#please let me know! now that I can print at home i can do prints on demand essentially

[artiquar]

would paper stickers be anything anyone would be interested in? I know they're not nearly as durable, but I haven't been able to find a decent printable vinyl source yet, but I do have printable sticker paper on hand!

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Butter

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Main Masterlist }

Rating: None

Summary: What if Joel doesn't forget to buy himself a cake for his birthday? But by the time he remembers, all the bakeries in his neighbourhood are closed - except yours.

Warnings: No outbreak AU, pure fluff, mentions of baking and food, meet cute, some sexual tension but very mild stuff compared to my other fics, single dad!Joel being a sexy menace, reader has a nickname related to her job, reader has an accent similar to Joel, very lightly edited, not my best work, but I'm in my writing for fun era 💁🏻‍♀️

Word count: 3.6k

Notes: It's here! This was an exercise in speed writing, and just putting words to paper without overthinking anything. I really enjoyed writing this sweet little piece, this is dedicated to @psychedelic-ink who has been the biggest cheerleader for this idea since day one. Happy birthday to our favourite single dad who never lived through a cordyceps outbreak ❤️

September 26, 2003 was supposed to be a good day.

It’s Friday, after all. Not that the weekend is relevant to you anymore, with Saturdays and Sundays being the busiest days for business. But you have a date for once tonight, and you’re determined to enjoy it.

If you can get the goddamn security shutter to close, that is.

Standing on your tiptoes, you pull futilely at the bottom of the metal shutter with both hands, but it refuses to budge. You lament the sweat seeping through the fabric of the nice dress you changed into, the hem reaching almost indecent heights on the back of your thighs where it’s climbed up. And you don’t have to look at your reflection to know that stress has already smudged the edges of the eyeliner you hurriedly painted on as soon as you got the last customer out the door.

You can be forgiven for not noticing the wash of yellow headlights over the windows of the shop front and the sound of rolling tyres as a truck pulls up on the curb outside the bakery, until a gravelly voice pipes up behind you alongside hurried footsteps.

‘Ma’am, please tell me you’re still open.’

You tap on the ‘Closed’ sign through the window without turning around, determined to wrangle the shutter into submission. ‘Bad luck buddy, come back tomorrow. We open at nine sharp.’

‘No I can’t, I’m so sorry, but I need a cake now.’

Curiosity turns your head, and over your shoulder, you find a broad-shouldered man in a dark tshirt and casual jeans standing a respectful four paces away. Under eyebrows sloping downwards in a pleading angle that matches the slant of his moustache, his warm and imploring eyes are on you.

‘I’m sorry, sir, but I really need to go,’ you say. ‘Can you give me a hand?’

‘Look, I’ll do you one better. I’ll fix the shutter for you for free - if you sell me a cake.’

You purse your lips, the prospect of saving on what looks like an inevitable repair bill tempting. ‘You can fix it?’

‘I’m a contractor,’ he replies, reaching into his back pocket to pull out a battered looking wallet. ‘Here’s my card, if you think I’m bluffin’.’

Miller & Associates is printed in bold across the top, and underneath, is presumably his name and cell number. Glancing up at him, you say, ‘Look, Mr. Miller, I really want to help, but I’m late for a date, and I’m all sold out of cakes today -’

‘I’ll take anything you got. Cupcakes, cookies, whatever you have left,’ he cuts in, then apologises in quick succession, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. ‘I’m sorry to be so pushy - I’m not, usually - but I promised my daughter I’d bring something home, and by the time I remembered, this is the only place I could think of. Please.’

You feel the exact moment your resolve crack, and then fold like a goddamn lawn chair. What can you say, this contractor really knows how to work those puppy eyes, and you can never say no to a man who refuses to let their kid down. 

Especially when the man looks like this.

Shooting off a text to your date to push back your dinner plans, you nod towards the door. ‘Alright. C’mon in, Mr. Miller.’

‘Nice place you got here,’ he remarks politely, hovering by the entrance as the fluorescent lights flicker on, his manners impeccably southern. 

‘You don’t have to flatter me, I’ve already let you in,’ you joke, lips quirking at the way he flusters. ‘But I appreciate it. You been here before?’

When he smiles, you notice the corners of his eyes crinkle charmingly. ‘No, but I know I’ll be comin’ back.’

‘I wasn’t lying when I said I was out of ready-made cakes,’ you tell him, holding the door open to the kitchen so he can come in after you. ‘But I have some cake layers in the fridge so I can put together something fairly quickly.’

He ducks his head in a manner that tells you he’s not used to demanding things, and protests, ‘I don’t want to put you out. I meant it, if you just have some cupcakes or somethin’ -’

‘Listen, you promised your daughter a cake, didn’t you?’ you interrupt.

He shrugs. ‘Well, yeah I did -’

‘I’m guessin’ it’s for a birthday?’

He nods sheepishly. ‘It is.’

‘Well, as a baker, ‘mfraid I can’t let a cakeless birthday happen on my watch, Mr. Miller,’ you insist, opening the fridge door with a flourish. ‘Let’s see what we have here. Cake for three, I assume?’

‘Two, actually.’

Hopefully you’re as discreet as you think you are when your eyes drop to his left hand - his fourth finger is conspicuously ringless.

Interesting.

You hum, considering the mismatched options in your inventory. ‘It’s gonna be a bit of a Frankenstein’s monster of a cake, if you don’t mind. How does chocolate and vanilla layers with cookies and cream frosting sound?’

‘Sounds perfect,’ he answers without skipping a beat. ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

You shake your head, hands full of cake rounds wrapped in cling film as you nudge the fridge close. ‘Please, call me Bri, Mr. Miller.’

‘And you can call me Joel,’ he says in return. ‘Is Bri short for somethin’?’

Laying the cakes on the work surface, you reply, ‘Yeah, Bri for brioche, like the bread. It's a silly nickname.’

The single dad surprises you with a low whistle. ‘Can’t say I saw that comin’.’

You grin. ‘You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, Joel.’

You don’t often have an audience while baking, and you find yourself talking Joel through the steps while you prep everything for assembly.

Swirling a spatula through the tub of buttercream you made earlier that day, you explain, ‘I just need to whip up some of this frosting so that it’s nice and soft for putting the cake together. You wanna help me break up some Oreos so we can make it cookies and cream?’

‘I’m all yours, chef,’ he says, one corner of his mouth curling into a teasing smile that has no business warming the apples of your cheek as it does. ‘Just tell me what to do.’

While your Kitchenaid whirrs to life, whipping air into the buttercream, Joel wields a rolling pin, smashing a generous helping of Oreos into crumbs in a Ziplock bag. The almost exaggerated care with which he moves speaks to inexperience in the kitchen, and you muse that either his kid makes up for it in that department, or they live off takeout.

Eventually, he picks up the bag and looks at you in a question. ‘I think I’m done?’

You smile and tap the lip of the mixing bowl. ‘That’s perfect. Why don’t you tip in the crumbs straight in here?’

Before you can step back to allow him space, Joel’s taken two strides towards you, and his arm brushes your shoulder when he lifts the bag and tilts the contents into the frosting. He’s warm and solid, and damnit, he smells good - like sawdust and sweat.

The thought comes to you unbidden - what a man.

There’s a lull, and only when you feel the weight of eyes on you do you realise that you missed his question.

‘Did you say somethin'?’ you squeak, embarrassed.

‘I said, is this ok?’ he repeats, nodding at the mixing bowl.

You nearly stumble over your words. ‘Yes, yes it’s perfect.’

He watches you closely, a touch of concern in his brown eyes. ‘You ok there, honey?’

‘Yup,’ you chirp, far too cheerfully. ‘Just need to mix it all up now -’

If you had your wits about you, you would stir in the crumbs first and set the machine on low. But this man somehow stole said wits by sheer proximity to you, and you accidentally start the Kitchenaid on high, an indignant yelp escaping you when Oreo dust flies aggressively out of the bowl along with a splatter of white buttercream that lands squarely on the front of your dark knit dress.

‘Oh shit!’ you cry out, frantically turning off the mixer. ‘Shit shit shit!’

Over your panicked mantra, Joel is calmness itself. ‘Hang on, honey, I gotcha.’

He makes a beeline towards the sink, grabbing a tea towel and wets it under the tap with a bit of dishwashing liquid. It all screams competent single dad, and you find yourself staring at his unfairly large hand, mapped with thick veins, holding out the damp towel for you to take.

‘Thanks,’ you stutter self-consciously, the tips of your ears hot while swiping at the stain. ‘That was a rookie mistake. I promise I’m actually a good baker.’

He gives you a wink to put you at ease. ‘Don’t worry, I believe you.’

Starting over, the mixer hums as it gently incorporates the Oreos until the buttercream is a speckled grey and doubled in volume. ‘Looks like it’s ready. You wanna taste, Joel?’

‘Sure,’ he says. ‘D’ya have a spoon or somethin’ for me?’

‘You can use your fingers,’ you reply, and it's too late to take it back.

You feel the back of your neck heating up when he shoots you a meaningful look, just a touch of mischief in the tilt of his lips. 

‘Can I, now?’ he teases.

You try a nonchalant shrug that probably comes off as painfully awkward. ‘This batch is just for you, I won’t tell the health inspector if you don’t.’

Joel chuckles, his strong shoulders quaking. And so you watch, shamelessly, as he raises his right hand, index and middle fingers at the ready, before diving into the metal bowl, scooping up a generous dollop of buttercream. There’s a peek of his pink tongue when his plush lips part, and then he sucks his fingers into his mouth with a gratuitously loud moan, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

When he turns to you with a pained expression on his face, maintaining eye contact all the while licking an errant streak of frosting off the side of his middle finger, you gape at him for a whole five seconds before you manage to unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth.

‘Good?’ you barely manage to squeak.

‘You betcha, honey,’ he declares, then adds, ‘Mind if I double dip?’

He doesn’t mean anything by it, you know it, but a hot flush runs through your body and you swallow thickly. ‘You can do whatever you want, cowboy.’

You don’t think you’re imagining the wicked glint in his answering stare - you’re getting yourself into trouble, and don’t you know it. 

Clearing your throat, you attempt to thwart your mind's dangerous descent into the gutter by changing the subject. ‘So, I can do somethin’ really snazzy that I think your daughter would like - do you know what a piñata cake is?’

He shakes his head. ‘Sounds dangerous.’

‘Hardly,’ you chuckle. ‘It’s a cake filled with sprinkles, so when you cut into it, it’s a sprinkles surprise!’

He lets out a playful sigh of relief. ‘As long as there’s no whackin’ involved, it’s good by me.’

You gesture at him to follow you across the room. ‘And here’s the fun part - you get to choose the sprinkles.’

Joel whistles at the reveal of your compulsively organised sprinkles cabinet, each shelf sorted by colour, shape and size. He quips, ‘Is this what the inside of your brain looks like, honey?’

You grin. ‘Pretty much. What’s your daughter’s name?’

‘Sarah.’

‘What colour does Sarah like?’

‘Any and all shades of pink.’

‘I can work with that.’

Now that everything is ready and waiting on the work surface, you pull out a lazy Susan and plonk a cake board on top of it, dusting your hands dramatically. ‘Alright, Joel. Ready for the magic to happen?’

Making himself comfortable next to you, he leans on his elbows, and your eyes are immediately drawn to the way his tshirt stretches and strains over his back. ‘Go ahead, I’m ready to be impressed, honey.’

Filling a piping bag full of the cookies and cream buttercream, you ask, ‘You wanna get your hands dirty?’

He raises his palms in surrender. ‘I’ll leave it to you, I don’t want to make you any more late for your date.’

You’re used to working with much bigger cakes, so this one doesn’t take you long. With a cookie cutter, you carve out a small circle from each cake round, then you stack and fill the layers with buttercream. After loading the shaft in the middle with all manner of pink sprinkles, you stopper the top with the cake cut-outs.

‘How old is Sarah turning today?’ you ask conversationally while you spin the cake around, smoothing on the crumb coat.

Joel looks up, surprised. ‘Oh, it’s my birthday today, not hers. ‘

‘Wait, what?’ you cry, throwing your hands up. ‘I made this cake with Sarah in mind - it will literally be vomiting pink sprinkles!’

‘I’m a girl dad. I like pink,’ shrugs Joel easily.

You huff, using an icing smoother to make sure the buttercream is even all over the cake. ‘I would pop the cake into the freezer to firm up before adding a final layer of frosting if I had the time, but this will have to do.’

‘It looks great,’ Joel assures you as you put the finishing touches to the cake, with buttercream swirls all around the top and a final baptism of sprinkles.

‘There, all done. Lemme box it up for you and this bad boy is ready to go.’

‘Amazin’, thank you so much,’ he grins. ‘Please, lemme do the washin’ up while you’re at it.’

‘Oh, Joel, you can’t,’ you protest, but he’s already grabbed the mixing bowl and all the bits and bobs stained with buttercream. ‘You’re the birthday boy!’

‘Least I can do,’ he shoots back over his shoulder, already halfway to the sink.

‘Well no, you promised to fix the security shutter for me, remember?’ you call after him.

‘Damn, I was hopin’ you’d forgotten about that.’

Joel cleans up with a practised air, humming under his breath as he waits for the water to heat up and the soap to lather. You watch him from the corner of your eye while you secure the cake inside the box, throwing in a birthday candle for good measure. You’ve just tied a nice ribbon around the cardboard box when he puts away everything in the drying rack and wipes his hands dry.

‘Didn’t expect you to be good at that,’ you tease, moving towards the door.

‘Sexist much?’ he jokes, no real bite in his retort. Then by way of explanation, he tells you, ‘I work late, so Sarah usually cooks and I wash up afterwards.’

‘Sounds like you guys make a good team.’

Joel helps with the lights and locks the door, and you stand to one side when he grabs the security shutter and forces it into submission by brute force. You can’t help but stare when the bottom of his tshirt rides up, revealing a soft sliver of belly underneath, his biceps bulging and back rippling as the shutter is finally forced shut in a metallic ripple.

You give him a smile. ‘Well, happy birthday, Joel.’

‘Thanks again for the cake.’ He looks around, as if looking for your car, but the sidewalk is empty except for his truck. ‘How are you gettin’ to your date?’

‘I was just gonna call a taxi.’

‘No, you ain’t,’ he nods towards his ride. ‘C’mon, I’ll give you a lift.’

‘Oh, no, it’s late, and you should be getting back to Sarah -’

‘I spoiled your date, so please, let me,’ he insists, holding the door open on the passenger side. Hop in.’

Joel takes the cake off your hands and puts it in the backseat carefully, putting the seat belt over it while you climb in. Glancing over your shoulder, you see toolboxes and newspapers on the floor, and it smells like paint and wood dust.

‘Sorry it’s a bit messy, occupational hazard,’ he apologises as he straps himself in. ‘So, where are we goin’?’

‘Do you know the steakhouse on Third Street?’

‘Vaguely,’ he replies, pulling smoothly away from the curb. ‘It sounds fancy.’

‘You been?’

‘Nope, I barely have time to go anywhere nowadays. It seems like I’m only ever in bed, or at work, or in my truck.’

You turn to smile at him, admiring the way his his thick fingers around the top of the steering wheel, making it look so small. ‘I feel you. Small business owner, am I right?’

‘I hear ya,’ he shoots you a smile. ‘So - what’s the deal with tonight? First date?’

‘Fourth, actually.’

He wriggles his eyebrows suggestively. ‘Fourth date? You know what happens on a fourth date, honey.’

‘I don’t, actually. Tell me, what happens on a fourth date?’

He blows out his cheeks, and admits, ‘Honestly, I can’t tell ya. I haven’t been on a fourth date since 1991.’

You burst into laughter at his unexpected answer. ‘You’re such a dork, Joel Miller.’

When the truck rumbles to a stop outside the steakhouse ten minutes later, he looks at his watch and announces, ‘Here we are, only fifteen minutes late.’ Squinting through the windshield, he points at a man smoking outside, an impatient frown on his face. ‘That him?’

‘Yeah, that’s him,’ you nod, but you stay put in your seat, in no hurry to make a move.

Joel nods, tapping his tidily trimmed nails on the steering wheel. ‘So I’ll swing ‘round tomorrow after work with my toolbelt? ‘Round six thirty?’

‘A toolbelt? What a sight to look forward to,’ you rib, slowly reaching for the seatbelt and unbuckling it.

‘Hell yeah, it’s got a special clip for my Nokia and all,’ he adds mischievously.

'You must fend off the ladies by the dozen,' you tease.

'Daily,' he answers without skipping a beat.

You probably shouldn’t have, especially not with the guy who you’re supposed to be on a date with glaring daggers at you through the windshield. But there’s something cackling in the air between you and this man you just met not an hour ago, and the way the streetlight filters through the window, backlighting his messy curls and scraggly beard, that has you throwing caution to the proverbial wind.

Impulsively, you lean across the gear shift, your left hand finding purchase on his knee before pressing your lips to the side of his whiskered jaw, your kiss fitting right into that little heart-shaped patch on his beard. 

You’re not sure who’s more taken aback, but you don’t have time to find out. 

‘Happy birthday, Joel Miller.’

He smiles after you as you hop out of his truck.

You’ve just sold your last cupcake of the day when the bell over the bakery door rings. And sure enough, it’s Joel Miller crossing the threshold, right on the dot at six thirty.

‘Hey, Bri,’ he waves, hovering half-in and half-out of the shop, a slight awkwardness having set in overnight.

But it's ok, you're happy to pick up where you left off. Putting your hands on your waist and a cheeky grin, you quip, ‘Wow, you weren’t kidding about that toolbelt, huh?’

Your chest swells as you watch him thaw with an easy smile, and he banters back, ‘I’m a man of my word, honey. You ok with me gettin’ to work now?’

‘Yes, thank you. I’ll be cleanin’ up back in the kitchen, I’ll join you when I’m done.’

Joel shoots you a thumbs up. ‘Great. I’ll grab the ladder and get right to it.’

When you emerge fifteen minutes later, he’s on the fourth rung of the ladder, tinkering the rolling mechanism with a screwdriver and a studious frown on his brow. He looks like he’s wearing the same thing as yesterday - you can believe that he’s a man who buys the same tshirt in bulk - and he smiles at you when you duck out of the shop.

‘Did Sarah like the cake?’ you ask in casual conversation.

‘She went nuts over the piñata surprise,’ he replies. ‘And the cake was delicious, there were hardly any crumbs left when we were done with it. She says we’re definitely ordering a cake from you for her birthday.’

‘I like the sound of that.’

‘How was your evening?’ he asks, glancing down at you from his perch. ‘Did you find out what happens on a fourth date?’

You let out a dry laugh. ‘Yeah, I did, actually. He dumped me.’

Joel freezes, a scowl darkening his countenance. ‘Oh shit, what? Why?’

You shrug, leaning your weight on the ladder as you look at the ground. ‘I mean, I did show up an hour late in some other guy’s truck. And I guess probably shouldn’t have kissed you on the cheek right in front of him.’

You startle when Joel’s fingers slip under your chin, tilting your head up towards him. ‘It’s all my fault. I’m so sorry.’

‘Honestly, you don’t look that sorry, Joel Miller,’ you joke.

He cocks his head to one side. ‘Well, I can't lie, I think you deserve better than him.’

‘Do you now?’ you prompt. ‘Who do you have in mind?’

Joel peers at you from under long lashes with a half-smile that's almost shy. He dodges your question, and says instead, ‘I didn't mean to ruin your night, let me make it up to you, honey.’

‘How?’

Deftly, he climbs down the ladder, landing squarely on two booted feet, his presence comforting as he looms over you, his eyes warm. ‘Can I buy you dinner?’

‘Like - a date kind of dinner?’

‘Yeah, like a date,’ he nods.

You can’t help the dig. ‘And you were just sayin' you haven’t been on a date since...?’

He flashes you a smirk, and you shiver when his hand brushes your waist. ‘Since 1991. Tough sell, I know - but I thought I’d give it a shot.’

Running a finger along his sharp jawline, softened by the endearingly untidy beard, you have to bite your bottom lip to keep yourself from giving away too wide a grin. ‘Why, I think I have a good feelin’ about you, Joel Miller.’

Catching your wrist in his fingers, he presses a sweet kiss to your knuckles, the rough graze of his stubble chasing goosebumps across your skin as his eyes smile at you. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then, honey.’

More notes: I hope you enjoyed this sweet little oneshot 🥰 I really leaned into the fluff and I have no regrets. Comments/reblogs/asks are much appreciated as always! I don't have plans for a second part right now, but a smutty follow-up is always a possibility...

The adorable dividers are by @firefly-graphics 👩🏻‍🍳

[roosterforme]

Always Ever Only You Part 27 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley just needs your full attention long enough for you to tell him what's bothering you, and for you to pick out a new car. He comes home from golfing completely unwilling to let you gloss things over, but the conversation veers off course once again when you share some big news.

Warnings: Swearing, smut, oral, pregnancy topics, angst, fluff

Length: 5400 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Always Ever Only You masterlist. Gorgeous banner by @mak-32

By the eighteenth hole, Bradley was restless. This was taking forever. He somehow forgot how meticulous Bob was when he teed off, adding probably a full hour to the golf outing. He bit his tongue and fought the urge to tell Bob to move things along so he could get back home to you. When he left hours ago, you were still sound asleep, and he was concerned that you weren't feeling well. He was also completely fed up with the way you were avoiding conversation.

He played through the last hole as quickly as he could, and when Jake and Javy suggested grabbing lunch and a beer, he made his excuses and a quick exit. "Next time. And it'll be my treat. But I need to get home."

"Angel's got you so pussy whipped," Jake drawled as if he wasn't currently driving his car around complete with a car seat for Jeremiah.

"Do you ever hear me denying it or complaining about it?" Bradley replied as he set his clubs in the back of the Bronco. "I don't think she's feeling great, and I need her to pick out a new car. I'm getting fed up with her dragging her feet. So she's picking something out today."

Jake laughed as he opened his car door. "Yeah, go try to show her who's the boss, buddy. Good luck with that."

Bradley grunted and rolled his eyes. You and he were a team, and if he had to demand that you hear him out, then he'd get his way about it. He was absolutely unwilling to return to a place where the two of you weren't communicating well. But as he drove back home, he was starting to get more annoyed. He already asked you so many times to tell him what was bothering you and what was on your mind, and each time, you'd burst into tears. He didn't even know what the hell he was doing wrong. 

"Fuck," he growled as he pulled into the empty driveway, honestly kind of missing your little shit mobile since it had made you happy. Today was his mom's birthday, and he wanted you to have a good day, but if he pissed you off, then he pissed you off. He was armed with his phone browser open to two options that would just have to be good enough. He left his clubs in the car as he strolled up the walkway to the porch in his white golf pants and floral print shirt. He would just have to get you to accept the fact that a new car needed to happen.

"Sweetheart?" he called out when he opened the door. You and Tramp both came running into the living room. "Hey, we need to talk about some of this shit. Right now."

"Okay, but-"

"Please," he said firmly, holding up one hand. "Just let me say what I need to say, alright?"

You were bouncing on the balls of your bare feet with your hands clasped in front of you. "Okay," you agreed, your voice breathy and light. All he wanted to do was collect you in his arms and smother you in kisses, but he couldn't get sidetracked right now. 

Bradley closed the distance to you but planted his hands on his hips. "I love you so much, but something is not working right now. And I'm not going to let us fall apart again. Ever. I want to talk it through right now, and I need you to participate. Starting with your car."

You reached out and let one hand rest on his abs as your lips parted, but he shook his head. 

"No, seriously, Baby Girl. I will do anything to make you happy, but could you please, please just pick out a car? I don't like leaving you home without one." He paused to lean in and kiss your forehead briefly. "I found a brand new, red Honda Civic with all of the same features as your old one. Same transmission, sunroof, everything. And it's on a lot in Chula Vista. We could go look at it right now."

"Bradley, I don't think that's a good idea," you told him, smiling up at him. He felt his resolve fracturing, but he kept going.

"Well, something has to give here! That's the best I can come up with. Unless... you want to go with the blue one I found online which is exactly the same as the one that I totaled. Same model year and everything, but it's in Maine. If you really want it, we can fly there and drive it back. I already talked to the owner about the price."

"Bradley, I don't want that one either."

He tipped his head back in frustration as your hand caressed him through his shirt. "For the love of god, Sweetheart, I am trying my best here. And you're giving me nothing. And it's not just the car," he snapped as he met your gaze again, eyes wide looking up at him. "You yelled at me for buying the wrong coffee when I thought they just changed the label, and you fell asleep while we were mid conversation. And I hurt you when we were having sex, but you wouldn't even talk about it afterwards. I need you to tell me if I'm not doing it for you, because I don't want to keep fucking this up!"

"You're not fucking anything up," you promised quietly. "You're not, Roo."

He examined your pretty, eager face and shrugged. "Then just tell me what's going on here."

You bit your lip and closed the remaining inches between your body and his, and then you smiled up at him so brilliantly, his breath caught in his lungs. As you carefully wrapped your arms around his waist, you said, "I'm pregnant."

He was frozen in time and space, barely able to process your words as his belly swooped and his heart raced. Pregnant. You were pregnant? He swallowed hard as he let his forehead rest against yours, trying to formulate words.

"Baby Girl, are you really? Pregnant?"

"Yes," you whispered, and Bradley had you in his arms, making you squeal as he lifted you up in the air. 

"You're pregnant?" he asked again, beaming at you as you wrapped your legs and arms around him.

"I'm pregnant!" 

"Holy shit!" he nearly screamed as you buried your face in his neck and laughed in delight. "Holy shit! You're pregnant!"

He didn't know what to do with himself as he held you tight against him, imagining a baby in your arms. His baby. And your baby. Something the two of you had been dreaming about for so long. The one thing he'd had to make himself understand he didn't need at the cost of a happy marriage, but that he'd still yearned for.

Your happy laughter and whispered words had his feet moving toward the bedroom. "You're going to be a dad, Roo." 

He set you down on the bed, covering your body with his large one, careful not to hurt you as your sweet lips met his. "I love you so much," he murmured between kisses that left him breathless. "I fucking adore you, Sweetheart."

You whimpered as he slowly let his hand drift down your body before inching your shirt up and running his knuckles gently along your belly. He kissed you hard on the lips one last him before easing his body down lower, kissing your sternum on his way to your belly button. He thought about the future as he said, "And I adore you, too."

-----------------------

You ran your fingers lazily through your husband's soft curls as his big hand rested on the middle of your belly next to his cheek. He was a little sweaty and still wearing his golf clothes, but everything was just perfect. The edge of his mustache tickled your sensitive skin as he whispered, "I love you."

Everything made sense now which made you feel more settled. Honestly, this was much better than the flu that you thought you had, and you giggled. "You'll be the best Daddy, Bradley."

He looked up your body before kissing you a dozen more times all over your abdomen. Calloused fingers stroked your skin as he looked at you with those big, brown eyes you were completely addicted to. "Fuck. I'm so excited. I don't even know what to do with myself," he told you as you sat up and climbed onto his lap. "You took a pregnancy test?"

"Yes. I had one tucked in the back of the bathroom closet that I bought a few months ago," you whispered, brushing his scarred cheek with your lips and the tip of your nose. 

"Where's the test?" he asked, scooping you up in his arms again as you told him it was in the bathroom. "I want to see it." You'd managed to pick it up off the floor earlier before examining it for about five minutes with tears in your eyes before you left it on the vanity. And now Bradley set you down, but he kept one arm around you as he picked it up. "Two lines means you're pregnant?" he asked, looking at you in reverence. 

You nodded and whispered, "Yes," and then his eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Roo."

"Sweetheart. You're pregnant," he said so softly. "We're going to have a baby."

"Yes," you confirmed as you wiped at his tears with your thumbs while he held onto the test. "I realized when I woke up that my period was late, and then I threw up. A lot. So I took the test."

He sucked in a deep, shaky breath before he kissed your forehead. "Do you remember what today is?"

You let your cheek come to rest on his chest as you said, "Of course I do. It's your mom's birthday. I already bought everything to make filet mignon and crab cakes for dinner. But I guess we ended up with a birthday present?"

With lips pressed to your hair, he muttered, "She would have loved this. She would have loved you almost as much as I do. And she would have been a good grandma."

And now you felt more tears stinging at your eyes. It had been nine months of trying for this moment, which wasn't extravagantly long in the grand scheme of things, but it had been stressful and hard on your marriage at times. Bradley was your teammate, and he'd worked as hard as you had to make sure the two of you made it back to a good place.

"Can we go to the store?" he asked suddenly. "Buy some more pregnancy tests so I can be here when you take one? And get some ginger ale if your stomach is still upset?"

"Yeah," you said with a laugh. "If you want."

"I want," he replied immediately, taking you by the hand and leading you toward the front door. His cheeks were flushed pink, and he was all smiles as he stopped on the driveway next to the Bronco and gasped. "The Bronco, Sweetheart."

"What about it?" you asked as he slowly backed you up until your butt hit the passenger side door. Bradley caged you in with a predatory glint in his eye before kissing your forehead softly. But you felt so calm as his hand slipped underneath your shirt, his thumb rubbing soft circles on your belly.

"A Bronco is the solution. It's so clear now. We'll swing by the Ford dealer after the drug store. And then we can drive home in two separate Broncos so you can take the tests. And then we can make my mom's birthday dinner."

Your lips parted, but no words came out, and Bradley dipped his head down to kiss you. He was smiling against your lips as his arms snaked around you. "Another Bronco?" you whispered. "You think?"

"Mmhmm," he hummed as his lips skimmed your cheek. "A lot more indestructible than your old thing. I'm not going to let our baby ride around in a little compact car death trap on wheels. Let's get a second Bronco."

"It wasn't that bad," you muttered, only slightly offended as you recalled the gigantic hole that he'd put in the bottom of your car with his foot. "Are you sure you don't just want to have access to drive two Broncos instead of one?"

Bradley leaned on one forearm against the door, still stroking your belly with his thumb and keeping you calm. "We need something big enough for a car seat to fit comfortably. If you don't want a Bronco, I think you should still consider another SUV. Preferably one I can actually fit in."

You looked up at his handsome and eager face, excitement bubbling under the surface of his expression. He was clearly as excited as you were about the positive test, and he just wanted you to be happy. Hell, he'd offered to drive a car back from Maine with you barely an hour ago. Before he even knew you were pregnant. You were still having a hard time wrapping your mind around it yourself. 

Tears stung your eyes, and Bradley's smile faltered a little bit. "Listen," he whispered, kissing your forehead. "Anything you want to drive, okay? Anything you want. But I think we need to look at the safety ratings and all that shit if you really want a compact car again."

"I don't want a compact car again," you hiccupped. "I was trying to tell you that earlier. We can go look at Broncos. I'm just so emotional. I can't seem to control it. But at least I know where it's coming from now."

Bradley smiled as he pulled you away from the door before opening it, and then he buckled you in. "It's coming from the little Bradshaw bun in your oven, and I couldn't be happier."

-----------------------------

Even the brief walk around to the driver's side door felt like too much, because Bradley didn't want to stop touching you. As soon as he could, he slipped his hand in yours once again and smiled at you before backing out of the driveway. He'd been ready for this for a long time. He knew he'd always been a step ahead of you; his desire to date you exclusively startled you at first, but he knew pretty early on that you'd be wearing his mom's ring eventually. He was ready for this day before you were, too, but he had tried his best not to rush you here. As soon as you told him you stopped taking your birth control back in November, he was ready for you to be knocked up the next day. 

But now you were, and he was looking forward to all of it. The arguments had been worth it. The way he fucked things up before had been worth it, because both of you worked hard to fix things which told him you were unbeatable. 

"We're going to be awesome parents," he said, making you laugh as he parked at the pharmacy. When you tried to climb out your door, Bradley tugged on your hand and whispered, "Come over here. I don't want to stop touching you. I don't want to let go of you."

You willingly crawled onto his lap and let your cheek come to rest on his shoulder. "Don't let go of me."

"I won't," he promised, stroking your belly again like he just couldn't help himself. "Hey, should we call your parents this weekend and tell them the news?"

You pulled a few inches away from him with a little pout and shook your head. "I think it's too early, Bradley."

"Oh. Right," he replied, suddenly embarrassed that he wasn't sure about all of the timelines and exactly what everything meant.

"You know," you added softly. "In case something... happens to the baby. It's still so early. There's still a good chance that something could go wrong."

Bradley's body felt like it was sent into a freefall just thinking about anything happening to either of you. He held you tighter and kissed you a little rougher than he meant to, making you moan as he shook his head. "No. Don't say that." His voice was thick with emotion as he squeezed his eyes closed. "Don't say that, Baby Girl."

"Okay," you whispered, taking his face in both of your hands and caressing him with your soft and steady fingers. "I won't say it again." You kissed his lips and his scars as you pushed your fingers gently back through his hair which was probably already a mess from golfing earlier. But the more you touched him, the better he felt, and he took a few deep breaths as you said, "But I'm already so attached right now that it's a little scary. Already attached to the baby and the idea of you being a daddy."

"I am too," he promised as he opened his eyes to see you so close to him. "I'm so ready for this."

You kissed him one more time as you whispered, "I love you." And then you led him inside as he remembered all the times he played with Jeremiah and changed his diapers and read him books. Oh shit, he was so excited to have it for himself, he scooped up at least ten pregnancy tests while you laughed and chased him up to the registers. 

"Do you think that's enough?" you asked sarcastically as he leaned down to kiss the top of your head. 

He picked some bottles of ginger ale out of the small refrigerator case next to the register as he said, "Listen, I missed the one from this morning, so you owe me. Just humor me, okay? I want to watch those little lines show up with my own eyes."

As he reached into his pocket for his wallet to pay for the collection of tests, he realized he was still wearing his golf clothes and shoes. In all of his excitement, he'd forgotten to change. And now he was getting excited all over again as he inserted his credit card and looked at you. Should he get you right home to take the pregnancy tests? Take you to bed and show you how attached he was, too? Visit the Ford dealer?

He groaned, knowing the Ford dealer was going to win out since he actually had your attention on the new car right now. "Here," he told you, handing you the bag as he buckled you back in again. "Drink one of the bottles so you'll have enough pee for the tests while I drive us to look at the new Broncos. Start thinking about what color you want."

"Red," you replied immediately. "It's what I had before, plus it's your favorite color."

"Fuck," Bradley practically whined, lacing his fingers with yours. "A hot, pregnant wife, a baby on the way, and two Broncos in the driveway? This might be the best day of my life so far. I don't know how much more I can handle here."

You laughed as he kissed you all over your face, resting his hand gently against your belly through your shirt. His to-do list was growing by the minute, and he was a little alarmed that his heart rate was elevated with no signs of slowing down, but every time he looked at your face he said, "I love you."

------------------------------

"It's just butter, Bradley," you said as you watched him trying his best to help you cook Carole's birthday dinner. "How are you this bad at melting butter?"

He shot you a playful glare before moving to stand behind you at the stove, wrapping his arms around you so that his hands were resting on your belly. "I'll just watch the pro then."

You shook your head, still a little startled by everything that happened today. An hour at the Ford dealership and the two of you left hand in hand after paying a deposit for the red Bronco that they were going to acquire for you from a dealer in northern California. Then you came home and took ten more pregnancy tests while Bradley sat in the bathroom with you, shooting you his big, soppy brown eyes filled with tears while he smiled. They were all positive, and they were all still lined up on the vanity, and you were pretty sure he kept occasionally sneaking off to look at them.

As you turned the crab cakes over in your cast iron pan, you whispered, "I feel like your mom is watching over us somehow."

"Oh, I have no doubt," he replied immediately, holding you a little tighter and nudging your sore breasts. "Goose, too. But especially her, on her birthday. She'd have been a mess over this news."

You set the spatula down and had to close your eyes. Your hormones were all over the place, and this was the thing that sent you immediately into a fit of body wracking sobs. "What's wrong?" Bradley asked with concern, turning you around and inspecting your hands. "Did you burn yourself?"

"No," you wailed. "I'm just so happy, but it's not fair that your parents aren't here. Like I can deal with the fact that I never got to meet them, but this is so not fair! And I'm sorry, but I can't control my emotions at all."

He pulled you closer and let you cry, kissing your ear and whispering that everything was going to be okay. As you got your breathing under control, he said, "If you're this emotional at like five and a half weeks, I guess I better buckle in for the ride."

You glared up at him before he leaned down to kiss your tears away with a smile, and you let him take the brownies out of the oven and load a plate with dinner. With your hand held in his, Bradley carried the meal to the table, but he led you to the piano instead of one of the chairs. 

"Remember how to play it?" he asked softly as he took a seat and patted the bench next to him. You needed a short tutorial, but he was as patient as ever as he reminded you of the notes. Then you helped him play and sing Happy Birthday to Carole even though it wasn't perfect, and at the end he whispered, "Thanks, mom. Let's go eat, Baby Girl."

You sat perched on his lap like always, mouth watering as you looked at the steak and crab cakes. Everything looked amazing, and you were starving. "How does it taste?" you asked as Bradley took three bites of dinner in rapid succession. 

"Fucking incredible," he replied as you cut yourself a piece of steak. It was buttery and delicious, and it practically melted in your mouth. You moaned as you tried the crab cakes, and they were pretty good, too. About halfway through the meal your stomach lurched, and you turned to look at Bradley. 

He smiled at you as you shook your head and said, "Oh no." You practically fell off of his lap as you ran for the hallway bathroom, barely making it in time to empty the contents of your stomach into the toilet. He was right behind you, rubbing your back as you sat down hard on the floor and caught your breath. 

"This is a pregnancy thing, right?" he asked softly. "Morning sickness?"

You nodded. "I think so. I was going to call my doctor on Monday anyway and tell her about my positive tests, but I'll tell her about this, too."

Bradley collected you in his arms and asked, "Are you hungry?"

"Starving," you whined, letting your forehead come to rest against his sternum. 

"I have an idea," he replied. A few minutes later, you were sitting on the couch with a plate of crackers smeared with peanut butter in your hand and the trash can on the floor in front of you. Bradley finished eating the plate of Carole's birthday dinner, and now he was working on cleaning up the kitchen while he dug into the tray of brownies. You gingerly bit into one of the crackers, and your stomach growled but didn't lurch. So you kept going. 

It took you an hour, but you finished the whole plate as you thought about how things would change around here with a baby involved. Nothing seemed too startling though, probably because you'd been subconsciously looking forward to this for such a long time. You knew Bradley was as well. And the way he came out to check on you several times as he cleaned up the house had you swooning over your husband a little bit.

You shared the last cracker with Tramp and then stood to take your plate to the kitchen where Bradley was leaning on the island looking at his phone. "What are you doing?" you asked him.

He looked up at you and blushed a little bit. "Looking at crib bedding," he replied, and you practically tossed the plate at the sink before hurrying to his arms. "You feeling better?"

You nodded. "Crib bedding?" You were instantly melting into his touch. 

"Yeah. I thought we could do airplanes?" 

You whimpered against his muscular chest as he pocketed his phone. "Yes, Roo, we can do airplanes."

He rubbed your back as you tucked your hands up inside the golf shirt he had been wearing all day and let your fingers skim along his abs. "I'm just really excited about this," he said, voice full of emotion. "All the baby stuff. And a nursery. I was already thinking about finishing the attic, but now we should definitely do it so your parents can stay up there when they visit their grandchild. And we can get those convertible car seats for both Broncos. And we should probably start looking at daycares before the baby is born. Like the really good daycares, you know?"

"Oh fuck," you moaned as you looked up at him. "Bradley. You're incredible." You rubbed yourself against the fly of his white pants, and both of his eyebrows shot up.

"You want to?" he rasped, and you started pulling him toward the bedroom. "Last time we had sex, I hurt you, Sweetheart. I don't want to do that again."

"You won't," you promised as you tugged off his shirt. "You won't, because I know what's going on now."

He nodded and reached for his pants zipper as you quickly got yourself undressed and climbed into bed. Bradley watched you as he struggled with his shoes and socks before he could take his pants off, and the two of you shared a laugh. Then you bit your lip as his hard cock sprung free, practically vibrating with anticipation as he plopped down on the bed on his back. 

"Come here," he whispered, but when you started to straddle his hips, he shook his head. "No. Up here." You leaned down to kiss him, and he welcomed you with a smile on his face, but after his tongue tangled with yours he broke the kiss. "I want you to sit on my face."

"Oh," you gasped as he reached for your butt and pulled you up until you were straddling his neck. Then his mouth was on you, and you were reaching for the headboard with one hand as your fingers grasped Bradley's curls with the other. He was so gentle, kissing up and down your most intimate parts before separating you with his nose. "Oh my god," you whined as he nudged your clit and looked up at you before starting to suck. 

You were already pulsing around nothing, your fingernails scraping along his scalp as you rolled your hips gently against his mouth. Bradley licked you up and back before sucking gently again. The more aroused you got, the more your boobs hurt, but it wasn't as bad as last time. Not when his mouth was doing everything to make you wetter as he gently ran his hands along the backs of your thighs and your butt.

It would have come as no surprise to you if he told you that you were dripping wet now as you whispered, "I want your cock."

Bradley practically growled as he released you, his mouth glistening as he licked his lips. "Only if I'm not going to hurt you," he reiterated, voice deep and gravelly as you moved further down his body. "Stop me if I am."

You lifted his length and slipped him slowly inside you as he grunted and propped himself up on one hand. "Feels good," you promised him as you pushed and pushed until he was fully seated. His eyes were big pools as he hesitated a bit before kissing the valley between your breasts, his lips feather light. And that was exactly what you needed as he brought his other hand up to your belly. 

"I love you," he whispered, letting his lips barely caress your nipple as you rocked slowly. "I love you so much, Sweetheart." 

When his tongue grazed your breast, you whined for more, so he took your nipple between his lips. Instead of sucking, he let his tongue drift along lazily as you barely rocked your hips backward and forward, playing with his hair. "I love you, Daddy," you told him as you smirked. 

He looked up at you as he released your breast and gently started to lick your left one as you cupped his cheek. Between kisses and soft nuzzles, Bradley poured his heart out to you as you enjoyed the feel of him, thick and delicious inside you.

"I'll take care of both of you. Always. I'm going to love you forever. I'll never stop. You're perfect. So fucking perfect. I can't get enough. I can't wait for everything."

You were barely moving on his cock when you came hard, your nipples wet to the cool air from his saliva and your fingers gripping his hair. "Bradley. Bradley. Bradley," you panted, squeezing him so tight as you pulsed around him. 

He grunted, watching your face as he let himself come undone, too. He was still breathing heavily as he leaned back against the pillows, and you sank down on top of him. "I didn't hurt you?"

"Not at all," you promised. "My breasts are so tender, but that felt amazing."

"Got it," he whispered, nodding as he wrapped his arms around you. Very slowly you let your body press to his, careful to get into a position that didn't make you want to wince. "I can be extra gentle," he promised. "I can be anything you need. Anything either of you need."

A chill rippled through your body at his words, because you knew they were true. You leaned up and looked at his handsome face, cheeks flushed and lips softly parted. When you kissed him, he tasted like you. His softening cock was still inside you, but neither of you made any move to get cleaned up quite yet.

"You can't stop touching me, can you?"

"I can, Sweetheart. I just don't want to," he replied softly from where he had his face buried against your neck. "Hey, we should go to bed early since you've been so tired. Maybe the baby needs the extra sleep."

"Oh," you gasped, pulling back and examining his face. "Early." You figured you had to be between five and six weeks pregnant, but the last time you had your period, it had come early. 

"What?"

Your mind was swirling as you did the math, and a smile broke out on your face. 

"What?" he asked again, looking at you in puzzlement.

If your period had been early, then you were probably only still ovulating for the very first day that Bradley had been home from his special mission. You started laughing as you kissed him over and over again before rolling onto your back and cracking up. 

"Tell me," he said, rolling to his side next to you as he started laughing, too.

"Oh my god, Roo," you wheezed. "I think you got me pregnant when you totaled my car."

--------------------------

A BABY!! A BRADSHAW BUN IN THE OVEN! MOM AND DAD! Do you want to read more of the pregnancy adventure? I hope so. The fact that this has been planned out for the past year is just wild to me, and I'm so happy I got to share it with you. Thanks for everything @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 28

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[almalvo]

About An Official Spiderverse Artist...

Please do not just scroll past this post; read it.

If you guys follow me on twitter, you probably already know.

But if you dont or still want to read this anyway - here you go:

I aint big, but I got a growing platform that I see as important for me to use as a force for things that matter.

So here I am.

And I got something to say about a certain "artist".

There are so many fucked up people who call themselves artists who are so heavily worshipped by us who both get and or dont get outed in the world for things they do and for their general piss-poor behaviours and persons.

Im here to talk about one in particular (and certainly wont be the last).

There is an artist that basically EVERYONE here has seen art from before, printed in the official Sony artbooks too.

If you have seen this:

Then you have seen this artist before.

His name is Alberto Mielgo. He goes by @/pinkman_himself on twitter.

He is a HUGE part of the art direction and stylisation of the spiderverse movies, if that isnt already obvious. Because he was the former original art director of Into The Spiderverse.

Yes. Former.

Cuz he got "mYsTeRiOuSlY fiReD" from Sony 2 years into pre-production and completely removed from the project.

You may have also seen this character before:

Yes. THAT asian character from Netflix's Love Death + Robots, from the episode "The Witness".

Familiar? Yeah. Because this episode was also made by the same guy, Mielgo.

I aint going to talk about what happens in that episode and hesitate to encourage anyone to watch it - cuz all it basically is is a megalo-misogynistic, assault "glorified for the sake of aRtT", racially fetishised showcase of this crazy makeup/haired bdsm stereotyped asian girl sex worker who essentially gets murdered over and over and over after running for her life completely naked through the city for all of us to see for some fucking reason.

BUt yeah anyways, you can see it in the first pic, but Ill put it here to show more clearly - this here is NOT the character from LDR. But I can understand why you might think so:

Yeah. You read that name in the bottom right corner correctly. This is Peni Parker. His concept art of Peni Parker. A 13 YEAR OLD CHILD. Lookin suspiciously like and dressed as the adult person from LDR with ALSO the crazy hair, make up - WITH AN O-RING CHOKER AND BALL-GAG LIPSTICK (BDSM).

13. year. old. child.

This man only sees east asian women this way.

He likes them crazy, sexy, broken--

and young.

Cuz this man also wrote this on a now-deleted post on his website:

Yeah. He, this whole ass middle-aged white cishet male spaniard thirstin for kids since he was 18 for 12 year old girls.

Cuz 12 year old girls are a fuckin "KNOCK OUT" when they grow up, when they ripen up into adulthood, to this man Alberto Mielgo, aka @/pinkman_himself, this creature.

And if auctioning NFTs isnt bad enough (cuz yes, ofc he does that too - its literally the first option on his website) -

His entire fucking portfolio is of drawing women he had sex with.

His fucking PROFESSIONAL PORTFOLIO is all of painting and drawing women in very compromising, questionable ways of the VERY SAME WOMEN HE HAD SLEPT WITH THROUGH HIS LIFE.

They look as creepy as they are.

But the scariest part?

While I myself had only just found out about this some days ago as of writing this, some of us have known about this man and his antics for years.

And he keeps getting greenlit by the industry, over and over and over; winning awards, getting respected, praised, admired, even by fellow at-home artists like many of you out there if you dont already do so.

And nothing will happen to him cuz he is a white cishet male artist who has money and a following and connections and influence and power.

So yeah.

I just wanted to talk about a certain official Spiderverse artist to just let yall know there are freaks everywhere, and that no matter how small it is, it's people like me and you who need to do what we can to keep up awareness and warn our communities and protect our most vulnerable.

My suggestion is to take heed of what I said, ask questions about everything you will ever see again from anyone around you, no less the industry, THINK for once, and actually give a fuck.

Keep away.

Do not support this man.

But the decision is ultimately yours.

Stay awake, yall.

-------

(His face, publicly available as his imdb profile):

scary.

[mystellenia]

giving ellie a hoodie full of kisses ୨ৎ

summary: you paint a hoodie with kisses for ellie, and the gesture flusters her.

content: nothing much, just ellie being shy

notes: answer to this req!! i'm trying a new format of posts. sometimes i see people do not quite hcs but also not quite a normal, paragraph-formatted fic. its this in between of bullet points????? idk lemme know if yall like it

(wc 0.6 k)

after spending an hour on painting your lips and pressing them to the cloth of the hoodie you'd gotten for ellie, you sat back and examined your work

you had to admit: the hoodie looked beautiful. but! you did not!!!! your lips were stained red from the paint, your back hurt from hunching over to kiss the hoodie, and you'd probably ingested about an ounce of red40!!! (i know red 40 is in food but let me be silly)

after washing the paint that had gotten on your skin off in the sink, you ironed the sweatshirt to seal the paint in (don't ask me how that works bc idk i just saw it on tiktok like 10 mins ago)

and now we wait for ellie to come home!!

when she finally comes in, she throws her keys on the table near the door and toes her dusty, disintegrating, been-to-bethlehem-and-back converse, bc have you seen them. one day she's gonna take a step and they're gonna turn into a cloud of dust i swear

anyway you're sitting on the couch with your phone in your lap, the painted sweatshirt folded into a square with the kisses hidden inside. she walks towards you and gives you a lil kissy kiss on the forehead like hiiii

you get all smiley because you're excited for her to see the sweatshirt and she gets all suspish.... like what's so funny....

sooooooo.... you tell her you made her something and unfold the hoodie and hold it up to your body so she can see the full thing. and she would soooo get all beet red, like, "...you made this for me?"

and you're like "yes of course do you like it queen" then she gets over the like flusteredness (????(actually i revoke my ???? bc i just made that a word)) and gets so happi like yayyy!!!!

then she looks all confused at your lips and is like "is that why your lips look so severely chapped and red?"

and you get mad so you take away kiss privileges so she does the only reasonable thing which is putting you in a headlock to force kiss you

would definitely immediately put it on and go look in the mirror at her with it on. she'll start geeking and thank you and all that jazz

she would wear that shit 24/7. sleeping working showering shitting ANYWHERE best believe she has that hoodie on. and you tell her its been like 2 weeks of her wearing it nonstop so she needs to wash it but she refuses bc she doesn't want the kisses to start fading. u wash it anyway bc its dirty and she cold shoulders you for about 30 mins before she sees some dumb reel she just has to show you (me fr).

i feel like she's a hot sleeper--like she gets too hot at night to wear the hoodie but she still wants it so she'll just hold it as a baby blanket of sorts and Whatnot.

wait very unrelated but does anyone have a baby blanket that they've had for so long its like basically just threads thats so funny

but overall she loves it. she likes to kiss the kiss prints you made on the sweatshirt bc it's "like kissing you."

there was one time she couldn't find it for like 2 days (because you'd washed it since she never does) and she tried to act all nonchalant and unaffected like she wasn't about to start tweaking and like twitching

then you gave it to her all calm because it was literally just in the wash and she was like "what😨😨😨 where did you find it😨😨😨" and you just tell her it was in the wash and shes like "oh that makes sense"

pls im so sorry. before i say anything i would like to formally apologize to the anon who submitted the ask for this bc this is so shit. you ask me for a product and this is how i repay you!! shame on me. please dilly dally on over to my asks and ask me something else so i can actually, i don't know, do a good job!! this ask was cute tho u ate with that

@picklesarenice69

wow i very strongly dislike this format so much this is the first and last time i will be doing this!!! i’m only posting this bc its been like a week since i last posted and the citizens will soon revolt, which the city's defenses cannot afford!! we're about to run out of wheat like times are getting tough. maybe i should just try just headcanons 🤔

can you tell i was fighting demons to not make this my normal vocab and format. like just look at this sentence and how it progresses: "when she finally comes in, she throws her keys on the table near the door and toes her dusty, disintegrating, been-to-bethlehem-and-back converse, bc have you seen them." the way that sentence progresses is just the silly demons taking over and also my coping mechanism for grimacing at how much i didnt mesh with this format

like i just couldnt take myself seriously. "yes of course do you like it queen" HELLO??? WHY DID I TYPE THAT but i will not be fixing and/or deleting it bc its making me giggle

dont get me wrong some of you ladies chew it up but i am made for unreasonably long and time consuming fics!!! i’m getting heated too bc not only is this so short and quick to do but it also takes less focus and brain power and ofc i had to make things hard for myself and hate it!!! i’m soooooooooooo silly

click here!! oh and here too!! ˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶

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edit: wait i would like to clarify that i just hate this because perhaps i’m not used to it. if you guys like this maybe i'll do more bc i follow the clout always 💯

[the-black-manor]

Within Temptation

Author: The-Black-Manor

Demon x Trans Male Priest (Pre-transition)

Warnings: Rape, unprotected sex, stolen virginity

Kinks: Demon, priest, corruption, blasphemy, oral, excessive cum, oversized cock, monster cock, bondage, belly bulge, rough sex, age difference, size difference

Terms used: Cunt, cock, balls, cervix, chest, nipples, binder, cockhead, crotch, walls, entrance

Words: 4,002

Note: If you find any mistakes, please let me know so I can fix them.

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR ANYONE TO USE MY WRITING FOR ANYTHING OTHER THAN READING. DO NOT PRINT AND BIND MY WORKS, DO NOT REPOST THEM, DO NOT COPY THEM, DO NOT FEED THEM INTO AI, DO NOT SELL THEM, DO NOT CLAIM THEM AS YOUR OWN.

The young priest didn’t arrive at the old stone church until well after dark. He was exhausted from his long journey, but there was nowhere nearby to rest, and he certainly wasn’t going to rest in the church until he was certain there were no malevolent entities present. He stepped out of the cab and stretched before grabbing his luggage and kit and making his way through the crumbling, overgrown courtyard. The front door was unlocked, and he was silently grateful to the family that lived here that they’d remembered to keep it open for him before they fled.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside. The foyer was dark and foreboding. Previous owners had begun renovating the church into a home years ago, but progress had been halted when strange activity began after unsealing a walled-off room in the cellar. Scaffolding, canvas, tarp, rope, and all sorts of construction equipment had been left behind when the family and crew abandoned the location. There was a large industrial light nearby, and the priest switched it on. The room was no less unsettling bathed in white light. 

As he moved through the home in search of the dining room, dust that had since settled was kicked up once more and made the air hazy. The dining room would work well enough as a sort of “home base” while he investigated the claims of demonic activity. He was no exorcist, just a young priest sent to validate the claims. If he found evidence of activity, he would send for an exorcist. For now, though, all he had was himself, his bible, his crucifix, and his faith.

After he got himself settled, he descended to the cellar, to the newly-excavated room the family claims is a “door to hell”. He scoffed and shook his head. Not likely. A gas leak, perhaps, which is why he had a mask and detector with him. But the detector stayed silent, and when he felt comfortable enough to take his mask off, the air was clean, if a bit stale. He worked his way through the house slowly, paying great attention to each room, making mental notes if anything seemed “off”. 

The only thing he found unusual was that nothing seemed unusual. He shook his head. This was a waste of time. Still, he had a job to do, and he was going to see it through to the end. He kept going. The church was huge, more a castle than anything, and he eventually found his way upstairs to the bedrooms. The doors were all closed, except for one at the very end of the hall.

If there was ever a place to start up here, he supposed that was it. The dusty old runner beneath his feet muffled his footsteps, and he peered into the room as he approached. It was dark inside, but he could make out the silhouette of a bed with a canopy. He hesitated for only the briefest moment before stepping over the threshold and into the master bedroom. The windows either side of the bed were open just a crack, letting in a crisp, fresh night breeze that sent the linen curtains fluttering and rays of silver moonlight that provided just enough light to see by.

This room was different from the rest. There was no dust on the plush red duvet, no cracks in the stone walls or gunk on the windows. No tattered rugs or moth-eaten curtains. Whereas the rest of the church was obviously abandoned, this room looked well cared for. Lived in.

The door closed behind him and the lock fastened with a “click”. He whirled around, and his blood ran cold as his tired gaze met the glowing purple eyes of an undulating shadow. He took a step back. At points, the figure looked almost human, and then its silhouette dissolved and melded with the shadows around it, moving like ink in water.  It was both tangible and intangible, solid and smoke, man and monster.

Its eyes flickered like flame, and it glared at him, and then he thought he saw, for only the briefest moment, the hint of a sharp-toothed smile. 

“Hello, priest,” the entity greeted him. 

Its voice was deep and seemed to burrow into his chest and reverberate around in his rib cage. The priest gripped the crucifix around his neck and lifted it, wielding it like a shield against the darkness. The entity laughed, low and menacing. And then it was gone. Or so the priest thought. He gasped and nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt arms snake around him from behind. The demon pulled him close, pressing its chest against his back, and ran its shadowy clawed hands all over the priest’s chest and stomach. 

“Release me!” the priest insisted, writhing in its vice-like grip. 

“Cute,” it cooed, its breath hot on the shell of his ear. “You think you have authority here…”

“In the name of Jesus Christ, I command you to- mmph!”

The demon forced two thick fingers into his mouth, silencing him.

“Hush now,” it breathed as its free hand slid down his stomach to his crotch. 

It grabbed him hard and pulled him back into its bulge. He could feel it hardening against his ass. 

It let out a sound then that was somewhere between a purr and a growl. “What’s this?” it asked as it felt between his legs. “No cock? Does the church know about this?” it chuckled. “No, I think not. They wouldn’t let you be a priest if they did.” 

He held his crucifix so tight that the edges of the cross dug into the soft flesh of his palm. He repeated all the prayers he knew in his head, over and over. He wasn’t afraid, but he couldn’t speak with the fiend’s fingers pressing down on his tongue, so he couldn’t fend it off. All he could do was pray. Its claws dug into the flesh of his inner thigh, and then he was in the air. He landed hard on the bed, and the breath was knocked from his lungs. He propped himself up on his elbows, ready to run, and saw the demon approaching slowly, a predator stalking its prey. This was the most tangible it had been. It looked like a man, around six feet tall, with a slim body and long hair that flowed like smoke. He could make out no facial features except for those gleaming eyes, eyes that burned into his very soul and held him in place, like a deer in the headlights. 

The demon leaned forward to match his level, its face only millimeters from his. It breathed in deep, taking in his scent, and then a long, pointed tongue snaked out from behind sharp, wet teeth to lick a line up his cheek.

“Delicious,” it purred. 

It rested its hand on his chest, over his racing heart, and shoved him onto his back. Claws dug into his flesh as it tore at his vestments and binder and peeled them away. He snapped out of his fear-frozen state, and brought a leg up to try and kick the monster away. Something wrapped around his ankle, then his thigh, then his other leg, his wrists, his biceps. Inky tentacles held him down and spread him open, leaving him bare before the evil he faced. 

“What do you want with me?” he growled, though he was sure he already knew the answer.

“I want your body,” it responded simply, then ran its tongue over its lips. “And it is a beautiful body… Seems a shame to have such stunning assets and not put them to any use.”

He had to get out of here.. He sneered at the demon and began a prayer, voice rising in an attempt to drown out its booming laugh. It didn’t care for his prayers, his faith, his god. It crawled on top of him, and he expected its body to be as hot as the fiery pits that spat it out, but it was icy cold and sent a chill down his spine. His prayer was cut short as the creature forced that long tongue into his mouth and entangled it with his own. He writhed beneath it, trying to free himself from the tentacles’ grasp and the slimy intrusion. One of its teeth nicked his lip, and he tasted blood. The demon must have tasted it too, because another purr-growl rumbled through its chest.

It pulled its tongue from his mouth and licked up the side of his neck while the priest spat, trying to rid himself of its taste. And then its lips replaced its tongue, peppering kisses along his jaw, down his neck, across his collarbone. Its hands touched and grabbed and massaged every inch of him that it could reach, paying special attention to his chest, where it groped the soft mounds and pinched his nipples, rolling them between clawed fingers. Despite his best efforts, the demon’s ministrations were affecting him, and he keened, back arching, when the demon replaced its fingers with soft lips and sucked a sensitive bud into its mouth.

He choked back a moan as fire ignited in his belly. He could feel some sort of wetness leaking from his cunt and pooling on the bed beneath him, but he couldn’t close his legs or reach down to feel. Just then, he felt something hard knock against his cock, and he cried out as electricity shot up his spine. He thought it must have been the demon’s knee, but when he managed to lift his head to look down, the demon was straddling him, its knees on either side of his hips.

“No…” he whimpered, and his head fell back against the mattress. 

When it said it wanted his body, he assumed it meant possession, not…

“Get off of me!” he shouted, struggling with renewed vigor.

The demon didn’t reply, but it released his nipple with a “pop”, and traveled down his belly, kissing and licking every inch of the soft flesh there and on his hips as he made his way lower. The priest squirmed, trying to kick away the tentacles so that he could close his legs, but they only pulled them wider apart. Finally, the demon buried its face in his cunt and inhaled deeply. It flicked his cock with its wicked tongue, and then pressed the strong muscle flat against it. It massaged him expertly, and as his back arched and his hips bucked involuntarily, another tentacle wrapped itself around his midsection to hold him down.

“S-stop…” he panted. 

“Keep praying to your absent father,” the demon mocked. “I’m sure he’ll come to your rescue.”

His cock throbbed, his cunt clenched, his body ached for more.

“Don’t… ahh-”

The tip of its tongue prodded at his entrance, gauging resistance.

“A virgin?” it purred. “I couldn’t have asked for the church to send me a better gift.”

Fighting back was useless, so the priest closed his eyes tight and started up another prayer.

“That’s it,” the demon cooed. “What a good boy. So obedient.”

He cursed the creature silently and continued his prayer while it pushed the tip of its tongue just past his entrance. He groaned and balled his hands into fists. Its tongue was far bigger than a human’s, and he’d never had anything inside of him before. The stretch burned, but there was pleasure there as well, and he hated his body for reacting the way it was. 

It thrust its tongue in and out, in and out, and then buried it deeper. He cried out at the sharp pain, and then stumbled over his prayer as it hit something inside of him - a sensitive spot that sent pleasure shooting up his spine. Its tongue delved deeper, opening his cunt, curling and uncurling, thrusting, massaging, and pressing again and again and again against that spot. 

“Sto-op…” he tried to beg, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. 

Its tongue suddenly retreated until only the tip was inside, and it used the meatiest part to press hard against his cock. 

“Ah!” he cried out in surprise as another shock of pleasure flooded his senses. 

The demon chuckled low, pleased with the reactions it was pulling out of this man of god. Its hands traveled up his sides and it took a breast in each one, kneading them in its large palms and rolling his nipples between its fingers. 

“Fuck-” he swore.

Its tongue plunged deep inside of him once more, all the way, until he could feel its lips and nose against his crotch. 

“Such a dirty mouth for someone so pure,” it mocked. “And you pray to your god with that tongue?”

“Shut up,” he tried to command, but it only laughed again.

“Have you given up on your prayers, little priest? I quite liked hearing them.”

Mocking. Always mocking. It should hate his prayers, not like them. It was only driving home the fact that the priest had no power over it, no weapon against it.

“Sing for me, priest.”

He clenched his jaw.

“I said, sing.”

It dug its claws into the sensitive flesh of his breasts, and he hissed in pain. He could feel warm blood pooling beneath its talons and running in rivulets down his sides.

“Our f-father, who… who art i-in…”

“Good boy,” it praised him, purring happily.

It ran its cold hands up and down his sides, and then traced soft spirals into his hips before it removed its tongue entirely. The priest was given only a moment to breathe before it was climbing over him once more. It pressed its lips to his neck, peppering him in soft kisses while one of its hands gave his cock the same treatment it had given his nipples. His body jerked, and a moan escaped his lips. The demon nipped at his collarbone, then soothed the bite with licks. It dipped a finger inside of his cunt just as it latched onto his neck, sucking a deep bruise into his pale flesh. A second finger joined the first, and then a third, stretching him wider than its tongue had. 

It’s preparing me, he thought. It’s stretching me open so it can fuck me.

And so it was. It added a final finger, opening and closing them with a scissor-like motion inside of him. And then it curled them harshly upward, pressing hard against that sensitive spot. He felt a spurt of something wet gush from his cunt around the demon’s fingers, earning a pleased rumble from its chest. It curled them again, and again, faster, harder, and the priest’s eyes rolled back in his head as he was overcome with pleasure. 

There was a tightening in his lower belly, and he couldn’t stop his hips from bucking, his walls from clenching, his back from arching. The coil tightened quickly, and he shook his head, trying to rid himself of these sensations, to no avail.

“No, please… Don’t!” he begged. “I can’t!” 

He was right on the very edge. One more second, and he’d-

The demon stopped all at once, removing its fingers and its lips, and pushed away from him to stand at the foot of the bed. The priest lay there, quivering and clenching around nothing, his cunt leaking and his chest heaving. 

“Silly boy,” the demon chuckled. “You think I’ll let you cum around anything other than my cock?”

It slapped his cunt hard, and the priest cried out in pain. It grabbed his hips and pulled them off the edge of the bed, then settled itself between his legs. He finally got a good look at what he was dealing with. Its cock was as black as the shadows that made up its body, massive - at least the size of his forearm, with a tapered, pointed head and thick, ridged shaft, pronounced veins, and precum leaking from the tip like a faucet. Below them swung enormous balls, bigger than any he’d seen even on the horses in the stable or the bulls in the pasture.

“Please…” he begged, his voice barely a whisper. 

“Please?” the demon asked. “Please what?”

It lined up and began to prod at his entrance. 

“Please don’t do this…”

It smiled that sharp-toothed smile.

“Ah, and here I thought you were begging me to fuck you.”

He forced the head in all at once, and the priest cried out in pain.

“It won’t fit!” he screamed, but the demon only laughed wickedly.

“I’ll make it fit,” it promised, and forced another inch inside.

The pain was blinding, and he fisted handfuls of the bedding either side of him to ground himself against it. 

“You’re so wet, I can slide right inside,” it teased. 

Another inch, a wider stretch. The priest saw stars every time he opened his eyes.

“Your body wants me,” it told him. “Otherwise your pelvis wouldn’t be opening so readily my cock.”

He shook his head feverishly, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Yes,” it chuckled. “Your pelvis is opening up to allow me easier access, and your wet cunt slicked itself up to make pushing in easier. You want this. You want me.”

It snapped its hips forward, burying itself to the hilt in one swift motion. The priest screamed as it slammed against his cervix, but his voice seemed so far away, muffled by the ringing in his ears. It rutted into him, making itself comfortable inside of his body, the pointed tip of its cockhead nestling itself in the little dimple at the opening of his cervix. The tendril around one of his wrist loosened, and then slipped away, but before he could even think to try and throw a punch, the demon had his wrist in its hand. He was silently grateful for the relief on his shoulder as it guided his hand down, where it pressed his palm against his lower abdomen. There was a bulge there, and it moved beneath his hand as the demon rut into him. 

His cock… it’s so big it’s making my stomach bulge…

He clenched involuntarily at the thought. 

“You like that?” it purred. “I thought you might.”

It rested its hand over his, preventing him from pulling away.

“Why are you doing this?” the priest asked quietly.

“Why does anyone do anything?” the demon asked in reply. “Because I want to. Hush now,” it growled. “Enjoy it.”

But how could he enjoy anything when he was being violated so thoroughly? His body would never be the same after this. He would never be the same.

It gripped his hips tightly, but the priest didn’t move his hand from the bulge. Instead, he pressed down on it, though he wasn’t sure why. The demon hissed and its hips bucked forward harshly, pushing the priest upward on the bed. It pulled him back down and dug its claws into his thighs.

“If you make yourself tighter, you’re only going to make me want to fuck you harder. Unless that’s what you want?” it smirked.

“No!”

He didn’t know why he pressed down. He didn’t mean to, his hand did it on its own… The demon slid almost all the way out of him, and then pushed back in smoothly. The priest let out a long, low moan. The burning stretch had since given way to a pleasant feeling of fullness, and feeling that bulge in his stomach each time the creature bottomed out was doing something to him, making him feel things he wished he wasn’t feeling. 

It pulled out again, then slid in, then out, then in, setting a slow, steady pace, fucking him with its entire length.

“Sto-o-op,” he moaned, the word broken each time its cockhead hit his cervix.

“I don’t think you really want me to,” it chuckled. “I think you want me to make you cum.”

“No…” he whined, even as embers ignited in his belly. “Please, don’t…”

It laughed, low and menacing as it picked up the pace, fucking him harder, faster. It pulled him back against it with each thrust, burying itself as deep as possible, bruising his virgin cervix. Wet squelching and skin slapping against skin filled the air like a song, and the priest’s little whines and moans harmonized beautifully. The embers quickly ignited into a blaze, and the spring began to tighten once more. The demon’s hands slid from his hips. One slipped between his legs to pinch and massage his hot, hard cock, while the other rested once more over the priest’s own.

He didn’t see the demon’s wicked smile, so tightly his eyes were closed, but he felt its thrusts become harsher, faster, until it was fucking him like an animal, growling and panting, warm drool dripping off of its lolling tongue and onto his belly. It pressed down hard on the bulge. The priest released a high-pitched whine at the added pressure, and the demon growled low. 

“So fucking tight…” it breathed. “There’s nothing better than an innocent little virgin stretched around my fat cock.”

“Huh- uh….”

He couldn’t seem to form words anymore. His senses had narrowed until all his world consisted of was the monster violating his body and the pleasure radiating from his core.

“S..st-o-o-”

“Hmm? What’s that?” the demon purred. “Use your words.”

“Uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh.” His voice broke with each thrust.

“No, I didn’t think so,” it grinned and slammed into him like a jackhammer.

The priest tried to arch his back, but the demon’s hand held him down, and that somehow only made the pleasure more intense. 

“No… no, no, no,” he cried with each thrust as he rocketed toward the edge. “No, please!”

He came hard. His entire body tensed and curled in on itself, his cunt clenched and unclenched around the demon’s member, and he threw his head back and cried out. His eyes rolled back, his tongue lolled out, and his breath caught in his chest. The demon plowed deep, pushed itself in as far as possible, and then stilled as a feral growl rumbled in its throat. He could feel its cock throbbing, feel its heavy balls clenching against his ass as it released inside of him. Its seed was hot, and it flooded his cunt like a waterfall. It painted his walls white and leaked out past the demon’s ridged length to run in rivulets down his ass and pool beneath him, mixing with the slick that had gushed out of him earlier.

Tears streamed down his cheeks, a mixture of pain, pleasure, and grief, and it was all he could do to choke back his sobs in between gasping for air. He came down from his high much sooner than the demon did. It seemed like an eternity before the flood of cum finally stopped. It rubbed his belly softly over his uterus, thrust gently another couple of times, and then was gone.

The tendrils unwound themselves from around his body, the shadows retreated back into the far corners of the room, and the priest was left alone, a trembling, cum-soaked mess. His joints were sore from the unpleasant position he’d been trapped in for… how long had it been? He pushed himself off of the bed and unsteadily to his feet. It was only as a sliver of sunlight through the curtains lit upon his pale face that he realized it was dawn. 

Hours. That creature had violated him for hours. He wiped his tears and used the tattered remains of his vestments to clean himself up before descending the stairs back to the dining room. He got dressed and threw his things together as quickly as he could, then all but sprinted for the door. It slammed behind him of its own accord, but he didn’t look back. He couldn’t. 

All he could do was run and hope that whatever dark entity lived within that old stone church decided not to follow him home.

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[popquizhot-shot]

Father Mine- 2. Miguel O’Hara x teen!spider!reader

Just note- this and father mine aren’t in the canon of Miguel’s and mini Miguel’s story line<3 also this is absolute crap and I’m so sorry it has a lot more plot and less of Miguel and mini Miguel interaction. Though whatever they do have is pain. (ALSO THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR YOUR LOVE I LOVE ALL OF YOU) please comment and reblog if you liked it :DD

Warnings: angst. FATHER MINE PART 1 Part 3

“Where is she?” He asks Jess.

“She didn’t follow.” Is what the woman replies and that’s that.

A spark of worry shoots through him but he ignores it. Now is not the time to worry about anything but the anomaly.

He scans his surroundings and tries to look for wherever the kid may be.

A part of his mind still screams he’s just a kid.

That weak thinking, letting things slide mindset was ahat got Gabriella killed. It was what killed an entire universe. He couldn’t let more people be killed for the sake of the life of one man.

“Split up. Look for him.” He orders Ben and Jess and they leave promptly.

Not now. Not now. He’d check up on you after.

——————

“Miles!” You whisper-shout at the boy.

He almost shouts but you cover his mouth with your hand, “you’re in the wrong universe, you’re on earth-42.” His eyes widen, “I’m here to help you.”

“Why should I trust you?” His eyes narrow at you.

“I don’t know.” You look down, “But I’m asking you to trust me anyways.”

After a beat of silence he talks, “how did you know I was in the wrong universe?”

“You were bit by a spider that was from here. It’s venom altered your dna to this universe. And the go home machine scanned your dna, which was this universes and sent you here, I’m running out of breath and I can hear your mom from this univers walking here so let’s please just go.” You pull him out through the window just as the door opens and Rio steps in.

You and Miles drop down into an abandoned alleyway, and you hide a wince because of the pain in your leg. He turns invisible and you open a portal. Just as he walks through, Ben comes into view and sees you.

“Mini Miguel! You’re here! You know your dad was pretty worried you didn’t show! I’ll tell him you’re here wait- I” you web his mouth and eyes and as he flails about you launch yourself upwards and unhook his watch.

“I’m sorry, Ben.” You apologise to his mumbling form as his hands thrash around to remove the webs.

You jump into the portal and it closes.

“We’re in Miguel’s APARTMENT?” Miles’s all but shrieks and you wince.

“Jeez, bro. Don’t worry. He won’t look here.” You hand him a bottle of water from the minibar.

He drinks it all in one go and breathes deeply. You calm him down, “this is just for a few hours. Then I’ll shift you to your own universe.”

“Why not now?” He asks.

“You need to eat, and you’ll be fine. No one’s going to be named Captain tonight right? You can’t help anyone if you’re half dead.”

He clenches his jaw and sits down as you go to the kitchen and get a leftover pizza from the fridge. It was from that family night you had with Miguel and Lyla the day before Miles’s arrival.

You head to the living room after heating his food and his eyes are transfixed on a photo frame in his hand.

It’s a photo of you and him that Lyla had managed to sneak and Jess had printed for your birthday.

“He seems nice. When he’s not trying to kill me.” The boy scoffs.

You don’t answer, just handing him his food.

He eats in silence and you take the time to clean the house. Even if you did hate him just a bit, it didn’t mean he deserved to live in a messy house because he was too busy working.

“You really love him, huh?” Miles piped up and you look up from fluffing a cushion.

“Hmm.” You hum in response, “I don’t know.”

“If you didn’t you wouldn’t be here fluffing up his cushions and cleaning his home. Or should I say your home as well.” He raises an eyebrow.

You throw the cushion, “his home. Come on, we need to get to his office so I know what universe you’re from.”

He follows you to the window and has to swallow a gasp when you walk through it and float like you’re walking on air.

You chuckle, “it’s an illusion, sort of like that Indiana Jones movie.”

“The thing with the grail?” His voice is shaky as his foot comes to rest onto the platform connecting the window to the opposite balcony.

“Yeah, I got it made to fuck with Miguel.”

He huffs out a laugh, “I bet he would have freaked out?”

“You have no idea.” You smile a little at the memory as you jump of the platform and land lightly on the terrace.

Every few minutes you usher Miles into the few dark alleyways in the futuristic city of Nueva York to use the hidden pathways that are used by the underground thug gangs that you had managed to sniff out.

It takes about half an hour to reach the tower, and Miles turns invisible, “you couldn’t have done that before?” You raise an eyebrow.

He just looks sheepish and you try not to roll your eyes, “come on.”

He follows you through the entire area, sees them all wave and smile at you as you walk to where spider-byte may be.

——-

“Ben, come in.” Miguel speaks, “Ben!”

With a groan, he phones Lyla. She picks up immediately and her voice is frantic, “you need to get back. Now.”

“What? Why?”

“It’s Miles.” She informs him, “mini you is with him.”

His eyes widen under the mask and without a word he opens a portal to go home, “Jess. We’re going back to base.”

————————

“1610. Earth 1610.” You recite as you make a portal.

As soon as it opens, the door to the room swings open.

It’s a sort of déjà vu if you think about it.

The same room, the same scenario. But this time it’s you he’s after.

Your blood runs cold and you push Miles inside, “save your dad.” Are the last words you say to him as the portal closes in time just as Miguel pounces through air.

He looks at you and you freeze. His eyes are red and his fangs are out.

As he stands to his feet, your breathing becomes uneven.

Fuck you’re panicking. And it’s weird, because you’ve faced evil villains before. You’ve fought people that make Miguel look like a shortie.

So.. why the fuck are you so scared? Or were you always just a coward?

“You’re hurt.” He says in an eerily calm voice.

“Why-why do you care?” You huff out and his eyebrows furrow.

“What do you mean?” He raises his hand and you flinch. You notice the way his eyes widen and the hurt that floods the pools of his eyes.

He takes another step forward and you back away, “Stay the fuck away from me.” Your hand shoots forward. Only widening the chasm between the both of you.

“What. Happened? Who hurt you? Was it Miles? Did he force you to help him?” He snarls.

You stare at him dumbfounded, “Who hurt me? Are you serious?”

“I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

You scoff, “I helped him of my own accord.”

It’s then that he takes a deep breath and a step back.

“That’s right. I helped him get away!”

“….how could you do this to us? To me?” He points to himself.

“What are you going to do now? Try and kill me like you did him?”

“I would never. I am your father-”

“You are a selfish monster.” You say and his breath hitches. The look on his face breaks your own heart and all you want to do is hug him.

“Don’t say that.” He points at you, “you don’t mean it.”

“I meant every damn word.” You scowl and reply, “you are not my father. I am not your daughter.”

He schools the hurt on his face, “So be it.” He webs your watch and breaks it into tiny pieces in a matter of moments, “it’s cute that you thought you could one up me. Really.” He chuckles, “You are relieved of your duties effective immediately. You will never be allowed into Earth-928 or any other dimension hereafter.”

He webs you closer to him as he opens a portal into some obscure universe, one you’ve never heard of, and just before he pushes you in, you glimpse the tears in his eyes, your own running down your cheek as you scream profanities at him.

The last thing you see is his face before you’re thrown into complete darkness.

[dwindlinghaze]

back at you

(peter parker x reader)

summary: the five times peter stood you up and the one time you did it back.

contents: angst, hurt/comfort, fluffy ending.

　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

i. empire state building

"hi love!" peter waves at you before sitting down on the bench with his arms around you. "i miss you."

"hi pete," you say back, planting a small kiss on his nose.

"are you free tonight?"

"if i purposely forget about my stoichiometry homework then i am," you grin.

he laughs at your joke, "i want to take you on a date on top of the empire state building. we haven't been on a real date lately and i've been a really terrible boyfriend for that reason so i want to fix things up. so- er what do you say?"

"sure, i'll be there," you answered.

"no, i'll pick you up at six and swing you up there," he insists.

"i've never been swinging in a thin sticky line before. i don't know how to feel about this offer," you make a face.

"come on it'll be fun i promise! just hold on to me and i will make sure you're safe."

"alright," you smile at him under the may spring weather.

when evening came, you were picking out outfits to wear to the date. you don't want it to be too much, because you'll be swinging high up in the air. you picked a comfortable outfit, ready to wait for peter to arrive at your door.

but he didn't come.

fifteen minutes have passed and still- no calls or messages.

you began to worry, thinking he's in a spider-man trouble but you believe in him to know that he will escape any inconveniences because he's smart and agile.

an hour has passed. no calls or texts.

you felt disappointed. you were really looking forward into this because peter's life has been replaced with spider-man lately and you've been replaced by new york city.

thirty minutes later, peter called you, saying he was sorry for not making it.

"hey lovely, i'm sorry. i really am. please forgive me, there's a robbery on the subway and it took me quite sometime to beat them all up," he says breathlessly with the sound of the wind.

"oh yeah that's fine," you say, trying to hide your disappointment but he hears right through it. "are you okay?" you ask him.

even with your disappointment, you still asked him how he is after the fight.

"i'm quite alright. i can pick you up right now and we can head to the empire state building right now."

"pete, i have to finish my stoichiometry homework."

"i will do it for you."

"have you finished it?"

"no," he admits, a beat of silence filling the line.

"well, i will see you tomorrow then. good night."

"good night, i love you, sweets!"

"love you too," you say before ending the call.

ii. ice cream

you met peter two days later, his state more jagged somehow. new bruises and scars on his face. you notice how he now wears long sleeves instead of the normal graphic t-shirt he wore with a science joke screen printed on them.

"hi pete," you reach for him, taking his hand in yours.

peter smiles a lopsided smile.

"i haven't seen you since our supposedly date day," you say, "are you all right?"

"i'm sorry about that," he replies, scratching his nose which made the dried scar torn open. "ugh-"

you pull out a napkin from your bag, folding it before pressing it against his bleeding skin. "who did this to you."

"no one, i just fell while swinging," peter says, kissing your hand that rests in front of his lips.

"this is not a bruise, it looks like someone did this to you," you say.

"let's forget about this okay?" he takes both your hands. "an ice cream date tomorrow?"

"sure," you reply.

"hey you didn't sound too pleased with that," peter remarks.

"i'm just worried pete, what if being spider-man makes you dead?" you say.

"stop, i'm not going anywhere," he assures you as he squeezes your knuckles. "tomorrow at three?"

"three in the morning or evening," you ask jokingly.

"at dawn, sweetheart," peter plays along. "i'll be there tomorrow. meet me at the ice cream shop okay?"

"i will," you agree. "let's go home, it's getting late."

"i'll walk you home," peter insists, throwing his arms around your shoulders.

as the two of you walked home, peter's spidey tingles were tingling. he ignores it at first but then sirens came so he looks at you sadly. you nod, urging him to help the police.

"i'm sorry love, please text me when you get home. i love you," he yells as he disappears behind an alleyway.

"bye, i love you too," you whisper, starting to walk back home.

the next day came and you are now sitting on a booth inside the ice cream shop. the time is now three o'clock sharp and you are waiting for your boyfriend to walk through the door. your eyes are glued to the street outside, wishing every person passing by is peter parker.

three thirty, and still no peter. the waitress asks you for your order but you decline it, saying that you're supposed to be meeting someone.

three fourty five, still no peter. you wonder how pathetic you look sitting here in the warm dim light alone surrounded by sweet couples.

you start to worry about him, then you start to question yourself on why you're here alone. peter was supposed to be here forty five minutes ago. he was supposed to be here sipping milkshake and inhaling mint leaves to make you laugh.

you fumble with your fingers, heart tripping and falling with no safety net.

the waitress you talked to earlier came with a tray of strawberry ice cream with a sympathetic look on her face. "here, for free. if you were a cartoon character, there'll be a cumulonimbus cloud hovering over your head," she says, pushing the tray to you.

"oh thanks," you say tiredly, "you don't have to y'know, think i'll be leaving soon anyways."

"it's fine. my manager wouldn't be happy to see someone sitting here without ordering any of our menus," she declares.

"but you said it's for free?," you say.

"she wouldn't know. it's a gift for me to you because clearly your 'someone' is supposed to be here but they aren't. hope this makes it up."

"thank you, dorothy," you read off of her name tag.

four fifteen, still no sign of peter but the tv above the counter was showing a scene of spider-man fighting a criminal on top of a roof high up.

you sigh, eyes shooting bullets at the tv screen.

you pack your belongings before heading back to your home. once again, peter stood you up.

"oh my god," you screamed when you heard a crash behind you. you reluctantly turned around, only to see peter on the ground with his hair messy and unruly. "are you fine?"

peter stands up, shaking the dusts off of him. "love i'm sorry! i'm sorry! i'm-"

"peter, it's fine," you put on a smile, even though your intonation screams disappointment.

"it's not, just because you're smiling doesn't mean i didn't mess up," he says apologetically.

"you have your duties. i can't force you to throw it away like how you do your chores."

"don't make jokes now," peter sighs, "are you still up for it? i'll buy you every menu in there."

"i'm tired. i've been sitting inside there for over an hour i just want to go home," you admit.

"at least let me walk you home," peter insists once more.

"okay.." you start to walk away down the block.

"i'm sorry, honey. please forgive me! how about we move this to tomorrow?" he asks.

"i don't think you'll like it there," you say.

"hmm? why's that."

"because i think i fell for the waitress that was there," you try to joke around to make him feel less guilty. he already has so much on his shoulders and you don't want to be one of his baggages too.

"who? i'm not letting a stranger take you away from me," peter makes a salty face.

"secret," you giggle. peter takes your face between his hands before planting sloppy kisses around your face.

now it's like everything is perfect. peter kissing you under the sparkling lights of new york's buildings on the sidewalk.

iii. star wars marathon

"ah y/n hi sweetheart!" aunt may opens the door to greet you. "peter told me you were coming over for movies"

"hi aunt may, is he here?" you ask her as you take off your jacket and put it on the rack.

"i thought he was coming with you?"

"oh yeah! i was supposed to meet him at the skatepark but he told me to go here first," you cover up for him. peter hasn't told may about spider-man yet and you want to keep him out of trouble.

"oh alright, have you eaten dinner?" may asks.

"i'll wait for peter first, aunt may, thank you."

"you can wait upstairs, peter wouldn't mind," aunt may offers.

"i know," you smile at her before coming up the stair to his room.

you opened his bedroom door, taking in the surroundings. his room is extremely messy. like a wrecked ship. you climb up his bed, making yourself comfortable on his bedsheets.

it has been hours since you arrived and peter still wasn't here. he was taking so long to the point where you feel asleep in his bed.

you felt sick in your stomach. all you ever hope for is peter's safety out there.

you woke up when a crash was heard from his fire escape. your body jolt up, your full attention is now on his fire escape.

"oh y/n! i forgot about our movie date!" peter say once he saw your face. "i'm so sorry, please believe me. i was looking forward to it but i i got carried away! oh s-"

"pete, come here," you say sternly.

peter freezes, looking at you like a deer in headlights. he is ready for your scolding as he walks over to you but his thoughts were quickly pushed away when you rub his arms tenderly.

"what happened, darling?"

"nothing too bad," he lets out a breathy laugh. "you should see the other guy."

"no i don't want to see whoever did this to you," you say in disbelief. "stay here, i'll help you with these," you point to his new scars.

"i have super healing, it's fine, love," he assures. "just come here please. let's watch star wars together."

"um i think it's getting too late," you say much to peter's disappointment.

"what do you mean? it's only eight thirty, we can watch one movie!" he starts to replace his suit into his pajamas, ready to watch with you.

"i have to get home, my mom needs me to... uh wash her dishes," you tell him. it's not that you didn't want to watch with him. you're too moody and upset to be around him for now.

he has been absent for dates three times in a row and you feel like you were fighting alone.

you left peter alone in the bed. you can practically feel his melancholia floating through the air.

"hey aunt may, i'll be going now," you bid goodbye to her.

"oh goodbye sweetie," she says. "make sure you get home safe alright? peter should walk you home!"

"that won't be needed, i'm fine aunt may."

"all right," may smiles warmly at you despite the cold air of the night.

when you arrived home, peter has sent you twenty five messages in a row. each of them being

'i'm sorry'

'please answer me, love'

'get back to me when you're home safely."

'pls get home safe'

'i love you'

and those messages over and over again.

iv. science laboratory

since that day, peter calls you over and over agin wishing you'd pick up. and you did.

you answered his call only for him to say that he was sorry and he's going to plan a date again.

you were tired of him asking you for dates and ended up being alone. you rejected his offer, saying that you have some family stuff so you won't be able to make it.

and peter knows

he knows that you're upset he has been leaving you alone on dates.

so the only time left for him with you is for the lab homework. you two are lab partners and you had suggested to do it in your house.

firstly because you don't want to walk home alone in the dark, and secondly, you don't want to lie to aunt may again. knowing that one way or another, peter will probably get home late.

you sat on your sofa, waiting for him to knock on the door. you place out the text books on the tables, set out glasses of water, take out some snacks from your fridge. and peter is not even here.

waiting for him has got you tired so you decided to do the work done yourself.

you already got most of the answers required then peter shows up; drenched in sweat and blood at your window.

you heard the tapping from below and immediately sprint upstairs, knowing it is peter.

"hey, uh i'm sorry," he winces as he steps inside your bedroom.

"hey pete, it's fine," you say, trying to assure him. "come in, let me fix you up."

peter nods, letting you take care of him. "you sound tired," he points. "are you alright, love?"

"that question should be asked to you!" you reply. "okay, here, just sit in my bed, it's fine."

peter does as you say, "sorry about this," he waves his fingers at himself with a bitter laugh. "and also our lab work. sorry."

"it's fine," you say again as you wipe the blood off his face gently. "i've done the work, most of it. you can finish the rest."

"what?" peter asks wide eye. "i- i was supposed to do that with you!"

"pete, calm down. i will let you finish the rest here. you look terrible."

"huh," he breathes. "nothing too bad."

"are you sure you could still do the lab homework?" you say, worried.

"yes love i am capable," he puts on a convincing grin.

"okay..."

peter starts to do the work while you rub his back soothingly. "if you're tired, that's fine. take a nap in my room."

"no i'm not," peter scrunches his nose, eyes squeezing shut.

"okay..." you continue.

v. chocolate cups

that night, peter has asked you to go on a date. and you didn't have the heart to reject him in such state.

the way he smiles when you said yes can melt every butter in the world.

he planned to go to the new chocolate themed place. from the advertisements, it shows to be an ideal date place for a romantic relationship.

you waited there, on the front. waiting for him. you actually has hope this time of peter showing up.

the place was cute and warm. displaying an unreal scenery. you saw couples walking in and you smile at them discreetly. they looked incredibly happy and in love. you can't wait for peter to get here so you can have the same happiness as they do.

you stand there, in the middle of the porch. he is already thirty minutes late. you see pity looks sent to you by people around. but still had hope.

but as each second passes, your faith in him was fading. you didn't know if new york really hates you or it's just a coincidence that whenever you and peter were supposed to be on a date, the city will have something coming up.

you decide that your waiting was too long so you come home. it was humiliating to say the least. the way other people looks so happy while you were feeling crestfallen.

those pity looks didn't make anything better either.

although you understand peter, being spider-man is hard. you have to constantly push your personal life aside to save the whole city from dangers.

a part of you wishes he didn't push you aside like his other things.

vi. the one time

days after, when you are calmed down from that upsetting and humiliating day, peter told you about this dinner place that he was looking forward to trying.

he knows you love culinary and this was perfect for the both of you.

you agree to going there with him, making a promise to be there.

he promised whatever happens in the city, he's sure it's nothing the police can't control.

the day came and you we're fighting your own mind about going or not.

you believe in peter. he's your boyfriend. he does not break promises. but there's always something coming up in evenings like these.

there's always something avoiding you two to be together.

so with the conclusion, you stayed at home.

peter on the other hand was worrying on the table he rsvp-ed. not only you haven't arrived yet but also you weren't answering his calls.

the worst possible scenarios come to his head. clouding up his thought in a fog of bad dreams.

he does think that he deserves this. having the humiliating feeling of when your significant other didn't show up on a date, in a room full of tenths of people with their pitiful eyes.

he couldn't wait no more so he goes straight to your home, hoping that you were there.

it was raining heavily, his neat shirt that you had given was soaked. his hair is dirty with mud and dirt.

and you are. you were reading a book in the dim lit bedroom. he knocks on your window hastily, hoping that you can hear him outside in the rain.

"peter?" you spoke. making your way to your window, the sight that flashes before you was unexpected.

you didn't think peter would actually show up so saving your energy by staying at home and get 'sorry' messages were expected. but not this.

"peter what are you doing?"

"did you forgot?" peter asks sadly, shivering from the cold rain.

"about our dinner?"

"...yes."

"i just thought you wouldn't show up. and i don't want to be in a situation like our previous date plans," you admit, feeling guilty.

"we made a promise, didn't we?"

"yes, pete. i'm sorry. i'm just so tired of standing alone in a room. i'm not going to let that happen to me anymore. i thought something was going to come up because that's what happens in our date. every one of them."

"but we promised. you didn't trust me enough to keep my promise?" peter asks, heartbroken by the thought.

"no! that's not what i'm implying. you always put new york's happiness above mine and i just- i don't know. doesn't seem fair. new york has its own police, government, and what not but you are my boyfriend. my best friend. i miss being with you. like actually being with you."

"love, i didn't realise how much i've been pushing you aside for this city. and you're right. i am your boyfriend and i'm supposed to make you happy- not neglected. i'm sorry."

"yeah,"

"yeah, and from now on i will balance peter parker and spider-man. just call me if you need me, and i'll show you just how much i care about you. more than anything."

"even new york?"

"yes!" peter exclaims. "i guess we're even."

"no, you stood me up five times. and i only did it once!" you joke.

"well that's true," peter says bitterly.

"pete, i'm only joking. i'm happy you're here," you say.

"you told me you missed me. and i do too. so why don't we spend time together. like, right now?" peter suggests.

"yes we can."

"movies?"

"star wars marathon?"

"i'll get the snacks."

[headkiss]

omg reader and jack making hotch a cute personal christmas present together would absolutely melt my heart 😭❤️ (and hotch's too)

hi lovely! thank u sm for ur request i hope u like it <333 | 0.8k of fluff with jack and hotch!

Aaron Hotchner breathes warmth into your life.

It’s in everything he does. The way he stocks his cupboards with your favorite snacks, the drawers in his dresser that are now yours, the extra hook by the door for your jacket. You never thought you’d find someone like him, someone who treats you so well.

It isn’t just with you, either.

There’s his team and how highly they speak of him, how highly he speaks of them, too. And, of course, there’s his son.

Jack looks up to his dad in a way that tugs at your heartstrings whenever you see it. He sits in his office with him whenever Hotch will let him, even highlights and writes over fake files Aaron gives him that are much more innocent than the ones the BAU actually deal with.

And because Aaron raised him, Jack has that same warmth his father does, only he doesn’t try to conceal it nearly as much.

You’d been worried at first, about what Jack would think of you, how he’d react to a new person in not only his life, but Aaron’s, too. Now, all you feel is lucky that you get to be a part of their life.

With Christmas coming up, you feel luckier than ever.

Jack had waited until Aaron was in the washroom the last time you were over to ask you if you’d help him make a gift for Hotch, and your answer of ‘of course’ was simple as breathing.

Now, you’re sitting with Jack at the kitchen table, Aaron still at the office. You picked him up from school—something you’re happy to do whenever Hotch needs the help, something that makes you feel lucky, too—and went to the craft store before coming back and setting up.

There are supplies spread across the table, markers and glue, stickers and printed pictures.

“Can you pass me the blue, please?” Jack asks you.

You smile, handing him the marker he asked for and smiling even bigger at his sweet ‘thank you.’ Then, you hear the jingle of keys turning in the door, and you and Jack look at each other surprised, his eyes wide.

“How about this,” you say, “I’ll distract your dad, you hide his present, yeah? We’ll finish it next time, promise.”

Jack nods, his face serious like you’ve just given him a real mission. He starts packing things up right away.

Aaron rarely comes home early, no matter how much he wants to. He’s focused, determined, always doing as much as he can while he’s in the office. So, whenever he gets the chance, he tries to get home sooner. To get home to Jack. To you.

His shoulders feel lighter as soon as he steps inside, as soon as he hears the muffled sound of your voice, the response of his son’s laughter.

You come out of the kitchen, the neckline of your t-shirt loose over your shoulder, a pair of Aaron’s socks bunched at your ankles. “Hey, Hotchner. You’re home early.”

“Hi, honey.” Aaron sets his things down, opting to get you in his arms, instead. He reaches for you at the same time you move towards him, like magnets. He trails his fingertips down your arms, holding your hands in his. “Where’s Jack?”

You squeeze Aaron’s hands once before letting go. “One second.”

You turn back to the kitchen, peeking your head in to find that Jack has, for the most part, cleared the table of any evidence. When you look at him, he gives you a thumbs up, “all clear.”

Hotch knows something’s going on with the way you’re acting. He is a profiler, after all. But he decides not to ask, because he trusts you, and he figures he’ll find out soon enough.

You’ve never been the best at keeping secrets from him.

He comes into the kitchen after you, tossing an arm around your shoulders and tugging you closer so he can press a kiss to the side of your head.

“Dad!” Jack cheers, rushing to hug Aaron’s legs.

“Hey, buddy.”

When Aaron looks at the table, he notices that Jack must’ve missed a spot when hiding any evidence, leaving behind two markers. Red and green.

He can feel his heartbeat do something funny in his chest, jumping, skipping, like the rhythm has shifted to beat in a different pattern. He thinks about what you must’ve been doing: making some sort of gift with Jack.

Aaron didn’t think he could love his family anymore, then you came into it and everything felt right, like you’d been the last puzzle piece to click into place.

He pats Jack on the shoulder and kisses your head again.

And on Christmas morning, when Aaron opens the scrapbook you and Jack made him, his smile is instant and wide. He swears he feels his heart swell in his chest.

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Provenance | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, j e a l o u s y

Word Count: 6703

A/N: Taglist will be closing at the start of season 2! if you aren't currently tagged, and you'd like to join, please please let me know within the next two posts!!

Series Rewrite Masterlist

You gripped your beer tightly watching Dean getting a girl’s number across the bar from you. 

“(Y/N), if you hold that thing any tighter, you’re gonna break it,” Sam snorted. “What’s your deal?”

You looked back at Sam but were unable to pull your eyes from Dean and his new “friend” for longer than a few seconds. “Nothing.” You took a swig of your drink.

“Are you sure you don’t know how you feel about Dean?” the brunet taunted. 

You shot him a glare. “Shut up.”

He snickered in response and returned to looking over the papers in front of him.

You waved Dean over, who held a hand up behind the woman’s back to get you to wait. You gestured again and his smile dropped. He said something to her quickly before making his way back over to you. 

“I think we got something,” Sam told his brother. 

Dean grinned over his shoulder. “Oh, yeah, me too. I think we need to take a little shore leave; just a little bit. What do you think, huh? I'm so in the door with this one.”

You rolled your eyes. “So, what are we today, Dean? Rock stars, army rangers?”

“Reality TV scouts,” he grinned at you, ignoring the bite in your voice. “Looking for people with special skills. I mean hey, it's not that far off right?”

“If by ‘not far off’ you mean ‘completely off the mark,’ then you’re spot on,” you deadpanned.

Dean shot you a look while he turned to his brother. “By the way, she's got a friend over there. Possibly hook you up. What do you think?”

“Dean, no thanks, I can get my own dates,” Sam responded to his question.

“Yeah, you can, but you don't.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Dean shook his head. “Nothing. What you got?”

“Mark and Ann Telesca of New Paltz, New York were both found dead in their own home, a few days ago. Throats were slit. There were no prints, no murder weapons, all—” He trailed off as his brother looked back at the women at the bar. 

“Dean!” you snapped your fingers at him.

He turned back. “Huh, what?”

“No prints, no murder weapons, all doors and windows locked from the inside,” Sam continued.

“Could just be a garden variety murder, you know, not our department,” Dean answered.

“No. Dad says different.”

“What do you mean?” Dean’s interest was piqued at the mention of his dad.

You pointed at the map. “John noted three murders in the same area of upstate New York. First one here in 1912, second, right here in 1945, and the third in 1970. Same M.O. as the Telescas. Throats slit, doors locked from the inside; the whole nine. Now, so much time passed that nobody checked the pattern. Except for your dad. It’s frustrating how much better he is at this than me sometimes,” you muttered at the end of your sentence.

“Alright, I'm with ya. It's worth checking out. We can't pick this up ‘til first thing though right?” Dean asked, trying to contain his excitement.

“Yeah,” Sam answered.

“Good.” Before you could stop him, Dean was off to the two women again.

You were fuming; staring daggers at him and downing the rest of your drink.

Sam snickered at you. “Let’s get you out of here before you end up killing one of those girls.”

“Nah, I’d kill your brother. They didn’t do anything wrong,” you responded, helping Sam pick up the papers scattered about the table. “How ‘bout the Telescas’ house?” you asked.

***

You and Sam headed back to the motel you were staying in to research the history of the Telescas’ home. You sprawled out across Dean’s bed with your laptop, and Sam sat on his bed with his laptop.

“Finding anything?” you asked him.

“Nope. You?”

You shook your head. “Nada.”

He shut his laptop. “So? You wanna talk about it?”

You shut yours, too. “About what?”

“Dean?”

“Oh, hell no,” you snorted.

“You two are made for each other,” he deadpanned at your boxed-up emotions.

“Fuck off, Sam,” you retorted. “What about you? Still not ready to jump back into the dating pool?” You snuggled into the blankets on Dean’s bed, reveling in his scent emanating off them.

He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“What was she like?” you asked after a moment.

“Who?”

“Jessica. You never told me much about her.”

He sighed. “She was just… the best, man. You two would’ve gotten along great, honestly. She was—” he grinned sadly at the thought of her, “—so smart. So beautiful. Quick, witty, and…” he shook his head. “I was looking for wedding rings. Few weeks before she...”

You smiled sadly at him. “She sounds amazing.”

“She was,” he responded. A quiet settled over the room.

“Don’t you think she would’ve wanted you to be… I don’t know, happy? Do you think she’d want you to move on? It’s been almost a year,” you said. “Jesus, I’ve known you guys for almost a year now," you realized.

He chuckled before going quiet again momentarily. “I think she would. But Jess… I don’t know if I’ll ever be fully over her. She was my best friend, y’know?”

You nodded. “I get it. I’m glad you had that with her, though. Sounds like you really loved each other.”

“We did.”

You and Sam went silent once more, and you succumbed to the tiredness of your limbs and mind. You were so comforted by the scent of worn leather, Dean’s cologne, and whiskey, that you slept better than you had in years.

***

When you woke up the next morning, Sam was standing over you, shaking you gently. You popped up and grabbed his wrist, twisting it and putting a hand to his throat. “Hey, hey,” he tried to calm you down, “Dean’s back.” 

You released him immediately. “Sorry, dude. Uh… reflexes,” you laughed awkwardly.

“It’s okay. Dean does that, too.”

The man in question stumbled into the room tiredly. “Move your asses. Let’s go.”

***

You and Sam had just swept the Telescas’ house for EMF while Dean slept in the car trying to get over his hangover. When you returned to the car, you beeped the horn. Dean shot up a foot in the air and groaned. 

“Man, that is so not cool.” He adjusted his sunglasses and leaned back against the car door. You and Sam climbed into your seats and began to explain what you had been up to.

“We just swept the Telescas with EMF. It's clean. And last night, while you were, well, out—” Sam trailed off.

Dean’s smirk made your stomach drop. “Good times.”

“—we checked the history of the house.”

“Nothing strange about the Telescas, either,” you said, swallowing your feelings.

“Alright,” Dean’s gravelly voice came, “so if it's not the people and it's not the house, then maybe it's the contents. Cursed object or something.”

“The house is clean,” you said.

“Yeah I know, you said that.”

“No, no, it’s empty. No furniture, nothing,” you explained.

Dean turned back to you. “Where's all their stuff?”

***

You felt so out of place in the swanky auction house the Telescas’ belongings had been brought to. Even the Impala looked like an outcast in the parking lot full of McLarens and Corvettes. 

You and the brothers wandered around the auction house, and you wrapped your jacket tightly around yourself.

“Consignment auctions, estate sales. Looks like a garage sale for Wasps if you ask me,” Dean commented. He took some food from a tray table as a man came up behind you.

“Can I help you?” the man questioned. 

You wheeled around to face him.

“I'd like some champagne please,” Dean said in a mock posh voice.

You could’ve killed him. “He’s not a waiter.”

Dean cocked an eyebrow at you, and you held out your hand to the man. “I’m (Y/N) Dewitt. This is Sam and Dean Connors. We’re with Connors Limited. We’re art dealers.”

The man didn’t give you the courtesy of a handshake. You fought the urge to make an inappropriate comment.

“You. Are… art dealers,” the man said, clearly having difficulty grasping that concept. “I'm Daniel Blake, this is my auction house. Now, this is a private showing, and I don't remember seeing you on the guest list.”

“We're there, Chuckles, you just need to take another look.” Dean, of course, talked through a mouth full of food.

You shot a sharp look at Dean as he took a glass of champagne off the tray. He turned and walked off, and you followed him.

“Can you chill out?” you asked him.

“What?” he asked through a mouthful of champagne.

You rolled your eyes. “You know what I’m talking about. I don’t like this crowd either, but relax.” You noticed a painting just beyond where you and Dean were talking. It was of a family in an American Gothic style; presumably from the early 1900s. The family contained three young girls in frilly dresses, a man with a gaunt and creepy face, and a woman you assumed was the mother seated in a chair.

“A fine example of American Primitive wouldn't you say?” a woman’s voice called from behind you.

You turned to the place the voice came from to find an extremely good looking woman in a sleek black dress with glossed lips descending the staircase. You noticed Dean beginning to ogle her as Sam answered her. “Well, I'd say it's more Grant Wood than Grandma Moses. But you knew that, you just wanted to see if I did.”

The woman smiled as she approached you. “Guilty. And clumsy. I apologize. I'm Sarah Blake.”

“I’m Sam,” he said. “This is my… brother, Dean.” Dean was still stuffing his face with food from passing trays. “And our friend, (Y/N).”

“Dean. Can we get you some more mini-quiche?” Sarah questioned.

You snorted. You liked her.

“I'm good, thanks,” he smiled through a full mouth.

“So, can I help you with something?” she asked Sam. You knew she liked him; she was giving him the same look you often gave Dean.

“Yeah, actually. What can you tell us about the Telesca estate?” Sam asked her.

She grimaced. “The whole thing's pretty grisly if you ask me, selling your things this soon. But Dad's right about one thing, sensationalism brings out the crowds. Even the rich ones.”

“Is it possible to see the provenances?” Sam asked.

The man from earlier came up behind you. “I'm afraid there isn't any chance of that.”

“Why not?” you asked.

“You're not on the guest list. And I think it's time to leave.”

You rolled your eyes, dropping your polite disposition. “Don’t have to tell us twice.”

“Apparently, I do,” he said.

“C’mon, Dean,” you said, dragging his arm out.

***

You and the brothers found a decently priced motel and approached the rooms you had been assigned.

“Grant Wood, Grandma Moses?” Dean scoffed at his brother.

“Art history course. It's good for meeting girls,” Sam replied simply.

Dean unlocked the door to his room and chuckled. “It's like I don't even know you.”

You walked a little further down to the room next to theirs and unlocked it only to find a gaudily outfitted room full of obnoxious disco decor. The "do not disturb" hanger was even of John Travolta’s silhouette from Saturday Night Fever.

“Huh.” You dropped your bag off and headed back to the boys’ room.

“What was… providence?” Dean was asking as you entered the room.

“Provenance,” you corrected. “It’s like a biography for a painting. You use ‘em to check the history of the pieces; in this case, to see if they have a freaky past.”

“Alright, professor,” Dean taunted you. “Well, we're not getting anything out of Chuckles, but Sarah…” he smirked at his brother.

“Yeah, maybe you can get her to write it all down on a cocktail napkin,” Sam smirked back.

“Not me,” Dean laughed.

You shot a look at Sam, too.

He seemed only mildly horrified. “No, no, no, pickups are your thing, Dean.”

“It wasn't my butt she was checking out,” Dean snorted.

You giggled despite yourself.

“In other words, you want me to use her to get information,” Sam deadpanned.

“Sometimes you gotta take one for the team. Call her,” Dean instructed his brother.

Sam rolled his eyes, but took out his phone. You weren’t sure when he had gotten her number, but he left about an hour later to take her out to dinner.

You and Dean sat in awkward silence for a bit.

“So…”

“So…”

You went silent again. 

“What’s goin’ on with us, (Y/N)? You’ve barely spoken a word to me this whole trip.”

You huffed. “Nothing.”

“Obviously, it’s not nothing.” Dean held your challenging stare.

“Seriously, drop it, please,” you said.

“Fine. You wanna go get some food?”

You smiled despite yourself. “You know I do.”

You and Dean found a crappy diner with deliciously greasy burgers to stuff your faces with. 

“So, how ‘bout you, sweetheart? Why don’t you ever go out?” Dean asked.

“On dates, you mean?”

He nodded.

You nibbled on a fry. “I’m just not one for hookups. I can’t take ‘em,” you admitted. “You, though, are king of the unattached drifters.”

He chuckled. “What’s wrong with hookups? 

“I get too attached, which kind of defeats the whole purpose,” you replied. “The idea of being intimate with somebody I don’t even know makes me want to throw up.”

“Why? You’re gorgeous. Anybody would kill to get with you," he said casually.

You ignored the way your heart swelled in your chest. “It’s not that, it’s just…” you sighed. “I’m, like, allergic to vulnerability.”

“I get it,” Dean chuckled. “You know by now I’m not exactly the best with it, either.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re worse than me,” you quipped. “You look like you’re gonna throw up any time you have to tell me you’re sorry or something like that.”

“Maybe it’s just your face,” he retorted.

“Hey!” you giggled. “You can’t call me gorgeous one minute then tell me looking at me makes you sick the next.”

He chuckled. “I just did, so…”

“Whatever, Winchester. What is it about hookups you enjoy so much, anyway?”

He shrugged and took a bite of his burger. “Sex is just fun, I guess. Always helps me blow off steam.”

You scoffed. “I’m sure it does.”

“I’m serious! Helps me take a break from… all this.” He gestured around him. 

“That’s why you have hobbies, Dean. Sex is not a hobby.”

“It can be! You draw, Sam reads, I fuck."

“Well, get a better one,” you scoffed.

“What would you suggest I do? Knitting?”

You rolled your eyes. “No, just… something a little more wholesome, maybe. You said it yourself, it doesn’t always make you feel great.”

“Never should’ve told you that,” he responded.

“Well, ya did, so.”

He snorted at you. “It’s frustrating how well you know me sometimes.”

“Oh, look at that, another crumb of vulnerability from Mr. Closed Book.”

“That’s the best diss you could come up with?”

“Hey, it’s not easy being effortlessly funny all the time,” you retorted. “It’s a lot of pressure.”

***

When you and Dean returned to the motel room, you pulled out your whetstone to sharpen your knives.

“Who you plannin’ on carvin’ up, sweetheart?”

“Haven’t decided yet,” you answered.

“Remind me not to piss you off,” he remarked.

“You do literally all the time,” you quipped. “You’re lucky you’re still in one piece. If you give me yours, I’ll sharpen ‘em, too.”

“Thanks,” he said. He handed his knives over to you. 

Sam burst through the door at that moment holding a stack of papers. “Got ‘em.”

“So she just handed the providences over to you?” Dean questioned.

“Provenances,” you corrected.

“We went back to her place, I got a copy of the papers—”

Dean raised his eyebrows expectantly. “And?”

“And nothing. That's it. I left.”

“You didn't have to con her or do any… special favors or anything like that?” Dean questioned.

“Dean, would you get your mind out of the gutter, please?” the younger brother scoffed.

“You know when this whole thing's done, we could stick around for a little bit,” he suggested.

“Why?”

“So you could take her out again. It's obvious you're into her, even I could see that.”

Sam ignored his brother. “Hey, I think I've got something here.”

You headed over to Sam’s seated position at the desk and looked over his shoulder at the papers. “ ‘Portrait of Isaiah Merchant's family, painted 1910’,” you read off.

“Now, compare the names of the owners with my dad's journal,” Sam said.

Dean pulled it out. “First purchased in 1912, Peter Simms. Peter Simms murdered 1912. Same thing in 1945. Oh, same thing in 1970.”

“Then stored, until it was donated to a charity auction last month. Where the Telescas bought it,” Sam continued.

“So what do you think? It's haunted? Or cursed?” you asked.

“Either way, it's toast,” said Dean, getting up from his bed.

***

Under the cover of night, you and the brothers broke into the auction house. You were consistently impressed with and sexually frustrated by how easy scaling tall fences and gates were for Dean. 

“Come on!” Dean urged you. 

You disarmed the security alarm, wearing gloves to avoid leaving fingerprints. “Go ahead,” you whispered. 

Dean picked the lock at your cue. You shone your flashlight ahead of you searching for the painting. When you found it, you and the boys were in and out within minutes. You and the boys had clearly been breaking and entering for years. You found it comical almost how good you were. You brought the painting out to a field behind the arthouse and set it alight.

Dean dusted off his hands. “Ugly ass thing. If you ask me, we're doing the art world a favor.”

***

Dean banged on your door the next morning. “We got a problem. I can't find my wallet.”

You opened it. “How the hell do you lose your wallet?”

“I think I dropped it in the warehouse last night.”

“Fuck, dude, that’s bad.” You started pulling on your boots as he paced around the room.

“Yeah, I know. It's got my prints, my ID— well, my fake ID anyway. We gotta get it before someone else finds it. Come on.”

You and the brothers hurried around the auction house searching for the wallet. Sam was clearly frustrated with his brother until he caught sight of Sarah.

“Hey guys!” she smiled.

You wheeled around at the sound of her voice and attempted to act cool.

“Sarah! Hey,” Sam breathed. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Ahh, we.... we are leaving town and, you know, we came to say goodbye,” Sam responded.

“What are you talking about Sam, we're sticking around for at least another day or two,” Dean grinned as he strolled up to the two. He took his wallet out of his pocket and shot a look at Sam. “By the way, I'm gonna go ahead and give you that $20 I owe you.” He turned to Sarah. “I always forget, you know.” Dean chuckled and you grinned as he held out the cash to his brother. Sam took it and glared at him. “Well, we’ll leave you two crazy kids alone, I gotta go do something… somewhere.”

“Smooth, Dean,” you told him as you walked away from Sarah and Sam. The two of you headed back out to the Impala and sat in it waiting for Sam. When he returned, he was frantically saying the painting was back in the auction house.

“I don't understand. We burned the damn thing,” Sam rushed out.

“Yeah, thank you, Captain Obvious,” Dean remarked. 

“Alright, we just need to figure out another way to get rid of it. Any ideas?” you chimed in.

“Well, um, in almost all the lore about haunted paintings it's always the painting's subject that haunts 'em,” Sam began.

“Yeah. So we just need to figure out everything there is to know about that creepy-ass family and that creepy-ass painting. What were their names again?” 

“Merchant,” you answered. “I say we find us a bookstore.”

***

And so, that was where you headed. You found a proprietor whose personality was interesting, to say the least. You found his quirk had a bit of charm to it.

“You said the Isaiah Merchant family right?” he asked you.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Sam said.

You and Dean were flicking through a book with pictures of guns in it. The proprietor laid a book of newspaper clippings on the table in front of you. “I dug up every scrap of local history I could find. So, are you folks crime buffs?”

“Kinda. Yeah. Why do you ask?” you responded.

He held up the newspaper article before him. It talked about the sinking of the Titanic, and just next to it, read “Father Slaughters Family, Kills Himself.”

“Yes. Yeah, that sounds about right,” Dean replied.

“The whole family was killed?” You tilted your head.

“It seems this Isaiah, he slits his kids' throats, then his wife, then himself. Now, he was a barber by trade. Used a straight razor,” the proprietor explained.

“Why'd he do it?” Sam questioned.

“Let's look. Ahh... ‘People who knew him describe Isaiah as having a stern and harsh temperament. Controlled his family with an iron fist. Wife, uh, two sons, adopted daughter…’ “ he skimmed on. “Yeah, yeah, yeah… ‘There were whispers that the wife was gonna take the kids and leave.’ Which of course you know in that day and age, um, so instead, old man Isaiah, well, he gave them all a shave.” He drew his hand across his throat and made a noise to go along with it. You and Dean joined in laughing with the proprietor.

“Does it say what happened to the bodies?” asked Dean.

The proprietor shook his head. “Just that they were all cremated.”

“Anything else?” you asked.

“Yeah. Actually, I found a picture of the family. It's right here. Somewhere. Right— here it is.”

It was a picture of the painting, but something seemed off to you. 

“Hey, could we get a copy of this please?” Sam asked the man. 

He nodded, and returned a few minutes later with it.

***

You and the boys sat at a table in the motel room and looked over the copy of the picture. 

“I’m telling you,” you started, “The picture at the auction house, Dad’s looking down. Here, dad’s looking out. The painting changed.”

“Alright, so you think that Daddy dearest is trapped in the painting and is handing out Columbian neckties like he did with his family?” Dean questioned.

“Well, yeah, it seems like it. But if his bones are already dusted, then how are we gonna stop him?” Sam asked.

“Maybe other things changed in the painting, too. Maybe it could give us some clues,” you answered.

“What, like a Da Vinci Code deal?” Sam asked.

“Maybe,” you shrugged.

Dean looked down at you, confused. “I’m lost. Still waiting for the movie on that one. Anyway, we gotta get back in and see that painting.” He walked over to his bed and laid back, crossing his arms. “Which is a good thing ‘cause you can get some more time to crush on your girlfriend.”

Sam huffed. “Dude, enough already.”

“What?” he responded.

“What? Ever since we got here, you been trying to pimp me out to Sarah. Just back off, all right?” he said defensively.

“Sam, relax,” you told him.

“Well, you like her don't you?” Dean pushed.

Sam threw his arms up and looked to the ceiling.

“Alright, you like her, she likes you, you’re both consenting adults…” Dean trailed off with a smile.

“What's the point, Dean? We'll just leave. We always leave,” came Sam’s frustrated response.

“Well, I'm not talking about marriage, Sam.”

Sam snarled angrily. “You know, I don't get it. What do you care if I hook up?”

“ ‘Cause then maybe you wouldn't be so cranky all the time,” Dean answered calmly.

Sam stared at him and huffed before looking away.

“Look, I’m not crazy about hookups either, but maybe it would be helpful,” you suggested.

“And this isn't about just hooking up, okay?” Dean continued. “I mean, I think that this Sarah girl could be good for you. And... I don't mean any disrespect, but I'm sure this is about Jessica, right? Now I don't know what it's like to lose somebody like that, but... I would think that she would want you to be happy.” Sam’s eyes welled with tears as his brother continued to talk. “God forbid, have fun once in a while. Wouldn't she?”

“Yeah, I know she would,” Sam responded softly. “Yeah, you're right. Part of this is about Jessica. But not the main part.”

“What’s it about?” you asked.

He wouldn’t answer you.

“Well, we still gotta see that painting, which means you still gotta call Sarah, so…” Dean trailed off.

Sam picked up his phone and cleared his throat. Dean shook his head and closed his eyes, settling back on his bed. 

“Sarah, hey, it's Sam… Hey, hi… Good. Good, yeah. Umm. What about you?... Yeah good, good, really good.”

Dean opened one eye and looked at his brother. “Smooth.”

You suppressed a laugh. 

“So, ah, so listen,” Sam continued. “Me and my brother were, uh, thinking that maybe we'd like to come back in and look at the painting again. I- I think maybe we are interested in buying it… What?!” 

At Sam’s tone, you and Dean snapped to attention. 

“Who'd you sell it to?” Sam stood up. 

Dean rose and came to stand next to you.

“Sarah, I need an address right now,” Sam urged her.

Once she’d given it to you, you and the boys sped away in the Impala to an upscale neighborhood. You and the boys were surprised to see another car parked right outside the building: Sarah’s. 

“Sam, what's happening?” she asked as you and the boys ran up the front steps of the house.

“I told you, you shouldn't have come,” he responded.

“Hello, anyone home?” Dean banged on the heavy front door.

“You said Evelyn might be in danger; what sort of danger?” Sarah asked Sam frantically.

“I can't knock this sucker down. I gotta pick it.” Dean crouched down in front of you and you moved over to the windows, banging on them with all your might.

“What are you guys, burglars?” Sarah yelped.

“I wish it was that simple. Look, you really should wait in the car. It's for your own good,” Sam told her.

Dean got the door open and you followed him inside quickly. 

“The hell I will. Evelyn's a friend,” she said, trailing behind you and the boys. “Evelyn?” She moved over to the elderly woman sitting half-turned away from you. Something was wrong and you knew it; the woman’s gaze seemed completely empty. “Evelyn? It's Sarah Blake. Are you alright?” She touched her shoulder gently. 

“Sarah, don't. Sarah!” Sam told her. 

Evelyn’s head tipped back, exposing her slashed throat.

Sarah jumped back in horror and screamed. Sam put his arm around her and led her out of the room. You and Dean stared up at the painting before following the younger brother out of the house.

***

Back in the motel room, you and Dean clacked away at the keys on your laptops while Sam paced in front of you. A knock on the door stirred all of you from your thoughts. Sarah stormed into the room and brushed past Sam.

“Hey. You alright?” he asked her.

“No, actually, I just lied to the cops and told them I went to Evelyn's— alone— and found her like that,” she answered, wheeling around.

“Thank you,” Sam nodded. 

“Don't thank me. I'm about to call them right back if you don't tell me what the hell's going on. Who's killing these people?”

Sam looked back at you and Dean, and you shrugged.

“What,” he told her.

“What?”

“It's not 'who'. It's 'what' is killing those people,” he explained.

Sarah was still looking at Sam like he was insane.

“Sarah, you saw that painting move,” he sighed.

The woman began to pace. “No, no. I was— I was seeing things. It's impossible.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to our world,” Dean grinned.

“Sarah, I know this sounds crazy, but we think that that painting is haunted.”

Sarah laughed humorlessly but had tears in her eyes. “You’re joking.” She looked between you and the Winchesters. “You're not joking. God, the guys I go out with.”

“Sarah, think about it. Evelyn, the Telescas, they both had the painting. And there have been others before that. Wherever this thing goes, people die. And we're just trying to stop it. And that's the truth,” the brunet told her.

“Then I guess you'd better show me. I'm coming with you,” she said matter-of-factly.

“What? No. Sarah no, you should just go home. This stuff can get dangerous and… and I don't want you to get hurt,” he admitted.

“Look, you guys are probably crazy, but if you're right about this? Well, me and my Dad sold that painting that might have gotten these people killed. Look, I'm not saying I'm not scared, because I am scared as hell, but I'm not going to run and hide either.” Sarah strutted over to the door. “So are we going or what?” She walked out.

“Sam?” Dean said. “Marry that girl.”

***

You and the boys returned to Evelyn’s house to scope out the crime scene a little further. Sam picked the lock to let you, his brother, and Sarah inside.

“Uh, isn’t this a crime scene?” Sarah protested.

Dean smirked. “You've already lied to the cops. What's another infraction?”

Once inside, you and Sam got the painting down from off the wall to examine it. 

“Aren't you worried that it's gonna kill us?” Sarah asked.

“Nah, it seems to do its thing at night. I think we're alright in the daylight.”

You took the copy of the painting out of your pocket. “Sam, check it out. The razor: it's closed in this one, but it's open in that one.”

“What are you guys looking for?” she asked.

“Well, if the spirit's changing aspects of the painting, then it's doing so for a reason,” Dean explained.

“And look, the painting in the painting,” you pointed out. “Looks like a crypt, or a mausoleum or something.” 

Dean grabbed a thick glass ashtray and used it as a magnifying glass. You ignored how your body came alight as he wound his arm around you to reach the painting. “Merchant,” he read out.

***

Your next stop was a graveyard. Several, in fact. You stepped over gravestones carefully to avoid disrespecting the dead even further.

“What, are you superstitious?” Dean asked.

“A little, actually. I think I’m in such deep shit with the spirits already; I don’t wanna make it worse,” you laughed.

“You are somethin’ else, woman,” he smirked. “This is the third boneyard we've checked,” Dean addressed your group. “I think this ghost is jerking us around.”

Sam and Sarah talked amongst themselves behind you and you and Dean walked a bit ahead.

“Over there,” you said, pointing to a mausoleum. The group followed you into the mausoleum where you found four urns in front of little glass-fronted boxes on one wall. On the opposite, there were five brass nameplates. 

Sarah looked at one of the boxes containing a little porcelain doll with brown hair. “Okay, that right there is the creepiest thing I've ever seen.”

“It was a sort of tradition at the time,” Sam told her. “Whenever a child died, sometimes they'd preserve the kid's favorite toy in a glass case; put it next to the headstone or crypt.”

Wind blew in the mausoleum, sending a chill down your spine.

“Notice anything strange here?” Dean asked.

“Ah, where do I start?” remarked Sarah.

Sam snickered. 

“No, that's not what I mean. Look at the urns,” said Dean.

“Yeah. There’s only four. Where’s the dad?” you questioned.

***

You and Dean discovered that Isaiah’s body had been buried in that same cemetery away from the rest of his family. You returned there that night with Sarah in tow. 

You stood watch with Sarah while the boys dug the hole down to Isaiah’s corpse. 

“You guys seem to be uncomfortably comfortable with this,” she said.

Sam climbed out of the hole laboriously. “Well, ah, this isn't exactly the first grave we've dug. Still think I'm a catch?”

You giggled when Dean’s shovel tapped something hard. “Think I've got something.” He cracked the coffin open to reveal Isaiah’s rotten bones. You helped him out of the ground and began pouring salt and kerosene over the body. 

“You've been a real pain in the ass, Isaiah. Good riddance.” Dean tossed the match he’d struck down on top of the body. 

“God, I will never get used to that smell,” you commented.

“What? Burning flesh?” the older Winchester turned his head to you.

You made a face and scrunched up your nose to which Dean just smirked at you and chuckled.

***

You returned to Evelyn’s house soon after to make sure the job was complete and bury the painting. You and Dean remained outside and told Sam to go in with Sarah. You and Dean smiled at each other before turning the radio up. A love ballad played loudly through the speakers, and Sam turned to the two of you. You both snickered at the “what the fuck” gesture he was giving you. Sam motioned for the two of you to cut the music. You sighed and turned it off.

Before you and Dean could say a word to each other, the door slammed shut behind Sam and Sarah. You and Dean jumped out of the car and ran across the lawn, trying your best to unlock it. 

“Guys! Hey! Is that you?” Sam called from inside.

“Sammy, you alright?” the older brother asked. Moments later, you got a call from Sam.

“Tell me you slammed the front door,” you said after you answered.

“Nope, it wasn't me. I think it was the little girl,” he told you.

“The little girl? What girl?”

“What’s he saying?” Dean interjected, leaning close to your ear and the phone.

“Yeah, she's out of the painting. I think it might've been her all along,” Sam said.

You snorted humorlessly. “The dad was trying to warn us all along. He was looking down at her the whole time.”

“Hey, hey, hey, let's recap later all right? Just get us out of here," the younger brother rushed out.

“Well, Dean’s trying to pick the lock, but the door won’t budge.”

“Well, knock it down!”

“Okay, smartass, just let me get my battering ram,” you remarked.

“(Y/N), the damn thing is coming!”

“I know, I know, just hold it off til we figure something out. Get some salt or iron or something,” you responded. “Stay on the phone with me!”

Moments later, you heard Sam say to himself, “What kind of house doesn't have salt? Low-sodium freaks.” Another minute or so went by before he spoke back into the phone. “Uh, (Y/N), give me a sec, don't go anywhere.”

You and Dean began to walk around the outside looking for an alternative entrance. A bit of yelling and crashing was heard on the other end of the phone. “You okay, dude?”

“Yeah, for now,” he responded.

“How’re we gonna waste her?” you asked.

“I don't know, she was already cremated. There's nothing left to burn.”

Dean got close to the phone again. 

“Then how's she still around?” you challenged.

“There must be something else!” Sam went silent on the other end, but you could faintly hear Sarah’s voice.

“(Y/N), Sarah said the doll might have the kid's real hair. Human remains; same as bones.”

“The mausoleum,” you and Dean said in unison. 

“Hang tight, Sam,” you said, snapping your phone shut. You and Dean sprinted back to the car, and Dean drove as fast and as wildly as he possibly could.

“One of these days, your driving’s gonna fucking kill us all,” you said, gripping the leather of the seat next to you and the door. 

“Not now, (Y/N),” he responded evenly, driving even faster. He plowed straight through the fence of the cemetery and drove right up to the mausoleum. You and Dean jumped out of the car and hurried into the building.

Dean pounded the door of the glass box containing the doll with the butt of his gun, and then went to walk out of the mausoleum. “Come on, Dean,” he grimaced. “Cover your eyes!” He told you. He shot at the box, and you shielded your face as he did so. You leapt back into action and knocked away more of the glass with your hands, cutting them as you did so. You ignored the burning in your palms and took the doll out of its case. 

You held the doll’s hair over the lighter, which Dean was having trouble lighting. “Come on, come on!” he said. Thankfully, the lighter caught the hairs of the doll and sent it up in flames. You dropped it on the floor between you and Dean and watched the rest of the doll burn.

Dean pulled out his phone moments later to call his brother. “Sam, you good?” He breathed a sigh of relief and hung up the phone.

You looked down at your bloodied hands. Dean followed your gaze. “(Y/N), you maniac, what were you doin’ pawin' at that glass with your bare hands, huh?”

“It seemed like a good idea in the moment,” you mumbled.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, huh?” He guided you back to the car. He held your wrists and sat you down in the front seat of his car. He went to his trunk and returned a few moments later. He sat next to you and gingerly began wiping down your hands. You hissed and grabbed his hand at the pain. He looked back up to you and paused momentarily.

“Sorry,” you said.

“All good,” he responded and went back to work. He gently cleaned your wounds with an alcohol-soaked rag and began to wrap up your left hand. You watched as he worked, heart swelling at the kind gesture.

“Thank you,” you said. 

“You’d do the same for me,” he muttered.

“I would,” you affirmed, smiling. 

He picked a piece of glass out of your right hand. You hissed again. 

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he said. “This one’s probably gonna need stitches.” He handed you his flask. “Drink this.”

You did as told and took a sip, swallowing sharply as you felt the first prick of the needle in your palm. “I’m not trying to be a little bitch. I’m really not when it comes to pain,” you said. “I can finish stitchin’ me up on my own if you wanna get back to Sam—”

“No. Let me,” he responded authoritatively. He looked up through his eyelashes at you before returning his attention to your fingers. He ran his along yours and gingerly cleaned the cuts, giving special attention to the deeper ones before bandaging the exterior of your hands. You flexed them painfully.

“Thank you. Seriously,” you said softly.

“Any time,” he responded.

***

“This was archived in the county records. The Merchant's adopted daughter, Melanie. Know why she was up for adoption? 'Cause her real family was murdered in their beds," Dean explained to you. “Who'd suspect her? Sweet little girl. So then she kills Isaiah and his family. The old man takes the blame. His spirit's been trying to warn people ever since.”

“Huh,” you said. “Psycho bitch.”

He scoffed. “You know you’re talking about a kid, right?”

“Yeah. Psycho bitch all the same.”

You and Dean were waiting outside of the auction house for Sam to finish talking to Sarah. You and he leaned against the car, watching Sarah and Sam talking at the door. Sam turned away from her before turning back moments later. He grabbed Sarah’s waist and pulled him to her, kissing her deeply. 

“That's my boy,” Dean smiled.

“Alright, perv,” you remarked. You shoved him down into the car.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @davina-clairee @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @stephshaww @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @here-for-the-extravaganza @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @rei0812 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @more-espresso-less-depresso-og @mysticmyth @favoritefandoms27 @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h

quite a few tags are broken; so sorry, my loves!! make sure you have my blog notifs on so you don't miss a chapter, and please let me know if ive misspelled your blog name!

[zorrasucia]

Teach Me Tonight - Part 6

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Deleted Scene] [Part 4] [Part 5] Part 6: [Part 7] [Deleted Scene] [Part 8]

Reader x Carmy Berzatto (The Bear FX)

Rating: Explicit (5k)

Tags: Smut, Set sometime after the opening of The Bear, Porn with a little plot, Virgin!Carmy, Jealous!Carmy, SoftDom!Carmy, Fluff, Miscommunication, Make up Sex, Sex Toys, P in V sex, Oral (M and F receiving), Both Carmy and Reader have a bit of a praise kink

Summary:

You were in over your head.

Some fashion vlogger had recorded a video in your store, giving it a glowing review and it had been good for business. Maybe too good. The store was now full of stylish teenagers with baggy jeans and designer bags, you had a new hire to train, and a local journalist had emailed you to ask for an interview.

He showed up a couple of days later, tall with dark hair, and every bit as stylish as you would expect a reporter from a fashion magazine to be. You had shown him around, let him take photos, talked about your favorite brands and decades of fashion, and complimented his printed shirt.

"It's from the seventies," he commented bashfully. "I'm a little obsessed."

And he talked about his ongoing quest for the perfect pair of bell bottoms. You showed him what you had in the store and promised to be on the lookout.

"You know, it's weird," he gestured to the side, where The Bear was. "I used to come here when they did sandwiches."

"They still do!" you beamed. "The fine dining is really good too. Well, I'm biased but-"

"Right! Being their neighbor and all," he concluded. You simply nodded along - no need to let him know the intricacies of your personal life.

"Let me buy you lunch," he offered. You were about to refuse when he added. "I'd love to try their food but I hate eating alone."

You accepted. It seemed harmless and it could be good for the restaurant too - maybe he knew a food critic and would recommend the place too.

Richie guided you both to a table with a smile, quickly catching up with your plan once you mentioned the interview, offering the journalist a sampler of the menu.

It was good - the food, the conversation. It caught you by surprise when Carmy stormed out of the kitchen, something angry in his stride.

"Are you enjoying the food?"

It was a simple enough question, it was the way he said it-

"It's excellent, thank you!" the journalist said earnestly, which only seemed to wind up Carmy even more.

"Good, great," he rasped, then turned towards you. "Can I talk to you?" it was said in that clipped tone that meant he was stressed and he didn't have good news.

You followed him to the back and touched his wrist briefly, trying to convey how important this was.

"Carm?" you asked, your face wrinkling in worry and confusion.

"You mad at me or something?" he asked.

"No! Just nervous, stressed... I don't even know - it's just the interview," you tried to reassure him. "Can we talk later, baby?"

"Sorry to interrupt," the journalist had walked up to you without either of you noticing. "I just wanted to know - are you the chef here?"

"He is, yes!" you smiled, thinking everything was going according to plan.

“Carmen Berzatto,” he said without offering his hand, his frown furrowed and something deadly in his stare.

The journalist gave one look at Carmy and his face shifted from friendly to scared. "I'll give you guys a minute."

Carmy was burning holes on the back of the guy's skull and you couldn't be more embarrassed.

"What's wrong with you?" you whispered.

"That fucking guy."

"He's the fucking journalist! Are you out of your mind, Carmen?" you were losing the last shred of patience you had left. "I was trying to do a nice thing and you- We can talk about this later at home, okay? Now leave, please."

You turned away from him and didn't look back until you had paid for lunch and walked the journalist out the door.

"I'm so sorry about him," you explained. "It wasn't personal."

"Don't worry about it. I worked as a server once. I swear working in a kitchen does things to your brain..." he mimicked a spiral by his temple. You winced.

"Yeah."

"Hope he doesn't bother you again," he said, which made your stomach drop. "I'll send you the article when it's done. And you have my number if you ever find those bell bottoms."

He waved goodbye and you huffed in defeat.

Suddenly, you were being hugged by Nat, her arms around your shoulders.

"Did Carmy send you?" you asked, patting her forearm.

"Kind of," she let go of you with a sigh. "He walked in the kitchen and kind of lost it? I had to get it out of him. And when he explained, I came over."

"Thank you," you said softly.

"He can be an idiot," she said.

"Yeah," you nodded.

"He loves you, though."

"I know," you said, rubbing your temples. It had been a long day. "I'll text him."

You were pacing the carpet, waiting for Carmy to get back from work. You had a list of things you wanted to tell him ready to go: that making a scene like that had been embarrassing and hurtful, that he had probably ruined the whole interview acting that way -

Your train of thought and frantic pacing was interrupted by the key in the door. Carmy walked inside, a defeated look on his face, and every cell in your body wanted to go and hold him but you stood still, arms crossed while he closed the door behind him.

"Hey," you said.

"Hey, I, uh," he stumbled. "What I said... What I did... I mean, even Richie thought that it was fucked up so..."

He let it hang there, in the air between you two, keeping his distance.

"Carm," you took a deep inhale. "I need you to understand the store is just as important to me as the restaurant is to you. It's finally going well. And maybe that means I have less time for you. I need to know that you'll be okay with it - with me being busy sometimes - that whatever that was won't happen again."

"I know, I know," he said looking at the ground. "I'm happy it's working out. I am."

You tilted your head. "Then what the hell happened?"

He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand.

"It's so stupid," he mumbled, embarrassed. "I got jealous. So fucking jealous. I had never- I didn't know what to do with it."

You uncrossed your arms - you actually hadn’t thought of that.

"No need to be, Carm," you reassured him.

"I just-" he blinked hard like he sometimes did when he was stressed. "This tall as fuck guy, with the fancy fucking shirt, just being charming around you..."

"You think I care about that shit?"

"I don't know, maybe?" Carmy looked at you with wide eyes. "I'm an asshole sometimes, I cancel plans, my family is a fucking mess-"

"Hey, I like Nat!" you interrupted his spiral.

"And I think she likes you better than me."

You stood in silence for a while.

"I'm sorry. I am," he said in the end.

You moved one step closer and pressed your forehead to his. "It's okay if you're jealous, Carm. Just- keep your cool if it happens again. Please," you said softly. "I don't know if I can handle you acting like that again."

He nodded. "Promise."

"I'm coming home to you, baby. No one else," you emphasized, running your hands over his chest.

"Mhmm," he tilted his head, eyes closed, like he wanted to kiss you but needed your permission. You surged forward, trapping him in a tight embrace and a searing kiss.

It got heated quickly.

He cornered you towards the kitchen, grabbing and pressing, until you were sitting on the counter, legs bracketing his hips, hands in his hair.

"Carmy," you gasped, as he kissed your neck like only he knew how. His tongue traced the contour of your collarbone and you moaned.

He undid the first few buttons of your blouse, burying his face between your breasts, kissing and nipping. You carded your fingers through his hair, and crossed your legs behind him, keeping him close. The heat between your thighs was getting more unbearable as time went by. He started kissing down, like he would eat you out, atoning for what happened, but you didn't want that.

You pulled on his hair and made him look up. "I need you inside me," he exhaled shakily. "Now."

He took a condom out of his back pocket while you unbuttoned his slacks, undressing him just enough to free his cock. His hands went under your skirt, eager, and moved your underwear to the side. When Carmy leaned to start fingering you, you grabbed his wrist.

"I need your cock inside me," you clarified.

You didn't want the tenderness of foreplay. You moved to the edge of the counter, taking his cock in hand and putting the condom on yourself. You guided his head to your entrance and felt him fill you out. It hurt a little, your pussy tight and unprepped, and weirdly that was what you wanted now. You whined once he bottomed out and he groaned at the feeling, the sound making you roll your eyes.

"Fuck," you held him close, arms around his shoulders, clinging to him for dear life. Without knowing where it came from, you said to the side of his face: "Show me I'm yours."

He inhaled sharply, his hands shaking where they held your waist. Then his hips moved back and forth in one long, agonizing stroke. You moaned. Again. And you held him tighter, letting drowned out cries pour out from your lips. He kept going for a little while, the pace so slow that it made you wonder whether all his anger had fizzled out by now.

Except he started going hard, hitting that spot that made you dizzy. Your breasts and legs were shaking with every thrust. You covered your mouth to stop from screaming.

"Holy shit, Carmy" you mumbled.

His hands touched all over, scratching your thighs and up, squeezing your hips, tracing your sides, caressing your arms and holding your wrists. You shivered. His cock kept hitting just right, his mouth exhaling on the side of your face. His hand traveled south, finding your clit like it was second nature, thumbing at it in small circles, just the way you liked.

"No one can fuck me like this," you whined. "No one makes me feel this good."

His hips stuttered and he moved so that your foreheads were touching and his eyes were staring right into yours, you could feel the sweat on his brow.

"Yeah?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"Yeah," you replied, your jaw slack as you kept panting and moaning. His pace was so steady that it felt like Carmy could go on forever. Then, impatient, you started thrusting your hips against his, making it go twice as fast, making him groan into your mouth and start losing control.

"Fuck," he cursed, grabbing your hips, steadying himself. "I'm so crazy about you."

"Carmy," you managed to say, desperate, your voice getting high, and your nails scratching at his scalp.

His free hand squeezed your breast over your bra and you slipped your hands under his shirt, caressing the hair on his navel, and up his chest, pinching one of his nipples hard.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned again.

You were so close you could almost taste it. Just then you grabbed his face with both hands.

"Tell me," you pleaded. "Tell me you'll never do that again. Tell me I'm yours."

"Never. Never, I promise," Carmy breathed into your mouth, little desperate sounds escaping his throat. "You're mine, you're mine, you're mine."

He came with a strong exhale, drowning every other sound into your neck. His thumb on your clit kept moving until you joined him, completely spent, bracing on the edge of the counter to stop yourself from falling back.

He placed gentle kisses on your throat while you both recovered your breath. You clenched your walls around his cock, drawing a satisfied moan out of him.

"Did you get the guy's contact?" he panted against your skin.

"Yeah, why?" you replied ruffling his hair with your exhale.

"Thought I'd send him a cannoli or something," Carmy looked up from his place on your chest. "Make sure what I did doesn't make you look bad."

You ran your fingers through his hair, soothing.

"I don't think that's necessary but I'm sure he'll appreciate it. He said something about wanting to marry whoever made the desserts," you teased.

"Don't think Marcus'll be interested," Carmy inhaled deeply, his nose on the exact place you sprayed perfume every morning, though by now it had probably faded into a saltier scent. "When's the article coming out?"

"Couple of weeks," you hummed, caressing his back under his shirt.  "We have time, baby. So much time."

~

You were leaning on the kitchen door, watching as Carmy and Syd posed against the counter. A photographer was giving them vague instructions about where to stand and where to look. She was also complimenting Carmy and hitting on him like she was getting paid overtime for it.

"Sydney, lean forward, yes, nice! Carmen, hit me with those blue eyes! Gorgeous, what a handsome guy!" she said with a cat-like smile.

The restaurant was going to be featured in Food & Wine, which entailed a photoshoot.

They had both started wearing their chef's whites, going for a more professional approach. Then, to make them more comfortable, the photographer asked them to change into their street clothes. It had done wonders for Syd, who was now showing off one of her mother's beautiful shirts with a proud smile on her face. It hadn't been quite as successful with Carmy - he had a tortured look in his eyes. Now he was standing awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen, even more withdrawn than when they had started, every wink and cheesy one-liner from the photographer making him wince.

"Okay, Sydney, a little to the side. Exactly, chin up, please! And Carmen - why don't you stand this way? Yeah, let's show off those arms."

You bit your bottom lip.

"Carm?" you called him - he turned with wide eyes. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

He nodded. "Sorry, excuse us," he mumbled, leaving the kitchen quickly, trailing behind you. He grabbed your hand and squeezed it. "I'm sorry," he said, his blue eyes pleading.

"What for?"

"All the things she's saying..." he turned briefly, making sure the door was closed. "Fuck, I don't mean to-"

"You're not doing anything wrong, baby," you reassured him, cupping his face gently. "It looked like you needed a break, is all."

"Yeah," he exhaled heavily. "It's a lot."

You nodded. "The kitchen looks really nice," you commented to lighten the mood. They had done a deep clean the day before that had run into midnight.

"Thanks," he smiled. Then added: "This is a fucking nightmare."

You intertwined your fingers with his. "I think-" you paused, "that she wants you to look confident. That's why she keeps saying nice things."

"They don't feel nice," he bit his cheek.

You remembered how hard it had been for him to accept compliments for anything other than his cooking when you had first started dating. He would scoff and dismiss every word. Even now, sometimes it felt like he didn't quite believe them and maybe was just humoring you - which broke your heart. There wasn't enough time to unpack all that, so instead you leaned forward, placing one hand on his hip, whispering to his ear, flirtatious.

"Carm, I want you to go in there and eye fuck that camera like you would if it was me," he took a sharp inhale. "I will make it worth your while. Let you do anything you want to me," you promised.

He gulped. "Jesus," he mumbled, his pupils dilated.

You gave him a brief kiss on the cheek. "I'll tell them you'll be back in a few minutes," you said with a satisfied grin and went back to your place by the kitchen door.

"He went for a quick smoke," you lied to Syd.

When Carmy returned, he was in control, hands on his hips, like he had suddenly remembered he owned the place.

"Okay, guys, let's get this over with," he took his place next to Sydney, leaning on the counter and staring right into the lens, something defiant in his stance.

Your heart started racing. Even the photographer seemed affected by the shift.

"Uh, yes, good," after a few clicks she said: "I think we got it. Mmm, one more from this angle and we'll be good to go."

She led them to the main entrance to The Bear, Sydney crossing her arms and Carmy mirroring that same stance. They looked like they had stepped out of a magazine, modeling some understated and ridiculously expensive brand. Carmy looked in your direction for a second and licked his lips, before he turned back to the camera, unflinching and determined.

Another few clicks.

"Thank you guys, that would be all," the photographer went up to shake their hands and say her goodbyes. You were about to follow her out when Carmy took you by the wrist.

"See you tonight," he drawled and you felt yourself get wet.

"When I said you could do anything you wanted to me, I wasn't expecting this," you panted, your hands buried in Carmy's curls, as he kept kissing and licking every inch of your pussy. He was taking his sweet time too, biting on your thighs and going up to give some attention to your breasts and neck whenever he felt you were getting too close to your release.

"What were you expecting?" he asked, an amused glow to his face while he rested his chin on your hip, his mouth and nose shiny with your arousal.

"I don't know," you sighed, frustrated but so turned on. His hand caressed your pussy gently and you moaned. "Give you a blowjob, wear a silly costume, something like that."

"And are you into that?" he asked.

"I do like to suck your cock," you said honestly. Sometimes, with other guys, it had felt like a chore, not with Carmy, you loved to see him come undone, let go completely.

"See, the thing is," he kissed the curve of your hip, "if you gave me a blowjob it would be over so quickly," he exhaled right on your spread out clit which made you shudder. "And where's the fun in that?"

You giggled giddily when he squeezed your ass, manhandling you closer to his face, keeping his focus on your pussy.

"So you're just going to edge me until I beg?" you asked, half wanting for him to say yes.

"Don't worry," he gave a long lick, from the bottom of your lips to the top, making you arch your back and curse. "You will come," there was something dark in his eyes again, that same determination from the photoshoot back in his face - he was in charge. "When I want you to."

You shivered. "Fuck, Carm."

He started sucking on your clit, his tattooed fingers curling inside of you. You melted under his touch, feeling your pussy squeeze his fingers.

"Please, Carmy..."

He stopped sucking, messing with the rhythm, keeping you hanging by a thread.

"You will come," he repeated, "when I want you to," the speed of his fingers increased. "As many times as I want you to."

You moaned. His mouth latched onto your clit, licking until you were thrashing on the bedsheets, his forearm kept you in place on the mattress.

"Fuck, shit, baby," you mumbled. Your gazes met, his blue eyes fiery. He nodded and you came in a blur, desperately grabbing at anything - his hair, the bedsheets - the feeling all the more intense for the time he had spent working you up. He kept kissing and sucking until you stopped moaning and started chuckling breathily.

"Just like that," he praised, something playful in his voice and you would have teased back if you weren't so completely spent.

He kissed the outside of your folds, staying away from your clit and your entrance, just worshipping the skin around them and you caressed his hair lovingly.

"You make me feel so fucking good," you exhaled.

He climbed up your body and kissed you hard, mouth open, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. His cock, hard inside his jeans, grazed the lower part of your belly, it made you tremble in anticipation. "You gonna fuck me?" you asked between one kiss and the next, your hips lifting up to ground on his.

He clicked his tongue. "Not yet," he got up and opened the drawer of your bedside table, taking out your rabbit vibrator. "This charged?"

You nodded, biting your lip.

"Good girl," he praised and your hand squeezed your breast almost unconsciously; something happened to you whenever he talked to you like that.

He lowered himself next to you, held up by one arm; his hand teased your pussy, his calloused fingers spreading wetness around.

"D'you need lube, baby?" he asked, more out of politeness than anything since he knew the answer very well.

"I think I'm okay, Carm," you laughed and he kissed the side of your face.

"Mhmm. So fucking hot," he whispered and you felt the dildo poking at your entrance.

You placed your hand on the side of Carmy's face, your thumb near the edge of his mouth. He sucked on it thoroughly, then let go with a pop. You whined needily.

"Please, please, please..." it poured out of you.

He bumped your forehead with his, his gaze was intense and hungry.

"Keep looking at me," he ordered, and you obeyed, keeping your eyes open even as the dildo went all the way inside you and filled you up deliciously. The coldness of the toy reminded you it wasn't Carmy's cock - but he was holding it, he was right there next to you. Your face contorted in pleasure.

"Yes, like that," he encouraged you, his words tickling inside your belly. He seemed to be overcome just looking at you - it made you feel wanted, adored, beautiful. You wanted to make him feel that way too.

"Carm," you gasped. "I need you to know- Oh, fuck," he pumped the toy inside you, slow, so slow. "I need you to know," you repeated through the fog of pleasure, "all those things the photographer said. They're true. Oh, my God, baby," his expression softened even as he buried the dildo deep inside you. "Your eyes are beautiful," another thrust, you caressed his face. "Your arms are so hot," you held onto the arm that was fucking you, squeezing the muscle there. "Shit. You're handsome, gorgeous, fucking- oh!" you blurted all at once, turning the compliments into moans. "I swear - fuck!" you held his gaze. "Can't believe you're mine."

He leaned forward, kissing you tenderly, swallowing your moans.

"I love you," he said softly.

"I love you," you replied, a choked out sound leaving your lips.

He turned on the vibration and watched you lose control, becoming desperate with lust, thrusting your hips wildly. He kept you there a bit longer than necessary, torturing you a little with how long he was drawing it out. It was so good, so fucking good.

"Carmy. Please," you begged.

"I know, I know," he soothed. "You're doing so good."

It sent a shiver down your spine and made the very last thread inside you snap.

"Oh," you exhaled, coming harder than you ever had, scratching at his forearm, screaming into the skin of his shoulder.

"Sound so nice," Carmy mumbled, looking as pussy drunk as a man could be without actually fucking one. "Baby, baby, baby."

You stayed there for a while, the dildo still inside you, and Carmy's hands touching your waist tenderly while you kissed.

After a long while of that, he got up from the bed, and started getting undressed while you watched. You bit your lip and put your head on your hand, enjoying the sight. He caught you staring.

"You really meant all those things you said," it began as a statement and ended as a question, Carmy's voice going up slightly.

"Every word," you said, taking out the dildo as Carmy showed you his cock. You licked your lips. "D'you mind? Me saying things like that?"

You wanted him to be confident but you didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

He shook his head. "I liked it," he admitted. He stood right by you, beside the bed, fiddling with the condom he had retrieved from your drawer. "Made me feel good."

"I'm glad, Carm," you reached out to caress his leg, following the line of muscle there. Saying he was beautiful once while you fucked wasn't going to change his mind, but you were willing to keep trying.

In the meantime, you could show him. Even with the exhaustion of everything Carmy had done to you, you wanted him inside you, wanted to see him roll his eyes in ecstasy. You crawled to where he was, kneeling, near the edge of the mattress. His cock was hard, pulsing, and it made your mouth water. He stood still, dropped the condom on the mattress, probably guessing what you were about to do.

When you were an inch away from his cock, he pulled your hair and stopped you.

He gestured at the vibrator. "Put that back inside you," he said in that demanding voice and you rushed to do as he said, only uttering a small moan when you had it inside you. He leaned over, tracing a long line from your neck to your ass, reaching to turn it back on on the lowest setting. You writhed a little but after a moment of adjusting to the feeling you were able to stay still and look at Carmy.

"Good girl," he said again and you keened, leaning forward to suck his dick. The sound he made once your mouth was on him was heavenly. "Holy fuck."

His hands were tangled in your hair and you wished you could deep throat without choking, just to watch him lose his mind completely. You settled for going as far as you could, getting every inch of him slick with saliva, making him groan and sweat. You looked up, his eyes were white and his face was flushed, his Adam's apple bobbing as he tried to breathe. You hummed with satisfaction and that woke up his competitive streak.

He pulled on your hair lightly. "Gimme a second," he panted. You thought he needed a breather, but he actually moved to turn the vibrator up a couple of notches. You trembled and reached for his ass, bracing, leaving red scratch marks on the tender skin.

"Fuck, baby," you said between moans. "Not fucking fair."

"Mhmm," he smirked, caressing your scalp. It took all your willpower and concentration but you moved forward and went back to sucking his cock, feeling a pang of pride as he threw his head back and uttered some curse you couldn't quite decipher.

The vibrator set a pace you could follow, rocking forward as it pulsed, letting you give Carmy pleasure while you were ridiculously close to losing your mind yourself.

"Shit, baby," he gasped, his knees buckling for a second. "Make me feel- Fuck, y're so good, so good," he mumbled.

The steady pace of the vibrator was building up a tense knot inside you - you were close, and so it became a race of making Carmy come before you did. You doubled your efforts, speeding up, hollowing your cheeks, moaning into his skin.

"You're fucking killing me," he growled, pulling on your hair just the way you liked it, making you roll your eyes as you sucked on his length. You were completely overwhelmed; you couldn't help but whine over and over. "Holy fuck."

He stared right onto your eyes as he came. He had told you he didn't mind if you spit his cum but sometimes you felt like drinking it all, consumed with lust - today was one of those times. You stayed there, licking his slit, caressing his balls until he pulled you away.

"Fuck, baby," he sighed, kneeling on the carpet to look at you.

He was completely wrecked: face red and sweaty, hair messier than you had ever seen it and a glazed look in his eyes. He tilted his head to kiss you thoroughly, tasting the cum leftover on your tongue. You could finally let go. You put your hand between your belly and the mattress, maneuvering the vibrator so it hit right where you needed it and you came immediately, kissing Carmy, biting on his lips, and humping on the bed. It was too much and just enough.

Carmy helped you take it out once you started whining from feeling sore. He moved your body to lie comfortably on the bed, your head on the pillow and him next to you.

"Fucking insane," he exhaled. You chuckled in agreement, fucked out senseless. "D'you need anything?" he asked gently after a moment.

You shook your head, raising a hand to caress his face.

"I feel perfect, Carm."

You moved your index finger, tracing the contour of his eyebrows, the line of his nose, and the curve of his cheekbone. 

“Pretty,” you managed to say.

He smiled and brought you closer, inhaling the scent of your shampoo, his arms around making you feel safe.

~

[Part 7]

~

@th3h0nkz

[spideydreams00]

Turn the lights off/on

𝐃𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧!𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐒𝐡𝐲!𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Trigger warnings: NSFW, witchcraft and demon invocations, dom!eddie x sub!reader, tentacles, anal sex, oral sex, lose of virginity (reader) dacryphilia, bdsm, corruption kink, unprotected sex, dubcon (it’s actually dark), oral sex (male r) non accurate descriptions of witchcraft, use of “Y/N”, reader has female anatomy, hints of YN getting bullied at school. lemme know if i forgot something. (Let’s ignore “Kas” is from dnd please) (reader is +18)

𝐄𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬.

(𝐠𝐢𝐟 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞) (𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝)

Usually loneliness didn’t bother you, to be honest not much things bother you, maybe the girls that pull your hair as hard as they can but it’s not their fault, you should know better than to wear your hair down in front of them. Then there’s the guys, they never try to hangout with you either, to scared that you’ll cast a spell on them but brave enough to pick on you, “it’s none sense” you think

Of course you were aware of your “not so common” hobbies, how much they bothered everyone around, you mommy doesn’t know how to talk to you and daddy doesn’t even bother anymore “they’re bussy” you think

You grew to love nature, the sound of the rain and coldness of the wind are better company than any of your classmates at this point “that must be why no one likes me, for having those thoughts” selfish selfish girl

Anyways, that was yesterday, you shrugged at the thoughts and continued to look through the bookcases, most of them are too tall for you to reach and you’ll certainly won’t ask for help, hopefully something interesting will be there for you able to reach or not, until…. “THE UNDEAD AND ENTITIES” caught your eyes “bingo” you beamed until you read the rest of the title “Advanced witchcraft” well, here’s the thing, you’re not an exceptional witch that comprehends everything but hey! You casted a “self love spell” yesterday, this must be on the same level. Confidence is everything.

You grabbed the book and sprinted to “Susan” the librarian, she just made an annoyed sound and sighed (completely unsurprised).

To eager to get home you sprinted towards the exit until you almost slipped, the floor was wet “hmm?” It started raining and you didn’t even noticed silly silly girl.

By the time you got home your hair was soaked and your rubber boots covered in mud, dirty foot prints on your carpet but your excitement was way stronger than they worry you felt for you to actually do something, when you got to your room you stumped into the edge of your vanity, “fudge!” You cried, great, now you have a bruised hip how ever that wasn’t the important, you were more interested on the book you just dropped, it opened itself into a page the legend “Kas” was all you could read until you took a closer look.

You traced your finger over his photo “pretty” you thought this man- demon was indeed pretty, his long brown locks looked silky in the picture, he appeared to have red eyes and his skin looked gray-ish but not so much, he had tattoos and pretty factions adorning his face, if he wasn’t a demon he could be an angel or a god, “Ironic” you thought….

Finally you began to read the instructions. Salt, candles, black obsidian, 3 drops of your blood… Yeah yeah you have all of those things thank god again ironic, you traced the salt circle and pinched your finger with a needle, dropping 3 drops in your chalice and positioned the obsidians how the instructions said…

Kas

Kas

Kas

Nothing happened, you’re not sure what to expect, but absolutely not nothing! You heard the wind chimes and sighed, “well maybe it doesn’t work” you groaned and began to retire each of the items from it’s place and when you finished you sat on your vanity “why didn’t the ritual work?” Of course you were frustrated, were you a bad witch? At this point you’re not even sure it your self love spell worked too

“Why the sad face?” You heard a voice say, and when you looked in the mirror there he was.. he- that- thing- man sitting on your bed looking at you though the mirror..

“Shit!” You cried “okay it fucking worked you thought” god you don’t even swear! Wait, god?

“I’ve seen really fucked up places doll face, like really fucked up places, but i have never been invoked in a room like- this…” he judged the pink wall paper of your walls

“I’m sorry im sorry!” Pathetic little cries came out from your mouth not so brave now right? The stranger tried to take a closer look to you making you fall from your vanity chair landing on the hard floor with a thud… it made him chuckle. “Please please, don’t hurt me” he chuckled and hovered over you “why am i here doll?” He asked again caressing your soft thighs with his claws, they were sharp, but not to sharp to instantly tear you apart.

“J-just wanted t-to practice” you pleaded “practice what?” He asked sternly “R-rituals?”

He smirked, god what a pretty girl, he haven’t had much action in decades, he noticed the way you looked at him you were afraid of course, but also intrigued

“P-please…” you sounded defeated and he began to sniff you neck, taking a deep breath inhaling the scent of your perfume and your shampoo blending with fear and lust god you smell fucking perfect

“Are you scared?” You nodded. “Then why are you wet?” He asked

Shhh he cooed and you heard a slimy sound… he has tentacles hollyshit “What’s your name?” He asked “Y-y/n” you said and then you felt his tentacle began to rub little circles over your panties (skirt for easy access) the rubbing motions making your panties wet and not entirely because of you, his tentacles are wet themselves, he pressured harder making you whimper

“Does your pretty little clit feel good princess?” He asked and you cries in pleasure “it’s puffy already princess, do you neglect it? Don’t you treat your pussy right?” fuck

The only thing you can do is moan and cry in pleasure when you feel the tip of his other tentacle rubbing circles in your entrance “messy girl” “gonna put it in, gonna put the tip in” he said making you clench in anticipation, your gummy walls hugged him just right feeling the texture of his tentacles drag inside you

“I’m a v-virgin” you cried in pleasure. “well, not anymore sweetheart” he smirked and pushed his tentacle all the way inside you making you cry out in both pain and pleasure “f-fuck so tight pussy’s made for me” the soaping sounds your body was producing were addicting his eyes locked in you even though your eyes were rolling back into your head, he noticed the lack of a bra under your top now your hard and sensitive nipples were pressing against it

He pinched them through your top with his index finger and his thumb making you yelp “Y-yes! Yes more please!” Your high pitched moans drove him insane “gonna give it hard to you whore” his tentacle inside you began to fuck you faster, harder, slamming into you so hard it kissed your cervix, it hurts but the motion of his other tentacles rubbing your clit felt so good.

Then another tentacle appeared making his way around your torso and holding you in place “how does it feel bunny? You look so cute all cock drunk, well tentacle drunk” he chuckled “G-g-good ff-feels good” you babbled, he started to palm the huge bulge in his pants moaning “fuckin’ h-hell bitch got me all worked up, all because that tight little pussy-“ he noticed that way you were clenching on him and the louder your moans got “filthy thing you’re gonna cum” he angled his tentacle so now he was hitting that sweet spot inside of you, the one that makes you see stars, the one you never reach when you touch yourself late at night and hump your stuffies, then you feel it, you’re gonna piss- oh no oh no

“Stop! G-gonna- need to” “Just fucking cum!” he growled… and it was inevitable the pressure on your abdomen ceased and white hot pleasure invaded your body making you see spots, you’re soaked and your body is vibrating “Yes! Yes! Yes! Gonna fucking breed you, gonna be stuffed to the brim bitch- you f-fucking BITCH!-“ he growled, pleasure invading his body, it was too much for you, you tried to move back, away from his delicious tentacles but he grabbed your hips holding you in place that’s gonna leave a mark

Then you feel it…. Not only your second orgasm but his… the first rope of his seed “Oh-my-“ he starts but it’s interrupted by his own moans you’re crying and his moans are so hot and needy, animalistic, he’s cumming so much, enough to feel a chalice at least, he’s pumping you full of his cum “M-milk me- Milk me!” He gasps for air but you’re cumming too, clenching so hard against him making it impossible for both your orgasms to stop…

Both your moans ceased and his arms are tightly wrapped around you, his tentacle still there too, you tried to catch your breath and his head rested on the crook of your neck, it felt peaceful but it didn’t last long “Need more of you princess, need another hole” he croaked

Before you could protest he flipped you onto you stomach, now in all fours he splits your legs apart, his tentacles wrapping around your ancles, he pushes your tits out of your top too

“Look at these baby fuck” he rasped and pinched your nipples again, this time also massaging your tits. You were still trembling, tears falling from your pretty eyes, he was so fucking hard, balls blue even his dick hasn’t been in you just yet, only his tentacles that had filled you with cum too… the tentacle in your pussy moved again but slowly and you cried, over sensitive, the other one applied pressure on your clit again but didn’t move, the one thats wrapped around your torso starts to play with your nipples, flipping and rubbing them, just like the one thats on your clit.

You feel another one “fuck” you think, its sliding all the way from your calf to your ass to your tight rim, it’s circling it, making it wet, just like lube would do

“Is this little hole a virgin too sweetheart?” He asked smugly “Your pussy- fuck sweetheart, she’s the best I’ve ever had” you wanted to feel proudly but too deep into submission to even think about yourself, Kas is your master now “All of me K-Kas… I’ve n-never done anything with any-anyone” you said

“Hmm?” Cute he thought “Fuck doll, even that pretty little mouth?” He chuckled and you nodded, this time proudly, it all made sense now, you’ve always been his that’s why life turned this way

He kept circling your rimm with his tentacle and tried to test the waters by dipping just the tip in… again the texture driving you insane. You whimpered at the sensation and felt him slide deeper into you, this time making you cry out, both pleasure and pain

The tentacle in your pussy began to move faster

“You’re gonna be a slut for me aren’t you baby? Might been a virgin a few minutes ago but look at you now… the dirtiest slut I’ve ever seen, so full of my cum. Don’t worry baby, i have more for you, gonna be stuffed”

“I’m your slut Kas, all yours” you cried and it felt so unnatural to talk like this but not displeasing “Eddie” he said

“W-what?” You asked “It’s fucking Eddie!” He growled and pushed the tentacle all the way into your ass making you fucking cry, the tears falling from your eyes making him want to fuck your harder, everything he has was slamming into you faster Harder He got rougher

Now you were crying and panting like a bitch in heat your mouth fell open and it was too late for you to protest when you felt another tentacle sliding into you mouth muffling your moans, cries and whimpers, it was too much, but it felt so good

“Fuck!” Eddie cried in pleasure, you didn’t know and he wouldn’t tell you but you were overstimulating him. How was it possible that a human was making him feel this good?

The tentacle slides trough you throat fucking it, the other one pistons into your ass and your pussy is nothing more than a fleshlight he’s fucking roughly… the circles in your clit we’re erratic now, faster than your fingers will ever allow you to go and your nipples? Oh god your nipples… You think you can cum only from the way he’s playing with them

Your eyes are rolled back and at this point you’re squirting, soaking everything and cum falls from your pussy making a little puddle on the floor

You can’t let him know you’re gonna cum… how?

“B-baby baby-“ he cried “gonna make me cum g-good girl? I’ll breed you okay? Gonna let me breed you?” Its a rhetorical question, even if you don’t want him to, he’ll do it, he’ll fucking do it

It’s building in you again, it’s too good it’s too much and you can only hear the wet sounds your body is making You cry again in pleasure and everything went white… your vision the only thing you hear now is…

“I’m cumming! Fucking whore I’m cumming!” Your tears blur your vision but you feel all the cum filling all your little holes… a literal cum dump

it’s over it’s over….

You feel him collapse on top of you, his whole weight into you is welcomed and you feel all the tentacles leave your holes slowly

You’re covered in sweat and so is he, it’s too sticky to be comfortable and you try to move but-

“Shhh shhh” he cooed “Don’t move baby, let me have this” you noticed the huge wet patch on his pants he came untouched your breath calmed down and he picked you up gently and placed you on your bed “Eddie” you rambled, the dizzy look on your face letting him know you were still tentacles drunk

“Fucking precious little thing” he growled, “I’ll come back later okay? You’re too interesting to let go now” He kissed your forehead and disappeared leaving you all sticky on your bed

Fuck

[cranberrymoons]

holes on the house 🍩

prompt: hole (@steddiemicrofic) LMAO word count: 404 rated: m for innuendo notes: LMAO blame the collective brain cell we all shared for this one; also if it's not obvious, Ian is unnamed freak aka my best friend

“You’re kidding.”

Eddie’s been trying to track it down for weeks now, ever since he heard the rumors floating around about the insanely hot new food truck guy who just opened up shop. He’s looked everywhere, even taken to stalking them online for updates on where they’ll be, but no luck until now, stumbling out of the Hideout after a show with an arm slung over Ian’s shoulders to fumble for the pack of cigarettes in his breast pocket.

And there it is: a bright pink truck with an open side, glittering under the streetlight with a loose line of people waiting to order, The Hole printed on the side in white stylized script.

“This is the best night of my life,” Eddie says as he finally manages to snag one of Ian’s cigarettes. He sways a little, tipsy as he cups a hand around his face and bends to light it. “Please tell me we made enough on covers tonight to justify paying way too much for sexy donuts?”

Ian makes a face. “Technically, but–”

“But?” 

“But we’d probably be better off just getting gas station ones on the way home.”

Eddie clutches his chest and places his other hand on Ian’s shoulder. 

“I’m being so serious right now,” he says. “If you ever loved me– and you do, we all know you do.” He points at the food truck with the end of his cigarette. “Please let me go hit on hot donut boy.”

Ian gives him a flat look, completely unimpressed by Eddie’s dramatics, which– is rude, honestly, after how much time Eddie’s spent staring at donut boy’s buns on Instagram. 

Ian sighs. “Fine.”

“Fine?” Eddie says. He claps Ian on the shoulder again. “Fine is good– yes. Donuts. I just really like donuts.”

Ian snorts, shoving his hands in his pockets as he follows Eddie to the back of the line. “Sure you do.”

It takes them a while to make it to the front, but it’s so worth it when they do. So, so fucking worth it. 

The guy leans over far enough that Eddie can see down his shirt to the miles and miles of hairy chest. Pops his hip out and grins. 

“Saw you play tonight,” he says, eyes flashing. “You guys were good. Holes on the house.”

Eddie almost chokes on his tongue. “What about the donuts?”

The guy laughs. “If you give me your number.”

[also on ao3]

[roosterforme]

The Younger Kind Part 7 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley goes on his second date with Amanda. She's beautiful, sweet, and so into him. But you're on his mind like always and he needs to do something to finally get you out of his head and out of his system. He has an all too willing participant.

Warnings: Smut, angst, swearing, fluff, and age gap (18+)

Length: 4600 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more!

On Saturday evening, Bradley was getting ready for his second date with Amanda. He had been steadily beating himself up since you left on Friday morning. He could tell you were upset with him. Honestly, he was upset with himself. Kissing you while he was drunk had been bad. Seriously some college fuckboy shit. Probably worse than the guys your own age, because he should know better. Because he was so much older than you. 

And then he had kept you here all night, basically hijacking you when he should have sent you home. Instead, he had taken you to his bed. 

But now, the joke was on him, because his entire fucking room smelled like you. When he had tried to fall asleep on Friday night, his pillow smelled like a field of wildflowers. And then all he could picture were your glossy lips, pouting with a bright red Skittle perched between them. 

His dick was rock hard after that, and it had been almost painful how badly he needed to masturbate to the thought of you at midnight, his face buried in his pillow.

But that was yesterday. Now he was fresh out of the shower, where he had masturbated again, this time thinking about you in those cutoff denim shorts you had. At least now he was considerably less wound up as he let Noah play on his bed while he picked out something to wear to this film festival with Amanda. 

Amanda. Yes. Now she seemed like a safe bet. She checked off all of his boxes, and she was definitely giving off the vibe that she was into him. She had even been the one to initiate plans for the second date. 

"Should daddy wear this on his date tonight?" he asked Noah who was playing with some stuffed animals. He held up jeans and another Hawaiian print shirt. 

"For the babysitter?" he asked, perking up. 

Bradley swallowed hard. He wished. "No, bub. You get to hang out with your babysitter. I'm going to watch some movies with another woman."

Noah turned back to his stuffed panda and said, "Stay home and play with us. And eat ants on logs."

Bradley dropped the clothing onto his bed and ran his hands over his face. He stood there in his underwear for a minute, taking deep breaths. 

"Noah, I'm going out with this lady so that hopefully you can meet her one day, okay?"

He listened to his son mispronounce your name. "I thought she was your favorite."

Bradley groaned, yanking on his jeans. "She is, bub. That's the problem."

He heard you let yourself in and call out his name.

"Bradley? Noah? I'm here."

Noah slid off the bed and ran out of the room as soon as he heard your voice. Bradley also felt like running into the living room to give you a hug. Instead he finished getting dressed and ran his fingers through his hair to make it look better. But when he made his way to the living room and spotted you holding Noah, wearing those cutoff shorts and a tank top, Bradley thought maybe he should have jerked off again. 

"Hi," you whispered to him, trying to keep your expression neutral. Bradley wasn't sure if you were still upset with him because he had kissed you, but he did promise not to let it happen again. He would also wake you up if you ever dozed off on the couch again. 

"Princess." The name was out of his mouth before he could take it back, and he watched your expression change. Now you looked pleased with yourself as you set Noah down. 

"You look nice," you told him. "For your second date."

He laughed. "Yeah, I guess I have you to thank for that, since you fixed my app for me."

Bradley watched your face fall a little bit. "That must be it," you agreed. "Where are you going?" you asked as you pulled some coloring books out of your bag and held them out for Noah. 

"A film festival. In Balboa Park," Bradley replied. He watched Noah select the dog themed book and plop down right on the living room floor with it. 

You ruffled Noah's hair and handed him a box of crayons, and Bradley was once again aching for you.

"A film festival? Sounds right up your alley," you told him. You chewed on your lip for a beat before you added, "Maybe you should take your pajama pants and some popcorn."

Bradley could picture cuddling with you and feeding you popcorn in this room so easily, he needed to close his eyes and take a deep breath. 

"Nah, I'd miss my own couch too much," he promised you. 

"Ah, I see. Maybe for your third date then? You might need your couch?"

No.

He thought it so quickly. Almost said it out loud. Because he honestly could not picture bringing Amanda here after a third date.

Instead he said, "We'll see."

You nodded before you sat on the floor next to Noah. "Well, have fun."

Bradley cleared his throat. "If the two of you need your crowns, Noah's is on his dresser. And yours is on my bedpost."

Your eyes popped up to meet his, and your lips parted. He had hung it there again after you moved it before you left for your class yesterday. It was where it belonged.

"Thanks," you whispered. 

----------------------

As soon as Bradley left, you could feel your body sagging. You watched Noah color while you took a minute to catch your breath. A second date wasn't the most serious thing in the world, but you needed to get over him now. Before it got any worse. Because even if not with Amanda, there would eventually be a third date, and a fourth, and a sleepover, and a relationship. 

You felt sick now. 

"Can you color that dog green?" Noah asked, looking at you with his sweet face and handing you a crayon. "What's wrong?" he asked, climbing into your lap and mispronouncing your name.

"Nothing is wrong, Noah. I get to color with you and make you dinner."

He settled back onto the floor and said, "I wanted daddy to stay here tonight."

You sighed. "That would have been nice." You wondered what this woman looked like. She must have been pretty. Most of the women you saw messaging had pretty profile photos. They all looked like real adults, too. Women who had established careers, and maybe kids of their own. The kind of woman Bradley was looking for. 

"Are you hungry?" you asked Noah. "Want me to make you some spaghetti?"

You tried your best not to let your thoughts stray to Bradley, but when you opened the refrigerator to get some milk out for Noah, you saw that Bradley had purchased two more bottles of the French vanilla coffee creamer. You knew he must have preferred hazelnut, but he seemed to have switched to your favorite flavor. 

You slammed the door shut hard enough that Noah jumped in his seat. "Sorry," you whispered, kissing the top of his head and pouring him some milk. "Okay, time for spaghetti."

Apparently Bradley liked you well enough to keep you coming back to babysit, but not enough that he would kiss you again when he wasn't drunk and rambling about how pretty he thought you were. 

----------------------

Amanda was snuggled up against Bradley on the picnic blanket she had brought. He was already sitting awkwardly as it was, and now his back was starting to hurt as she was pressing her body along his arm. He could feel her breasts rubbing against his bicep, and he wasn't sure what he should do about it. 

"Mind if I lay back?" he asked, feeling like this date was not going as well as dinner had two nights ago.

"Sounds good," Amanda practically purred, planting her palm against his chest and pushing Bradley back. When he propped his arm behind his head, he was still able to see the gigantic screen that had been set up in the park, but soon Amanda was laying on his chest, blocking the view.

"Oh, okay," he whispered, and she smiled, resting her chin on his chest.

"I mean, we weren't really watching it anyway, right?" Amanda asked, and a really adorable smile lit up her face as she licked her lips. She was pretty. And now she was scooting up along his body, her dress pulling a bit, exposing more of the tops of her breasts. 

Bradley swallowed hard, and then her lips were on his. She pushed her fingers into his hair, but it kind of tickled more than anything, and Bradley was barely returning the kiss. It wasn't bad, but he also had no problem keeping both hands tucked underneath his head. 

Amanda moaned softly, and he supposed it would have been enough to get him going, but now he was thinking about how his bed still smelled like you. When he tried to go to sleep later, he was probably going to get hard again. Harder than Amanda would be able to get him with her mouth on him. 

Bradley pulled back a tiny bit, and thankfully his phone vibrated in his pocket. "Gotta check that, sorry," he muttered, unlocking his phone to see that you had sent him an image. He opened it with a pounding heart and clumsy fingers, revealing a photo of Noah in his crown, writing DADDY on a sheet of yellow construction paper. 

Bradley just wanted to be at home. 

"Everything okay?" Amanda asked, sounding a little impatient.  

"Uh, yeah. One second," he mumbled, sending you a text back.

Are you wearing your crown too?

Almost instantly you wrote back to him, and Bradley was excited to see another photo of you in your crown. But he didn't get one.

Babysitter: No. I'm not feeling like much of a princess tonight. Enjoy your date.

Bradley sat up again, not sure why that bothered him so much. 

"What's wrong?" Amanda asked. 

"Nothing," he insisted, and then she was touching him again, her lips gliding along his neck. 

"Good," she whispered, running her hand along his arm and lacing her fingers with his. And then thankfully the credits started rolling, and everyone on the neighboring blankets started to stand up. 

"Movie's over," Bradley said like a straight up dunce, getting to his feet and pulling Amanda up as well. He checked his phone again. It was almost 10:30 and you hadn't said anything else to him. 

"Oh, well, it's early. How about we go get dessert or coffee?" Amanda asked, insisting on keeping her fingers linked with his. "Or.... I could show you my place?"

Bradley just grunted. "I need to get back to my babysitter."

"Right," Amanda replied. "Walk me to my car?"

Bradley nodded, and managed to get her in her car only after she kissed him and rubbed herself against the front of his body. She moaned into his mouth, and Bradley honestly didn't know what the fuck was wrong with him. She was perfect, and she was clearly keen on fucking him. 

He broke away, and when he was about to tell her good night, she said, "Call me and we can set up another date." But he just nodded and started to head for his Bronco. 

-----------------------

After you gave Noah a bath and got him changed into pajamas, you and he shared a snack. 

"Can you teach my dad how to make the ants on the logs?" he asked as you carried him to his bed.

You chuckled. "I can try, Noah, but I don't know if he could even handle doing that much in the kitchen."

Noah sighed and snuggled in with his stuffed animals. "The food is better with you here," he said with a yawn, and you rubbed his back until he was sleeping. 

Then you went about your routine of picking up toys, cleaning the kitchen, and getting some food prepared for the boys. Because even if it broke your heart to know that Bradley didn't want you, there was just no way you could leave him and Noah hanging. You started by making more carrot sticks for them, and then you moved on to a few dinners before curling up on the couch with your textbooks and some Skittles. 

Bradley's date must have been going well. It was pretty late, and you were trying not to think about it. You had clinicals coming up, and you needed to study. You made it about thirty minutes into your reading by the time you thought you heard Bradley pulling into the driveway. And when he rushed inside you looked up at him, just as you popped an orange Skittle into your mouth. 

"Princess," he muttered, smiling softly at you. 

"Bradley."

"Why aren't you wearing your crown?" he asked, closing the door behind him, but never taking his eyes off you.

You laughed, popping two yellow Skittles between your lips as you closed up your book and put it in your bag. "Why aren't you still on your date?"

"I asked you first," he insisted, and you rolled your eyes. 

"I just felt more like a peasant than a princess. That's all. Now, why are you home already?"

Bradley's brow was scrunched as he sat down right in the middle of the couch, his leg rubbing yours as you immediately stood. He looked up at you, saying, "I'm not really sure." He eyed you up and down where you stood in front of him, like you were on display for his eyes only. "And you're no peasant."

His gaze was making you feel warm as you ate the last Skittle and dropped the wrapper into your bag. "I guess you're the peasant. No Skittles for you tonight," you told him. But he just responded by licking his lips. 

"I don't deserve any," he told you, and you watched his huge hands as they slowly rubbed up and down his thighs. You thought about climbing in his lap, kissing him and letting him get a taste of the candy after all. 

Instead you told him, "You'll let me know when you're going on your third date, and I'll come over to stay with Noah." And then you hoisted your bag up higher on your shoulder. 

"I don't think there's going to be a third date," he told you, his voice so deep now, it reminded you of when you heard him in the kitchen early yesterday morning. 

"Oh." You weren't sure what to think about that. You'd psyched yourself up all night long, gotten used to the fact that this Amanda woman was going to be getting to sleep in his bed with him, unlike you. And now, maybe that wasn't actually the case. "What's the problem? She tell you she hates salad dressing?"

He shook his head. "Worse. She was pretty and nice and funny, but I didn't want to touch her."

"That's a shame," you whispered, remembering exactly how his hands and his kisses felt. "Well. You know how to reach me." Bradley was staring at your lips as you turned to leave, and you pulled the door closed behind you without another glance at him. 

---------------------

Bradley was about to beg you to stay. You were the same, still funny, witty and sharp as a tack, but he could tell you were irritated with him. He wanted to get you back to joking around in the kitchen with him. He wanted to kiss you again, push you up against his furniture. While he was sober, so you knew he meant it. 

But you were turning to leave, and he wasn't sure when you'd be back, because he didn't have any more dates planned. And he couldn't make himself want Amanda, no matter how hard he tried. 

Just as he was about to suggest you stay and have a beer with him, you were turning to leave without gracing him with another glimpse of your pretty face.

"Fuck," he groaned as the door closed behind you. "You fucking idiot," he growled, picturing those Skittles brushing against your lips before you crunched on them. He rubbed his hand along his dick through his jeans. He was hard and getting harder now, and that's when he caught sight of your hoodie on the couch next to him.

Bradley grabbed it and buried his face in it, inhaling the wildflower smell and stroking himself again. "Princess," he grunted, running his nose along the fabric. "Oh, fuck."

He unbuttoned his jeans and eased the zipper down, knowing there was only one way he was going to get a little bit of relief, short of enjoying your body right now. With one more deep inhale, Bradley let his hand glide down his abs, ready to pull his jeans down. He groaned your name this time. And then the front door opened again.

"I forgot my hoodie- Oh!" you gasped, eyes wide as you took in the sight before you. Bradley had his hand close to his cock, and your shirt was balled up in his fist, near his nose.

He was hoping you'd just turn around and leave again, pretend you didn't see any of this. He was completely mortified as he dropped your hoodie to try to cover his open zipper and his underwear from your view. At least he hadn't pulled himself out yet.

But instead of leaving, you pushed the door closed, with you firmly inside his house. You took a delicate step toward him, nibbling on your lip with your eyes trained on his. 

"Were you saying my name?" you asked softly, taking another step in his direction. He was so mesmerized by your body, with your bare legs on display, he started nodding before he could stop himself. 

"Yeah, Princess," he groaned, and he knew his cheeks must be bright red.

He watched you reach up and touch your neck. "Shouldn't you be moaning Amanda's name?" you whispered, and Bradley was treated to the sight of you pressing your fingertips to your lips. 

He just shook his head, and now you were standing right in front of him, so close he could touch you. You knew now. He was certain you knew exactly what you were doing to him. There was no turning back. 

"No, Princess. Amanda doesn't make me hard like you do."

"You were thinking about me?"

Bradley nodded. "That's the problem. I can't stop thinking about you." He couldn't believe he said that. He was going to die of mortification. 

But you whimpered, and Bradley was bucking up against nothing as your eyes dropped to his barely concealed erection. 

You bent at the waist, resting both of your palms on his knees, and Bradley was treated to a nice view down your shirt. You licked your lips, and he was about to lean forward and kiss you as you said, "I can help you with that. If you want."

Then you slowly pulled your hoodie off of his lap and glanced down. Bradley's cock was hard and huge, aching as you were touching him now. Before he could answer, he watched you sink down to your knees and settle in between his splayed legs. You were rubbing his thighs through his jeans, and his heart was pounding so hard, he thought he might pass out. 

Your voice was so soft and sweet. "Do you want me to?"

The only thing Bradley wanted was for you to take care of this for him. For him to be able to feel your hands on his body. He groaned as you ran your fingers up and over his cock, squeezing him through his jeans. 

"Oh, yeah, Princess. Please."

And then you were guiding his jeans and underwear down until he was springing to attention, finally free from the tight fabric. 

Your glossy lips were parted, and your eyes were wide as you reached for him, wrapping one hand gently around his length. You stroked him once, and Bradley almost shot up off the couch, it felt so good. 

Then you kissed his tip, swiping his precum away with your tongue, and Bradley was leaning forward and tipping your chin up to meet his eyes. 

"Princess," he groaned, running his thumb along your lips. "You done this before?" He wanted you so badly, but he couldn't stand the thought of this being your first foray into oral sex. He was simply too far gone for something so delicate. 

You parted your lips and licked his thumb with a smirk. "Yeah. Once or twice, Bradley." Your tone was sarcastic, and he throbbed in your hand. "I am in college, you know. I'll take excellent care of you, I promise," you whispered, kissing his tip again while you kept eye contact with him.

"Yeah," he grunted. "That's what I'm afraid of." He stroked your cheek, watching your every move intently. When your perfect lips parted and wrapped around his cock, Bradley ran both of his hands through his hair before fisting them at his sides. You were barely sucking on him, just the tip, but it felt so fucking good he was already panting. 

When your tongue popped out to swirl around him, he tipped his head back and groaned. "Princess," he hissed, his cock leaping in your hand as you let your thumb trail down his full length to his balls. "Goddamn it."

He watched you smirk and open your mouth wider, taking as much of him as you could. You bobbed on his length, pushing him deep enough that you were starting to gag. And that was it; Bradley's hands flew to your face, stroking your cheeks softly with his fingers before pushing back along your hair.

You watched his face as you hollowed out your cheeks and sucked harder. "Oh, fuck," he growled, neck and shoulders straining against the urge to fuck your face until he came. He didn't want to do that, not right now, because this slow agony you were putting him through was fucking fantastic. 

When you slowly dragged your lips back to his tip and popped him out of your mouth, Bradley was treated to the sight of your wide eyes and your tongue peeking out to wet your lips. You looked so fucking innocent. So young. So filthy with your tongue laving along the underside of his cock, keeping him nice and wet. 

Then you moaned softly, and Bradley hissed your name. 

You eyes met his with a soft, hazy look as you ran the tip of your nose down to his balls. "God, you're so big," you whispered, kissing him there. "Are all Daddys this big?" you asked him. 

Bradley pulled gently on your hair, tipping your head back to look at him, keeping you steady with his other hand on your neck. The softest sound escaped your parted lips as he leaned forward a bit. "Call me Daddy again."

Your lip trembled as you nodded with Bradley's hand tight around a fistful of your hair. "Okay. Daddy."

His primal moan filled the living room, as he watched you rub your cheek against the angry, red head of his cock. 

Then your perfect lips were on him again, your tongue treating him to sensations he couldn't ever remember feeling. He tried to keep his hands gentle on your face and hair, but you felt too good. He found himself guiding you a little slower, needing to make this last as long as physically possible.

You took him until you gagged again, and Bradley was seeing stars. "You're so fucking good, Princess," he groaned, but that just seemed to egg you on as you went harder. Bradley watched you take him impossibly deeper, feeling the rub of your throat along his tip. He could feel himself moving against your throat where his hand was now gripping you, and he just gaped at you, mouth hanging wide open as you licked and sucked. 

When you released him again, you used both hands to stroke him as you kissed the tip. "Do you like this, Daddy?"

Bradley's eyes were practically rolling back in his head. "Oh yeah," he grunted, thrusting up into your palm as you tickled and squeezed his balls in one small hand. 

"Do you want to cum in my mouth?" you asked him, eyes glittering as you kitten licked along his cock. He was throbbing in time with your little licks and kisses, and he leaned forward to kiss your forehead. 

"God, baby. So bad," he grunted, pushing you down gently with his palm on the back of your head. He saw you grin and heard you giggle, and he couldn't get enough. When you parted your lips for him, you guided him toward your plush tongue, tapping him against you there. Then you wrapped your mouth around him once more, and Bradley knew he wasn't going to last long. 

The obscene, wet sounds. Your soft moans. The vibrations along his dick. You were bobbing hard and fast now as he chanted Princess.... Princess!

You took him so deep, he could feel your lip and you saliva on his tightening balls as you sucked him hard. He knew his fingers were digging into your scalp, and you were squeezing his hip now. When your gaze met his, Bradley really felt his control slipping. 

"No, no, no," he whispered, wanting this to last forever. It was so good. You were too good at this. And he would be lying to himself if he said your pretty, innocent looking face wasn't making him even harder for you. 

You must have been able to tell he was close when you wrapped one hand around the base of him. You swirled your tongue while you jerked your mouth around him with such finesse, Bradley couldn't believe you were only twenty four. "So fucking good," he groaned. "God damn it!"

And then you took him like a champ, all of his thrusts hit the back of your throat, but you barely flinched, keeping your gaze on his. Your eyes were watering now, and you whimpered as he filled your mouth and throat up with his hot cum. 

It had been so long since he had been with a woman, but he didn't think he'd ever had an orgasm that lasted this long. He was still groaning, fingers gentle at the back of your head as you swallowed him down. Then you came back for more, slowly gliding your mouth back down his length before popping him out again. 

He whispered, "Princess. Fuck," as he watched you lick up the additional beads of cum that you coaxed out of him. And then Bradley was spent, sitting back against the couch in a daze. He stroked his fingers along your cheek and chin, caressing you as you continued to lovingly kiss and lick his cock as he started to grow soft in your hands. 

"You okay, Daddy?" you asked him, wiping up some of his cum from the corner of your lips.

"Princess," he whispered as you nuzzled against his hand. "You learned a lot in college, huh?"

You just giggled, and reached your finger out to his lips. Bradley opened his mouth for you, and licked up his own cum, loving the look in your half lidded eyes. He watched you lick your finger after he was done with it, and then you stood up. He thought about asking you to stay with him, but instead he just sat there with his cock hanging out and watched you pull on your hoodie. 

"Let me know when you need me again," you told him with a smirk before leaning down and kissing his forehead. Then you left again without another word. 

--------------------------

Bradley got his dick wet with the babysitter. Bye, Amanda. Enjoy your babysitter fic @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 8

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[indouloureux]

Heyyy can u possibly write a fic about being Eddie’s girl friend and going to a party with him and he gets super wasted and gets all touchy feely to his gf

thank you for requesting! <3

one of the things you love about eddie is that no matter what his state is — whether it be sober or drunk on cheap beer — is that he's still clingy.

good clingy. it's amusing to see him with vermillion cheeks and a silly, drunken smile with heavy eyes to be looking down at you, bending over so that he'd shift his entire weight onto you.

which was exactly what he's doing right now.

nancy laughs lightly when eddie yells your name, tripping over his feet when he nears you. your heart pounds, chest fluttering with a bemused sensation at the sight of your boyfriend.

he opens his arms, and finally lets his feet stumble over each other as he topples over you.

"baby," eddie mumbles in your hair, rich scent of liquor and cheap perfume stinging your nose. "baby baby baby baby,"

"hi," you hook your arms beneath his, pulling him closer to you and you pat down his hair, nancy giving you an entertained look. "hey, eds. where've you been, huh?"

"'bout to go sk- skinny dipping," he whispers in your ear. "big boy dared me to take my clothes off and go skinny dipping with him. and- and i'm here to take you with me."

had you not been surrounded by any other young adults in this party (minus nancy, robin, and steve) you would have said yes. but you're about 90% sure the cops are gonna be called in less than an hour by the neighbors and you wouldn't be so pleased getting handcuffed naked. neither will your parents.

"i'd love to, but it's getting late—"

"no!" he whines, trapping you in with a bear hug. your cheek smushes on his chest, judas priest print cold against your skin; eddie rests his head on top of yours, pouting deeply, eyes watering and suddenly he sniffles. "don't go. don't wanna go. wanna- wan- wanna go with you,"

"you are going with me," you tilt your head up, placing your chin on his chest, grasping at his shirt. eddie lazily runs his fingers through your hair, snorting absentmindedly at how soft it is. "we just gotta go home."

"now?" he mumbles, wrinkling his nose. "but i wanna see steve naked!"

"we'll see him naked next time,"

"but i wanna see you naked," his pouty expression shifts, smirking drunkenly when his hand comes down to cheekily grasp at your ass. you gasp, looking behind you to see nancy laughing. "let me fuck you in that pool,"

you adjust the lapels of his leather jacket, brushing the hair out of his face with a flushed face. eddie leans close to your cheek, kissing the inside of your palm. "you can see me naked when we get home and shower," you tell him. "and you can fuck me tomorrow,"

he whines again like a petulant child not getting what he wants, his feet stomping on the ground as he shakes you by your waist. "why tomorrow?!"

"because you're drunk!"

"but drunk eddie says yes!" he almost yells. "who cares about what sober eddie thinks? he's a pussy. fucking prune."

"hey," it's your turn to pout. "don't talk about sober eddie like that. he is you, y'know? just– knows our boundaries more than you do."

"no," he shakes his head. "can we go home now?"

only because he wants to see you naked than to get some rest. but you know the second he sees his bed he's out like a light. nancy gives you a good luck pat on your shoulder and a goodbye nod to eddie, before you look back at your boyfriend. "yeah, babe, we can go home now,"

[rinsaint]

MILF FUCKER <3

ft. Aran, atsumu, && iwaizumi !!

cw. legal age gap (reader is 29 they are 19), milf fucking duhh, infidelity, tit play, atsumu has a filthy filthy mouth, fucking on a yoga mat, breeding, degrading, oral, riding, spit, unprotected sex, one smack to the ass, marking, making out !!

ARAN: Aran is definitely known in the group for fucking women older than him and that are milfs. And when he gets tease cause of it by his friends, he quickly denies it saying it’s not true. Which is obviously a lie. You, his next door neighbour who happen to be older than him and have 3 kids. He took interest into you quickly because you spiked curiosity in him. Always so sweet, giggling and touching his beefy arm that he has worked hard for — fuck how could he not be attracted to you. And you were a divorced women? it was a win for him, atsumu would say. Your kids were staying with their father for the weekend and as you were making yourself coffee you noticed how you were out of milk. So you went to your next door neighbour aran to borrow a cup of milk. When aran opened the door he was shirtless and wore a sweatpants that showed his dick print. You gulped slightly. And that’s how you ended up with your face pushed into the mattress of his sheets, thrusting his cock in and out of your warm and tight cunt. You let out a pitched moan when he landed a smack on your ass making you clench around him. “Yea? you like that little slut? getting pounded into with my big cock?” You nodded your head and let out a cry as he sped up his pace. “c-cummin’ aran! m’gonna cum please.” He pushes your head down more as he slowed his thrust down but banged his hips into your ass. Each thrust he gave you knocked the wind out of you had you coming with a moan of his name. He bit his lip as you gushed around him, letting your juices soak his cock. Not long after he had came inside you. He pushes his cock real deep into you so you can feel his seed in you. So you can know he’s in you. Maybe his stupid friends were right.

ATSUMU: definitely a person who is also known to fuck women older than them that has kids. He has no shame about it either. His current interest was in you — ‘samu’s worker that worked at his food restaurant. And god were you hot. Your breast poking out of your work outfit and the pants of your work outfit making your ass look big. ‘Tsumu can’t help but want to talk to you. So he asks samu about you and he learns that you are a married women with 4 kids. Married huh? He didn’t care, it was no problem for him. So tsumu strikes a conversation with you at work and he finds you intriguing. I mean god — whoever guy that’s married to you obviously isn’t doing something right because when atsumu brings up that you’re married, you have a forced smile telling him that you’re happily married. Bullshit, he thinks. You two became closer and actually became friends. And you aren’t obvious to his flirting, and you’d never admit but you liked the attention he gave you other than your husband who comes home and never pays any attention to you. And atsumu knows that. And he knows you know he knows that. And that’s why when your husband took your children to see their grandparents for a while, atsumu is quick to come over to your house and fuck you until the only word you know is his name. Atsumu groans as you bounce up and down on his thick cock, gripping on e of your tits and sucking on your harden bud. You grip onto his shoulders letting out a whimper, “‘atsu, m’so close, need your help please!” And who is he to deny his love? He grips onto your hips lifting you up and switching the position you two were in so now your laying under him. He grabs his cock and you whisper out when he thrust back into you in one quick motion. He grabs under your thighs and starts fucking into your cunt like an animal. “Fuck baby— ya cunt squeezin’ ma so hard. ya liked getting fuck by me don’t ya? such a slutty whore. imagine what yer husband might think if he ever sees you whining and begging f’me.” At his filthy words spilling from his mouth, you bring him closer to you and grip onto his undercut as you come. He groans feelinfs the way you squeeze him and comes right after you. You’re about to get up but stop as atsumu pushes you back down on the bed. “Ya think we are done baby? nah, m’gonna fuckin’ breed ya until yer stuffed with ma babies.”

IWAIZUMI: Iwaizumi knew you had kids and were divorced because you were a regular incomer at his workout place. Everytime you come there he helps you with a few stretches and he can tell you are stressed. As he’s stretching you, he notices something is wrong so he asks you about it. You tell him about how the kids father is still trying to fight for custody over the children and how work is kicking your ass. And iwaizumi tries to pay attention he does — but when you let out that high pitched groan when he pushes your leg down to your chest, he gulps as he’s making eye contact with you which feels like forever. He could honestly get lost into your mesmerising eyes. He let out a cough and adverted his eye contact. He puts your leg down and says you two should take a break. You grab onto his arm telling him to wait, he looked back at you and is surprised to feel your lips on his. And god does he grip your cheek so fast and press his lips into you more to deepened the kiss. He pushes you down slightly on the mat and takes his shirt off. It’s all so quick, just minutes ago he’s stretching you out, the tension thick, and now he’s having a taste of your cunt that he’s been thinking about. God this was so unprofessional considering he was at work doing this, but he didn’t care, all he cared about was you and the way you taste. He pulls away from your dripping cunt and gives you a kiss on the cheek as you whine. “Hold on baby, m’gonna give you the real think mhm.” He said, as he pulled his short and underwear down in one quick motion. He spits in his hands and slowly jerks himself and lines his cock up with your entrance. Your grip onto his shoulders and whine when he pushes his thick cock inside of you. You pull iwa down into a kiss as he pulls out again and slams into you. You wrap your legs around his torso as you moan into the kiss, fuck he was so close but he wanted you to come first. He put his thumb on your clit and roughly rubbed circles on it making you clench around him. “baby fuck, m’gonna cum f’you please!” You whimpered out and came around him scratching and arching your back. iwa lets out a groan and pushed into you as much as he can and came inside of you.