Im Sooooo Funny Guys.

one of my nsfw dean headcanons is that he would never take his ring off while fingering your pussy, so the cold touch of the silver ring against your clit would give even more pleasure

@artyandink @figthoughts @angelblqde @swe3twitch @briiverse @whisperingdaze @soldiersgirl

girl where do u watch movies

um. online

THAT WONKA FIC WAS SO GOOD WTF DJRVJEVFJS I’M FOAMING AT THE MOUTH SO SORRY FOR ALL CAPS ITS MY FAVORITE WONKA WORK IN THIS WEBSITE NOW 😭😭😭

THANK YOU OMG???? IM SO HAPPY YOU LIKED IT!!! <33

HURT MY FEELINGS

─── hockey player! stanford! dean winchester

warning! sexc time, p in v, unprotected sex (don't be silly wrap your willy), cheating

word count! 3.6k

the house is alive, practically throbbing with the bass of the music blasting from every corner. it’s the first big party of the semester, and everyone seems determined to start the school year with a bang. red solo cups are everywhere, laughter and shouts mixing with the pounding rhythm. the place is packed—too packed—and the air feels heavy, a mix of alcohol, sweat, and cheap cologne.

dean leans against the arm of the worn couch, matt, one of his hockey teammate beside him, laughing about some dumb summer story. his arm is draped casually around lana’s shoulders. she’s perched close to him, her hand tracing slow patterns on his chest, her giggle loud enough to rise above the noise. they’re surrounded by a circle of teammates and their girlfriends, the conversation flitting between summer internships, upcoming games, and the professors everyone’s already dreading.

dean’s in the middle of some half-hearted response about his internship when you walk in.

his voice stalls. he doesn’t mean for it to, but he can’t help it. his eyes zero in on you instantly, cutting through the haze of bodies and noise. you’re with kennedy, laughing about something as you make your way to the drink table, and damn if you don’t look like you just walked out of one of those stupid teen movies lana keeps making him watch.

you’ve always been able to turn heads. but tonight, it’s different. it’s like you’re doing it just to spite him.

lana shifts beside him, tugging his attention back. her lips brush against his ear, something flirty and suggestive spilling out, but he doesn’t really register it. she must notice where his gaze lingers because her touches grow bolder—her nails scraping his jaw, her lips trailing over his neck. dean forces a grin and leans into her just enough to play along, but his attention keeps drifting back to you.

you don’t look his way. not once. not even when kennedy’s eyes sweep the room, sharp and observant as always, like she’s daring anyone to come over and ruin your night. it’s almost impressive, really, how you’re managing to avoid him—or maybe you’re just lucky. either way, the distance gnaws at him. are you ignoring him, or do you genuinely not care that he’s here? he’s not sure which answer stings more or better yet why it stings.

hours blur by, the party growing messier as the night deepens. lana disappears at some point, off with her friends—or maybe to make herself the center of attention somewhere else. dean doesn’t care enough to track her down.

he spots you again at the drink table, alone this time. the crowd around you has thinned out, and there’s no kennedy to run interference. you’re focused on mixing something into your cup, your movements unbothered, graceful even.

before he can talk himself out of it, dean pushes off the couch and makes his way over. he doesn’t bother with subtlety; he walks up like it’s the most natural thing in the world, a cocky grin already tugging at his lips.

”real cute that you think being my leftovers is something to flaunt,“ he says, leaning against the edge of the table. his voice is low, teasing, laced with just enough snark to draw a reaction.

you glance up, caught off guard by dean’s approach. the music pulsates in the background, blending with the din of voices and laughter around you. your expression tightens momentarily, a mix of surprise and irritation flickering across your features.

"flaunting? please," you retort, voice laced with a sharp edge. "i'm just here to enjoy the party, dean. like everyone else."

his grin widens, though there's a flicker of something in his eyes—something unreadable, buried beneath layers of cocky indifference. "enjoying yourself, huh? seems like it."

you resist the urge to roll your eyes. "believe it or not, i don't spend every waking moment thinking about you, dean. shocking, i know."

he hums, tilting his head like he's considering your words. "yeah? 'cause you walked in here like you had something to prove. all dressed up, laughing a little too loud, looking right past me like i don’t exist." his eyes flick over you, slow and deliberate. "almost like you wanted me to notice."

your grip tightens around your cup. "don’t flatter yourself."

dean smirks, leaning in just enough for his words to brush against your skin. "too late."

you scoff, shaking your head. "you really think everything is about you, don’t you?"

"well, in your case? it used to be," he throws back, smug and infuriating.

anger coils in your chest, hot and sharp. "yeah, until you screwed my best friend."

his smirk twitches, but he recovers fast, shrugging like it’s nothing. "what can i say? she was available. you weren’t."

your breath hitches, a sharp inhale cutting through the noise of the party. "you’re actually disgusting, you know that?"

dean’s grin doesn’t waver. if anything, it grows. "and yet, here you are. talking to me instead of walking away."

you linger, just for a second. long enough for dean to think you might actually say something else, might keep standing there and feeding into this back-and-forth, letting him push and pull at you like he always has. but instead, you just huff a laugh—sharp, unimpressed—and turn on your heel, walking away without another word.

that shouldn't bother him. it really shouldn't.

but it does.

dean watches you disappear into the crowd, his jaw tightening as irritation flares in his chest. he doesn't like being dismissed, least of all by you. so before he even thinks better of it, he moves, weaving through the throng of bodies, catching glimpses of you as you head toward the hallway.

"seriously?" he calls, dodging a couple making out against the wall. "you're just gonna walk away now?"

you don't stop, but you throw a look over your shoulder. "figured that’s what you wanted, dean. you got what you came for—riling me up. congratulations."

"see, i think you’re giving yourself too much credit," he retorts, tone laced with mock amusement. "not everything is about you, sweetheart."

you scoff but keep walking, shoving past some guy who’s too drunk to even notice. the hallway is slightly less chaotic, though the occasional group stumbles by, laughing too loudly, sloshing their drinks as they go. the noise is still there, muffled by the walls, but it feels different—more closed in, more personal.

dean catches up, grabbing your wrist just as another couple stumbles past, too wasted to care about the argument unfolding. you yank your arm back, glaring up at him.

"don’t touch me," you snap.

his jaw ticks. "then stop running away every time i try to talk to you."

you fold your arms, standing your ground. "oh, my bad, did you think i owed you a conversation? after what you did?"

dean rolls his eyes, stepping closer, challenging. "god, you love this, don’t you? pretending like you're above it all. like you don’t still think about me."

you let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "you're delusional."

another pair of drunk partygoers stumble past, eyeing the two of you with vague curiosity. dean barely spares them a glance before he makes a split-second decision.

before you can react, his hand wraps around your wrist again—not harsh, just firm—and suddenly, he’s tugging you through a half-open door.

"dean—"

the door clicks shut behind you, muffling the chaos of the party. the space is small, just a bathroom—dimly lit, slightly messy, the counter cluttered with empty red solo cups. the distant bass of the music still hums through the walls, but in here, it’s just the two of you.

"you have got to be kidding me," you seethe, crossing your arms. "dragging me in here like you have anything worth saying?"

dean lets out a sharp laugh, running a hand through his hair before looking at you like you're the one being unreasonable. "oh, come on. since when do you run away from a fight?"

you scoff. "since when do you think you deserve one?"

his smirk falters for half a second before it’s back, cocky and infuriating. "you act like i did something that wasn’t inevitable."

your jaw tightens. "are you actually trying to justify screwing my best friend?"

dean exhales, shaking his head. "i’m saying you act like i’m the only one who screwed up."

you blink, caught between disbelief and fury. "excuse me?"

"you think i didn’t notice?" he challenges, stepping closer. "the way you started pulling away? acting like i was just another thing on your to-do list instead of your boyfriend?"

your breath hitches, but anger surges past the shock. "that’s rich, coming from you. if you were so damn miserable, you could’ve broken up with me instead of crawling into bed with lana!"

"yeah? and you could’ve given a damn before it got to that point!" his voice rises slightly, his frustration cracking through the surface.

you shake your head, laughing bitterly. "so this is my fault now? unreal."

dean exhales sharply, gripping the edge of the counter, his knuckles white. "i didn’t say that."

"you didn’t have to," you bite back. "and you know what? i would’ve rather you just said you didn’t love me anymore. that, at least, i could’ve respected."

dean flinches, something unreadable flickering across his face before he masks it with another infuriating smirk. "yeah? that what you need to hear? that i didn’t love you?"

you swallow hard, your pulse pounding in your ears. "did you?"

he doesn’t answer right away. his lips press into a thin line, his shoulders tense.

the silence is unbearable. you should just leave. shove past him, throw the door open, and let this be the last time you ever let him get under your skin.

but then, dean exhales sharply and shakes his head, muttering, "fuck," under his breath like he hates himself for what he’s about to do.

the next second, he’s on you.

his hands grip your face, his lips crash against yours, and for a moment—just a fleeting, reckless moment—you kiss him back. because anger and heartbreak and longing blur together, and you don’t know how to stop yourself.

your hands fist in his shirt, dragging him closer. he groans against your lips, deepening the kiss, like he’s been starving for this, for you.

and maybe, just maybe, you have too.

the kiss is hot and desperate, months of pent-up anger and desire pouring out. the back of your thighs hit the countertop as dean presses against you, one hand tangling in your hair while the other grips your hip. you bite his lower lip, eliciting a low growl from him.

"god, i hate you," you breathe against his mouth.

"yeah?" dean murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck. "show me how much."

your nails dig into his shoulders as he sucks at your pulse point. you arch into him, a soft moan escaping despite your best efforts. dean's hand slides under your shirt, his touch scorching against your skin.

"this doesn't change anything," you gasp, even as you tilt your head to give him better access.

he chuckles darkly against your collarbone. "keep telling yourself that, sweetheart."

you grab his face, pulling him back up for another heated kiss. it's messy and rough, all clashing teeth and battling tongues. your fingers hook into his belt loops, drawing him impossibly closer.

dean's hands roam your body hungrily, like he's trying to memorize every curve. your hands return to his hair, tugging at it as you revel in the groan it draws from him. the bass from the party thrums through the walls, matching the pounding of your heart.

"fuck, i've missed you," dean mutters, his voice husky with want.

you hate how much those words affect you, how they make heat pool low in your belly. instead of responding, you capture his lips again, pouring all your frustration and longing into the kiss.

his hands slide down to your thighs, gripping them tightly before hoisting you up and placing you on the counter. you wrap your legs around his waist instinctively, gasping as he grinds against you.

"dean," you moan, your head falling back against the wall.

he takes the opportunity to attack your neck again, leaving a trail of marks that you know you'll regret in the morning. but right now, you can't bring yourself to care.

your fingers fumble with his belt, desperate to feel more of him. dean's own hands push your skirt up, his touch leaving goosebumps in its wake.

the rational part of your brain is screaming at you to stop, reminding you of all the reasons why this is a terrible idea. but the way dean is looking at you, with that mix of hunger and something deeper that you're afraid to name, makes it impossible to listen to reason.

"last chance to back out," he murmurs against your lips, his eyes searching yours.

you know you should. you know this will only complicate things, that you'll hate yourself in the morning. but the feeling of dean pressed against you, the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with something uniquely him, is intoxicating.

so instead of pushing him away, you pull him closer, capturing his lips in another searing kiss. "shut up and fuck me," you breathe against his lips.

dean groans, his hands steady as he slides your panties down your legs, stuffing the fabric in the pocket of his jeans. heat floods your cheeks, but it's quickly eclipsed by the growing need uncoiling in your belly.

his fingers find your slick folds, rubbing circles over your swollen clit. you moan, arching into his touch, and he groans low in his throat, the vibration sending shivers down your spine.

"god, i missed this," he mutters before dipping his head to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. his fingertips graze over your entrance, and you whimper, biting your lip to stifle a moan.

"dean," you mewl as he pushes a finger inside of you slowly, curling it in a way that makes you see stars.

"missed this too," he growls, picking up the pace of his ministrations. he leans in to suck at the sensitive spot on your neck where your neck meets your shoulder, knowing very well it's one of your weak spots. you gasp and dig your nails into his shoulders as sensation after sensation washes over you.

he adds a second finger, thrusting them both in and out in time with the pounding bass from the party outside. his other hand gropes at your breast through the thing fabric of your shirt and lace bra, tweaking and pinching your hardened nipple until you're writhing against him in pleasure.

"oh god," you whimper as an orgasm threatens to crash over you like a tidal wave. "de-dean!"

he must sense how close you are because he removes his fingers and stands upright again, licking his digits clean before shoving his boxers down just far enough to free himself. "wrap your legs around me," he rumbles against your ear before nipping at it with his teeth.

you do as he says, locking him between your thighs as tears prick at the corners of your eyes from the intensity of it all. dean lines himself up with your entrance, the tip of his cock teasing your folds. you whimper, digging your heels into his lower back to urge him on.

he captures your lips in a searing kiss as he pushes inside you, swallowing your moan. the stretch is familiar yet foreign, your body remembering him even after all this time. he stills for a moment, allowing you to adjust, his forehead pressed against yours.

"fuck," he groans, his breath hot against your skin. "you feel so good."

you roll your hips experimentally, drawing a sharp intake of breath from him. "move," you command, your nails digging into his shoulders.

he doesn't need to be told twice. dean starts to thrust, setting a punishing pace that has you seeing stars. your head falls back against the mirror with a dull thud, exposing your neck to his hungry mouth. he latches onto your pulse point, sucking and biting, adding to the marks you'll have to hide later.

the bathroom counter creaks beneath you with each thrust, the sound mixing with your muffled moans and dean's grunts. you're vaguely aware that anyone could walk in at any moment, but the thought only adds to the thrill.

you cling to him, your nails raking down his back as he sets a punishing pace. the anger, the hurt, the longing - it all pours out in the way your bodies crash together. it's rough and desperate, nothing like the gentle lovemaking you used to share. but right now, it's exactly what you need.

"god, i've missed you," dean mumbles against your skin, his voice rough with emotion. "missed this. missed us."

his words send a shiver down your spine, and you tug at his hair, pulling him in for a bruising kiss. your tongues battle for dominance as he continues to pound into you relentlessly, hitting that spot deep inside that makes you see god himself.

you can feel yourself getting close, that familiar tension building in your core. dean seems to sense it too, because one of his hands snakes between your bodies to rub tight circles on your clit.

"come f’me, sweetheart," he commands, his voice rough with exertion. "come all over this dick f’daddy."

his words, combined with the dual stimulation, send you over the edge. you cry out as your orgasm washes over you, your walls clenching around him as waves of pleasure crash through your body.

dean follows soon after, his hips stuttering as he empties himself inside you with a guttural groan. for a moment, you both stay there, panting and trembling in the aftermath.

reality starts to creep back in as the high fades. dean pulls out slowly, both of you wincing at the loss of contact. he tucks himself back into his jeans while you slide off the counter on shaky legs, smoothing down your skirt.

the silence between you is heavy, filled with unspoken words and lingering tension. you avoid his gaze as you try to fix your hair in the smudged mirror, your mind racing with the implications of what just happened.

dean exhales, rubbing a hand over his face like he’s trying to ground himself. you don’t look at him, keeping your focus on your reflection as you smooth your hair into place, willing your heart to stop racing. the silence between you stretches—too thick, too loud—until he finally speaks.

“so, what now?” his voice is quieter than before, rough around the edges.

you freeze for half a second, gripping the sink. then you let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head. “there is no ‘what now,’ dean. this—” you gesture vaguely between the two of you. “this was a mistake.”

he stiffens, his jaw ticking. “yeah? sure didn’t seem like a mistake a few minutes ago.”

you whip around; eyes sharp. “oh, don’t do that. i told you this wouldn’t change anything.”

dean shrugs, his smirk forced, like it’s the only armor he has left. “whatever you say, sweetheart.”

you glare at him, stomach twisting at the stupid nickname. but before you can respond, a loud knock rattles the bathroom door.

“occupied,” dean calls, irritation bleeding into his tone.

the door handle jiggles aggressively. “yeah, i don’t care,” comes kennedy’s sharp voice. “i know she’s in there, dean. open the damn door.”

your stomach drops.

dean sighs, running a hand through his hair before unlocking the door. the second it swings open, kennedy steps in, eyes scanning the situation in a millisecond. her gaze flicks between you—flushed, disheveled—and dean, still annoyingly smug. her lips curl in disgust.

“you have got to be kidding me.”

“kennedy—” you start, but she holds up a hand, eyes dark with disappointment.

“save it.” she turns to dean with a glare sharp enough to cut. “you’re a goddamn disease, you know that?”

dean smirks, unfazed. “good to see you too, ken.”

she rolls her eyes and grabs your wrist, tugging you past him. “come on.”

you don’t fight it. you don’t even spare dean another glance as kennedy pulls you into the hallway, the cooler air hitting your flushed skin like a slap.

and of course, because the universe loves to screw with you, the first person you see is lana.

she’s standing near the end of the hall, laughing at something one of her friends said—until she sees you. her eyes flick over your appearance, and something in her expression shifts.

you don’t stop walking. don’t even acknowledge her.

kennedy keeps a firm grip on your wrist as she leads you through the party, her pace brisk and furious. “we’re leaving,” she mutters. “before i actually murder him.”

you don’t argue.

because as much as you hate to admit it, she’s right. you need to get out of here. away from dean. away from the lingering heat on your skin and the mess you just made.

because no matter how good it felt in the moment, this—whatever it was—was never going to happen again.

breezy's notes: huge shoutout to my pookie bear dolly for letting me share a lil bit of stanford! dean and give him my own twist. hockey! dean is literally like 3 months old, but i finally decided to put him to rest aka post this. there is a bot that goes along with this, but i actually hate him and have to rearrange his insides (s/o justyce for that one) so he can act right before i release him to the masses. this was so much more than i expected to write but look at what happens when i actually lock tf in and do what i have to. RIP hockey! dean you were my first baby and ily

tags ⋆·˚ ༘ *🔭: @floralscented @deansbeer @aileenunfiltered @jasvtsc @honeyryewhiskey @florchids @bluemerakis @tortureddarkstar @figthoughts @ultravi0lence14 @misatxox @foolinthera1n @deansenvy @hoffmansgirl @eepwtf @lawboysammyy @jjmbbg @tinas111 @soldiersgirl @whisperingdaze @abox-of-rocks @starzify

I love how in the espn transmission they hate the ferrari/hp livery as much as anyone.

"They dont commit to it, go full blue and white"

"It looks like half of a car and half of another car"

"Look at the williams/hp of montoya" favorite one, that car look nice

the suspension of the indus waters treaty by india isn’t just a diplomatic blunder, it’s an existential threat to pakistan. india’s move to weaponize water—an act that blatantly disregards decades of international law and cooperation—is a stark violation of the spirit of the 1960 treaty, which was hailed as one of the few successful examples of cooperation between two deeply divided nations. for pakistan, this treaty was more than a technical agreement; it was a lifeline, ensuring access to the waters that sustain 80% of its irrigated agriculture. india’s threat to disrupt this flow, a reaction born from the latest kashmir violence, is a strategic misstep that doesn’t just endanger pakistan’s economy, but its very survival. the indus river system, which is entirely controlled by india upstream, has been a flashpoint of geopolitical manipulation since partition. the first major attempt to weaponize water occurred in 1948 when india blocked pakistan’s access to the rivers, resulting in the 1960 negotiations. the treaty that followed was a testament to the understanding that even in a region rife with conflict, some issues transcended politics. yet, india’s current approach echoes the cynical unilateralism that has defined its treatment of pakistan since the 1947 partition, where strategic interest always trumped mutual benefit. also, india's suspension of the simla agreement, which was signed after the brutal 1971 war, is a major blow to any remaining avenues of bilateral dialogue. that agreement was a cornerstone of post conflict diplomacy, aimed at fostering peaceful coexistence despite the traumatic legacies of war. india’s withdrawal from this framework further proves the extent to which it’s willing to abandon even the most basic principles of peace and stability in favor of militarized nationalism. pakistan, already facing economic turmoil, is now confronted with an india that seems determined to provoke an escalation at every turn. whether through water, trade, or the military skirmishes at the line of control. meanwhile pakistan has consistently called for dialogue, for diplomacy, and for adherence to international treaties. yet, it finds itself isolated, with india leveraging its military and economic dominance, while pakistan faces the perilous consequences of its own limited geopolitical maneuverability. india’s military first strategy, emboldened by a nuclear arsenal, undermines the possibility of any meaningful de-escalation, putting the entire region on the brink of catastrophe.

to frame this as merely another india-pakistan flare up is to ignore the broader narrative of asymmetry and historical injustice. india, with its economic and military supremacy, seeks to impose a new order that threatens pakistan’s sovereignty at every turn. pakistan’s calls for peace are drowned out by india’s relentless aggression, leaving pakistan with little choice but to stand firm. now, will the world stand by as india reshapes the subcontinent’s geopolitical map at the expense of its smaller neighbor, or will it hold india accountable for actions that risk a wider catastrophe?

BED PEACE — m afton

you’d love to stay in bed with michael without interruptions. it’s too bad some people have impeccable, or horrible, timing.

warnings – sex while on the phone, riding, slight jealousy

© MILL3RD 2023 — all rights reserved. mature content. please do not steal my works.

a thin, singular streak of orange cast into the bedroom, barely enough to fill up the room with the sunrise but enough so that you and michael could see each other. it was no surprise he had blackout curtains since when he wasn’t working the night shift, he was sleeping. usually.

you let out a sigh of content, wrapped nicely between your boyfriend and the covers. he was behind you, kissing your shoulders and back while his hands roamed underneath the silk sheets. you moved your hair over your left shoulder and turned around to face michael, bringing your hand up to redirect his head to face yours.

the two of your lips met, both of your hands cupping michael’s face while his still continued to bury themselves in forbidden territory. they remained on your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh.

you kissed for what seemed like a while, losing track of time as you both had the weekend off of work: michael as a night guard and you as an office assistant. two boring jobs, but you two could get by well enough together.

michael turned you around, getting you to straddle him so your core was flush against his own. you both let out a breathy sigh, your lips meeting again while your boyfriend rocked you against him. the fabric of both your’s and michael’s underwear created the perfect friction for the two of you, the materials dampening quickly.

you let out needy whines here and there between gasps for air and michael ate up your noises with just as needy kisses. your nails scratched his shoulders soothingly, you knew he enjoyed the sensation. michael’s hands left your thighs, trailing up the curve of your ass to the small of your back and so high that his palms comforted the base of your neck and his fingers massaged the back of your head.

pulling away, you opened your eyes and huffed. now letting your nail circle his chest, you pouted at michael and spoke barely above a whisper, “i can’t cum like this..”

“oh yeah?” michael murmured, his hands remaining in your hair. you nodded, your nose scrunching how it always did when you were frustrated and your eyes watering with want.

“can’t keep my girl waiting then, can i?” you grinned, giggling after michael told you to lift your hips. your thighs ached slightly as you squatted, hooking your arms around michael’s neck. he moved his boxers down just enough for his cock to spring up, bumping your clit. you huffed impatiently before michael pulled your panties to the side. he lined himself up and you finally let yourself sink down on him.

the two of you let out similar moans. you took a few seconds to enjoy the feeling of michael inside you before you started moving. the room was filled with groans and moaning in no time. the two of you barely had time to yourselves before the telephone rang. a collective groan fell from your mouths’ as michael leaned sideways and felt around for the box on your nightstand.

“hello?” michael asked as he wedged the phone between his ear and shoulder, the wire curling around your finger as you played with it in boredom. his eyes met yours, an annoyed expression falling upon his face. he gave the phone to you and you shook your head with a tiny smile. your friend was on the phone.

“hi trisha,” you greeted, listening to your friend rave about a possible outing. as a habit, michael’s thumb maintained circles on your hip, “yeah, i think that’s a great idea, when?”

trisha mentioned that she wanted you to meet her boyfriend and that michael could tag along if he wanted to. however, michael was starting to get bored. his hands gripped your hips and began to move you manually on his thighs. your free hand fell onto michael’s chest and you glared at him, but he just grinned.

“keep talking,” he mouthed and you rolled your eyes at him. she continued to talk about places to go later that day. your brows furrowed as michael hit a good spot inside you and a sigh left your mouth. you could hear trisha’s frown through the phone, especially when she asked if everything was okay.

“yeah, i just don’t think today’s a good day,” you excused, “me and michael planned to spend the day together, y’know with it being our weekend off and all that, maybe tomorrow? if that works with you..”

trisha sighed, yet she agreed that tomorrow would give you all time to plan out where and when.

you pinched michael’s collarbone and he winced, thrusting up into you to try catch you off guard again. this time, a scarcely audible moan left your open lips. but it was into the phone and trisha gasped, asking if you were okay.

“i’m.. ah, i’m fine,” you panted, your nails creating marks in michael’s jawline while he smiled, “it’s just a bit hot in here, haven’t managed to open the windows yet.. how does tomorrow at seven sound?”

you wanted to celebrate when your friend agreed to your arrangement but now she began to list why she knew you’d accept her boyfriend. michael was as impatient as ever and your eyes rolled back as he began to bounce you himself. your hold on the phone grew weak and little hums buzzed in the base of your throat. trisha took it as you agreeing with her. with every movement michael forced upon you, the phone slipped from your hand gradually until it fell into the sheets and your friend probably, surely heard the mattress squeaking.

michael grabbed the phone before you could, thrusting up into you quickly and spoke into the phone, “hey trish, we’re a bit busy right now, can you call back later?”

you could hear the familiar laughter through the phone before a few words and a buzz indicating she hung up. throwing the phone to the side, michael chuckled, “she knew the whole time!”

laughing along with him, you shrugged, “that’s trish, anything to frustrate us, gotta love her though..” your boyfriend rolled his eyes, “sure.. i think she just likes keeping you away from me..”

you giggled, leaning down to kiss michael a few times, “maybe, but now we can continue with no interruptions.”

michael grinned, stealing a longer kiss, “fuck yeah!”

｡⋆𖦹.✧˚──

you meet chloe in cairo. it’s too hot, the streets are too loud, and she talks too much. not to you, at first. you’re just the extra set of hands for a quick recovery job that’s gone sideways more times than it should’ve. you’re supposed to stay quiet, keep your head down, and do what you’re told. chloe doesn’t like people who take up space she didn’t give them. but she notices you.

the first time she actually looks at you— really looks — is after you talk a local dealer down from six thousand to two and a half for a map fragment she’s been trying to get for weeks.

she blinks. “well, i’ll be damned.”

you shrug, lips quirking. “he likes pretty faces.”

“so do i,” she says, and then walks off like she didn’t just throw a grenade and smile at the explosion.

it’s messy with her. always is.

the job stretches on longer than anyone wants to admit. more flights, more trains, more guns. more nights where neither of you sleep, and not just because of the danger. there’s this... buzz, you trade dry remarks, silent glances. she gives you that grin when you’ve got blood on your cheek and your chest is heaving and you both almost died, again.

she doesn’t touch you. not yet. but she wants to. and you feel it. that simmer just under the skin, waiting.

──

she kisses you in istanbul.

you’re in a crumbling hotel room with no lock on the door and only one working lamp. you’re bandaging her arm, a shallow graze, but it looks worse than it is. and she won’t stop fidgeting.

“hold still,” you mutter.

“you’re enjoying this, admit it.”

“you bleed too much.”

she laughs, but it dies off quick. her eyes are on you now, and they’re soft in a way you’ve never seen from her. like she’s thinking about letting you see something she’s spent years hiding under ten layers of sarcasm and steel. then: “come here.” she doesn’t say please. chloe doesn’t beg.

but you go to her anyway.

the kiss is rough. urgent. like she’s afraid if she waits, she’ll talk herself out of it. and maybe she would’ve. but you’re here now. and her hands are on your hips, pulling you in, grounding you both in this flickering, half lit room that smells like dust and gunpowder and something sweeter that neither of you will name.

you don’t sleep that night.

after that, it’s not easier. not with her. she still picks fights for fun, still flirts with danger like it owes her money. but she holds your gaze a second longer. hands linger when they don’t have to.

she lets you see her scared. once. maybe twice.

and when it’s all over, when the artifact’s in a box, the buyer paid off, the trail cold, she stands next to you on a rooftop in athens and says, “i don’t do the whole happily ever after thing.”

you nod. laughing at the comment. “me neither.”

she looks at you. quiet for a long while.

“but... yknow.. i could try.” she says, voice low. you slide your hand into hers. no fairy tale. just this. just her.

Kimi Antonelli getting his first pole and breaking the youngest pole sitter record by 2 years and then GETTING THE HELMET STUCK ON HIS HEAD AS DRIVERS COME YO CONGRATULATE HIM AND HE ASKS THE PIRELLI GUY FOR HELP 😭😭😭

the house was quiet, the kind of stillness that only existed in early mornings, when the world hadn't quite woken up yet, but your brain was already humming with the simple rhythm of eggs sizzling in a pan and toast ticking in the toaster.

sunlight spilled through the kitchen window in long, honey colored beams, softening the edges of everything. you stood barefoot at the stove, wearing one of nate’s old t-shirts that hit you mid thigh, sleeves too long, fabric worn thin from years of washes and adventure dust. the only sound was the faint hiss of breakfast cooking… until you heard the floorboards creak behind you. you glanced over your shoulder and smiled. nathan drake, world famous treasure hunter, was standing at the bottom of the stairs looking like he’d been hit by a truck made of sleep. his hair was a mess, shirt rumpled from twisting in the sheets, pajama pants hanging low on his hips. but the thing that caught your eye, the thing that made you pause, was the fact that he was wearing his glasses. you rarely saw them. he usually only pulled them out when he was reading something fine print, or up late sorting through notes. he hated wearing them. said they made him feel old. vulnerable. but this morning? he’d clearly just grabbed them without thinking. they were a little crooked on his nose, still fogged from the heat of upstairs. you turned back to the stove, biting your lip around a grin. “morning, professor.”

he let out a gravelly huff that was somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “that obvious?”

you slid the eggs off the heat and looked back again, your eyes soft now. “you look good.”

he squinted at you through the lenses, already reaching up to pull them off. “nah, i look like my dad.”

you crossed the kitchen before he could take them off, catching his wrist gently mid-movement. “i said— you look good. keep ’em on. it’s kinda hot.”

his eyebrow arched, the beginnings of a smirk curling on his lips. “hot?”

you leaned in close, your hand brushing against his chest as you reached up and straightened the glasses on his nose with a featherlight touch. “mmhmm. the whole retired adventurer turned domestic husband with glasses look? big win.”

he chuckled, hands finding your waist like they always did. “you keep talking like that, and i'll forget about breakfast.”

“you say that like it’s a threat.”

he kissed you, soft and slow, tasting like sleep and warmth and everything safe. when he pulled back, he was still close enough for his glasses to bump lightly against your forehead.

“seriously, though,” he murmured, “you always this perfect in the morning?”

you wrinkled your nose. “i’m literally in my pajamas.”

“exactly.” he pressed another kiss to your cheek, then your jaw. “perfect.”

you rolled your eyes and laughed, dragging him toward the kitchen island with one hand while the other gestured toward the food. “sit down, professor. eat before the eggs get cold.”

he obeyed, dropping into the chair with a groan and rubbing his face, glasses askew. “married life’s rough.”

you set a plate in front of him and ruffled his already wild hair. “yeah. poor you.”