#and they just busted out the drill

[boxwinebaddie]

hey unkle neen! ik it was just their name frm the show, but your fix have so much meaning in them, i was wondering if there was a reason that the name crimson dawn was chosen? ^^

AAAAAAAA!!!! okay, i will answer your ( very iconique ) question in a second, but before i do i just want to say that the way you set it up and lightly interlaced ur ask with letting me know that you notice and appreciate me taking small concepts from the show and giving them larger meaning/context within my fanfictions was so sweet n really, Really means A LOT to me!!!! like i am cheesing so hard rn!!! :') <3

i.g. plots coming full circle, extended metaphors, mirroring, flashbacks and flashforwards...i really like being thorough, going into microscopically specific detail abt everything...but more than that:

i want the Nice things i write...

to Mean stuff to my readers.

& for the stuff i write to mean something, it can't mean nothing.

this is specifically true in the area of names, which seems kind of insane, but even like something as minute as stan's maternal grandfather's name being joaquin and shortened to 'walk' by william phillips, stan's abuelos secret sbf lover in ww2, and stan's middle-name-sake who walk called run, is important because will-phil's war-torn, heirloom leather jacket which was given to stan's gpa seconds before run did what all white men should do ( go die in a war ) had now become Stan's Signature Leather Jacket, which was a huge ( like literally its gigantic ) part of his identity as a young transman but in a meptahorical sense, that red string of fate that tipsy!gpa!walk hand embroidered into the tag of his lover's jacket which stan wore with pride ( also literally ) is a physical testament to two men's true blue love for each other, represents revolution/rebirth & also says R-U-N.

...which is Exactly what stan does.

also i could talk for literal days about stan's chosen name being stan or even just stan's stage name being raven and all the variations of that and cuervo specifically from chapter four ( i was so fucking excited when we got to that chapter i was like ;)) It's GO Time, Boys! )

but that could fit in an entire other ask meme and i am trying not to let my oddly intense and sudden influx/rush of random RM Rockstar Ravenstan hyperfixation burn everything down around me like...

~The You Know What.~

which! was what i was trying 2 get at when talkin abt names and stuff because while in a deeper, under the surface sense, crimson dawn represents what the sky looked like the day stan died -- blood red.

it was a Crimson Dawn when all hell broke lose that day.

( which i can't talk about in too much detail juust yet... )

***[ tw for blood, fluids and general gender dysphoria ]

but what i can do is tell you why the name crimson dawn was chosen, which, is ironic ( emphasis iron ) bc has that ~sharp, smarmy, sultry, smoldery, shadowy, Superstar smokeshow~ energy to it and sounds like it's stands for something all deep and dark and brooding...

but rlly is just from an inside joke about the first song stan ever wrote

Blood Moon™

which he wrote on his period. ;)

hsdlkahlksahd ( i luv u soooo much, ravenstan )

so tldr they won their lil battle of the bands competition/got scouted for bm but OG CD did not have a name/whatever name they had was one of the 74093279423 ones they were trying out, so management needed one and they took stan and co.'s crude out of context inside joke abt it always being darkest before crimson dawn aka PMS as...

Cool, Dark, Edgy!

AND LITERALLY MADE IT THEIR BAND NAME!!!!! WHEN I TELL YOU THEY WERE ALL LIKE YOU DID NOT JUST NAME US AFTER OUR INSANE INSIDE JOKE ABT OUR TRANS ROOMATE WHO NOT ONLY IS NOT OUT ( DW! THEY HARD SHOVED HIM BACK INTO THE CLOSET! SO KIND OF THEM! ) BUT UR GONNA MAKE HIM DANCE AND PUT HIM IN THE ROCKSTAR VERSION OF A STRAIGHT JACKET AKA THE TINY SLUTTY VEGAN LEATHER STRAPPY PANTS??? OUR WEIRD LITTLE GUY??? ARE U KIDDING??

they...were *jersey kyle vc* Naught Kidden, btw.

and stan really did...have to learn how to dance.

...Absolutely Criminal.

but even more so, from that day forward, nevermore were our warped tour four fave broke boy shitiots bound by together by their shared rent/utilities & the butterfly tramp stamp lower back tattoo of friendship/brotherhood, because our zeroes had become heroes, now legally bound by a crooked contract that turned their dinky little no-name garage band and into chart topping punk rock super band

Crimson Dawn™

where blood moon was number one and trending for like...Weeks.

which meant they had to do interviews and stuff where stan was not very good at being raven yet ( obviously ) and drank a lot to cope, so when like, idk, fucking some big fancy talk show or whatever asked stan what blood moon was about, he was like...leans in...dead serious:

"OKAY, so you know...when you're on your Period, man? and not a light day either. i'm talking suuper heavy flow, dude. but you totally forgot your cycle was starting, so your favorite pair of sweatpants are stained like five seconds after you spent like fifteen whole quarters washing them? but its whatever. its late o-clock and no ones gonna see your fucked up chonies, bro. s'anyways, you're walking to the store because you ran out of pads and pain medication and FUCKS and like your stomach feels like you're being stabbed to death but you're still hungry? like, bro everything just sucks and on top of that, the grocery store just sold out of those dank ben & jerrys ice creams with the brownie in the center, or like, brooo, only has the those tiny whack containers that cost seven dollars?! oh, in the worst flavors too! like fuckin' cherry garcia or eugh, that awful Mint one that tastes like toothpaste if it were made out of miErDA and the full moon is out and you just want to start ripping off your clothes and tearing off your face and start fkn screaming at the top of your lungs? Yeah :). That."

aND ITS DEAD SILENT FOR A SECOND BUT THEN EVERYONE STARTS DYING LAUGHING AND IS LIKE WOW A SINGER AND A STAND UP COMEDIAN!!! LOOK AT THAT FOLKS! APOLOGIES TO OUR YOUNGER VIEWERS FOR LANGUAGE, WE'LL EDIT THAT OUT AFTER THIS, BUT LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, ONE THING YOU CAN'T CENSOR OUR FAV SUPER STARS BLOOD MOON RISING!

( which, blood moon and blood moon rising was also stan parodying the creedence clearwater revival song Bad Moon Rising about big cryptic apocalyptic feelings does Also play into this whole thing... )

anyways, management got REALLY MAD at stan about that but everyone thought it was a joke so it was Fine. but yeah their biggest single and their band is built on being on your period and being unhinged and wanting to smash shit and fight the government. <3

-uncle nina...who thinks waaaay Too Much about her weird lore

[criminalamnesia]

the 141 x reader fic that you did was so yummy!!! pls make them suffer the wrath of reader and make 141 realise how much they need them when they leave,

your work is so amazing btw and your way with words is simply ✨chef’s kiss✨ (((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o)))♡

thank you!! here’s part 3 :)

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

angry didn’t even begin to describe how you felt as you slammed the door to price’s office behind you.

you were tense, muscles taut and poised to fight. your fists clenched at your sides, blunt nails digging into your palms hard enough to hurt. your jaw was clenched, teeth grinding together as you resisted the urge to march back in there and unleash your fury.

no. not like this. not when you weren’t a hundred percent. not when they would still look at you like you were a wounded doe, stumbling around on broken legs.

in the back of your mind, you can hear that psychologist saying ‘this anger will eat you alive if you let it. you need to let it out somehow.’

you inhaled, unclenched your fists, and made up your mind. you pulled the iv from your arm, wincing at the pinch of the needle.

you left the iv pole standing there as you made your way to the gym.

the gym was empty when you arrived, which made sense for this time of day. many would be occupied by drills or in the mess hall. others would be sleeping off long nights. you had the place to yourself, and you were grateful for the absence of watchful eyes and sweetened tongues.

you were tired of those who knew nothing acting like they knew something. of those who apologized or asked if you were okay. word spread like wildfire around base, and the subject of your ‘betrayal’ had been front-page news since the start of the witch hunt.

the gym door clicked shut behind you, and you surveyed the room. you knew your doctor would have a fit once you returned to the infirmary, and that she probably wouldn’t let you out alone again, but you didn’t really care.

you needed to let off some steam, and the best way you knew how was with your fists. either you start swinging at a bag or at a certain someone’s face. the bag won’t be condescending, and that makes your choice easy.

you approach one of the bright red punching bags in the corner. it’s scratched and taped from where someone had busted it open. scars that didn’t go away, that wouldn’t— just like yours.

you huffed. it didn’t do any good to start feeling sorry for yourself. you hadn’t done anything wrong. your team had.

you stretch your arms out in front of you, fingers interlocking to pop your knuckles. you catch sight of your severed finger, still healing. they’d recovered what had been chopped off, but hadn’t been able to save it.

just another permanent reminder, something to make sure you didn’t dare forget. you didn’t think you ever would regardless.

you shook out your hands and rolled your shoulders back. fists raised, you angled yourself towards the bag. feet spread, shoulders squared, thumb tucked under your fingers instead of inside. a stance that was second nature after years of sparring and hand-to-hand drills.

the bag was firm when your fist connected with it. you would have been lying if you said it didn’t hurt. you punched with the other hand— same results. the time you’d spent confined to an infirmary bed had done a number on you. muscles had atrophied, bones had weakened. the leg you’d suffered a bone-deep cut to shook under your weight.

you didn’t care. you kept punching, your breathing picking up as your emotions guided you. sweat dripped into your eyes and rolled down your back. you felt weak, physically and mentally. you hated feeling this way, and so you punched harder.

“slow down,” a voice grumbled from behind you.

you ignored him, continuing to punch the bag. you hadn’t heard the door open, nor heard the sound of him approaching, but you would have been surprised if you did.

simon always had a penchant for sneaking up on people, intentionally or not.

“gonna pass out if y’don’t stop,” he said after a minute. you could feel his eyes on you. you ignored him again.

you didn’t need to turn around to know he was standing there with his arms crossed, eyes full of something unreadable.

“stop,” he says firmly, and you sense his movement as he surges forward. his hand lands heavily on your shoulder, pulling you back from the punching bag. you heave in a breath before spinning around and punching him in the nose.

simon stumbles back a step, eyes widened slightly. for someone who prided himself on being so observant, he clearly didn’t see that coming. it made you feel the tiniest bit smug that you’d caught him off guard for once.

you dropped your hands to your knees then, squeezing your eyes shut as a wave of nausea washed over you. damn the bastard, he had been right. you shouldn’t have even been in here in the first place, let alone exerted yourself as much as you had.

your hands were shaking as you tried to pull yourself together. you opened your eyes to see drops of blood on the gym floor, by your feet. you had split your knuckles open.

there were also drops of blood at simon’s feet. you looked up then, slowly straightening your posture. he’d removed his mask, his face bare as he stared at you. blood dripped from his nose.

“gonna have to hit harder than that if y’want to break it,” he says, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“did you follow me in here?”

“no.” he says, and you’re giving a mirthless laugh.

“oh, please. im sure price sent you, yeah? you’ve always been his little lap dog. he says ‘jump’ and you say ‘how high,’ isn’t that right, lieutenant?”

your tone is tense, angry. you throw his title in his face, seeing as he’d been so quick to remind you of yours back in price’s office.

simon watches you, and you want to tackle him. he had always been quiet, always stoic. you’d been with him for years, but you still didn’t think you’d broken down all of his walls.

he was so good at masking his thoughts, his feelings. you weren’t. soap had always called you an open book. whenever you were mad or upset, everyone knew it.

no one knew anything about simon unless he wanted them to. it drove you mad then, and it was sure as hell driving you mad now.

“you need to get back to the infirmary,” he tells you. he wipes the back of his hand under his nose, smearing red across his skin. for a moment, you want to chastise him, reach up and wipe the remnants from his face.

you quickly shake that thought from your head. what is it they say— old habits die hard?

these habits would die if you had to strangle each one with your bare hands. anything you harbored for the four men on your team, for the one you’d called yours, was dead and gone.

“fuck off,” you tell him.

“why are you so damn stubborn?” he says then, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him start to crack since everything had happened. emotions are beginning to leak through his stony exterior, whether he means them to or not.

“you don’t get to tell me what to do anymore. none of you do,” you say, and you take a step forward then, eyes blazing as you stare up at him. “not after what you did.”

he doesn’t speak for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. his eyes never leave yours.

“it shouldn’t have happened like that.” he tells you. you scoff.

“like that? you mean the four of you torturing me? tying me up and mutilating me like I was just another fucking target?” your voice was rising as you took another step forward, shoving a finger into his chest.

“if I’d treated you like another target,” he said, tone even. “you would’ve been dead.”

“so you showed me mercy, is that it?” you bared your teeth, a hollow laugh escaping your throat. “oh, thank you simon. I really felt that fucking mercy when you cut off my finger, and when you cut through layers of skin to get to bone.”

you inhaled before continuing. “I should be grateful then, right? is that what you want from me? for me to recognize your fucking ‘mercy’ and take you back? take you all back?”

he just stands there. you can see his jaw clench, but he makes no move to speak. you find it funny that he hasn’t even tried to apologize. john, your ever prideful captain, had swallowed his failure and pleaded for your forgiveness.

johnny and kyle would surely have done the same if they’d had the chance to speak to you, even if they only had a minute.

but simon? simon doesn’t. he doesn’t outwardly admit his wrongs. he doesn’t apologize. doesn’t seem sorry, even. you don’t know what’s going on inside his head, but you find yourself not really caring to know.

the fact that he can’t bring himself to admit, in blunt words, that he had astronomically fucked up and that he felt even the slightest bit of remorse, told you everything you needed to know.

cold, stoic ghost. you hadn’t been afraid of him when you’d first joined the squad, and you weren’t afraid of him now.

but back then, you’d wanted to break down those stone walls of his. you’d wanted to be someone he felt safe around, someone who knew him inside and out.

now, you’re packing your time with him into a box in your mind and dumping it into the trash. simon riley means nothing to you now.

“take your mercy and shove it up your ass,” you tell him. you step back and drop your hand, your eyes still locked on his.

“and by the way,” you say as you start towards the door. he doesn’t turn around, doesn’t move an inch. it’s as if he’s rooted to the spot.

“you should’ve just killed me.”

author’s note:

not really sure how I feel about this one tbh. I have plans for a part four, but I’m not quite sure how long I’ll be making this series.

and as for simon— I want to write an extra part about his thoughts/feelings about everything. let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in!

anyways, let me know your thoughts please :) (I honestly may end up deleting this and rewriting it when I’m not tired lol)

taglist: @preeyansha @igotmajordaddyissues @nanatheoaktree @aesthetic0cherryblossom @oceanicexolorer @soph121212 @liv2post @cupid-eclipse @angels-despair18 @k4marina

[diejager]

I loved your hybrid bunny reader:) like imagine any cod characters with Feral! hybrid wolf reader that they found on a mission or something. I don’t really care where it goes from there

(Just deleted it if your not interested)

Wolfie

Pairing: CoD men x feral!Wolf!hybrid!reader

Cw: uh… feral reader? Tell me if I missed any. wc: 1.8k

It was a recon mission, scouring the area for any trap and stragglers, not a scantily-clothed hybrid with sharp ears curving backwards in aggression and the matted and dirty fur on the tail. They were searching the forested area for danger and any surprises, but they hadn’t expected to pick up a stray, a feral wolf huddled into the darkness of a tree’s roots, growling at them from your little hideout between the roots in the pit you dug yourself.

Soap was the first to take the initiative, crouching down to your home, showing you his empty hands and whispering comforting promises to your growling and shaking figure. He slowly approached you, a smile spread wide on his face despite the increasingly loud growls and the raised hair on your ears and tail. His soft smile and comforting hand coaxed you out of your hideout, crawling out on your hands and knees, palms bloodied and crusted with calluses and knees hard with throbbing and irritated skin.

Although you seemed more approachable, Gaz did so from the side, his gentler and more logical thinking had him act more hesitantly towards you, a bit more cautious and fearing that he’d scare you away or make you act out if you were spooked. He’d seen a few hybrids in the past, getting to know some quips and behaviours of a hybrid. He has a bag of peanuts, showing you the unopened packet of salted nuts for you to eat, to which you perked up with curiosity. Gaz’s smile grew much wider when your shaky hands took his gift, sharp claws ripping a hole into the plastic to grab a peanut.

From then on, they kept you, ushering you to their temporary base and having you washed from all the dirt and soot that stuck on you from your days in the wilderness, lost, alone and afraid. They took you in, watching over you with a guarded and protective hold. You moved when they moved, joining them on every flight if they were going to use a temporary base until you were trained in combat and tactics to join them in the field. Ghost personally saw to your training, being hands-on and attentive with you, hands holding you or moving you into the right position or giving you cues.

When you’re qualified enough, Price gave you a proud ruffle, messing up your while he smiled pridefully at your accomplishment. He let you cuddle up with him that night, nose pressing against the skin under his jaw with soft crooning from your throat, bathing him in your scent before you went to the others. It was a ritual you often did every few days, snuggling against them and scenting them.

Gaz in the morning, after breakfast and before he went to do his drill. Soap after the drills and fresh out of the shower, cuddling up to him in the Task Force’s rec room. Ghost in the afternoon, when the place was calmer and him, less stressed and tense from the day's work, tiredly working on some paperwork while you snuggled up to him. Finally, Price when he went to sleep, his bed became your bed during these nights.

You meet Alejandro and Rodolfo on another Joint Task Force Op in Mexico to bust a trafficking ring led by the cartel and supported by many international groups around the world, whom you’ll have to take down one by one in their times. You were tasked with tracking the trafficked people rather than having any K9s, your nose and mind sharper than any dog could be, trained and skillful as well.

You were on edge when you first landed, shoulders squared and head held high, posturing your possession of your team. They stared at you, confused with your sudden change of attitude, from relaxed and grinning to aggressive and protective, until they saw a few dog hybrids and cat hybrids running around. You could smell them from the moment you landed, most were domesticated animals, but there were a few ocelots, jaguars, coyotes and pumas, yet no wolves.

Rudy was openly praising you, welcoming you the moment they saw you pop out behind the men. He thought you were a dog, maybe a husky, so when you snarled at him for touching your ears, he backed away, shocked, but not offended. Price explained that you were a wolf hybrid, coat thicker and courser than the soft fur of a husky, but it could become softer after a shower with conditioner on your tail and ears. Ultimately, you let him pet and touch you after he won your respect, trusting him enough to let your guard down and doze off beside him. Maybe you’d scent him one day, adding him to your pack, he’d like that.

Alejandro’s professionalism kept him at a distance, restraining his excitement and giddiness of meeting the 141’s hybrid, their first one. Unlike Rudy, whose rank was closer to yours, Alejandro had to keep in mind that he was a colonel from a foreign military and a stranger to you. He waited until the first expedition, watching the men depend on your cognitive abilities. You were sharper than the dog or coyote hybrids the Los Vaqueros had, you stalked like a wolf, you hunted, acted and killed like one, fast and ruthless. He could outwardly say that he admired your skills, and how well taught you were (to which you smiled and stuck to Ghost, showing Alejandro that Ghost had been the one to train you). 

By the time the Op in Mexico came to term, you felt dejected at leaving, head lowered and ears pointing downward, you were pouting up until you were strapped down, lips pulled in a frown and teary puppy eyes. Alejandro kissed your calloused knuckles and Rudy brought you in his arms, embracing you, they let you scent them one last time before you left, promising that it wouldn't be the last time you see them.

In an unfortunate - or fortunate - turn of events, SpecGru and KorTac had the same objective, meeting up to form a temporary alliance between both PMCs. Unlike your PMC, KorTac was actively recruiting hybrids for their skill set and abilities, so you clashed a lot with the allied hybrids. You clashed with Roze and Horangi a few times, growling at the cougar and tiger hybrid. You outwardly showed your distrust and aggression towards them, wanting to protect your pack even though you knew they were your allies, you just couldn’t ignore your instincts. Even König, the giant bear hybrid, wasn’t free of your aggression, it was laughable to see the smaller wolf hybrid bare their teeth at the giant bear hybrid - a Kodiak bear. 

Ghost would scruff you, holding you back from jumping at them (although he wanted to let you tear through them) until you calmed down, and when you did, seeing past your aggression and protective mindset, you were great company. The Kodiak bear was a ball of anxiety compared to your more sociable character, nearly flinching back when you popped out beside him, smile wide and friendly as he blinked through his shock. He’s the first you befriend, having a lot in common with your sharp senses and predatory needs, seemingly feral rather than calm like the feline predators in KorTac. You were even tempted to ask König to be a part of your pack, wanting to snuggle up with him and co-scent, letting him drown you in his musk and him in your softer pheromones. 

Horangi was a bit harder to approach, his demeanour much too different from yours, but he tolerated you until he didn’t have a choice but to like you with how often König spoke about you and how much he smelled like you. You were a bit too rambunctious and feral for him, but he managed, letting you sit next to him while he cleaned his guns, head tilted to the side and staring at him like a curious pup would. If he forgot the times you shot and growled at him, he found you adorable, from your little shows of possessiveness to your feral aggression when you ripped into an enemy. He wouldn’t let you scent him like König did, but he wasn’t against the idea of scenting you, marking you as his property.

Even the solitary Roze and Mace warmed up to you, watching you run around the base doing something because you couldn’t sit still and do nothing, you had to be in movement and busy, but still stalking and observant, it helped you stay alive in the wilderness. She would flash a smirk your way when you did something that demanded her approval, whispering with Callisto - a posh cat, feline in her manners - about your job well done. “Comme un petit chiot,” the Frenchwoman would laugh. 

Mace reminded you of Ghost with his metallic skull strapped to his face, something that eased you into liking him, but he was human, unlike the many hybrids you often sparred with. He didn’t have a nose that could smell you from a distance or ears that could hear you stalk behind him, Mace was much easier to get to know than any enemy hybrids. No silent rivalry or competition for dominance between predators, he was simply human and more understanding. 

Working alongside other hybrids was something you had to learn, to hold good communication and trust, good thing wolves were sociable and pack animals. It was a learning experience for you, with Horangi teaching you how to control your ferality, to be calmer and less reckless, and with König mentoring you into using your wildness to hunt better, similarly to how he bulldozes into the enemies and ambushing them with a violent entrance. It was a surprise to see you as dejected to see them leave as you did with Los Vaqueros, fated to go back to being rivals until the time called for another allegiance.   

Extra: 

Nikolai had brought someone from the disbanded armistice back to work with the Task Force, a chaotic and violent man exiled from the KSK. Sebastian Krueger was a man who could and would create chaos and laugh while he did, but he was also rational and intuitive. In other words, Krueger was a menace to society and a perfect match for you. He greeted you like an owner would greet his dog, ruffling you and cooing at you with praises and affection. He was unaffected by your growling and biting, welcoming it with a boisterous laugh while he loomed over you with a veiled face and wide shoulders. 

You’d mistake him for a bear hybrid if you didn’t know any better. With his strong build and violent attitude, he could’ve been a grizzly, but no, he was a human with a grizzly’s behaviour. He was rough on the edge and caring at heart, much like König, but he wasn’t socially crippled, Krueger was a solitary person, preferring his solitude and quietness. That, however, doesn’t stop him from whisking you away to his side, a large hand on your thigh to keep you next to him and manhandling you as he pleased to nuzzle and bite like a chew toy. 

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973

[mellowwillowy]

Yan! Gambler - Yan! Sponsor x GN Dom?Reader (NSFW)

—𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒃𝒆𝒓 - 𝑳𝑰𝒇𝑬 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒋𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕

Yan! Gambler who will fuck you on the damn game table with both your ankles resting beside his jaw. All cards and chips scattered, what were you even betting on? Right, a bet of who will be railed nuts.

Yan! Sponsor who sips down the wine that was served to him as he watches you ruined by him. Occasionally flicking your nipple while letting you sip on the wine as well, sharing it with him with a kiss.

"You pretty little thing, shouldn't have bet against Kai... you blew away all my chips."

"Oh shut up, you enjoy watching me wrecked either way."

"Eyes on me."

Yan! Gambler who hisses whenever you pay attention to the latter more than him, will drill into you even faster and harder just to keep your attention on him.

Yan! Sponsor who proposes the idea of playing a game of blackjack while the two of you fuck.

"Who'll be the dealer huh... wouldn't want anyone else seeing you naked."

"A game, you and me. Besides, what else can you bet on? Just be nice and wrap my cock with that cute little hole of yours yeah? I'll have a game with Kazuto first."

He mutters as he gives your cheek a peck, his hands rubbing your cheeks. Kazuto goes to open another brand new deck card, shuffling it swiftly before sliding it to him.

"The winner gets to fuck 'em yeah?" "Sounds fair enough."

The two of them play while you are endowed with the coiling pleasure that is settling in your stomach, you are close but all that ends the moment he pulls out. You figure he lost the bet with the other as he curses at him.

Kazuto cackles as he rounds his way toward you, examining your wasted body as he fingers you, his other fingers feeling your chest, "Be good for me okay?"

"Make it fast, I wasn't done yet."

He starts pumping his fingers in and out fast, scissoring it open before he slides his erected cock out of restraints, lining the tip in front of your gaping hole.

"That's why you should have just folded, pretty boy."

Kazuto slams his cock into you in one motion, making you moan out of surprise, adapting to his shape and length. The latter only grumbles as he pours himself another glass of vodka, gulping it down like a madman while he watches the two of you, his cock still hard and in need of relief.

You pity it, and so you beckon him to come closer. No, it is more of an order, "Come."

He rounds himself close to your face and your hand holds his cock, lightly pumping it while your lip kisses his angry tip, giving it a tease by occasionally licking it.

"Who's a good boy hm?"

""Me."" The two speak in union before glaring at each other.

You chuckle at them before you roll your hips around Kazuto's length, igniting a moan out of him. You waste no time in pampering Kai's cock as well, wrapping his shaft with your mouth while your legs are wrapped around Kazuto's waist.

Kai hesitates a bit before using your hair as a lever, chasing his own pleasure greedily. You bite his member lightly, reminding him to be mindful of his actions. The state shared between the three of you is clear now, who is leading and who is being led.

You pull away just before he gets to come, edging him by rubbing his head, eyes trained onto the other man. "How's my little mutt doing down there? Need me to ride you instead?"

"N-no, ahhn..." Kazuto shudders as he blushes from the moan that slips out of his lip. You merely smirk at him as you rock yourself on his length, your forearms holding your whole weight as Kai rubs one for himself.

"Be a good boy yeah? Sponsor me more so that I can bust it even more in these dumb games yeah?"

"Wh-whaa-? Wait, urgh- wait, I said wait! Akh-!" You yank his face toward yours by the collar of his shirt, slamming your lip into his while greedily feeling his chest, "Ya' think ya' get to make me wait?"

Not wanting to lose, Kai butts in and licks your face before you allow him to feel your mouth with a kiss, tongues swirling against each other while your hand pinches his nipple, giving him more stimulation.

"Come on boys, cum all over me now yeah?"

Just from your words, granting them permission to come, they start to chase their own pleasure at a more feverish pace. Rope of cum spluttered on your face while the other comes inside you, making your inside feels warm. You groan at how it is splattered on your hair as well, "Fucking aim, skill issue boy?"

"I don't know. You just look prettier that way."

"Don't say something that you will regret, I'll fucking return it to you twice fold."

Kazuto peppered your face with kisses as though he is trying to calm you down, his softened cock still resting inside you. "Now now, how about we play for another round?"

"Sure, I'll make sure you two can't sit anymore once I win."

And you sure are a person of words.

-- Crack

Yan! Sponsor: Please, have a seat.

NPC: ??? Why aren't you sitting down sir?

Yan! Sponsor: I suppose standing is one way of living a healthy lifestyle?

NPC: *visible confusion*

--

Yan! Delinquent: Cmon' pal, we are heading out.

Yan! Gambler: ...with a bike?

Yan! Delinquent: Well what else you shithead? On a cock? A stap-on?

Yan! Gambler: I'm passing that.

--

They are like, the second oldest Male casts in LIfE Pro (after Yulian) and the least favored one ffs. Just gonna drop this snippet here as some sort of memorial for them ☆ﾐ(o*･ω･)ﾉ

[sir-kuroo]

🔖MDNI. 18 & over only. f!reader, muffling, rough sex, creampie

𝐑𝐈𝐍 couldn’t control himself. He couldn’t believe you’d send him a picture of yourself, wearing nothing but one of his jerseys. Now, he had you all sprawled on the floor of his hotel room just right behind the door. His urges pushed him unable to reach the bed anymore.

“S-seriously, here?” You questioned as his cock stirred your insides so impatiently. “You-you’re so needy,” you moaned.

“Needy?” Groaning, he pulled out. “Arn’t you the one who’s begging for this?” And he slammed back right in with full force your back arched in pleasure.

“W-Wait!” You clung onto his strong muscular arms as he quickened his pace. God, you felt so small around him and it’s arousing you even more that your pussy uncontrollably clenched his abusive shaft.

“Fuck! You’re so desperate. So desperate.” He chanted while he was ramming you so fast you couldn’t feel anything but his dick, his dick and nothing but his desperate dick. “So fucking desperate!”

He felt so hard and hot inside you and he’s practically searing your walls. You began shivering. You’re almost there. Almost there!

When a knock suddenly came to the door.

Your eyes widened and mouth agape. Y-You’re about to cum! You were gasping for air to suppress the sound, but with how Rin was fucking you, you’d be crying out loud.

“Housekeeping!”

His burly hand forcefully covered your mouth that had your cheeks squished in his grasp. Fuck it! He didn't care anymore! He didn't care if they would bust the door open. He must finish this. He must finish you! He groaned against your neck and drilled you fast. You thrashed underneath him, back arching as you came, while his cum spilled inside you.

Breathing heavily, Rin uncovered your mouth. His mind was muddled even more with how messed up you looked like because of him.

Brushing a hand over your sweaty forehead, he planted a kiss on it and whispered, “Let’s get you to bed.”

♡ dedicated to @his-saiko for (red room event)

© nekorei 2023 - All rights reserved. No work shall be reproduced, reposted, modified, translated in any form or by any means.

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#399

“Oh man, Fuck!...  Oh sorry you had to hear that call.  Didn’t mean to interrupt you enjoying your brew.  It’s just that my girlfriend makes me so fucking pissed off….  Get this, she knows I work 14 days straight busting my ass on that drilling rig.  I am about to head home for four days of rest.  That’s a 7-hour drive, each way.  So she tells me that her sister and mother are in town staying with us.  My days of relaxing are shot to shit.  And worse yet there’s no way I’m getting her pussy.  I probably won’t even get head.  Ain’t that shit?...

“Oh sorry.  I forget that I’m not with a dozen or so other roughnecks out in the field.  All they talk about is pussy.  Most of them don’t have a girlfriend, let alone a wife.  Hearing them go on and on about fucking and getting a blow job, I forget that other people might talk about something else.

“My god, I just wanted to get home and kick back with a beer and get some head.  You know the kind of blowjob that goes on for an hour and it relaxes your entire body.  That doesn’t even include blowing your wad.  You know what I’m talking about?

“Oh there I go again.  Sorry if I’m telling too much....  I do that when I start drinking.   Do you care if I talk about getting blown?...  Good.  Thought so.  What man doesn’t want head at the end of weeks of working damned hard? 

“…Here’s to blowjobs!  Cheers! 

“Hey Frank! Get my friend here another beer….  Nah!  Put your money away.  I got this. 

“So your car broke down?...  We are one of two taverns for twenty miles.  The other is by the interstate one mile away.  At this time of day it’s quite deserted.  We typically only get locals in here.  That is, unless you are having work done at Mike Larson’s garage.  There’s not that much out here, just the garage, Frank’s tavern, the lodge, and the oilfield’s main office over there across the creek.  Was I right?  Is it your car?

“…That was not a happy nod.  So, you’re here for tonight… Oh wait, the garage is closed for the weekend.  You are here until Monday?  …Again, that nod tells me everything.  Well to make matters worse, there are no available women for at least 50 or 60 miles.  This is what this hellhole has to offer. 

“I don’t know about you but it looks like it’s going to be an evening of pounding the pud.  And when I get done, I’ll use my other hand to make it feel like I’m getting a handjob from someone else.

“Goddamn my girlfriend fucked this all up.  I only had this weekend off, before I have to report back here to start filling in for a bud on Wednesday.  She thought that I would want to spend time with her fucking family.  Sometimes I wonder why I’m still with her.

“You have a wife or girlfriend?... 

“…Huh!  Well, sometimes I wish I was like you, single.  But sometimes I really need to get my balls drained.  She gives great head though.  She’s the only girlfriend I had who can take my head in her throat.  I have a big schlong, and every woman I dated complained about its size.  It takes her a long time to throat me.  Most of the time I get frustrated, and I wind up grabbing her head and fucking her mouth.  Eventually it ends in her throat.  She has never taken me down to the root.

“But I really have to be buzzed to get into skull fucking the bitch.  The part she really hates is me dick slapping her.  As I said, I have a gigantic dick.  Smacking her upside her head with my cock usually throws her off balance.  So does a face slap with my hand. 

“When I get in the zone, I am all kinds of aggressive.  I am only after one thing, to bust my nut.  If that means roughing up the bitch, then she’s going to get roughed up.  If I’m drunk enough, I’ll not only fuck her cunt, but she’ll take me in her ass.

“Right now, if she were here, I would be fucking her in every position in every hole.  I wouldn’t care if she was enjoying it.  I’m so fucking horny.  I would use any woman right now.  I can’t have a weekend of jerking off.  Hell, if there was a faggot, I would use him the same way. 

“And it’s a good thing that I have a faggot sitting not ten feet away from me, paying attention to every word I say, licking his lips every time I mention blowjobs, and responding with awkward silence when I asked if he had a bitch back home.  No straight man acts this way.

“I would ask you if you are a cock sucking faggot, but we both know the answer.  Don’t we?  So this is what is going to happen.  I’m going to walk over there, to the men’s toilet.  You want my fat hog in your faggot throat, you follow me in.  Don’t say a word.  Get on your faggot knees and open your faggot mouth. 

“I’ll give you until I drain my piss.  If you don’t come in at that time, then you better be out of here and hide in your room at the lodge.

“I really got to piss, so you don’t have much time….

“…Well fuck.  I would have thought you would have taken some time to think about it.  But OK.

“I really have to piss.  While I do that get in the stall and on your knees.  Be ready for me.  I swear, the beers just pour right through me.  Oh, this feels good—

“What the fuck?  I’m not done pissing….  Oh?  So, you are one of those kinds of faggots.  Nasty piss drinking faggot!  Oh fuck, your mouth feels good.  You are definitely getting a reaction out of my hog.  That’s it for my piss for now.

“Faggot, see how big it is?  You think you can take it?

“Jesus fuck!  Right to the root with no problem!  Holy shit.  You faggots know what you are doing.  Oh man.  This is… fuck!  Oh my god! 

“Bob up and down.  Go head-to-root-to-head-to-root.  Fuck!  This is the blowjob I have been looking for all my life.  Lucky me I found me a faggot with car problems.

“Pull off.  I said, ‘Pull off!’  Look up at me.  Hold still…. 

“…What?  Nothing?  I just gave you one of the hardest bitch slaps I have ever given and you just take it….  Wait, what did you just say?  Did you just thank me… for bitch slapping you?

“Get up.  Get your faggot-ty ass up.  Let’s go.  Move!

“We are going to my room at the lodge.  You are going to spend your night with me. 

“Pay Frank your tab and leave a good tip.  Meet me outside…  A fifty?  You know what a good tip is, that or you didn’t care to wait for him to give you change.

“OK faggot.  I have never used a fag before.  But damn, that one minute in the toilet told me I have been missing out. 

“Over here.  I’m the last room.  The lodge is free for us roughnecks.  The company pays for our housing.  My room is at the end.  It’s a glorified motel room.  I have tons of beer.  You won’t get any, at least not without it going through me first.  Never did that before, but fuck I liked it.

“I plan on being here for four days.  You are going to spend your time with me and my cock down your throat.  You probably take it up your ass.  I will definitely try that out.

“Now listen up.  I have no interest in you or your dick.  I ain’t sucking you or getting fucked by you.  You try anything like that, and I will beat the shit out of you.  Understand me?...  Understand me faggot?

“And keep up the ‘Yes Sir!’  I like the sound of that.  Here we are.  Faggot this is all new for me.  But I will tell you this, I am liking what has been done so far.  I’m so ready to do this.  My cock has not lost it’s hard on.  I may never go back.  Faggot get inside and strip!”

[satorubi]

# SAY IT AGAIN ! - geto suguru

✩༄ geto discovers his daddy kink & completely bottoms out.

• content warning - f! reader, fem! reader, daddy kink, dom! geto, switch!reader, pussywhipped! geto LOL, little bit of subby geto at the end cause i don’t see it enough </3, praise, cowgirl, missionary, breeding kink go brrrr, use of pet names.

• a/n - yayy my first piece of work has finally made it to tumblr !!! after months of procrastinating, ive finally finished this :) i hope u enjoy, reblogs & feedback are gladly appreciated <333

the position he had you in was vile.

your knees pressed against your bare chest as he drilled into you at a gentle, yet nasty pace where there was nothing you could do but take it. your mouth was held agape as whimpers and small noises escaped from your lips — a heavenly symphony that geto suguru would do anything to hear.

“s-suguru, fuck — i cant—“

the mix of pleasure and pain consumed you. it was like he didn’t hear you at all and for some reason you didn’t want him to — the motion of hips should’ve been classified as a spell cause you were damn sure dickmatized.

“c’mon baby, i know you can take it. please— for me — fuck!”

geto was in awe of your fucked out expression — your head was thrown back and your eyebrows were furrowed, just letting him have his way with you. you looked so pretty — so happy. he was already struggling not to bust from your hold on him alone -- you just felt so good. every time the two of you fucked he found himself getting lost inside of you.

you were like a drug that he couldn’t stay away from.

your eyes wandered from his face down to his lower half, but stopped once they met the space between the two of you. he dropped his head down to meet your gaze. he didn’t think he could get any more aroused than he already was but you proved him wrong — the pudge of your stomach now had a bulge. you could clearly see his length moving in and out of you. a white ring coated his cock as you came from the visual.

there was nothing geto could do but shake his head in disbelief, you were taking him so well, “goddamn, this pussy’s gonna’ be the death of me,” he mumbled, breath a bit rocky from the sensation. you moaned in response, arching your back from the mattress and moving your hips in an effort to try and fuck him back. you wanted more — you needed more.

“mmmh— daddy — it’s yours, it’s all yours!”

wait, what?

that caught him off guard. you've never called him that before — not to say that he was opposed of the idea, in fact, he wanted to hear it again. it sounded so nasty coming from your mouth, he liked that.

“what’d you say?”

you giggled under him causing your pussy to clench around him, “you liked that? when i call you daddy — your dick twitched inside me.”

you were driving him insane. before he could give you another sharp thrust, he pulled out of you — loving the sound it made when you released him. geto quickly arose from his knees to sit and rest his back against the headboard. his cock was now standing tall with a combination of your juices and his precum coating the tip. he looked so pretty this way — his dark colored hair was pulled back into a small bun with just a few stray pieces sticking to his forehead from sweat, his lips were parted slightly and his chest heaved up and down as he caught his breath.

“c’mere and sit on it,” he voiced, patting his thigh twice before jerking himself a little bit. you could admit it — you enjoyed seeing him like this. he was trying his hardest not to look so desperate but that little ‘daddy’ stunt you pulled had really stuck with him.

you sat up from your position, getting on your hands and knees to crawl your way over to your boyfriend. straddling his lap, you decided to tease him a bit — grinding your bare pussy on his cock in a slow manner.

“stop fuckin’ around and put it in, y/n.”

“be patient, baby. you had your fun, now it’s my turn.”

you were pissing him off. geto wanted nothing more than to feel the warmth of your cunt but you were being so difficult right now — wet folds coating his dick in your slickness as you continued to grind on him. of course it felt good but your pussy would feel better — you were such a little minx.

finally, after what seemed like forever, you hovered over his pulsing cock, aligning it with your entrance as his tip swiped over your folds. the feeling of being inside you from this position was exhilarating. after all, cowgirl was his favorite and you knew that. geto always went on and on about how well he could hit it from this angle — but you decided that you’d be the one fucking him for a change.

you started off slow, rocking your hips to get use to the feeling of his girthy length stretching you. no matter how many times you took him in, the familiar burning feeling always took some time to get used to. you could feel the veins that ran underneath his cock dragging along your pussy.

“you feel me squeezing you, daddy? hm?”

there it was again. that word. you let it flow out of your mouth so easily. geto couldn’t do anything but nod. his hands palmed at the fat of your ass as he lifted you up and down on his cock at a quicker pace. you arms wrapped around his neck as the vulgar sounds of your pussy sucking him in filled your ears.

“f-fuck y/n, pussy’s so good.”

in this moment, there was nothing he wanted to do more than praise you. he was so big and you were taking all of him — every last inch. he wanted to keep his eyes on you but he couldn’t help but to let his gaze avert to the space between you. the way that sopping cunt made his dick disappear every time you dropped your ass down on him. after a while you’d began to move faster, getting comfortable with his size.

“look at how she’s taking you, suguru. are you proud of me?”

he could practically die right then and there. your soft voice going through an ear and out of the other. he had to keep his composure, you’d only been riding him for a few minutes and he already felt that familiar knot in his belly. “i’m gonna cum if you keep that shit up,” he breathed, fighting to sit up straight as you rode him with all you had.

you didn’t know what had taken over you, but the urge to pin him down crossed your mind. you wanted him to feel just like you did when he was on top — breathless and too fucked out to utter a clear sentence. looking down, you could see his eyes were now closed and his fists were clenched.

awe, how cute.

“gonna’ cum daddy?” you taunt, “cause i am too.”

“fuck — you’re making me feel s’good y/n, don’t stop — god please don’t fuckin’ stop.”

you quickly took the initiative to intertwine your fingers with his, now holding his arms up over his head as you continued to fuck him vigorously — your ass slamming down onto his lap as he whimpered and babbled incoherent sentences.

“yeah, yeah, yeah — just like that suguru. you wanna fill me up, daddy? i think we’ve both earned that.”

and just like that, with a few more bounces, he was unraveling for you. his mouth was held wide open as nothing but curses and groans escaped his lips, “ooo — fuck baby — yeah, yeah, m’ cumming, m’ cumming.” for a brief moment, geto swore he could see stars behind his eyelids as ropes of his thick seed painted your insides. you proceeded with riding out your orgasm, the tip of his cock repeatedly hitting that gummy spot causing you to yelp as you coated his dick in cream.

after your high came to an end, you lifted your hips and allowed geto’s length to slide out of you — cock now softened and limp. you expected his usual ‘round 2?’ question, but it seemed as if he was too exhausted to say a thing.

you placed small kisses all over his face before gathering his hair in your hands and redoing his now shabby ponytail.

“damn, do you want me to run you a bath?” you joked. a lazy smile appeared on your boyfriends face as he playfully slapped your backside.

“don’t get too cocky.”

©️ all rights reserved to @saaturno. please refrain from copying or reposting as your own.

[toruro]

IF YOU WROTE ABOUT TAEHYUN I WOULD DIE HAPPILY 💘💘 if you don’t mind a nsfw request, messing around with academic rival Taehyun stuff maaaaybe 👀

answers

pairing. kang taehyun x reader

tags: smut (18+ / mdni), academic rivals au, mean dom taehyun, bratty reader, fwb (more like enemies who fuck but iykyk), angry / hate sex, implied dacryphilia, pet names (pretty)

w/c: 930+

a/n: i wrote a rly similar thing for joshua ages ago but i feel like it's so fitting for tyunnie too ... academic rivals is just right for him :3 ty to @agustdiv1ne my lov for reading this over 4 me hehe anyways thank u for requesting, i hope u enjoy!

taehyun likes answers.

taehyun likes knowing answers.

he likes simple responses, easy explanations—pretty much anything that gives him the answer, plain as it is.

so it's safe to say he's just the least bit ticked off when you somehow outscored him on the last o-chem exam, and neither the professor nor you are giving him a straight answer as to how in the world that happen.

because taehyun swears—he swears on every last star in the sky—that he had hit the nail for this one. studied hours on end, turned down every single one of yeonjun's party invites, cancelled half his plans with beomgyu—he did fuckin' everything to make sure he'd secure that number one spot, but there you were, grinning with your stupidly pretty, pristine face as you held up your paper with a bright red '100' etched into the corner.

you must've been so proud of yourself too.

taeyhun almost feels bad, looking down at you as you try to muffle sobs of pleasure with your palm as he rams into you from behind.

"how'd you do it?" he hisses, bruising grip latched onto the plush of your hips.

"d-dunno what—fuck—" you whine when he jams his cock into your warm cunt with vigor that has you lurching ageainst the desk, gripping the edges so tight your knuckles are beginning to burn white. "—dunno what you're t-talkin' about," you manage to gasp out in the short moment of recuperation taehyun gives you before dragging his hips back and shoving his length back in just as deep.

"fuckin' liar," the faux, silver haired boy grunts from behind. a strangled moan escapes your throat as he continues to drill into you, and you press your cheek against the cool wood of the desk in fruitless hopes that it will keep you sane for just a moment longer.

"t-taehy—"

"save it," he growls, and the way his voice is so gravely, so deeply animalistic has you unconsciously thrusting your ass backwards too to meet his forceful thrusts. "can't even gim'me a—" his breath hitches when he feels your sopping cunt tighten around his length. "—a straight fucking answer."

you try to shake your head but with the way your body is throttling after ever snap of his cock into your cunt, the task proves extremely difficult. "feels so-oh good," you tell him in airy breaths. "c-can't—" you can't think, is what you want to say, but you're too fucked out to even be able to form coherent words, and the thought makes you grow dizzy with heat.

taehyun moans at the sight that follows—you looking up from him as you crane your neck to face him, back arched into the hottest fuckin' view he's ever had the pleasure of seeing, tears streaming down your pretty face, staining your cute cheeks, dripping off your swollen lips and—fuck, he might as well bust it on the spot if he wasn't so damn furious.

"feels too good, huh?" taehyun scoffs. "too good to tell me how you outscored me?"

"i-i—" you choke out when he rams into you so hard the sound of skin slapping against skin rings in your ears. "—told you i dunno. it's j-just i did better," you choose to add, not realizing that those five words were probably the last things you should have said.

taehyun pulls out of you in an instant.

it happens so fast that you swear you can still sense the lingering feeling of his fat cock inside of you, all pretty curves and veins carving their shape into your hot, gummy walls.

and then it hits you.

you're painfully empty.

"sh-shit!" you whimper, scrambling against the desk with jelly legs and sore hips as you mindlessly try to do anything that'll fill you up. it nearly angers you how quickly you resort to begging. "no, no, no, no—please, no! why'd you stop?!" you cry out, turning to face him him completely now. your ass now presses into the side of the table with taehyun looming over you in front, eyes dark and jaw clenched.

your eyebrows curve into a frown, puffy bottom lip jutted out in a pout as taehyun watches you intensely as you mewl softly, pushing yourself to sit on your desk and spread you legs for him. "taehyun, i—"

"so now you wanna talk?" he scoffs, surprising you by grabbing your thighs and yanking you closer to the end of the desk so that your dripping cunt are positions right in front of his shining cock. "tell me," he mutters, sliding the thick tip between your pulsing folds but not giving you what you want the most.

"please, taehyun, please," you repeat, writhing against his hold in a dreadful attempt at slipping his cock into you.

"you gotta tell me, pretty," taehyun whispers, nudging his length against your throbbing clit so that you jerk slightly at the stimulation.

"already told you," you huff out, having half the mind to roll your eyes at him, but something tells you you know better. "dunno—guess i just—"

you shriek loudly when he sinks into you at once, balls pressed against your ass as he leans over you and pins you to the desk. "say it," taehyun dares, pressing his lips to the shell of your ear as you close your eyes and revel in the feeling of him so deep inside of you. "say it and you won't walk for a week."

you don't know what possesses you to gulp and murmur, "—guess i j-just outsmarted you—ah! taehyun!"

[tropes-and-tales]

It's That Simple

Day 16:  Praise Kink (Bob Floyd x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!) 

CW:  Light angst, kinda (Bob gets deflated); talk of panic attacks and self-doubt; smut (handjob); 18+ only.

Word Count:  5656

AN:  This was requested by an anon!

AN2: If you've been around a bit, you know the drill: this isn't edited or re-read or beta'ed.

It’s another terrible first date.

Bob struggles to even snag a first date.  He’s unassuming; he lacks the swagger and extroversion to stroll up to a woman and talk her up.  Most of his dates are obtained from other members of the Daggers—double dates, set-ups, stuff like that.

The latest one was set up by Fanboy, a friend of his sister.  Within moments of meeting his date, Bob knows it’ll be a mess:  she makes a face when she greets him at the door, and it goes downhill from there.

It ends when she gets a text.  An emergency, she tells him, and Bob is too smart and perceptive to buy the lie.  But he’s a gentleman, so he nods seriously and offers to drive her home or wherever she’s needed, which she declines.  He pays the bill of their abortive dinner, and he pretends not to notice how his date practically skips out of the restaurant and into the waiting car of a friend.

He should go home to lick his wounds.  Another failed date, another night alone.  He sees the stretch of his life in front of him and despairs that he’ll ever meet someone, and he should go home to sulk, but he goes to the Hard Deck instead.

He might as well break the news to Fanboy, at least, and maybe Nat can cheer him up with her usual sarcastic humor.

-----

The Hard Deck is as packed as always, and Bob—in his date clothes of dress pants and a button down shirt—stands out among the uniformed pilots and fellow wizzos.  He finds the Dagger Squad, confesses his failure to Fanboy, then settles into a stool near Nat and Rooster.

Nat puts a hand on his shoulder and gives him a comforting squeeze.  “I’m sorry, Bob,” she says.

“Her loss,” Rooster offers.

Bob shrugs.  It’s not anyone’s loss but his, but he offers them a weak smile that fools neither of them.

It’s Hangman who sidles up to Bob, and in an uncharacteristic moment of thoughtfulness, the cocky pilot offers to be his wingman—which makes Bob laugh, and it comes out laced with some bitterness.

“No offense, Bagman, but you’d be a terrible wingman,” Bob says.

“What?  Why?”

Bob lifts his hands in a helpless shrug.  “Because you’re….you.  And I’m not like you at all.”

“So?”

He scoffs in frustration at Bagman being so obtuse.  As if any woman would look at Bob if he walked up to them with Jake at his side.  It’d be like an Aston Martin rolling up alongside an old Honda Civic, and that’s the analogy he uses to make Jake understand.  But Jake shakes his head, clasps him on his shoulders and gives him a friendly shake.

“Nah, Baby on Board.  You got it all wrong.  You just need some confidence.”  Another teeth-rattling shake.  “Trust me, there’s a girl out there for you.  C’mon.”

Bob finds himself powerless to resist as Jake pushes him off of his stool, then shoves him gently in the direction of the crowded bar.

-----

The first pair that Jake sidles up to is a bust, but it’s not Bob’s fault:  Jake had hooked up with the one woman before, forgotten about it completely.  He’s moments from getting a drink tossed in his face when Bob tugs him away from the danger and they pull back, reevaluate.

The second pair is a bust too.  The first woman doesn’t even let Jake get the full sentence out before she’s wagging her ring finger in his face.

“Married,” she says, her words clipped.  “Move along, sailor.”

The third pair?  The third pair works out.  Jake hones in on one immediately, a blonde with big doe eyes, but the second one—you—rolls her eyes at him.

But when you turn to study Bob, you don’t roll your eyes.  You hold out a hand, introduce yourself, ask for his rank, then pat the empty chair beside you.

“Settle in, Lieutenant,” and your smile is easy.  “Let’s chat while we watch your friend strike out, huh?”

-----

It turns out you’re drunk, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

For one, you’ve fallen in with Bob Floyd, the most gentlemanly man a drunk, single girl could come across.  He’d never take advantage, and in fact, he’ll end up driving you home at the end of the night, getting you into your apartment.  He will take your shoes off of you, tuck you into your bed, and press a glass of water and a couple of ibuprofen on you before he sees himself out.

For another thing, Bob Floyd has fallen in with you, the most fiercely sweet drunk that a down-on-himself man could come across.  You’re one of those loud cheerleader types when you drink; the kind of woman who chats up other women in the bathroom, who tells them they’re beautiful, that you love them.  With your friend and Jake otherwise engaged, Bob finds himself caught in the tractor beam of your charm.

“You look sad,” you tell him around the rim of your glass.  “Are you sad?”

You’re drunk and Bob is sad, and you’re staring at him with wide eyes that glitter in the low light of the bar, so he tells you.  He tells you about his terrible date, the latest in a string of terrible dates, that he’s been single for so long and he’s not entirely convinced he’ll ever meet someone, that he’s too scrawny, that his glasses are terrible (one date called them serial killer glasses), that he’s too reserved to ever catch the eye of a woman, too unremarkable looking, let alone—

“No!”  You cut him off by exclaiming it, a near-shout, and your hand finds his forearm and grips him there.  “You’re gorgeous, Bill!  Don’t even say you aren’t!”

He grins despite himself.  “It’s Bob.  But thanks.  I mean, it’s nice of you to say—”

“Bob.  Yes.  Sorry.  Bob, not Bill.  I say it because it’s true.”  You release your hold on his arm and sit back in your chair, your eyes narrowed now as you study him closer.  You’re quiet for a long beat, and Bob squirms under your attention, but then you tell him more and he swears he breaks out in a full-body blush.

“You’re gorgeous, really,” you tell him.  “It’s just that you have a sneakier handsomeness, you know?  Like, that one there—” You gesture broadly at Jake.  “—He’s, like, Ken-doll handsome.  Like, he catches your eye because it’s all symmetrical and stuff, and he’s fine, but symmetry can be boring and someone like you, it’s sneaky.  You have a nice face, and these nice blue eyes, and nice hair, and I bet people think about you after the fact like, ‘oh, that Bob guy, he’s not bad at all,’ and then even later it’s like, ‘oh, Bob, he’s pretty handsome.’  Because you’re that sneaky sort of handsome and that’s the worst damned kind.”

Bob isn’t entirely tracking what you mean, but he shakes his head at the unearned praise, and he can’t stop the smile that’s plastered on his face.  He probably looks like a dope.

“Why’s that the worst kind?” he asks.

“Because it’s deadly!”  You lean forward again, put your hand on his arm again.  “Sneaky-handsome guys are like a virus because by the time you realize they’ve infected you, it’s too late.”

Bob chuckles.  “I’m a virus?  Suddenly my night has gotten worse, somehow.”

“No, not at all.  It’s just…”  You trail off, polish off your drink.  You wave down Penny for another.  “It’s just that you sneaky-handsome types never understand the power you have.  Ken-doll over there knows he’s hot, and by the mere fact of him knowing he’s hot, he loses a considerable amount of hotness.  But you have no idea you’re handsome, and that makes you even hotter.”

“I think there’s a string of women in the San Diego area that would disagree with your assessment,” Bob replies.  “But I appreciate the compliment, nonetheless.”

“Oh, them.”  You flap a hand, a dismissive wave.  “There’s a lot of idiots in the world, Bob.  You can’t let a string of women in the San Diego area make you feel bad.”

“I guess I just need to find someone who isn’t an idiot.”

“Ah, well!”  You set your drink down and wave your hands in front of yourself in a ta-da sort of flourish.  “Cal Tech graduate, Bobby.  I work for NASA.”

He feels a warm flush at you calling him Bobby.  “You’re a rocket scientist?  Definitely not an idiot, then.”

“Astrobiologist, actually.  And only an idiot sometimes, but never when it comes to the sneaky-handsome men here at the Hard Deck.”

Bob shakes his head, a little embarrassed at how much he likes you, a drunk stranger, talking him up.  He tries to dial it back, afraid he’s going to fall in love before last call.

“You’re way too smart for me, then,” he tells you.

That makes you arch an eyebrow at him.  “You afraid of smart women, Bobby?”

“Not at all.  It’s just that smart, beautiful, and sweet?  Do you understand the power you have?”  He keeps his tone light, teasing, but he’s in over his head with this:  he’s definitely going to fall in love before last call.

Of course he is.  His question makes you laugh, a warm sound that knocks free the lump in his chest from his earlier failed date.  Your laughter makes him feel drunk even though he hasn’t touched a drop; he feels warm and light and big-headed at how kind you’ve been to him, how sweet, but your laughter is the sound that makes him fall in love with you.

-----

The two of you stay until last call.  Bagman and your friend disappear hours before then, and you shrug at Bob, say you called it all wrong, that you didn’t think Jake was your friend’s type.

Bob drives you home.  You’re unsteady on your feet, so he hovers near you, but you manage reasonably well until it’s time to unlock your door.  He watches you try it, then he reaches out and takes the keys from your hand.

It’s the first time he touches you.

He gets you inside.  He gets you to your bedroom, and you flop gracelessly across the mattress, and Bob immediately goes into caretaker mode.  He slides your shoes off of you, sets them in a neat row by your closet.  He makes his way to your kitchen, gets you a glass of water, then stops in the bathroom.  He rummages through your medicine cabinet—you use the same brand of toothpaste as he does, the same type of toothbrush, and Bob marvels at the strange intimacy of learning these things, the everyday things that not everyone is privy to about you.  He finds some ibuprofen and shakes two out, then takes them and the water back to you.

You’re already drifting off to sleep, and Bob has to cajole you into sitting up.  He gets you perched on the side of the bed and gives you the pills and water, which you take without complaints.  He takes the empty glass back from you, and then there’s a moment—

—you sit on the edge of your bed and Bob stands over you, and you look up at him with your bleary eyes and he sees fear.  You’re understanding what you’ve done, maybe:  you’ve invited a strange man back to your place and you’re drunk, and he could do anything, and Bob sees the flicker of uncertainty, the beginning of fear in your eyes.  It makes him feel sick because he’d never take advantage.  It makes him sick that the world, being what the world is, makes this fear lance through the whiskey fumes in your head.

He reaches down to the foot of your bed where there’s a blanket neatly folded.  He shakes it out, urges you to lie down, and when you do, he covers you up.

“Be sure to drink more water when you wake up,” he tells you softly. 

The nascent fear fades out of your expression, and it’s replaced by a loose, goofy grin.  You free a hand from under the blanket and give him a sloppy salute.  “Aye, aye, captain.”

Bob sees himself out but not before he’s struck with a bit of brave optimism.  He sees the little whiteboard by your refrigerator, and he writes out his name and his number.  He drives home and sends up a silent prayer that his sneaky-handsome virus has already infected you, charmed as he is by your earnestly drunken (albeit clunky) analogy from earlier in the evening.

He wakes up the next morning and feels less hopeful.  He queues up a playlist and sets out on his morning run, but his morning pessimism is misplaced:  you call him a mile into his run, and Bob stutters in his steps to hear your voice—a little rough, but sunny nonetheless.

“I’m looking for a guy named Bobby,” you tell him over the phone, and he can hear the smile in your voice.  “Lieutenant Blue Eyes.”

-----

The two of you make plans to meet up at the Hard Deck, but you don’t call it a date so Bob doesn’t either.  He’s in unfamiliar territory:  things have always been a date or not a date in the past, but he’s noticed that many of his Dagger teammates speak in looser terms—meeting up, hanging out—with potential partners.  He’s unsure how to handle it; if he seems too casual, you might miss his interest.  If he comes on too strong, he might scare you off.

He decides to just turn up in his uniform, as he usually does, and when he arrives at the Hard Deck, you are already there.  You’re perched in a bar stool and chatting to Penny, but when he strolls in, you see him.

You smile at him as he walks over to you, but then you shake your head in a mock-rueful way.

“Oh, no,” you say as you hop off of your stool.  You open your arms and Bob steps into them, and you hug him warmly like you’re old friends.  “I thought maybe it was just whiskey-goggles that night, but you really are cute.”

Bob chuckles.  He releases you, then takes the stool beside yours.  “Well, I’ve been downgraded.  You called me handsome that night,” he points out.

“Sneaky-handsome, actually.”

“There seems to be a whole spectrum here that I was never privy to.”

You wave down Penny who comes and takes your orders.  Once your drinks are in front of you—a hard cider for you, a shandy for Bob—you click your glass against his.

“Here’s to the sneaky-handsome men of the world,” you say.

Bob ducks his head and grins  “And to the rocket scientists,” he adds.

A date or not a date…the evening passes in a blink, and you leave Bob that night entirely sober after long conversations and a lot of easy laughter.  You pull him in for another hug before you part, and this hug lingers longer than the hug you gave him as a greeting.  When you pull away, though, you gaze at him with a somber expression.

“I wanted to thank you for the other night,” you tell him.  “For being a gentleman when you took me home.”

“Of course.”

“No, I mean it.”  Your hands on his upper arms squeeze him a little firmer.  “You could have taken advantage, and you didn’t.  You’re a good one, Bob.”

He shakes his head, tries to wave you off, but you squeeze him again.  You don’t let him shrug off your thanks.  You don’t let him downplay his goodness.

“You are a good man, Bob,” you repeat, and you stare at him, like you’re daring him to disagree. 

Bob, who finds that you’re something of a force to be reckoned with, wouldn’t dare to disagree.

-----

He’s still not entirely clear if this is dating or not.  Neither of you actually says the word.  You text each other steadily, and you meet up sometimes at the Hard Deck, but your schedule isn’t great and Bob’s is even worse.  He worries that he’s missed his chance.  When he talks about it to the other Daggers, Hangman rolls his eyes and tells Bob he should have taken his shot earlier, that Bob is pretty much friend-zoned now, but Nat rolls her eyes at that and says he’s overthinking it.

Of course Bob overthinks it.  Bob overthinks everything.

He doesn’t know yet that you overthink everything too.  That you are going through your own pangs of regret, that you think you’ve missed your chance too, that your friends circle around you too and give you tough-love pep talks to build up your courage to take the lead on this burgeoning thing with Bob.

And ultimately, Bob’s hunch that you’re a force to be reckoned with is correct.  In the end, you take charge.

-----

You end up inviting him over for dinner on a night when your schedules align, and Bob overthinks that too. 

What if it’s a date-date, and he turns up too casual, with nothing in his hands—no wine, no flowers?  Or the opposite—what if he dresses up a little, brings you a mixed bouquet, and it’s just a casual friends-type thing?

Bob has no idea how he can manage the systems on a sophisticated plane because his brain grinds to a painful halt the moment he starts to contemplate this dinner at your place.  It’s Nat—it’s always Nat, with her no-nonsense lens into the mystique of her fellow women—who smacks some sense into him.

“Wear a nice shirt, shower beforehand, and take a bottle of wine,” she tells him.

“But what if—”

“It’s always polite to take a gift, Bob.”  She rolls her eyes, heaves a sigh.  “And it’s always polite to, you know.  Shower.  Show up fresh-smelling and neat.  Jesus Christ.  Just go.”

So Bob turns up at your apartment, a mid-tier bottle of wine in his sweaty hand.  Freshly showered, a daub of cologne behind his ears, and a nice blue button-down that brings out his eyes. 

And it’s a good thing he took Nat’s advice too, because you open the door in the sweetest sundress, and there’s music softly playing and the most heavenly smells wafting from your kitchen.  Bob realizes all at once that it’s a date-date after all, and his heart does an alarming little stutter in his chest, enough to stun him until you take his hand and gently pull him inside.

-----

Part of Bob’s issue with women is his inability to pick up on subtle, sometimes invisible cues.  He has always fallen in with the sort of women who play mind games, who play coy and say one thing while meaning another.  He always feels back on his heels; it feels like women speak a language he’s only slightly fluent in, so he’s always playing catch-up to translate what they mean.

But it’s refreshing with you, in this moment, because as you both sit down to the feast you’ve prepared, you just talk with him.  The two of you chat about your lives, you catch each other up since the last time you’ve talked, and Bob almost forgets to be nervous.

Almost.  A pair of tapered candles flicker between you and cast your lovely face in a golden glow, and low, bluesy music sets the soundtrack as you eat.  You sip at the wine he brought, and he eats your home-cooking, and Bob imagines an entire life like this…and he almost misses the way you keep swiping your palms along your thighs, like you’re nervous.

Almost.  He leans into his WSO work, studies you closely like you’re a dashboard of lights and alarms and switches.  He watches you a little closer, and he sees the way your throat bobs when you swallow a mouthful of wine, like you’re swallowing past a lump or going all dry-mouthed on him.  He sees the deep breaths you take, the way you press the back of your hand to your neck, like you’re flushed and trying to calm yourself.

“You’re nervous,” he blurts out when he realizes it for sure, and you pause in where you’re lifting the wine glass to your mouth and stare at him.

“I am.”  It’s that simple.  No mind games, no coy pretending. 

“It’s just me,” Bob says.

You smile at him, and it trembles a little at the corners.  He can feel the nerves in you now, and he reaches out a hand across the table, palm up.  He makes a grabby motion with it until your smile firms up and you lay your hand in his, and he grasps you lightly.

“It’s just me,” he repeats.

“And I like just-you,” you tell him.  “Like-like, I mean.  I wanted to tell you so tonight.”

His heart does that wicked little stutter in his chest, but he squeezes your hand.  “Sounds like you just told me then.”

“Guess so.”  You watch him, and your smile seems tremulous again, so Bob replies, “I like you too.”

It’s that simple.  After you each put yourself through your own overthinking hell, each suffering through your own sleepless nights and needless worrying about dumb things like friend zones, it comes down to a moment so simple that it’s stupid:  just the two of you holding hands as you confess your mutual feelings matter-of-factly.

-----

It feels too easy.  After months (years) of struggling to even land the occasional first date, suddenly Bob’s dream girl turns up just like that.  It feels too easy, and so Bob slips into his overthinking almost immediately.

It goes fine after dinner, when the two of you trade nervous kisses on your couch until the nerves burn off enough that your mouth slotted over his feels natural, that you move in concert with each other—your head tilting one way, his tilting the other, no longer bumping noses or knocking his glasses askew. 

It goes fine as you climb into his lap, the solid weight of you a welcome sensation because Bob’s head feels like it’s filled with helium, drunk and fizzy from the feel of your lips against his, your tongue against his own.

It goes fine when you climb off of him, shaky-legged like a newborn foal.  When you hold out your hand and take his to lead him back to your bedroom.

The moment he finds himself stripped down to his boxers and lying on your bed is the moment it falls apart.

It’s like every mean comment, every brush-off and ghosting, every roll of the eyes and beleaguered sigh and overheard commentary about him crowds into the room and leaves no space for this moment with you.  Bob thinks of all the feedback he’s ever gotten on dates—the serial killer eye glasses, the lack of muscles, the lack of game.  He tries to take a deep breath and finds he can barely pull in a lungful, and his throat feels like it’s closing on him—

And he can’t get hard.  His near-erection from making out on the couch deflates, and even though you are perched over him—you’ve shed your sundress, and you’re in the sexiest, sweetest lingerie set, powder pink, like the underside of a cloud at sunrise—he cannot coax himself back to attention.

The panic that floods him—he recognizes the feeling.  He’s felt it a million times.  He feels the hot, splotchy redness as it breaks out across his chest and neck, and his face flushes furiously bright, and you notice it all in real time.  The sultry, heavy-lidded look on your face disappears and is replaced by pure concern.

“Bob?  Bobby?  Are you…okay?”  You reach a hand out and cup his face, and your palm had felt warm earlier but now it feels cool….which proves how hot he’s flushed, how feverish his panic makes him feel.

“I’m sorry.  Shit, honey.  I’m…I gotta go.”  He tries to sit up but your mattress is soft and he flails a moment, and if Bob were just a bit younger he’d burst into tears at how sideways this has all gone so suddenly.  You served him up the perfect evening, you’re kneeling right beside him in the hottest fucking lingerie, and he’s been reduced to a stuttering, red-face idiot who can’t even get hard—

“Hey.”  You lay your hand on his bare chest, steady him.  “Hey, hey, hey.  Take a second.  Just breathe, Bobby.”

“I gotta—”

“Just relax.”  You press against his chest, tap your forefinger against his skin.  “Breathe for me, okay?  Everything’s fine.”

“It’s not.  Fuck, it’s not!”  He raises his voice, winces at how shrill he sounds, and the dam in him breaks.  Something in him dislodges, and it all spills out:  every mean, rotten thing he’s ever thought about himself.  Every bit of unfair criticism, every insult and slight and how his own insecurity has twisted it all into a crippling imposter syndrome.  How he only ever feels competent at his job but how he struggles with everything else, and now how he’s fucked it all up with you because he’s overthinking, always trapped in the own tangled maze of his mind, always waiting for the other shoe to drop because he’s not good enough, he can’t even get hard even with you looking like a dream—

“Hey.  Whoa.”  You remove your hand from his chest, but you scoot over to sit beside him, turned to face him, your expression very similar to the night he met you—the same easy smile, the same studious eyes.

“Nothing’s ruined.  You haven’t fucked anything up.  Take a breath.  Is this because of that bad first date you had the night we met?”

He nods.  “A little bit.”

“There’s been other bad first dates, I guess?”

Another nod.

“And now you’re worried this is just another bad first date?”

“Yeah.”  It comes out a croak, a roughness in his throat. 

“Hmm.”  You lean forward, press a soft kiss to his forehead.  “You wanna hear about my worst first date ever?”

“No, honey, it’s okay—”

“His name was Justin.”  Another soft kiss, this one to his temple.  “Good job, good looking.”  Another kiss, to the other temple, right at his hairline.  “Picked me up and gave me flowers, took me out to San Diego’s most exclusive restaurant that has a reservation list a mile long.”

Bob chuckles weakly.  “Sounds awful,” he says, wry.

You hum again, kiss his flushed cheek.  “He was charming at dinner.”  A kiss on his other cheek.  “Said all the right things.  Asked about my life and listened to my answers.”  The lightest of kisses on the tip of his nose, and it makes him smile despite himself. 

“Halfway through dessert, a woman comes up to our table.”  Bob feels the gentle press of your lips at the corner of his mouth, and he turns his head to kiss you back, but you pull away. 

“It was Justin’s wife.”  A flurry of kisses now, to his chin, along his jawline, near his ear. 

“He was cheating,” Bob says.

“Nope.”  A kiss, this one lingering, under his jaw, on his neck.  “Turns out, this was a little game he and his wife play.  Some weird cheating, cuckolding fantasy.”  Your lips skate over his pulse point.  “He takes a girl out, his wife pretends to catch them, and then they go to a nearby hotel to fuck each other senseless.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Oh, shit is right.”  You lift your head to gaze at him.  “Asshole left me with the bill for dinner too.  So Bobby….you’re not my worst first date.  You’re not even close.”

“Honey—”

“You have no idea how hard you’re gonna have to work to really, honestly fuck this up.”  You grin at him, and then you straddle his lap again, and he lays his hands on your hips and stares up at you.

“Because you’re, like, exactly the sort of man I’ve always been looking for.  You’re that sneaky-handsome sort, and you’re smart and sweet, and you took care of me that first night when I was too drunk to make good choices.”  You cup his face in your hands, and you stare at him hard, that sweet forcefulness on full display, like you dare him to disagree with you.

“It’s already a sure thing, Bobby.”  You lean forward, kiss him gently.  “There’s no pressure to do anything tonight.  Don’t even think about needing to do anything.  How about you just let me love on you, and you just relax, and if you can keep your secret wife from busting in and turning this into a cuckolding fantasy, we’ll end the night just fine, okay?”

That makes him laugh, and it breaks the spell of his terrible ruminating.  Bob laughs, and he slides his hands from your hips up to your waist to feel your soft skin.

“I didn’t even think of getting a secret wife before I came here,” he confesses.

“See?  It’s a sure thing, then.”  You lean forward again, whisper in his ear, your warm breath making him break out in goosebumps as you tell him to just relax and let you love on him.

-----

The antidote to Bob’s awful overthinking, as it turns out, is your care and praise.

As far as first dates go, this is the one where Bob learns something new about his own sexuality.  He learns, thanks to you, that he has a praise kink, because your hands and mouth and body on his feels amazing, but it’s your words that make him hard.

Loving on him means you touch him everywhere.  You kiss him everywhere.  You stroke him, press your soft lips to him, lick against parts of him until he feels like he’s on fire in a way that is completely different than his panic attack.  You kiss every inch of his face and neck.  You trail your mouth over his shoulders and collarbones, across every bit of his chest and belly, and you praise him whenever your mouth isn’t otherwise occupied.

Look at you, Bobby.  Hiding this body away under that uniform.

You praise his arms, the muscles of his chest and abs.  You praise his shoulders and back, the smattering of chest hair, the trail of hair that leads down and disappears under the waistband of his boxers, and you glance up at him, the question in your eyes as you toy with the elastic.

“Can I?” you ask, and Bob nods, swallows hard, and you go lower, you push his boxers down and his cock is there, hard from your honied words.

“Holy shit,” you blurt out.  “Bob, are you for real with this?”

It probably seems like a cliché, like the pretty girl in a movie who somehow never realized she was pretty, but Bob has never really considered his size.  He’s been around plenty of other penises through the course of his career, but he’s never exactly eyed up other men and measured himself against them.  The handful of women he’s slept with never said anything so he assumed he was average, but you praise him here too—you tell him he has a beautiful cock, and Bob blushes at the compliment.  He’d never call it beautiful, but when you wrap your palm around his shaft and grip him gently, he’d agree to any adjective you might offer, so long as you never let him go.

This feels too easy too, but the panic never claws at Bob’s throat again.  You’ve chosen him, you’ve made it a sure thing for him, and you’ve cut through his awkward moment of near-flight to get him to this:  your body stretched alongside his, your breasts pressed against his arm, your hand working against his cock while you whisper praise in his ear. 

And every time doubt starts to creep in—he should be touching you too, he should be making you feel good too—you hush him, you still his mouth by kissing him, and you tell him that he has all the time in the world for touching you, but he should let you take care of him now.

His orgasm creeps up in fits and starts, and it seems to ratchet closer with each bit of praise you lavish on him, more so than each movement of your hand working against his cock.

“I want you to come for me, Bobby,” you whisper against his neck.  You kiss his pulse point, a plush, open-mouth kiss that makes him shiver as you grip him tighter, work a faster rhythm with your hand.  “Come for me like a good boy.”

He wants to be good for you; he wants to do as you say.  Some not-so-small part of him craves your approval, and maybe the two of you will play around with that sort of dynamic in the future, but for now, he just wants to obey you.  He wants to do his part to salvage the night he thinks he almost ruined, so he breathes in time to your strokes, focuses on every sensation—the softness of your breasts pressed against him, your wet, hot mouth kissing him, the light scent of your perfume.  The tension in his belly is a coil, and it tightens and tightens until it snaps, and his hips stutter against your grasping hand.  He gasps out your name, warns you, and then a beat later, he comes.  He spills over your hand, thick ropes of cum coating your fingers and wrist, spilling over onto his belly.

“Just like that, baby.”  You kiss his panting mouth, and he feels the curve of your lips as you give a pleased smile.  “It’s that simple.”

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 15

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

AN: Thank you as always for the lovely responses on the previous chapter! It was a long one, so thank you for sticking through with me. We're about to lighten up a little with some Christmas spirit! ❄️🎁

**Also, if you're a fan of The Boys (and Soldier Boy), there's an awesome book you can check out, called Supes Ain’t Always Heroes: Inside the Complex Characters and Twisted Psychology of The Boys.

If you want to learn more about the book (including cast interviews and a character study on Soldier Boy), I wrote a review about it here!

Otherwise, on to some more firefighter!Dean!

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 5,800 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, fluff, tinge of angst, hurt/comfort, lots of feels.

Part 15: “The Good Part”

“How many damn arrests does that make?” Daniel asked. He gripped his pool cue with both hands while he leaned on it.

His son stood at the other end of the pool table, lining up his shot. He paused to think.

“Six,” Nick replied. His cue released, and it knocked two of his balls into the pocket.

“Six,” Daniel repeated, while Nick came his way to find an angle for his next turn.

Daniel shook his head. His lips were angrily pursed. His eyes might’ve been on the pool game, but he was playing chess in his mind. He had underestimated John Winchester for far too long, it seemed.

The man was stubborn as all hell. And he’d been busy lately, getting “Azazel’s” men busted for all manners of bullshit.

“Alastair’s mole says Winchester’s been calling in favors from his old friends in Narcotics, trying to bust our small fries,” Nick reported. “Getting them on everything from petty theft to drug possession, with intent to sell. But it’s nothing we can’t pull ‘em out of.”

“Time, money, added risk,” Daniel cited on his fingers all the reasons why John Winchester was a pain in his ass. “It’s only a matter of time before they get a warrant to rip apart Savage & Co., sweep the whole damn building. For forensic evidence, our files, all the jazz.”

Daniel’s fingers drummed thoughtfully against his chin. “A damn cop thinks he’s being cute.”

Nick missed his second turn. His hand fell against his thigh in annoyance, but he looked up.

“Dad, it’s your move.”

Daniel rubbed at his chin. His eyes were no longer seeing the board in front of him. Eventually, they slid up and met his son’s gaze.

“We’re going to start from the beginning,” he said.

Nick’s face gave away his confusion. “What? What do you mean?”

Daniel just smiled.

It was Christmas Day, and John was late. Sam and Dean were used to that drill, so they weren’t expecting him until dinnertime.

Meanwhile, it gave you a chance to find your footing as you got to know Eileen. She had helped you bake the pies that were now cooling on the counter (pumpkin and berry crumble), and a few of the side dishes for dinner. Sam had covered cleaning up the rest of the house, while Dean tackled his favorites: the ham and the mac and cheese.

Now the guys were in the living room watching football while you and Eileen were still in the kitchen, decorating some gingerbread cookies you two had made. She enjoyed it; doing holiday crafts with her students had been bringing out her artistic side, she told you. You were happy for the help and the conversation.

You later tried to cover up your snort of laughter as she finished telling you the story of how Dean once dared Sam to wear women’s underwear for a whole week.

If he managed it, Dean had promised to do all the household chores for three months. If Sam couldn’t make it the whole week, then he would face the consequences: Dean would tell their dad about the bet.

“How old were they?” you asked.

Eileen scoffed. “Sam was a senior in college.”

You burst out laughing again. “So too old, is the answer… Did he win?”

Eileen gave you a mischievous smile.

“He did,” Dean said, as he appeared in the kitchen doorway with a familiar smirk. “I’ve got photographic evidence. It was a cheetah print thong, in case you were wondering.”

Your eyes widened on a laugh. “Oh my God.”

Cheetahlicious, you couldn’t help joking in your mind. Even if you’d rather not think of Sam wearing a pair of Victoria Secret’s best.  

Eileen giggled with you. Dean’s amusement gave way to curiosity as he eyed the little gingerbread men you two were icing. You warned him off with your eyes, but it took Eileen batting his hand when he tried to steal a cookie.

“Hey! Wait ‘til after dinner,” she said.

Dean pouted. “Come on, don’t be stingy.”

Rolling her eyes, Eileen sighed.

“You’re like one of my kids,” she said, while signing with her hands. But she caved and handed him a cookie. “Here. To tide you over.”

Dean smiled and signed back to her in ASL, Thank you.

“That’s why you’re my favorite,” he said. He leaned down to kiss her cheek in a brotherly gesture.

He shot you a wink before taking a bite of his prize. You shook your head at him, even though you were smiling. He came around to your side of the table. His hand rested on your back and he bent down towards your ear.  

“I actually came over for you,” he said. “Got a minute?”

Your brows rose, but you turned to Eileen in askance. “I’ll be right back. Is that okay?”

She nodded and made an “OK” gesture. “Of course.”

You smiled and let Dean lead you out of your chair, and even out of the apartment. He made sure you both grabbed your coats by the front door.

“Where are we going?” you asked. While you put on your coat over your sweater and jeans, you didn’t notice him grabbing two sets of keys.

“Just downstairs. No big deal,” he said, hefting on his own leather jacket.

You eyed him with some suspicion, but you walked with him down to the elevators and let him keep you close to his side. He smelled like the cologne you bought him for Christmas, and he was already wearing the new watch as well.

You’d struggled to find him the right gift. Nothing felt quite enough after everything he’d done for you the last few months. He’d assured you that he was grateful for both gifts, and had even tried to say the watch looked too expensive. (You’d shut him up with a kiss.)

Now, you had to wonder what he was up to as he led you into the parking lot, but not toward Baby. Instead, you two stopped in front of a shiny silver Chevy parked in a guest spot.

“Dean, what’d you do?” you asked, both excited and worried. He shot you a grin and dangled the keys in front of you.

“You like her?” he asked. His eyes were dancing. “You could keep her, if you ask nicely.”

Your face slackened. You looked between him and the sleek looking car.

“What?” You covered your mouth with both hands. Even after a few moments, your brain was still having a hard time computing. “No…what? Oh my God!”

You grabbed onto his jacket, just in case your legs failed you. Dean laughed and gathered you up in his arms. By the time you peeled your eyes away from the silver beauty to look up at your boyfriend, there were tears already swimming in your eyes.

“Dean, this is really too much. Where’d you find—”

“Bobby had it sitting in his garage for years,” he explained. His hand came up to brush your cheek, and the tears there. “I cleaned her up, dropped in a new engine, safe-proofed with new tires, new airbags, the works. Got her purring like a kitten.”

Your eyes grew a little wider with every admission. Then you softened, gripping the edges of his jacket while you bit your lip to keep it from wobbling.

“How much did he sell it to you for?” you asked. Dean dropped his head back with a sigh.

“Don’t you wanna take a test ride before we start hagglin’?”

You lightly smacked his chest. “Hey. How much?”

He let out another heavy sigh, but you eventually got it out of him. While the price wasn’t as bad as you might’ve expected, you still shook your head.

“I still have a decent chunk of insurance money left. I’m giving you at least half,” you said.

Dean shook his head. “This is my gift to you.”

Your lips pursed, despite the smile that wanted to peek through.

“Nice try,” you said wryly. “You already got me perfume.”

“That was just the decoy.” He grinned, and held you a bit tighter against him. He nodded towards the car. “She’s the main event.”

You wanted to sigh, but this conversation wasn’t over. You were definitely not letting him buy you a whole new…old car. You turned to look at it again.

“What model is this?” you asked.

“2002 Camaro Z28,” Dean rattled off. It sounded impressive, but you didn’t know much about cars.

He let go of you so you could get a closer look. Your hand passed over the hood, but didn’t touch, as if you were afraid of staining the paint with your fingerprints. He had to admit, he’d waxed it up good and managed to get rid of a lot of superficial nicks and scratches.

What he said was true though; Bobby had given him a frankly ridiculous deal. Because when Dean had told him what you’d been through after the car accident, dealing with your grandfather’s passing, and now your ever-mounting expenses, Bobby hadn’t let him walk away from Singer Salvage with anything else but this car. He’d even helped Dean get the new parts he needed to fix it up.

“Is it automatic or manual?” you asked, trying to peer through the driver’s window. “I haven’t driven stick in a hell of a long time.”

Dean came up from behind you and his warm hand found your hip. You let him draw you back into his arms, leaning against his chest.

His lips were close to your ear when he said, “I think you’re damn good at driving stick.”

It took you a second, but the heavily laden innuendo in his deep voice was hard to miss. You uttered a laugh and swatted his arm.

“You’re ridiculous,” you said. You were still smiling when you turned and twined your arms around his neck. Then you leaned up for a kiss—one that kept getting deeper with the full force of your gratefulness, and your love for this man.

“It’s an automatic,” he answered, between kisses. You giggled against his lips.

You barely felt the chill on the air. Your heart was beating fast, even when you pulled away from him. Your eyes slowly opened and met his. He smiled down at you and curled an errant strand of hair behind your ear. As usual, you had most of it clipped up.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” he said. His voice was quiet, but steady.

You let out a shaky breath. Emotion was clogging your throat, making your tears burn anew.

“This is a bit more than a Christmas present,” you said. He gave a more self-deprecating smile.

“Well, it’s also kind of an apology,” he said. “For getting you mixed up in my ‘family business.’”

He still felt guilt beyond belief for putting you in danger. For your life being threatened. For being the reason you couldn’t go home.

You just shook your head. Your hand raised to press against his cheek. Your thumb drew tenderly along his chin.

“I thought you said you were part of my family now?” you said. “We’ll figure this out together, like everything else.”

Dean’s eventual smile lightened you, and his kiss warmed you down to your toes. 

“If you want, let’s go for a ride after dinner,” he said.

It was your turn to smirk. Your hands migrated under his jacket and teased at his belt.

“Well, I’m certainly down for a ride,” you said.

Dean laughed and squeezed your hips. “All right. I’m puttin’ you on my naughty list.”

When John finally arrived, the brothers welcomed him in first with big man hugs and good-natured ribbing for him being so damn late.

In Sam’s words, Upholding a Winchester family tradition.

John had taken that with a chuckle. “Smells damn good in here.”

“Yeah, food’s been done for an hour,” Dean prodded at him again. His grin betrayed his teasing, however. His welcoming hand stayed on his dad’s shoulder until they reached the living room, where Sam had set up a longer fold out table and chairs to function as the makeshift dining room, since the table near the kitchen only seated three.

There you were opening a bottle of Jack Daniels. You smiled up at John.

“Figured you were more of a whiskey than wine kind of guy,” you said. You were a bit nervous to see him again, no doubt with flour in your hair and frosting staining your hands. He clasped your shoulder with a hint of a smile.

“You’d be right. Good to see you, darlin’,” he said.

“You too,” you replied. Despite the fact that the first and last time you two had met, it had been in front of your house as the police rifled through your life, looking for more explosives. He graciously didn’t bring that up as he greeted Eileen next.

Once dinner was on the table, there was a lot of catching up between the brothers and their father while you and Eileen continued talking, even through dessert.

“This really is amazing,” she told you, pointing her fork at her slice of berry crumble. “I can see why you went to culinary school.”

You blushed as Sam, Dean, and even John echoed her praise. All three men had generous slices of both pies. 

“Well, thank you. I’m glad you guys enjoy it,” you said, and your smile was genuine.

You loved making good food, but you loved feeding people even more. Whether it was a simple hearty soup or a rich dessert, you liked putting smiles on their faces and giving them a good experience; one they could share with their family and friends. Even better if it was your family.

Or as Dean would say, Your people. 

To you, that was life.

“I’m tellin’ you, if you opened up a bakery you’d make a killing in this town,” Dean said. He nudged your hand with the one that held his fork; it held a precarious piece of pumpkin pie.

You shot him an amused look.

“Don’t you look at me sideways, I’m serious,” he said, laughing a little, but his gaze was steady.

Your cheeks warmed against your will. He believed in your dream, even when you couldn’t quite let yourself.

“Hey, if you ever want to look into applying for a loan, I could help,” Sam said, earning your attention. “I have a friend who works at a bank.”

Your brows raised. “Really?”

He nodded. “Yeah, we were pre-law together back in college, but he figured he was better with numbers.”

You smiled. “Well, it would make it easier knowing I was dealing with your friend.”

“Yeah, his name’s Brady. Let me know if you want me to call him,” he said.

You bit your lip, but you nodded. “Thanks. I’ll let you know.”

Maybe they were right. Maybe you should start to believe in yourself, just a little bit more.

“This was all real delicious,” John said to you, when you came back from bringing the leftovers to the kitchen.

Sam and Dean were already arguing about who was doing the dishes and who was drying them. Meanwhile, Eileen was putting away the food (and probably rolling her eyes).

“Yeah, it was a team effort for sure,” you replied. “Dean’s actually a really good cook.”

John chuckled. “Yeah, well, he didn’t get that from me. I can barely boil a damn egg.”

You smiled to yourself; you could imagine Dean got it from his mother then.

Meanwhile, John was watching you stack the empty plates as he grew more contemplative. He’d always been proud of his sons. They were good men, with strong heads on their shoulders.

He often looked at Sam and saw that he seemed happy. Despite the demands of his job, he was learning to balance that with the life he led with Eileen. As a father, John looked forward to the day when they made a firm foundation, taking the next step towards building a life together.

But Dean had seemed to him, a little unstable. John was still proud of his eldest, but while he’d seen a glimpse of it that day at your house, he saw it even more today. Like his son finally had an anchor, tethering him to dry land.

Even so, he couldn’t help heaving a sigh. And he asked you something he knew he shouldn’t.

“Have you given any more thought to filing a report on Nick Savage?” he asked.

You paused in your plate and cup stacking. You looked up at him with a frown, but you thought about your words before you said something rude.

“Yes, I did,” you replied. “I decided my life and my peace were more important.”

He let out a short sigh. “I understand—”

“I’m sorry, John, but I don’t think you do,” you said. Your words were matter-of-fact, if a tad more sharp than you meant them to be. Your hands were starting to tremble.

You crossed your arms to try and steady yourself, but Dean ended up doing just that, by joining your side and resting a hand at the small of your back. He was frowning, glancing between you and his father.

“Tell me you’re not talking about what I think you are,” Dean said, addressing John in particular. “Not on damn Christmas.”

“Like you said, it’s her decision,” John replied. His gaze once again focused on you.

You let out a breath, mostly of exasperation.

“I’m going to bottom-line it for you. If I report that man, and you can’t guarantee me a job and safety until it’s all over, then I’m not poking the bear,” you said. “I plan to keep my head down until I can find another job. Until then, you can have at him all you want. Just leave me out of it.”

Part of you felt selfish. You knew what John was trying to accomplish, and you knew how personal this fight was for him, and for Sam and Dean for that matter. You just couldn’t shake your gut instincts here. You knew Nick far too well by now, and you didn’t want to underestimate him again.

“I agree,” said Dean. You gave him a grateful look.

John conceded with a nod, but all of you knew he wasn’t satisfied. It became a bitter ending to an otherwise brilliant day after he left for the night.

In your mind, it wasn’t quite over yet though. You had a plan up your sleeve for one Dean Winchester.

Sam and Eileen had their own time together while you and Dean went for a drive in your new car. You’d have to transfer your plate and registration and insurance, so it was technically an “illegal” drive, but it was already late and traffic was scarce.

By the time you pulled back into the parking lot, you were smiling from ear to ear, and Dean was giving you that smug grin that said, Aw yeah, I did good.

You couldn’t even fault him for it, because he did exactly that.

Even when you and Dean were getting ready for bed, it didn’t quite feel real. You were living with your boyfriend of just a few months, you now had a new car, and a crime lord had threatened your life.

You chose to focus on the new car. And on your boyfriend, who sat on the edge of his side of the bed, rubbing his right shoulder through his shirt. You knew it must still be sore, though he likely wouldn’t admit it.

Hence, you were about to enact Phase 1 of your plan…

You hadn’t undressed yet from your jeans and sweater, but you crawled across the bed to come up behind him and drop a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“How’s your slugging arm?” you asked.

Dean quirked a smile at you over his shoulder. “Just fine.”

“Dean,” you said. Your tone was gentle, but warning. No downplaying.

You pressed your lips against the side of his head and soothed your hand along his shoulder and down his arm. Still, he was resistant.

“I’m fine, sweetheart,” he said.

You hummed. “Okay. I guess you don’t need a massage then.”

He paused. His head tilted just so, once again turning to you over his shoulder. You spied the edge of his piqued interest, his grin.

“Well, if you’re offering…”

You withdrew your hand from his arm, but you spoke close to his ear.

“Are you asking?”

He let out a small sigh, despite his lingering smile.

“All right. Will you please give me a lil’ massage?” he asked.

He couldn’t see your triumphant smile, but you happily kissed his cheek.

“I sure can,” you replied. You laid gentle hands on his shoulders, however briefly. “Stay right here. Don’t move, but take off your shirt.”

“All right, Miss Bossy,” he grumbled. You knew he was teasing by the amused look he threw your way.

“I thought you liked that,” you teased back.

You climbed off the bed before he could playfully grab you, and you giggled all the way to the bathroom. There you began Phase 2 of your plan. 

First, you collected a few different bottles from your designated drawer under the sink. Then, you made a quick wardrobe change, after popping back into the bedroom to grab something from your nightstand.

You also connected your phone to the speaker on his nightstand and put some music on a low volume. It was a playlist he’d made and shared with you a while ago, with songs he thought you’d like. The Eagles’ “Take It to the Limit” was definitely on the list.

By the time you returned to Dean, he was indeed shirtless, still in his sweatpants, and checking his watch.  

“I’m here, I’m here,” you said. You climbed across the bed with your small haul—a difficult feat with your hands full, but you managed.

Dean turned to look at the bottles of moisturizer you dropped next to him on the bed. He rose a brow.

“Twilight Woods. Japanese Cherry Blossom. Appletini. Are these my only options?” he asked. His face was half bemused, half reluctant.

You almost burst out laughing. “Which one strikes your fancy?”

He scratched the back of his head. You opened the second bottle first (your personal favorite), so he could smell.

“Not bad actually,” he muttered. You bit your lip so you wouldn’t giggle, but you managed to open the other two for him to get a whiff.

“Eh, the first one I guess,” he said.

Japanese Cherry Blossom. AKA: a classic from Bath & Body Works.

You finally had to laugh. “Just kidding. I’ve got this.”

You held up a jar you’d been hiding behind him. Its logo said: Massage Oil.

“I just wanted to see which girly moisturizer you secretly wanna slather all over yourself,” you said.

Dean shot you a wry look, but only then did he see what you were wearing.

“Oh, hold up,” he uttered.

Your hair was let loose, how you knew he liked, and you’d teased it out a little. You’d had to give away the red lingerie you’d bought, to rid both of you of its lingering memories of your work Christmas party. Instead, you’d found something in a vibrant emerald green: satin and lace.

Dean’s hand reached for your waist, probably to bring you closer. But you playfully slapped his hand.

“Eh-eh! Not yet,” you said to his surprised face. You smiled. “I have a plan for you tonight.”

Slowly, he smirked. His eyes still dipped to take in the rest of you, from your pretty face, to exposed skin and cleavage, to shiny satin that clung to your curves and draped down to mid-thigh. 

“I can see,” he said. His voice was a notch deeper. “Merry Christmas to me.”

Despite your blush and growing smile, you turned him back around by his shoulders.

“Just relax.”

You let your hands drift up the back of his neck to slide your fingers through his hair. There you began with a slow, gentle massage of his head. You felt him take a deep breath.

You couldn’t see it, but Dean’s eyes had closed at your ministrations. He secretly really liked the feeling of your fingers running through his hair. It made his shoulders loosen; with tension he didn’t know he had releasing from the neck down.

Aside from the rigors of his job, he also had to work out and condition his body to keep up his stamina. He probably didn’t spend as much time as he should on this aspect of things, making sure he wasn’t overtaxing himself.

He appreciated what you were doing though. He knew you cared about him, that you loved him. But he liked that you were also a caring person, who tried to take care of him. Dean hadn’t really had that…from anyone before. Sometimes, it was hard for him to let you.

…Damn, we really got too much in common, he realized.

When you migrated back down his neck, your hands left for a moment to gather up some oil. It was warm against his skin when you started between his shoulders, digging with the heel of your hands.

He groaned deep, surprising even himself.

Behind him, your brows were furrowed. “You’re really knotted up here. When was the last time you had a massage?”

Dean chuckled. “Never.”

You frowned. “Hmm. Okay, we’re definitely doing this more often.”

“No complaints from me,” he said with a grin.

Of course, you gave special attention to his right shoulder. You were gentler there, asking what was tender and what felt good, or too much. By then you had an easier time getting the truth out of Dean. He let you know when the pressure was too much, and you even helped him stretch out that arm until the muscles and joints were warmed up and the pain was gone.

You encouraged him to lie on his stomach in the middle of the bed, so you could start on his back. Your hands glided down planes of muscle and smooth slopes while you straddled his thighs. The only sounds you heard from him were occasional moans and rumbling, pleased sounds. That was also what let you know that he hadn’t fallen asleep.

“Okay, turn over,” you said, smiling when he groaned in protest. “I haven’t even gotten to the good part.”

“What the hell’s the good part then?” he asked. His voice was muffled in the mattress, but when he turned around, flopping onto his back, his eyes once again took in the green satin and seemed to remember what your real intentions were.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. His grin was lazy, now that he was beyond relaxed, but his hands found purchase on your hips. You smiled down at him.

You let the remaining oil on your hands glide up his chest, until you lowered down for a kiss. It was unhurried and sweet.

“I love you, you know?” you said.

Dean swept his fingers through your hair, tucking a few strands behind your ear.

He smiled. “I’ve got some idea, yeah.”

You both laughed, soft and true. Your hand rested against his cheek as you pressed your lips to his, soft and slow at first, but soon gaining in both passion and urgency. You felt his grip on your hips tighten, grinding your center against his growing length.

He groaned. No goddamn panties on. Good.

You kissed your way from his lips to his neck. Your teeth grazed his ear while you rolled your hips into his. It was a tease for both of you, but not for long, as Dean grew impatient enough to slide his sweatpants down, followed by his hands slipping under the satin covering your thighs. They traveled further still, squeezing your breasts and rolling hardened nipples under the pads of his thumbs.

Your breath hitched, and your pleased hum was music to his ears. By now you were bracing yourself against the mattress, but you used his shoulders as leverage to raise yourself up.

You took his hands and encouraged them to bunch up the satin and pull it over your head. Dean sat up with you still in his lap, and once his strong arm wrapped around your waist, it was skin to flushed skin.

You held his face and brought him down to you for another fierce kiss. He held you tightly against him, hands splayed across your back and tangling in your hair. His arms were a cage you never wanted to escape.

But you did press away from him, just for a moment, so you could reach down between your bodies to take a firm hold of his cock. You guided it to your entrance. There was already a small flood between your legs, and your core ached for him.

There was almost no resistance when you slowly sunk your hips down and down, until he was buried deep inside you.

You both made sounds of pleasure, with labored breaths as Dean’s hand cradled your cheek. He laid open-mouthed kisses to your jaw, teeth grazing down your neck.

You clung to his shoulders and began to move, slow in the way you let almost the full length of his cock escape you, before you slid back down. Dean moaned into your skin, and you let out a shuddering sigh.

You pushed at Dean’s chest until he was lying back, and you continued rolling your hips against his. He helped you create a steady rhythm on top of him, but he was being treated to a feast of the eyes as well as the pleasure rocking through his body. He watched the way you swept your hair back. The way your eyes closed and brows furrowed in concentration as you bit your lip.

But he couldn’t stay still for long; he knew he was close enough to practically taste his end, but you had some miles to go. He gripped your thigh with one hand while the other glided up between them, to further part your folds. His fingers found your clit, circling insistently like it was a button. It had your hips stuttering.

“Oh, God,” you uttered. “Dean—”

He managed to smirk through panting breaths. “Right there, right baby?”

You nodded, unable to speak. You continued to move as steadily as you could, but the feeling of him deep inside combined with his talented fingers playing you like a five-string guitar—it finally made you tighten on him, shuddering deep inside. Tingles broke across your skin, zipping up your spine as you gasped.

Dean helped you with the last few hard thrusts that brought him along with you, and you felt his warmth spilling inside you.

It was a heady feeling, and you needed a moment just to recover. Even though you were on birth control, every time he came inside you still felt like a dangerous, delicious game.

But after you slid off his lap and practically rolled into his side, him welcoming you with an arm wrapping around your waist, it did make you think, as you caught your breath.

It made you think about the first time you and Dean slept together. It had been the first and last time you’d asked him to wear a condom. The next morning, he’d made a remark that still hung in the back of your mind…

“You like kids, huh?”

The thought still rattled through your mind now, after you and Dean shared a quick shower, ridding you both of the oil clinging to your skin. The thought remained when you slid into bed, under fresh sheets and thick covers, and close to your man. He cupped your cheek and pressed a kiss to your forehead. You closed your eyes at the feeling.

Contrary to what this night had been, the whole “moving in together” thing hadn’t been all that easy. You two had bickered about the way he often left drawers and cabinets open and dirty clothes on the floor.

He had made remarks about your hair products taking up too much space in his drawers. Not to mention how morning routines needed to adjust because Dean liked to shower in the morning, but you needed the mirror not fogged up in order to do your makeup.

Right now, however, you had peace. You felt safe here, and you weren’t alone in a huge house filled with far too many memories.

“Can I ask you something?” you said.

Dean’s lips lingered on your forehead. “Hmm?”

“I know this situation is sort of temporary, me living here,” you said. “So much has happened that we haven’t really talked about…what we both want, down the line.”

He pulled back enough from you to see your face. His face betrayed a thread of confusion.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean like…” you hesitated, but you realized you were probably going to have to be direct. “Are you a marriage and kids kind of guy? Is that even something you’ve thought about?”

Dean met your gaze. It took him a moment, but he let out a short sigh.

“You wanna know what made me want to start dating, for real?” he asked.

You blinked; you hadn’t expected that, but you nodded.

“I started thinking about what would happen if something happened to me on the job,” he said. You frowned, but before you could say anything, he raised a placating hand.

“I thought about what I’d leave behind,” said Dean. He quirked a wry smile. “It’s not much, besides my car.”

You frowned in earnest. Your hand flattened against his bare chest.

“That’s not true,” you said. “You have your brother, your father, and your friends. That’s plenty, Dean.”

He conceded that with a nod. “You’re right. But I just started thinking, maybe I want more. Like uh…like what my parents had, when they were happy. The house, each other, me and Sammy…a family.”

You couldn’t be certain in the near total darkness of the room, with only the moonlight filtering through the blinds and casting a glow behind him, but you thought you saw a shine in his eyes. Your hand crept up from beneath the covers to find his cheek. It was rough with stubble, yet you tenderly swept a thumb back and forth.

“I think that’s beautiful,” you replied.

Dean paused. He then huffed in amusement. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, hoping he could see it. 

“Then uh, is that something you’d be into?” he asked. You were amused by his tentative approach. 

“With you?” You pretended to think. Your fingers slipped into his hair. “Yeah, I think I’m into that.”

He chuckled. “Okay, then. Good to know.”

He grasped your wrist and turned his head to press a kiss into your palm.

And he spoke into the dark. “I love you too, you know.”

Your smile deepened as you rested your head against his arm. You whispered into the small space between your faces.

“Yeah, I’ve got some idea.”

AN: All righty, how'd you like that fluff overload?

...Ready for some more drama? 😏

Next Time:

But the more you thought about what you’d heard, and Nick’s ominous threat about a cop, you found yourself scrolling lower in your contacts. You called John Winchester.

It rang a few times, and all the while you made silent, fervent prayers. Pick up, damn it! You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears.

“Winchester,” he answered.

“John, it’s me,” you whispered. “Azazel’s here. Or, he’s not here, here, but I know who he is. Well, I mean kind of—”

“Okay, wait. Slow down,” he said. “What about Azazel? You know who he is?”

Keep Reading: PART 16

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb

@vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @katherineann814 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

[the-goddess-of-mischief-writing]

Random Soap MacTavish headcanons

sfw and nsfw

pairing: sgt. Soap MacTavish x reader (cod mw)

tags/tw: domestic stuff, afab!reader, handjobs, shower-sex

a/n: just a taste of our cinnamon-role-but-can-kill-you Scottish man before I start publishing my new series with him, tihi

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish MASTERLIST

sfw

-the way to this man's heart is through his stomach and I will die on that hill

-has such a big appetite, two portions minimum and has no shame in eating more, ''m a big lad, bonnie, need the fuel'

-but he's still respectful if you're having dinner outside your closest circles of friends and family, not complain and always lets everyone have their fill before even thinks about serving himself a second one

-this means Soap always has some snacks with him, most times it's a protein bar or something verging on healthy

-such good table manners??? you were surprised when Soap didn't eat like the average man, scarfing down the food in seconds well he still did that sometimes

-you got the explanation when he caught your poorly hidden astonishment, explaining how his ma drilled him with all kinds of etiquette and manners always saying 'just because yer in the army doesn't mean yer need to behave like a Neanderthal'

-give this man an evening with a home-cooked meal and cuddle on the couch to nap away the food coma afterwards and he's whipped

-he never puts on a shirt at home, just really likes walking around with only a pair of joggers

-he unmistakably has golden retriever energy, but compared to popular belief, his seemingly never-ending social battery can run out, and when it does, Soap's behaviour can flip like a switch

-makes him an introverted extrovert, he loves people, loves chatting and social situations, but craves alone time to re-charge

-you're his uncertified pillow, if you sit together he most certainly either has his head in your lap, is sprawled on top of you and face in your neck, head on your stomach with arms wrapped around your waist

nsfw under the cut

-much like, but compared, to Price, Soap doesn't mind your ass but he's a certified boob man

-if your boobs are big enough, he likes using them as cushy pillows, which often end with his face between them

-yes, he's definitely motorboated you out of the blue

-other times he repeatedly nudges them so they wobble or simply squish them together, grinning when you question if he's having fun

-if you don't have fuller busts, he likes to just rest his hand on your chest, always defending himself that even you unconsciously do it sometimes, but the argument falls apart when he rubs your nipple to make it perk against his palm

-Soap. loves.handjobs

-will never forget when he was taking a shower and you decided to join him, boobs pressed nicely against his back as your arms wrapped around his torso, then your hand slipped down his stomach until brushing his already half-hard cock, blood rushing straight to it the second you joined him

-when your fingers wrapped around him, Soap's hands fell to the wet tiles, head hanging between his shoulders, staring at your small hands jerking him off

-sometimes he feels like a teenager concerning how reactive he's to your presence, you don't even need to do something overly sexual and blood rushes south

-sometimes you caught the way he watches you intently, asking an innocent 'what?' squealing out a 'Johnny!' when he pulled away whatever cover or his pants remember the point of him going commando most of the time? showing off his bulge or rock-hard erection rather than verbally answering

[captainfern]

Dbf!price x reader cock worship? She’s on her knees giving him puppy-dog eyes absolutely drunk off him and he’s praising her over and over again :)

i’m lazy so i’m not gonna even try and write a full fic for this atm (sorry lmao 😭) but here’s a smutty little drabble cause this idea is gooood

this can be dbf!price if you want

yk the drill 18+ below the cut, gn!reader

no cause most of the time price prefers giving head then receiving it but he can’t say no to you when you give him that look !!!

so pretty and desperate for his cock :(

you literally spend so much time just kissing and licking up his length and he’s twitching and leaking pearls of pre before you even put him in your mouth

god he almost busts a fucking nut when you press your tongue to his slit and he praises you soo good and tells you how good he feels

when you finally take him in your mouth he holds back not straight fucking into your mouth. he lets you set the pace and enjoys how wet and warm you are around him. pets your head/hair, whispers praise and pet names when you gag around him

“sweetheart” “love” “baby” “doing so good for me” “taking me so well” “tha’s it baby, there you go”

oh my god he wipes the tears from your cheeks with his thumb when you gag around him, praising you, moaning your name deep from his chest

you’re absolutely drunk on him— the weight and taste of his cock against your tongue, the feel of his pubic hair against your face and hands, the smell of his cologne, cigar smoke and natural musk, the sight of him groaning and shuddering above you, his happy trail and chest hair and solid body on FULL DISPLAY !!!

you’re aching for him as his cock twitches in your mouth when you take more and more of him. his moans get louder when you drag your mouth back to the sensitive tip and suck on it, run your tongue along the base or the slit

you make him feel so good

whispers and moans praise as he begins to fuck your mouth, just desperate to come down your throat :(

cup his balls and he is pushing harder into your mouth fr

oh lord and when he looks down at your beautiful face, your eyes staring up at him all shiny and wet with tears, your pretty lips wrapped around his cock, saliva dripping down your chin, he is MOANING

comes straight down your throat moaning your name and holding your head. praises you soooo much it makes you dizzy :( ugh and he comes so much it fills your mouth and dribbles out the sides when he pulls out

swallow and stick your tongue out !! he just can’t resist pulling you up for a kiss x

like this LORRRRDDDD^

[thetriumphantpanda]

it's new, the shape of your body | javier peña

Take The Weight Off His Shoulders - Chapter Five

Chapter Summary | A dead end following a lead at work leaves you tense, with Javi only too happy to help you destress.

Chapter Warnings | Mention of drugs, drug related violence and the drugs trade. Zero knowledge of how journalists find information in the 90s but we ride with it. Explicit smut, these two do some stuff in public that the lord wouldn't approve, fingering, Javi is a dirty talking menace.

Pairing | dbf!Javier Peña x F!Reader

Word Count | 3.5K

Authors Note | So, as well as being a sexy little dbf!Javi fic, this also has another overarching plot that I'm starting to introduce in this chapter - I really hope you like the addition of this other part of the story, as well as these two finally getting it on! Another huge shoutout to @undercoverpena who has been such a rock with this chapter, helping me smooth out the kinks to get it to where I wanted it to be. Thank you for the support so far. If you're enjoying this then reblogs and comments really do help and if you’d like to support me further, please consider a donation to my Ko-Fi. 

I no longer use taglists. Please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs to be notified of new updates.

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There’s a spring in your step when you walk into work on Monday. You’d spent all of Sunday is some sort of daze, thinking about what had happened with Javi and all the things that he’d promised you over the phone. You let your hand wander a little on Sunday night, bringing yourself off to his promise of showing you exactly what you’d been missing, so much so that the lack of sleep from keeping yourself awake didn’t bother you as you sat down at your desk, taking out your notes to start working on the piece for the newspaper about the drugs bust in town last week. 

“You seem more chipper this morning,” Your boss muses, setting down a mug of coffee next to you like she always does each morning, “You sleeping better?” 

The answer is no, not really, just that you’re awake for a far better reason that pining for your dad’s buddy, now you’re awake because he wants you just as much as you want him and those daydreams and the visions that come to you in your dreams are far nicer to deal with than the wondering of if you were going to make a fool out of yourself in front of him. 

“Yeah, much better, thanks,” You smile, picking up the mug to take a sip, “I’m gonna start working on the bust story today, hopefully it’ll be ready by the end of the day.” 

She places a hand on your shoulder and gives you a squeeze, “Nice work,” She smiles back at you, “Your stories have been really well received recently.” 

She leaves you to it, letting you open your notebook, you rip the old pages out, lie them out on the desk in front of you, picking up a pen, putting it to the fresh page to start formulating the bare bones of the story.   

It’s easy to start with the facts. 

1. There’s a house in town had been involved in a police raid.

2. A large amount of both cocaine and marijuana had been seized.

3. The house had been empty.

4. The police had spoken to the neighbours.

You circle the last point on your notepad: no-one could figure out who would be responsible for storing that amount of drugs at the address. Staring at it, seeing it in a new order, your brain begins to think, wondering about how you might be able to dig deeper.

Something, the instinct that made all of this possible, tells you to start with who owns the house. Fingers typing, suddenly remembering that you’d overheard your dad talking with your mom a few days ago about how they’d tried that avenue and come up at a loss down at the station, but not why. 

Opening the webpage for the public records for the county, your fingers drill in the address, clicking on the search result that pops up. Leaning forward in your chair, chin propped on your palm, you scan the information in front of you. There’s a list of everyone who had ever owned the address since it was built, starting from the first all the way down to the last, which is where you realise what the dead end is. The last owner was dead. Had been for almost a year, and the property was waiting to go up for sale again, which meant whoever had been storing the drugs in the house was squatting. 

You let out a frustrated sigh, because if the police can’t figure it out from here then what makes you think you can. Except, when you sit there, tapping your fingers against the desk in frustration and realise you’d been there. You’d been in that house a few months ago with Liv, who had dragged you to some kind of party. 

Almost automatically you’re reaching for the phone and dialing the number you’ve got memorized for her. She picks up on the third ring. 

“Hello, this is Laredo insurance, you’re speaking to Liv, how can I help?” 

You bite back a giggle at her customer service voice, it’s so unlike the girl you really know, “Hello bestie,” You greet, which has her gasping down the phone. 

“Oh my god have I forgotten a lunch date?” She asks. 

“No, it’s okay, don’t panic,” You say, “It’s a really random question, but you know that party we went to a few months ago, do you know who hosted it?” 

You can hear her clicking her tongue in the background as she thinks, “I can’t even remember who invited us,” She sighs, as do you, “I think I just heard about it from someone, who’d heard about it from someone else.” 

“God damn it.” You mumble, head in your hand. 

“Is it important?” 

“I don’t know,” You answer honestly, “It was the place that got busted last week, and I’m just trying to do some digging, but it’s okay, I’m sure if it’s meant to be I’ll figure it out.” 

“I have every faith in you,” You can tell she’s smiling on the other end, “Listen, I gotta bounce, but how about we do drinks later on this week?” 

“Sounds good, phone me later and we can sort it out.” 

“Alright, bye bestie!” 

You laugh and wish her a goodbye, deciding you’ve gone as far as you can with this for today. You save what you have of the story, thinking you could send it to your boss for approval as is, but deep down you know there’s something here you can pull on, something bigger than just busting a house full of drugs and taking them off the streets to be dealt, so you keep it to yourself for the rest of the day. 

“I’m heading out,” Your boss speaks as she walks past your desk on the way out, “Did you get the story finished?” 

A smile thrown her way in response, trying to cover the fact that you want more time, “Almost,” You speak, “Just a few more tweaks and a couple of things I want to check, but I’ll get it to you as soon as I can.” 

She nods, seemingly pleased that you’re wanting to make it as perfect as possible, “No rush, we can hold it for a few days until you’re happy with it.” 

“Thank you, I appreciate it.” 

“Well, you have yourself a good evening and I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

You wish her the same, watching as she heads out, leaving you in the office alone. You sigh, annoyed that there’s nothing further you can really do. You save the document, gathering your things and deciding you can worry about what to do next tomorrow. 

When you emerge from the front door of the office and look across the parking lot to your car, you’re taken aback to find Javier’s truck parked in the space right next to it. He’s leaning against the driver’s side of the truck, casual as anything, with his ankles crossed over each other and his arms crossed over his chest. He notices you stood still, motions you with his head to come over. 

Your feet carry you across the parking lot, shoulders heavy with stress and that niggling feeling that you’ve been missing something all day, the one thing that’s going to make you realise what’s going on, but seeing Javi slip his aviators off his face and tuck them into his shirt, shooting a smile your way, you feel a little better. 

“What are you doing here?” 

He shrugs, in that cool, casual way that he always does, “Wanted to see you,” He reaches out, taking your hand in his to pull you closer, but does so whilst looking around, making sure no-one either of you know can see you, “Wanted to do this.”

Then he leans down, presses his lips to yours, one hand cradling your cheek. It’s different to the kiss at the ranch, it’s not rushed. He keeps his lips pressed against your own for a while, pulling away, but planting one right on your forehead as he leans back against the car. 

You bite your bottom lip between your teeth, smiling a little as you feel the temperature rise across your face, “How did you know what time I finished?” 

“Lucky guess,” He shrugs, “Thought if you didn’t come out within an hour I’d have just gone home, tried again tomorrow.” 

“You would have waited for me for an hour?” You chuckle, leaning against your own car behind you. 

“Yeah,” He nods with a smile, “Would wait a lot longer but you know how it is, things to do.” 

You settle your back against the passenger side of your car, rubbing a hand up one of your arms, “You seem tense,” Javi observes, “What’s up?” 

You consider telling him the whole story, but there’s something niggling in the back of your mind that this is something you should keep to yourself for a while, just until you can try digging for more information first. If you keep drawing up blanks then you can ask him, see if his expertise can offer any ideas, but for now, you keep it vague. 

“It’s just work,” You shrug, “Deadlines and stuff, but I’ll be okay.” 

You watch him look at you, those beautiful brown eyes looking directly into your own, his mouth pulled into a smirk, “You wanna take a drive?” He asks, head tilting to his truck, “Let me help with some of that stress.” 

That familiar pool of arousal is settling in your tummy, excitement thrumming through your veins at what he means. He wants to touch you, and God do you want to touch him right back. But it’s getting late, and you know you’re parents are going to wonder where you are soon enough. There’s not enough time to go driving around, but you think there’s just enough time for something else. 

You grin back at him, reaching to grasp his wrist in your hand, somewhat aware of how big he is when you can’t fit your fingers all the way round it. You drag him back across the parking lot, and down the side of the your office building. It’s a small alley, definitely not the most romantic spot, but at least it doesn’t smell, and unless someone is coming looking, you’re not going to be disturbed, most people having gone home from the offices on either side of you. 

You go down just far enough that you’re in the shadows, far enough that even if someone did wander past, you’re going to be hidden as much as possible. You drop his hand as you lean back against the brick wall, staring at him as he takes a step closer to you, hands settling on your waist. 

“You want me here?” He speaks lowly, bringing his face closer to yours, so close that you could reach up on your toes and kiss him, but you want to see if he breaks first. 

You nod your head, tipping it back against the brick, shoving your hips off the wall as some kind of hint to him, “What do you want, hermosa?” 

“Want you to touch me, Javi.” You breathe, leaning up just a touch so he can feel the breath from your lips across his. 

“But I already am.” He smirks, eyes flitting to where his hands are resting on your hips. 

With a roll of your eyes, you reach your own hand down your body, coming to rest of the waistband of your work trousers. You motion your head a little, dragging Javi’s eyes down to where your hand is resting on the button of your trousers, making sure he’s watching when you pop it open, dragging the zip down and then leaving it like that. 

His own hand trails from your right hip, warm fingers brushing the skin you’ve revealed, but he doesn’t move them further, just lets his fingers rest on the skin as he brings his lips to your jaw, kissing softly from your chin, all the way up to the delicate skin behind your ear, “Want me to touch you here?” He all but growls into your ear as his hand sinks beneath your trousers, wide palm cupping you through your underwear, bringing a gasp from your throat, “Yeah, sounds like you do baby.” 

You bring your hands up to rest on his shoulders – something to grip onto as his fingers trace along the seam of your pussy through the thin cotton of your panties. His touch is gentle, but the way his mouth is pressing hot and wet to the skin across your neck is anything but. It’s searing, and exciting, and wrong but in all the right ways. 

“If I dip my fingers under here,” He asks, fingers toying with the elastic of your panties, “You gonna be wet for me, querida?” 

“W-why don’t you find out?” You choke out, feeling him smile against the skin of your neck as his fingers dip just below the waistband of your panties, fingers dragging over the curls on your mound, down lower, until they’re so close to where you want them. 

He dips his fingers through your folds, slipping them into you so easily. Your mouth drops open, his own so close to yours that you could feel his lips on yours as you moan, his fingers dragging out of you and up to your clit, where he starts gently circling. 

“What’s got you all worked up, eh?” He asks, his other hand coming to grip your chin, forcing you to look at him, your mouth dropped open as he works his fingers across your clit, “Can’t just be from me right here,” He muses, “You been sat at your desk thinking about me?” 

He presses his fingers more firmly across your clit, it feels so good, the way he’s working you, “T-think about you a-all the time.” You croak out from your throat, hips starting to move with his hand, needing something more. 

“Naughty little thing,” He breathes into your ear, teeth nibbling lightly at your earlobe as his fingers drag from your clit back down to where you’re so slick for him, his fingers slipping back inside you, but curling up, finding a spot inside you that no-one had even shown you existed until now, “Feel good?” He asks, “You tell me what works, okay?” 

You nod, two of his fingers working in and out of you. It feels good, but it’s nothing compared to the way he made you feel before, when his fingers trailed over your clit in little circles. You grip his wrist, “Outside,” You say simple, “Like how you were doing it before.” 

He presses his lips to yours, dragging his fingers back up through your folds, using his middle finger to draw light circles over your swollen bundle of nerves, “Like this?” He asks, which is punctuated with a moan from your lips. It’s loud enough this time that his free hand is flying to cover your mouth with his palm, shushing you as he presses his body against yours, pinning you in place, his own excitement no longer hidden from you. You can feel the bulge of his cock through his jeans, pressing into your side as the movement of his fingers speeds up, just a touch. 

Whilst it’s a familiar feeling – it’s the way you’re used to bringing yourself off, more often than not to the thought of the very man in front of you – there’s something so different about Javi being the one to have you dangling over the edge, teetering on the edge of pleasure just with his fingers. 

“Tell me, bebita,” He coos into your ear, “Has anyone else ever made you come?” 

His palm is still covering your mouth, so you can’t speak, so all you do is shake your head in response, watching as his eyes darken and he sticks his bottom lip out a little in a pout, “Poor girl,” He says, his middle finger speeding up just a touch again, pressing harder, “Shall we fix that?” He asks, which has you nodding your head so ferociously that it should be embarrassing, “Go on then,” He coaxes, “I know you’re close, just let go for me.” 

If someone had told you months ago, before he’d reappeared in town, that Javier Peña would be the first man to make you cum, pressed against the brick wall of your office, with his hand clamped around your mouth to stop you from crying out, you’d have told them to get lost. 

Your entire body shakes as your orgasm starts to ripple through you. White hot pleasure explodes across your lower body, your fingers dig into Javi’s shoulders, fisting the material of his shirt as he finally drops his hand from your mouth, gripping at your waist to keep your upright when the shaking of your legs threatens to topple you to the ground. His fingers are moving across you more slowly, but are adding just enough pressure to work you through those aftershocks, until it becomes too much. 

Your forehead hits his shoulder, your hands wrapping around the breadth of his broadness as he drags his hand from your trousers, slipping both around your back to drag you into his body, “Did so good for me, querida.” He praises, rubbing a soothing hand up and down your spine through your shirt. 

“Felt good.” You manage to mumble into the material covering his shoulder, pushing yourself back up and off him, hand trailing down his chest to try and touch him, return the favour, but he’s gripping your wrist to stop you. 

“Not tonight,” He says, “Just wanted to make you feel good.” 

“But-” You try to protest, but his grip on your wrist is strong and you can’t move it. 

“I promise I’ll let you return the favour, but not tonight, okay?” 

You nod your head. Javi brings his hands to your trousers, zipping them back up and pushing the button through the buttonhole. He tugs the hem of your shirt back into place, before he presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. He glances at the watch on his wrist, clocking the time, “It’s late, querida,” He sighs, “We better get you on the road.” 

And it’s a strange feeling, that this tiny little bubble is bursting so soon. You know it’s important to keep this under wraps, you’re sure no-one would be pleased to find out that Javier Peña, your dad’s friend, had been pinning you to a wall and coaxing an orgasm from you with his fingers, and there’s something about the secrecy of it all that makes it more exciting, but as you walk back to your respective vehicles, Javi so far away that you can’t reach out to touch him, it stings a little. Stings a little that you’re not going to get to be normal with him, that for now, your relationship, whatever that might be, is going to be kept secret, clandestine meetings and stolen glances wherever possible, when all you really want to do is grasp his hand in yours and shout to everyone that he belongs to you. 

“We going to make this a habit?” You ask, unlocking your door and sliding into the drivers seat. 

Javi keeps a hang on the top of the door, keeping it open for a while, “What?” He smirks, “Pressing you up against brick walls?” 

“Pressing each other against brick walls,” You correct, “It’s your turn next time.” 

He runs a ringer over his bottom lip, a habit you’ve known for years is something he does when he’s nervous or stressed, “I need you to know if I didn’t have to keep you a secret, I wouldn’t, okay?” You smile up at him, nodding your head, “I promise it won’t always have to be like this, but just for now, okay?” 

“Okay,” You nod, “Now give me a kiss goodbye and let me go home.” 

He does just that, leans down and gives you a kiss, one that you would class as proper this time, where he opens his mouth against yours, licks into your mouth, the coarse hair above his lip scratching lightly at your skin. He pulls away just a touch, pecking you on the lips once, then twice, then a final time, when you grip the collar of his shirt to keep him there just a little moment more. 

“Go home, Javi.” You giggle when you finally let him go, “I’ll see you soon.” 

He gives you a final chaste kiss to your lips then shuts your door for you, walking around your car to get in his truck. You wonder for a while if there’s going to a weird stand-off between the two of you, but he turns the key in his ignition and drives off with a final wave, leaving you to do the same. 

When you pull up outside your home, you pull the mirror down, make sure nothing on your face gives away what you’d just been up to, smoothing down your hair. You take a second to take a few deep breaths, before you step out, going back to being the innocent daughter your parents still believe you to be. 

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the busted engine

lilac, chapter one

a/n: the plot of this series came to me like fucking lightning, essentially all at once with how quick it fell into place. sometimes it's like that, sometimes magic happens in your brain. I hope you all enjoy this ride as much as I am having writing it. get ready for everything, because I've got twenty chapters planned out and ready, and spoiler, they aren't all just gonna be insanely wholesome small town cuteness... we getting angsty... we getting the drama.... but most of all, we be getting slutty. strap in folks.

summary: “I, um,” your eyes briefly flickered to the bundles of firewood needly stacked in the back of the pickup, “my car broke down and my phone conveniently also decided to run out of battery, so, uh, could I perhaps borrow yours just a moment? I just need it to make one call, that’s it.”

warnings: lumberjack!frank castle x reader, lumberjack AU, pete castiglione era, past domestic violence, crazy ex trope, slow burn, car trouble, meet cute

word count: 2674

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Your vision couldn’t help but linger every time it drifted over your hands gripping the steering wheel. The immense weight the sight of your bare ring finger lifted off your shoulders was so overwhelming that you found yourself fighting tears from blurring the road before you. 

The sun was beginning to set as you had been driving all day long, not stopped for even a second to let the gravitas sink in of what you’d done at the crack of dawn. 

The fear of Preston stirring from his slumber and finding you in the midst of sneaking out still hadn’t settled within your gut. Your paranoid brain still compelled you to check the rear-view mirror every couple of seconds just in case the sleek sportscar of your former fiancé would appear.

You had finally done what he had drilled into your mind you weren’t capable of. You’d left him for good. 

Equipped with only a small backpack of your belongings, the last thing you’d done before sneaking out of the apartment had been to toss the ring he had so insistently forced upon your finger into the trash. 

Ripping you out of your cloudy thoughts, your car suddenly began to cough like a mythical monster that was dying. 

“Oh shit…” you felt the vehicle begin to slow as ominous smoke started to billow out from under the hood. Mindful of the bushy pine trees framing the road, you guided it to the edge just in time before it gave out. 

Stepping out with an exhausted sigh, you promptly cracked the front open to take a look, though what you saw within didn’t soothe your worries as all of the fumes oozing out only made the broken engine look like that much more of a mess. 

“Fucking great,” you mumbled heatedly, fiercely slamming the hood shut in an effort to relieve some of your abundant stress. Curving back around, you swung the passenger side open and rummaged for your phone, though when you located it, the only solution it flashed you was a blinking red battery icon before the screen went completely black, “seriously?” 

Not knowing if you were about to scream or burst into tears, you chucked it back inside before hurling your spine against the side of the car, leaning against it as you cursed up at the grey sky. 

Was this the universe showing its true bias? You’d hoped that was the one thing money couldn’t buy, but perhaps you were wrong, just like he always said you were. Perhaps it would be best if you went back to the city. His reaction towards a stunt like this couldn’t be that bad compared to what you had endured before, could it? 

The sound of another vehicle cresting the thicket on the rural road caught your ears and you turned your head to see a navy-blue truck appear.

Your hand shot up to wave it down before you could even ponder the action. Fearing that it was a lost cause by the speed the driver was going at, it caught you by surprise as it suddenly came to a halt a ways in front of you. 

“Are you alright, ma'am?” the driver asked as he slammed his door shut behind him. The tall man certainly looked like the type to call the area his home. Dark beard scraggly and hair in unkept waves long enough to tickle the furrow lines decorating his forehead, his wide palm traced the lines of the truck as he made his way towards you.

“I, um,” your eyes briefly flickered to the bundles of firewood needly stacked in the back of the pickup, “my car broke down and my phone conveniently also decided to run out of battery, so, uh, could I perhaps borrow yours just a moment? I just need it to make one call, that’s it.”

Eyeing your busted vehicle a moment, his low timbre then rumbled out once more, “sure,” as he reached into his pocket and fished out his telephone.

“Thank you so much,” seizing it, you swiftly clicked it to life, “you have no idea what a lifesaver you are–, oh fuck,” your vision zeroed in on the lack of bars in the uppermost corner, “of course there’s no fucking services out here,” your eyes briefly screwed shut and your jaw clenched in an effort not to scream, “it’s fine, it’s fine! I’ll just walk then!” you tried not the throw it as you handed the phone back to the helpful stranger, “I’m sorry that you had to stop for nothing, but thank you anyways.”

Swinging your door open to yank out your stuff, the stranger’s feet stayed fast, “what direction are you headed?” 

“Dunbrook,” you answered as your body folded to reach your tossed telephone.

“You wanna catch a ride?” he unexpectedly offered, causing you to bump your head on the roof of the car.

“Ow–, what?” you blinked back at him through the windshield as your hand shot up to rub the top of your now sore head, “no, I couldn’t… I–, uh, I kinda recognise this area, the town is not too far from here, so I can walk, it’s fine.”

“Yeah, but it’ll properly still take you all night. Please, it’s no bother, I’m headed in that direction anyways.” 

Gnawing at your bottom lip, you slowly retracted out of the vehicle, “you sure?” 

“Yeah,” he nodded, attempting a faint smile in order to soften his gruff and intimidating features. 

“Alright,” swinging your backpack on you slammed your busted car shut, “thank you.”

Sliding into the passenger seat, you clicked on the seatbelt and slotted your bag between your legs. Fiddling tensely with the straps for a moment, it dawned on you how your sleeves were still rolled all the way up to your elbows from when you had checked under the hood. Pulse instantly picking up and thumping in your ears, you hastily tugged them back down to cover the lavender bruises peaking out. 

Had he noticed?

Hearing the door slam to your left, being too caught up in your own mess, it only caused your form to jump in the seat.

Trying to play it off as nothing, you attempted a casual, “I’m Y/n by the way,” though your voice came out much more strangled than you’d intended. 

Catching your flickering eye a moment before turning the key, he likewise enlightened, “Pete.” 

Your bottom lip didn’t escape the prison of your teeth the entire ride, gnawing subconsciously at it as you purposely stare out at the wild flora you passed in order to not look at the advantageous stranger. 

Though after you passed the crooked sign welcoming you back to your small hometown, Pete’s gruff voice broke the silence.

“So, where can I drop you off?”

“The inn,” you turned your head to inform him, “the Lilac Inn, if you know where that is.”

“Yeah, I know it,” he nodded, sucking in a knowing breath as if he didn’t need any more information to figure you out, “so you’re a tourist? One of those nature people who come out here to hike or something?”

“Not exactly,” was all the explanation you offer as you watched the familiar scenery come into view. 

Dunbrook. To call it a town was very generous indeed as the whole population could properly fit under the same roof if they really wanted to, and they often did. The rolling fields of wildlife that surrounded the village also divided and broke up the infrastructure of the old settlement, causing most of the homes and businesses to not all the clustered together as you had grown accustomed to seeing after moving to a metropolis as vast as New York. 

Every familiar structure rolling by evoked memories long ago buried and forgotten. The corner where you fell learning how to ride a bike. The quaint general store where you once stole a lollipop, walked for all of 48 seconds before turning right back and apologising to the owner with tears in your eyes. But most of all, the large Victorian structure at the bottom of the tiny town by far held the fondest of memories in your heart. 

The dust puffed up around the truck as you rolled down the narrow dirt road, the bushy lilac trees that flourished all over the property haven not quite yet come into bloom, yet still forewarned your destination that already peaked over the tops. 

“Here it is,” Pete exhaled as the car came to a stop before the vast veranda, “the Lilac Inn.” 

Eyes glued to your childhood home, you stepped out of the truck, “thank you,” slamming the door shut, you turned to add awkwardly through the rolled down window, “and also thank you for not turning out to be an axe murderer or something,” a nervous laugh swiftly bubbling out at the notion.

Glancing back at your bumbling form, he simply flashed you a tight-lipped smile and said, “you have a good trip, ma'am.” 

“You too–, I mean, you have a good, uhm, rest of your life,” you fumbled as your feet slowly backed up, “it was nice meeting you, Pete.” 

“Yeah, you too,” he just managed to reply before you spun your mortified flush away from his stare and scurried up the steps of the porch. 

Pushing the creaky, stained glass adorn front door open, you tiptoed inside. 

The lighting dim and the atmosphere nothing short of comforting, a smile finally bloomed upon your lips as you let out the breath you’d been holding for who knows how long. 

Peeking around the corner into one of the sitting rooms, you only spotted one patron sitting by the small round table next to the crackling fireplace, working away at a puzzle. Either the others had gone to bed already or this fellow was the only one staying here. 

“Excuse me,” you gently interrupted from the archway, “would you happen to know where the owner, Harvey, is–”

Though before you managed to get out the remainder of the sentence, a bustle from the kitchen answered your question for you, “every time I forget to whisk long enough and every time I say it’s gonna be different, but this time I mean it!”

Sharing a knowing look with the guest, you chuckle, “never mind…” 

“This time I won't just stop when my arm feels like it’s gonna fall off,” even though it was clear he was talking to himself, his usual vibrato still carried, “oh no, no, you just wait and see how light and fluffy you turn out this time, cake!” 

Poking your head through the ajar door, you spotted the familiar greying man grumbling into the contents of the bowl he was furiously beating with a whisk. 

“Dad?”

Nearly jumping out of his skin, your father gasped, whisk jolting upright as he laid his eyes upon you, subsequently splattering some batter across the kitchen, back near the sink, “Y/n?” he exclaimed, his eyes growing to the size of saucers, “is that really you? Is my little baby girl really standing in my kitchen or is this a hallucination?”

“Hi,” your head tilted in a soft chuckle. 

Starring at you as if you were just a newborn puppy, “oh, come here, munchkin and give your pops a hug!” the moustachioed man’s arms went wide and pulled you in, dripping whisk still in his hand as he blubbered into your hair, “ah, I’ve missed you so much,” squeezing your form in the magical way that only parents could, “I haven’t heard from you in, well I don’t even know how long, that’s how long and if you ask me then that’s too long,” he pulled back, cupping your cheek as he gazed at you, “you don’t write, you don’t call.”

“Not true, I do write,” you corrected him light-heartedly, “and you don’t have a cellphone.” 

“Well, there’s the telephone out in reception, why would I need more?” he shrugged, lending you to then slip out of his grip, swiftly boosting your own form to hop onto one of the empty counters, “also, your last letter was 10 months ago.” 

“No, it wasn’t, was it?” you gasped, thinking back.

“You can check the date, they’re still in the cookie tin up there,” he gestured to one of the top shelves before reuniting the whisk in his grip with the large bowl on the table. 

Only briefly glancing up at the enamel box, you already knew that you didn’t wanna revisit them. However vague the letters were, which they always were, you were still certain that they’d have the power to send you right back there into Preston’s iron fist, even though you’d never even mentioned him once in all the years you’d been with him. They only ever really contained small talk and pleasantries, never about something so personal as to whom you were dating, but you also didn’t share at all as things took a turn for the worse, when you were in so deep that you felt like you couldn’t escape. Perhaps it was out of pride, perhaps it was to shield him from the truth, or maybe even in a way yourself, not admitting to the fiend you had welcomed into your own bed, creating some false reality as a coping mechanism. 

Averting your gaze, you then uttered softly, “I’m really sorry dad,” gliding your right thumb over the jagged edge of the counter as you gripped onto it with both fists.

“Ah, it’s fine,” he waved a hand, “you’re young, out there living your life. You shouldn’t have to check in with your father every few seconds. I am aware that you’re 29 after all. Although, you know I wouldn’t be a pose to just a little bit more…” he winked, playfully bumping the side of his hip against your shin before picking up the speed of the whisk once more, “so, did I forget it’s my birthday or did you just miss your old man?” his jovial glance flickered between you and the batter. 

“Can I stay here a while? I just need some place to,” lay low, “figure things out, you know?”

Whisk halting, his gaze upon you grew in concern, “of course you can, honey. Is everything okay? What’s wrong?”

“I’m okay, I just–, uh… needed a change,” not looking him in the eye, you spoke, “I don’t know to where or what I’m gonna do next, but I do know that I don’t wanna go back,” you felt a lump of emotion swell up in your throat, “and I won’t just stay here for free, I’ll pay you rent,” you tried to appease the stubborn sensation of being a nuance to everyone, even to your own kin, “though I don’t really have any money right now, so I’d have to get a job first, but that’s fine, I’ll figure something out–” 

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” your father cut you off, “you can stay here as long as you want, it never stopped being your home even when you moved away. Still keep your room exactly the same, just in case,” he offered you a warm smile, his silver moustache stretching wider, “how about you just give me a hand around here, huh?” 

“Alright,” you exhaled, “deal.”

His grin turning more mischievous, he then noted slyly, “you know I’ve always dreamed of you taking over this place one day, running the family business…” 

Rolling your eyes, you chuckled, “not this again…”

“Just think about, you could–”

“Dad, I’m not gonna take over the inn! Running a place like this isn’t what it used to be back when your parents opened it up. You might have always been dead set on taking over it, but I haven’t.”

“I know, I know,” he gracefully backed down again as he always did, “you want adventure, isn’t that what you called it when you went away for college?” 

Adventure… it was that kind of philosophy that had sent an innocent young girl into the arms of a devil…

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[anticanonsposts]

heyyyyy

can you do sum with the task force 141 going out to train in a BIG ASS field but Yn used to be a cheerleader so she starts busting out handspring’s and the 141 is just flabbergasted

also I LUV YOUR HEAD CANNONS SM

mwaaa !!

ok yes ofc babe, i did make it slightly könig centric, but still included a few of the other guys 

Cw: none?? sfw allusion to sexual behaviors at the end a little bit so a little nsfw

Sooooo

141 gets to the newest training facility and there happens to be a very large open several acre sized field that you can only imagine is going to be used for some horrific suicide runs or drills of some sort

after everyone gets settled, and trained on what they will be doing when recruits arrive the next day you all go out to the field for lunches

you ofc sit with your affectionately named ‘bunk buddy’ König, who you weren’t officially dating because of fear it might negatively affect your jobs but you guys banged like bunnies and he was completely enamored with you

anyways

you’re minding your own business, eating your sandwich, listening to König ramble on about some new obstacle drill he wants to try out when you hear maybe the cockiest out of the 141, Soap, get a little too noisy

‘Mate there is no way you could do backflips on this terrain….My arse soap!!!’ 

clearly the men a few feet away were having a heated debate on each other’s skill sets

getting a wicked idea, you continue eating your lunch, listening to König, tell yourself that you won’t go there, its not worth it

that is until Ghost gets a little too boisterous saying ‘oh you really think anyone here can do that? That would take years of training dumbass’ he was directing his speech towards Soap and Price but he did say ‘anyone here’ 

calmly you ask König if you can show him something cool, and of course he says yes

So you get up and try to remember a combination that you often did when you were younger during cheer practice 

Taking one last deep breath you perform a mix of front flips, back handsprings, twists, turns, you name it before landing dozens of feet away from where you started

when i say it was silent

it was deafening 

peripherally you could see nearly everyone’s mouth completely agape, other than Ghoast whose jaw is clenched out of what you can only imagine is pure jealousy

it felt good, you won’t lie, to be envied, for your skills to be on display

you felt like you were still having to prove yourself, your worth, your skills for the group 

then with a shit eating grin, not looking at anyone else you sauntered back up to König who had stood up at this point, grabbed his hand and started making your way back to the facility

all you could hear behind you were explanations of ‘bloody hell, oh my god, I can’t believe it, eat shit ghost’

‘You truly are a marvel’ könig says looking down at you, shyly grinning

‘Why don’t i show you other ways I can be that flexible’ you reply which makes this man audibly gulp as you skip with him to your room 

hehe i hope this was at least kind of what you wanted (i truly don’t know shit about the other characters lol) 

that being said, my requests are still open <3333

[thefreakandthehair]

@steddiemas day 1: deck the halls | wc: 1.2k | rated: m

Robin Buckley loves Christmas.

Like, really loves Christmas. If she could convince Steve to put the tree up in their little shitbox apartment the day after Halloween, she would. In fact, she'd tried last year but Steve reminded her that a live tree would be a needleless fire hazard by Christmas Day and she refuses to entertain the idea of a fake tree.

Absolutely not. Live tree or bust.

And this is how Steve ends up at the Christmas Tree Farm the day after Thanksgiving, dragged around with a fond if not tired smile as she checks tree after tree, pulling their branches, checking their strength and health.

"It has to be a Blue Spruce to hold those heavy ornaments from my parents, and none of these are Blue Spruces!" She bemoans, whipping her head around to glare at Steve. "Are you even helping?"

He rolls his eyes and sips the hot chocolate that warms him from the inside. "I'm here as moral support and to cut the thing down when you find it." Steve wiggles the little saw he'd been handed and nods her on.

Robin scoffs and marches back towards him. "I think there are some Blue Spruces in the lot towards the back."

Without a question, he turns on his heel and follows her. This isn't their first Christmas Tree Hunt so he knows the drill. No matter how much he actually hates Blue Spruces because the needles are sharp and stick him when they hang the lights, he'll never say a word. Not when it makes his best friend this happy.

Eventually, they make the trek through muddy grass and Robin does, in fact, find a Blue Spruce that makes her eyes light up in the hidden away lot.

"This is it," she beams. "This is the one."

"Perfect, here, hold this--" Steve hands her his mug and starts to lean down, only for the tree to start shaking.

A man in ripped jeans and Reeboks lies beneath the tree, his own saw just beginning to make its mark in the stump of the spiky, healthy Spruce.

"Hey! Hey, what are you doing? This is our tree." Robin says, reaching through branches to hold it steady. "We were just about to cut it down, back off."

Steve sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. It's not that he won't defend Robin's honor and get into a fight in a Christmas Tree Farm for her, he'd just really rather not.

The mystery man pokes his head out from under the tree with furrowed brows and two needles sticking out from the top of his head, dirt on his denim jacket that protects what looks like a red and black flannel. Steve's definitely been watching way too many Hallmark movies with Robin lately because holy shit, he's cute.

"Listen, my best friend wants this tree, and I don't even wanna be under here but if she doesn't get this Blue Whatever-The-Fuck, someone's halls are getting decked and it'll probably be mine. So, sorry." He shrugs and returns to his place under the tree. 

Robin looks at Steve, bewildered and frazzled simultaneously. Do something, she mouths. 

Like what? He mouths back, scrunching his face and contorting his mouth. 

She widens her eyes and jerks her head to the side, desperate. 

He should’ve known Robin would be responsible for his demise. 

“C’mon, man, we’ve been here for two hours looking for a tree.” Steve gets no response, just a few grunts that shouldn’t go straight to his crotch but what can he say? It’s been awhile.

He steps forward and lies down beneath the tree with the Tree Thief. “Is she here with you? Your best friend who seems as fucking rabid as mine is here about these trees?” 

Steve watches as the man focuses on the tree stump, rhythmic back and forth motions of the saw moving his torso along the ground with his tongue poking out between his lips. “Maybe I can talk to her? Or send Robin? She’s… convincing?” 

“Chrissy wants this one, dude. Hate to break it to you.” 

“Ah, okay. Robin and Chrissy. Well, I’m Steve, and you’re…?” 

The sawing stops as he catches his breath. “Eddie. I’m Eddie. And unless you’re gonna help under here, you might wanna move. I don’t wanna drop this on you.” 

Steve pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and takes a chance. Reaching out, he places one hand on top of Eddie’s. “Can I make you a deal?” 

Eddie startles, eyes flickering back and forth from the space where their hands touch on the rough bark of the tree up to Steve’s gaze. 

“Depends on the deal, I suppose.” Maybe Steve imagines the flush to his cheeks and the playful grin that blossoms across his lips. All he knows about Eddie is that his best friend’s name is Chrissy and that he has the most beautiful brown eyes Steve’s maybe ever seen. 

Not maybe. Definitely. 

“Uh,” he shakes his head, trying to pull himself out of whatever Christmas romcom he thinks he’s living in. “What if we help you and Chrissy find another tree and I help you cut it down? I’ll even carry it to the car for you.” 

“What are you, some sort of lumberjack?”

“Nope,” he lowers his voice conspiratorially, joking as he leans closer, like an idiot. “Just desperate not to get my halls decked.” It earns him a genuine smile and surprised laugh punched from Eddie’s lungs. 

“Alright,” he taps the saw on the trunk and smirks over at Steve, mere inches apart beneath a Christmas tree. Close enough for the faint scent of Eddie’s cigarettes and Old Spice cologne to permeate the strength of the resinous spruce. “You help us find another tree, lug it to the car, and then meet me for coffee after? Seems like the least you can do, all things considered.” 

Trading numbers with the guy he met while bargaining for Robin’s dream Christmas tree isn’t the weirdest moment of his life, but it’s certainly on the shortlist. As is plucking rogue needles out of his hair when they come up from beneath the tree.

He ends up lugging two Blue Spruces to the parking lot an hour later in two trips— Robin chatting with Chrissy in front of them and Eddie at his side, gravitating closer and closer until their arms nearly touch. 

“You know, you didn’t actually have to do this,” Eddie says, moving away from Steve and to the other side of Chrissy's sedan to help tie the tree to the roof. “You’re not like, actually obligated or whatever.” 

Steve finishes tying his end of the knot and looks across at Eddie, finding him standing with hopeful eyes and a piece of hair drawn in front of his face. 

“Oh, I know.” He smiles and shrugs. “But I want to. Especially the coffee-with-you-after part.” 

“Not until we get this thing up and decked, Munson!” Chrissy pops up next to Eddie at the same time Robin appears next to Steve, both of them practically bouncing on their heels and grinning ear to ear. 

Robin nudges Steve in the side and he looks down to see her phone held out, Chrissy’s number typed into her contacts with a tiny pink heart to it. He gives her a subtle, excited thumbs up from below Eddie and Chrissy’s view beneath the car. 

Eddie slings an arm across Chrissy’s shoulders and ruffles her hair before she fixes her ponytail, indignant. 

“Alright, alright,” Steve laughs. “I’ll uh, I’ll text you?” 

Eddie nods and turns himself and Chrissy towards the front of the car. As he gets in the passenger seat, he looks back at Steve with a mischievous wink most likely emboldened by Steve’s brash flirtation. 

“The sooner, the better.”