#// they know about each other's feelings & thoughts

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

(Answer this after watching Chapter 4)

I NEED an X Reader where Reader comforts Doey after he's first frozen, or maybe one where Reader literally smacks some sense into Doey after the Safe Haven blows up(and we need the refugees to escape PLEASE-)

"Oh, it's you! Is the Doctor...?"

"No. Not yet. I'm working on it." You shook your head, looking apologetically at the doughy toy that had recently become one of your allies.

Even though you were just halfway through your trip through "No Man's Land", you're relieved that you didn't have to worry about Yarnaby following you around. You could have certainly used Doey's help beforehand, but he did save you from Pianosaurus at a critical moment where you thought it was truly the end for you.

Besides that, you were used to dealing with things on your own.

You sent Huggy into a pitfall, killed Mommy Long Legs, and set Catnap and Yarnaby ablaze without really anyone's assistance.

Killing the Doctor, on the other hand, was going to be a very different challenge. He wasn't some Bigger Body with flaws you could exploit--he was cruel, calculating, and wanted to prey on your fear and reasons for coming back to this factory.

Not to mention the Prototype, who was working with the mastermind behind the experiments for reasons still unclear to you. But the "why" wasn't important to you right now--letting this place burn down is what mattered most.

Doey was rather opposed to the idea of setting explosives in the foundation, although after everything you've seen (and knowing him and Poppy have probably seen things ten times worse), you were on board with the plan.

Because what was the alternative?

Letting all these toys starve and cannibalize each other? Waiting for some other poor soul like yourself to come here and die? Allowing the Prototype to have his way?

Absolutely not.

First things first..you had to find the omni hand for your grabpack, knowing it would give you greater access to the facility's systems. Apparently the Doctor had it under lock and key, meaning you had to take him out of commission before you could reach it.

At some point in your mission, you came across Doey again, who was inspecting a pipe. You felt a little bad for disappointing him when you said the Doctor wasn't dead yet, although he must have known it was going to take you some time.

But who could blame him? Him and the others have waited years and years for an opportunity like this. For someone like you to come along and save them.

He couldn't be at fault for being so eager.

"I figured as much." He sighed, smiling at you as he turned away from the pipe. "I've been here gathering parts for the generator."

"Really? Where's all the.....oh." You stopped yourself upon seeing him holding his stomach and giggling. "Right."

"Yup! LOTS of--ah!"

Without any warning, the pipe burst open with loud hiss and began spraying a cloud of cold gas directly onto him. Upon contact with his body, he became frozen solid.

You stood there in shock for a moment, before remembering that dough didn't mix well with the cold, and you panicked as you looked for a way to stop the flow of gas.

Then you looked up to see a switch, using one of your grabpack hands to turn the handle. Fortunately that seemed to do the trick, as the cloud dissipated almost instantly, allowing Doey to thaw out rather fast.

Despite your quick actions, he seemed thoroughly shaken, his eyes wide and his yellow arm stretched out, dragging it behind him as he quickly huddled into the nearest corner of the rooms.

"Hurts, hurts, hurts, hurts, HURTS!!!" He cried out, his arm morphing back into its usual shape as he tries taking deep breaths to calm himself down.

You frowned slightly and approached him, ignoring the opening doors for the moment. "Doey, are you okay?"

"N-No. He's made it impossible for me to get around here!" He snapped at you. "Traps like this are everywhere!"

His voice sounded different--with a lot more aggression to it, and so you kept your distance, feeling yourself growing tense.

You had to remember that no matter how innocent or kind these toys appeared to be...they were traumatized and obviously not of sound mind. They could turn on you at the drop of a hat.

Either that, or they're simply animals with unpredictable behaviors.

But you knew Doey wasn't some animal. He was an ally, someone you had learned to trust.

Your gut says that you seriously shouldn't, considering how trusting Mommy almost got you eaten alive, and trusting Poppy led to her redirecting the train and dragging you further into this mess.

But once you saw things from her point of view, you've come to realize that this wasn't something you could just walk away from.

How could you go on with life knowing all of this was happening beneath your feet? Especially now that she believes you were the only person who could help everyone who's suffered here--or at least whoever's left.

She put a lot of faith in you, and you couldn't let her down.

Although she definitely wanted you to hurry, you had to at least take the time to make sure Doey was okay after that trap was set off.

"It's the cold that hurts....th-the big mean Doctor knows that.." He sniffled, now sounding on the verge of tears as he hugged himself.

"And that's why I'm gonna stop him." You promised. "I'm gonna find whatever's left of that prick and destroy him. Once and for all."

"...I-I know. You can go on ahead. I'll..I'll be okay...I'll be okay..."

Despite what he says, you knew he very much wasn't okay just yet.

Then you had an idea.

"I know you will be. But first..."

The clay creature looked at you, seeing you open your arms up, the grabpack's mechanisms down at your sides. "Can I get a hug for the road, big guy?"

Doey sniffled again, at first hesitant to respond, but seeing your sweet attitude and the hope written on your face brought a smile back to his own features.

He nodded and hugged you tightly, squishing you against him and lifting you off the ground a few feet.

The smells of clay and dough were overwhelming, but they're a lot better than the other...ghastly scents you've somehow grown desensitized to.

"Of course you can, buddy!" He laughed. "You'll need it!" After a few moments, he set you down and checked to make sure he didn't leave any residue on you or your grabpack. "Thank you. That...made me feel a lot better."

"I'm glad. I feel better, too." You chuckled, adjusting the straps before making your way further into No Man's Land, praying that you'd make it to the Doctor's hideout and back to the Safe Haven alive.

They were all counting on you.

You couldn't fail.

Not after everything you've been through.

[mattybsgroupie]

— tub ★ matt sturniolo

— CONTENTS: established relationship; making out; semi-public sex; p in v; creampie; sub!matt

— NOTES: i literally gasped when i saw that pic and i just had to tell @mattscoquette how much i needed hot tub sex with him. well… here it is! i know i have so many requests but i promise i’m gonna write them all! not proofread as usual, i apologize for any mistakes, hope you enjoy it ♡

“finally” matt mumbled under his breath as he watched chris drink his last sip of soda before wrapping himself in a towel and getting inside the house. you chuckled at his comment, dragging your arms across the warm liquid that embraced you and moving towards matt. “why? i thought you were having fun”.

“i will have fun” he said, reaching for your hands and interlocking your fingers in each other’s palms as he pulled you closer, face to face with him. “now that it’s only us” .

“you’re so lucky water distorts the actual form of things” you teased, placing your forearms around his shoulders and comfortably positioning yourself on his lap, feeling matt’s boner against you. “i could tell you were hard 30 minutes ago” you continued, index flickering around matt’s necklace. you went further, bringing the chain in between your teeth before closing your lips around the cold metal, deeply staring inside his blue orbs.

“it’s not my fault” matt whispered, not being able to keep his eyes off of you. “not when you look this good” he allowed his hands to travel across your body, stopping by your hips and forcing them down. you gasped with the sudden contact, matt’s cock seemed to have gotten even harder if that was possible.

the purple, blueish light that shimmered from the corners of the tub along with the warm bubbles turned the moment intimate, and matt couldn’t help it — he pressed his chapped lips on your neck, licking the tiny droplets of water there.

you let out a heavy sigh, letting go of his chain and tilting your head to the side, allowing matt to go further. his stubble tickled against your skin as the kisses got more heated, his teeth gently nibbling on your exposed neck.

lost in matt’s touch, your hips started moving in a pace of their own, slowly grinding your covered pussy against matt’s hardened cock. the pressure caused by the water intensified the proximity of your parts, causing matt to groan in a low tone, trying his best to stay quiet.

“my good boy doesn’t wanna be loud?” you teased and matt threw his head back, squeezing his eyes shut. “mhm” he nodded, “don’t call me that”.

“why? you don’t want chris to know his big brother is all worked up from a little grinding?” matt nods again. your thumb hovered over his lips, brushing above the lower one before pulling it down in a pout. “use your big boy words” you demand as matt sticks his tongue out, licking your digit.

“need you” matt whined, his grip on your waist growing tighter. “need you so bad, please” he repeated, slightly jerking his pelvis upwards, a silent plead for you to notice his aching cock. you leaned in and sealed your lips together, intensifying the kiss as your hands traced their way down his torso, your nails scratching his chest.

matt’s hands went to your ass, harshly grabbing your flesh and lifting you from his lap. you took the opportunity to quickly pull his shorts — just enough to free his dick from the swimwear he was wearing. you could tell matt’s eyes were wandering around the backyard, as if he was checking if you were actually alone. you cupped his cheeks, forcing him to look at you and smiling warmly, letting him know he didn’t have to worry about a thing.

his sneaky fingers reached the straps of your bikini, easily undoing the tie and letting the black fabric hang loose, your bare pussy now only a few inches away from his shaft. matt guided you towards his length, lowering your cunt on his tip. you let out a deep sigh before fully sitting on him, his dick opening you up entirely. “fuck fuck fuck” he whimpered, “s-so tight fuck”.

“be a good boy hm? you want to shut you up?” you said, trying your best to keep your composure. matt’s veins pumped inside you, his tip brushing on your cervix. “nhng— yes… can’t be loud”. you chuckled at his eagerness, pressing your lips against his once more and sliding your tongue in, twirling the wet muscle around his own.

“you’re so big” you said amidst the kiss before pulling away, flickering your gaze from his lips to where your parts met. “look how good you fill me up hm?” matt nodded. it all felt too good. almost too much. he had been staring at you for hours, and his cock was throbbing underneath that bathing suit. the warm water around his body, your hands pressing his biceps, your pussy squeezing him. “you’re right here” you said, gently grabbing his wrist and placing his palm on your tummy.

“please i-i need to—” matt whimpered, his grip on your ass growing tighter as he bucked his hips upwards, mindlessly pounding inside you. you felt your own high approaching, the familiar knot on your lower belly begging to be released. “cum! please!” matt cried out loud. you shushed him, grabbing his jaw and lifting his chin up. moans came from the back of his throat, and you had no other choice but to bring your fingers to his open mouth. matt immediately wrapped his lips around your knuckles, sucking them with all his might.

“good boy” you praised him, receiving a muffled whine from him. “cum for me baby, fill me up” as you gave him permission, matt’s entire body trembled underneath you. his orgasm washed over him and his release threw you over the edge, the warm, thick spurts of cum painting your walls white.

matt panted heavily, tiny droplets of water dripping from his brown strands. none of you wanted to let go or get up, the comfort of being in each other’s embrace being enough to fall asleep right there — and you wouldn’t mind cockwarming him for the rest of the night. unfortunately, you still had to find your bikini panties and he had to make sure his brothers were already asleep. “hey, at least we didn’t make any messes huh?” he joked, giving you one last kiss before getting up and turning the lights from the hot tub off.

— TAGLIST ★ @thepubeburgler @submattenthusiast @pearlzier @mattsfavbitchhh @bugeyedgrl @sturncakez @riowritesitall @mattsturnswife @sturnsmia @sturnthepot @mattscoquette @conspiracy-ash @ilovemattsturn @lizzymacdonald06 @blahbel668 @fratbrochrisgf @sturnobsessedwh0re @cayleeuhithinknott @sturniolo04 @1c3b4th @mattsfavbigtitties @bellassturniolo @sturnsxplr-25 @ivammbb @shadowthesim237 @slutformatthewsturniolo @stefansring @teeheeomg @dystfopia @riasturns @faiyaz555 @sturnslutz @alesturniolos @emely9274 @courta13 @elandrys @sturns-mermaid @mattsplaything @marrykisskilled @bells-sturn @mattsgstring @strnilolover @jetaimevous @aaliyahsturniolo @evie-sturns @ivysturnss

complete masterlist ★ matt masterlist

[pitchsidestories]

look at us now II Renée Slegers x Reader

romantic masterlist | platonic masterlist | word count: 2689

summary: former lovers reunite at Arsenal.

author's note: hi, our first Renée Slegers fanfic, let us know your thoughts on it. As always this is purely fiction, enjoy. 🤍❤️

image sources

 “So, you hired another assistant coach without telling me?”, Renée asked incredulously, well aware that except for her, the room was full of very important looking men.

One of them nodded sternly: “You needed another one. We made the decision for you.”

Renée closed her eyes for a brief moment and took a deep breath, fighting the urge to protest. She was Arsenals new head coach after all.

With forced calmness, she asked: “Who is it?”

“You know her already.”

Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. She opened her mouth in order to ask what that was about to mean when you finally made your appearance. You had waited all morning in anticipation to surprise your former teammate with your presence.

“Hello Renée.”, you greeted her as you walked into the room.

Recognition flashed across her face, followed by genuine excitement. She got up from her chair, beaming: “You!”

Before you knew what was happening, she wrapped her arms around your neck and pulled you into a way too tight hug.

“Yes, it’s me. Don’t strangle me, please! That would be sad first last workday at the Arsenal.”, you laughed.

“You’re so stupid! I missed you so much.”, Renée giggled but finally let go of you.

For a second, you stood there and took each other in and it almost felt like nothing had changed since you played together in Sweden.

“I missed you too but now every player and staff member are staring at us which is kind of awkward.”, you admitted, nodding towards the door where the first pairs of eyes tried to figure out who the newest addition to the team was.

“They’re just curious about you. Let me introduce you.”, Renée suggested, leading you out of the conference room.

You followed patiently.

“Renée, who’s that girl you almost couldn’t let go of?”, Beth asked, blinking innocently at you.

“That’s y/n. She’s the new assistant coach and we used to play together for Linköpings.”, Renée explained. You didn’t miss the slight hint of pride in her voice.

Your eyes found another Swede between the players.

“Actually, I played with Stina too.”, you added.

The striker smiled at you: “Good to see you again.”

“You too. And I can’t wait to get to know each of you.”, you said towards the crowd.

Renée turned to you: “You will love them.”

“Oh, I’m sure of it.”

“Come on, I’ll show you around.”

Suddenly, your hand was in Renées as she dragged with her towards the football pitches. You could still feel the eyes of your new players on you as you followed Renée.

The eyes of Stina's teammates were expectantly drawn to her once the two of you had left the room.

An edgy laugh escaped the blonde’s lips: “What? Why are you all looking at me now?”

“Tell us!”, Beth commanded grinning.

The Swedish striker began to play nervously with her blonde hair: “Well what do you want to know?”

“About our new staff member and Renée of course!”, Leah replied thrilled.

Using the same excited tone as her, Beth added: “Obviously.”

“Not if she was a good baller or had a good sense and understanding of the game.”, Stinas eyes flashed in amusement.

“Actually.”, threw Kim in who was unlike the rest of the players indeed interested in that side of you.

The England captain clicked her tongue disapprovingly: “No, Kim.”

“We want the tea, Stina.”, Alessia told her.

She paused dramatically, during which everyone held their breath tensely, before admitting:” Yeah, they used to date.”

“When they were players or did, they continue to date once she became the head coach?”, Leah asked the forward curiously.

Stina cleared her throat and answered in a serious voice: “They ended it once Renée retired and took the coaching job in Rosengård.”

After this revelation the room fell silent for a second before Beth concluded with a heavy sigh:” Oh, that’s sad.”

“They seemed okay with it.”, the Swedish striker remarked.

Meanwhile Renée and you were walking along the training pitches, it was a cold day, but the golden afternoon sun warmed your faces. It was where you heard yourself say: “I’m glad that you don’t seem to mind that I took the job, Renée. Considering how things have ended between us in Malmö.”

“We mutually agreed to end this relationship.”, the Arsenal head coach remembered, while the smile disappeared from her face.

“True, it was the best solution at that time.”, you nodded.

Slowly, as the sunlight disappeared, the warmth returned to Renee's dark eyes, confessing:” I’m just happy to see you again.”

“Same. Nothing more.”, you agreed.

“That’s good.”, she observed.

At the end of your tour, you wished her goodbye:” So, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes. See you tomorrow.”, Renée waved at you, her gaze following you until you were gone.

With a heavy heart the Dutch woman reminisced about all the wins and losses you had shared together in Sweden until her career ending injury put an end to it. Like a disco ball, Renée had put the shards that had caused the separation into each other to turn the pain into something bright.

She was content with her work, so love life wasn't a big issue until you came back into her life and made her wonder if maybe she should expect more from life.

The next day, you entered the training ground in a cheerful mood. “Good morning, Stina!”, you greeted your former teammate warmly.

“Morning.”, Stina beamed brightly back at you.

There was no time for small talk as Kelly Smith approached you: “Y/n?”

“Yes?”, you asked surprised. Sometimes you still couldn’t believe that you were working with her. Not only was she a legendary player for England but also for the whole of womens football.

She still smiled politely at you: “I think Renée is looking for you.”

You nodded once: “I’m coming.”

Renée was already on the pitch, one foot on a ball and her arms folded over her chest as she waited for the players to arrive.

You caught her eye from the other side of the field and smiled at her.

For a split second, Renée lost her balance on the ball, stumbling forward but catching herself quickly.

It all went by so fast, you had no time to worry about her.

“You’re good?”, you called out to her, teasing.

You had the feeling that somewhere behind you, Kelly was holding back laughter.

Renées cheeks had turned a slightly darker colour: “Yeah, of course.”

“Kelly said you wanted to see me?”, you said as you finally crossed the pitch.

“I do.”

You leaned forward, whispering: “I saw the dinner invitation in the locker room.”

The corners of Renées mouth quirked up: “Good. Are you free tonight?”

“Yes, I am. Will Kelly and the boys join us too?”

“No, it’s just us.”

Somehow your brain stopped working in that exact moment. You weren’t prepared for you and her. You had been thinking of nice little staff dinner where you had the opportunity to get to know everyone better. Being alone with Renée made your heart race a little.

Hesitantly, you accepted the invitation: “Alright… I guess I’ll go back to work.”

“Okay.”, Renée nodded.

Luckily, the players entered the pitch at that moment.

Beth who had caught the end of your conversation, stared at Renée with hopeful eyes: “Is that a date?”

“No.”, the head coach replied matter-of-factly.

Victoria elbowed Beth in the side: “Stop seeing things, Beffy.”

“I don’t”, the winger protested.

Kim rolled her eyes: “Yes, you do. You’re delusional.”

“You will see.”, Beth said full of confidence before Renée sent them to warm up.

Against your better judgement, you found yourself in a tiny but charming restaurant that night.

“The dinner is so delicious, Renée.”, you said, taking a sip of your wine.

She smiled at you almost shyly: “Glad you like it.”

“Next time we should bring the whole team and staff here.”

Her face turned a bit more serious: “Yes, we should. But first I wanted to talk to you alone.”

“About something specific?”

“No, just to catch up.”, Renée explained whose cheeks were slightly reddish in colour, you weren’t sure whether it was the wine or her nervousness. 

Instead of looking into her curious dark chocolate brown eyes, you stared at the wine glass in front of you as you confessing: ”I left Sweden because I needed a change.”

“A change?”, she repeated your words in a sincerely interested tone.

For a moment, you paused while the waitress lit the candle in the centre of the table, the flickering light made the conversation even more intimate: “To heal from heartbreak. What about you? What did I miss?”

“Not much. I tried to focus on football after leaving Rosengård.“, the football coach admitted casually. Whilst Renée undid her low hair bun so that her dark brown hair fell in waves over her shoulders.

With an amused smile on your lips, you remarked in disbelief:” That doesn’t sound like the fun Renée I knew from Linköping.”

Memories of her with a big cigar in her mouth and a ridiculous hat after winning the Swedish league came to your mind.

“Hey, I’m still fun.”, protested the Dutch woman, pointing her fork at you.

You cleared your throat and replied more seriously:” Yes, the players seem to think that too.”

“I take that as a compliment.”, she responded happily.

“You should, they’re really great to work with so far.”, you acknowledged.

Her radiant grin was infectious:” I think they like you too.”

“Only Beth is a bit annoying with..”, you began, thinking about the huge interest the English striker had in your private lives.

Renée waved your worries off:” Yes, I know. But that’s just how she’s, she only has good intentions.”

“I guess that’s true. I mean would be crazy if you still would have -.. , right?”, you started to ramble.  

She lifted an eyebrow at you: “Would have what?”

“Feelings after a mutual breakup.”, you finished your previous sentence flustered.

The brunette spoke your name gently.

“Yes?”, you glanced at her expectantly.

Fiercely and passionately, Renée continued: “Of course I do. I didn’t break up with you because I didn’t have feelings for you anymore, I broke up with you because I suddenly was your coach, and it was wrong to date a player.”

Afterwards, there was a dramatic silence at the table. “Well, I’m not a player anymore.”, you said matter-of-factly.

“I’m aware of that.”, she answered with a wistful smile.

Slightly sheepishly, you asked her:” Was that why you wanted a dinner with me alone first?”

“To see if we could get back together? No. I wanted to know how you’re, what you’ve been up to?”, the football coach tried to be professional again.

“Now you know.”

“I do.”, Renée confirmed, playing with the idea to order some dessert for both of you as it was a speciality of this restaurant.

Much to her disappointment though, you stood up:” Thank you for the dinner, it was a nice catching up.”

“Yes, I agree.”, the brunette waved at the waitress, signalling that she was ready to pay for the two of you.

The first game of the year and also the first game in your new job was against Crystal Palace a few days later. To your delight, the girls played great, winning the game 5:0 and building their confidence in this first game.

“Great win, girls.”, you clapped your hands as the referee blew the final whistle.

Renée appeared on your side.

“That’s exactly what we wanted to see.”, she agreed.

“Oh yes, well done everyone.”, you smiled and handed out water bottles to the players. They high-fived you, done but happy while Renée said a few words to the players.

Happily you watched as the players rightfully celebrated their win until an elbow to your side made you look up.

Renée was grinning at you: “Good job from you too.”

“From me? I didn’t do much yet.”, you said, feeling heat rise into your cheeks.

“You did everything I expect from my assistant coach. Arsenal made the right decision, we’re a good team.”, Renée said softly.

You nodded, smiling gently at her: “Yes, we are.”

“Come on, let the girls celebrate.”, Renée said, nodding in the direction of the sidelines so your players could have the pitch to themselves.

You didn’t follow immediately. Instead, you pointed to a few reporters that stood on the side, waiting for their first interviews. “The media already calls for you.”

“On my way.”, Renée winked and disappeared into the direction of the cameras.

Just when you were wondering when exactly she became so comfortable giving interviews, Leah stepped into your field of vision.

“Leah? Shouldn’t you celebrate with your teammates?”, you asked jokingly.

She shrugged with a smile: “I was about to. It’s not everyday that you score a goal as a defender.”

“I know. That’s why you need to enjoy every second of it.”

“Oh, I will.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”, you laughed.

Leah pushed you gently towards the rest of the team: “Celebrate with us!”

There was no way you could decline now, so you agreed and followed along: “Alright.”

A few minutes of jumping and hugging several players later, Renée found you on the pitch again.

Her eyes glowed with amusement: “Did they manage to get you to celebrate with them?”

“I couldn’t say no to that.”, you admitted

“Of course not.”, Renée laughed.

“See?”

She winked at you: “Enjoy your first win.”

You toasted to her with a random water bottle that somehow had ended up in your hand: “To many more wins.”

“Yes, please.”, she laughed.

“Y/n! Come with us!”, Beth interrupted your conversation and waved you over.

“Where are we going?”, you asked.

“It’s a surprise.”, Mariona replied instead of Beth, smiling excitedly.

It was already night when you got home and when you saw Renée's number light up on your mobile phone, you held your breath for a moment, although you didn't know exactly why.

“Sorry, I hope I didn’t wake you up.”, she apologized quietly as you answered her call.

A soft chuckle escaped your lips: “No, I was still awake, the Arsenal players can stay in pubs forever let me tell you that.

“Oh, I know, they did that to me too once.”, the Dutch woman remembered fondly.

“Kim and I left at the same time.” Teasingly you added:” So did you call me because you have come up with a masterplan against Chelsea or is it something else?”

“It’s something else. There’s something I need to talk about with you”, Renée admitted.

Your heart began to race: “Sure.”

“I kind of miss what we had back when.”, the head coach confessed.

The moment she said that you caught yourself reminiscing about memories of the past “Me too. We had some good parties with the team back then too.”

“Y/n.. I meant us. You and me.”, Renée clarified.

You felt the hope rise in you: “Do you think we could start again?”

“I don’t know, would you even like that? Or would you rather want to keep it professional.”, she began to nervously ramble.

You had heard yourself thinking out loud: “Pretty sure both can work this time.”

“Yes, but I want to know what you want.”

“I want to be with you. Renée, you’re an idiot, why are you standing outside in the cold?!”, you whispered into the phone, your eyes wandering off to the window where you noticed her in flesh and blood under the golden glow of the streetlamp light.

“In case that you say yes. What did you expect me to do? Go back to bed?”, Renée questioned with a warm laugh.  

Soon you got up to go to the front door: “Wait, I’ll let you in.”

“Thanks.”, she replied relived.

“You look like you’re freezing, come inside.”, you observed while you let her inside.

The brunette thanked you once more, kissing you, her icy lips melting on yours as the door closed behind the two of you.

[miniscapes333]

Passionate confession from your FS (18+) (Possesive edition) (part - 1)

PICK A PILE READING LOVES ;)

👇 [PILE - 1] 👇[PILE - 2]

👆 [PILE - 3]

Disclaimer: The images featured are not mine. All credit and rights belong to their original creators.

PILE 1

"You have no idea what you do to me. Or maybe you do. Maybe you see it—the way my jaw clenches when you walk into the room, the way my fingers twitch like they ache to touch you, the way I have to exhale slowly when you get too close, just to keep myself from doing something reckless. Do you feel it, the charge in the air when we’re near each other? It’s unbearable sometimes, the tension, the pull. You’ll brush past me—just the faintest graze of your skin against mine—and I’ll have to force my hands into my pockets, grip the nearest surface, do something to stop myself from dragging you into the nearest secluded corner and making sure you know exactly how badly I’ve been craving you. I don’t think you understand how much I struggle with this. With wanting you and not being able to have you the way I need to.

"And when I think about finally having you—really having you—I imagine it slow, deliberate. None of this rushing, none of this fleeting, stolen touches nonsense. No, when I get my hands on you, I’m taking my time. I want to feel your breath hitch when I kiss that spot just below your ear, want to watch the way your fingers grip the fabric of my shirt when I press you against me. I want to memorize you. The weight of your body against mine, the sound of my name on your lips when you finally let yourself melt into me. Because, love, I’ve been suffering for you. Every time our eyes meet across a crowded room, every time your fingers brush against my wrist absentmindedly—it’s torture. Do you know how many times I’ve had to sit next to you, watch you, be close but not close enough? My fingers flex at my sides, my lips part like I’m about to say something, but I hold it back. Every. Damn. Time. But one day? Oh, one day, I won’t hold back anymore.

"And when that moment comes? When I finally let go of every restraint, every ounce of self-control? I hope you’re ready for what that will mean. Because I promise you, once I start, I won’t stop. Not until I’ve unraveled every little guarded piece of you, not until my touch is so deeply imprinted into your skin that even when I’m not there, you’ll still feel me. My hands on your hips, my fingers tracing slow, lazy circles up your spine, my lips ghosting over yours just to make you wait a little longer, just to hear that soft, impatient sound you make when you want more. And when I do finally give in? Oh, sweetheart… you will know—body, mind, and soul—just how deep my devotion runs."

PILE 2

"You drive me crazy, you know that? It’s not just the way you look—though, trust me, that alone is enough to make my thoughts dangerous. It’s the way you move, the way you carry yourself like you know exactly what you’re worth. That quiet confidence, that effortless allure—it’s infuriating. Because it makes me restless, makes me reckless. I catch myself watching you when I shouldn’t, leaning in closer just to catch the scent of your skin, clenching my fists to stop myself from reaching out and pulling you into me like it’s my right. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? It should be. You should be mine. And yet, here I am, pacing the edge of my own self-control, caught somewhere between wanting to savor every moment and wanting to pin you against the nearest wall just to see how quickly I can make you unravel.

"You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined it—the moment I stop fighting this, the moment I finally let myself have you. The tension between us is unbearable, crackling in the air like a live wire, waiting for the right spark to set it all ablaze. And when it happens? When I finally let go? It won’t be some careful, delicate thing. No, it will be electric. Desperate hands, impatient lips, bodies pressing so close that the world outside ceases to exist. I want to hear your breath hitch when I whisper against your skin, want to see that sharp flash of surprise in your eyes when I finally break past that composure you wear so well. I know you feel it too, that need, that ache that’s been building between us like a storm on the horizon. And when it hits? There will be no stopping it.

"And after? Oh, don’t think for a second I’ll be done with you. No, I’ll have you wrapped in my arms, your body still humming with the aftermath, my fingers tracing lazy patterns against your bare skin like I’m committing you to memory. I’ll watch the way your lashes flutter, the way your lips part ever so slightly, like you’re still trying to catch your breath. And I’ll smirk—because I’ll know. I’ll know that I’ve ruined you in the best possible way. And when you finally close your eyes, thinking you’ll get a moment of rest? That’s when I’ll lean in, lips brushing against your ear, and whisper, ‘You didn’t actually think I was finished with you yet, did you?’"

PILE 3

"You test me. You push me. And I don’t even think you realize it. Do you know how hard it is to sit back and watch you move through the world like you don’t belong to me? To watch other people steal your time, your attention, while I have to sit there and pretend like it doesn’t drive me insane? I don’t do well with restraint—I never have. I’m a person who sees what they want and takes it, no hesitation, no second-guessing. But you… you make me hesitate. You make me wait. And I hate waiting. I hate the space between us, the distance I have to keep when all I want to do is pull you into me and remind you exactly who you belong to. Because you do belong to me, don’t you? Even if you don’t realize it yet, even if you keep playing this dangerous little game of making me work for it—you feel it too. I know you do."

"I’ve imagined it too many times—crossing that line, claiming what’s already mine. And trust me, when that moment comes, I won’t be gentle. I won’t be soft. Not at first. No, the first time I take you, I’ll make damn sure you feel it, that you know there is no one else who can touch you the way I can, who can own you the way I will. I can already picture it—my hands gripping your waist, pulling you flush against me, the sharp little gasp you’ll make when I finally stop holding back. My fingers tilting your chin up just enough so you have no choice but to meet my eyes, so you can see the storm you’ve been stirring inside me all this time. And when I kiss you? It won’t be sweet. It won’t be careful. It will be a claim, a warning, a promise. Because once I have you, I’m never letting you go."

"And after? I’ll keep you close, one arm draped possessively around your waist, my fingers tracing idle patterns against your bare skin. I’ll watch you, the rise and fall of your breath, the way you still glow from what we just did. And just when you think I’ve finally calmed, finally had my fill? I’ll lean in, lips grazing the shell of your ear as I whisper, ‘You thought I was finished? No, sweetheart… we’ve only just begun.’"

Paid readings availabe - check them out here 🫶🏾

[mulloey]

distracted

bad students must face the consequences of their behaviour. it doesn’t matter who your boyfriend is.

words: 2.9k

part of my february festival event

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warnings: dom!professors matz x sub!student reader, teacher-student relationship (hongjoong x you), power dynamics, threesome, punishment, spanking with ruler, very light anal play, face fucking, double penetration (mouth & pussy), under-negotiated kink, unprotected sex, sir kink, degradation, light dumbification etc

i am not responsible for the content you consume.

“What is this?”

He waves the sheet in front of your face indignantly and you recognise it instantly as the test you’d taken last week; the red D scrawled in the top corner gives you away and you huff. “How did you even—”

“Seonghwa,” he says, cutting you off. You’d roll your eyes if you thought you’d get away with it right now.

You knew it was a bad idea, really, dating Hongjoong; he may not have been your professor, but he is a professor, so you should’ve figured he’d be in cahoots with your teachers. It’s not like discretion was a massive concern, anyway; your relationship is an open secret among the staff. It’s technically not allowed, but you’re a grad student, an independent adult and your parents donate enough money to the school that neither of you would be in too much trouble if anyone did find out anyway. So you suppose you shouldn’t be surprised that, when you turned in a piss-poor exam, Seonghwa had run off tattling to your boyfriend. Dickhead.

“I was just having a bad day,” you say. “I studied, really. I don't know what happened.”

Neither of you believe that, but you push your lips into a pout and do your best to look contrite—to play the sweet, innocent girl your boyfriend loves to ruin.

“Joong…” You try to sound scared but you both know you’re not; there’s nothing he could do to you that you wouldn’t enjoy, after all. You’re just as sick as each other.

Hongjoong chuckles, clicking his tongue. He looks thoughtful for a moment, like he’s pretending to be conflicted over whether to punish you or not, but he’s not very good at hiding his excitement. The regretful sigh he lets out when he makes his decision is laughably disingenuous. “Bad girl,” he says, shaking his head. “You know I can’t let you get away with this, sweetheart.”

You open your mouth to respond but he doesn’t give you time; he shoves you down harshly, bending you over his desk so your ass is sticking up in the air. It’s a familiar position that you’ve found yourself in time and time again since you met him and you body prepares itself automatically; expecting him to spank you, you stick your ass up higher and wait with bated breath for the first blow. It doesn’t come. You crane your head around, confused. “Joong, what—” Oh.

You don’t need to finish the question; standing behind you, next to Hongjoong, is the very man who’d got you in this predicament in the first place— your medieval history professor, Park Seonghwa himself. He tilts his head, smiling sweetly. “Good afternoon.”

Your jaw drops. You hadn’t expected this—when did he even come in, anyway? “Joong—”

“You think we didn’t notice how you look at him?” Your boyfriend asks coolly. It’s only because of the cock in his hand, hard and already leaking, that you’re not worried he’s mad at you; no, he loves this. You should’ve known.

“Is that why you failed?” Seonghwa asks. “Too busy dreaming about me bending you over your desk? You have a boyfriend; an esteemed colleague of mine, in fact.” His tone is chiding and you feel yourself flush.

Hongjoong snorts almost petulantly. “As if she cares about that.”

“No?” Seonghwa asks. “What does she care about, then?”

“Pull her panties down and find out.”

Your cunt throbs painfully at the surety of the demand and the dark look in Seonghwa’s eyes as he obliges without hesitation. He doesn’t ask permission before he touches you—he already has it from the one who matters, after all—but when he pushes your skirt up your back, his hands still momentarily; you smile into the wood as you realise what they’re both looking at—the white, lacy panties sitting snugly across your pert cheeks.

“Well, isn’t that a sight.” Seonghwa’s voice is hoarse and affected as he rubs a hand across the delicate material. You feel yourself tense under his touch, the unfamiliar feeling of his skin on yours, and he gently pinches the soft flesh. “Relax,” he mumbles. “Be good, yeah? I won’t hurt you, I’ll be gentle.”

A sweet sounding lie; you can tell from the heaviness of his hand as it comes to rest on your ass that he has no such intentions. He fingers softly at the lace of your panties, sighing ruefully. “These really are beautiful,” he muses. “I hate to have to take them down like this, but bad students have to learn, don’t they?”

“They certainly do.” You crane your neck to follow your boyfriend’s voice and find him leaning against the wall behind Seonghwa, staring you down with familiarly cold eyes. He cocks an eyebrow when you finally catch his gaze. “Got something to say, precious?”

“No, sir,” you whisper.

“Turn around, then,” he smiles. “I’m just here to watch.”

You turn back, though more so he doesn’t see you roll your eyes than out of a desire to obey him. Seonghwa has carefully shimmied your panties down to the middle of your thighs and the cold air of the office bites at your sensitive pussy.

“Spread your legs,” he says. “Show me how wet you are.“

Blushing furiously, you part your legs, spreading them as far as you can without snapping the panties bunched around your thighs. Seonghwa hums, running a long finger through your wet folds. The touch is unexpected but Hongjoong’s trained you well enough that you manage to stay still despite your surprise. You whine a little when he pulls away and you hear both men chuckle.

“Professor Kim,” Seonghwa says. His voice has a new quality; delicate and flirtatious as he addresses your boyfriend. “Come and taste how wet she is.”

You hear Hongjoong approach the elder and try to move around to see it, but Seonghwa’s firm hand on your neck holds you still. “I don’t think so, bad girl,” he tuts. “Only good little girls get to watch. Keep still.”

“Good call,” Hongjoong purrs. “She’s always loved seeing me with other people. Little pervert would probably start humping the table if she saw me doing this.”

You hear the wet, lewd sounds of Hongjoong sucking at Seonghwa’s finger, lapping up your juices with a noise of pleasure. “Delicious little slut,” he chuckles. “Let’s get her properly disciplined so we can play with her how she wants.”

Somehow you hear the wide grin in Seonghwa’s voice as Hongjoong backs away. “I quite agree.”

His hands rests on your ass again, squeezing it softly. “This is what’s gonna happen, little one. You got a 48 on my exam, didn’t you?”

You’re almost embarrassed to hear the number and you know Hongjoong is too. “Yes,” you whisper.

“Yes, Professor will do,” he says. “You’re not my friend, sweetheart. You’re just a wayward student being put back on the right path.”

Shame courses through you but it would be a lie to say it’s anything but thrilling. “Yes, professor,” you whisper.

He taps your ass appreciatively. “Good girl. So, you got a 48 on my exam. What was the pass mark?”

“60, Professor,” you mumble.

“Now that’s not very hard to achieve, is it Professor Kim?”

“It’s not. The pass marks in my class are higher, in fact.”

You want to roll your eyes at their smug, jovial tones but you’re too aroused now to do anything but anticipate.

“A pathetic score, really.” Seonghwa’s voice is closer than ever and you feel his presence just inches away. “Especially for such a bright young woman. I think you need to learn to separate your head—” he gathers a piece of your hair, gently folding it behind your ear “—and your pussy, hm?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Good.“ Something long and thin taps at your bare skin and you recognise it instantly—the wooden ruler Hongjoong keeps in his desk drawer for when he’s feeling particularly on-the-nose about the taboo nature of your relationship.

“I’m going to hit you with this twelve times,” Seonghwa purrs. “For each of the marks you easily could have gotten if you hadn’t been too busy imagining my cock in your mouth. Yeah?”

You nod, feeling yourself pulse. “Yes, Professor.”

“Repeat after me, alright?” The first hit is quick and sharp, spread over your ass and it makes you gasp. Seonghwa chuckles and rubs the reddening flesh before he grabs your hair, yanking your head back to whisper in your ear. “One,” he says. “I’m sorry for being such a slut, Professor.”

You repeat it quietly and he tuts. “Louder than that, love. I’m sure your boyfriend wants to know you’re learning your lesson.”

You oblige, repeating it louder and he makes a noise of satisfaction before the ruler comes down again, this time at the tops of your thighs. “Two,” he says. “I’m sorry for thinking with my pussy instead of my head.”

“Two, I’m… I’m sorry for thinking with my pussy instead of my head.”

The next hit lands in the same spot. “Three. I’m sorry for dripping over Professor Kim’s desk just from being spanked.”

You blush in embarrassment; you’d half hoped he wouldn’t notice, but that was a tall order anyway. When it comes to Hongjoong and anything to do with him, you’ve never been subtle.

The next hits follow the same pattern, spread across your ass and thighs with each one making you gasp louder than the last.

“Four. I’m sorry for making Professor Park waste his time disciplining me.”

“Five. I’m sorry for daydreaming about choking on another man’s cock.”

“Six. I’m sorry for being arrogant enough to think I’d get away with such an embarrassing performance.”

The last one hits you right on your dripping pussy, making you scream and he grabs your hair, spinning you around to face him and your boyfriend; your eyes hone in on Hongjoong’s cock, pulsing in his hands before Seonghwa forces your attention back to him. “Twelve,” he growls. “I’m sorry for being such a cockwhore that I’m making Professor Park break his rule about sleeping with students.”

You can’t help but grin as you repeat his words, feeling proud. Of course, you knew from the moment you turned around and saw him standing there what was going to happen, but it’s nice to hear it from him. He smiles, grasping your neck gently. “Did you like that?” He asks. “Getting spanked by your professor while your boyfriend jerks off to it?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “I liked it.”

“Well, now that you’ve learnt your lesson,” he says, “I think it’s time you got fucked, no?”

You nod and turn to your boyfriend; he tilts his head, nodding towards his hard cock. “You know what to do,” he says.

“Yes, sir.” You sink to your knees, staring up at Seonghwa and sending him a teasing smile before crawling towards Hongjoong. You open your mouth, letting him push his dick inside; after all this time together, he doesn’t need to ease you into it anymore and can go straight to fucking your mouth and you take it diligently, opening your throat the way he’s trained you to. You hear Seonghwa whistle, admiring.

“She sucks cock like a fucking pro,” he laughs; the arousal in his voice is thick and unmistakable. “You’ve trained her well, Hongjoong.”

Hongjoong laughs too, patting your head. “I had an excellent student,” he grins. You smile around him at the praise and he curses. “You’re too good at this, babe, Jesus. Gonna cum before I even fuck you.”

He thrusts into your mouth a few more times before pulling out abruptly, shoving you off of him and in an instant Seonghwa’s hands are in your hair as he pulls you to your feet and shoves you back over the desk. You collide painfully with the wood but you barely notice; you’re used to being manhandled by now, and it only makes you more excited.

Large hands you recognise as Seonghwa’s grab your ass cheeks, pulling them apart slowly; the air hits your exposed holes and makes you jump in surprise but you quickly regain your composure. As you still yourself again you feel Hongjoong’s finger running gently across your asshole, almost like he’s inspecting it, before it slides down to toy with your pussy.

“Hm…” Seonghwa’s voice is teasing. “What’s your favourite hole of hers, Professor Kim?”

“What a question,” Hongjoong chuckles and you hear the smile in his voice. His finger prods gently at your rim, making you tense unconsciously and he tuts, lightly slapping the tight little hole. It’s a subtle, painless chastisement but it makes you whine all the same. “Now, now, kitty cat,” he chuckles. “I didn’t train you to squirm, did I?”

“No, sir,” you mumble.

“Good,” he says. “To answer your question, Hwa, I’d have to say her pussy. I love her ass, of course, but nothing compares to the way that little cunt clings to my dick like it’s just begging for a baby.”

“Well that does sound nice.” Seonghwa’s hands leave your ass, returning to your pussy to spread you open. “It looks snug,” he says. “What do you think, little one? Want your professor to breed you?”

It takes you a moment for your brain to catch up with the rest of you and you frown in confusion. “I- you mean you, Professor Park?” You ask. It comes out as more of a strangled cry; your head is a mess of arousal and you barely even register what he’s saying to you, let alone comprehend it fully.

He laughs, patting your soft skin gently. “Yes, perhaps I should be more clear. It must be confusing to be bending over in front of two of your teachers.”

Your face burns at the obvious mockery; the degrading, sneering tone of his voice but you say nothing. Seonghwa hums. “So?” He asks sweetly. “You want me in your cunt, baby girl?”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please, Professor.”

“There’s those manners,” he praises.

He keeps a firm grip on your hips as he slides in from behind; the feeling of his skin against your still burning ass is uncomfortable, but the way his cock is stretching you as he buries himself inside you is the only thing your brain can process right now.

He’s just as big as Hongjoong, maybe a little bigger, but his thrusts are more fluid and controlled; where Hongjoong fucks you like an animal hungry for more, Seonghwa fucks you with precision; with intention. His hands on your hips are firm yet gentle and the way he finds you in your deepest places has your head spinning with euphoria. “Jesus,” he curses. “Pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

You open your mouth to respond, barely getting a whine out before you feel hands in your hair, yanking at it to pull you forward. Hongjoong comes into view on the other side of the desk, his dick somehow still hard as he feeds it into your mouth. “There you go,” he coos. “Keep it hard, baby.”

You nod as best as you can and the friction against his dick makes your boyfriend groan. “Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re so fucking good with cock you could make me cum on accident.”

The feeling of two dicks inside you makes it hard to focus on either one; let alone to begin to process the filthy words they spit down at you. Intesd you close your eyes, letting the tears fall as Hongjoong starts to fuck your throat again; you’re limp against the desk now, held up solely by the wood and by the two men using you to satisfy themselves. “Oh shit,” Hongjoong says, seeing your dazed expression. “Baby’s gone dumb already.” He strokes your hair gently, a small comfort between punishing thrusts. “You okay, little dove?”

You groan in response, unable to do much else; it makes them laugh and Seonghwa pats your ass affectionately. “You’re doing so well,” he says. “I’m almost there, sweetheart. Gonna fill you up real nice, yeah?”

“Y-yeah,” you gasp.

The feeling of Seonghwa’s thrusts growing faster and harder and more desperate is overwhelming; coupled with the sensation of Hongjoong’s cock hitting the back of your throat again and again, it’s almost unbearable. Your fingers claw against the wood, surely leaving marks but you don’t care; you feel unlike you ever have before, stuffed full and used by two of the most attractive men you’ve ever even imagined.

You’re in so deep that you don’t even realise it’s over until the emptiness of your mouth and cunt becomes obvious; you feel cum leaking from your hole, a wet substance dripping down the desk and only when you look closer do you figure out what it is—squirt. You squirted. You squirted all over your boyfriend’s desk with another man’s cock in your pussy and you’ve never been more fucked out and satisfied than you are now.

When you stand up fully your legs, numbed and weakened by their abuse, start to give out but Hongjoong is there in an instant; he catches you in his arms, lowering himself to the ground so he can cradle you in his lap. You’re faintly aware of Seonghwa’s voice and strong hands stroking your hair before he’s gone, and it’s just you and Hongjoong.

“Good girl,” he mutters. “You took that so well.”

“Really?”

“Of course,” he smiles. “I only hope your performance in Professor Park’s class improves soon. Otherwise he’ll have to tutor you if you want to keep your spot in his class.”

Your heart jumps. “What?”

“Uni rules,” he shrugs, appearing nonchalant but the knowing smile on his face tells all. “If you fail two exams in a row, that’s what happens.”

You don’t know why he seems so surprised when you turn up in his office a month later with a D-minus and an already leaking pussy. He always knew you were insatiable.

Lucky for you, so are they.

—

comments/reblogs appreciated! i’m not sure im super happy with the ending but we move. let me know your thoughts! love🖤🖤🖤

ateez taglist: @pixie0627 @hon3ysun @bbdeongi @hwaromi @tangerineastronaut @fancypeacepersona @aloevendetta (unable to tag: @lemonkait00 @mylovelymito)

february festival taglist: @hohongsan @nopension

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae! I was in a car accident yesterday (car took most of the damage, I’m ok other than bruises and sore muscles) and the whole thing has been a whirlwind of insurance and hospital and half asleep crying. I was wondering if I could request James potter x reader for comfort in a situation like that? I’m going through it rn lol hope you’re having a good day :)

Oh I'm sorry lovely! I had a very similar thing happen a little over a year ago, it's sooooo exhausting even when luckily no one is seriously hurt. Thanks for requesting, hope you're having a good/better day too <33

cw: past car accident, no details but talk of general aftermath of police questioning, insurance, etc.

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 799 words

The way James half-jogs up to the automatic doors of the hospital, seeming caught between walking and running, feels like someone is pressing down on the bruise of your chest. You wish you’d called him sooner. 

“James,” you call as he comes in, hating how your voice cuts through the taut quiet of the waiting area. It’s worth it for how his whole self softens when his eyes find you. 

He slows to a fast walk the rest of the way to you, the urgency slowly leaving him—which is appropriate, there is no urgency, everything has happened already—like an engine running out of gas. You stand as he nears, and both of you reach for each other before James hesitates. His hands stop midair, his brow tightening for a moment, before they come tentatively to your elbows.

“Hi,” he says, squeezing. “How bad is it?” 

“For me or the car?” you joke. 

“You.” James is feeling too earnest for joking, it seems. “Well, both of you. But you first.” 

You really thought you’d cry when you saw him. Worried you’d make a whole scene, blubbering and inconsolable, but you don’t seem to have any tears left. It makes sense, you suppose; you’ve cried a lot in the past few hours. First the slow, shaky kind right after getting out of your car, and then a real cry when a police officer had pulled you aside to get your version of events. (It had been embarrassing. She’d been nice about it, though.) Now, you wait for the tears to come, but for all your relief at seeing your boyfriend you feel rather dried up. 

It makes you wish, once again, that you’d called James sooner. You’d wanted to, of course, but you’d been nearly certain you’d be even less capable of holding yourself together if he were there, and there wasn’t much reason for him to be anyways. He was at work and you weren’t terribly hurt, so there was really nothing he could have done while you were talking to the police and the tow company and the paramedics and attempting not to drown in an overwhelm of insurance information. The only thing you really wanted him for was to hold your hand.

“I’m okay,” you say, the necessary preface. “A bit bruised up. My chest got the worst of it.” 

Unconsciously, your hand comes to your sternum as if to demonstrate, gravitating towards the center of the ache. James’ hand follows, seemingly just as thoughtless as it covers your own. He can’t see the bruise, but he makes a low, sad sound anyway. 

His care softens your voice. “They said my neck will probably hurt tomorrow, but it doesn’t yet.” 

“Oh, sweetheart.” James sounds really, truly heartbroken for you. “And the rest, it hurts a lot?” 

You shrug. What’s a lot? You know you could’ve had worse, much worse; still, you could do without that frightening soreness that comes with each breath. 

“It’s not too bad,” you say. “I could still hug.” 

It’s the question he’s been dying to ask, clearly. James’ arms are around you in a second, ardent but still gentle, palms pressing to the high and low points of your bag. It’s a good hug. You melt a little against him. 

James tucks his face into the side of your neck, like he’s trying to get as much contact with you as he can. “I wish you’d called me when it happened.” 

“You were at work.” 

“I’d have left work.” 

“There wasn’t anything you could do. I was fine, I just had to…” a little sigh escapes you, exhaustion creeping in now that he’s here “...talk to people. Insurance and all that.” 

James makes a soft, half-agreeing sound. His thumb strokes the base of your neck. “Still. I could have held your hand.” 

A new ache rises in the back of your throat, coming to join the rest. You wind your arms tighter around James. 

After a few, silent moments, he kisses your neck chastely and loosens his hold. “Ready to go home? Anything else you need?” 

You shake your head. “I’m signed out,” you say, so eager you feel like you could float out the doors. You hope you can entice James to lie in bed with you when you get home. You think you’ll sleep until tomorrow. “Let’s go, please.” 

“Alright, you don’t have to say please, sweetheart.” James curls an arm around your shoulders, pressing a smile into your cheek. “We can go. You need one of those wheelchairs for me to take you out to the car?” 

“Ha ha,” you say drily. “No.” 

“Just checking. Think maybe I ought to ask for one, just in case?”

“James. I will take your car home without you in it.” 

“Alright, lovie, I’m coming.”

[wayward-imp]

I love how visceral it can be to speak English, because we have such a huge variety of words. Not the most words by dictionary count, but between the rhythm and the way the sounds move around each other, it can feel a little like dancing just to speak. Sometimes words just feel good in your mouth, you know? Or sometimes they feel like the thing they express. The feel of the language becomes part of creative writing, especially, that's why authors are said to develop a unique voice. So I wrote a quick little poem about all this for a class on teaching EFL with poetry, trying to capture for my Korean classmates a little of how I actively enjoyed speaking English. I'm not an especially skilled or confident poet, but for what it's worth, here.

Logophile

No better flavor Than the savor Of my language On my tongue Breathless, shaping The sounds Rolling in my mouth Like fire and rime Keeping time With every syllable Thoughts spilling Through my lips In a flood Of creation

The greatest sensation Is imagination On my palate Telling stories Making worlds New understandings Tingling on my tastebuds Passion and potential Vibrating in my throat Singing out in every line And the spaces between Words

so many amazing words in the english language. you have clandestine and precarious and serendipity and iconoclast and then you also have staunch and sludge and slurp and smudge

[woso-story]

Overprotective

Alexia Putellas x Reader

The Barcelona training facilities were alive with their usual energy—players chatting, balls bouncing on the field, the rhythmic clang of weights in the gym. You had retreated to a quieter corner of the gym to do your light stretches, the only exercise you were allowed these days. It had been like this since you and Alexia learned you were pregnant: no strenuous activity, no risks.

Alexia had been over the moon when the two of you found out about the baby. From the moment the doctor confirmed the pregnancy, she had become fiercely protective, to the point where it sometimes felt like she was wrapping you in bubble wrap. She insisted on doing everything for you—chores, errands, even the smallest tasks, like tying your shoes. It was sweet but also exhausting.

Today was no different. Alexia was somewhere else in the building, busy with media obligations, but you could almost feel her presence hovering even in her absence. She had made it very clear to your teammates to keep an eye on you, and you knew they were taking their mission seriously.

As you eased into a stretch, Aitana and Ingrid walked over, their expressions curious and warm.

“How’s it going?” Aitana asked, settling onto the mat beside you.

“And how’s the little one?” Ingrid added, her eyes flicking briefly to your baby bump with a smile.

You grinned at them. “Everything’s perfect. The baby’s doing great, and I’m feeling good, really.” You paused for a moment, then leaned in conspiratorially. “It’s just… Alexia.”

Aitana immediately chuckled, exchanging a knowing look with Ingrid. “What’s she done now?”

“She’s always hovering,” you said, your voice tinged with affection and exasperation. “She’s so worried something will happen that she won’t let me do anything. And she’s got all of you spying on me too, hasn’t she?”

Ingrid raised her hands in mock surrender, laughing. “Guilty as charged.”

Aitana smirked. “She’s worse than your shadow. I’m surprised she’s not hiding behind the weight rack right now, watching you.”

The three of you burst out laughing, though you quickly glanced over your shoulder, half-expecting Alexia to appear out of nowhere.

As if summoned by your thoughts, the door opened, and Alexia strolled in. Her sharp eyes immediately locked onto your group, narrowing slightly. “What’s so funny?” she asked, crossing the room toward you.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, smiling up at her.

She didn’t look convinced, but she let it go, crouching beside you and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “You okay? How’s everything?”

“Perfect,” you assured her, standing up and resting a hand on your bump.

Before Alexia could press further, the gym doors burst open, and a whirlwind of chaos swept in. Pina, Patri, and Mapi barreled into the room, laughing loudly and spraying water at each other with their bottles.

“Be careful!” you called out, but they were too caught up in their antics to hear you.

It happened in an instant. Mapi, not watching where she was going, accidentally bumped into you as she dashed past. You stumbled backward, falling back to the mat. It wasn’t serious—just a minor tumble—but it was enough to send Alexia into full-on mama-bear mode.

Alexia was by your side in a heartbeat, her face a mixture of fear and fury. “What were you thinking?!” she snapped, her voice ringing out like a thunderclap.

Mapi froze, her face draining of color. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Go away,” Alexia cut her off, her tone icy. “All of you. Go be reckless somewhere else.”

Pina and Patri grabbed Mapi’s arm, pulling her toward the door. Mapi looked devastated, glancing back at you with wide, guilty eyes.

Once they were gone, Alexia turned her full attention to you, her hands trembling slightly as she checked you over. “Are you okay? Is the baby okay?”

“Lex, I’m fine,” you said gently, placing a reassuring hand on hers. “It was just a little stumble. Nothing happened.”

“No,” she said firmly, helping you to your feet. “We’re going to the medical room, just to be sure.”

At lunch, you followed Alexia into the cafeteria. You immediately spotted your usual table, where Mapi, Ingrid, Aitana, Frido and Esmee were sitting. Mapi looked miserable, her shoulders hunched and her gaze fixed on the table. But as you headed toward them, Alexia steered you to an empty table instead.

Knowing there was no point in arguing, you let her lead you there. The medical staff did a thorough check-up, confirming that everything was perfectly fine. Alexia let out a long sigh of relief, her shoulders sagging as the tension drained from her.

---

“Alexia,” you said, exasperated, as you set your tray down. “What are you doing?”

“We’re sitting here,” she said simply, her tone leaving no room for argument.

You sighed, trying to stay calm. “You can’t stay mad at Mapi forever. It was an accident. She didn’t mean to bump into me.”

“She should know better,” Alexia said sharply, her fiery gaze meeting yours. “You could’ve been seriously hurt.”

“She’s your best friend,” you reminded her gently. “And she feels awful. You know she’d never hurt me or the baby on purpose.”

Alexia didn’t respond, her jaw tightening. Frustrated, you grabbed your tray and stood up.

“Where are you going?” she asked, her tone sharp.

“To sit with my friends,” you said firmly, walking away before she could stop you.

When you sat down at your usual table, Mapi didn’t even look up. You placed a hand on her arm, and she finally met your gaze.

“It’s okay,” you said softly. “Really. I’m fine, and the baby’s fine. Don’t beat yourself up.”

“I’m so sorry,” Mapi whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

You smiled at her reassuringly. “It was just a little accident. Don’t worry about it.”

That afternoon, Alexia found you outside with the others. “Ready to go home?” she asked, ignoring Mapi, who was standing beside you.

Slowly, the tension began to lift, and soon you were all laughing at one of Frido’s jokes. You noticed Mapi glancing nervously at Alexia from time to time, and you leaned over to whisper, “She’ll come around. She’s just… a little intense right now.”

---

“Actually,” you said, “Ingrid, Esmee, and I are going to the mall. You can drive Mapi home.”

Alexia opened her mouth to argue, but the look you gave her stopped her in her tracks. Begrudgingly, she agreed.

The car ride was tense at first, but eventually, Mapi broke the silence. “I’m really sorry, Alexia. It wasn’t on purpose. I’d never want to hurt her or the baby. I’ll be more careful in the future. Please don’t be mad at me.”

At a red light, Alexia finally looked over at her best friend. She could see the genuine distress in Mapi’s eyes, and her own anger began to dissolve. With a deep sigh, she said, “It’s okay. I overreacted. I was just scared. I know you’d never hurt her on purpose.”

Mapi nodded, relief washing over her face. “Thank you.”

When Ingrid dropped you off at home later, you found Alexia on the couch, watching TV. You sat down beside her, and she immediately pulled you into her arms.

“We’re good,” she said simply, resting her chin on your head.

You smiled. “So my plan worked.”

Alexia chuckled, placing a hand on your baby bump and rubbing it gently. “You’re sneaky.”

“I love you,” you said, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Even if you’re a little overprotective sometimes.”

“I love you too,” she murmured, her voice soft. “Both of you.”

And in that moment, everything felt perfect again.

[wonderhomeland]

Someting someting

Alpha!simon x f!Omega!reader

Simon not knowing how to treat omegas, not in the traditinal way, he just take them when he need stress relief after a shitty mission.

So when he was told that they specified him a mate, he was confused. They weren't supposed to meet and sign documents in one go. The bound was often not done properly, and omegas were always harmed duo to the lack of attention from their alpha. Thats why they wanted to go back to the old ways. courting.

Courting process start with alpha presenting gifts to omega. and what can our boy buy for her? They were never met, nor given any idea of what she can possibly like.

So the only thing he could think of was one of his old hoodies. It wasn't tattered or torn, but it was clear he'd been wearing it for a long time. The black fabric had taken on the shape of his body, the slight stretch from his large bicep and massive chest, and most importantly, his scent all over it.

He didn't even think about how much it might scares her. Make her feel unsafe.

He always wore it when he was on leave. All of his thoughts, rage, worries, and negative feelings was remained on his hoodie through his scent.

And the size of it? a huge alpha with twisted mind.

The next phase of courting is basically dating. And after months, they start the third phase, chasing.

But since we dont have enough time, they are going to skip the second phase and go straight to chasing.

Usually, after sharing some time together, they become more familiar with each other's scents and can react better to them. But they haven't meet yet, so it's going to be more like a predator and prey then chase for bonding.

Clearing the base, they let the omega walk at the hallways and leave her scent every were, then release the beast. She must run and he must follow, but he freezes after smelling her sweet scent. dumb-struck, excited and aroused.

Like i said, simon don't know shit about tradition. imagine his sweet omega looking around, waiting, confused about what is going on, what should she be expecting but the alpha is nowhere to be found , she doesn't even smell anything to indicate that he is near.

Desperate, she decides to go back to her room and call Laswell. Explain what happened, maybe they can try again later. But the closer she gets to her room, the stronger the familiar -yet not-so-familiar- scent becomes. When she reaches her door, she realizes that Instead of following, catching and claiming her, her alpha has come towards her room, marked out a considerable radius with his own scent wall to prevent any alphas from getting close to her.

What a silly man he is...

-------‐----

Love alpha simon, fuck up man has to deal with his sweet omega that he craves but she doesn't want him :(

Pls conasider that im not a writter and english is not my first language! Tnx for reading till end♡.

[samkerrworshipper]

movin’ out

keira walsh x reader

i wrote a fic that isn’t super depressing or smut? sorry? it’s short, it’s a little bit funky and definitely not my normal style but it’s all i could piece together atm! i don’t think it’s technically a blurb but close enough! enjoy xo

warnings: none?

It’s been too long.

It’s all you can say or think the moment you see Keira.

Between you playing in England, her in Barcelona and then you playing for Australia and her playing for England the time you two can find together is so limited. Face times, constant texts and midnight calls are good for a couple of days, sometimes weeks but after months it becomes nowhere near enough to sustain a relationship. It’s the pains and trials associated with two professional athletes being in a relationship with each other, the disconnection was hard and the added hundreds of miles between you only made it harder.

You hadn’t realised how long it had been though, and just how much of a toll that might have started to take on your partner. Between the both of you playing a mid week game and then training every day in the lead up to weekend games you both hardly had enough time to make dinner and make room for your basic needs, let alone care from each other afar.

As you look at Keira now though, you’re really having second thoughts about the lack of check ins that you’ve been having with her and the amount of interactions you’ve been having that haven’t solely revolved around football.

“Hey baby.”

Keira looks ill, and not in the sick way, just her general features. She just looks unwell, like she hasn’t been sleeping at all, like she’s on the brink of a emotional breakdown and just generally miserable. You’d offered to pick her up from the airport but she’d denied your offer and you can see why now, she looks like she’s in tatters and is about to collapse in front of you.

“Hey.”

Every syllable is deflated, like she’s struggling to piece together the energy to move her lips.

You’ve known for a while now that Keira hasn’t been happy in Barcelona. Lucy leaving had been.. it had been tough. On top of the rest of the midfield finally being in good fitness and there being a lot less familiarity for Kei it was understandable that your girlfriend would be struggling, you just hadn’t understood how much.

You push her suitcase to the side in favour of bringing her straight into your arms. The way her hands cling to your jumper makes your heart thump.

“Hey baby, I’ve got you.”

You immediately feel sick with the guilt over the fact that tomorrow you have to leave, that you have a sweet twenty four hours to try and fix whatever this problem is before you are obligated to get on a flight and fly 20 hours further away. Your stomach actually hurts at the thought, here you are with your long distance girlfriend holding onto you like you’re her lifeline and your going to be dragged away in less than 24 hours.

“Let’s go to the couch huh? Get you off your feet.”

It’s phrased as a question but really you have no intention of standing in the entryway of your house for a minute longer. You lead Keira into your living room slowly, pulling her onto your couch with you and letting the slightly shorter woman to ragdoll on top of you. You don’t mind the cllinginess, it’s a far cry from how she is with almost every other human and to know that for the most part you are the only person who gets to see this side of Keira is special.

“Arsenal put in an offer.”

It wasn’t exactly public knowledge, Leah had told you though a couple of weeks ago when it had happened, you’d been a little bit dissapointed that Keira hadn’t told you when it was happening.

“I know.”

A part of you didn’t want to hear that Keira didn’t want to come, that she’d denied the offer. It was the part of you that still felt insecure about your relationship slightly.

“They told me, management. They didn’t even think about it. Even after i’d told them I was interested in coming back, that I wanted to come back to England. A million dollars and they turned it down.”

You take a deep breath, whilst Keira had made it clear to you that she wasn’t happy in Barcelona that hadn’t directly translated in your mind to her wanting to come to England or Arsenal.

“You wnat to come, to arsenal?”

Keira looks up at you and you get a good look in her eyes for the first time since she walked through the door fifteen minutes ago.

“England first and foremost, but Arsenal with you and Leah would be ideal. Not that it seems like it’s going to happen until my contract is up.”

You smile at Keira big and wide, there hasn’t been a point in your career yet where you’ve been in the same city, she was at Manchester and you were in America, then you moved to Arsenal and there was a period of 3 months where you were finally in the same country. Then it was Barcelona and the drift had started again. The idea of having Keira in the same city as you, potentially in the same house makes you giddy. But that’s all it it, a thought, because it’s not real and you’re in the same predicament of her being in camp for the next two weeks and then flying back to Barcelona before you’re back in the country.

“That would be nice.”

You purposely murmur it as quietly as possible.

“Yeah, would be nice.”

The reality is that for both of you there is no point in dreaming about more, dreaming only leads to let downs, big soul crushing let downs.

“You’ve just gotta gold on, you’ve got Kika and Ellie and Aitana, you just need to hold onto the people you have and make the most of it. You’re winning silverware at least?”

When the sound of a sniffle falls against you, your heart only clenches more.

“I want to be here, I want to be with you, not trying to find any spare minute in my schedule so that we can see each other for a second. I’m sick of always feeling like we have to make up for lost time, I want to live with you. Get our own dog, our own home, have our things, our own lives together instead of living separately.”

You nod against your girlfriends fluff of curly orange hair, it’s not often that it’s as puffy as it is, it’s only another sign to add to the list of how Keira must be feeling.

“You know, I really like that idea.”

You focus on Kei’s hair, undoing it from the makeshift bun it’s in and tangling your hair in the roots, carding your fingers through the ends and working up to her scalp.

“Just you and me, all the time, no more constant face time, surprise visits, rewatching games, coordinating schedules. Just you and me. It’s a good dream.”

That’s the thing, it can’t be anything more than a dream for either of you, in theory it would be lovely, amazing even. But dreaming is what gives the biggest disappointments.

“Maybe more than a dream.”

You ndo to satisfy Kei, because the last thing she needs on top of her own struggles and doubt right now is yours on top of it. But in your mind it just doesn’t work out, how can you expect it to work out when realistically the both of you are always going to prioritise your careers. It’s why you’ve both worked together so well, because there hasn’t been any mistranslations about the fact that you both are always going to prioritise your careers. It’s why in your head it doesn’t make sense that Keira would leave, she’s playing at the best club in the world, she’s at the highest level she could possibly be. A part of you is slightly insecure that her priorities are shifting, and it feels good but it’s also scary. You aren’t anywhere near to shifting away from your priorities, it’s been decided since you’ve been 12 that football was going to be the one love of your life. There were never boyfriends or girlfriends or plans to have kids or go to university, it was always just football. Keira had been the one flaw in the plan, but it wasn’t a true flaw. Keira made things easier, or as easy as they could be. It was just so natural that it was just all cohesive. The distance was hard but it was what made it easier to focus on your career, there wasn’t any direct distractions in your life.

“Maybe.”

There’s a big part of you that worries that you might not be able to sustain a relationship that’s not long distance because you’ve never had to. You don’t know what it’s like to wake up next to a person and then get ready for football and prepare for a fame. Sure, over the summer you spend every waking moment with Keira, but normally there is a tournament or you’re so focused on relaxing in the little down time you have that having Keira around is just an afterthought. What you have, the love and affection from a far and occasionally for a couple of days is what’s been perfect for you, the thought of having it as a constant is terrifying.

“I invited Leah over later, I assumed you’d want to see her before camp and you’re surrounded by everyone else.”

Keira peeks up at you, her eyes wide and suddenly brimming with tears. The blue in her eyes is so much clearer when their wet, it’s like it reflects directly off of the features of her face.

“I’ll be with Leah for the next two weeks.”

The underlying tone is very clear.

“Well, I’ll never say no to a night with my favourite girl. How about thai and the love island episodes we haven’t watched on facetime together?”

You know you’ve said the right thing when Keira’s face immediately lights up, but after a few seconds it dims and all of the energy that seemed restored fades.

“I don’t want to disappoint Leah. every time I’m here it’s to see you, which I love but when she comes to Barcelona she always spends it with me.”

You lean down and plant a kiss to her forehead.

“Leah is not going to be offended that you choose to spend the little time you have with me, like I said, you have two weeks together. She will be perfectly happy with that, I’m happy to tell her that you’re overtired from the travel and I want to keep you all to myself.”

When she lifts her head up,you don’t hesitate to press what you intended to be a peck to her lips, but before you even know what’s happening Keira’s hoodie covered hands are reaching up behind your head, pulling you in.

It’s a good feeling, you like your relationship for this exact reason. You don’t know how the sparks would work, if they’d even be there if you had this all the time.

It’s supposed to be a dream to have this all the time, and yet the more you think about it, and the more the idea becomes slightly tangible the more you find yourself skeptical of the whole dream. It just doesn’t seem like something you should have.

“C’mere.”

You don’t miss the way you immediately relax as Keira completely collapses on top of you, her bones practically melting into your own. It feels so good, your body feels so much better with her around it, your head goes quiet and everything just fits into place. It’s the part of you that worries that if you have this all the time then that part, the magical part will somehow drift away and all the moments that keep you coming back will stall.

“I’ll order the thai, and I’ll text Leah. Tomorrow morning you’re going to call your agent and tell him that you want it made clear to Barca that you want to come back to England and the next offer available they should take it. Then you’ll help me pack for camp and we’ll have some really great goodbye sex and you’ll drive me to the airport and we’ll be all soppy and kiss and hug and cry. Then you’ll go on camp and tell Barca that you want a couple of days off when camp ends, and I’ll fly home as soon as my last match is over and we’ll spend whatever time we can get together. We’re going to make this work, we’re going to make something normal happen, okay?”

Whether it feels right or not, it sounds right, and as much as you aren’t sure about the future you know that right now Keira needs support. She’s not getting it at Barcelona clearly and you need to give it to her or as much as you can piece together. You need to problem solve this, you need to prove that even with all of your internal doubts that you can make whatever she needs or wnats work. She might not be your priority over football, or at least that’s what you think, but she’s pretty damn close and she’s the most stable thing you’ve had in your life for the past couple of years. You’ve put her through hell, and you need to fix the hell she’s currently living in like she would do for you.

“We’ll make it work?”

You look down at your perfect fucking girlfriend, on top of you, relaxed and smiling and it clicks, it all just clicks into place.

“Yeah baby, we’re gonna make it work.”

——————

anyways have a great day or night! love you all! maybe next time i post it’ll be a orgy 🤭

[sharonaparadox]

[Video: fan animation featuring the main cast of characters from Hazbin Hotel set to audio from the YouTube series “Sanders Sides” video “Have I Grown? - Five Years Later | A Sanders Sides Special.” Captions, which can be seen at the top of the video in colors matching design elements of the character speaking, largely match the audio except for replacing the name “Logan” with “Vaggie.”

Charlie claps her hands together with an enthusiastic grin, her eyes closed as she gushes, in all capital letters, “Ooh!” Her open eyes shine as she then gestures her arms out in front of herself as if preparing for a hug as she exclaims, “we’re like a big happy family!” Charlie points to her face with a wide grin as she continues, with an emphasis on the second word, “and I’m the dad!” She then leans in to excitedly hug her unenthused girlfriend as Charlie asserts, in all caps, “And Vaggies the mom!”

Vaggie, crossing her arms, scowls at the viewer as she asks, “why am I the mom??” Her gaze shifts to her smiling girlfriend as Vaggie questions, “what gender roles are we pushing here”

Angel Dust looks up to the side as if annoyed, one hand up to his chest as he says, “I know they’re probably thinking I’m like the son” Angel frowns at the viewer, his upper hands making dismissing gestures while his lower arms are crossed. With emphasis on the final word, he asserts, “but I’m not” He then grins crookedly as he looks at the viewer through rainbow-tinted glasses with pink heart-shaped frames, one of his upper hands on his hip with a pink heart-shaped bag on his arm while his other hand is held up near his chest in a relaxed manner as he declares, “I’ll be the gay emo cousin.” The word “gay” is in all caps for emphasis, and there is a nail polish emoji at the end of the caption.

Sir Pentious grins excitedly with his arms up in the air as he shouts, in all caps, “I will be the son” He then points to himself with a confident grin, his eyes closed as he continues with emphasis, “the hotshot” Pentious’s eyes open as he continues, emphasizing only the last two words now, “whos only dream…” He is silent for a moment as he blinks before his posture shifts from self-assured to shy. His index fingers point at each other in a nervous fiddling gesture as he looks up with shining eyes and a wobbly smile, golden sparkles around Pentious as he concludes, “is to be a star…”

Husk is looking up, eyebrows furrowed as if lost in thought, as he holds a green wine bottle up just below his frown and says, “I feel like I’d be, uhhhh..” This hesitation at the end is in all caps for emphasis. Husk then turns to the viewer with a frown and a raised eyebrow as he shrugs with his free hand and decides on, “fresh out of jail uncle”

Golden sparkles glitter around Alastor as he poses with his hands upon his crossed legs, raising an eyebrow and grinning cheekily as he says, “and I’m the sassy aunt” with emphasis on the word “sassy.” He then turns to Niffty, who sidles up next to him with her hands up to her grinning face. Alastor narrows his eyes and brings one hand up by his face as if gossiping while he concludes, “who talks shit about everyone” The word “shit” is censored in the audio with a bleep and in the caption with an asterisk in place of the vowel. End description.]

they’re a big happy hotel family 🥰

[gf2bellamy]

Hello, I hope you're having a lovely day. If it's okay, could I please request a Spencer reid x reader where the reader (who is Reid's work colleague) has gos on a date but gets stood up. Spencer happens to be going to the same restaurant and sees that the reader has been stood up to he pretends to be their date, and then the reader and Spencer confess their feelings for each other.

Please of course feel free to ignore, have a lovely day.

stood up — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: mention of being hungry a/n: thank you for your request !! i hope you like this <3 ( i won't lie i giggled and kicked my legs a couple of times while writing this )

You drummed your fingers against the smooth surface of the table, the rhythmic tapping the only thing grounding you as the lump in your throat grew tighter. You blinked rapidly, trying to push back the sting of tears that threatened to spill.

Crying over this wasn’t worth it—you were an FBI agent, for god’s sake. You had seen and dealt with worse. But somehow, sitting here alone, waiting for someone who wasn’t going to show, felt like a different kind of cruelty. 

Your day off was rare, something you didn’t take for granted. You had been looking forward to this—good food, good company.

Instead, you were left picking at the corner of the menu with nothing but a half-full glass of water in front of you. 

A waitress passed by, offering you a small, knowing smile, the kind that made your chest ache even more.

You hated that look—the one that said, Oh, sweetheart, I’ve seen this happen before. You could almost hear her inner monologue: Poor thing, all dressed up, waiting for someone who clearly wasn't about to show up. 

Your stomach growled, reminding you that despite your sour mood, you were still human. You had planned to indulge, to enjoy yourself, but now the thought of eating alone made your appetite vanish. 

The door chimed as someone entered, and you glanced up out of instinct, heart foolishly clinging to hope. But it wasn’t your date. Just another happy couple, the kind of people who didn’t have to wonder if they were worth showing up for. 

Five minutes later, the door opened again, but this time, you didn’t bother looking. You sighed, reaching into your bag to grab your wallet. At the very least, you needed to pay for the water and leave a tip—the waitress had been kind, even though you had done nothing but take up space. 

Then, you heard it. 

A voice—one you knew as well as your own heartbeat. 

“Hey.” 

You froze. 

Slowly, you lifted your head, and there he was. 

Dr. Spencer Reid stood beside your table, his gaze soft, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he was intruding or rescuing you from an evening gone wrong. 

“Hi,” you said, your voice small. It felt like the only appropriate response, though you weren’t sure what else to say. 

Spencer hesitated, shifting his weight slightly as he glanced between you and the half-finished glass of water on the table. His eyes flickered to the empty chair across from you, the one that had remained untouched all evening. His fingers curled around the strap of his bag, a telltale sign of nervousness. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. 

It was a ridiculous question, really. He was a profiler—of course, he could tell you weren’t okay. He had likely picked up on the tension in your shoulders, the way your fingers fidgeted with the napkin on your lap, the disappointment etched in your expression. But still, he asked. 

You exhaled, looking down at the table, at the small water rings left behind by your glass. “Honestly? No.” 

Your voice was quieter now, tinged with frustration and hurt. You swallowed hard before forcing the words out. 

“I got stood up.” 

The moment you said it, you regretted it. Saying it out loud made it feel even more real. More humiliating. 

Spencer’s first thought was How? 

How could anyone stand you up? Someone as incredible as you? His mind immediately went into overdrive, analyzing every possible explanation. Maybe your date had an emergency. Maybe it was a terrible reason—one he wouldn’t accept regardless. But in the end, none of it mattered, because the fact remained: someone had willingly passed up the chance to spend time with you. 

And that was incomprehensible to him. 

If it were him? He would have been here fifteen minutes early. He would have memorized the menu ahead of time, making sure to pick something he thought you’d like so he could suggest it in conversation. He would have done everything in his power to make sure you knew, without a doubt, that he wanted to be here. 

But it wasn’t him. 

And as he stood there, trying to suppress the irrational wave of frustration at a person he didn’t even know, you were thinking something else entirely—how mortifying this was. 

It was bad enough to be stood up. But to be seen by him—the one person you had been trying so hard to get out of your head? That was almost unbearable. 

You had told yourself that going on a date would be good for you, that it would help get your mind off of him. The wonderful, brilliant Dr. Spencer Reid, who you worked beside every day, who you admired more than you cared to admit. 

And yet, here he was. 

Seeing you at your lowest. 

“You…” Spencer started, then hesitated. He cleared his throat before trying again. “You don’t deserve that.” 

The sheer sincerity in his voice made you look up at him, surprised. His brows were furrowed, lips pressed together like he was trying to find the right words but couldn’t quite grasp them. 

You forced out a weak chuckle. “Well, apparently my date thought otherwise.” 

“It's still wrong.” 

His voice was firm this time, leaving no room for argument. 

Your heart stumbled over itself at the conviction in his tone. 

Spencer shifted again, glancing at the chair across from you before meeting your eyes. “Can I… sit?” 

Your breath caught for a split second. 

“Yeah,” you said softly, nodding. 

He pulled the chair out and sat down, setting his bag on the floor beside him. There was a beat of silence before he spoke again, more tentative this time. 

“Have you eaten yet?” Spencer asked, even though he already knew the answer. 

You shook your head, still feeling a little awkward about the whole situation. 

“Do you want to order something?” he asked shyly, his fingers toying with the edge of the menu. “They have this great pasta dish here.” He opened the menu and turned it toward you, pointing at one of the options. 

You glanced at the menu, then back at him. “You’ve been here before?” 

Spencer gave a small, embarrassed smile. “I, uh… yeah. I like coming here from time to time,” he admitted, his voice soft. “It’s close by, and they have good food.” He looked back down at the menu, as if trying to downplay the fact that he had just revealed something personal. 

You found yourself smiling, the initial embarrassment of him seeing you alone fading into something warmer. It was such a Spencer thing—to have a go-to spot, a little place he frequented in the city’s chaos. 

Before you could say anything else, the waitress returned, her expression noticeably brighter now that you were no longer sitting alone. 

“Can I take your order?” she asked, her eyes flickering between the two of you. 

Spencer hesitated, waiting for you to speak first. He wasn’t going to order if you weren’t. 

“I’d like this pasta dish,” you said, pointing at the menu. 

From the corner of your eye, you caught the way Spencer’s lips quirked into a small, barely-there smile—like he was pleased with your choice. 

“I’ll take the same thing, thank you.” he said. 

The waitress jotted it down, then collected the menus. Just before turning to leave, she shot Spencer a look. 

“You shouldn’t make people wait like that,” she said before disappearing into the kitchen. 

Your eyes widened slightly, and Spencer’s brows furrowed in confusion before realization dawned on him. 

“Oh—no, I wasn’t—” he started, turning to you quickly, his expression flustered. “She thinks I was the one who stood you up.” 

You laughed—really laughed—for the first time that night. The sound was warm, genuine, and it made Spencer smile almost instinctively. He didn’t even realize he was doing it; it was just a reflex, like hearing something familiar and comforting. 

You glanced at him, your heart swelling with gratitude. He didn’t have to do this—he didn’t have to walk in, sit with you, turn what had been an awful night into something… bearable. Maybe even good. 

“Thank you,” you said softly, tapping your fingers against the table in a nervous rhythm. “You know… for sitting with me.” 

Spencer’s gaze was already on you, observing you in that way only he could—like he was memorizing every detail. You met his eyes, feeling a little shy under the weight of his attention. 

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said simply. “I like spending time with you.” 

The words landed somewhere deep in your chest, pushing past the leftover humiliation of being stood up and settling into something warmer, something that made your breath catch. 

You weren’t sure what to say to that. Because you liked spending time with him too. More than you probably should. 

Before you could respond, the waitress returned, placing your plates in front of you with a satisfied nod. “Enjoy,” she said before heading off to another table. 

Spencer adjusted his napkin, giving you a small, expectant look. “You know,” he said, “statistically speaking about 20% of first dates end in one person being stood up.” 

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” 

He hesitated, then winced slightly. “I… thought it might?” 

You laughed again, shaking your head. “Spencer, you really have a way with words.” 

Spencer grinned, nudging his plate slightly closer. “Maybe, but… if you think about it, those statistics also mean that 80% of the time, the date actually happens. So, technically, the odds are in your favor for the future.” 

You hummed thoughtfully. “That’s if I decide to go on another date.” 

Spencer stilled for a fraction of a second before composing himself. “You might,” he said carefully. “If the right person asked.” 

Something about the way he said it made your pulse quicken. 

You glanced up at him, a playful glint in your eyes. “You’re not trying to set me up with someone, are you?” 

Spencer opened his mouth, then closed it, looking slightly flustered. “No! No, I— I wouldn’t, um…” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I just meant… someone better will ask. Someone who won’t stand you up.” 

“Is this your way of asking me on a date, Dr. Reid?” you asked softly, tilting your head as you looked at him. 

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, he seemed completely thrown off. His fingers twitched near his napkin, and he suddenly found the salt shaker incredibly interesting. “I mean—uhm—I…” He trailed off, clearing his throat as he stared anywhere but at you. 

You bit your lip, trying to suppress a laugh. Watching Spencer Reid—genius, profiler, and one of the most brilliant minds you knew—struggle to form a coherent sentence was both endearing and adorable. 

Then, after a long pause, he finally looked up at you, his nervous smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“…Aren’t we kind of on a date right now?” 

Your heart skipped a beat. 

The biggest grin formed on your face, one you couldn’t hide even if you tried. 

“I guess so,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper as you looked down at your plate, suddenly feeling shy. 

The butterflies in your stomach screamed, your nerves a tangled mess of excitement and disbelief. 

A pause. Then, he shifted in his seat, his fingers pressing together as if debating whether or not to say what was on his mind. 

Finally, he did. 

“I… I like you,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “I have for a while.” 

Your breath hitched. 

You had spent so much time trying to push your feelings for him away, convincing yourself they were one-sided. But now, hearing the words from his mouth—it was almost overwhelming. 

“You do?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. 

Spencer nodded, eyes flickering between yours, searching for any sign that he had made a mistake. “I do.” He let out a small breath, shaking his head as if in disbelief. “I think I’ve liked you from the moment we met. I just… never thought you’d feel the same.” 

You could’ve laughed at how ridiculous that sounded, at how blind he had been. 

Instead, you reached across the table, hesitantly resting your hand over his. His fingers tensed for a brief second before relaxing under your touch. 

“Spencer,” you murmured, looking at him with nothing but affection, “I’ve liked you for a long time, too.” 

His lips parted slightly, as if the words had momentarily stunned him. Then, a breathy chuckle left him, one of pure, unfiltered relief. “You have?” 

You squeezed his hand gently. “I have.” 

Spencer licked his lips, nodding to himself as if processing everything before smiling—really smiling. “Well, that’s… that’s good.” 

You laughed softly, squeezing his hand once more before pulling back, the warmth still lingering between you. 

“Yeah,” you agreed, picking up your fork at last. “It really is.” 

And just like that, the night that had started as a disaster became something else entirely—something perfect. 

[juyeoz]

GOOD GRACES — YANG JUNGWON

45 ┆Oh. (0.5k words)

Honestly, you were confused as to why Wonyoung dragged you to the club room without any explanation. She even left you there, saying that she would be back to let you out.

Did you do something bad to deserve a time out from your previous club president?

You had so many questions to ask her when she returned.

On the other hand, Jungwon was nervous. What if you didn’t see him the same way? Him and Wonyoung had spoken about confessing to you when the two hung out, but he was unsure.

He couldn’t tell the boys either. They would tease him too much before offering him any help.

The ding from his phone gained his attention, making his over consuming thoughts disappear. It was from Wonyoung. Her message read the words, ‘coast is clear’, with a thumbs up and grinning emoji. 

Reality was now sinking in. Yang Jungwon was going to confess to the girl he liked. Something he had never experienced before. 

He rummaged in his pocket for the key to the club room and inserted it into the lock. 

“Jungwon?” You called, turning around to look at him. He was barely visible in your vision. The club room was dimmed due to the inactivity of the space. 

“Hey,” he greeted with a bashful smile. You examined his figure, taking note of how blonde his hair appeared and how his hands remained behind him.

“Oh, here.” He said while handing you a bouquet of daisies.

“I didn’t know what flowers you liked… I just went off of what you posted recently.” 

“What’s going on?” You asked, confused. It was a valid reaction. One, you were randomly brought to the club room you rarely visited ever since you began helping the yearbook club, and two, the boy who you thought liked another girl was currently handing you flowers.

What the hell was happening?

You looked at him with furrowed brows as his eyes stared into yours. He seemed hesitant and nervous. 

“Jungwon,” you began, about to ask him the same question from before.

“What’s—”

“I like you.” He interrupted, leaving you stunned.

“I truly do like you and get all flustered when we’re close to each other. It’s kind of bad, but I’m not ashamed of it. You’re genuinely an amazing person and I failed to realize it for the last three years. Instead, I shielded your true self with the one I made up in my head after we got off on the wrong foot.” Jungwon explained.

You paused as Jungwon watched you for any signs of emotion. However, worry washed over him in an instant. You stayed silent longer than Jungwon expected you to. What if you didn’t see him the same way and he had poured his heart out to you for nothing?

What if you were going to humiliate him after all of this?

“Sorry I—”

“What about Wonyoung? You don’t like her?” You asked, cutting him off while feeling all flustered and confused.

“What—No, of course not. Why would I?” His brows furrowed in confusion. What were you talking about?

“You two were always together and got pretty close to each other recently…”

“Would you believe it if I said she was helping me with my feelings this whole time? She found out because of the video I sent her of the arts night event… It was kind of embarrassing, but luckily it brought me here.”

“Oh.”

PREVIOUS MASTERLIST NEXT

NOTE — me and those Oh. endings LMAOO

ENHYPEN PERM TAGLIST — @miumura @macapunoz @ch4c0nnenh4 @ancnymcnzjy

GOOD GRACES TAGLIST — @anuisamazing @garrdenwon @dreamiestay @starfallia @mrchweeee @mymelodyfanatic @getoxo @jiamini @imnotyizhuo @heartheejake @wonlluvie @theothernads @yvjw @riribelle @winuvs @shotaddicted @hollxe1 @pinknjm @en-dream @elegancefr @wensurr @enhaz1 @r1kification @sunghxxnie @unhakki @hoonieluv @veilico @ddolleri @ahnneyong @stvrriki @domfikeluva @mensisim @tasnemluvs @httpenhoon @sch1z0prenic @kazemiya @rairaiblog @enhypenlovre @starry-eyed-bimbo @cupidhoons @miyawwn @siekksjs @wonfused @renjuneoo @wildtigerlili @nishiriks @letwiiparkjay

© JUYEOZ

[steddieas-shegoes]

because it's yours

for @steddielovemonth using the quote prompt: "If there is love, smallpox scars are as pretty as dimples. I'd love your face no matter what it looks like. Because it's yours." - Stephen King

rated t | 1250 words | no cw | tags: post-vecna, eddie munson lives, pre-relationship, injury recovery, first kiss, getting together

▪️◾▪️◾▪️◾▪️◾▪️◾▪️◾▪️◾▪️

Eddie’s not allowed visitors in the hospital, at least according to Wayne and Hopper. It’s for his own safety, they say.

Steve knows that’s partially bullshit. He’s good at sensing bullshit. But he plays along anyway, convinces the kids to just visit Max and they’ll plan a welcome home party for Eddie when he’s released. It gets harder by the day, especially when all the news they hear is that Eddie is healing well and should be good to go home even sooner than they thought.

No one tells them when he’s released.

Steve only finds out because he walks by the room Eddie’s been in, and instead of the door being closed, it’s wide open. There’s unfamiliar voices coming from the room. It could be doctors or nurses, but something makes him pause and peek in the doorway.

It’s an older woman and what appears to be her adult children, all of them having a very serious conversation about how she needs to be more careful while gardening.

Steve leaves before he’s caught eavesdropping.

He considers stopping by Dustin’s, see if he’s heard the news. Maybe the kids found out first.

Who is Steve to Eddie really?

Just because they gave each other looks and flirted a little and Steve carried him out of the Upside Down and-

He swallows the hurt and decides to go straight to Wayne’s new trailer. It’s just outside of town, easy to get to even with the damage done by the cracks. He’s been there a few times to check on him, even helped him set up his cable.

When Wayne opens the door, Steve knows something is off.

He doesn’t invite him in. Instead, he steps onto the porch and closes the door behind him. He gives Steve an awkward smile instead of his usual warm, comforting one.

“Is he home?” Steve asks.

“He’s sleeping,” Wayne allows. “He’s still recovering.”

“Do the kids know he’s home?”

“Son, he-“

“Why is he hiding? Everyone’s worried and just wants to make sure he’s okay. No one would keep him from resting!” Steve hates that his voice pitches higher. His hands are shaking. He’s never spoken to an adult he respects like this. “We just wanna know he’s safe.”

“He is.” Wayne sighs. “I told that boy no one was gonna stay away for long. He insisted everyone would forget him. I said no. He didn’t listen.”

Steve’s eyes dart over to the window he knows goes to Eddie’s bedroom. He’d been the one to help set it up when Wayne moved in.

“Can I please see him? I’ll be quick. I won’t even tell the kids yet. I just need to see,” Steve begs. “Please, Wayne.”

Wayne wordlessly opens the door and gestures for Steve to come inside.

He leads him to Eddie’s room, reminding him with a look to be quiet and not wake him up. Steve gives an understanding nod and walks into the room.

There’s sunlight sneaking through the blackout curtains, just enough to light up the bed that Eddie’s already wide awake in. Steve can’t help the smile blooming on his face.

Eddie looks scared, though.

His eyes are wide, and he’s pulled himself to the farthest corner of the queen sized bed. His hair’s a mess, proof that he probably was asleep just before Steve got here.

“Hey, Eddie,” Steve waves. He doesn’t come any closer to the bed. “I just wanted to get eyes on you. Feeling alright?”

Wayne’s standing in the doorway behind Steve, probably trying to determine if he needs to step in or ride this out. If Eddie asks, Steve will leave. He doesn’t want him to be uncomfortable.

“What’re you doing here?” Eddie asks.

Steve watches the way his jaw moves around the words, how his mouth twists differently, like it’s taking more effort to talk. The scar going across his cheek, up into his temple, and down to his neck seems to be the cause of it. It’s still an angry red, stitches visible in some places where the bites must’ve been deeper.

He walks forward slowly. Eddie doesn’t stop him. Neither does Wayne.

The scar is big. It’ll always be big, though Steve has plenty of experience with scars and knows it’ll fade into a paler pink than it currently is. It’ll be a reminder, every day, of how he almost died. Eddie will have this memory every time he looks in the mirror, every time his own fingers brush against the ridged skin.

Steve cups the side of Eddie’s face that’s scarless.

Eddie gulps.

“Is this why you didn’t want anyone to visit?” He whispers.

Eddie doesn’t answer, but his eyes closing and head tilting down is answer enough.

“Eddie, look at me.”

Eddie opens his eyes.

“Do you really think a scar could scare any of us away? After how we found you, a scar is the least of our worries. You don’t have to hide from us.”

Steve’s not sure if Wayne’s still standing in the doorway, too focused on the way Eddie’s holding his gaze now. He’s lost weight and he’s still pale, but he’s alive. He’s still beautiful.

Maybe even more now.

“You’re alive. Everyone just wants you alive.”

“I’m gonna look even weirder now,” Eddie rasps out. Steve wonders if there’s damage to his throat, something his voice may never recover from entirely.

“I dunno. I think it’s pretty badass. Since when do you care about looking weird, anyway?” Steve smirks. “The Eddie Munson I know would find a new ridiculous story to tell every time he’s asked about something this cool.”

“I was leaning towards making people believe I got in a fight with a dragon,” Eddie shrugs one shoulder. His cheeks are red, warm underneath Steve’s touch.

“And won.”

Eddie leans his head forward, resting his forehead against Steve’s. “Of course I won. A knight in shining armor saved me.”

“You saved everyone else first. Don’t forget that part of the story,” Steve reminds him.

“A hero’s brave sacrifice…” Eddie mumbles. Steve chuckles. “Maybe true love’s kiss?”

“Isn’t that supposed to break a curse?” Steve whispers, suddenly nervous about all the times they flirted before. Flirting is harmless until it’s not.

“You’re right. In this case, it’s the curse of never kissing a nice guy.”

“And you think I can break that curse?”

“Can’t hurt to try.”

It’s a little awkward at first, mostly because parts of Eddie’s jaw are still numb from nerve damage and moving in certain ways is difficult. But once Steve adjusts, and they both giggle against each others’ lips, it’s easy. They fit.

Eddie tries to deepen the kiss, but he is still healing, and he has to pull away when his stitches tug painfully.

“Your battle scars won’t matter to any of us. They damn sure don’t make you less beautiful to me. Everyone misses you,” Steve rubs his arm, the one with no visible bandages. “Can I at least bring Dustin over later? Let him see that you’re actually alive and the hospital and government haven’t been lying?”

“Is that what everyone thinks?”

“You have to remember we’ve been through this a lot. Hopper was dead until he wasn’t. Anything can be faked.”

“That’s reassuring,” Eddie groans. “Yeah. Bring everyone by tomorrow. I’ll even shower.”

Steve kisses the top of his head. “Do you need help?”

“With showering? I just might, big boy.”

The way Eddie smiles is different now, but Steve loves it all the same.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Where Do You End Pt. 1

Main Masterlist

Read on A03! - Pt. 2

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, light angst, body swap, mentions of smut, humor, horniness, very weird

Summary/Warnings: You and Dean have found yourself in a body swap situation, but your bodies don't seem to be aware of that. They keep trying to do what they always do.

And what they always do isn't really something either of you what the other to know about.

Author's Note: Request from an anon! On god I made it as weird as it could get. I'm proud of me. Also, we're once again looking at multiple parts. Enjoy!

Word Count: 4.5k

This was fucking weird. 

Dean knew wasn’t exactly worth saying—it might be the most obvious statement in history—but this was so fucking weird. Weird in a way that made his brain feel a little fuzzy, that made his skin itch because there was no way this was real.

But there was certainly a way this was real.

And it wasn’t Dean’s skin that was itchy. 

She had nice skin. It was soft and comfortable to be inside of, the callouses on Her hands felt better placed than the ones on Dean’s, and there were scars that he’d sometimes touch on accident that felt more like art than stains. Her hair felt right whenever he’d brush his fingers through it. Her waist was perfect to hold whenever he’d brace his hands on his hips. And when Dean would reach up to rub his jaw, he’d be slammed with another reminder that this wasn’t his jaw. It was too smooth, at a different angle, and far too good.

This was the jaw he’d dreamt of holding and angling back. Of kissing a soft line across, sucking a small, dark mark on, or nipping at until everyone could see that Dean had been here. That his hand had wrapped around Her neck because she trusted him there, and he’d been holding Her chin up so She could look him in the eyes as they grinned at each other.

She had the prettiest smile. Her lips would curve up at the perfect angle, her eyes would shine like small stars, and every little line on Her face would serve as evidence that She was happy.

Dean hadn’t seen Her smile in a while. Not at him. Not like She used to. 

And he certainly wouldn’t see it now. He couldn’t.

All he could see was himself, across the room, rolling on the balls of his feet and sucking on his teeth as he thought.

As She thought.

This was so weird.

“I don’t like this.” She muttered, and Dean frowned. His voice sounded rougher, deeper, and heavier from outside. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it, or how to interpret the small shivers up his spine and over his skin. 

“C’mon,” Dean said Her name, in her sweet and musical voice, and he liked how it sounded. He’d always loved how She said her own name, like it was an answer to something or the only lesson Dean would ever need to learn. “Is it really that bad to be stuck in my body-“

“Yes.” She snapped, raising Her chin and glaring down at him, and now his heart was beating faster. “This feels weird, and I don’t like seeing you be me. You’re doing it wrong.”

Dean frowned, and Her hair fell over his eyes. “How the hell am I doing it-“

“You’re sitting wrong. Your legs are too wide, I don’t lean like that, and when I frown it’d not supposed to look like I’m trying to murder someone.”

Dean disagreed with that last one. Shit, for months the only expression he’d gotten from Her was a frown that told him She wanted him dead. 

He didn’t blame Her. He wasn’t all too happy with himself either, but it had been the only option. She wanted him. She said She wanted him, and she hadn’t been lying, and that had been the worst thing in the world.

If She hadn’t really wanted him, Dean could’ve offered himself in all his broken, foul glory and She would’ve walked away all by herself. Dean never would’ve needed to worry about losing Her, because he wouldn’t have had Her to begin with. But She’d said Dean Winchester, I want you, and he’d fucking believed Her. He never believed people when they said that. 

And him believing Her meant Dean could lose Her. Could truly let Her down and get her hurt. 

So he’d said no. He’d lied with practiced ease—through his teeth and with a flat expression—and told Her he didn’t see her like that. That She was his best friend, and he’d just never felt that for Her.

She nodded, and backed off. Smiling less and frowning more and still joking with him but never bumping their feet together under a table or leaning Her head on his shoulder. 

It was what he’d wanted. She was safer, and still within Dean’s reach to just see Her, to know she was okay. But he’d never expected to touch Her again. He’d made his peace with the fact that She’d always be just a stretch away, but never his to hold.

And now he could only hold Her. Only rub Her thighs when he was thinking, only touch her face when he tried to brush Her hair away, only feel Her everywhere, every second, until he drove himself mad.

He didn’t know if he wanted to thank the witch that had done this, or kill them again.

Right now he was leaning towards the later, if only because he really didn’t like seeing Her in his body. It wasn’t just weird. It was wrong.

“You’re not exactly acting like me either, sweetheart.” Dean raised his brows, and watched his own face drop into a further glower. “You’re standing too much like a girl.”

She scoffed. “What the fuck does that even mean-“

“You’re too relaxed-“

“Relaxed?”

“Yeah.” He tried to raise his chin, but Her hair fell in his face again. He didn’t know how the hell he was suppose to do anything when he had to keep it out of his face. “And you gotta walk slower. We’re not in a rush-“

“I’m in a rush! I told you, Dean, I don’t like this-“

“I’m not a big fan either!” He snapped. “But what the hell are we suppose to do about it? Every time we’ve tried to tell Sammy he hasn’t heard us-“

She rolled Her eyes. And they were Dean’s eyes, but that was Her eye roll. “That’s the curse, dumbass. We have to break it-“

“I got that, sweetheart, but I’m not seeing how you plan to do that without help-“

“I have you, Dean.” Her voice—his voice—was louder. Firmer. Commanding. It made his gut warm, and his body—Her body—sit a little taller of his own accord. “You’re on research duty, buddy. Let’s go.”

Dean scowled. He hated it when She called him buddy. He wasn’t Her buddy, he was supposed to be Her-

Nothing. Dean was Her nothing, because he’d been so very careful to make and keep it that way.

And that knowledge never stopped him from wanting Her. Wanting Her so bad that, when he’d glance down at her hands, now in his control, he couldn’t stop wondering if he’d ever get to feel them like this again. Rubbing against skin and tracing over the curve of his lips and trailing nails on his legs.

It didn’t really count. That wasn’t Dean’s body that he was feeling. But the touch felt real, and he didn’t really want to let it go yet, not if this was the closest to holding Her he’d ever get. Just a small, torturous reparation for his sacrifice of never really having her, where he got to memorize Her body and keep it in his head forever.

“C’mon,” Dean said Her name, because he wanted a little more time. A longer chance to exist in this purgatory, because he’d never get the chance to fully enter heaven. “You don’t need my help-“

“Yes, I do.” She snapped, grabbing Her jacket from the bed and marching to the door. “Get up. We’re going.”

Dean didn’t want to get up, but Her body didn’t seem to agree with him. He pushed off the bed and gained an unsteady balance, because Her knees were oddly weak. She wasn’t weak—She hunted like an animal and had used this very body to knock Dean flat on his ass—but something was making him lightheaded and dizzy. 

He was probably just hungry. They hadn’t eaten since the curse hit. 

“If we’re doing this,” he grumbled, shuffling to put on Her shoes. “We’re doing it with food.”

“Deal.” She tried to shrug on Her jacket, froze when it didn’t fit around Dean’s body, and chucked it right at his face. “Wear that. I don’t want you getting me a cold.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but put on the jacket. She was already pissed, and this wasn’t worth fighting about.

“This is so weird,” She mumbled, shaking Dean’s head. “C’mon, Winchester, we’re fixing this-“

“Wait,” Dean frowned, patting his pockets—Her pockets—and scanning around the motel room. “Where are my keys-“

“You mean these keys?”

He turned to see Her holding up the Impala’s keys, a shit-eating grin on Her face. 

Dean narrowed his eyes, holding out his hand. “Gimme my keys.”

“No.” She shrugged, Her grin growing. “I think I’m good.”

“I’m not asking, sweetheart-“

“Okay. You take them, they’re yours.”

She walked out of the motel room, and Dean’s eyes widened. There was no fucking way She was driving his car.

“They are mine!” He shouted, sprinting after Her. “Just cause you’re in my damn body-“

Her body was faster than Dean was used to. He almost slammed right into Her back—His back—and an undignified sound left his when Her arms wrapped around his waist, catching him from a fall and holding him right to Her chest.

He’d never realized he was that broad. Or that strong. She was holding Dean like he was paper, and looking at him with shining eyes—he could see the real Her almost glowing in his body—and grinning with Her whole face. Dean’s whole face, with crinkles near his eyes he hadn’t known he had, and stubble on his jaw he’d meant to shave today.

Her hands were rubbing his waist. It was the small, careful circles he always dreamt of leaving on Her hips and arms. 

He wasn’t sure She knew she was doing it.

“Uh,” Dean cleared his throat, because She needed to let go now. Her touch was burning on his body, and they hadn’t really touched since the curse hit, so maybe they weren’t allowed to. “Keys.”

She shook Her head. “This is my one chance to drive, Dean-“

“It’s my freakin’ car-“

“And I’m you.” She raised Her brows, still holding him, and the fiery feeling got worse. “I’m driving.”

He should’ve fought more. But Her hand squeezed him lightly, and his whole body grew molten. 

She needed to let go of him now. 

He tried to grunt Her name, but it just came out breathy and soft. “You crash it-“

“I pay for the repairs.”

Dean scowled, but gave in. Right now She was stronger and taller than he was, and Dean didn’t really want to lose any dignity trying to physically take the keys. 

And She didn’t crash it. Dean watched Her drive with careful attention—grumbling about what She was doing wrong until She shot him the deadliest glare he’d ever seen—and She never even came close to crashing. Her hands were big and firm and broad on Baby’s wheel, and Her arms would flex when she shifted the wheel, and there was a set look of determination on Her face that made her jaw look shaper-

That was not Her jaw. That was his jaw. And his arms, and his hands, and he wasn’t sure why the hell his eyes had been wandering over himself like that. He didn’t know why the hell he could feel his heartbeat in his throat and stomach. 

He wasn’t in full control. When they parked, his body didn’t want to move until She helped him out of his seat, and Dean didn’t miss the look of confusion on Her face, like she wasn’t entirely certain why She’d done that. It was the same expression she had when She guided him inside, or when She opened the door for him.

Those were things Dean always did for Her. He wasn’t used to a hand on his back, or how nice it felt there. Secure, like a tether that told him he’d be alright. He didn’t understand why his body leaned closer to Her’s as they walked, or why his stomach kept doing little flips when Her eyes would fall from scanning over the diner and land on his.

He felt so unbelievably safe and calm. Hell, he’d never felt like this. Like the sky could fall and it would be fine, because the body across from his in the booth would catch it. 

This was a really weird curse.

“You’re going to take notes,” She said, pushing a stack of books across the table that She must have pulled out of her ass. “I’ll look for something online.”

Dean frowned, shaking his head. The fucking hair was in his face again. “Why do I have to do the notes-“

“Because I have better handwriting, and you have my hands.” She handed him a notebook and pencil, and their fingers brushed, sending small sparks of electricity through Dean’s blood. “Tell me if you find something.”

“Nah, sweetheart. I think I’ll have some pie and do the online research-”

Dean had started to push everything back across the table, but he froze at the glare on Her face. It was downright domineering, and did weird things to his brain. He felt fuzzy. 

“You’re doing notes.” She grunted, and Dean definitely felt at least a little dizzy. “That’s it.”

His voice was high and almost bratty in his own ears. He didn’t like it. “But-“

“Don’t test me, Winchester. I swear to god I’ll eat a salad.” Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll take you for a run.”

Dean tensed. “You wouldn’t fuckin’ dare-“

“You wanna bet?”

She’d won the argument again. Those were the arguments Dean was supposed to win. He was supposed to be able to talk his way out of anything with Her. To smirk and wink and tease Her until she broke rank from Sam’s side, and Dean didn’t have to do the stupid parts of the cases anymore. He hadn’t taken notes in years. He hated taking notes, and he wanted to keep pushing until order was restored and She was doing the notes—she usually loved doing the notes—but Her body had other ideas.

His mouth couldn’t figure out how to open and snap at Her. His body was molded and frozen into the seat whenever She’d look at him, and something kept humming in his chest whenever She’d talk. He was taking notes because he couldn’t remember how not to—how to grab the laptop or point at Her with a stern finger—and Dean’s was writing fast and neat, and his hand wasn’t cramping.

His foot kept aching to inch forward and press on Her calf. His fingers kept wanting to reach out and trace Her jaw. Dean wanted to sit on Her lap—he could never say that one aloud—because his body seemed to think it would be comfortable. 

This curse was insane. He didn’t need to try and act like Her anymore, because his body—Her body—still seemed to remember how She was supposed to move. He found his hands spinning the pen between Her fingers like he’d seen her do a million times. His legs were crossed on the booth instead of spread under the table. He ordered a burger, but he couldn’t eat it. It was too greasy and heavy, and he already felt a little sick from just one bite. 

She’d ordered chicken nuggets, and put Her usual disgusting amount of ketchup on the plate, but barely touched them.

They smelled really good. Dean was starving, his mouth watering as he couldn’t stop staring at them—or Her, in his body, but he didn’t really want to dwell on that—and when She glanced up at him, Her eyes flicked to the burger in front of him.

They traded plates without a word. And Dean had never seen himself eat before, but he finally understood why Sam was always so annoyed with him. She inhaled that thing, chewing loudly and wiping Her mouth with the back of her hand, licking her fingers clean and making disgusting smacking sounds-

The sounds should’ve been disgusting. Instead they settled in Dean’s gut, lighting a small fire he didn’t know how to stop feeding. He couldn’t figure out how to not stare at Her, arms braced on the table and brow furrowed as she read something on the laptop screen. 

He had to excuse himself to go get more drinks. 

“One beer.” He muttered, then immediately cringed. Beer sounded foul to his mouth. “Actually, make it a milkshake.”

“Hey, darlin’.” 

Some poor chick at the bar war probably getting hit on. The lady behind the counter seemed motherly. She’d handle it if it got out of hand, and Dean had bigger problems to deal with anyway. Problems like how if he didn’t have a milkshake right now, he might actually die.

“What flavor, sweetheart?” The server asked, and Dean frowned. Being called sweetheart was weird.

He responded with Her usual order—hopefully that would satisfy his unwelcome craving—and someone off the side cleared the throat.

“You gonna answer me?”

A hand landed on Dean’s arm, and he flinched. It felt clammy and wrong on his body. Like a weight that settled into his bones and sent a creeping, itchy feeling over his skin.

He turned to see a fairly tall, well-built man grinning at him with an almost predatory smile. It made his body go rigid, almost shrinking in on itself.

“Are you, uh,” he frowned. “You talking to me?”

The man laughed. It was too loud, with not warmth, and echoed like a gunshot in his skull. “Course I am, sweetheart. I don’t see any other pretty girls ‘round.”

Oh.

Dean was the poor chick being hit on. 

And he hated it. His body hated it. Not only was this man’s touch wrong, his voice was wrong. It slithered over Dean’s gut and chest, making everything in him recoiled and balk, because that was not how he was supposed to be called sweetheart. 

“I, um,” he glanced back to the booth, frowning when he realized She was gone. “Listen, dude, I’m not-“

“Dude?” The man laughed. “We can do better than that, baby-“

Dean might have visibly recoiled. He hated baby, only one voice felt like it was supposed to call him baby, even if it never had-

He didn’t know what was happening, or why he was having such a visceral reaction to something that should’ve been passive and boring. Dean knew She got hit on all the time, because she was a fucking knockout, and his usual reaction to it was a possessive anger he had no right to feel. Not disgust, or a weird desire to retreat and hide-

“What’s going on?”

That was Dean’s own voice. And there was a large presence behind him that felt reliable. That his body wanted to lean back into.

When Dean turned, She was right there with narrowed eyes. 

He didn’t love how he immediately felt better, and softer, and a little light-headed.

“Hey, man, you gotta wait your turn-“

“My turn?” She snorted. “Walk away from hi- her, buddy, or I’ll kick your ass. I can do that now.”

She puffed Her chest, and—as soon as his brain remembered how to not be static warmth—Dean would have to talk to Her about not abusing his body for unapproved bar fights.

The man scoffed. “Bro, there ain’t no way this is your girl-“

“She is.” Her voice was dry, her face flat. “In more ways than you can imagine. Go.”

Dean was starting to like this curse less. To start, he didn’t appreciate the speed at which the idea of Her being his girl had been dismissed. He also wasn’t a huge fan of how She’d called him his girl, and he’d liked it. She’d been talking about how Dean was in Her body, and she probably didn’t want a random creep trying to get in her pants. 

Dean’s body—Her body—loved the sound of Her agreement in his voice. It made him feel tingly. 

It didn’t help how She was touching him—holding his arms as She glared at the man over his head—and it kicked the feeling from a soft, warm hum to fireworks. Dean wanted Her hand to meld there and never let go. When the man walked away and She started talking, he never wanted Her to shut up.

“You-“ She swallowed, shaking Her head slightly. “Never mind. I found it.”

Dean blinked at Her. “It?”

“How to tell Sam.

“Oh.” He paused, mostly staring at her as the words sank in, and letting out a long breath of relief escape him when they did. “Awesome.”

She raised Her brows. “You’re pro switching back now?”

“I’ve always been pro switching back-“

“You said it wasn’t that urgent.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I changed my mind, sweetheart. What’d you find.”

She gave him an odd look—Dean couldn’t tell if it was hurt, annoyance, or absolute indifference—but continued. “We have to work around the curse.”

“What the hell does-“

“We can’t tell Sam that I’m you and you’re me. Every time we have the call gets dropped, or something loud has drowned us out, Sam’s literally fucking hangs up-“

“I know,” Dean drawled Her name, giving Her a flat look. “I was there for all of that-“

“Shut up. My point is every time we’ve tried to explicitly tell him, he hasn’t heard us. So what if we just don’t?”

Dean frowned at Her. “Your solution is to just freakin’… give up? Like we’re a kiddie soccer team that lost one to many matches, and we’re gonna quit and cry about it?”

“No, Dean. My goal is to not say it, but let Sam figure it out himself.”

“How-“

“Think of something only you and Sam know about. Something you’d never disclose to anyone else.” A wide, broad grin was stretching over Her face. Dean’s face.

He couldn’t keep living like this.

“We’ve got a few of those kinds of secrets, but I’m not-“

“You don’t have to tell me. You have to tell Sam, in my voice. Just like I’m going to say one of our secrets in your voice.”

It was a smart plan, and it would probably work. Sam knew She and Dean were being so annoying and weird about each other, so they wouldn’t be spilling deep, dark secrets anytime soon. Sam would hear them, and he was smart, so he’d figure them out. 

But Dean was mostly stuck on the last part of that sentence.

“You and Sammy have secrets?”

She rolled Her eyes. “We’re friends. Of course we have secrets.”

“About what?”

“It’s not a secret if I tell you.”

She crossed Her arms—Dean’s arms—and he wanted them to wrap around him and keep him warm and safe, maybe choke him a little or carry him around everywhere like he was the only thing She was meant to hold-

Jesus. 

“Whatever.” Dean muttered. He needed to get away from Her now. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

She frowned. “Can you hold it?”

“Yeah, but why the hell would I-“

“I don’t want you peeing in my body.”

Dean snorted. “Are you freakin’ serious-“

“Yes! You’ll have to wipe-“

“I know how to wipe, sweetheart. And you’re gonna need to take me to piss eventually-“

Dean could swear She blushed. He blushed. Goddamnit. 

“I’d hold it.” She snapped, standing a little taller. “You can go back at the motel, where I can go with you.”

“Why would you need to go with me-“

“I don’t want you touching me there, Dean!” Her voice was a low, hushed shout. “It’s- You don’t get to- I’d need to wipe, and make sure you didn’t look!”

“It’s just a pussy,” he said Her name slowly, and She looked like she was going to kill him.

His horrible body—Her body—wanted to either give in or push harder, until She snapped him in half. 

It seemed to like the idea of Her giving him anything at all.

Dean could work with that.

“Dean, I’m fucking serious-“

“So am I! It’s just a body, ” He sneered, and really wished She was taller. It was hard to be firm and authoritative when She was bigger. 

When this was over, he’d probably respect Her a little more. She shouted and him and Sammy all the time without ever flinching.

“Look, I get that this is weird as hell, but it’s nothing I haven’t seen before-”

 “You haven’t seen it before. It’s my vagina, Dean, and you don’t get to see it now. Hold your piss.”

Suddenly, it clicked. She cared that Dean would be touching Her. If it was Sam, She wouldn’t give a shit.

But Dean had lost the right to touch Her there when he’d decided he could never hold Her.

It had felt like a good idea at the time. Past Dean had understood that She deserved better, and She shouldn’t have to live Her whole life with a target on Her back. Past Dean had known that She’d find better, and he’d be forgotten in a few years, and it was better for his to have another good thing slip through his fingers rather than hold it and break it. Past Dean just wanted Her to be happy and safe, and She’d never be both as long as She was attached to him.

Past Dean had been an idiot. That son of a bitch hadn’t needed to pee this bad, and he hadn’t spent months with Her just in reach. 

Dean opened his mouth to say something—not an apology, because he’d make that choice in every life to keep Her safe—but before he could, She was moving. Grabbing the hook of Dean’s arm and pulling him out of the diner.

“That’s my body, Dean.” She snapped. “You’re peeing at the motel.”

Dean grumbled an agreement, and didn’t fight all that hard. He had bigger worries. She was pulling him through the parking lot, and he was letting Her. Shit, he was trying to jog a little to keep up with Her, maybe fall into her side. Just fall into Her. She opened the Impala door and he scowled, but let Her help him inside. Her hand touched his lower back again, and it set off fireworks around his ribs and through his intestines.

He felt weirdly warm and gooey, his skin was tingling again, and when he shifted slightly in his seat he could feet something wet between his legs-

Son of a bitch.

She’d been manhandling him, and he was turned on by it. Her body was turned on by it. She wanted to Dean to jump in his own body and climb it like a tree, and Jesus, that ache between his legs was unbearable, and he wanted his own cock inside off him-

They needed to fix this right fucking now. 

End Note: Brace for incoming smut and silliness and angst. Brewing a perfect storm over here.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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@and-i-wish @jsudsgf

[animamii]

"Fushiguro, that's your girl?" One of Toji's block mates asks, eyeing one of the many pictures Toji had of you taped to the slate gray brick wall. It was a simple picture, your hair was wavy in this one, a cute dimply smile, lashes curled as you looked all natural. But god, were you still stunning. Toji looks up from the thing he was doing, sitting in the steel chair that was bolted down to the floor.

"Yup, that's my ol' lady," looking up at the picture he can't help but proudly smile. Toji's wall is covered in pictures. Of you, of Megumi. The whole family. Cute pictures you took with each other before he got locked up. It was his motivation to stay straight while being inside. To remind him of what's waiting for him when he gets out.

The block mate lets out a low whistle, nodding approvingly as he leans back against the cold wall. “Damn. She bad.” His celly's eyes roam over the pictures. Ones where you're dressed up all pretty, makeup done perfectly. Ones where you're wrapped around one of Toji's arms, looking up at him with all the adoration in the world. Even the ones that show just a little too much, which Toji keeps right next to where he lays his head.

Toji chuckles, shaking his head. “Watch it.” There’s no real threat in his voice, but there’s an edge of warning that makes the other guy hold his hands up in surrender.

“Ain’t mean no disrespect, Fushiguro,” he says, still looking at the pictures. “Just sayin’. You lucky.”

Toji doesn’t need to be told that. He already knows. It’s what gets him through the long nights, the endless hum of fluorescent lights, the hostility of the barbed wire that separates him from the outside. Knowing you're out there, waiting, is the only thing that keeps him from losing his damn mind.

He leans back against the desk he sits in front of, arms folding across his broad chest, eyes fixed on the pictures. His ol’ lady. His girl. His anchor in a life that never gave him much stability.

A slow smirk tugs at his lips. He can still hear your voice, that soft, teasing lilt whenever you’d call him by his full name just to mess with him. “Toji Fushiguro,” you’d say, dragging it out, pretending to scold him, even though your eyes always gave you away. He lived for those moments.

“Bet she writin’ you, huh?” the block mate asks. “You get letters?”

Toji nods. “Every week.” And he does. Neatly folded pages that smell like you, inked with words that remind him that he’s still human. That he’s still yours. That he still has something waiting for him beyond these walls. But god, does he miss you.

“Damn,” the block mate mutters, shaking his head in disbelief. “Every week? That’s real love right there.”

Toji just smirks again, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper, edges worn from being opened and closed too many times. He doesn’t even need to read it again—he’s already memorized every damn word—but still, he unfolds it, running a calloused thumb over the handwriting. Your handwriting.

Hey, baby. I know you hate when I get all mushy, but I don’t care. I miss you. I miss you so much it drives me crazy sometimes. But I’ll wait. However long it takes, I’ll wait. You better be eating, staying out of trouble, and keeping that smart-ass mouth in check. (Okay, maybe not too much. You know I love that about you.)

Toji chuckles to himself, shaking his head. Yeah, you knew him too damn well.

Megumi misses you too, even if he acts all tough about it. You should’ve seen his face when I told him your letter came. He’s just like you, y’know? Won’t say how he really feels, but it’s all there in his eyes.

Toji swallows hard, jaw clenching. Megumi. His kid. Another reason for pushing through this hellhole. He pictures him—too serious for his own good, but with those same sharp blue eyes. His boy.

“Yo, Fushiguro,” another voice calls out, snapping him from his thoughts. One of the guards. “Mail just came in.”

Toji is already up before the guy even finishes his sentence, heart pounding just a little faster. The guard hands the baby pink envelope with a lazy flick of the wrist, and Toji snatches it up quick, already recognizing the familiar scrawl of his name across the front.

His block mate lets out a laugh. “Man, look at you. Actin’ like a kid on Christmas.” Toji was always stoic, kept to himself and never showed much emotion. But hey, you always brought it out of him and he wasn't gonna front or hold a facade when it came to how he felt about you.

Toji doesn’t respond. He just sits back down, thumbs sliding under the flap of the envelope, tearing it open like it’s the only thing keeping him breathing in this godforsaken place. The first thing that falls out is a polaroid. His breath catches. It’s you.

You're sitting by a window, sunlight spilling over your skin, that soft, gentle smile on your lips. His girl. His sweetheart. Looking at him like she sees something in him that even he has trouble believing in sometimes. And just like that, the walls of the prison don’t feel so damn suffocating. He’s got something to hold onto.

Toji runs a thumb over the polaroid, like he could somehow feel you through it. The picture is warm, soft, a stark contrast to the cold steel and concrete around him. He exhales through his nose, staring at it for a long moment before finally unfolding the letter.

Your words hit him like they always do—gentle, teasing, but full of something deeper. Something that reminds him why he’s still holding on.

Hey, baby. I hope you’re not making the guards’ lives too hard. (Who am I kidding? I know you are.) It’s been getting colder here. I keep stealing your hoodie, the one you always say is yours but smells like me now. Tough luck, Fushiguro, it’s mine until you come back and take it from me.

Toji smirks, shaking his head. She’s gonna pay for that one.

Megumi’s been doing good in school, but I had to threaten to ground him just to get him to eat something other than instant ramen. He’s stubborn, just like his old man.

His smirk fades a little. He can picture it—Megumi sitting at the dinner table, arms crossed, trying to act like he doesn’t care. Just like Toji used to. The guilt settles in his chest, heavy and unshakable. He just wishes he could be there. For the both of you.

We miss you. I miss you.

He stops, lingering on that line. Simple, but enough to send a slow ache through his ribs.

I don’t care how long it takes. You come back to me, Toji. We’re waiting.

Toji exhales sharply, pressing the paper between his fingers, his grip a little too tight.

“Damn,” his block mate mutters, watching him. “She really ridin’ for you, huh?”

Toji just nods. He doesn’t need to say anything. He folds the letter carefully, tucking it away with the others. Getting up, he sticks some tape of the back of the polaroid, putting it up next to the rest of the pictures. Then he leans back in his chair, looking up at the mosaic of pictures you send him.

Yeah. She’s waiting. And he sure as hell isn’t gonna let her down.