest of your mango mimosa, wiping the little droplet that was on the corner of your mouth. "But sure, if you wanna tell yourself that." Reaching for a piece of french toast, you dip it in syrup, taking your time as you chew slowly, almost to taunt him. The silence between you both stretches, and for a moment, you allow yourself to enjoy the satisfaction of the game—your back straight, your expression utterly indifferent while his is all too easy to read: that quiet frustration that you’re just out of reach.

Connie, wiping the fake tears from his eyes, waves a hand between the two of you. "Oh, this is good. This is so good. Keep going. I’m invested." Cause who needs reality television when you have two friends at each other's throats.

"You would be," Historia mutters before popping a piece of fruit into her mouth. Although she's just as invested in this fiasco.

Eren leans forward again, that damn smirk still present. "Alright, since we’re making assumptions—what about you? Took extra time getting ready just in case I showed up?" He wants to make you flustered, wants to see you blush or tense up or show any other emotion besides indifference to him.

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. "Oh, sweetheart, I barely made it out of bed. The only thing I got pretty for was this mimosa tower." There’s no hesitation in your words, no hesitation in the way you look at him. You’ve got to keep your ground. He’s fishing for something, but you’re not biting.

Eren clicks his tongue, feeling stumped. For once he didn't have a clever comeback. "Damn. Shot down again just like that." His fingers tap on the table as he falls back against the back of the booth.

You flash him a mock sympathetic look, plump bottom lip jutting into a pout. "Tragic, really."

Ymir whistles, tearing into yet another one of the quiches like it's popcorn and this is a show. "Alright, this is a slow burn in real time, and I’m loving it." The tension is so thick between you and Eren, it’s almost palpable. Whether it’s sexual, confrontational, or just a game of egos—you’re not sure, but everyone at the table feels it.

Historia leans on her elbow, eyeing you both. The stare down the two of you are having seems almost intimate. "You sure you two haven’t met before? Because this feels... personal."

You roll your eyes, trying to avoid the sudden rush of heat that floods your chest. "Nope. Just have a sixth sense for bullshit." Honestly you were tired of this little act Eren was putting on. From the stories Ymir and Historia had told you he was nowhere near as nice as he's pretending to be right now. You were waiting for his entitlement and attitude to shine through.

Eren huffs out a chuckle at that, shaking his head. "Noted." Despite the sour look you try to put on, Eren can see that flushed look you try to suppress, and although you would deny, deny, deny, he knows that he's slowly but surely gonna get what he wants. With that thing being you.

You take the opportunity to turn away, reclaiming some semblance of control in this little exchange. You busy yourself with refilling your mimosa, making a point to give him nothing else to latch onto. But then you glance over at him again, catching him staring at you, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You’re almost sure he’s trying to figure you out, and maybe it’s working. Maybe he’s getting under your skin more than you’d like to admit. But before you can process it, Ymir’s voice cuts through your thoughts.

"You two are ridiculous," she says, leaning back in her chair, as she watches the two of you basically having a staring contest still. "You know that, right?"

You shoot her a look, but before you can respond, Historia accidentally spills her sixth mimosa, her face flushed, a giggle escaping her lips. "Oopsieeee," she hiccups, taking a french toast stick and sopping up the spilled liquid before taking a bite.

"Uh oh," Connie says, grinning. "Looks like someone had a little too much to drink already." Connie honestly loves when Historia gets like this, she's the definition of white girl wasted, always turning into a completely different person once she gets some alcohol in her system.

Historia leans heavily against Ymir, blinking slowly as she chews. "I’m fine," she slurs. "Just a little tipsy."

The whole table laughs as Ymir grabs her arm to steady her, clearly rolling her eyes but not too bothered by it. As the rest of the group focuses on Historia, you glance back at Eren, only to find him looking at you—his expression unreadable now, though the edge of amusement hasn’t left his eyes. You almost think he's going to say something—almost want him to—when Ymir interrupts, loud and clear.

"Okay, enough of you two and your weird ass tension. You’re both insufferable. Let’s get this one home before she turns into a puddle of bad decisions," Ymir grumbles, throwing Historia’s arm around her shoulder. You almost wonder how Historia got so drunk, but then you realize how tiny she is and just how much she drank. Plus, the girl barely touched any of her food, too focused on downing mimosa after mimosa.

You stand up from the table, shaking your head at the chaos of it all. You’re a little drunk, a little tipsy, but mostly, you’re irritated that the moment was so easily broken. You grab your purse, eyes locking with Eren’s one last time as you follow the others. For a split second, you wonder what he’s thinking—if he’s still amused by you, or if he’s over it. You’re not sure. But whatever it is, it’s a thought that will linger long after this brunch ends. As you step out of the diner the cool air hits you, and the rest of the group’s voices fade into the background. You feel his gaze on your back, and the flutter in your stomach is the only clue you need: this isn’t over.

.・゜✧﹒☁﹒✧゜・．.・゜✧﹒☁﹒✧゜・．.・゜✧﹒☁﹒✧゜・．.・

tags ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ @cc1306 @booksandbud4me

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

🧚🏻‍♀️✨Bippity boppity bow chicka wow oww! You’ve been visited by the Shameless Hoe Fairy, and now you must share a hoe thot about: CE!babe + nearly breaking a rib from cumming so hard 😘

Thanks for this one! I kinda went left field but it's fun!

Pay Up

Summary: your lot fees are due and your land lord isn't in a good mood.

Warnings: dubcon, coercion, extortion, NSFW. This is a dark drabble like most of my stuff so take this as your warning to stop reading.

Please leave comments and reblog.

The door shakes as someone pounds on it. You groan and hide your face under your arm. It’s eleven AM, who the hell is bothering you? You groan and stay as you are, hoping they just give up. 

They bang again. This time harder. You sigh at the voice that comes from the other side. 

“I know you’re in there, sunshine.” Lloyd calls through. 

You snarl. How many times do you have to tell that sleazeball not to bug you before noon? Shady ass landlord. 

You swing your arm down and hit your hand off the wall. You sit up groggily and look around the trailer. You hang your feet over the edge and nearly kick over the vodka bottle with a swig left in it. You grab it and finish it off as you stand. You fling the empty plastic and go to the door. 

The strap of your leopard print camisole slips down your arm. The door trembles against his battering and the lock threatens to give. You slid back the latch and push it outward. Lloyd stumbles back as it hits his shoulder. 

“Calm down, you’re gonna break the thing,” you snarl and cross your arms as you lean against the frame. 

“Lot fees,” he rubs his shoulder, “now.” 

“I told you, I’ll have them next week.” 

“They’re due today,” he jabs his finger toward you, taking a step closer. 

“Well, you’ll just have to wait.” 

“Listen, sweetheart, you don’t make the rules,” he growls. “So give me my money.” 

You scoff and look him up and down. He’s a con man like all of them. They wear their fancy suits and grease back their hair and think you can’t see through it. 

“Don’t got it,” you shrug. “So wait until Monday or kiss my ass.” 

He snorts as you go to shut the door. He catches it, lodging himself between it and the frame. He crowds you as he looms over you. 

“I’ll call the fucking police. You signed a lease, doll face.” 

“I don’t got it. You hard of hearing?” You sneer. “Look, I got half. I’ll give you that and you can take your hoity toity loafers and come back next week.” 

“Half?” He echoes. 

“Yeah, half.” 

He stares at you then raises his hands to rub his fingertips together. You let go of the door and spin. You stomp over to the bed and search around for your wallet. It’s somewhere here. Always falls down when you fold in the table and pull out the bed. 

His footsteps scuff behind you and you feel his weight in the floor. 

“I didn’t invite you in,” you snip and turn to him with the bills. “Here.” 

You shove the money at him and he catches your hand. He pulls it above your head and glares at you. 

“Late fees. You’ll pay in full on Monday,” he grits. 

“Fuck you. I don’t got that much.” 

“Not my problem, honey pie,” he taunts. “I’ve been pretty fucking lenient. I’m done waiting on what’s mine. You are going to pay me. One way, or another.” 

He tugs up the strap and lays it over your shoulder, tickling your skin. You snarl. 

“Get the fuck off of me,” you snatch your arm away and push his chest. 

“I know how you got all this,” he thumbs the money then tucks it away. “I am willing to cut a deal for your services.” 

“I’m not a fucking hooker,” you spit. “Get out.” 

You try to shove him again and he grabs your wrists. He tuts and squeezes as you bare your teeth at him. He snickers. 

“Coulda fooled me. Ah, come on, a few minutes of heaven and I’ll waive the late fee,” he drawls. 

“As if. Get off--” You writhe as you try to twist free of him. “Look, you filthy old perv, stop touching--” 

He lets go of one arm and grips your shoulder, spinning you to face the bed as he twists your arm behind you. You whimper as he forces you against the frame. You bring your other arm back into his side and he grunts. 

“Hey!” He swats your skull, “look, you bend over and I won’t even ask for the other half.” 

“Are you that fucking desperate?” 

“Nope, but I wouldn’t mind shutting you up,” he chortles. “Come on, I’m sure you’ve had worse.” 

“You’re disgusting,” you tug on your arm and it strains in your shoulder. You whine. 

“Ow, fucker. Give me the money back and I’ll let you get the worm out,” you scoff.    

“How about you take the bottle of whiskey in my backseat? Top shelf shit, not like that piss you got all over.” 

He kicks the empty out of is way. 

“Get it over with, idiot,” you reach back with your free hand and hook your thumb under the top of your shorts. 

“I knew you were fucking easy,” he snarls. 

He lets go of your arm and you whimper. You bend and catch yourself on the mattress. You push back against him. 

“I don’t want to see your face,” you shake your head. 

He chuckles and pushes down your shorts until they fall to your ankles. 

“All the better,” he slaps your ass and sinks his nails into your skin. You hiss. 

“Hey, don’t leave any fucking marks,” you growl. “What’s the matter old man? Need time to get it up?” 

He spanks you again, “shut your fucking mouth.” 

He grabs your head and forces it down to the mattress. You grunt and swing your arm back at him blindly. He laughs under his breath as his fly unzips. You shudder and brace yourself. You’ve done worse, he is right about that. 

He bends his knees as you feel him pumping himself. You curl your lip and close your eyes. He presses his tips between your cheeks and lingers along your puckered ring. You twitch. 

“Don’t you fucking dare.” 

“Really? Woulda thought you’d prefer it,” he slides further down and pushes against your cunt. 

“Limp dick like you used to going in dry,” you rasp. 

You snake your hand down and rub your clit as your cunt burns at his prodding. He leans into you, pushing his tip in with his thumb. You drone and flick your fingers faster. He stretches you around him and you snarl. 

“Fuck, goddamn,” you rub harder. “Can’t wait till I get fucking--” 

You gasp as he thrusts. The force behind it brings you to your toes as his fingers curl into your scalp. You grit your teeth as he buries himself to his limit. He’s not small by any means. Fucker. 

He shakes as he slides out. You swallow and gather what’s left of your pride. Your fingers slicken as he dips back in. 

“You fucking suck,” you spit. 

“And you’re a fucking slut,” he spanks your ass. His hand slides up to grip your hip as he finds his tempo. “Look at how your fucking taking me.” 

His flesh claps against yours as he slowly bends forward. He drags his grip from your head and loops his arm around you. He tears the camisole down beneath your chest and gropes your tits. He snarls and bites your ear. 

“God, you fucking smell like rich dick,” you sneer. 

“Sure as shit, baby,” he ruts as your toes slip on the floor. 

“Disgusting.” 

“Takes one to know one,” he puffs. 

“Ugh, I fucking hate you. You make my insides crawl--” 

“I can feel that,” he pounds harder and your legs fold as you land on your stomach. “Squeezing me all fucking desperate for it.” 

He crushes you again the thin mattress, his hips bucking wildly as he pants into your hair. You can only just swirl your fingers enough to get yourself to the edge. Your thighs tingle and tremble. His deep groans roll into your ears and his breath dampens your scalp. 

He pulls his hand from beneath you and pins you with his forearm against your shoulders. He pushes himself up as he slams against your ass. You snarl and reach back to touch his hip. Jesus fucking Christ. He didn’t even put a condom on. Fuck. Fuck. This is what happens when you’re woken up before noon. 

“You better not fucking blow--” 

“Shit!” He gurgles and spasms. You feel the gush inside of you as his rhythm turns erratic. You curse again and smack his thigh. 

“What the fuck!?” 

He keeps going, fucking his cum deeper and deeper, rumbling and rattling as he empties himself. Jesus. How much does he got? His grunts turn to squeaks. 

“You had to fucking say—ah, shit, shit--” his voice fizzles out as he pulls out and flips onto the top of the mattress, his legs hanging over the edge as he writhes. 

You roll away and sit up, shoving your fingers into your cunt to scoop out his cum. You wipe it on the blanket and snarl. “You dumbass. Why the hell did you do that?” 

“Ah, ah, ah,” he sounds as if he can’t breathe as he hugs his ribs. His dick twitches over his pants as he groans and reaches for you. 

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you slap him away. You reach out and smear cum across his fancy jacket. “Jerk off.” 

“I... I...” he inhales, little by little, and wheezes, “I think I cracked a rib.” 

“What?” 

“When I... finished, it just...” he touches along his ribs, “feels like a knife--” 

You laugh. You cover your mouth with your clean and snicker. “Are you serious? You pulled a fucking muscle, you geezer.” You get off the bed and grab a towel, wiping between your legs. “We made a deal, not get out.” 

“I... can’t.” He groans. 

“Get out or I’ll actually break your rib,” you bark. 

“Fucking christ,” he sits up with a whimper, “you’re fucking cold.” 

“And you’re limp,” you retort. “Out.” 

He stands, hunched over as he keeps his arm across his middle. He limps toward the door. 

“Same time, next month?” He stops at the door. 

You push him out, “no, you’ll get the money on time.” 

[coco-loco-nut]

Bookworm

pairing: carlos x reader

summary: Carlos never expected to feel insecure about your book boyfriends, but maybe that’s part of dating an author

masterlist requests open

———————

It was a common occurrence for fans and media to find you in the corner of the garage with your laptop or a book. It makes for a great reading environment once noise canceling headphones are on. Fans are always eager to see what book you are reading during the weekend, and you talk about it on social media. It was a surprise to most people when you started dating Carlos, most authors don’t date famous athletes. Fate had other plans.

Carlos truly doesn’t mind that you don’t quite care for racing, he’s just happy that you tag along and don’t complain about it. He honestly respects that you have no interest in racing but still show up to support. You are always happy when he does well and empathetic when he doesn’t, but you couldn’t care less about other drivers.

“Baby,” Carlos stands in front of you, trying to get your attention to no avail. He doesn’t mess with your book, simply waiting for you to look up. You notice his shadow, but you have to finish the page to finish the chapter, he can wait a minute.

“Sorry, what’s up?” you slide one side of your headphones off to better hear Carlos.

“I’m going to go to the drivers parade, wanted to check in before I do,” he smiles, leaning down to give you a quick kiss.

“Have fun, and good luck,” your tender smile melts his heart. He can’t wait to surprise you after the race, he’s been researching some of your books and bought a couple for the flight home. Carlos even asked your brother about books you used to love.

“What book is Y/n reading?” Lando asks as Carlos settles beside him. Lando secretly loves your socials, getting to get to know you more. He also thinks it’s funny when you reply to fans who ask about what inspired certain scenes in your books.

“Iron Flame. The next book released few months ago and she finally got around to the first one and this one,” Carlos smiles, he loves his bookworm.

“I’ve heard a lot about that. Has she ever called you Xaden? You and him both have that dark fluffy hair,” Lando asks, pulling out his phone to look up fan art. Charles approaches his teammate, silently joining the conversation.

“No,” Carlos honestly never thought about the male characters in books. He’s heard of people having book boyfriends, but you never brought it up so he brushed it off. Carlos peers over Lando’s shoulder to take a look.

“I see like a semi resemblance. Oh, I remember her reading this one too,” Lando pulls up more pictures of popular book boyfriends. Carlos feels something spark in him, a twinge of jealousy.

“It’s a good thing she reads for the plot then,” Carlos looks away, plastering on a fake smile and a wave for the fans. Lando barely contains his laughter as he shoves his phone back into his pocket.

“The plot? That’s what she said? She enjoys the smut,” Lando shakes his head, waving to a group of fans yelling for him.

“But she doesn’t write that,” you are a young adult fantasy and adventure author, sure there is an element of romance, but that doesn’t mean anything, right?

“So? She’s an adult, she can enjoy it. Don’t you notice when she gets really quiet and nonchalant when reading? Like no reactions or not even a smile?” Charles asks, watching Carlos nod. “That’s a smut scene she is enjoying, do yourself a favor and read it,” Charles suggests.

The color drains from Carlos’ face.

“Logan,” Carlos calls to the unsuspecting American. Logan approaches, unsure why he is needed and a little concerned. “Do you know what your sister is reading?”

“Yeah, some popular book. What about it?”

“It has,” Carlos lowers his voice, glancing around to make sure no one else is listening in, “smut.”

“And?” Logan arches his eyebrow, not seeing the problem with the inclusion of sex in books.

“I don’t know,” Carlos is at a loss for words. What if you like what you read better than him? What if he is suddenly inadequate?

“Look, it’s just a book. She writes romance books and I am ninety percent sure you are what she bases it off of. Especially since every male love interest has your hair,” Logan points out causing Carlos to blush.

“Right, thanks,” Lando snickers at Carlos’ sudden shyness and Logan’s clear discomfort talking about his sister’s relationship.

“I’ll, um, send you a list of books she loved growing up. She left them at home and always talks about rereading them eventually,” Logan exits the conversation. As soon as the parade is over, Carlos orders the books and a new bookshelf for next day delivery so he can surprise you.

Back in the garage, your hair tie has found a home as a bookmark and your computer rests on your lap. Carlos watches you furiously typing away, undoubtedly working on your next hit.

“Are you going to say anything or just stand there watching me like a creep?” you tease, not looking up from your computer.

“I love watching you work. Sometimes you do this cute thing where you bite your lip when working on something really intense, and how you have to hold yourself back from telling me about it because you insist on not sharing until you finish the book. Even when it drives both of us crazy,” Carlos steps closer, wedging himself beside you to get a peak of your book.

“No peeking,” you laugh, throwing a hand out to cover the screen. “I’ll give you a hint,” you smile as Carlos perks up. “It’s a highly requested sequel to a book that was very much inspired by you.”

“Logan was right,” Carlos muses.

“What does my brother have to do with this?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Carlos shrugs, placing a kiss on your head. You are, in fact, a little worried about it.

“That’s not ominous at all,” with a shake of your head you set the computer off to the side and put your full attention onto your boyfriend.

Carlos wraps his arms around you, enjoying the bit of peace before the race. When his fans are confused why you even go to races when you aren’t a fan of the sport, it’s these moments that you answer with. You enjoy your time with Carlos, supporting his passion like he supports yours, and sneaking off to annoy your brother.

“How sweet, it’s time to go, Carlos,” Charles takes a photo of the two of you almost asleep. It had only been two minutes. Carlos sighs, untangling himself from you as he begrudgingly stands up.

“The quicker you drive, the faster you can cuddle again,” you remind him, standing with him. It’s time for a coffee refill anyway and to visit Logan before he heads to his car.

“Or I can DNF early and get my press out of the way,” Carlos’ joke falls flat as you and Charles give him a displeased look.

“Have a good race, I’ll be here waiting for you,” you give Carlos a quick kiss.

“Where’s mine?” Charles jokes.

“Mate, no,” Carlos glares at his teammate.

“Good luck,” you disappear from the garage. Sneaking into Williams, you grab Logan’s gloves and stand inconspicuously on Alex’s side. Despite spending a lot of time in the Ferrari garage now, you make sure that your brother is still supported.

“Y/n!” Logan yells, and you try to stifle your laugh. In that moment, you not notice Logan sneak up on you and then it’s too late. He snatches the gloves back and stares at you.

“What?” you giggle.

“I can’t believe you write books for adults, you are literally a child,” Logan sighs, somehow he is the youngest.

“Shut up,” you stick your tongue out at him. Logan pinches your tongue, unamused at your antics.

“Doesn’t Carlos need you to bother him?” he asks, letting go and crossing his arms.

“No, I just wanted to see my brother, but I know when I’m not wanted,” you pout, pulling the card that always wins.

“Okay, okay. Thank you for seeing me before the race. Yes, I’ll be safe. No, I won’t reconsider my career,” Logan softens. He doesn’t take your presence for granted, it’s nice having family around.

“You’ll do great, maybe you’ll even beat Carlos,” you nudge him, feeling the clock tick down.

“Thanks,” you have half a mind to ask him to elaborate on what Carlos said, but that can wait until after the race.

“Bye, Lo,” you wave goodbye, heading back to your designated spot in the Ferrari garage.

“What are you reading today?” one of the engineers asks. You run a mini library with some of the team, loaning out books for them to read on flights.

“It’s called Onyx Storm, it’s the third book in this series. How are you enjoying the book I gave you?” you ask eagerly in return.

“Haven’t started it yet, picked up one of your books at the airport,” he says, making you feel a little embarrassed.

“Really? Which one,”

“Starlight,” it takes ever ounce of will in you to not die of embarrassment. That is one you wrote at the beginning of your relationship with Carlos, and he was the biggest influence on the book.

“That’s a great choice, I love that one,”

“You love all of your books,”

“That is true, it’s like picking a favorite child,” you chuckle.

“I do have one question about it,”

“It has nothing to do with Carlos and me, the manuscript was mostly finished when we met,” you lie, one that you’ve held to since publication. You wrote the book in a week, the fastest you ever wrote before. The publication turnaround makes the lie believable.

“You get asked that a lot?”

“Yeah, it was the first romance I published after meeting him so it is a natural question,” you shrug it off.

“Well, I really enjoy it. I’ve got to go, but I can’t wait for the book you are working on now,” the engineer gestures to the computer waiting for you. You grab your dedicated pair of headphones so you can listen to the race as you type away.

Carlos is practically bouncing when you return to his apartment after the weekend.

“Is everything okay?” you ask warily. He didn’t win the race so you slightly confused why he is eager to get home. Especially with what Logan told you. You spent the flight thinking of how to confront Carlos about his insecurities and how to help him about it.

He got a friend to set up your new bookcase in your office-slash-reading-room before you returned home. Carlos is really proud of his work.

“Close your eyes,” Carlos instructs as you step inside, carefully setting down your luggage. His hand covers your eyes as the other keeps a gentle-yet-firm grip on your waist to guide you.

“Why am I scared,” your nervous laughs accompanies the shuffles of your feet walking through your home.

“Don’t be, almost there,” a door clicks open and you are led inside. “Surprise,” the warm hand covering your eyes disappears and your eyes open, scanning the room. They immediately land on the bookshelf and you run over to it.

“Oh my god, when did you do this?” you gasp, running your fingers across the spines before you pluck a book from the shelf. You loved these books in elementary and middle school. You role played them during recess before you had any idea what role playing was. It’s honestly a little embarrassing looking back on it.

“Yesterday, Logan told me you loved them growing up,” Carlos smiles warmly as you act like a kid on Christmas.

“He told me you were feeling a little insecure when comparing yourself to the male characters of the books I’ve read,” you broach the subject tentatively, searching his reaction before choosing how to proceed.

“I was, but your brother reminded me that you write me into everything you’ve written since meeting me. I also know that I’m the real thing,” Carlos sounds sure of himself.

“So it’s nothing to do with the books I read having sexual elements to them?” you raise your eyebrow, trying to sus him out.

“Nope,” he pops the p, acting nonchalant.

“Well, in that case I should probably warn you that I had a huge crush on Prince Maxon Schreave and Firestar back in the day, like, a huge crush. You know, I think Maxon was my introduction to writing. My first fanfiction revolved around him,” your voice may have a teasing lilt to it, but you are dead serious.

“Seriously, mi amor? Maybe I should return those then,” the anxious undertones in his voice support your theory as he moves to take the books.

“Touch them and you die,” you threaten and Carlos immediately backs off. “I have you now anyway, you are who I write my fanfiction about now,” you do a complete turnaround, leaving a speechless Carlos alone in the room as you walk into the living room, book in hand.

“Wait!” he chases you, needing to find out what you meant.

“I meant what I publish, obviously,” you tell half of the truth. You will DIE before Carlos finds your burner accounts that are so well hidden it takes three secret email accounts to reach the one you use to login and post.

“Right. Well, maybe I will read one of the books I got you,” Carlos retreats to grab a book before laying beside you on the couch and promptly falling asleep on your lap.

“Goodnight, Carlos. Hello, Maxon.”

[sudokufriend]

not putting this in the tags only because character limits make me soo sadsies but yeah idk maybe you guys don’t know anyone whose entire culture subscribes to a ‘family is the rock of your life and your father and grandfather etc etc are essentially venerated and never disrespect your elders/authority figures no matter how wrong they are.’ because you don’t have non white friends. and it’s actually really refreshing to hear someone push back against the idealistic idea that there could be a system in which the family unit is preserved that does not have these problems.

hella anecdotes beneath the cut

i’m 20. my nigerian parents ascribe to these beliefs, and indeed the foundation of igbo culture rests upon these values being intrinsic facts. i’m not going to say that therefore the igbos deserved to be colonised or anything like that, but christianity and particularly catholicism took such a hold in igbos and we are so fervent about it because of and not despite the authoritarian nature of its teachings.

your parents are always right easily translates to god is always right. my parents constantly say to me that the three questions i should ask myself before doing something are ‘what would god do? what would my parents do? and what should i do?’ i shouldn’t need to point out the issues with that.

my igbo parents are wrong. looking at this evidence, this is just true. they are bigoted in a lot of ways, from being ableist, fatphobic and transphobic towards wider society and me, to being abusive towards all of their children who they view as their subordinates. they are healthcare workers who despise their vulnerable patients, and they are racist towards every culture, including dialects of their own language. they are islamophobic and they hate refugees despite us essentially being refugees ourselves. but we are not allowed to disrespect them in any case, in which disrespect is defined as disagreeing with anything they say. both igbo culture and religion and catholicism condones and encourages the unquestioning support of your parents.

when i was in primary school and struggling with social interactions and exhibiting signs of developing ocd regarding my grades at the age of six and obvious autism, my parents’ problem was that i threw a tantrum and disgraced our family, not that i was unhappy in school.

when i reported them to my teacher for abuse in year seven with my sister supporting me, they didn’t care that their children were so unhappy that they would take such drastic action as to talk about their family when it had been drilled into their heads that it was ‘wrong’ to ever let people know your family dynamics, they instead cared that we would dare go behind their backs and complain about them.

they now often wonder why i never came or indeed still don’t come to them for emotional support and advice. when i used to complain, or my siblings used to complain, my parents would take it as a personal insult that we would dare find issue with their parenting. as far as they’re concerned, i was just a weak willed child, who refused to fall in line. but if you ask them how they could’ve produced such a child if their parenting was ‘perfect’ they don’t have an answer.

this is just my immediate family. more broadly, when we are at home in nigeria, my father and grandfather must be greeted first in the morning. if we do not greet every single ‘adult’ (by which this is defined as the previous generation, not every person eighteen and over) before we start preparing breakfast for these adults, we are talked about and loudly insulted.

my grandmother on my dad’s side lives away from my grandfather because she cannot stand him. but she will not divorce him, and hell be upon you if you say a bad word against him, because that is her husband and your grandfather, and you will show him deference at all times.

my grandmother on my mother’s side was married at sixteen, and my grandfather (36 at the time of their marriage) financially and physically abused her. but my mother has not a bad word to say about my dead grandfather, and my grandmother talks fondly about the man who abused her.

my brother, a thirteen year old child, is a titled chief in my village. my two sisters and i do not have any such opportunity because we were born girls, and therefore born in servitude to the men in our lives. when we become ‘of marrying age’ (my mum is on the lookout for a suitable partner for my twenty two year old sister) we are expected to leave our birth family and not be involved in their domestic affairs, or to inherit property. the idea is that your husband will inherit property from his father and then you will rule it ‘together’ (if that husband dies without producing a son, all of the land he inherited is given to his next oldest brother). when we visit nigeria, we spend 5-6 weeks with my fathers family. we spend less than a week with my mother’s family, and my dad does not stay, because it is ‘not right’ to spend time with my mother’s family, except to pay deference to the older generation.

slavery was in part so successful at infiltrating igbo villages because of the problems inherent to such a system of inheritance. younger brothers eyeing their older brothers’ inheritances would collaborate with transatlantic slave traders to sell their brothers to their certain deaths. the igbos are not the first you meet on your way into nigeria from the coast. and yet we make up a shockingly high percentage of the historically enslaved population.

most igbos are conservative, not because conservative policies necessarily benefit them, and indeed we have been subject to ethnic discrimination in nigeria and pogroms, but they are so because you do not question the system, and the authorities who enforce it. yes, missionaries disrupted and destroyed our culture. but ultimately they brought catholicism and it reinforces our own ways of thinking, so it must be correct.

this obsession too with finding the perfect victims of colonialism is interesting. in search for the perfect victim, liberals will often twist discriminatory indigenous practices to make them seem retroactively queer. there was nothing queer about certain igbo women who chose to live like men in order to access the rights granted to said men. again this isn’t to say that the igbos deserved to be colonised and our practices and language poisoned at the root, but by swinging hard the other way, it erases the very real oppression inherent to some cultures.

I'm still fucking thinking about people advocating neo-Confucian ~extended family~ as a better alternative to western nuclear family. like girl i know there's that assumption that everyone is a white yankee but have you literally never talked to anyone who grew up in a family like that?

our barbarous system where children are the property of their parents vs their glorious system where children are the property of their parents (mystical oriental)

it's like that broader thing where people try and thin down a criticism like "you mean organised religion", "white western nuclear family", "this is such a white people thing" etc to try and weasel their way out of association with an issue.

Misogyny is not a western invention lol, the way it manifests in a lot of societies is a product of certain cultural manifestations of misogyny being exported elsewhere, but the control and ownership of women is not a "white people thing" or a western thing.

the issues of the family are not limited to the anglo saxon protestant yankee middle class nuclear family, misogyny is not unique to one group of people, racism is not unique to one group of people, homophobia is not unique to one group of people, terfs are not all middle class white women, etc etc etc etc

it's just so frustrating and kills any fucking attempt to actually talk about issues because they get drowned out with people appending on specific identities as if that issue is unique to one fucking group of people and the rest of the world is sunshine and rainbows.

[studiogrimm810]

Agitated

pairings/characters: (pining)dean winchester x gn!reader

summary: you know you're outmatched for a hunt so you call up bobby for some help but instead he sends dean. now you're forced to deal with his cocky attitude and still somehow get this hunt done. this man will be the death of you

warnings: bickering and annoyance, some blood and a fight scene, fadeaway to sex but nothing too graphic

word count: 5,121

A/N: this is a request!!! oh my god i could not stop writing this. i really hope i captured the pure annoyance they have for each other and also framed it into some steamy sexual tension,, idk, lmk how feel about this one!! :):)

———————

This is the worst. The absolute worst. You knew better than to try and go at this hunt alone but you seriously think you’d reconsider if you knew this was the outcome. You got here early, getting a motel room for yourself and eating lunch while waiting for him. Ugh. Him.

There was a nest of at least half a dozen vamps camped out nearby that you’ve been tracking for a while but you’re out of your league here so you called Bobby.

Ah, Bobby. How you loved him. He was quite the mentor for you when you lost your mother. He showed you the ropes, gifted you a car he pieced together on his lot, and offered a listening ear when you needed it. So of course, when you need help, you call him.

Except this time he’s busy so he sends, what he calls his ‘second-best’, Dean fucking Winchester.

God. You had asked if there really wasn’t anyone else he could send but he insisted that Dean was the best he could do. Bobby and Sam apparently were deep into some research for whatever apocalypse they’ve got on their plate now and they could spare Dean for the sake of your safety. Dean needed to hunt anyways, he itched to get back into action.

So now, halfway through rage eating your lunch, you hear the familiar rumble of Dean’s trademark gas-guzzler and plant your face in your hands. If you wanted to successfully complete this hunt then you needed to just take a deep breath and shove aside your irritations.

You finish your lunch and wait for the text or call saying that he’s got a room and is ready to regroup. That call came a lot sooner than expected.

“Hey, Dean,” you greet indifferently.

“Heya, sweetheart,” you can hear his sarcastic smirk and it makes you roll your eyes, “listen, I’ve kinda got a problem here.”

“What?” You try, but fail, to keep the bite out of your voice.

“Motel’s all booked up and the only other one is across town, looks like I’ll have to bunk with you.” God- of course.

“You’re kidding,” you internally groan, biting your tongue.

“Wish I was, sweetheart,” you can hear his own stifled sigh.

“Don’t call me that,” you scold, standing to go to the door and properly greet him. You open the door and he’s leaning against the hood of his car, pocketing his phone and plastering a fake smirk. You’ve noticed he knows how to make you tick. It usually starts as a feigned sweetness but soon sours as you aren’t receptive. He claims he’s trying to keep the peace between you two but you claim he’s full of shit.

“Whatever, princess,” he uses more sarcastically, as if it’s such a high request to ask to be addressed by your own name. “Hope you’ve got the room ‘cause I’m not sleeping on any floors,” Dean states, rounding his car to get his bags out of the trunk.

Fuck. You could shoot yourself if you had the fucking gun.

“Yeah, about that,” you fold your arms over your chest, squinting from the blinding sunlight you’re forced to face to keep looking at him as he moves. Fucking dick.

“No,” Dean demands, his shoulders slacking from lack of effort to keep his bags held. Yep, he’s pissed.

“I never have to share a motel, Dean!” You shrug with an annoyed bitchface. “I’m not all ‘buddy-buddy’ like you and Sam are. I like my privacy.” You squint at him like that’s a dig and not really a chip at your own lonely ego.

“Well I call the bed sweetheart, you can take the couch,” Dean grumbles, scrunching his nose in a mocking manner as he walks past you and into the motel.

Regardless, this was the last room the motel had so it’s not your fault there’s just one bed.

———

“So, you think they’re camped out here?” Dean asks, looking at the map with his arms crossed over his chest. You nod, nibbling on the end of a pen.

“I’ve been tracking them for a while- it’s their kinda hideout,” you add, thinking of different ways to approach this. Dean turns back as if to say something but rolls his eyes at you.

“That’s disgusting,” he points loosely like the oral act isn’t even worth the energy to spotlight.

“Good thing it’s not your pen,” you retort, looking back down at your laptop and refreshing the local news. Dean just scoffs, walking over to the small fridge provided by the motel.

“No beer?” He baffles.

“I’m not an enabler,” you sass, finding it your current life’s mission to kick him at any turn. God, the nerve to come into your room, make his snippy comments at your fidgets, and bash you for not keeping beer on tap like a fucking bartender. You couldn’t wait for this to be over.

“And I’m not an alcoholic.”

Ha, yeah okay.

You scroll around the 3D map on your laptop, looking for different access points of the rundown building but the shitty satellite rendering is too blurry and bubbly to really make anything out.

“Seriously? That’s what you’ve been wasting your time with?” Dean raises a brow.

“I’m checking my bases, Dean, back off,” you groan, leaning back in your chair and rubbing a hand down your face.

“Just sayin’, you’ll get more info first hand, princess, may as well just get on with it,” Dean insists, “not like we have any way to pass the time,” he’s not letting this beer thing go.

“Fine! Let’s just go, guns blazing,” you sit up, scooting back your chair with the force of which you popped up. You go to ruffle through your bag, grabbing a long sleeve shirt to slip over your tank top.

“You’re gonna be cold,” Dean says plainly.

“Shut up,” you shoulder-check him on the way out.

———

The sun is starting to set, casting a beautiful golden haze across the horizon. You two are headed north so thankfully the sun isn’t blinding your peripheral but instead Dean’s.

The drive is quiet other than the hum of some 80s band, or whatever it is Dean is obsessed with, on the radio. It’s weird, you don’t know why your hatred for Dean blossomed so naturally but it just did. Since the second you were disappointed to find that that is who was the sweet Sam Winchesters brother you’ve been irked by just the reminder of his presence.

He probably started it anyway.

The Impala starts to slow as you two come up to the hidden gravel drive for the abandoned building on Dean’s GPS. The rumble of gravel crunching under the tires is a satisfying dig in your ears.

Dean parks the Impala so you two can go the rest of the way on foot. You both gear up and sneak along the tree line until the building is in sight. It’s an old rangers station- blanketed with moss and vines, shards of glass poking out of crunched window frames, entrance doors missing- it looked completely vacant.

“I’m gonna take a wild guess and say your hunch was wrong,” Dean straightens out of his pre-fight stance. You don’t offer him a response, you just step past him to the entrance to see if there’s even a hint of this being the right place.

There’s nothing.

God, how could you be so stupid? You felt a pit of embarrassment swirl its way around your insides. You couldn’t confront Dean right now. You couldn’t deal with his sarcastic quips.

You have to though, you have to face him to get back to the Impala and back to your shared room. This was torture.

What if more people get hurt because you didn’t find the right spot? The longer you sit and stew the more likely that is to be true. You have to just keep your head on straight and find the next lead.

So with that, you spin on your heel and head back to the Impala. “I don’t wanna hear it,” you mumble as you pass him, this time shifting your shoulder out of the way so you don’t bump into him.

You miss the way Dean’s features soften with understanding and guilt and he decides to keep his mouth shut.

The drive back for you was thick with tension. Your mind ran with how to go about the situation next. What lead to follow and what instincts to trust because apparently this one was wrong.

The drive back for Dean, however, was different. He kept the music to a volume he knew wouldn’t bother you as much and he drummed along to the beat on his steering wheel with his fingers casually, hoping the common habit of his will show that he’s not angry and how you shouldn’t blame yourself so much. That even if it feels as detrimental as it does that in reality it’s not a big deal but just a failed lead.

He doesn’t use his words though. He’s offering common decency and not pleasantries.

You’re quick to duck into the motel as soon as the car is in park and recenter yourself at the drawing board.

Dean hesitates, finding it annoying how much you’re beating yourself up over this. He doesn’t know why it bothers him so much. Maybe it’s because he understands the guilt of not being good enough. Maybe it’s because he just doesn’t want to be around some mopey child. Maybe he doesn’t have to know.

“There have been a few disappearances- the last location they were all seen is this bar. Maybe we could start there,” you’re starting to doubt yourself.

“I agree,” Dean nods from behind you. You turn to look at him, a little taken back by his compliance. No shoving and no pushback.

“Really?” You cock a brow, still finding it odd that he hasn’t bashed you more for your screw up earlier.

“Yeah, I think that’s the next step,” Dean repeats, the annoyance of having to do so showing in his tone. You squint slightly as if waiting for him to say something else but he doesn’t.

“Fine, let’s go,” you walk right back out of the room and to the Impala, not bothering with your jacket or keys.

Dean snatches your keys from the kitchen table and locks up the room. You could thank him but why thank him for locking a door? It’s not like he did anything special.

The bar was in the middle of town so the drive consisted of a lot of turns but was still rather swift. You reach for the door knob but Dean stops you.

“What?” You ask defensively.

“That look normal to you?” Dean points, not matching your tone. What is up with him?

You follow his point, finding a couple making out against the side of the brick building. They look drunk and disoriented but nothing too out of the ordinary for a Friday night outside of a bar.

“He’s faking,” Dean adds, keeping his eyes on the couple but taking your silence as confusion. “He’s not drunk.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Watch,” he leans in a little closer to see them from your angle. “When she kisses his neck he loses his ‘daze’. You can see him scan-, there!” He cuts himself off as the man across the parking lot does exactly what Dean is describing. You look a little closer now, seeing a slimy smirk lift the man’s lips as he grabs the woman with a bit more force.

“Dammit,” you mumble, straightening up in your seat a bit. Before either of you can get out of the car in time, the woman is shoved into a nearby truck and the man climbs in after. Dean fires up the engine and follows the truck from a safe distance.

You beat yourself down a bit, wondering how you managed to miss something so clear. You would’ve overlooked them without a second thought and they turned out to be your next lead. Were you really this bad of a hunter? Maybe Dean was right to have such little trust in you.

“How damn cold do you keep this car?” You hound, wrapping your arms over your chest to try and churn some warmth over yourself.

“I told you you’d be cold,” you could hear the eye-roll without even looking at him. You stare out the window, Dean still staying on the truck's tail.

A few moments pass and you continue to ignore him. “God, if you’re gonna pout about it,” he adjusts, grabbing a spare flannel of his from the back seat, “here.”

“I’m not pouting,” you scoff.

“Sure you’re not. Just take it,” he shoves it in your lap and you hesitate to touch it. “I’m not diseased, princess, you can borrow my clothes. Won’t kill ya’.”

“Whatever,” you mumble, grabbing the flannel and slipping it over your arms. The cloth settles over your skin like a warm blanket and you have to force yourself to ignore how much it smells like him. You feel a need to thank him again but seriously, was it really that special or was he just doing the bare minimum? Or perhaps you were too embarrassed to thank him because doing so would admit that you didn’t entirely dread his presence.

Dean glances over to make sure you actually put it on and hasn't discarded one of his favorite flannels- which he would take as an act of war quite frankly- but is a little stunned to see how homey it makes you look. You're practically drowning in the tarp of cloth, but the way it melts with your skin catches his eyes for a bit too long. To see your hair settle over the pattern like a claim makes him want to never look away.

But he has to because he’s driving and just nicked the rumble strips.

“Driving at night is hard, huh?” You tease, “heard it gets that way with old age.”

“Hey! I’m not that much older than you,” he defends, forcing his eyes in the road ahead and the truck to follow. He can’t let himself wonder why you caught his attention so intensely or why he’s itching to look back for another peek.

Finally, after what felt like years to Dean, the truck turns off into a driveway of an older farm house. Dean drives past and parks off the side of the road around a turn where they won’t be spotted.

Now it’s time to really gear up, but this time it’s a little different. Dean finds himself wanting to make extra sure that you’re set and that you have any possible weapon you might need.

“Stay close, don’t split up under any circumstance,” Dean instructs. He hadn’t done that last time and you want to combat him because who is he to tell you what to do? But the wind brushing over you too carries his scent past your nose again and it’s almost like it shuts you up completely. You just nod in response.

The night sky rained over you two, soft pelts of misty rain dampening your clothes and you’re now really starting to feel thankful for the offered flannel, maybe you should’ve said something. But as you near the home, you reckon it’s not the right time to mention a lousy ‘thanks’ for such a simple offer.

Dean picks the lock of the back door and you follow him in, machete in hand. You can hear voices and laughter flowing from what you guess to be the main room. Dean halts right along the door frame, ducking in to count what they’re up against, he holds up 3 fingers to you and you nod.

On his signal, you both pounce.

The fight is brutal on your muscles since you often forget just how strong vamp’s are. The one you’re up against is at least a foot taller than you and is bulkier than is really fair, but you use the advantage of being smaller to slip out of his grasp and decapitate him from behind.

Dean is next to take care of his opponent and now it’s two against one. The vamp comes after you first, probably thinking you’re a quicker target, but Dean intercepts and slams the vamp

against a wall. You take this opportunity to go to the woman from earlier who is huddled in a corner, watching in horror as this happens.

Thankfully, she is physically unharmed and the adrenaline of the situation has burned through the alcohol she had ingested.

“Hey, I’m not gonna hurt you,” you shake your head with arms braced to show you aren’t a threat. “Can you walk?” You ask. She nods. “Good, okay,” you reach over to the pocket of one of the vamps, seeing a set of keys hooked to his belt loop, and hand the keys to her. “The truck outside. Take it and go- now.”

She snatched the keys and bolts. You breathe a breath of relief at how easy it was to get her out of here. You turn to see that Dean is still fighting the creature and you jump to your feet, approaching them. You bring up your weapon but the vamp sees you in time and shoves you hard. You stumble into a dusty china cabinet and hear Dean call your name. The impact rattles through your body but you have to help. You have to.

Getting to your feet takes a moment, but a pained gasp sets you with a fresh rush of adrenaline. The vamp has latched its teeth into Dean’s neck. He’s paralyzed with pain, raspy breaths barely escaping his gaped lips. That’s all the fucking power you need. You ram into the vamp, getting him to unhook his jaw and throwing him to the ground. In the blood drunken haze, you’re able to rid of its head with a quick swipe of your machete.

Dean groans, sliding against the wall and you drop your weapon, running to him.

“Hey-, you’re okay,” you speak before you have enough evidence to believe it. “You with me?”

“Y-Yeah,” he pants, his head going slack on the side he wasn’t bitten. It’s deep.

“Okay, hold on,” you say, reaching down to rip off a good portion of your shirt to cover the bleeding. He reaches out to stop you. “Don’t worry, it’s not your precious flannel I’m tearing up,” you actually joke. Not as a mock or tease but as an actual joke that you smile for to show your lightheartedness.

“With you? I’d never know what to believe,” he comes back. He doesn’t seem to have enough energy to smile but you can tell the initial joke was receptive.

He hisses as you press the cloth against his wound, your other hand cupping his cheek to keep him in place. His intense screw of pain seems to melt a bit under your touch.

“We gotta get you outta here, big guy,” you pat his cheek lightly, trying to keep him present. “How dizzy you are, can you walk?” You ask, unsure of how much blood he’s lost.

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry ‘bout me, sweetheart,” he slurs. Dumbass.

“You’re so fucking stubborn,” you huff, removing your free hand to grab his own hand. You swear he whined when you did so, but it was so quiet and could’ve been excused as a draw of pain. “Hold tight, okay?” You instruct. You knew if he had enough energy he would be batting you away and demanding he knew how to handle a wound like this and it almost worries you that he’s not. “C’mon,” you snake your arm around his back, lifting him the best you can and thankfully he works with you. You’re really gonna have to start saying your thanks out loud.

You lead him out the front door and curse as the rain has picked up. You can’t walk him through this- between the blood loss and getting wet, he’ll freeze. You set him in a semi-stable looking chair and use your hands to steady his face. The reaction he gives you when your skin lands on his stirs a curiosity in you.

“Wait here, keep applying pressure, I’m gonna get the car,” you enunciate so he can really hear you.

“Ain’t no way in hell I’m letting you drive my baby,” he slurs but you're already fishing through his leather jacket pockets.

“Try and stop me, pretty boy,” you say it as a tease- reprimand for the nicknames he’s bugged you with- but it rolls off your tongue with more meaning than you intended.

He doesn’t fight you as you head off to the hidden location of the Impala. The rain drenched you quickly but you don’t let that slow you down. Dean needs you.

Dean would fight more- he really would. If this were a situation where you needed him or Sammy needed him, he could fight past the haze of blood loss. He could drive his own damn car to safety. If he really needed to, he’s sure his body could supply enough adrenaline to power him through his own petty pain. But that’s just it. He doesn’t need to, and in all reality he can’t but it’s just that if he convinces himself that he’s choosing to let you take care of him then that’s less embarrassing then failing you.

He forces on his consciousness, waiting for the familiar growl of his precious Baby. His chariot to take him far from here and to shelter him in times of need.

And there it is.

He peels his eyes open enough to see you emerge for his car and goddamn. Your clothes are wet and stuck against your skin- his flannel hugging your torso like he should be. To see you in his clothes and in the driver's seat of his car is enough to feel his heart stutter.

“Let’s get you situated,” you announce, slipping your arm to its previous hold around his body. He stands with more strength now and you feel your worry dampen. Dean doesn’t argue and doesn’t make a comment about you driving his car again but he does mumble something about you letting him get in the car by himself so you can get out of the rain. You don’t listen and it ignites the familiar burn of anger in his chest that he’s actually used to with you.

After making sure he’s settled, you close his door and round back to the driver's side, pulling out of the driveway and carefully navigating through the foggy rain and back to the motel.

Light conversation buzzes between you in a primary attempt to keep him awake but also a secondary want to continue to just chat. You’ve never really just talked with him like this before. When you first met, he was quick to flirt and when you weren’t receptive you assumed he took it to heart and turned cold on you. You don’t recognize that Dean right now in the slightest.

He’s able to walk by himself by the time you make it back to the motel. He stumbles out of the car in a stubborn attempt to prove such but you remind him that just because he technically can doesn’t mean he should be expected to. He doesn’t mention how much your statement actually resonates with him.

“Sit,” you instruct, placing him on the king bed that reminds you of your sleeping arrangements. It’s a subtle irk but not enough for you to dwell on again, you have bigger problems to deal with at present. You grab your first aid kit and shuffle through the items and get to work.

The heat is blasting and you managed to get a towel to wrap around his damp frame to keep him from shivering but he’s also got enough energy to combat you, so now you’ve ended up with the towel around your shoulders.

“How’re you feeling?” You ask as you pour the disinfectant over the wound. He hisses but answers the distraction in the form of a question.

“Fine, sweetheart, don’t worry about me,” he says in his usual gruff. No longer slurring. Progress.

“Too late,” you murmur, cleaning the stained blood.

“Awe, someone starting to care? Who gave you a heart?” Dean smirks. You don’t entertain the usual banter.

“You could’ve died,” the words pass your lips with a slight waver. You dry the wound, starting to dress it.

“But I didn’t,” Dean reminds, his eyes watching yours for any hint as to why you got so freaked.

“Yeah,” you say out of obligation and not belief.

“Hey,” he reaches up to stop your working hands and when you don’t meet his gaze and calls your name. “I’m okay,” he repeats once your eyes meet his- you couldn’t help yourself with the way your name sounded on his tongue. “I’ve survived a lot worse.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“It’s meant to.”

You sigh, looking down at his hands around your own now idle ones.

“Okay,” you finally agree, hoping the false belief will settle your nerves enough.

“It’s gonna take a lot more than that to get rid of me,” he jokes with a smirk, “you know how persistent I can be,” he winks and you roll your eyes even if his wink bubbles something in you that’s never been effected by him like that before.

“Shut up and let me finish this,” you push aside his hold and secure the bandage to his skin. After packing back up the kit you start to stand but Dean stops you. His hand grips your wrist gently but the gravity of something not physical pulls you against your will. His lips part like he wants to say something but he doesn’t. He almost looks ashamed as he drops his hold on you like it’s burned him.

“What?” you ask, your voice a whisper.

“Nothin’, sorry,” he shakes his head, averting his gaze.

“You can tell me,” it’s not something you’d ever expect to offer but you can quite help yourself when he looks so pathetic.

“We should get into some dry clothes.”

“Yeah, sure,” you agree, knowing that’s not what he was talking about but accepting it as it is. You grab your bag and get out some comfortable clothes for sleep. You excuse yourself to the bathroom but curse at the broken latch.

“No peeking,” you warn after alerting Dean to the issue and he just scoffs a smirk.

“No promises.” And fuck, he’s glad he didn’t make it because through the crack he catches a glimpse of your shimmering skin as you dry off and replace your outfit with a pair of sleep shorts and a way too big shirt. He admires the cozy feel your clothes give you. As you exit the bathroom he clears his throat and busies himself with getting his bed ready on the couch.

“What’re you doing?” You ask as he lays a blanket over the couch.

“Getting ready for bed,” he says as if it’s a stupid question.

“We can share a bed, Dean, it won’t kill ya,” you use his own remark from earlier against him. You don’t know why he’s suddenly so docile. You worry maybe the injury burned him of his usual spark. “Seriously, don’t make me watch you sleep crunched up on that couch,” you insist.

“Fine,” he subsides, making his way back over to you and the bed. You start to crawl under the covers, sticking to your side but the radiating heat of how close he is makes you want to scooch closer.

“Night, Dean,” you say as he flicks the lamp off but he’s quiet and unmoving, like he has some sort of unfinished business. You push yourself up on your elbow and look back at him sitting on the edge of the bed. “Okay seriously, what’s up with you?”

No response.

“Dean?”

He sighs, turning to look back at you as well. His profile is illuminated by the moonlight pouring in from a split in the curtains.

“Thank you,” his voice is small like you’ve never expected he was capable of. You sit up fully, turning to him with your legs folded.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you shake your head, a small smile pulling up your lips. He doesn’t return the expression.

“You’re a good hunter, yaknow,” he compliments like he won’t get another chance to tell you so. You smile a bit bigger.

“Dean Winchester, did you just flatter me?” You tease.

“You’re strong and resilient,” he continues and your smile falters a bit due to your confusion. “Stubborn and a pain in my ass,” his expression remains a softened yearn. “I never knew why you got to me so damn  bad. You’re smart and funny and captivating,” he snaps his jaw like he crossed a line and his cheeks flush. “I- I think I know now,” he finishes after a beat.

“Know what?” You ask, your heart puttering in your chest.

“Why I can’t get you off my mind,” his eyes dip down to your lips, “why, no matter what I do, I can’t forget you,” he looks so pained. So conflicted.

It hits. It all hits. His helpful offerings, your banter, the way he responded to your touch, and the way you felt yourself reciprocating his apparent feelings.

You lean in, you can’t help it, he’s so beautiful in this light- the way his eyes sparkle under it- but he tenses as you get too close so you halt.

“What are you afraid of?” You ask with a simple head tilt.

“I uh-, haven’t got that one worked out just yet,” he scoffs simply and his smile forces a small one of your own.

“Then just shut up for a minute,” you shake your head, leaning in and placing a soft kiss against his lips. It’s almost a ghost of a kiss but you can feel the emotion he funnels into it. He’s soft and gentle at first but his desperation takes over, leading the kiss through a dizzying spiral as he guides you into the mattress, hovering over you and encapsulating you with his radiating heat.

He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stop kissing you until you’re unsure where your clothes have ended up. He doesn’t stop kissing you until you forget your own name. He doesn’t stop kissing you until your breathless pants slow from your high.

And when all is said and done, he doesn’t stop holding you through the night until the warmth of the sun blesses your exposed skin.

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

>tags: @blossomingorchids @areswasneverhere

[violetszn]

“How come I always end up calling you when I can’t fall asleep?” &“Sometimes i feel like i wanna make out with you is that a friend thing to do?” + ellie please !!

your phone buzzes against your nightstand, the screen lighting up with ellie’s name. it’s past midnight, and you’ve been lying in bed for at least an hour, trying and failing to fall asleep. the sight of her name on your screen sends a familiar warmth through you, chasing away the quiet frustration of another restless night.

you answer without hesitation.

“el?” your voice is thick with drowsiness, but there’s a softness to the way you say her name.

there’s a pause on the other end, the faint sound of rustling sheets and a deep sigh before she speaks.

“yeah, hey… how come i always end up calling you when i can’t fall asleep?” her voice is low, slightly rough, like she’s been tossing and turning for hours.

you shift onto your side, tucking the phone closer to your ear. “because i always answer?”

ellie lets out a quiet huff of laughter. “yeah. guess so. were… you asleep?”

“no, i couldn’t sleep either, honestly.”

a comfortable silence settles between you, the kind that doesn’t feel heavy or awkward. just familiar. you hear her exhale, the soft creak of her bed as she moves.

“what’s keeping you up?” you ask.

she hesitates. “dunno. just… my brain’s being an asshole, i guess. feels like all these thoughts just won’t chill out.” another pause. “i just… figured hearing your voice might help.”

something in your chest tightens—not in a bad way, just in that way it always does when ellie says something unexpectedly soft.

“i’m glad you called,” you admit. “you know i don’t mind.”

“i know,” she says, quieter this time. “that’s kinda the problem.”

your brows furrow. “what do you mean?”

ellie sighs again, and for a second, you think she’s going to brush it off. then, finally, she says, “i just… i don’t know. i keep telling myself i’m not gonna do it, and then i do. i call you. every time. and you always pick up, and it always makes me feel better, and i—” she stops herself. “i just don’t know if that’s fair.”

you bite your lip, considering her words. “ellie?”

“yeah?”

“can i come over?”

she doesn’t answer right away, but you can practically hear the way she exhales, like she’s been holding her breath without realizing.

“yeah,” she says, voice softer this time. “yeah, i’d really like that.”

fifteen minutes later, you’re standing outside her door, dressed in sweats and one of her hoodies that she definitely left at your place on purpose. you knock lightly, and it barely takes a second before ellie swings the door open.

she looks… tired to say the least. her hair’s a mess, her green eyes slightly hazy from the sleep that refuses to take hold, but there’s something else in them, too. something warm when she looks at you.

she steps aside to let you in, and you follow her to her room, where she flops onto her bed with a deep sigh. when she rolls onto her side and reaches out for you, you laugh.

“you’re ridiculous,” you mumble, but you climb in beside her anyway. who were you to resist snuggling up beside her?

ellie hums in response, shifting closer until her forehead brushes your shoulder. you stay like that for a while, just lying there, the quiet hum of the night settling around you. eventually, her fingers find the hem of your hoodie, playing with it absentmindedly.

“isn’t this mine…?”

“yeah.” a laugh falls past your lips. “you don’t mind, right?”

“not even a little,” she smiles.

you hum, snuggling further into her bed. your eyes flutter shut as you lean into her presence.

“hey,” she murmurs.

“hm?” you open your eyes, picking up on the odd look on her face.

“i was… thinking about something,” she says, voice hesitant.

“yeah? should i be scared?”

ellie scoffs, but there’s no real bite to it. “shut up.” she playfully shoves you.

you grin. “what were you thinking about? everything okay?”

she shifts slightly, like she’s debating whether to say it. and then, finally—

“sometimes… i feel like i wanna make out with you,” she says, quiet but sure. “is that a friend thing to do?”

your heart stutters in your chest. you’re not sure what you’d expected her to say but it most definitely wasn’t that.

ellie’s smiling softly, but there’s something underneath it. something cautious, like she’s giving you an out if you want it.

you don’t.

your fingers brush her hair from her face then drop down to the sleeve of her shirt, playing with it absentmindedly. “i don’t think so.”

ellie nods, like she expected that answer. but when you rest your hand on her cheek, she stills.

“good thing i don’t really wanna be just friends, huh?” you add softly.

for a moment, neither of you move. you can hear the sound of ellie’s breathing, slightly uneven, as she watches you. then, slowly, like she’s giving you a chance to pull away, she leans in.

and then her lips are on yours, warm and insistent, like she’s been waiting forever. maybe she has. maybe you have too.

either way, sleep can definitely wait.

860 words.

[facewithoutheart]

FYI Buck is absolutely not a fan of Bear. It’s not … he doesn’t do anything to Bear he just … glares at it sometimes when Eddie’s not looking. Makes a point to distract Eddie whenever his attention is on Bear. Gets a sinking feeling in his stomach when he catches Eddie kissing the stain on its forehead. Which happens. A lot.

“It’s weird Eddie keeps bringing Bear to work, right?” Buck asks Hen, who immediately storms into Bobby’s office and takes leave, “Until one of those two morons figures it out.”

Bobby’s not expecting her back anytime soon.

Finally, Eddie has had enough (Buck is nowhere near as subtle as he thinks he is; Eddie literally caught Buck tipping Bear over from where Eddie had him perched in his locker, grinning when Bear’s fluffy white head hits the metal). He grabs Bear out of Buck’s reach and holds Bear to his chest. “What is your deal?”

“W-what? I don’t have a deal. What are you talking about?” Buck’s full on stink-glaring the stupid bear.

“Are you kidding me?” Eddie groans. “Thank god Bear can’t play basketball; I don’t think my ankle can take another sprain.”

Finally, Buck’s eyes flick upward. “Huh?”

“You’re jealous of my damn stuffie, Buck.”

He scoffs. “I’m not jealous.”

“Oh yeah? Then what’s with that?” Eddie jerks his chin at the red bear with a Mexican flag on it, sitting with his tiny little head poking out from Buck’s duffel. “You mean to tell me Chris went to Pennsylvania and brought back your childhood toy, too?”

“Huh?” Buck frowns.

“Chris found Bear in my old bedroom back in El Paso and brought him. Said he looked lonely there, and then, he said,” Eddie flushes, “he asked me to bring Bear to work, because he said I looked lonely, too. That’s it, okay? The whole story. Can you please get over yourself and whatever it is you’re doing with Bear 2.0 over there?”

Bear’s head flops over to one side, his gaze up at Buck tilted like he’s also asking, “What’s your problem?”

My problem is a damn stuffed bear, Buck thinks.

It’s possible he’s being a little ridiculous. “Oso,” he says.

“Oso?”

“That’s my bear’s name.”

Eddie nods. “Okay. Nice to meet you, Oso,” he says to the bear. He hopes that settles things.

It gets weirder.

Eddie starts finding Oso next to Bear in his locker when they come back from calls. One time he catches Buck putting Oso’s arm around Bear.

Eddie doesn’t say anything.

Hen does, eventually, come back. Buck catches her glaring at where he’s got Oso cradling Bear’s head in his tiny furry lap. Okay, yeah, it’s possible he’s gotten a little into this. Eddie still hasn’t said anything but sometimes he looks at how Oso and Bear are cuddling with this glint in his eyes.

Eventually, Hen throws a fit when Buck gives Oso a tiny little mustache.

“Oh my god,” she turns to Buck, “Eddie wants to gently kiss you on your birthmark,” then, Eddie, “and Buck wants to gently hold you whenever you feel lonely. You two are in love. In love!” she shouts.

She turns to Chim. “I don’t care if I lose the bet at this point; I’m going to lose my sanity if these two don’t fuck it out, missionary style while staring into each other’s eyes whispering how much they love one another. I’m a lesbian and what they are doing with those damn bears has been so much gayer than anything I’ve ever witnessed.”

Chim’s nodding. “Oh, yeah. No, I was giving myself one more shift before I locked all four of them in a supply closet and stated playing Careless Whisper on my phone. Slipping condoms under the door until one of them sends back a wrapper.”

“Gross,” Hen says.

Chim winces. “Not as gross as what I’m looking at, now.”

When she turns, she sees Buck lifting Oso’s right paw, making it gently caress the side of Bear’s face. Their black plastic noses make a tiny clicking sound as Eddie and Buck make their bears kiss.

Hen’s gonna request a transfer.

What if Eddie got a beanie baby for Christmas one year and it’s dumb because stuffed animals are for girls and Eddie’s the Man of the House but secretly he likes his little white bear with the heart on his chest. He cuts the tag off it and his mom yells at him because they’re supposed to be worth a lot of money someday but secretly Eddie’s glad he did it. If the bear isn’t worth anything but the joy he brings to Eddie then maybe he’ll get to keep it. He does, eventually, forget about the bear. Or, he puts him on a shelf when he enters high school because high school boys don’t sleep with toys and maybe there’s some nights he sees the bear on his shelf and he thinks it might be nice to hold him but he doesn’t.

The first time Shannon comes into his bedroom she immediately sees the bear. “Who’s this little guy?” she teases and Eddie gets irrationally angry seeing it in her hands. “My stupid sisters leaving their stupid toys in my room,” he says, grabbing it out of her hands and throwing it in his bedside trash can. He waits until she’s left to fish him out. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” which is dumb, so dumb, that he’s apologizing to a doll, that he’s crying.

Eddie wants to bring the bear with him to Afghanistan but he doesn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to the bear, no matter what little comfort it might bring to Eddie.

When his mom gives Christopher a stuffed bear after his birth, Eddie stares at the way Chris hugs it to his chest and wonders what would ever make him tear the toy from Chris’s hands.

Chris finds the stuffed bear when he moves to El Paso. It’s weird, how he wants it to sit on his nightstand, but not as weird as the tight look his abuela gets when she sees it. “Where did you find that?” Chris shrugs. “Behind some books in the closet.” Chris becomes fascinated with the bear. He looks it up online. Valentino. There’s a little red stain over one eye, maybe someone spilled something on it. He sends a picture to Buck. “He kind of reminds me of you.” “Yeah, Superman! He does! How are you doing?????” Chris doesn’t reply.

When Chris is packing up his items to move back to LA, he doesn’t think about it when he throws the bear into his suitcase. He puts it on a shelf when he gets back home. Nothing else has changed about his room; his dad kept it exactly the way he left it, so the bear sticks out. “Where’d you get that?” His dad asks when he sees the bear, his hands are flinching into fists by his side. Chris’s breath picks up. “You can’t be mad at me for taking him. You obviously didn’t want him; you left him behind!” “I’m not mad,” Chris’s dad lies. “Yes, you are. You are!” “Okay! I’m a little mad!” “Why?!”

“Because he was mine!”

Eddie takes a breath. He looks at his son. He loves him so, so, so much. “Because he was mine,” Eddie says, “but I wasn’t … I never felt like I was allowed to have him.” This time, Chris’s question comes out softer, more earnest, “Why?”

It’s not easy to put into words all the ways the world has shaped Eddie into a form he barely recognizes, but he tries. For his son, he’ll always try. At the end, Chris walks over with the bear. He places it in his dad’s hands. “I think you need this more than I do.”

Eddie laughs and thumbs over where his sister spilled cherry koolaid on him the one time he let her play with Bear.

“He kind of looks like Buck, doesn’t he?”

Eddie holds Bear to his chest. He squeezes tightly.

“Yeah. He does.”

[berfgrimm]

staring at the sun: bae bae | choi seunghyun (t.o.p) x reader

pairing: choi seunghyun (t.o.p) x f!reader

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, oral, fingering, dirty talk, deepthroating, fluff, spanking, biting. i think that’s pretty much it?

note: the final part of staring at the sun. i appreciate everyone’s patience for this, and I hope you all enjoy! i’ve linked the previous parts below.

staring at the sun | phone call | payback | valentine

———————

Seunghyun convinces you to move in with him ten minutes after his bandmates find out about your relationship. Truth be told, you were ready to move in the moment he suggested it, but you wanted to play hard to get; now that he has you, it felt more fun.

His persuasion technique is clever, if not slightly diabolical. Once he pulls you into the shower with him, he takes some time to kiss you and touch you gently as the water cascades around both of you. When he helps you wrap your legs around his waist with your back pinned to the shower wall, pumping into you slowly and deeply, he suddenly stops. You clench around and try to use the strength of your legs to urge him to continue, but he only grins deviously.

“Are you going to move in with me?” Seunghyun asks, placing teasing kisses along your jaw. You whimper in response, your nails digging into his back as you try to find the words to beg him. “You can feel this every single night,” he continues, pulling himself out of you just a little. “You can taste me every night.”

“Baby,” you whine. “You know I’ll move in…please, don’t stop.” Seunghyun laughs excitedly, kissing you on the lips so hard, your head bumps against the wall behind you. You attempt a laugh against his lips, but it comes out in a muffled moan when Seunghyun shoves himself back inside of you.

Over the next few days, Seunghyun enlists the help of his bandmates to move you into his home. The other men ask more questions than you expect, desperate to know when you started your secret relationship. You notice the more questions they ask, the more irritated Seunghyun becomes and when you have a moment alone in the kitchen, you corner him to find out the problem.

“I don’t feel like sharing today,” he admits, avoiding eye contact with you. You bite your lip to hide the smile because you rarely see him look this vulnerable and annoyed. “What’s funny?” he asks, when he finally looks at you.

“You’re jealous that I’m getting along with your friends?”

“I didn’t say that,” Seunghyun responds.

“You did, a little bit,” you laugh.

“Oh, yeah?” Seunghyun chuckles along with you, trying to keep a serious look but failing. “That’s funny to you? That I don’t want to share you with them?” He grabs your hips and yanks you closer to him, kissing you aggressively to make you laugh. When he tries to slide his hands into your back pockets, you grab his forearms and pull them away from you, pinning them behind his back with a smile on your face.

“You're crazy if you think I’m going to let you do anything like that while they’re still here,” you laugh. Seunghyun gives you a pout, pretending to struggle hard against your gentle grip on his arms. He finally drops his shoulders and lets out a dramatic sigh, no longer able to hide the smile on his face. “When they leave, we can lay in your bed and you can touch my ass all you want,” you joke, releasing his arms.

“Our bed,” he corrects, grabbing your hips again to pull you towards him for a soft kiss. Your heart skips a beat at the way it sounds: our bed.

“Fine,” you whisper. “But it’s still my ass.”

“No, it’s not, it’s mine.” His hands quickly slip past your waist and he pinches you, causing you to let out a yelp and shove him away, your laugh loud enough to alert the others.

“You can’t do that while we’re here,” Taeyang scolds, as they reenter the room.

“Did we walk into this again?” Daesung laughs.

“I don’t want to watch that,” Jiyong says.

“I tried to tell him,” you shrug. “But he does whatever he wants.”

The rest of the day is smoother, Seunghyun lightens up and is more willing to joke. That night he takes you up on your offer to touch you as much as he wants, but you have no complaints.

The next few days seem to fly by. You get adjusted into your new home with ease, though you feel the urge to pinch yourself because it doesn’t feel real. Standing at the kitchen sink, cleaning a glass, your mind wanders to how quickly things changed for you, and how happy you are. Until you hear Seunghyun enter the kitchen and feel him step between you and the island counter.

”Don’t turn around,” Seunghyun says, his voice a little stern, but also mischievous. You set your cup down in the sink and turn off the taps, staring at the wall ahead of you as you wait for what comes next. “Close your eyes,” he speaks slowly, but you can feel his breath against your neck.

When you close your eyes, you focus on his proximity to you, heat radiating from him. It’s silent, apart from the sound of both of you breathing, and you can only wait for his next instruction.

“I take care of you, don’t I?” His voice is low, but you can still feel his breath hot on your skin, sending a shiver through you. “I give you everything you need,” he continues, nuzzling his head against yours. “Don’t I?”

“Of course you do, baby,” you whisper, gripping the edge of the sink as you feel your knees getting weak just from the way he speaks.

“And you know how to take care of me,” Seunghyun says. “You know exactly what I need…and what I love…” You can tell he leans closer to you, just barely brushing against you as you feel his arms reach past you, presumably to brace against the sink as well. “You’re a good girl,” he goes on. “My good girl…my princess.”

“I love taking care of you,” you mumble. You inch your hand along the sink to place atop his, when you feel he’s wearing leather gloves. “Are you —?” You stop short when you look down at his hands, and see tan gloves along with thepurple sleeves of his jacket. “Oh, god,” you mutter, tipping your head back to bump softly against his.

“Surprise,” he whispers against your ear.

“You didn’t have to—”

“I told you I would. I like to keep my promises.”

“But this is so—”

“Does it turn you on that this is how I’m dressed right now?” A flush spreads across your body and you aren’t sure if it’s from the way his voice sounds or the embarrassment to admit how attractive you think he looks in this specific outfit. “It’s just you and I, princess,” he adds, slipping his hands from your grasp and placing them on top of yours. “We’re in our home…we can do whatever we want here. We can say whatever we want here.”

“Fuck, Seunghyun,” you mumble, shifting your weight to to press your body against his.

“Tell me, princess,” he groans in your ear, grinding against you softly. “Does it turn you on?”

“Yes,” you whisper. “It does. Please let me see you.”

“You don’t have to beg me, baby.” You can hear Seunghyun smiling as he speaks, and it increases the butterflies in your stomach. He releases his hold on your hands, allowing you to turn around and face him.

You could try for years and you wouldn’t be able to pinpoint what turns you on about this look in particular. Being close to him while he’s dressed this way, being able to touch him like you’d envisioned before, you find it hard to focus on what it is you want to do. Your eyes dart all over him, taking in the teal waistcoat, the orange tie, the purple suit, and the contacts.

“Go to the bedroom,” Seunghyun directs, his eyes focused on your mouth. “Take off your clothes.” You nod, still lost in your thoughts about how he looks, not completely tuned into what he says. “Go,” he urges, squeezing your side.

You follow instructions, going to the bedroom and taking off your clothes. You’re down to your bra and panties when Seunghyun walks into the room, walking slowly, almost a strut, as he sizes you up. You feel nervous under his gaze, bringing back the old feelings from when you first began your relationship with him. He notices your sudden shyness, and sidles up to you, placing his hand against your lower back to hold you close.

“Relax,” Seunghyun whispers with a smile. “If you feel shy, remember: you’re home with me.” When you nod in response, he places a soft kiss to your lips and then slips past you to climb onto the bed, settling comfortably at the head of the bed with his back against the pillows.

Even with his contacts in, you can read the adoration in his expression as you remove the rest of your clothes and step towards the side of the bed. He holds out his gloved hand, and you take it to support your movements as he leads you onto the bed, straddling him.

“Now,” Seunghyun says, setting his hands on your hips and urging you to press your weight fully onto him. “What do you want to do?” The fabric of his pants rubs against you as you squirm, trying to avoid the urge to fully grind against him. “Is that what you pictured?” he asks, peering up at you for a moment before averting his gaze to his lap to watch you rub against him. “You’re wet already just from talking?”

“You get me like this,” you whisper, leaning in for a kiss.

Seunghyun smiles against your lips, then quickly slips his tongue into your mouth. You feel the leather of his glove as one of his hands slides from your hip up to your ribs, painfully slow until he cups your breast. You pull in a breath, leaning back to give him a bit of space to do what he wants.

The sight of him looking up at you while he drags his thumb across your nipple, a sheepish expression on his face that you’re certain is his way of teasing you with those contacts in, is almost too much to bear. He leans closer again, pressing a kiss to your other breast, near your nipple, while his thumb teases the opposite. He traces around your nipple with the tip of his tongue, then takes it into his mouth. You thread your fingers through his hair to hold him close, grinding your hips against him. When Seunghyun’s teeth graze over your nipple, you tighten your grip on his hair, giving a small tug without really meaning to.

“Mmm,” he hums, tipping his head back, looking up at you as he licks his lips. “I would have moved you in with me sooner if I knew this is what I’d be treated to.”

Seunghyun slides his hands over your body, the leather gloves rubbing against the skin of your stomach and your thighs. The sensation begins to feel too synthetic and you ache to feel his soft hands on you instead, so you grab his wrists to stop him. He peers up at you with his brow furrowed at first until you begin to remove the gloves.

“I should have known better than to keep my hands hidden from you,” he mutters, a smirk spreading across his lips, as you toss the gloves to the floor. “How do you want me to touch you now?” He licks his lips and tilts his head to the side to catch your gaze. “What did you think of me doing to you while dressed like this?”

“You can do whatever you want,” you sigh, grasping the sides of his face to angle his head up to kiss him deeply. Seunghyun’s fingers curl around your hips, coaxing you to grind against him again. “Fuck,” you mutter against his lips, pressing your forehead to his when you feel him through his pants. “You love to talk about how wet I get, but I can feel how hard you are right now.”

“You should know how much you turn me on by now, princess,” he mutters, gripping your hips more firmly to force you to move faster. “Knowing how much you need me…and how much you think about me…I love you, baby.”

“I love you, too.”

“Hmm, you look so beautiful like this,” he breathes, kissing your jaw and your neck tenderly. When you circle your hips, Seunghyun lets out a strangled groan and gives a surprisingly hard bite to your neck.

“Fuck!” you gasp, grabbing his shoulders. He looks up at you with a slightly worried expression, but you only grind yourself faster against him.

“Was that okay?” he asks. “I know we haven’t really—”

“It felt really good,” you whimper.

“You like that, hm?” he asks, with a smirk.

“You’re going to make me come on your lap if we do this too much longer.”

The expression on his face shifts to something mischievous, as though he takes your words as a challenge instead of a warning. He tries to urge you to quicken your pace by squeezing your hips, but you tense, slowing your movements as you begin to conjure up a new idea. You smile, reaching between your bodies, undoing his belt.

Seunghyun licks his lips in anticipation, watching as you unfasten his pants and shift your hips enough to reach into his briefs. As soon as your fingers make contact with him, you tug him free from the fabric, stroking over the length of him at a slow pace. You pause for a moment to slip your fingers between your own thighs, gathering your juices and using them to coat his erection.

You loved hearing the noises of restraint that Seunghyun let rattle in his chest, but you loved hearing him be vocal much more. Placing your free hand under his chin, you tilt his head upwards so he peers into your eyes, the contact lenses and his cheeky grin causing another flip in your stomach.

“We don’t have to hide our moans anymore,” you tell him. “Not in our home.”

“I think you only enjoy me losing control,” Seunghyun retorts, closing the space to kiss you quickly. His eyebrows quirk up as you tease the head of his erection between your clit and your entrance. “I’ll moan for you, my good girl,” he whispers. “I’ll do anything for you.”

You get lost in the way he speaks to you, his voice deep and sincere, but vulnerable. Your mind wanders to the question of how you got so lucky to be in Seunghyun’s life, in his home, in his bed. Now that you have him, you can’t imagine your life without him.

“Hey,” Seunghyun says, saying your name so gently as if he’s worried he’d break it. “Are you okay?” You tune back in, finding his worried gaze on you, waiting for an answer.

“I’m great.”

The worry fades from his face, replaced with a sly smirk that usually precedes something naughty. He maneuvers one of his hands between your thighs, slipping his fingers through your folds, getting them covered in your slick. You whimper softly, his gaze never breaking from yours while he teases your clit.

“I want you to come on my fingers first,” Seunghyun says, making certain that you watch his mouth as he speaks. “I want to feel you dripping down my hand.” You part your lips to respond, but he pushes his index and middle fingers into you slowly. “Mmm, princess,” he whispers, once his fingers are buried inside of you as deep as he can get them. “You’re clenching my fingers so tight.”

Seunghyun begins to pump his fingers into you, slowly at first, while he allows his other hand to start rubbing your clit. You can’t help your hips from moving against his motions, your eyes slipping closed and your head tipping back so you can moan into the air.

“Fuck, Seunghyun, baby,” you whimper, fisting the shoulders of his jacket as you roll your hips into his touch. “I love you.”

“You love me for fingering you?” Seunghyun chuckles, quickening his pace. “I know you’re close. I can feel it.” You nod your head, rolling it forward again so you can look into his eyes. The contacts make his eyes more devious than usual, watching you like he wants to write about what he sees.

His speed increases, the thrusting of his fingers in time with the circular motions on your clit, working you faster towards your orgasm. Your hand trembles as you move to loosen his tie and release the top buttons of his shirt so you can have unobstructed access to his neck. You have to pay him back for that bite he gave you earlier.

As soon as your mouth makes contact with his neck, you lose focus. You know that you’re biting and sucking on his skin, but you’re only aware of the orgasm that is creeping through your body. Your movement feels sloppy, and you can hear Seunghyun say something to you in a deep, raspy voice.

The sensations overload your mind, pushing you closer and closer until finally you reach your climax. You break from Seunghyun’s neck to moan his name between words of praise, your legs trembling to hold your weight.

“Good girl,” Seunghyun encourages, continuing to work you hard and fast to help you through your orgasm. “My good girl.”

When he finally slows to a stop, and pulls his fingers from you, he offers you his hand and you obediently take him by his wrist to slide his fingers into your mouth. You suck on his fingers, maintaining eye contact with him while you clean his digits of the taste of you. As Seunghyun watches your mouth, he uses his free hand to stroke himself. When his movement catches your attention, you start to pump his fingers into your mouth at the same pace that his hand works.

”Jesus,” Seunghyun rasps, the corner of his mouth pulling up into a smirk, mesmerized by you.

When you pull his fingers from your mouth, Seunghyun responds with a disappointed expression, but you lean in to give him a kiss. The kiss was meant to be brief, just a little tease, but when he gets a taste of you on your lips, he presses his free hand to the back of your head to keep you where he wants you.

He kisses you deeply, and you can’t help but moan into his mouth at the way his tongue feels against yours. It feels childish to say but you love kissing him; you could spend the rest of your life kissing him if he’d let you. He kisses like it’s the last time he’ll have the chance to do it, like he’s desperate for your kiss. Sometimes it’s sloppy and messy and needy, but today it’s passionate, pulling small whimpers from you and hums of approval from him.

You’re reluctant to break the kiss, but you need to feel him again, you need more. You press your hands to his shoulders to push him away gently, his lazy, kiss-drunk expression not lost on you but you try your best to ignore it, knowing that he’ll be able to pull you in for more kisses and you wouldn’t object. You can feel his eyes on you as you move from his lap kneeling between his legs instead, finally taking a moment to really appreciate the sight of him.

In this costume, with his tie loose, his cheeks tinged with pink, his hand still stroking himself slowly with his eyes locked into your face, it’s better than anything you ever imagined before. You lean over his lap, pressing your hands against the mattress on either side of his thighs to brace yourself. He takes the hint and guides the head of his cock into your mouth before letting go and allowing you to do what you please.

You twirl your tongue around his tip inside of your mouth before taking him deeper. You bob your head over him slowly, only taking him about halfway into your mouth but hollowing out your cheeks to apply more suction. Seunghyun lets out a small groan, his hands gently grasping your forearms as if he didn’t know where else to put them.

“You always need to feel me in your mouth, don’t you?” Seunghyun mumbles, the smile apparent in his voice. You hum around him, causing him to pull in a breath through his teeth. “Fuck,” he mutters, fingers tightening around your arms.

You start to work faster, allowing him to go deeper and deeper into your mouth until he reaches the back of your throat. His hips lift off of the bed slightly, as if he’s hesitant to move but you hum an affirmation around him, hoping it will coax him to continue.

“You want me to fuck your mouth?” Seunghyun asks, his voice strained, as if he struggles to even speak the words he’s so overcome. You hum again, relaxing your jaw to afford him the space to work.

One of Seunghyun’s hands presses to the base of your head to keep you still while his other hand braces against the mattress. He pulls his knees closer around your body to support his movements as he begins to thrust into your mouth. It’s shallow at first, gentle but he doesn’t maintain the pace long. When he pushes deeper, hitting the back of your throat, he starts to thrust faster and harder, letting out whimpered breaths as he goes.

“Can you—?”

“Mhm,” you affirm, knowing exactly what he wants to do. He groans softly, burying himself as deep as he can in your mouth. You gag around him, swallowing to tease him, which pulls a deeper groan from his chest.

You bring one of your hands between his legs to massage him, knowing how much he loves it. The action catches him by surprise, making him let out a much more vulnerable moan than you have heard from him. He quickly pulls your head away from him and drops his hips back to the bed, both of you breathing hard.

“You’re a little tease,” Seunghyun chuckles, watching you try to regulate your breaths with a smile on your face.

“Sorry, I got carried away,” you reply, stroking your hand over him.

“Climb back up here, princess.”

“You’re overdressed,” you reply. “I want to feel all of you.”

He doesn’t like being completely naked. Across your time together, you can count on one hand the number of times he’s taken off all of his clothes in front of you. A brief flash of uncertainty appears on his face, so you employ the phrase that he frequently tells you.

“It’s just you and I, baby,” you whisper, watching him smile faintly. He cups your jaw, rubbing his thumb across your lips.

“Anything for you.”

Seunghyun stands beside the bed, pulling his tie off first then slipping his jacket from his arms next. You watch the apprehension fade from his face, being replaced with more confidence when he sees how transfixed you are. Once all of his clothes are on the floor, he strokes his hand over his length, sizing you up as he tries to figure out how he wants you.

Still on your knees, you scoot to one side of the bed to allow him to climb back in, laying on his back before he nods for you to climb on. You crawl towards him to straddle one of his thighs, leaning over his body to press gentle kisses to his chest and his neck.

“You already gave me one mark,” he mutters, his hand cradling the back of your head as he feels you sucking on his collarbone. “You want to leave more?”

“No one will see them but us,” you mutter against his skin. He chuckles softly in response, allowing you to continue on your task until you’re satisfied. “There,” you mumble, pressing a kiss to the mark you left.

“All done?” Seunghyun chuckles, attempting to look down at the hickey. You grin, staying on your knees as you press your chest against his, so you can kiss him. “I love you,” he mumbles against your lips, as you share a tender kiss.

“I love you, too.”

You get lost in the kiss, it’s soft and careful, like neither of you want to push. Until you feel his fingers begin to slowly tease his fingers along your slit; you let a delicate moan out against his lips, surprising yourself at just how soft you sound. You can’t take much more teasing at this point, all you can think about is feeling him inside of you.

As though he can sense your desire, Seunghyun takes hold of your hips to help you straddle him fully. You reach between your bodies, guiding him inside of you and settling down onto him, taking him all the way to the hilt.

“You’re so…fucking tight,” Seunghyun grinds out, closing his eyes and dropping his head against the pillow.

It makes you blush, hearing him speak like this; he does enjoy dirty talk but he seldom speaks quite so blunt. You press your hands to his chest, enjoying the feeling of his warm skin for a moment until you press harder to his pecs for support. Seunghyun’s eyes flutter open, finding yours immediately, a smirk on his face.

You rock your hips against him, feeling him as deep as you can with each motion. Seunghyun’s hands grasp your waist, keeping your movements steady. You find yourself fixated on his eyes again, the contacts making his gaze much more mischievous and sexy than you expected. It drives you to increase your pace.

“You’re too much of a tease,” Seunghyun mutters, his hands grabbing the back of your thighs now to keep you still. He begins to thrust upwards, faster and deeper; you gasp in surprise, pressing harder against his chest to support your weight.

“Fuck, baby,” you moan, your arms trembling to try to support your weight. Seunghyun notices and quickly wraps his arms around your torso, pulling you down to kiss you as he thrusts faster.

You rock your hips to meet his quick thrusts, moaning and whimpering into the kiss as you feel your climax approaching. Seunghyun moves to kiss your neck now, mumbling encouragement to you through gritted teeth.

“You’re going to come for me again? I love to feel you squeezing me like this. Fuck, you feel incredible.”

The way his voice sounds, desperate and rumbling in his chest, pushes you to your climax. You dig your nails into his shoulders, moaning against his chest and he keeps thrusting through your orgasm. When you collapse against him, his thrusts slow until they are just shallow pumps, barely pushing past his tip. He rubs your thighs soothingly, kissing the top of your head.

“Good girl,” he whispers. “You always do so good for me.” You kiss his neck over and over, trailing up to his mouth so you can press your lips to his. He laughs softly into the kiss, squeezing your hips hard enough for you to feel how tender they are from his grip already.

You get an idea. Almost every time you’ve had sex with Seunghyun, it’s been missionary or cowgirl. Apart from Valentine’s Day, that is. You plant one more kiss on his lips before climbing off him and crawling towards the foot of the bed. You settle onto your hands and knees, looking back at him expectantly.

“Oh, that’s how you want me, princess?” Seunghyun asks, moving to rest on his knees behind you.

“I know you can get deeper like this,” you say, arching your back to press your backside closer to him.

Seunghyun takes hold of your hip, using his other hand to guide himself into you again. He bottoms out, both of his hands not gripping your hips to keep you from moving until he’s ready.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to feel you come inside of me, baby,” you whine, swaying your hips to grind yourself against him.

“Mmm, you’re getting nasty for me now, princess?” he asks, pinching your side playfully. “You were keeping this hidden from me all this time.”

“You told me you wanted me to be a dirty girl for you if you wore that outfit,” you retort. “The contacts really got to me.” You hear Seunghyun hum appreciatively, before he gives you a sharp slap on your backside. You gasp in surprise, fisting the sheets beneath you.

“I can tell you like that,” he rasps, rubbing where he just spanked. “You’re squeezing so tight right now.”

Realizing that you’re able to move since he’s no longer grabbing your hips, you rock forward, pulling off of him until only his tip is inside of you. You crane your neck to look over your shoulder to see him running a hand through his hair, eyes cutting from between your bodies to your face.

When he sees the look on your face, Seunghyun grabs your waist, pulling you back towards him so he’s buried inside of you again. He keeps you still as he begins to work into you, thrusting hard but slower than you expect. Each pump pushes him deeper than you imagined possible, and you rock against him to meet his thrusts.

You drop down to your elbows, your arms getting too weak to support your weight. Seunghyun’s hands grip your hips more firmly, pulling you back harder than you were able to move. You can hear him panting, still stifling his moans much to your disappointment. Reaching one hand behind you and taking hold of his forearm, you yank him so he bends over you with his chest pressed to your back.

“You know you don’t…fuck,” you stop short when Seunghyun’s hand finds its way between your thighs to rub your clit. He leaves small kisses and bites along your shoulder, chuckling softly, but you reach back again, threading your fingers through his hair so you can tug hard. Now he moans against your skin, his hips giving a sharp thrust. “That sounds so sexy, baby,” you mutter, grinding against his hand as he still teases your clit. “Please don’t hide it.”

“Sexy?” Seunghyun breathes, readjusting his grip on you. “Mmm, you know how much I love hearing you say that.”

Seunghyun places one more kiss on your shoulder before sitting upright again, resuming his thrusts. He wastes no time building his pace again, only giving a few slow pumps before he reaches the same speed as before. Each thrust hits you harder than the last, the sound of your skin slapping echoing through the air, and you can’t help but moan at how good it feels.

When you hear Seunghyun release a moan of his own, his hips briefly losing time, your hands fist the sheets again, taken by how good he sounds. You clench around him just to get another moan from him, this one sounding even better than the last. You become aware of how flushed your skin is, cold and hot at the same time, your desire beginning to overwhelm you.

You maneuver one of your hands between your thighs, rubbing quickly at your clit when you feel your climax approaching. You’re certain Seunghyun won’t be far behind, judging from the frantic pace he has set and his firm grip on your hips. Your moans are unrestricted now, all of your care to keep quiet nonexistent as you moan his name, begging for him not to stop. Seunghyun’s moans, though not quite as loud as yours, vibrate through you, deep and rumbling; you could get off just listening to him moan.

When your climax hits, you feel like it knocks the wind out of you, all of your moans escaping you and leaving you gasping. Seunghyun doesn’t stop, continuing to work into you as he chases his own climax. You try to regain your breath, the waves of your orgasm coursing through you and seeming never ending, but finally you let out a moan of Seunghyun’s name, which seems to drive him to go harder.

“Please come inside of me,” you beg. “Let me feel you come inside of me, baby. You always take such good care of me. Let me feel you.”

“Fuck,” Seunghyun grinds out, his hips starting to stutter as he finally reaches his own climax.

The sensation of him finishing inside of you always feels incredible, you think it’s the best feeling you’ve ever known. The way he groans your name, his voice so deep but still soft, that beautiful desperation you love to hear from him ringing in your ears, it’s a sound you could hear for the rest of your life and never grow tired.

Seunghyun drops onto you, though he tries to brace some of his weight by pressing his hands to the mattress on either side of your body. You reach over your shoulder again, pulling him gently by his hair so you can turn to kiss him softly.

“Let me see you,” you mutter against his lips.

Seunghyun carefully pulls out of you, maneuvering to lay on his side next to you before he helps you roll into his arms, facing him. He cups your jaw, stroking his thumb over your lips while his eyes study your face. You feel overcome with love for him, unlike you have before, all because of him wearing this stupid outfit for you.

“Are you okay?” Seunghyun asks, his voice raspy.

“More than okay. I’ve never loved anyone like I love you, Seunghyun.”

“Hmm, I was just thinking the same thing.” You scoot closer, cuddling against his chest and giving him a tender kiss on the lips. You stare into one another’s eyes for a moment, and you see beyond his contacts, trying to read what he thinks. “Thank you for making me feel the way you see me,” he says after a moment.

“Thank you for letting me.” Seunghyun smiles in return, planting a kiss on the corner of your mouth. “You know,” you begin, trying to hide your smile. “I was thinking of when you asked me to move in with you…and you said we can do this every night. Multiple orgasms every night for the rest of our lives might be too much; I may need a few days of rest in between.” He takes your hand and laces his fingers with yours, studying the way they fit together.

“The rest of our lives,” he says, echoing your words as he rolls onto his back and pulls you gently on top of him. “It still doesn’t sound like enough time with you. I think we have a lot of lost time to make up for, princess.” He kisses your knuckles one at a time, then looks into your eyes. “I don’t think it matters what we do,” he adds. “We can do this every day, we can rest, we can go for walks, we can travel the world. As long as it’s just you and I, that’s more than enough for me.”

[cherubcameron]

Igual Que Un Angel

Chapter Six

Synopsis: Sofia is pregnant, and the last thing she needs is for Rafe to find out. It’s her dirty secret, it’s not like he’s barging down her door to speak to her. He looks as if he’s done with her for good. Will outside forces, force Sofia to confront the situation at hand. Or will she be able to keep this secret up? Not like, her belly isn’t growing everyday or anything.

MASTERLIST

Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

Two Weeks Later

“¿Entonces no salió bien?”(So it didn’t go well?) Lupita asks, Sofia puffed out a breath.

“No, fue terrible.” (No, it went terribly) Lupita tsks, Sofia sets her camera up on her pillow. She has a bowl of ice cream, she digs her spoon into it. Plopping some into her mouth. She meets her cousin eyes through the screen.

“Con tu mamá y tu papá? O con Rafe?” Lupita says, she begins to set her phone down too. It looks like to Sofia she’s doing her makeup.

“Los dos. ¿Estás maquillándote?” (The both of them. Are you doing your makeup?)

“Si, voy a salir.” (Yes, I’m going out.)

“Te ves linda.” Sofia smiles, admiring the way her cousin is applying her makeup. She has pink blush on her cheeks, her skin through the screen looks radiant.

“Gracias, prima.” Lupita scrunches up her face together as she smiles. Sofia letting out a little laugh. Eating more of her ice cream.

For a few minutes, silence overtakes them. But it isn’t awkward. Nor there is no need to break it. It’s a comfortable silence, she’d often had with her cousin.

“Tengo miedo, no conoces a Rafe, él puede enfadarse.” (Im scared, you don’t know Rafe. He can get angry.) Sofia finally says, her eyes going from her ice cream back to her cousin.

Lupita pursed her lips, she looked as if her mind was elsewhere. “He didn’t, hurt you right?” She asks hesitantly. Sofia quickly shakes her head.

“No, no, nothing like that.” Sofia pauses, “Well, not physically. It was some things he said. In the past. It’s a long story. Essentially he made it seem like we weren’t serious.” Sofia rubs her belly, noticing how slightly bigger her stomach has gotten since the last time she’d spoken to Lupe.

“Oh shit, so you broke up with him?” Lupita eyes are wide, Sofia regards her with a sheepish smile.

“He broke up with me.” Sofia says awkwardly, Lupita continues to do her brows, Sofia isn’t sure what she’s going to say. But she can gradually feel her cheeks grow warmer.

“I’m sorry Sofia.” Her cousin attentionis finally fully on her. “It can’t be easy, especially with the baby on the way.”

“That’s why I don’t know if I should tell him. What if it just makes him hate me even more?” Sofia scratches her head, her eyes staring at her cousins through the screen. Willing her to have a solution for her problem.

“You can’t exactly hide it forever. I know I’ve said that a thousand of times. But Sofia, you’re about to be four months pregnant. You need to make a decision quickly. And honestly Sof, you’re showing a lot more than you were.”

Sarah rubbed her belly, she was due very soon. Her body almost slumped onto the couch. Rafe stared at her, his nose crinkling.

“You look uncomfortable.”

“You would be too. If you had a baby in you who’s pressing onto your bladder.”

“Uh, right, that kind of reminds me.” Rafe gets up, leaving the room briefly. He re-enters with a pretty big box. Sarah raises an eyebrow in question and Rafe gives her a tight lip smile.

“It’s a pregnancy pillow.”

Sarah blinks in surprise, Rafe lays it down next to her. “Don’t—”

Sarah eyes begin to tear up, “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever done for me.” Rafe rolls his eyes, Sarah wipes away at her eyes. “I mean it Rafe. Thank you, you didn’t have to give John B and I a place to stay. And you did.”

Rafe rubbed his brow, “Uh yeah, don’t mention it.” Sarah gets up slowly, her hand still on her round belly. She reaches out and pulls Rafe into a hug.

“Umph—” Rafe eyes widen, his hands spread out but not hugging her back yet. He stood there awkwardly, his body tensed. Until, he finally loosened up, hugging her back.

“Still not used to this, huh?” Sarah laughs, she pulls away. “You’re not always an asshole, ya know.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He pats her gently on the back, shaking his head.

“Weird thing to ask but; John B has work until six. And I have no one to come with me to my ultrasound at four.”

“And you need someone to go with you?” He says, rubbing his eyebrow once more.

“I mean Wheezie hates waiting rooms. Plus we still have that whole custody battle with Rose.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll go. Just don’t expect me to enjoy myself. Okay.”

Sofia observed the fluorescent lights, tapping her leg as she waited her turn at the doctors.. Another one of the ultrasounds she had to do. She already had finished the check up, she’d arrived around 1, usually the doctor took long. So she’d been here for over an hour after the check up. She finally leveled her head back to the rest of the room. As a woman and a man, sat together, the man rubbing her belly as he smiled at her. They spoke amicably to themselves, almost in a world of their own. Sofia felt a pang in her chest, she looked away quickly. What she would give to not be so alone in this.

Her eyes move towards another couple, two women. One of them had their head on the others shoulder. One of them very pregnant.

“Sofia Jimenez!” One of the nurses, in pink scrubs calls out. She has a clipboard in her hands, a small gentle smile on her face. Sofia raises to her feet, heading towards the door the nurse was holding open with her leg.

“That’s me.” Sofia says softly, the nurse smiles at her, motioning for Sofia to follow her. Sofia does, they head down a wide hallway, filled with rooms. Some empty and still not in use. Others have the door shut closed. The nurse finally stops at a room at the end of the hall. Letting Sofia walk in first.

“The doctor will be right with you.”

Rafe held out his arm, helping Sarah out of his bmw. “You got it?”

“Yeah I got it.” Sarah says, holding his hand as she steps out of his car. She sighs, “Thanks.”

“No worries, come on. This starts at like… four, right?”

“Yeah, at four. But I like to get here early. They do check ups first and it can take hours before the actual doctor sees you.” Rafe helps Sarah as she walks alongside him. He nods as he listens, he looks out towards the clinic.

“You and John B have— everything you need right?” Rafe says it, almost hesitantly. He wasn’t the type to pry in Sarah’s life. Well, before it started involving him with the gold and the cross. Before that, he didn’t care much about involving himself.

“Yeah we’re good. I mean with the money we’ve have from the blue crown. And the fact that we have the Royal Merchant gold. We’re set, it’s just John B and I. I think we just realize we want a simple life.”

Rafe purses his lips, somehow, he’s surprised to realize that resonates with him more than he’d ever thought. All this chasing for gold, it was what his dad wanted. His whole life, he wanted to do what made him proud.

And now… he wasn’t sure if he wanted the same things his old man did.

Sofia sat on the examination bed, lying down slowly. The doctor Dr. Reynolds greets her warmly. Her heart quickens, today she finds out the gender of her baby. She’s not sure what to feel, it feels foreign. But nevertheless, she’s happy. Happy that she finally gets to see her little baby.

“Hey, it’s me. Your mom. I hope you’re doing okay in there. Please don’t give me a scare.” She says softly to her baby in her stomach. She rubs her belly gently.

Someone knocks on the door, Sofia attention is reverted away from her belly bump towards who’s at the door.

“Hi Sofia,” The doctor pauses to look at her clipboard, scanning the information on it, “Sofia Jimenez, right?”

“Yes, thats me.” Dr. Reynolds smiles warmly, shutting the door behind her.

“Good, good.” She heads over to the monitor. “Well, it’s good to see you. It looks like from your chart that you’re in good health. Which is amazing. We’re going to check the baby, hear their heartbeat. And finally, find out the gender of the baby.”

Sarah plops herself back down next to Rafe; as she comes back from the check up.

“I’m all healthy.”

“Really?” Rafe feigns shock, “Because the 17 bags of lays you make John B buy; says otherwise.” Sarah playfully slaps his arm. He lets out a chuckle.

Rafe scratches his head, looking around at the other patients in the waiting room. His eyes landing on a woman by herself. She looks anxious, constantly biting her lip. Her leg tapping rapidly against the linoleum floor. Rafe couldn’t help but feel bad for her. He couldn’t imagine going through something like this alone. How scary it must feel. He wonders where the father of the baby is. The girl looked so—

“Pass me my bag. I recently got into reading and—” Sarah pauses. “Nevermind, you wouldn’t care.”

Rafe passes Sarah her bag, “Come on, Sar. Just tell me.”

“Oh, uh I just bought myself a kindle. That’s all.” Sarah says, her cheeks red, her gaze averted from him. She began to fidget with her kindle, tapping against the screen.

“You don’t have to make it so—”

“Sarah Cameron!” Sarah turns in surprise but gets up nevertheless. Rafe helps her, getting up with her.

“You want me to come or—”

“Yeah, I don’t mind. You’ll get to see your nephew.” Rafe follows behind Sarah as the nurse leads her into the examination room. Their lead to the left wing of the office, his eyes move towards the right. His brows furrow but he continues walking. He continues to follow Sarah and the nurse, they speak amicably among themselves.

Rafe puffs out his lips, turning his head back. He has this gnawing feeling but he ignores it. He was never the kind of person to like being at the doctors. But..

“Right in here, the doctor will be with you shortly.”

The doctor places the cool gel onto Sofias stomach, she laughs at the way it feels on her belly. Even after a few of these sessions, she still can’t get over the cold feeling.

Dr. Reynolds smiles at her, moving the transducer across Sofias stomach. Then she heard it. Her babies heart beat. No matter how many times she’s heard it, it’s a sound that could never get old for her.

“Everything is looking good. No issues. We already checked the size of the baby. They seem pretty good from head to toe.” Dr.Reynolds smiles, continuing moving the transducer across Sofias belly. “The heart beat sounds normal. The level of amniotic fluid is normal as well. Not too much and not too little. Do you want to know the gender of the baby? Or would you rather wait until they’re born.”

Sofia nods, “I’ll like to know. Thank you.” Dr. Reynolds moves the transducer lower on her stomach. Pressing enough for the computer to pick up the baby.

“Hmm.” Dr. Reynolds looked deep in thought, Sofia couldn’t help but feel her heartbeat race. A part of her wanted to wait until she gave birth to know the gender of the baby. But the more anxious side of her; wanted to know immediately. She let out a deep breath, staring at the computer.

“So when the baby is a girl, we look for what we like to call the hamburger sign. The labia lips tend to look like a hamburger bun. For the boy, we would consider this to be the turtle sign. Since it peeks out. We also look for the sagittal sign. There’s a nub on the end of the spine. That’s also another way we can indicate if it’s a boy or if it’s a girl. We call it the caudal notch. When it’s a boy, it’s upwards. And when it’s a girl it’s downturned.” Sofia nods, taking all the information in.

“The hamburger sign is present here. And the caudal notch is downturned.”

Sofia can’t help the tears that prick her eyes. Her heart clenches, “It’s a baby girl?”

Dr. Reynolds regards Sofia with a warm smile. “Yes it’s a girl.”

Sarah smiles as Rafe sees his baby nephew in real time. His eyes are glassy. He can’t help but feel almost proud. No, he is proud. He never realized how big the baby was now. The doctor Dr.Thompson, moves the transducer with ease. Pressing down, as he does so.

“A very healthy baby boy. This is your second to last check up. How are you feeling, Ms. Cameron.”

Sarah turns her eyes towards Dr. Thompson, “I can’t wait to see him. I’ve been waiting so long now.”

Dr. Thompson nods, the baby’s heartbeat in the background.

“Very strong heart, by the way. Strongest I’ve heard.” Sarah turns to smile brightly at Rafe, he can’t help but return it. His eyes returning to the computer, his mind briefly wanders. He knows Sarah would be an amazing mother. Seen her caretaking ways—but he—he’s not sure if he’ll ever be a good father. Maybe it was too late. Maybe he was already too messed up.

“Everything seems to be good. I’ll be back with the paperwork so you can be discharged.”

Sofia signed the papers the nurse handed her, she clicked the pen closed. Handing it back, the nurse smiles. “I’ll see what appointments Dr. Reynolds has opened. Give me a second.” As the nurse clicks away at the computer, Sofias mind wanders. Her eyes scanning the room. Would it be so bad if Rafe knew he was going to be a father?

“Okay, I have Sunday in the afternoon. Around 3pm. Or Monday morning at 12. This is for next month. The beginning of November.” She looks up at Sofia expectantly.

“Uh, let me check.” Sofia takes out her phone, looking at her calendar. She knew she was going to go on maternity leave soon enough. She’d spoken to Phil, he’d cleared it for her. Sundays were usually the days she spend with her mom, sisters and grandma.

“Monday works.” Sofia smiles. The nurse smiles, putting that into the system. Then handing Sofia an appointment card.

“If you need anything, you find some kind of trouble. You can always come earlier than that. But for now, November 3rd is your day of appointment.”

“Thank you so much.” The nurse nods, smiling.

“Have a lovely day.”

“You too.” Sofia walks away, heading towards the elevator. Pressing the button.

Rafe helps Sarah up as they make their exit. They walk back down the wide hallway, Sarah’s hand over her belly.

“We’re naming the baby JJ.” She says it, softly. Rafe continues to walk alongside of her.

“I bet JJ would have really loved that.” Sarah looks at him, her eyes pricking with tears. Rafe and JJ had always hated each other. There was never a time Rafe would have thought, he wouldn’t have had animosity against him. But now, now that he’s gone. He can’t hate him anymore. He just understands.

“Thank you.” Sarah croaks. “I know—I know you hated him. But—you don’t know what that means to me. So thank you.” She grabs his hand, squeezing it. “And—thank you for trying. Trying to be better. I promise, Wheez and I can see a difference.”

The elevator chimes, Sofia steps in. Pressing the number 1 so she can head home. She looks down at her phone, she was so excited to take pictures later with the sonograms that the doctor had given her.

Sarah opens the door to the waiting room once more. The elevator doors closing shut as she steps out. She heads towards the nurse at the counter. “Booking your last appointment Ms. Cameron?” Rafe stands awkwardly to the side, his hands in his pockets.

“Yes, last one before I pop.” She lets out a chuckle as the nurse chuckles alongside her.

Sofia enters her car, she was still allowed to drive. She looks down once more at her belly.

“Hey baby girl. Mommy is so happy to know you’re a girl. No matter what though, boy or girl. I’ll still love you all the same.” She lets her car heat up a bit before peeling out of the parking lot.

The sliding doors of the doctors opens, Rafe and Sarah walk towards his car. He helps her back into the passenger seat.

“So, any more errands?” He asks, but he doesn’t sound annoyed. He realizes in the past, he would have been. If they lived in a world, where Ward Cameron was still alive. He wasn’t sure he would be doing this. Nor, he knows they’re would be a baby in Sarah’s stomach.

“No, we’re good. Unless you have any errands to run.”

“Nah.”

“Okay, let’s head home. I’m tired.” Sarah puts her seatbelt back on. Rafe heads towards the driver seat, plopping himself inside, putting his own seatbelt on.

“Home it is.”

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: No Faking It

You were on the phone, curled up on the couch, thinking you had the house to yourself. Your voice was low, casual, as you reassured your friend.

“I mean, yeah, I faked it last night,” you admitted with a soft laugh. “I was just exhausted, and I didn’t want to make him feel bad. It wasn’t a big deal.”

You didn’t notice the way Marshall froze in the doorway. Didn’t see how his jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing slightly as your words sank in.

You faked it?

His grip tightened on the water bottle in his hand, but he stayed quiet, listening as you continued.

“It’s not like it happens all the time,” you added quickly. “And honestly, he’s always so good about making sure I’m taken care of—I just couldn’t keep up last night.”

Marshall exhaled slowly through his nose. He didn’t know whether to be offended, amused, or just straight-up determined.

Scratch that—he was definitely determined.

He didn’t make his presence known until you were off the phone, stretching your arms with a soft sigh. You nearly jumped when you turned and found him standing there, arms crossed, blue eyes locked onto you with that unreadable expression of his.

“Marshall?” You blinked. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” he murmured.

You frowned, about to ask what he meant—until you saw the way his gaze darkened, something almost dangerous flickering behind his smirk.

Oh. Oh.

Your stomach flipped. “Wait—”

“So you faked it?” His voice was calm, casual—too casual. He stepped closer, and you instinctively shrank back against the couch. Not out of fear—out of anticipation.

“Marshall, it wasn’t a big—”

“Nah.” He shook his head slowly, lowering himself onto the couch beside you, one arm draping along the back of it as he leaned in. “See, now it’s a problem.”

Your breath hitched as his fingers trailed up your thigh, slow, teasing. “I—I was just really tired.”

“That right?” He smirked, his voice dropping lower. “Guess that means you’re well rested now.”

Your heart pounded. Oh, you were in trouble.

Marshall tilted his head, brushing his lips against your ear as he whispered, “Let’s see you fake it this time.”

And just like that, you knew—you weren’t getting out of this until he knew for a fact that there was nothing fake about it.

You barely had time to process his words before Marshall was on you, his movements slow, deliberate, and dangerous. His hand slid up your thigh, fingers curling just enough to make you shiver.

“Marshall—”

“Nah.” His voice was rougher now, laced with something primal. “Ain’t got nothin’ to say now, do you?”

Your stomach flipped, anticipation twisting in your gut as he shifted, pressing you back against the couch with his body, his presence all-consuming.

“You really sat here,” he murmured, lips brushing against your jaw, “and told your friend you faked it?” He exhaled sharply, nipping at the skin beneath your ear. “Like that shit don’t matter?”

You swallowed hard, your breath already coming shorter. “I—it wasn’t like that—”

He scoffed, shaking his head, his grip tightening on your waist. “Nah, you don’t get to downplay it now.” His voice was low, commanding. “You really think I’m lettin’ that slide?”

Your fingers curled into his hoodie, clinging to him as heat bloomed beneath your skin. “I—”

“Say it,” he demanded. “Say you faked it.”

You bit your lip, squirming under his gaze. “I faked it.”

His jaw clenched, nostrils flaring. “Not happening again.”

And just like that, he moved—picking you up like you weighed nothing, tossing you over his shoulder in one smooth motion. You gasped, hands smacking against his back in shock.

“Marshall!”

He didn’t respond, didn’t even hesitate as he strode toward the bedroom like a man on a mission. His grip was firm, possessive, one arm locked around your thighs as if daring you to try and escape.

Not that you would.

He kicked the door shut behind him, finally lowering you down onto the bed, his hands gripping your hips before you could even think about sitting up. His blue eyes burned into yours, dark with pure, unrelenting determination.

“You listenin’?” His voice was deep, husky, the edge of a growl beneath his words.

You nodded, your own breath unsteady.

His fingers traced up your thighs, slow and teasing, making you squirm. “Ain’t stoppin’,” he murmured, “till I know for a fact that you ain’t gotta fake shit.”

Your body melted beneath his touch, heat pooling in your stomach. “I—”

He smirked, tilting his head. “Nah, don’t even talk.” His hands gripped you tighter, like he was staking his claim. “Just take it.”

And you did.

---

Marshall didn’t waste any time. He had that look in his eyes—one that meant he wasn’t playing, wasn’t stopping, wasn’t letting up until you forgot what the word fake even meant.

You barely had a second to breathe before he was on you, pressing you down into the mattress, his body caging yours in like he needed you beneath him. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them just enough to let you know exactly what kind of night you were in for.

“You know what pisses me off the most?” he murmured, his lips dragging slowly down your neck, his voice low and gravelly. “You really thought I’d be okay with that.”

Your breath hitched as his fingers dug into your waist, possessive and unrelenting.

“I—I didn’t think it was a big deal,” you admitted, barely able to focus when his mouth was moving lower, his hands everywhere all at once.

He huffed out a dark, humorless chuckle against your skin. “Not a big deal?” His fingers pressed harder into your hips, like he was trying to hold himself back. “Nah. See, this—” he punctuated his words with a slow, deliberate grind of his hips against yours, making you gasp “—this is a big deal.”

Your hands gripped at his hoodie, your body already trembling under his touch. “Marshall—”

“No,” he cut you off, lifting his head, his blue eyes locked onto yours. “You don’t get to say my name like that. Not yet.”

You swallowed hard, already feeling the heat build between you, already knowing he wasn’t going to let up—not until you felt everything he needed you to.

“You wanna make sounds for me, baby?” he murmured, his fingers trailing lower, teasing, taunting. “Make the right ones.”

Your breath shuddered, your grip on his hoodie tightening as his hands roamed your body like he had all the time in the world.

“You faked it once,” he whispered against your lips, his voice nothing but pure, unfiltered promise. “Let’s see how many times I can make up for it.”

And with that, he really got to work.

Marshall was determined. You could see it in the sharp set of his jaw, the heat in his blue eyes, the way his hands refused to let you go—like he had something to prove. And maybe he did.

Because he wasn’t letting this go. Not until there was zero doubt. Not until you couldn’t breathe without thinking about the way he had you now—trapped, trembling, completely at his mercy.

“You feel that?” His voice was low, rough, a little smug as he pressed his body firmly against yours, leaving no room for escape. “Ain’t gotta fake a damn thing, do you?”

You barely had enough breath to whisper, “No.”

He smirked against your skin. “Damn right.”

His hands moved with purpose, mapping out every inch of you, dragging sounds from you so easily it was embarrassing. He wasn’t playing around—not teasing, not taking his time just to mess with you.

No, this was pure focus.

Marshall wasn’t just setting the record straight—he was rewriting it. Making sure that by the time he was done, the only thing your body would remember was him.

“Say my name,” he muttered, lips trailing fire down your skin.

You did. Breathless, desperate.

He groaned at the sound, his grip tightening. “Not like that.”

You barely had time to process what he meant before he gave you more—more pressure, more intensity, more of everything that made you fall apart right under him.

The second time you said his name, it was loud. Uncontrolled. Real.

And that was what he wanted.

He smirked, brushing his lips over yours, his voice smug as hell. “That’s better.”

But he wasn’t done.

Not until your voice was hoarse, your legs were shaking, and there wasn’t a single doubt in your mind:

You were never faking it again.

Marshall wasn’t stopping. Not yet. Not until he got everything he wanted—until your body gave in, until your voice was raw from saying his name, until you felt exactly how deep his determination ran.

And right now? That determination was burning in his eyes, written in the way he held you down, in the way his hands gripped you like he owned you. Like he was branding the moment into your skin.

“You good?” he murmured, his voice rough, breath warm against your lips.

You could barely form a thought, let alone a sentence, but you managed a weak nod.

He smirked, shaking his head. “Nah, I don’t need you noddin’. Need you talkin’.”

You swallowed, trying to steady yourself, but he was already on you again—teasing, pushing, making sure you felt everything he gave you.

“Tell me you ain’t fakin’ now,” he muttered.

Your fingers curled into his shoulders, a sharp gasp ripping from you as you shook your head frantically. “I’m—not—”

He hummed in approval, his grip tightening as he pulled you even closer, his breath hot against your ear. “Good. ‘Cause I’d hate to have to start all over again just to make sure.”

Your whole body shuddered at the threat—the promise—hidden in his words.

“Marshall—” His name slipped out, raw and desperate.

He groaned, dragging his teeth over your jaw before kissing the spot to soothe it. “That’s what I wanna hear.”

You weren’t sure how much more you could take—your body trembling, your mind spinning, the way he wouldn’t let up until he was completely, absolutely sure.

And finally—finally—when you were nothing but a breathless, spent mess beneath him, he slowed.

His hands softened, his grip turning gentle, his lips pressing softly against your temple.

He exhaled, brushing his nose against your cheek. “Bet you won’t ever pull that fake shit again, huh?”

You let out a weak, breathless laugh, too spent to even respond properly.

He smirked. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

And just like that, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest, letting you melt into him—safe, warm, and very satisfied.

Lesson learned.

---

The room was quiet now, the air thick with warmth and something deeper—something settled. Marshall’s arms were still wrapped around you, his body loose and relaxed, but his grip on you was firm, like he wasn’t letting you go anytime soon.

You melted into him, completely spent, your head resting against his chest as your breathing slowly evened out. His fingers traced absentminded circles on your back, grounding, comforting.

But then, after a long stretch of silence, he spoke.

“Why’d you do it?”

You blinked, stirring slightly against him. “Do what?”

He shifted, tilting his head to look at you. “Fake it.” His voice wasn’t accusing—just curious. Maybe even a little confused. “Like, for real. You know you ain’t ever gotta do that with me.”

Your stomach tightened. You knew this conversation was coming, but you’d been hoping you could avoid it.

You swallowed, staring at a spot on his hoodie, fingers absentmindedly playing with the fabric. “I dunno,” you muttered. “It’s just… habit.”

Marshall frowned. “Habit?”

You nodded slowly, avoiding his gaze. “With my ex… it was just easier. He’d keep going and going, and I’d just—” You hesitated, sighing. “I’d fake it so he’d stop.”

Marshall’s body tensed underneath you. His fingers stilled against your back, his grip tightening just slightly. “…What?”

You bit your lip, still not looking at him. “It wasn’t… like, bad or anything. Just… I don’t think he ever really cared if I finished. It was more about him, so I just got used to pretending.”

Marshall was silent for a long moment, but you could feel the shift in his energy—felt the way his breathing changed, the way his fingers twitched slightly where they rested against you.

Then, his voice came, low and rough. “You’re tellin’ me… before me, you never—?”

You hesitated, then sighed. “No.”

His whole body stiffened.

Your stomach flipped at the reaction, so you quickly tried to downplay it. “It’s not like I knew what I was missing, you know?” You forced a small laugh. “I just thought maybe that’s how it was supposed to be, like maybe it was harder for me or something.”

Marshall exhaled sharply through his nose. “Harder for you, my ass,” he muttered.

You finally looked up at him, and the expression on his face nearly knocked the air from your lungs.

His jaw was tight, his blue eyes burning—not with anger, not at you, but at the idea of what you’d been through.

He shook his head, running a hand down his face. “That’s some bullshit,” he muttered.

“Marshall, really, it’s fine—”

“Nah.” He cut you off, his voice low, firm. “Ain’t fine.”

You swallowed, unsure of what to say.

He shifted suddenly, flipping you onto your back so he was hovering over you again, eyes scanning your face like he was trying to process this new information.

His voice was softer now, but no less intense. “You really thought that’s all there was to it? Just… go through the motions, pretend it’s good enough?”

You shrugged. “I didn’t think about it. It just… was what it was.”

His jaw clenched, and for a second, he just looked at you, like he was trying to figure out how to undo years of that mindset.

And then, after a long moment, his voice dropped even lower.

“Aight,” he murmured, fingers trailing slowly down your side. “Guess I got more work to do.”

Your breath caught. “Marshall—”

He smirked, but there was something dead serious in his eyes. “Nah, baby. You already know what I’m on.” He leaned down, brushing his lips over yours. “Gotta make up for lost time.”

And just like that, he was proving—again—that with him, you’d never have to fake anything ever again.

[sumeng-ovo]

Two strike

Evan Buckley x soft-hearted female reader

Warning: superstitious Buck, then only fluff I guess, no real move or being interrupted

hi it's my first time post fanfic here, English is not my first language so I used translating app to help. Let me know if there's any problem! If you are willing to comment to help me improve I'd be very grateful! <3 I wrote two version, one was Buck's POV and one was Reader's, I'm not sure which one is better. This one is Buck's POV. It's a series actually but the first chapter is so different from the following so I post this one alone, you can take it as a separate short story.

Next pare here.

Enjoy!

Evan "Buck" Buckley wasn’t looking for anything special that morning. It was a quiet shift at Station 118, the kind where you could actually hear the hum of the city outside the bay doors instead of the usual chaos. He was halfway through wiping down the engine, the cloth in his hand streaked with grime, when something caught his eye. Not you, not at first. It was the dog.

A golden retriever, big and scruffy with a tail that wagged like it was powered by pure joy, stood just beyond the station’s open doors. Buck squinted, pausing mid-swipe, and watched as the dog nosed at a little brown paper bag on the sidewalk. Its ears flopped as it scarfed down whatever was inside, clearly delighted. That’s when he saw you.

You were crouched low, knees tucked under a flowy skirt that brushed the pavement. A soft gray cardigan hung loose on your frame, the sleeves slipping past your wrists as you reached out to scratch the dog’s ears. Your voice drifted over, gentle and warm, though Buck couldn’t quite make out the words. Something about the way you smiled at the dog, like it was the only thing in the world that mattered, made him stop altogether. He leaned against the rig, cloth forgotten, and just watched.

You weren’t loud or flashy. You didn’t demand attention like the women who usually turned his head. You were… soft. Kind. The kind of cute that sneaks up on him, unassuming and real. Your hair caught the morning light as you stood, brushing your hands on your skirt, and Buck realized he was smiling. He didn’t even know why.

Eddie’s voice jolted him out of it. “What’s with the grin?” He stepped up beside Buck, following his gaze across the street. “Oh. Stray dog girl?”

Buck straightened up, tossing the rag over his shoulder. “She’s feeding it again. She’s always feeding it.”

Eddie smirked, crossing his arms. “Yeah, well, maybe she’s why that dog keeps hanging around. You gonna say hi, or just keep staring like a creep?”

“I’m not staring,” Buck said, a little too quickly. “I’m observing.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

But Eddie’s teasing hit a nerve, and Buck made up his mind right then. Why not? She was just a girl feeding a dog. He could say hi, maybe crack a joke about the retriever getting spoiled. He took two steps toward the sidewalk, rehearsing something casual in his head: “Hey, that dog’s gonna get too fat to run with you around.” Simple. Easy. He could do this.

The alarm chose that exact moment to blare. Sharp, shrill, and perfectly timed to ruin everything. Chimney shouted something incoherent from upstairs, and Buck groaned, his momentum faltering. He turned back, grabbing his gear as the team spilled into the bay. By the time the truck rolled out, lights flashing, You were gone. Just you and the golden retriever, vanished like a mirage.

...

He couldn’t stop thinking about it all week. It wasn’t even a big deal—she was just some girl, right? But every time he walked past the bay doors, he found himself glancing at the sidewalk, half-expecting to see you there. He kicked himself for not moving faster, for letting the call steal his shot. So when he saw you again a few days later, he didn’t hesitate.

It was late afternoon, the sun dipping low and casting long shadows across the station. You were back, same spot, same dog. That little paper bag crinkled as you pulled out a treat, and the golden retriever’s tail went wild. Buck watched you laugh, soft and unguarded, and something flipped in his chest. This time, he wasn’t waiting. He jogged out of the bay, ignoring Eddie’s raised eyebrow from the kitchen window, and made it halfway across the pavement before the universe intervened again.

The alarm screeched, cutting through the quiet like a knife. A car wreck on Wilshire, three injured, Bobby’s voice already barking orders over the radio. Buck froze, one foot on the curb, and cursed under his breath. You looked up, startled by the noise, and for half a second, your eyes met. Yours were wide, curious, framed by that soft hair he couldn’t stop noticing. His stomach did a ridiculous little flip, but then Bobby’s voice crackled again.

“Buck, you coming or what?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, forcing himself to turn back. He stole one last glance over his shoulder as he reached the truck, but you were already walking away, the dog trotting happily at your heels. Two chances, two interruptions. That wasn’t a coincidence—it was a pattern.

That night, Buck sprawled across his couch, a beer balanced on his knee that he barely touched. The TV flickered in the background, some mindless reality show he wasn’t really watching. He kept replaying those moments—the smile you gave the dog, the way you’d looked up at him just before he’d had to run. Two swings, two misses. He wasn’t that superstitious. Not too much, at least he wouldn't admit. But come on. The universe was practically screaming at him. 

Maybe it was a sign. Maybe chasing this, whatever it was, was a bad idea. He’d seen enough weird calls—freak accidents, impossible odds—to know better than to tempt fate a third time. “Better off leaving it alone,” he told himself, flipping the channel to drown out the thought. But even as the TV blared, he couldn’t shake the image of your smile or the golden retriever’s wagging tail. Two strikes. He wasn’t sure he could stop himself from stepping up to the plate again.

[multiheadcanons]

DON’T LOOK DOWN, MICK!

“mick, you’ve got it. i promise.”

“dad, i’m scared.”

“mick, it’s a tree. just don’t look—”

“snipes!” mick took a deep breath in, eyes shooting open. the world was blurry, and the first thing he registered is that his glasses were broken. that’s okay, that’s not bad. he can’t see very well. that’s a little bit of a bigger problem, considering his job. who was calling him? “snipes! you with me?”

he managed out a noise. blinked a few times. started to focus. he saw the scout. it seemed quiet otherwise, around him. that doesn’t seem quite right. he thought he was out of position.

“snipes, we gotta get you to the doc, man—”

“nah, nah… nah, i’m okay—”

“snipes, your leg is gone!” mick knows that the bostonian did not just say what he just said. “we need to get you to the doc, now! you’re easy pickings out here, man! grab my hand.”

still reeling from the idea that what scout just said may or may not be true, he reached out. and as scout pulled him to his foot; his eyes slipped shut.

“i just don’t think i can do it, dad! i don’t want to try to find out!”

“mick. there comes a time where everyone’s gotta do something they don’t want to do. this is probably gonna be the easiest thing you don’t want to do. just take a deep breath, and don’t look down, right? give it a go.”

“come back to me snipes! just look ahead, alright? lemme know if someone’s coming.” he sputtered a gasp out. the sounds of battle were closer. what the fuck was this kid doing?

“scout— scout? right?” me muttered out.

“yeah, man, what’s up?”

“put me down and let me die.”

“outta the question. look sharp!”

pain shot up his body with the first step, and his vision whited out as his head slumped forward.

“mick. mick look at me.”

“you told me to not look down!”

“i know, i know, just give me a quick glance down here. so you know i’m gonna catch you if you fall.”

“i know you’re gonna catch me, dad!”

“but do you trust it?”

“snipes, pick your god damn head up and move that leg. doc! doc!” another, weaker, shallower breath entered and exited his lungs as he blinked himself into reality. and as his eyes focused on the floor, he realized that the scout was not lying to him.

a leg was gone.

shit.

he couldn’t stop the burn of the vomit in time as it surged in his throat, nor could he stop the momentary swell of panic as he emptied the contents of his stomach. all over his own bloodied shirt, on the bostonian’s shirt, in the dust. scout didn’t seem to notice, and if he did he didn’t seem to mind.

“stop! stop, put me down, i don’t wanna do it anymore.” the words left him before he thought about them. but his body did not stop moving.

“we’re not stopping, snipes. we keep going until we die.”

“please let me die, scout. i’m not worth this.”

“anyone alive is worth the life they live man. let’s get you to the doc, he’ll patch you up, it’ll be okay. alright?” they turned and looked at each other. faces etched in blood and kicked up dust.

and mick nodded. and they continued to move.

it felt like hours before they got to the front lines, seeing the doctor crouched behind cover as he shielded his face from the blasts occurring around him.

“doc! need some help over here!” the scout called out, pulling the sniper back from the verge of the void he’s been teetering on.

“i’m not moving—!” he shielded his body from a wayward rocket. “bring your asses here! and— jesus, sniper, we thought you were dead! your leg!”

“he’s not dead; we freakin’ abandoned him, like a bunch of assholes! now do your damn magic and make him better!” they hobbled on three legs towards the medic, taking shelter behind the cover as the doctor peeked the corner and turned back to the two.

“you didn’t even tourniquet the wound.”

“we had to move, doc, he was on the edge of the map. next time, you go find his ass!”

“oh, you’re so right scout! next time, i’ll abandon my team as we’re actively losing, in case you forgot, and go searching for the man who had maybe ten minutes left and cut that time in half with poor on-field care so the rest of the team can die. is that what you want?”

“stop being a fucking smart ass and fix the guy, doc!”

“you just piss me off sometimes… honestly, i never know what to— incoming!”

the blast of a rocket shook the ground they sat on as they did their best to cover their heads and the body of the major trauma case before them, and the doctor peeked the corner again. he didn’t say anything as he turned back to the two men, eyes wide and face set in what can only be described as horrified rage.

“scout? can i ask something of you?”

“yeah doc, what’s up?”

“next time… you let him die.”

neither scout, nor the sniper were able to ask what he meant by that as the enemy team advanced. they just watched the doctor’s body be ripped to shreds as a familiar, yet unfriendly sascha rounded the corner, already shooting by the time the barrel of the gun was pressed against the medic’s back.

and scout couldn’t move them all in time.

and though sniper knew he was missing a leg, he felt the ghost of it slip off of the tree.

and he felt a set of arms catch him before he hit the ground.

“aw, well— kudos for trying, mick. it’s not the easiest tree to climb within the mile.”

“i knew i wasn’t gonna make it! i knew i wasn’t gonna make it and you made me do it anyway! this is stupid! i’m done!”

“you’re not done.”

“no, dad, i’m done! i’m not doing it again!”

“but you’re not done. lots of guys out there, right? guys who need killing?”

“what are you— what?”

“get back up mick. give it another go. don’t look down this time.”

and his eyes opened to the respawn room. standing in there was the doctor, and the scout. staring at each other, engaged in a somewhat silent argument. but he wasn’t bothered with that right now.

he looked down.

two legs. whole. full.

he kicked them both a little. functional. rotated his feet. flexed them, relaxed them. bent it at the knee. fully functional, it seems.

they stood in the respawn room. he finally decided to listen in on their conversation. it didn’t seem to have gotten more heated, but they definitely didn’t look to have come to an agreement.

“the entire situation just could’ve been avoided, scout.”

“i’m not gonna leave a teammate that’s still breathing. i don’t care how many times it gets us killed. if i move, everyone fucking else moves too. and if you want me to leave you for dead, fine. you don’t make that choice for everyone else though.”

“…whatever.”

the doctor’s face was set. aggravated, annoyed, almost amused, and resigned to the bostonian’s will as he ensured his grip on his medigun was tight, and secured to his back.

“scout. before you go.” the australian started. it felt odd to have full vocal range again. it felt more odd to hear everything around him occurring. the faint sounds of battle, the death screams echoing through the buildings, and the scout’s much closer irritated groan.

“what, man.”

“what you did. it was… noble. it was a noble thing to do. and… i respect it. didn’t take you for the type.”

“it’s not noble, or whatever other goofy ass word you wanna put on it. it’s the right thing to do. now move your ass. follow me, doc, we’re going left.”

and they left the sniper alone in the respawn room. he sat for a moment. searching his mind for the voice of his father.

but it never came.

and he, unsure of what to do next, grabbed his rifle, and exited the respawn room, steeling himself for the rest of the round.