#[ but yeah yeah i totally get it! it's not like he's just going to get up and walk over to kaede's house right now lmaooo ]

[dollfacefantasy]

clark kent x fem!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, car sex, mating press a/n: ummm yeah i need him so bad it makes me ill <3

for as long as you'd known clark, you'd never known him to lose his temper. he was forever-patient, your boyfriend. understanding to almost a frustrating degree. especially with you, his little love.

he was already pretty easy to get along with, but on the rare occasion you did have issues, clark seemed to have a natural instinct for deescalating you. he never raised his voice, never spoke an unkind word about you, never gave you a look harsher than what could be described as stern.

all it took to calm you down was a glimpse of his natural puppy-dog eyes and pretty plush lips. his thick arms would circle around you and hold you to his chest. he'd sway back and forth with you a little, a small smile on his face as you melted into the embrace. whatever semblance of tension or irritation that had been bubbling up easily dissolved into a puddle between the two of your bodies.

so, all that to say, you didn't really believe clark possessed any kind of rough edge or combative instinct. despite his large stature, you couldn't really picture him ever being rough.

that was until tonight.

you and clark had planned to drop by some event at the talon, but your sweet boyfriend had warned you earlier that he found out there'd probably be some trouble there later. some potentially dangerous situation that he wanted you avoiding at all costs. it was for your safety. he just wanted you to stay home where he wouldn't be worried while him and chloe investigated.

but did you listen to him? of course not. you went anyways, not in the mood to listen to his vague explanations as to how he even discovered this information in the first place. you put on a cute little dress with some new shoes you bought specifically for the night and took off.

unfortunately for you, clark had turned out to be right. not even thirty minutes after you arrived, chaos broke out. people flew through walls and glass shattered everywhere, all because of some guy who looked like his body could stretch and bend like a rubberband. it totally sucked. but none of that was even the worst part. you survived the craziness of whatever that person's problem was. the real danger came when the dust settled and you saw clark across the room staring at you.

he looked pissed.

he was at your side in an instant, but closing the distance didn't soften him any. it kind of did the opposite since up close he could see a bloody scrape stretching across your cheekbone.

you could see he was worried first and foremost, but behind that concerned top coat a fire burned. as soon as your small wound had been tended to, his long fingers clasped around your bicep. he pulled you to your feet and all but dragged you out of the coffee shop.

"clark i-" you started in an attempt to explain yourself.

"save it," he said, voice as cold as you'd ever heard it, "i asked you for one thing. that's it. stay home for your own good. don't come out here and pointlessly risk your life."

"it wasn't that bad," you defend weakly.

"but why even take the chance?" he asked with true exasperation, "i shouldn't need to convince you that your safety is more important than whatever they had going on tonight."

he didn't continue the lecture beyond that. just walked with a clenched jaw and motivated stare in the direction of his truck. like always, he opened the door for you when you got there. though this time, he practically scooped you up and dumped you into the car.

he was silent as he drove, fingers tight around the steering wheel. you could practically feel the frustration rolling off of him. the urge to lash out for once was near spilling over. he pulled the car over, and you figured you were really in for it. in a way you were right, just not how you thought.

clark didn't bother yelling, didn't try to start a fight. he glared at you for a few silent seconds before leaning across the seats and crashing his lips against yours. he kissed you like he wanted to steal the breath from your lungs.

after a blur of clothing being shifted around and positioning body parts awkwardly in the confined space, you found yourself in the meanest mating press of your life.

you were folded in half beneath all of clark's weight. the points of your new heels scraped up the truck's ceiling while your knees squished against your chest. little squeaks and whines slipped their way out of you as his tip battered against your cervix. he was so deep you swore you could feel your insides rearranging to make room for him.

"clarkkkk," you mewled before biting your lip, desperately searching for some way to ground yourself. one set of your fingers gripped strands of his dark hair while the other held a fist of his flannel.

"what, baby?" he panted. for once, clark wasn't fawning over you between thrusts. he wasn't cooing or praising you for taking him so well. instead, he had his face against your neck and his hands wrapped around your waist, bucking into your dripping heat with enough force to rock the car.

you tried to force out words to convey what you were thinking. too big. too much. so deep. harder. faster. none of those made it though. only choked moans and then a sharp squeal when he rolled his hips and struck that extra-sensitive sweet spot inside you.

"someone's gonna see if they drive by," you whimpered, squirming underneath him.

"maybe you should hold still then and let me finish, huh?" he grunted, "no one's gonna see. everyone's in town dealing with the mess from tonight. the one i told you was gonna happen."

"i didn't think-"

"i know you didn't," he interrupted, "didn't use that pretty little head at all, did you?"

words of defense eluded you right now, his nonstop thrusts keeping your mind cloudy. instead you chose to whine, your lip quivering he rolled his hips deeper yet again.

"oh yeah?" he asked, as if you'd said something coherent.

you opened your mouth again to speak, to really argue back this time, but you were cut off by your own desperate cry when his hands tugged you closer and speared you even further on his cock. you could feel him grinning against your neck at the noise.

"i know, baby. i know you're sorry. you don't have to explain. thinking's too hard for you right now, yeah?" he cooed, his tone bordering on mocking.

your pout got more severe but so did the needy sounds escaping your mouth. you felt those long fangs of his scrape against your throat. his tongue then glided across the area, making you shudder.

"clark-" you tried to say something else, but he cut you off. he raised his head up and kissed you deep again, swallowing the words right from your mouth. when he pulled back for air, he rested his sweaty forehead against yours.

"you can be such a brat," he breathed, "so much whining even though i know you love this."

the truck creaked as his movements continued to jostle it. you felt his breath fanning across your face and watched as his eyes fluttered shut. you knew he was getting close, but so were you. your cunt squeezed around him rhythmically, coaxing him too the edge along with you.

"you gonna cum, baby?" he finally muttered against your lips.

you nodded eagerly, more than ready to release. it only took a few more hard thrusts to get you there, and clark followed along no problem. in the afterglow, he laid on top of you for a minute or so, trapping you in a cage of searing body heat.

when he finally did sit up, the two of you fixed your clothes and stretched your limbs. he looked over at you with more tenderness. your boyfriend's gentle temperament had seemingly returned with the relief his peak brought.

he cupped your jaw with his fingers, looking over that cut on your face. leaning in, he gave it a small kiss before starting up the car again.

"i'm just trying to look out for you, you know? just... please listen next time. i don't know what i'd do if you got hurt. you had me worried sick."

"i will. i'm sorry i scared you," you replied softly. your eyes studied the loving look in his eyes and the way his features seemed so at peace now that all his adrenaline was out of his system.

you grabbed his hand across the seats and traced little patterns on his knuckles for the drive home. he let you play with his fingers but shot you a glance.

"i'm serious. next time you get involved with something like that i won't let you off so easy," he teased.

you smiled and nodded, wanting to put his mind at ease. though in the back of your mind, a small part of you considered trying again some time, just to see what "not so easy" looked like to him.

[heich0e]

"so... how's work?"

you accidentally click the edge of your wine glass against your teeth as you tip it back, jarred by the strange question from the man standing at your side. you swallow the tiny mouthful of wine you manage to sip, turning to look at suna in bewilderment.

"work?" you ask him incredulously. "why are you asking me about work?"

suna rintarou doesn't care about what you do for work. truthfully speaking, you're not sure he even knows what you do for work—you certainly don't remember ever telling him, and the memory would stand out quite starkly considering all you ever seem to do when you run into him is bicker with him uselessly.

suna is a friend of a friend. or a friend of some friend's ex. or something. all you know is that every so often the two of you end up at the same social event, and there's something about the guy's face that just... makes you want to pick a fight.

and he has yet to turn down your instigation.

your friends all think it's funny—like you're some kind of comedy duo, and this is your special bit—but you don't see the charm in the slightest. you suspect they've started inviting you both to events just to have some entertainment.

"what?" rintarou asks, fiddling with his cellphone in his hand—pinching it between his thumb and his ring finger while he twirls it with his index. "i'm not allowed to ask about work? isn't that normal small talk for a christmas party?"

you're a little taken aback by his words. first of all, because he's right (which you hate). second of all, because he seems strangely defensive about it.

"normal for other people, maybe," you mutter, more to yourself than anything, before taking another tiny sip of wine. you swallow it, but somehow it doesn't help the dry feeling in your mouth. you're not sure you like this particular wine, you think, as bitterness clings to your tongue. "work is... fine."

suna perks up beside you at that, and you feel his eyes on your profile like he's waiting for you to go on.

"things get, uh... things get slow this time of year, so I'm mostly just answering stupid emails and ordering gifts online while i sit at my desk." you swirl the glass of wine in your hand, watching the way that the light catches in the deep red surface. "my section chief has kids and loves the holidays, so she's been pretty checked-out lately, herself. makes it easy to get away with slacking off."

you risk a glance over at him, and are somewhat dismayed to find him listening intently.

"must be nice to get a little break," he offers.

"yeah, i guess," you reply. your words are in agreement with him, but still your brow furrows.

what the fuck is going on?

you look around the room, as though checking for a hidden camera, or some other sign that might give away what the hell this guy's motives are. but around you is simply a room of friends enjoying each other's company—sipping drinks; eating finger foods the hosts had been carefully set out to graze on; chatting amongst each other about their lives, their holiday sweaters, their work.

everything seems totally normal, other than what's transpiring in the quiet corner where you and suna rintarou find yourselves standing side by side.

"how is... your... work?" you manage to ask, though it sounds as though the question is pulled from you with considerable effort. stiff and strained in every way a question so innocuous doesn't have any right to be.

suna laughs a little under his breath, masks it with a clearly fake cough, and then rests his hand over his mouth. he's smirking. you know he is. he's revelling in every second of your discomfort like the twisted little freak he is.

you're about to tell him as much, but he cuts you off.

"it's good," he replies to your pained question with an unexpected sincerity. "we're coming up to the half-way point in the season, so training is still pretty intense. we do get a day off for the holiday though."

right, he's a volleyball player. you'd learned that upon your first meeting, before your opinion of him was quite so hostile. you remember thinking at the time that he looked like a volleyball player—tall, lean, with big hands that made the beer can he'd been holding look almost laughably small in comparison.

you glance down at those hands again, still idly fidgeting with his cellphone. he's not drinking a beer tonight, and you wonder if maybe it's because he's in the middle of his season.

you think about asking him.

but you don't.

suna seems to be waiting for you to say more, but when you don't, he continues on the conversation himself. "i thought about taking the train to hyogo for the day, but it wouldn't really make sense just to go visit for a few hours."

you take another sip of your wine. you decide that you do not in fact enjoy it.

you hum a bit, ditching your mostly full glass on the edge of a table that rests within reach. "tough to just make a day trip, especially since the weather's so..." you trail off, gesturing vaguely with your now empty hand in a way that's supposed to indicate the unreliability of the winter climate.

suna laughs.

you look at him in confusion.

"the weather?" he asks you, rubbing at his mouth again like he trying to hide the expression underneath his fingertips. it might work if his eyes didn't crinkle at the corner when he smiles. "we're talking about the weather now?"

your lips part indignantly at his jibe. he's the one who'd initiated this hellscape of small talk, and now he had the nerve to chide you for it?

"oh, i'm sorry," you guffaw, feigning remorse, "is there some pressing matter you'd rather discuss?"

rintarou dips closer to you from his greater height, and the fact that he's so much taller than you are only irritates you more.

"there is actually," he says with a nod.

"oh, yeah?" you roll your eyes, gearing up for a fight. you turn to face him properly, tilting your chin up to meet him eye to eye without wavering. "and what's that?"

"are you aware that we've been standing under mistletoe for the entirety of this conversation?"

you slowly look overhead.

like something out of a horror film, you find that for once in his life (or at least the few months you've known him) suna's chosen to say something factual. overhead, a little bundle of mistletoe has been affixed to the ceiling with a piece of tape that seems to barely be hanging on—the decoration at risk of falling at any moment.

you feel sick.

"so what?" you ask him, swallowing down that feeling of dread and maintaining (what you hope is) an air of indifference.

"so that means we're supposed to kiss," he tells you matter-of-factly, almost a bit pointedly, like he can't believe you didn't know.

"i'm aware of that," you hiss. "i don't, however, bend to the whims of plants, as a general rule."

"weird rule," he remarks, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

you feel a throb of irritation behind your eyes.

"you're the one who came over here to bother me," you point out. "if you knew there was mistletoe hanging up there, that means this is your fault."

suna shrugs a bit.

you keep going, your pulse thrumming beneath your tongue and fanning the flames of irritation churning in the pit of your stomach.

"if anything, that makes you the weird one for coming up with some scheme to trick me. we're not children. if you wanted to kiss me so bad you could have just aske—"

"can i kiss you?"

what?

"i asked if i can kiss you," rintarou says, and you're not sure if that means you voiced your thought aloud or it was just plainly written across your face. he inches closer to you, and though you would usually shift away to accommodate for the intrusion, the table where you'd discarded your glass of wine keeps you mostly trapped in place. pinned. cornered. "you said that if i wanted to kiss you, i should ask. so, i'm asking if i can kiss you."

why?

suna sighs after a moment of contemplating the look of abject shock on your features, slumping forward and resting his forehead on the wall beside your head, caging you against the wall with his lanky frame. you can't breathe with him this close—too startled by the proximity and the warmth radiating from him to even think about drawing air into your lungs. too confused by this entire situation to meet your basic human needs.

"you really don't get it, do you?" he asks quietly. he's so near that you feel his words more than you hear them—especially since they were spoken so quietly just next to your ear.

"get what?" your own voice sounds distant—sounds strange—to you when you finally manage to speak.

suna pulls back just far enough to meet your gaze, and you're shocked to see just how pink his face is. he looks mortified—and desperate—as his eyes find yours. he tilts his face towards you, and when he speaks again you feel the warmth of his breath break against your lips.

"you're the only person in this room who i'd enjoy listening to talk about the weather."

and it's not until much later, when the lingering bitterness from the wine has been replaced by something much sweeter (though entirely unexpected) on your tongue, that you realize rintarou was the only person in the room tall enough to reach the ceiling.

a/n: for nana, who forced me to write this entirely against my will but whom i love dearly in spite of it

[gay-dorito-dust]

Batboys and reader doing the hear me out cake trend and reader pulls out a picture of Bruce when he was in his prime.

Apologies anon but this trend…Do not get me started on how misconstrued the phrase ‘hear me out’ is. I’ll rant about how a lot of ppl should look up the definition first. I’m very passionate about how butchered the trend is that every time I see one I can’t help but think ‘not a hear me out, try again or don’t to save my small remnants of sanity.’ I hate it so much.

Dick

Pouts.

‘My dad? Really?’ He’d ask you.

‘Yeah, what can I say he was a total hunk.’ You shrugged.

‘Was?!’ Dick replied, looking at you as though you had grown a second head. ‘What is he now then chopped liver? Do you not like older men?! Do they loose their charm the moment they have a few grey hairs and lines on their face?!’ He exclaims.

This wasn’t what you were expecting when doing this challenge because now you were being grilled by dick on whether you’ll still feel attractive to him when he himself gets old and grey.

‘I don’t have anything against older men dick, I just find your dad hot in this specific picture.’ You defended yourself and dick only puts his hands on your shoulders and gives them a firm squeeze as he presses his forehead against yours.

‘Sweetheart I don’t think you understand because what do you mean you find him hotter in the picture?! It’s Bruce the man is just naturally photogenic!’ Dick tells you. ‘You could’ve chosen a recent picture of Bruce and say the exact same thing.’

‘Eh, it’s not the same thing.’ You say and dick felt as though he might as well rip his hair from his head because what do you mean it’s not the same thing?! He was now more certain that you didn’t like older men if Bruce was only appealing to you in his youth, his supposed prime.

Needless to say the conversation diverted from the fact that you found his dad hot, to one where dick was trying to prove to himself that you just didn’t like older men/ silver foxes for whatever absurd reason.

Jason

He’s oddly silent.

You feared you did something the moment you pulled the picture of young Bruce Wayne out to put on the cake.

The wait was over the moment he did decide to say something but it was nothing like you’d expect to come out of his mouth;

‘Out of all the pictures there are of Bruce, that’s the one you picked? Nothing about that picture is flattering to him in any way whatsoever.’

‘Oh you’re just jealous.’ You’d tell him and Jason only raises his brow at you.

‘Jealous, babe have you seen me? What’s there to be jealous of that old bat.’ Jason replies as he gestures towards himself before pinching your cheeks. ‘I just think it’s adorable how you consider Bruce in his prime as a hear me out, it’s laughable really but you do you chipmunk.’ He adds.

However when you weren’t looking, he’d take the picture of Bruce from the cake and throw it over his shoulder, for there was no way in hell he was going to have a picture of Bruce on a cake. No sir, Jason would much rather die again than allow his own father to overstay his welcome on the damn cake.

He’d even act innocent when you would ask where the picture went as though he didn’t set it on fire with a lighter after plucking it off the cake. ‘It must’ve grew legs and walked off.’ He’d shrug but it wasn’t hard to know the truth.

His dad can fuck off away from the cake and you.

Damian

Another one who’s not so amused by the fact that you added his father on a ‘hear me out’ cake.

He doesn’t partake in such stupid trends that’ll sooner or later long forgotten by the public consciousness in favour of a new trend that’ll run itself to the ground just as quickly as the last. He questions the publics attention span if it was this short and unreliable, he really does and fears that the age of stupidity has begun with people who think a conventional attractive man with a Roman nose or any other unique feature is a ‘hear me out.’

As if they were any less attractive than a man with a plain featured, and rather unappealing and basic appearance. They’re weren’t, if anything people with romantic noses or any other unique features were just as attractive as the plained featured ones, and Damian found it rather ridiculous that is what is being considered a secrete that many think they’ll be judged for finding appealing.

‘My father? Really?’ He’d say as he looked between you and the picture of his father.

‘Yeah.’ You shrugged.

Damian only sighed as he crossed his arms over his chest. ‘A conventionally attractive man is you hear me out?’

‘Not just any conventionally attractive man-‘ you tried to explain but Damian didn’t allow you the space to do so.

‘My father in his prime doesn’t count, you should really do better research before putting random people on a cake, or better yet don’t partake in a challenge you don’t understand.’ Was all Damian said before he leaves the room, he’s not impressed and feared that there was too many people who for some stupid reason also though his father in his prime is a ‘hear me out.’

It freaks him out and disappoints him greatly of what the future of Gotham and humanity as a whole would look like if these people were to be at the helm.

Tim

Not amused.

He’s sick and tired of people putting conventional attractive people and anthropomorphic animals who are drawn in a specific way to elicit such emotions out of people.

So to see that you had put his father, more specifically Bruce in his first steps as the dark knight, he couldn’t help but look at you disappointedly.

One, you obviously didn’t understand the concept of a hear me out and Tim is more then ready to educate you on what one is with his long ass PowerPoint presentation. And two, really? His dad? What was wrong with his dad in his current old age? Did you have something against older men?

Wait- why was he so suddenly concerned whether or not you find his father less appealing now than how he looked in his prime? He should be more focused on the fact that you found such pristine picture of Bruce during that time, he’s tried multiple times but the resolution was god awful and didn’t do anything to flatter Bruce.

You’re still getting lectured on what a proper hear me out is though. Tim’s got fucking tons.

[leomonae]

When I was in hospital in Scotland with pretty bad anemia for then-unknown reasons, getting transfusions, and a CT scan, and a colonoscopy and endoscopy, and an x-ray and ultrasound and mammogram, and assorted specialist consultations, and like 6 different medicines on top of the IV antibiotics, and probably some other stuff I'm forgetting too - oh yeah ambulance ride too because my GP didn't want to risk my partner driving me to the nearest hospital, in case I passed out again on the way, and sure why not, if he thought that was for the best no reason for me not to go along with it, right? - just for "fun" I chatted to a friend of mine back in the US who worked in a hospital, and we tried to work out what this would've cost me if I still lived there. I think we hit $50k a few days into my totally free ten day stay and stopped counting.

That particular hospital had free parking, too! Though even if it hadn't, since I'm low income I'm entitled to claim back my travel expenses from NHS hospitals.

Blogging this tweet because this explains SO MUCH about the mindset of pretty much all the folks I’ve known who’re against single-payer, it’s not even funny…

[kirislovelygf]

self-care night (sevika x fem! reader)

contents: after the battle and after losing jinx and isha, you take it upon yourself to take care of sevika, giving her a much needed quiet night. total fluff, you and sevika are married, post seaosn 2 finale, sevika is finally taken care of like she deserves <3

wrd count: 1.6k

a few mornings ago, sevika had her first day on the job as a councilwoman. 

caitlyn gave up her seat on the council to give sevika the opportunity to speak up for zaun. 

she came home that evening angry as anything. the other councilpeople acted like she didn't even exist. 

and when she was able to speak up, her requests went in one ear and out the other. 

when she received the opportunity to have a seat on the council, we were thrilled. but after that day, she's been trying hard not to blow up on everyone and confirm their suspicions of what would happen with a zaunite on the council. 

tonight, i made her a warm and filling meal and set up the bathroom with candles and pleasant soaps so she can take a relaxing bath. 

i was sitting on the couch reading a book when she came home. 

she closes the door and looks up at me. "hi." she mutters. 

"hey. another long day?" i ask her gently. 

"tch.. you tell me." she joked. she sat down at the kitchen table that was just beside the front door to yank her boots off her feet. 

i close my book and placed it aside before walking over to her. as she struggled to untie the laces of her boots, i cupped her face so she could look up at me. 

"sorry, honey." i muttered before i kissed her. "at least you get the weekend off." i said as i looked at her face. she smiled gently before i crouched to untie the laces of her boots. 

"hey, i was doing that." she chuckled as i threw them on the doormat. "i'm not helpless." 

"just let me take care of you." i smiled. i look at her once more. "why don't you wash up for dinner. i was able to make your favorite tonight." i said to her as i stepped away to check on the food on the stove. 

i hear her come up beside me and take a look at the food that's simmering. 

"damn.. all this for just us?" she said. 

"yeah. i know you skipped out on lunch, so you must be starving." i said as i stirred the meat on the saucepan. 

"how'd you know i skipped lunch?" she asks me. i looked up at her. "i always do. now, go. wash your hands." she laughs softly before washing her hands in the sink. 

i quickly plate everything for her and place ehr food at the table just as she sits down. once i set everything down, i went to plate my own food. 

i turned to go sit down and i saw she hadn't touched anything in front of her. didn’t even move to pick up her fork. "what are you waiting for? eat." i chuckled. 

"i'm waiting for you, dummy." she chuckled, picking up her fork. i smiled at her as i settled into my seat. 

dinner was quiet but nice. i left music playing on the radio as i watched her enjoy her meal like she hasn't had one in forever. 

"this is.. amazing, honey. shit, i was starving." she said after slamming her cup of water down. i chuckled lightly. 

"i can tell." she smiles softly at me. after she got some food in her system, she talked to me about her stressful day as she waited for me to finish my meal. 

"they don't know.. anything about what life is like down here. hell, half of them think we've grown up in sewer pipes." she said quickly. 

"they cannot be serious." i shook my head lightly. "you would think they're stupid at first glance." she jokes. 

"maybe once they have someone with common sense on the council, they'll make better decisions." 

"yeah.. it's gonna take a while though." she hums. i watch her soft expression that is rarely ever seen. i love my wife. 

after washing dishes and cleaning the kitchen, i went nad ran the bath for her while she was occupied in our room, cleaning her mechanical arm. 

once i lit the last candle and turned off the lights, i went to our room to see her at her desk tinkering with the screws and nooks and crannies of her arm. 

"hey, vika?" i said softly. 

"hm?" she looks up at me from her device. "i ran you a bath. come on." i muttered

she smirks over her shoulder. "oh yeah?" 

"don't be gross. it's not like that." i chuckled. 

"oh.. damn.." she grumbled. "come on." i laugh. she follows me to the bathroom and i stand, leaning on the doorway

"you can stay there for however long you want. just relax, alright?" 

"whoa.." she gasped lightly at the acne in the bathroom. 

she looks down at me. "i- you didn't have to do all this." she hummed. 

i shrugged. "you're right. but i wanted to." 

she smiles. she wraps her arm around me while i do the same with both of mine. 

"i don't deserve you. seriously." she hummed after planting a kiss on my head. 

"yeah, you do." i said softly. 

i sat in our room while sevika took her bath. as i was flipping through the pages of my book, i remembered i had gone out and bought a scrub. at a shop up on topside, so it's bound to be good. 

i found it and went to the bathroom to give it to her. i knocked before walking into the dimly lit bathroom. she was sitting in the bath with her hair guarding her eyes from being seen at the side. 

"i bought this scrub today and thought you might like it." i said softly. “you did? why?” 

i sat on my knees as i unscrewed the top of the bottle. “it reminded me of you. here, smell." i said to her. 

i held it up to her nose and she took a quick whiff before humming. "it's nice.. like pine." she said. 

she went to grab it but i pulled it away. "let me." i said. 

"come on, honey. i can clean myself just fine." she chuckled softly. "no one's saying you can't. i just wanna do it for you." 

i look at her eyes before moving her strands aside. "you can't get your back anyway." i said. 

she rolled her eyes. "alright.." she hummed. i got up to find a stool and sat on it as i took a seat beside the tub, sitting behind her. 

the smell of snowy pine trees quickly invaded our noses as i massaged the scrub into her scarred back. 

looking at her muscles and scars, i imagined what it must be like to be her. to experience her life. 

her mother died at birth, father died even later. no siblings to mourn with her.

a best friend turned boss. now dead also.  

two young girls that were like her daughters, dead too. 

i feel like if i followed that same fate, she would end up offing herself. 

so much loss in her life. and she still stood strong every day without fail. 

"why are you doing all this?" she spoke up quietly. 

"hm?" i said as i rinsed off the soap crystals. 

"the dinner... the bath, everything you did tonight." she said. 

"i'm your wife, vika. it's what i enjoy doing." i said softly. 

there was a beat of silence. 

"it feels strange being taken care of like this. " she admitted. 

i poured water over her back again, watching the tiny crystals fall into the water. 

“i know..” i said softly. 

she shifts in the water, bringing her knees up to her chest. 

"sevika, you've devoted your entire life to bringing justice to our people. i've watched you take care of others, put their lives over your own.." i said, glancing over at her scarred stub that used to carry her left arm. 

i gently massaged the scrub over it, letting the scent sink into her skin. 

"it's like that's all you know how to do." i hummed. 

"after a while, you forget how to do anything else." she said quietly. 

"that's why i want to take care of you. while you learn how to pick yourself up again." i said, pouring water over her shoulder.

i’ve reminded her of this since we first got married. while she tells me she believes me, sometimes it slips. 

“you know, people look at you and see a terrifying old woman who can kill them with just a look.. and you are.” i said, to which she laughed softly. 

“but when i look in your eyes. when you hug me in the night when ere sleeping, all i see is a sweet girl who’s in need of love. and i want to give it to her.”

“so, while you're out there looking after the lanes… i’ll be here at the end of every day to take care of you.” i said. 

i rinse off the last of the soap from her shoulders and leaned back slightly. 

“okay?” 

she’s quiet for a second but turns her head slightly. “yeah.. okay.” she hums. 

i moved from my seat and sat next to her. i reached out to her chin and turned her head slightly to kiss her cheek. “i love you, you old softie.” i muttered. 

she looks at me with tears welling up in her eyes. 

“i love you. so much.” she said quietly. 

i held her face in my palm as i scanned her face before i kissed her lips. i pull away from her and smile softly. “you finish up here, alright?” 

i left her int he bathroom and waited for her in our bed. 

it was slightly cold, i just put on the freshly washed sheets, a new fuzzy blanket, and lit a candle that made the room smell like sugar cookies. 

she was dead asleep in seconds. 

a/n: i need to put sevika in my pocket, i love her and she deserves the world.

[cosmicporos]

What Arcane characters would gift you for Christmas!

Jinx, Vi, Ekko, Viktor, Jayce

(Semi crack Drabble… sorry for going super long with Viktor’s and Jayce’s HCs. I LOVE THEM SO MUCH)

(Jayce is Hispanic in my hc :3)

ENJOY AND HAVE FUN LOVE YALL<3

Not proofread

JINX

Hear me out… the first thing she would plan to gift you are decorated safety googles.

As a matter of fact everything she gifts you is handmade!

She knows you love to spend time with her when she’s in her workshop and the extra spare of googles she had were pretty crappy…

“Ugh, these old things? Pfft, they look like they’ve been through a freakin’ explosion… oh wait, they probably have! We gotta get you a new pair soon toots!”

They’d be totally decked out! Lots of character as she calls it.

“Okay toots check it out! Maximum protection but most importantly! They got style!”

The googles themselves would be in her classic style, very colorful paint, cute little heart scribbles all around! And of course lots of glitter….

“"I mean, you've got to stay safe while causing mayhem, right? And hey, if we're blowing stuff up together, you'll definitely need these. Plus, I made them perfectly for you. No one else will have goggles like these... trust me!"

I totally see her adding little handmade jewelry from her gears and spare parts, would totally make you a belt or choker out of spare bullets.

Vi

She would totally panic on what to get you for Christmas. Like what if you suddenly hate the thing you’ve loved since the very beginning she’s known you???

Would end up both buying and making you something!

She’s make you something small but meaningful

“Okay Okay fine! You can open mine now. Just don’t laugh too hard Cupcake…”

You’d open the poorly wrapped gift to uncover a bright pink scarf she knitted you! The stitching is a mess.. there a hole’s through the project (no doubt a missed stitch) but in all honesty it so cute you feel like your heart might explode.

"Yeah, I know I'm not, uh, the best at this kind of thing," she mutters, scratching the back of her neck, "but I figured you could use something to keep warm... and, you know, 'cause it's winter. And... you're important to me."

Guys please tell her she did an amazing job PLEASE.

She would also totally buy you a pair of combat boots! Totally saved up for months in advance.

She loves the idea of being able to match and have a bit of her style on you!

Ekko

Just like Jinx (sobs) he’d also make something for you!

The first thing he’d give you would be a little sketch book full of drawings of you from random moments throughout your relationship he remembers oh so clearly.

"I've been working on it for a while... It's... it's just a bunch of drawings. I mean, not just anything. Stuff that made me think of you. Stuff we've done, or things I hope we do. I don't know, it just felt like the best way to show how I feel about... well, us."

Okay he would also totally make you matching jewelry (matching clock hand necklaces?)

You’d force him to take the hour hand since it’s shorter (heheheh little man)

Once you explain your reasoning as to why he should take the smaller one he sighs disappointedly…

"Okay, okay, I get it," he finally says, a little less playful now, his voice softening. "I guess if you want me to wear it, I can..."

Then, a grin creeps back onto his face as he adds, "But don't think I'm letting you off the hook with the minute hand. You're wearing that one for sure." He places the hour hand necklace around his neck, the smaller pendant resting there, and looks up at you with that mischievous gleam in his eye.

He pauses, holding up his necklace, "I'm still the one with the bigger job. You'll just have to keep up." A proud smug smirk now rests on his face.

Viktor

FUCK WHERE DO I BEGIN I LOVE THIS MAN

o k a y. He would just like Vi panic… not because he doesn’t know what to get you but because he totally is going Christmas shopping late… very very late.

As much as I would love to say he’d make some little invention to make your day easier and give it to you for Christmas I don’t see it happening.

Not because he wouldn’t do it but because he already does it all the time! A little example, you’re late for work often? A little robot that hits you with a plastic squishy hammer every morning at 7 am waking you up when he can’t!

He’d definitely want to make Christmas special, I see him buying you something and then doing something special for you too!

Christmas morning would be greeted with warm hugs and kisses along with an even warmer bowl of potato soup!

He wanted to make sure he perfected his mother’s Bramboračka recipe. It was a once a year meal him and his mother shared every Christmas day.

He’s not a good cook by any means… but this is the one dish he can make and oh boy can he make it.

"Don't expect perfection," he says with a small, self-conscious smile, as you catch him sneaking a taste of the soup. Viktor looks up, his gaze softening. "I hope you like it," he says, and despite his usual perfectionism, there's a quiet pride in his voice. You take a sip, and the rich flavors of mushrooms, potatoes, and herbs immediately comfort you, just like his mother's love must've comforted him all those years ago.

OKAY for the making gift he planned I see him commissioning something due to the fact a lot of his inventions lack aesthetics.

Specifically I see him commissioning a music box that functions as a a jewelry box as well! He would have loved to make it himself but he was worried he wouldn’t have gotten the look right.

"Do you like it?" he asks, his voice softer than usual, as if he's worried about the reception. "I had it made... I thought... it might remind you of us."

The detail was breathtaking-floral patterns etched into the surface, with tiny gears and delicate metalwork accenting the edges. The craftsmanship was stunning, and you couldn't help but run your fingers over the smooth finish.

you lifted the lid, and a gentle, lilting melody began to play. It was slow and sweet, a tune that felt timeless, and as you stared at the tiny figurines inside, your breath caught.

His fingers fidgeted with the edge of his cane, his gaze flicking between you and the music box. "I commissioned it," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "I had the craftsman use a sketch I made. It's how I see us... in my mind. How I feel when I hold you." He paused, his expression softening. "I thought... I thought you deserved something that would remind you of that. Of... how much you mean to me."

Jayce

Oh hon… Jayce would spoil you rotten.

I’m talking presents are overflowing underneath the tree.

You thought you lost your favorite piece of clothing? WRONG! He commissioned for more to be made in different colors and textures for you.

All the fragrances in the world he knew you would enjoy.

Cozy adorable pajamas we would give you Christmas morning so you could cuddle up drinking hot chocolate.

Spends Christmas Eve spoiling you and cuddling and being so tooth rottenly sweet.

It’s Christmas Eve, the scene was almost overwhelming. The living room looked like a perfectly curated holiday catalog-twinkling lights, a roaring fireplace, and, of course, an absurd number of gifts. Jayce sat cross-legged beside the tree, an excited grin lighting up his face as he handed you the first box. He had merely grinned, sheepish yet unrepentant. "What can I say? I got carried away?.”

"Open this one first," he urged, nearly vibrating with excitement. Inside was a bottle of an exquisite fragrance, the glass etched with delicate, swirling designs. It smelled divine-rich, warm, and entirely you.

"I figured you'd like that," he said eyes carefully watching everyone expression you make. You swear if he had a tail it would be swishing uncontrollably right now.

Christmas Day would be you spending Christmas day at his mother’s house!

(Listen I’m hc them as hispanic because for one HIS MOMS NAME HIS XIMENA… and two because why not :3 )

You have a great relationship with his Mother, she absolutely adores you and sees you as her daughter.

There’s lots of yummy food she’s prepared… perhaps too much for just 3 people?

Nonetheless, a pot of pozole, tamales de puerco and de dulce! And of course she made jayce’s favorite choco flan!

God she urges to to eat until you nearly pop! You have to undo your belt by the end of the night…

"Come, sit!" his mom insisted, pulling out a chair for you. "Jayce told me you've never had my tamales. That's a crime! Here, start with this." She placed one on your plate, her eyes twinkling.

Jayce sat beside you, his grin widening as you took your first bite. "Good, right?" he asked, nudging you playfully.

You could only nod, savoring the perfectly seasoned masa and tender filling.

Later in the evening, when everyone was too full to move, Jayce leaned over and slipped his hand into yours. His eyes were soft, his voice low as he said, "I'm glad you're here. This—" he gestured to the lively scene around you, "—feels perfect with you."

[hanniebaeee]

Code Love

Hyunjin x fem!reader

Warnings: nothing!!

Genre: colleagues to lovers, flufffff

Summary: Hyunjin is a brilliant post doc at the lab where you're perusing your PhD. He is such a sweet and sexy genius, and you are completely in love.

a/n : For all my science/research girlies 🤭

It was another late night at the lab. You were squinting at the test tubes in front of you trying to make sense of the results. But you were struggling to concentrate with the way your heart was pounding.

He was just sitting there, at his workstation, effortlessly spinning a pipette between his long, elegant fingers. Nothing for your dramatic heart to pound like that.

“Did you hear me, Y/N?” Hyunjin’s soft voice cut through your thoughts.

“Huh?” you blinked, attempting to act like you hadn’t just been imagining how those fingers would feel on your - never mind.

“I said,” Hyunjin grinned, “you’re incubating that reaction too long.”

“Oh, um, I knew that” you fumbled with the timer, cheeks heating up. “Totally knew that. Thanks, Hyunjin.”

“Sure, no problem,” he said, eyes sparkling like he enjoyed watching you unravel.

God, why was he like this?

That face? Those lips? And that brain? This was unfair. He had to have some flaw - how can a man be this perfect?

“Are you staying late tonight?” he asked casually, leaning back in his chair.

“I have to,” you mumbled. “This experiment is dragging on, and I have to submit the report by the end of the week.”

Hyunjin hummed, and said, “Oh good, I'll have some company then.”

You could literally see him doodling flowers into his book - he had nothing to do here. But yet every time you had to stay in late, he'd be hanging around too. Just the two of you.

Your brain immediately betrayed you, fueling your wild fantasy where he wasn’t staying late for work but because he secretly wanted to spend time alone with you. You were fighting so hard to maintain a shred of professionalism, but it was so hard when he was looking at you like that.

Hyunjin hummed softly under his breath as he continued to doodle, the sound sending tingles down your spine. Of course he was a good singer too. You just didn't understand what the universe even wanted from you anymore.

---

“I swear to God, Ji, if he twirls that pipette one more time, I’m going to launch myself across the lab bench, and just -” You were sprawled on the sofa in Jisung's apartment, sighing dramatically.

Jisung was your work bestie, working in the lab next door to yours. And he was the only one in the world who knew about your extreme devotion to Hyunjin.

Jisung burst out laughing, as he said, “This is bad, babe,”

“Bad? Jisung, I seriously can't even think when he's around.” you said. “Oh my God!!”

“Have you considered just telling him you like him?” Jisung smirked.

“Right, and ruin the perfectly good thing we have going where I pine silently while he ruins me with his brilliance? No, thank you.”

“You’re hopeless.”

---

The next late-night session happened way too soon, where Hyunjin wandered over to your bench, peering at your data from over your shoulder. He leaned in close, the scent of cologne (or whatever pheromones that he's sending your way) invading your senses - it's simply intoxicating.

“Want me to take a look at that?” he asked, “You've been spending way too much time on it.”

“Yeah,” you muttered, trying not to stutter. “It’s just...a lot of noise in the data.”

“Let me see,” he said, pulling a stool next to you. He reached for the keyboard, and your heart fluttered as his fingers brushed yours.

You wanted to cry. Please don't be so sweet and sexy at the same time, you begged internally. You cursed your body for betraying you with every glance while he explained what he was doing. You could feel the tension in your shoulders as you tried to focus on what he was saying.

Get a grip, Y/N, you reminded yourself. This is professional. Stop fantasizing about this ridiculously hot man who’s inexplicably obsessed with helping you.

When he finally looked up, you realized you’d been staring at him the whole time.

“What?” he asked, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Nothing... thanks. You’re really good at this,” you stammered.

He tilted his head, studying you for a moment.

“You’re good at this too, Y/N. We all have our bad days. Don’t sell yourself short.” he said, patting your shoulder gently before standing up.

You felt your heart squeeze at the sincerity in his tone, and you watched as he went back to his own seat.

Stop it. He’s being nice. Don’t read into it. Just focus on the work.

But it was so hard not to read into it. The way he leaned closer when he spoke, the way his fingersa brushed against yours when he passed you something, and the way he was always so soft with you.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.

“Y/N, I’m begging you. BEGGING. Tell him. I'm sure he's dying to hear it.” Jisung said, smiling at the girl who handed over our coffees at the cafe.

“You don’t get it! I can't risk it, if he's just being nice, then -”

“Babe,” Jisung drawled, “what world do you live in?!”

“Don’t give me hope, Ji.” you sighed as you walked towards your lab, the early morning breeze cool against your skin.

“Hope? The man stays late every time you do, flirts with you nonstop, and compliments you after he does your work for you. At this point, I’m falling for him,” Jisung said, throwing his hands up. “Seriously, babe, if you don’t jump him soon, I might.”

---

The cold room was your least favorite part of the lab. You hated everything about it - the freezing temperature, its claustrophobic size and the damn protein extraction procedure that drained the life out of you.

But here you were, miserably clutching your samples and praying for the nightmare to end soon.

“Y/N?” Hyunjin’s voice echoed through the door as it opened, and you turned to see him stepping in.

Great. Now you were cold and flustered.

“How's the extraction going?” he asked, his tone light as he slipped on his gloves.

“Going wonderfully,” you muttered, shivering despite your layers.

He grinned, coming closer and watching you work.

“Do you want me to take over?” He asked, making you sigh.

“And miss out on the joy of freezing to death? Never,” you joked weakly, and Hyunjin laughed. “You're too nice, Hyunjin. But I've got this.”

“Nice?” he repeated, leaning back slightly but still watching you intently. “You sure about that?”

You froze, suddenly way too aware of how close he was standing. Was he teasing you? Was this flirting?

“I- I mean, yeah,” you stammered, breaking eye contact. “You’re always helping me...”

“Maybe I have my reasons.” Hyunjin tilted his head, his smile softening.

Your heart leapt into your throat as you asked, “Reasons?”

Before he could answer, the door swung open.

“How's your favorite experiment going?” Jisung's loud voice floated in. “Oh, hi Hyunjin!”

You didn't know if you wanted to strangle Jisung for ruining the moment or hug him for saving you from it.

Hyunjin, ever the sweetheart, just laughed and said, “Hi Jisung, I think she's doing just fine,”

“Of course she is,” Jisung said, moving aside for Hyunjin to step out.

“What was that?” He asked as soon as Hyunjin left.

“What are you doing here?!” you hissed. “We were getting somewhere, but also, if you hadn't come I would've fainted. Like I feel so dizzy, my gloves are all wet from sweating-”

“Y/N,” Jisung said, gripping your shoulders and shaking you lightly. “You like him. He obviously likes you. The universe is literally freezing you together in this cold room to force you to act. Next time, please -”

It was barely 5 am, and you groaned as you shuffled into the lab, your hair in a messy bun and sleep still stinging your eyes. But the bacterial cultures didn’t care about your sleep schedule - or lack thereof.

Throwing on your lab coat and gloves with the grace of a zombie, you started checking the growth plates with bleary eyes.

You’d barely managed to finish when Jisung strolled in, carrying two steaming cups of coffee.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he teased, setting a cup in front of you.

“I love you, Ji,” you muttered, taking the first sip and feeling a spark of life return to your body. “I don't know why I wanted to be a scientist.”

Jisung plopped down next to you, snickering, and started scrolling through his phone while you leaned your head against his shoulder. And he rested his head against yours, before placing a quick peck on your temple.

You were starting to fall asleep, when the lab door creaked open.

You both glanced up to see Hyunjin walk in. His cheeks were pink from the cold and he stopped at the door for a second, his eyes fixed on you.

“Morning,” he greeted, and you gave him a small wave, still too sleepy to form words. Jisung returned the greeting, and then left quickly.

You noticed Hyunjin’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. That's new. He moved to his workstation, setting down his bag and pulling out his laptop.

You sat up straighter, something about Hyunjin’s silence gnawing at you. He didn’t even glance your way, which was unusual.

Hyunjin, meanwhile, was battling a whirlwind of emotions. He knew you and Jisung were close friends - you’d mentioned it so many times. But seeing the way your head rested against his shoulder and Jisung had kissed your temple - it just looked way too intimate. Too cosy.

He hated feeling this way, especially when you weren’t his to begin with. Still, the disappointment twisted in his chest and he didn't know what to do about it. So he focused on his work.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop his gaze from drifting back to you.

---

You let it go on till about noon. But it was killing you - you weren't used to this kind of behavior from Hyunjin and it was starting to stress you out. So summoning your courage, you walked over to Hyunjin and said, “Hey,”

He glanced up, his expression neutral as he said, “Hey.”

“You okay?” you asked, trying to keep your tone light. “You're so...quiet.”

“I’m fine. Just a lot on my mind.” Hyunjin said, giving you a small smile.

“You sure?” you pressed, feeling a strange pang of hurt.

He nodded, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. Don’t worry about me.”

You stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say. He was being so distant, and it left a strange, hollow ache in your chest. Finally, you gave him a small nod and walked back to your seat, feeling totally crushed by his uncharacteristic coolness.

Hyunjin’s silence stretched into the next day. And the day after that. In fact he hadn't spoken more than a couple of words to you in the past two days. And it hurt so much, considering the fact that you don't even know why he was doing this all of a sudden.

You tried to brush it off at first. Maybe he was just busy, or stressed. But the space he was putting between you felt deliberate, like he was doing this on purpose.

Hyunjin, on the other hand, was crumbling inside. He adored you. And that too for long enough that the thought of losing you was nearly unbearable.

You and Jisung were so close. And you looked so comfortable. He couldn't take it. He wasn't going to let his heart shatter like that.

So, he’d made a decision: if he couldn’t have you, he’d rather step back than risk the heartbreak of watching you fall for someone else. Even if it meant burying his feelings.

---

The next morning, you were back in the cold room. You’d been trying to salvage your protein extraction for hours, but nothing was going right. Your hands were trembling as you loaded yet another sample, and your vision blurred with tears of frustration.

“This is so stupid,” you whispered to yourself, your voice cracking. “Why can’t anything just go right for once?”

You sniffled, wiping your cheek with your sleeve, as you continued your monologue.

“I just want my Jinnie back. Why does he hate me now? What did I do wrong?” your voice wavered as you spoke through your tears.

What you didn't see was that the cold room door had opened quietly, and Hyunjin had stepped inside. He froze at the sound of your voice, his chest tightening at the sadness in your words.

Your Jinnie?

Your name slipped from his lips, soft and hesitant, “Y/N?”

You stiffened, your body freezing and your heart racing as you heard his voice.

“What?” you croaked, refusing to turn around, too mortified to meet his eyes.

“Why are you crying?” Hyunjin asked, taking a step closer.

You shook your head, refusing to face him.

“Why do you care?” You asked, and it broke his heart to see you wipe your tears.

“Please don't say that, of course I care-”

“It’s nothing. Just this stupid experiment. And... everything else.”

“Y/N,” he said again, his voice firmer now. “Please. Talk to me.”

You gripped the edge of the table, your knuckles turning white.

“I can’t do this anymore, Hyunjin,” you whispered. “I can’t keep pretending everything’s fine when it’s not. You won't even talk to me, and it’s killing me. I just... I just want my Hyunjinnie back. Just stop hurting me like this.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You felt the tears spill over again, your shoulders trembling as you waited for him to say something. Anything.

And then you felt it.

Warmth. His strong arms wrapping around you from behind, his chest pressing against your back as he pulled you into a tight embrace.

You gasped softly, frozen for a moment before leaning into him, your tears falling freely now.

“I’m sorry,” Hyunjin whispered, his voice trembling as he buried his face in your shoulder. “I’m so, so sorry.”

You turned your head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of his face.

“Why are you mad at me?” you asked. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” he said quickly, his hold on you tightening. “It wasn’t you. It was me. I was scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“Of losing you,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “I thought... I thought you and Jisung -”

“Jisung?” you repeated, blinking in confusion. “You know he’s my best friend, Hyunjin. He's like a brother to me.”

“I thought I was protecting myself,” he admitted, his lips close to your ear. “I thought I’d lose you to Jisung, and I couldn’t handle it. But I didn’t realize... I didn’t realize I was hurting you in the process.”

“I can't believe you never saw me thirsting over you, Hyunjin” you said, your voice incredulous. “What are you even saying?!”

Hyunjin let out a shaky laugh, burying his face into your neck. “God, I’m an idiot.”

“You are,” you sniffled, though your tone was softer now.

He pulled back just enough to turn you around, his hands gently cupping your cheeks.

“I love you, Y/N. I’ve loved you for so long. And I was so scared- ” he stopped short as he saw the look on your face.

“You... you love me?”

“I adore you,” he said, giving you a shy smile.

You let out a breathless laugh, the weight on your chest lifting for the first time in days.

“I love you too, Hyunjin. So damn much.”

His smile widened, and before you could say another word, he asked, “Can I... can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” you whispered, and when his lips met yours, it was the most beautiful thing in the world. He kissed you so softly (even though you just wanted to eat him up.)

You both stepped out of the cold room together, the door clicking shut behind you. Your cheeks were flushed, your lips swollen from the kiss, and as you glanced at Hyunjin, you saw he was in no better shape.

You didn't get to take another step forward as the door to your lab opened and Jisung's head popped in.

His eyes flicked between you and Hyunjin and you could hear the gears turning in his head as he tried to piece together what he was seeing. And then he smirked.

You glared at him, because you know that look on his face, and Hyunjin just stood there, his arms crossed and a smile that said “I got what I wanted".

“Congratulations,” Jisung said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m so happy for you both. But oh my god, you two idiots…”

The grin on his face was priceless. He was enjoying this way too much.

“I swear, if you don’t shut up -” You swatted him on the arm.

Jisung winced dramatically but couldn’t hide his laughter.

“What? You guys make an adorable couple... but honestly, you both are just so dumb.”

Well, you couldn't agree more.

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght

[steviewashere]

I'm adding onto this because I am having more thoughts, somehow.

Steve is smart, we all know this. But he's smart in a way that's not perceptive to everybody around him. Keep on with me here, I know this is random.

He has a certain cleverness, a customized and form-fitting mask that he wears to protect himself. No, he can't protect himself by fighting—we've seen how that's gone down; one fight won and it still didn't end up pretty for him at the end of the day. He can't protect his preservation, constantly throwing himself in the danger. But he can protect his vulnerability, the rawer parts of himself that he hasn't allowed anybody to see.

It's so simple for him to slip into this mask, Steve Harrington the Charmer. He learned it, picked up all these skills on the way from being in the face of charismatic people: the businessmen that his dad would have over for work dinners, waiters he'd meet at higher end restaurants, John Travolta in Grease (who he totally wasn't drooling over), the principals in his schools, so on and so forth.

However, with how easy it is to basically form fit himself into this character, it's harder and harder to slip away from it. This...armored shell he's put around his flesh. Though, deep under that armor, beyond the flesh, under his ribcage, he has a heart that beats just like everybody else's; he has a brain under his "thick skull" that knows exactly what he needs and wants. He has his desires cupped in his palms, cradled close to his vivacious heart.

He crafts the mask early on in his life, though. Hears how his dad talks about "queers"—but queer just means different, doesn't it? So his dad must be talking about different people, right? Steve's different from the girl in his second grade class; it's simple—she's a girl, he's not—that's difference, that's queer...yeah? And so, based on that logic, he makes a little kid remark, "Madeline in my class is queer," and at that—his dad looks...just as angry as he is when Mom is arguing with him. So Steve isn't right. He doesn't say something like that again. It's all these small things. Just little things at first.

Then the little things turn to bigger things. Rumors in high school make him have to bite his tongue, in fear he'll get so outraged at his dad that something will just slip up. It's when he accidentally catches guys in the locker room giving each other handies—words of his dad's floating in his head about how "dirty" and "disgusting" it is.

Even if the locker room piques his interest. Even when he's catching drive-in movies and staring longer at the guys with their broad shoulders and tensing biceps and glistening eyebrows way more than he's making note about the women and their cleavage—like his buddy Tommy would do in his ear. And speaking of Tommy...his hands and his pretty big eyes and his freckles and the height difference and and and—

Wires get crossed somewhere in there.

He wants his dad to like him? Then he needs to make his dad proud, right? Spew the same words. Knock some screws around. Act a bit ditzy and too cool and class clown about the world. Earn a name, earn an image.

Even if it physically makes him ache deep and troubled in his stomach to say that bullshit. But he's gotta make his dad proud. "I'm taking a girl out," and "She was a very nice girl just...[not my type] no ambition after high school," and "I'm going out with Ted Wheeler's daughter, Nancy. She's a top notch student, willing to help me study, might actually get me into Tech."

He gets the pats on his shoulder. The smile with no teeth. The "atta boy".

Yet, at the same time, a slow to solder metal plate around his chest and a hammering heart behind it, jelly legs and heavy metal feet, his tingling fingers yearning for Tommy's soft palms and tensing his own hands so he can stop.

But Tommy is what he wants. And so is Peter in his English class. And so is Harvey from his Algebra class. There's Isaac and Ben and Ryan...Ethan and Jared and Luis...and how could he forget about Brad on his basketball team?

His mask is thick on his face, though; almost makes his head too heavy for his neck. And Nancy's hand holds are kinda nice. He misses her between classes...her gossip and her chattiness and her giggle fits...the kissing is alright, he supposes, just not as tender as he'd like to be. She's warm, though. And she's sweet, smart, caring. Breaks some of his mold with her nerdy friends and her nerdy brother, her saccharine smiles and long eyelashes. Sometimes, Tommy congratulates him after Steve goes on and on about the date he went on with Nancy—it's almost like he's getting a taste of what Tommy would want out of him, too.

Tommy thinks red roses are the best choice. And comedies are the best movies. He likes his popcorn with extra butter and a chilled can of Coke to go with it. Tommy doesn't put out on the first date—"Never have, never will. Gotta get to know my date first." He thinks dinner dates are terrible because he hates seeing how his date chews, especially on the first date—"Though, sometimes, it's better to know right away, Stevie. It's...kinda like a precautionary measure, y'know?" When Tommy kisses his dates, he cradles their neck; Steve has always wondered if Tommy would trace the moles on his neck if they were to—

Nancy calls him bullshit. Nancy can't tell him that she loves him.

And he shouldn't feel relieved, he shouldn't. But he sorta is. Sorta, though. Because if he couldn't even get someone like Nancy Wheeler to love him, then who will?

Have his other girlfriends felt the same way? Could they tell that there was something else to him? Were there too many cracks in his smiles?

If it's ever okay to have a boyfriend—because right now it isn't, not with that disease going around, not with what his dad says, not with Reagan—would those boyfriends think the same way? Would they call him bullshit for only ever being with women prior? Would they tell him that he doesn't have enough to give? That he's an impostor?

Who is he really an imposter to?

His partners? His parents?

Himself?

It's too big of a question to answer. But it's a question—or, really, a series of questions—that click and clack around his skull like the pendulum marbles that Mr. Clarke had on his desk. There's an itching, fresh scabbing anxiety carbonating in his blood. That everybody can tell there's something different, that maybe he's compensating a little too hard.

So he backs away a bit. Lets go of his previous ambitions, the desire to be seen one way—even if the true is desire is to just be free. To be the queer, the difference; a person he could be, rather than should be.

And once he's sitting on that bathroom floor, knees knocking against Robin Buckley's of all people, something settles in him. Not a calm sort of settle, but a settle nonetheless. He gets it. The reverent bravery, that peel back Robin is giving him, letting him see the citrus flavorful center of her soul. It takes a lot to admit something like this, like that.

It's not his time, not yet.

But he sees Robin flourish. Her rattling, raspy laughter. The freckles that develop on her face over the coming month after Starcourt, running free and open in the sun. Come September, ducking into the break room to ramble on and on about this girl in band, splitting burgers over a paper bag, dipping French fries into ketchup on the same damn bag.

It's surprisingly easy to talk to her about her queerness. To be able to pull out a magazine and point at actresses and models that seem like Robin's type. To finally pick-up on the subtle clues that Robin really, really likes this girl from band—noticing well before Robin even notices.

And though he keeps up the image for a while longer, he knows at least one thing:

Robin is who he'll come to first.

Well, after he faces the man in the mirror.

I love secretly closeted Steve Harrington. I love when he knows himself, knows the truth of his identity, knows that how he views men isn't a fluke. I love secretly closeted Steve Harrington who dates girls and has sex with girls to protect himself, to keep an image, to try and earn an ounce of recognition and respect from his dad.

I love secretly closeted Steve Harrington who recognizes Robin's bravery when she came out. But he keeps his secret to himself for a while longer. Who joins in on the joke of just how bad he is at pulling girls. Who upholds an image as just that, an image.

A secretly closeted Steve who gets frustrated at the projection painted onto him. Steve Harrington the ladies' man. Steve Harrington who gets the girl. Steve Harrington who can get into bed with any girl he wants. He's frustrated and he hates all the assumptions, but he can't shake them, can't explain why—not without revealing himself. But he knows who he is. Knows the type of person he wants.

I love when he's nervous, but still proud. Who, slowly and surely, cements his identity within himself—so it transcends knowledge, it's deeply intertwined within. He goes to Robin first, because he feels as though that's a good first baby step—because he knows for certain that Robin will accept him. And, with minor hesitance, goes to Nancy. And with a long conversation, some tissues, and gentle smiles passed back and forth, Nancy then understands, too.

The last person is Eddie. Which is harder. Which frustrates him further. Because Eddie won't stop asking him about women, won't stop categorizing him as straight, some god among men. He just wants to be Steve Harrington. Not Steve Harrington. Not ladies man, Steve Harrington.

Steve Harrington who likes men. Only men. Who compensated for years just so he can uphold a safe life for himself, who was threatened constantly (though not directly at him) by what his dad would say about those queers, who covered for himself the only way he knew how.

And though it takes longer, some deep wounds and harsh words about how he isn't experimenting, that his sexuality can't just be decided for him, that he has a right to explore—even if the exploration never amounted to anything—Steve is able to get Eddie's trust. Eventually, again slowly, get Eddie's hand intertwined with his. And even later after that, a shy kiss; his first kiss with a man that aids in solidifying the last, hairline fracture in his whole.

Steve Harrington who is gay and learns over time to be proud of that. But also, closeted Steve Harrington who goes on the journey to get to the end result—I love him so so so much and he means so much to me. And now I need to write him and make this version a reality.

[floweringrott]

BUG EYED

james f. potter x hufflepuff!fem!reader

summary; james fleamont potter’s less-than-normal attempts to get his other-worldly divination partner on a date.

warnings; alice in wonderland coded reader, pure! fluff!, reader is hinted at being a lovegood, reader has blonde hair, reader is described to have bug-like eyes (think ella purnell), reader being a seer, use of y/n

a/n; this is rlly shitty i just wanted to get my first story OUT! this is more a drabble tho

670 words | masterlist ☾⋆

taglist @rafeyswrd @crescentofthegods

James Potter did not like Divination. It wasn’t that he didn’t fare well in the subject, in fact, he did.

It was just terribly boring, and his Professor didn't even allow for the Marauders to sit together. Instead, each of the brothers had been scattered around the cramped, incense-filled room.

Leading to James being seated next to you.

You, who (somehow) managed to be the centre of James Potter's attention every time he stepped foot into the Divination classroom, only to subsequently lose it the moment he left.

At least that what you believed.

"Oh, and by the way," James began casually, his attention nowhere near the crystal ball in front of him, and your intense focus on that same ball.

You were sitting on your knees, your purple tights in stark contrast to your yellow and black robe and tie. "The boys were planning on going to Hogsmeade this weekend.. and I was wondering if you’d want to c—"

Shhh!

A single finger moved to James' mouth, quickly shutting him up as his eyes trailed quickly behind him to Sirius, who sat with a wolfish grin and a thumbs up.

"Do you see it?" You whispered, your voice light and dreamy, as if you were talking to the crystal itself.

James frowned, turning his attention to the foggy orb. He leaned closer, his dark brows knitting together in confusion.

Whatever you were seeing, he wasn't.

His eyes then trailed to you, losing track of the task on hand as he stared at your messy, pale blonde hair.

He didn’t know when it had started, when his feelings for Lily Evans had morphed into feelings for you.

"Right there." You murmured, leaning so close to the crystal that your nose nearly touched it.

He didn’t reply at first, but let out a yelp as you abruptly grabbed either side of his head and forced him to stare into the ball.

"I'm sorry, Y/N! But nothing is there."

You turned to him with an expression of utter exasperation, as if he'd just declared that the sky wasn’t blue. "You’re not doing it right. Look into the crystal, not at it."

To your surprise, James actually complied. But as he stared into the empty fog, an idea popped into his head, a sly smile tugging at his lips.

"Wait!" He pretended to be shocked, a sly smile lacing his lips from the sound of your gasp.

"I see you. In Hogsmeade."

"Me?"

"Oh, yeah. Totally." He nodded, slightly leaning into your hands; prompting you to move them away.

Ever trusting, you nodded along with his words, your bug eyes larger than normal as you urged him to continue.

James frowned at the feeling of your hands leaving, though, he quickly recovered as he let out a comical gasp. "Well, would you look at that!"

"What?" You smiled cheesily, "What is it?"

Your look didn’t flatter as James seemingly deflated into the velvet cushions behind the two of you.

"I can’t say-"

"What?"

James resisted the urge to smile at your reaction. "I can’t say, it might not come true if I do."

You frowned, your expression as serious as if he'd just insulted the art of Divination itself. "That’s not how these things work, James."

The other boy went quiet, his eyes flickering around the room for effect, then looking back at you.

"I was there."

…

"Oh." Your head tilted to the side, considering his words for a moment. "What’s wrong with that?"

"I.. nothing?"

"Do you want to go to Hogsmeade?" You spoke simply, your fingers absentmindedly toyed with the butterbeer cork necklace that hung around your neck.

James didn’t take a moment to think about it.

"Yes. Definitely." He watched your reaction — which was nothing as if you had expected it.

"Okay." She nodded, her gaze moving to peer through the swirling mist, the image of lightning bolt carved into skin sending a chill down her spine.

"Next time don’t lie. Crystal gazing is a very serious study."

[zweigsangel]

matt shutting yapper! reader up w kisses

it was a lazy saturday afternoon, the kind of day perfect for doing absolutely nothing. the two of you were sprawled out on the couch, a half-eaten bag of chips on the coffee table and some random show playing on the tv that neither of you were really watching.

you were mid-rant, your hands flying as you recounted a story about the lady at the coffee shop who had apparently ordered the most complicated drink in existence.

“and i’m standing there, matt, just trying to get my iced coffee, and she’s like, ‘no foam, no whip, but extra oat milk—like, what does that even mean?’ and the barista looked like he was about to cry—”

matt hummed in response, but his eyes weren’t on the tv. he was watching you, his lips twitching in amusement at how animated you got when you were talking about something that fired you up.

“—and then she had the audacity to ask for it in a different cup, like, who even does that? i mean, if you’re gonna—”

“babe,” he interrupted softly, a little smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

you barely paused, your hands gesturing wildly as you kept going. “—if you’re gonna make it that complicated, maybe just make it at home, right? like, it’s not that hard to—”

“babe,” he said again, a little louder this time, leaning closer.

you blinked, finally catching the way he was looking at you, his head tilted slightly and his smile growing. “what?”

“nothing,” he said, his voice warm and soft. “you’re just… really cute when you get like this.”

“like what?” you asked, narrowing your eyes in mock offense.

“like a total yapper,” he teased, his grin widening.

you gasped, swatting at his arm. “i am not a yapper!”

“uh-huh,” he said, catching your hand before you could smack him again. “you totally are. but it’s fine. i love it.”

“well, good, because i was gonna—”

he cut you off by leaning in and pressing his lips to yours, his free hand cupping your cheek as he kissed you softly but firmly. your words trailed off into a muffled sound of surprise, your body melting into his as his thumb brushed lightly against your jaw.

when he finally pulled back, you were breathless, your eyes wide as you stared at him.

“what was that for?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

he grinned, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “just wanted to see if it worked.”

“if what worked?”

“if i could shut you up with a kiss,” he said, his tone teasing but his eyes warm.

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide the smile spreading across your face. “you’re ridiculous.”

“yeah,” he said, still grinning. “but it worked, didn’t it?”

you opened your mouth to protest, but before you could get a word out, he grabbed your waist and pulled you into his lap with ease, settling you so you were straddling him.

“what are you doing?” you asked, your voice a little breathless as your hands landed on his shoulders.

“don’t stop,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss you again. “keep talking.”

you started to say something, but he kissed you mid-word, swallowing your voice with his lips. every time you tried to get a sentence out, he kissed you again, softer, slower, more insistent, until you were laughing against his mouth.

“matt, i can’t—”

“sure you can,” he teased, his hands on your waist as he grinned up at you. “keep going. i like hearing you talk.”

“you’re the worst,” you said, laughing even as he leaned in for another kiss.

“yeah,” he whispered against your lips, his grin softening into something sweeter. “but you love me anyway.”

and as much as you wanted to argue, you couldn’t—because he was absolutely right.

[bewaryofpity]

jack's sooooo clingy he follows you everywhere like a lost puppy, especially after a long day of not seeing you.

jack has been following you around since you came back from work, yapping about anything and everything that has happened to him since you left this morning. and you’re not surprised because he has the habit of lingering close to you when you’ve been gone for a while, especially on his rare days off. today is no different.

he does follow you everywhere like a very grown and very loyal puppy, today more than ever as he followed you to the bathroom where you're trying to get ready for your night routine. he’s sitting on top of the toilet seat, babbling about his day out with nico that obviously consisted of hockey related things.

you snicker to yourself when jack doesn't realize that you're taking longer than usual to get unready, or that he’s talking for this long, but you know how much he hates boredom so you let him be. it’s just that you weren’t expecting this.

it’s cute, yes, but now you’re more interested in seeing how long he’ll yap for or rather how long he’ll stay here with you. so you finish taking your makeup off before pulling the shower curtain back and twisting the knob to turn on the water and adjusting it to the right temperature. the idea that he could easily stalk you into the shower makes you smile so you play along to his not so little rant.

“and then nico lured me to the rink because apparently the kids were practicing and he wanted to surprise them. not that i didn’t like that but then their coach didn’t look too pleased, the kids were distracted for the rest of the practice, obviously.”

you hum, “is it because they took nico’s attention off you?”

“Uh, n-no. i mean i was the one hanging out with him first, so.” he mumbles “but that’s not the point!”

jack huffs, changing into a criss cross position on top of the toilet. and it’s taking everything in you to not laugh at him because he looks like a child, pout on his lips and looking so small in this position.

“well then, was it fun at least?”

“duh, baby.” hands flailing around him. “the kids loved it, they kept asking us questions and some didn’t make sense –they were like four years old, you know– and like, we had to stop for even longer because they wanted us to sign some of their stuff.”

that must be why he also took longer to text you throughout his day.

“i bet, love.” you nod along, pulling your hair up in a bun so it doesn’t get wet in the shower, finally at the right hot temperature. “i’ll shower now if you don’t mind.”

“oh, now?” eyes wide like you told a child you’ll leave him in the parking lot.

“i mean, we’re in the bathroom, and i’m in a towel, and it’s been a long day. so yes, now.”

and jack’s cheeks have a faint pink tint as he shamelessly watches you unravel your towel and step in the shower. totally not because he saw you naked for a split second, it’s just the steam from the really hot shower, right?

“uh yeah, okay” he says as he stand up. “i’ll get unready too before i go then.”

you hum in reply as you go on about your shower, but you’re actually simply standing under the water, trying to keep an ear out for his movements and words.

suddenly he’s taking his sweet time to wash his face and you think he might start brushing his teeth soon too for the hell of it.

but his talking doesn’t stop at all. he blurts out random thoughts in between before going on to ramble about some hockey plays he’s been looking over, asks you what you had for lunch. he even asks you which body wash you’re currently using –which is none yet because trying not to laugh is revealing to be harder than you thought. he’s truly finding the most random topics to fill the silence.

and the talking does finally stop, but it’s replaced by jack’s whistling, clearly out of things to say. yet you know your boyfriend better than he thinks so you know very well what he’s thinking about.

“you still there, jacky?” you call wittingly. you can see his blurry figure through the shower curtain, an excited nod coming from his silhouette.

and you bite your lip as one of his hands reaches to scratch at the back of his neck. “i guess i’ll go now. uhm… i’ll wait for you to come out. i’ll get us take out, anything you’re craving? because if you want there’s a new italian place down the street that luke suggested to me and he says it's really good, so i think maybe–”

omg he’s so cute.

you pull the curtain back, just with your head peeping out to find jack with one hand hovering the door handle, still lingering around.

“jacky?”

“yeah baby, what’s up?”

“do you want to shower with me?”

and like a kid opening presents on christmas morning, his eyes light up so quickly. his head shakes with an overly enthusiastic nod, and he’s already clumsy in pulling off his clothes that he almost trips getting his sweatpants off. you’re not surprised at all, the lack of grace and coordination are not exclusive to when he’s on the ice.

a stupid, wide, boyish grin spreads over his lips when he finally steps into the shower in front of you. 

“hi, baby,” he grins, leaning forward to hold your face in his hands and peck your nose.

“you know, if you wanted to join me, you could’ve just asked.” your smile now matching his. jack squishes your cheeks between his palms, “well, where’s the fun in that?”

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@zepskies

This fic is already giving off wonderful slow burn with "cozy winter vibes" and I am 1000000000% here for it! It's like a Christmas fic without the Christmas lol. And I totally get it about the grumpy/sunshine, you know that I can't stop writing it either 😂

(Also that How to Train Your Dragon gif made me smile -- I love that movie!!)

I love that movie too! Ruffnut is my spirit animal- I love her so much 😂

Omg yeesss, I love malewife Dean lmao. He's just such a caretaker at heart, and an awesome cook! I can so picture him making big breakfasts for his kids on weekends and packing their lunches for school. 🥹

Oh goodness YES! Malewife Dean supremacy ❤️😂 He would love doing that, I'm convinced!!

Oh yeah, there's some of that too! She's more open to it now than Dean, but I thought we needed some realism where she's also skeptical true mates are even real -- until she met Dean. How strongly they both are reacting to each other physically, but not wanting to admit it yet, and the reader just wanting to know more about Dean before she begins to trust him, all of that is going to continue playing out in Part 2. 💓💓

I really like that in soulmate AUs, when there's a little bit of skepticism. It adds to the angst and makes it a bit forlorn and I can't wait to read it! 🥰

Against the Wind - Part 1

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x F. Omega!Reader 

Summary: You wake up in a strange alpha’s cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, all with a busted ankle. He holds shadows in his eyes, even though his hands are gentle. There are iron shutters around his heart, even though he saved you. You might just save him in return.

AN: This is a canon ending-divergent AU, but still an Omegaverse story within the canon world. It also fulfills a bingo square for @jacklesversebingo!

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: True Mates

Song Inspo: “Against the Wind” by Bob Seger

Word Count: 5.5K

Tags/Warnings: A/B/O dynamics, scenting, injuries, hints of angst, fluff and feels. 

Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 1: In His Hands

Your body is mostly numb when he pulls you out of the snow.

You utter a sharp cry when something in your side twinges, waking up your entire body like a white-hot shiv. Your ankle begins to throb as well.

“Hold on. I’ve got you.”

You only half hear the voice, a deep, coarse rumble. His form is broad and dark and blurry, but his male scent is the only thing you register with perfect clarity. 

Alpha. 

A small treble of alarm runs through you. It’s an instinct you’ve had to learn, as an omega traveling alone in rural Montana. However, something else disrupts that anxiety.

It’s his scent. His scent is like the crackle and smoke of a warm hearth. 

Safe. Your body is heavy and stiff and doesn’t respond to your commands, and yet, you feel a measure of calm when he maneuvers you into his arms. It’s a baser instinct, rooted deep in your chest. He begins to carry you down the slope of the mountain, and your vision blurs white…

Like the flurry of snow falling heavy on his jacket.  

You wake up freezing and shivering in pain. A sensation of small sharp needles begins to travel all across your skin. Slowly, as you're able to blink, your view of the dark wood cabin clears and focuses. You realize that you’re bundled in blankets, and laying on a chaise in front of a large fireplace. Still, you’re too cold. A keening whimper escapes you as you try to burrow in.

Alpha. Your body instinctively recognizes his presence, as he’s suddenly there, hovering close above you with a divot between his brows and a frown marring his face, where thick stubble threatens to become a beard. Stern, dark brows are furrowed over his concerned eyes. His plush frown is framed by a stubborn-looking chin. Your gaze wearily travels over his handsome features, his short brown hair, the flickers of firelight that splash across the side of his face.

He places a warm, calloused hand on your forehead, and he mutters a curse. Your body trembles further with cold. You part your lips, but you can't yet force your voice to escape them.

Again, he quite literally takes the problem into his own hands. He peels away the thick blankets just to slide himself in behind you. His arms wrap around your waist, and you feel their tempered strength when they cage you in against him. You manage to turn your head and rest your cheek against his chest, covered by red plaid. Thank you...

Almost on reflex, you breathe in his scent deeply.  The earthiness of it calms you, warms you from the inside. Your shivering eventually calms and turns to purring in your chest. 

“What’s your name, Omega?” he asks. His voice is deep and gruff, and it threatens to make you shiver for a different reason as the timbre of it washes over you. 

It’s difficult, but you manage to speak, clearing past your parched throat to give him your name. He nods, as if rolling the sound of it back and forth across his mind.

“Was somebody out there with you?” he asks.

You shake your head, even though the thought elicits a painful twinge in your heart. 

“Who…” you try to speak again, even though it hurts a little. “Who are you?”

You feel him take a deep breath. He hesitates, like he’s reluctant to give it to you. 

“Dean,” he says. 

You roll the name around in your head, over and over. Dean, Dean, Dean…

You smile slightly. “Yeah, makes sense.”

“What?” he says. You hear the raised brow in his tone. 

“You sound like a Dean,” you say, perhaps a little delirious. 

Anyway, that’s when your eyes close on you again. You fall back into the warm lull of sleep, to the sound of a crackling fire, and a feeling that permeates throughout your body.

Safe.

Can’t fucking believe this, Dean thinks, as he holds you. Just when he thought his life was done throwing him curveballs.

He tips his head back against the sofa cushion with a tired exhale. It would just be his luck to find a stray omega wandering his stretch of Big Sky. Montana can be gnarly in the winter, but for the past couple of years, Dean has learned to survive here in this rental cabin for a couple of months at a time, when wandering an empty bunker gets to be too much. At least here the quiet’s peaceful, if still a little unnerving sometimes. 

He glances down at you. Now that you’re warm and sleeping again, he should find something to wrap your ankle and ice it down. It’s swollen, and he wants to take an inventory of your other injuries, so he can determine how to get you back down the mountain and through the woods, back to civilization.

The sooner he gets you medical attention and back to your life, the sooner he can get back to his—even though the thought of leaving you in anyone else’s hands almost stirs a growl in his throat.

And that last part unnerves him, makes him anxious. He begins to untangle himself from you, but his movements falter when your sweet scent filters through his nose again. Cinnamon apples, with a hint of something floral. 

Fuck me.

It’s almost too sweet to be true, but Dean does his best to ignore it…and what that alluring sweetness probably means. 

Dean leaves you in the morning to revisit the site where you fell. He digs through the snow and manages to find your backpack, filled with your clothes, supplies, and your phone and wallet. He returns just in time. 

The falling snow becomes even more intense, until it becomes a quiet roar outside. You watch the snowstorm through the impact windows in the kitchen, and you know what this means. You’re snowed in with a stranger—an alpha, no less. 

You also have a bum ankle, which he wrapped for you. Doesn’t feel broken, he’d said, but it could be fractured, or at the very least sprained. You also likely have a couple of cracked ribs. 

“What were you doing out there, anyway?” he asks, while pouring himself a glass of whiskey. “This ain’t exactly hiking season.”

While you drink some hot chocolate he made you with a bit of whiskey splashed in (for extra warmth), you explain.

“Well, I guess it wasn’t my best idea in hindsight,” you say with a weak chuckle. “I was trying to find my way back, and I…well, I was a bit lost.”

He raises his brows wryly, still sipping.

“And to make a great situation even better, I thought I heard a wolf howl nearby,” you say. “I know most of them would rather run from us than attack us, but you can’t be sure, you know? I had my rifle on me, so I was turning around, trying to pinpoint what direction it was in…and of course, my foot slipped on something.”

You fell down that hill. You think you even hit a tree on the way down, which would explain your ribs. Everything gets a bit swirly, cold, and dark in your memory after that. 

Dean shakes his head. “Gotta say, going out there alone wasn’t a great idea either, especially now. This time of year, there’s no telling when a blizzard like this is going to come through.”

He waves haphazardly toward the storm raging outside. Your gaze falls to the mug in your hands. You don’t really want to talk about your reasons for taking that risk, but maybe giving him a little honesty will get him off your back.

“My dad and I used to hike up here every year,” you confess. “A few months ago…I lost him. So I guess this was just something I needed to do.”

You blow on your hot chocolate before you take another sip. This time when you glance up, Dean’s judgy expression has evened out into something more sympathetic. He lowers his glass.

“Well, hate to break it to you, but there’s no cell service up here,” he says.

You give a humorless huff. “Believe me, I know.”

“Which means no one can come up here and get you,” he continues, “and even when this storm breaks, I can’t carry you all the way down the mountain back to civilization. Not with the snow as deep as it’s gonna get. Now…maybe I can go down by myself and bring help back with me.”

“But another storm could snow me in,” you realize, with growing apprehension at the thought.

Dean nods. “It’s either I take that chance, leave you by yourself. Or we wait for you to heal up.”

He leaves the choice up to you with a gesture of his hand, the one still wrapped around his glass. You weigh those options with a tilt of your head. On one hand, you don't want to impose on him longer than you had to, but on the other, you really don't want to be left alone in this cabin for God knows how long while he scales the mountain by himself, for your sake.

“I think it would be better if we go down together, right? It can be dangerous, even when the storm breaks,” you reply.

Dean nods slowly, like that was what he was going to suggest too. “All right. Well, until you’ve got two working legs, you’re stuck here with me.”

“I figured as much,” you say. Your head tilts as you consider him. He has a gruff exterior, but all his actions so far have been kind, and far more than you’d expect from a stranger. And an alpha at that. 

Not to say that all alpha's are assholes, but you've had far too many experiences with the stereotype: arrogant, entitled, and handsy. Can't forget handsy. 

“Thank you for saving me,” you say, meeting his gaze, “and for…well, being a decent guy.”

Dean’s lips twitch. He nearly chuckles. Instead, he sits back on his side of the couch. 

“Yeah, well, there’s a spare room in this place for you, one bathroom. The kitchen is stocked. I’m a half-decent cook, if I say so myself, but help yourself.”

He gets up from the couch without preamble, to go to his room, you assume. It leaves you feeling at a loss, like he’s trying to get away from you. You know you’re a guest in his space, so you try to respect the way he wants to be alone for a while. He definitely gives off loner vibes. 

You look around and find a collection of vinyl records, and smaller collection of books on a shelf next to the fireplace. You find Gulliver’s Travels, Dune, The Odyssey, The Wizard of Oz—books you didn’t think a guy like Dean would be into. 

You take up The Wizard of Oz, reclaim your spot on the chaise, and start reading.

That night, your dreams are plagued by the crunch of dead leaves, your father shouting at you to run, and to keep running.

The coarse roar of a bear morphs into something other. It’s a sharper, whirring sound like wind howling amidst animalistic clicking, and then bones breaking—your father’s scream cut short.  

You wake with a start, your body both cold and flush at the same time.

Dean is there once again. It confuses you at first, but then it all returns to you in a rush—the where and the why you’re here, once again with the alpha standing over you in concern. He grasps your shoulder and asks if you’re all right. Your breathing is too erratic for you to answer him, your eyes too wide, your body trembling.

Had you been making noise in your sleep? You blush in embarrassment at the thought. You also feel bad for waking him, and all those things get trapped in your throat.

Seeing that you’re most definitely not fine, he sits on the edge of the bed, squeezes your arm, and reminds you. 

“It’s okay. You’re safe here,” he tells you. His tone is deep and even, reassuring.

You meet his steady gaze and manage to nod, trying to catch your breath. 

“I’m okay,” you say, with a shaky nod. He gives you a measuring look, both a question and a confirmation. You give it to him with a firmer nod. “Thanks, I…I’m sorry I woke you up.”

He exhales through his nose, accepting. “‘S all right. Don’t worry about it.” 

You feel the loss of his touch when his hand eventually slip away from your shoulder. As soon as he came into your room, he’s gone. 

Dean leaves swiftly, trying to brush off how the scent of your fear had tugged sharply at his gut even in his sleep. It not only woke him up, but compelled him to kick his blankets off and get out of bed to go to you.  

You were having a nightmare, reliving your fall, if he had to guess. You came out of it pretty quick when he carefully grabbed your shoulder. Every instinct in his body told him to gather you into his arms and cover you with his own scent and protective embrace to calm you down. 

Through sheer willpower, he managed to ignore every single one of those instincts.  

Two days pass, in which you and Dean say very little to one another, besides when he asks you what you want to eat, and how you’re feeling. The alpha seems genuine, but guarded any time you ask him about him; anything that’ll give you a clue into who this guy is, and why he’s here. 

You try again to strike up some kind of conversation over dinner one night. 

“Do you live here year-round?” you ask, around a mouthful of burger that’s absolutely delicious. He wasn’t lying when he claimed to be a good cook. He even made the fries himself.

“No,” he replies. “No Netflix, no internet? Think I’d die of boredom. I just come up here to uh…take a beat, I guess.” 

You smile. “I don’t blame you. Sometimes you just need a break,” you say, even though your tone is heavier than you meant it to be. Your gaze, a bit distant in that moment, sharpens and focuses back on Dean. “Where are you from, then?”

“Kansas,” he offers.

“Oh really?” You brighten with that scrap of information. “My older sister lives in Topeka. She moved there for a job, initially, but then she met her guy. He’s some kind of day trader. Which is just code for sits on his ass playing Call of Duty while she busts hers.” 

Dean huffs, then crams more burger into his mouth. He hasn’t been giving you a lot to go on while you two have been talking. Unfortunately, you have the tendency to ramble and fill the silence before it becomes even more stifled. 

“She works at a bank. Smart, driven, always knows what she wants. Meanwhile, I’ve had about seven jobs in the last three years, none of which were even remotely related to my almost useless degree in Communications.”

“Yeah, doubt you need a degree in communicating,” Dean remarks, popping another fry into his mouth.

 You purse your lips at him, but the glint of teasing in his eyes makes you fight not to smile. 

“All right, smart guy. So, what about you?” you ask.

Predictably, the man’s walls firm back up. “What about me?”

“Well…why’re you up here alone? Do you have family?” you ask.

Dean quirks a half smile. “I’ve got a brother.”

“Okay. Younger, I’m guessing?”

He tilts his head at you, a bit amused at your guess. “Why’s that?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “I can’t imagine you with a brother who’s older than you.”

His lips twitch. “You callin’ me old, sweetheart?”

You begin to blush with embarrassment. But also, sweetheart?

You shake your head. “No, that’s not what I meant. I just mean like…”

Dean saves you with the return of his smile.

“Yeah, he’s younger,” he says. “But he’s the one with the quasi-wife and the apple pie life.” 

“Quasi-wife?”

“They’re mated. Just haven’t gotten around to the whole getting hitched thing,” he explains. “But they’re happy. Dean Jr.’s growing up fast, already running full speed into glass doors.”

His smile is genuine when he talks about his brother, just tinged with a bit of melancholy, you think. 

“Dean Jr.?” you ask in amusement. Dean Sr. laughs a little, and you enjoy the sound, the way it lightens up his face and pulls at the corners of his eyes.

“Yeah, can’t say I wasn’t surprised myself to get that honor, but…hey, it works for the kid. He’s got my chin,” he remarks.

He digs into his pocket to show you a picture from his cell phone. Even though it doesn’t have service, you can still view the many pictures of the adorable infant in his camera roll, courtesy of Sam and his mate, Eileen. You coo at the chubby cheeks, the bright little eyes, and the swirled tuft of dark hair on his head.

“Where do they live?” you ask.

“Out west, a stone’s throw from the City of Angels.” Dean’s smile dims. “He just had to go back to California.”

“What’s wrong with California?” you ask.

“It’s full of pretentious douchebags, that’s what,” he says, his voice a dry whip. “Waxed up to the fucking eyeballs, smelling like Botox, Adderall, and sweaty desperation.”

You splutter laughing so bad that your diet coke escapes you in a spit take. It partially goes up into your nose, burning, stinging your eyes, but it’s made worse by the way Dean waves a hand up incredulously. You’ve just gotten half his sleeve wet.

He meets your gaze, and you can’t help but laugh even harder. 

“Wow,” he says. 

“God, I’m sorry,” you say, still giggling. You get up, hobble over to the kitchen counter, and rip off a paper towel to try and pat his arm dry. He takes it from you and helps you back into your seat.

“I got it, Spit Take. Just finish your food,” he says, if with a dancing gleam in his eyes.  

From then on, it becomes easier for you to pull the alpha into conversation. Besides reading, napping, and staring out the window while it snows, you don’t have much by way of entertainment. Not to mention the pain of trying to get around without crutches, as it also jostles your ribs. Dean often has to help you from one room to another, which of course, you get embarrassed by.

“I’m sorry!” you yelp, when he saves you from another crash landing in the hallway. You’re fresh out of a shower, and it had taken you twenty minutes just to figure out how to wash your hair on one leg, let alone dry yourself off and get your shirt and borrowed sweatpants on. The main problem in getting back to your room happened to be the pants themselves. Their length and bagginess made you slip.

At least Dean’s learned to ignore your apologies. He now holds you by the waist, having pulled you against his chest on reflex. With furrowed brows, he notices your pained hiss when you grab onto his arms for balance.

“You okay?” he asks with a note of alarm.

“Ribs,” you gasp. They’re throbbing sharply with his hold, especially after being rattled by the near fall.

He immediately adjusts his hold lower, holding your arm and hip to support you. His hands are strong, but gentle. The warmth and pressure of his touch rattles you more than almost falling into a heap. Cliché as it might be, your heart is beating faster, what seems like in and out of rhythm. A feeling you can’t name stirs and tugs at your lower belly when you hazard looking up into his eyes. They’re a nice shade of green, like a forest floor in the spring.

“You just go ass over tea kettle at any moment, huh?” he quips, his lips tugging upward. “Come on. Where were you headed?”

“To my room, wise guy,” you say wryly, even as your blush heats your face and neck. “But this is a great taxi service.”

He snorts. “Yeah, call it the Winchestermobile.”

“Winchester. That your last name? Like the rifle?” you ask, while he helps you carefully down the hall. He nods in confirmation.

“That’s interesting. You don’t meet many Winchesters,” you remark.

“Yeah, well, ain’t that many left,” he mutters.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, easing you down onto the edge of the bed. His hands go to his hips as he scrutinizes your form for further injury. “You good? I was about to get cracking on some lunch.”

You offer him a grateful smile. “Yeah, I’m good. What’s on the menu?”

“Nothing fancy. I’m thinking grilled cheese. Maybe some tomato soup, assuming I can find a can in the pantry,” he says.

“Honestly, that sounds awesome,” you say. “Haven’t had a grilled since…God, probably since I was a kid.”

At that, Dean smiles. “Well, I happen to make an awesome one. No less than three kinds of cheese.”

“If they’re as good as your burgers, then I don’t doubt it,” you reply. He seems pleased at that, and maybe a little bashful as his gaze falls away.

Cute, you think. Your smile grows.

“All right, well, stay tuned,” he says. He winks, tossing you a “gun for hand” gesture that makes you laugh. Dean wears a rugged exterior as easily as his winter jacket, but he’s also kind of a dork.

After lunch (delicious, as you predicted), you take the afternoon just to sort through Dean’s records and alphabetize them for him. You hunker down on the floor in front of the shelf, close to the record player. 

“I don’t need all that. I know where all my stuff is…more or less,” he says, with a lazy wave of the beer he has in hand. 

“Oh really?” you raise a brow. “Okay, let’s test that theory. Where’s Boston.” 

“Right next to the White Album, there on the left.”

Sure enough, you find Boston, as well as the White Album by the Beatles.  

“Oh my God, you actually have the White Album?” You open up the double-sided case in excitement to read the list of songs printed on the inside. “This thing is so expensive.” 

“Beatles fan, huh?” Dean says as he takes a seat on the couch. You turn your smile on him, and he stills in his seat.

“Uh, yeah. Who isn’t?” you say.

Dean shrugs with a smile of his own. “Put it on if you want.”

You bounce a little with excitement before you figure out how to turn on his record player. You put the vinyl album on Side B, moving the needle until you find “Blackbird.”

“Of course,” Dean says, slightly teasing. You turn to him with crunched brows.  

“What? ‘Blackbird’s’ a classic.”

“Eh. Everyone likes ‘Blackbird.’”

“That’s what a classic means,” you argue.

“More like a mainstream copout,” he says. You think it’s just to needle you, but you still purse your lips. 

“Fine, Mr. Music Snob. Then what’s your favorite?”

“On the White Album?”

“Any Beatles song.”

“‘Hey, Jude,’” he says, after a moment. There’s some kind of weight in his eyes, a note of melancholy. You don’t miss it, even though you don’t know why it’s there.

“Everyone likes ‘Hey, Jude,’” you quip, trying to lighten him. 

He smiles a little. “Yeah. Fair enough.”

Finally, the snowstorm breaks. Dean ventures outside and brings you back a long, sturdy stick to lean your weight on when you want to move around, though he claims he’s working on a better solution. Now that the snow has let up, he’ll be able to go out to the shed and do some work. 

Whatever that means, you think.

You watch him from the living room when he goes outside to chop some more firewood. 

He should really wear a hat. His brown hair is getting dusted white with snow flurries as he continues to swing down the ax. You notice the power in his tall frame, even covered by layers of his jacket, pants, and boots. You almost feel each chop of the wood resonate in your chest. 

Heat rises in your cheeks when he looks up, as if he senses he’s being watched. You bow your head and pretend to read your book.

His boots continue to crunch in the snow as he makes trips back and forth from the surrounding forest. Aside from the firewood, he brings back a few long, thinner logs that he takes to the shed. Soon you begin to hear the steady back-and-forth cutting of a saw. You wish you could go out there and take a look, but you can’t even get around the house that easily, let alone venture outside.

Your curiosity about this man knows no bounds, and you decide to use the walking stick he found for you in the meantime to get around without putting pressure on your injured ankle. You know it’s wrong, but you end up traversing the long, dark hallway, pushing open the door to the right, and venturing into Dean’s room. 

It smells like him, earthy and tinged with smoke. His scent is seeped into every part of it—the bed, the dresser and nightstands, the dark blue bedsheets, the desk and chair, and even the drapes. It makes you almost lightheaded at the pleasurable feeling of it washing over you.

A shudder suddenly runs down your spine and tugs at your core in arousal. With a sharp intake of breath, you have to shift on your feet, pressing your legs together against the slick already forming down below.

You’re shocked and embarrassed at first. You aim to bolt out of his room, but you stop short in the doorway as it dawns on you.

Your sister is a beta, and so is her husband. She’s never completely understood you as an omega. She never understood your parents either, or the bond they had. She always scoffed at the idea of “true mates.”

Soulmates. It was fantasy and myth, the stuff of cheesy Harlequin novels.

Growing up, you’d agreed with her, even though a part of you deep down always protested. It wanted to tell her not to open her mouth about something she knew nothing about, and would never know. 

The day you met Dean, you knew she was wrong. 

Your more logical mind tries again to reassert itself though. You remind yourself that you barely know anything about this man, no matter how attractive, kind, funny, enigmatic… 

And yet, you can’t shake that part of you that doesn’t rest until you see his face in the morning; until you make him coffee and eat breakfast together, and take any opportunity to pull more threads from him. It’s more than passing attraction. It’s more than just being stuck together in this cabin, unable to escape each other. You know, because the feeling scares you, and it electrifies your blood at the same time.

All these thoughts go through your mind when you turn back around. Slowly, you continue to look around his room, your whole body tingling. The room is neat, more or less, with everything in its proper place. It’s pretty bare though, décor wise. There’s a desk with a few scattered books and a journal sandwiched in between. A smile of surprise forms across your face.

No. Don’t tell me this guy is Mr. Dear Diary? you think in amusement. Though you wonder if it’s another way he passes his time here, especially when he’s holed up in his room.

You know you shouldn’t be snooping, let alone contemplating what you’re about to do…but you can’t help yourself. Biting your lip, you slide out the journal and begin to flip through it. 

You frown at the strange drawings and odd entries—dates, narratives, scraps of information on different types of mythological creatures, and even more strange, on how to kill them. 

What the hell is this?

That’s when you hear the front door swing open. You bolt from his room as quick as you can, not realizing you took the journal with you in your haste. You stuff it up your sweater and pretend like you’ve just come out of the bathroom on the way back to your room. There you slide the journal under your pillow. You jump when Dean knocks on your door.

“Hey,” he greets.

The jolting pains your ribs, and your hand goes to your left side in a hiss. 

“You okay?” he asks, brows furrowing in concern. He takes a step into your room, but you turn to him with a nod and a placating hand.

“Yeah, I’m fine. You just scared me,” you say, with a bit of nervous laughter.

He gives a half smile. “Sorry. Just come ‘ere a sec. I wanna show you something.”

He reaches out a hand to help guide you to the living room.

There he presents you with two rudimentary crutches. Your eyes widen as your free hand passes over the smooth chestnut color of the wood. Dean keeps a light hold on your elbow, just in case.

“You made these?” you ask.

“Yeah, just a bit of woodworking. Picked it up over the last couple of years,” he says.

He’s downplaying it, but you’re nothing short of marveling. You set aside the walking stick in favor of picking up the crutches, and they’re even the right size to position them under your arms.

“Now you don’t have to hobble around like Long John Silver,” Dean quips. You meet the sight of his grin with a raised brow, but you soon begin to smile. When you get close enough to him, you lean the crutches against the couch and give him a warm hug, resting your head on his chest.

“Thank you,” you say. It’s something he was wholly unprepared for, but he hugs you back with a chuckle.

“Uh, you’re welcome.”

Just then, he tries not to inhale your scent. He tries not to focus on the feeling of your body pressed soft and warm against his. You fit just right. 

After a beat, you have mercy on him and pull away. You take your crutches back up and continue to walk around the living room experimentally. 

“You think I’d be okay trying to go outside?” you ask on your way to the door. Dean tenses.

“Uh, I don’t think—”

But you’re already halfway out the door. He shakes his head and follows you with swift strides. He watches you step out carefully onto the porch like a baby deer. He cleared the snow this morning from the deck and the steps, but he’s more concerned when he sees you considering how you might step out onto the snow.

“Stay on the porch, all right, Bambi,” he warns. “You’re not wearing snow boots and it’s still pretty deep. Not to mention, I’ve been keeping an eye out for a bear that wandered through here last week—”

You turn to look at him over your shoulder in amusement.

“Okay, Alpha. Calm down,” you say playfully. “I’m not gonna go ass over tea kettle.”  

His brow twitches as he frowns. Alpha. He fights not to show his reaction to the way you said it; it calls to his baser instincts, almost stirring a rumble in his chest.

Cheeky little omega.

You keep to the porch, but regardless, you’re happy. You don’t even mind the cold. You see your breath on the air, and you tip your head back, closing your eyes with a smile as the sunshine warms your face. You inhale through your nose and let it out slowly in contentment. 

“It’s a good day, Dean,” you say quietly. 

You don’t realize that he’s watching you with a more reserved smile on his face. When he realizes it, he shakes his head at himself. He’s only been here a week with you, and it’ll probably take a couple more for your ankle to heal up well enough for you to walk again, let alone get down the mountain. 

He doesn’t want to leave you alone up here, so he’ll have to somehow keep fending off your probing questions into his past and personal life. There's a lifetime of blood, nightmares, and death that he just can't let you see behind his eyes.

Hell, he's been trying to shove it all down for the past year—in booze and odd jobs and trips to nowhere, always coming back to an empty bunker. He still wonders how Sam's managed to do it, to move on, and build a new life for himself.

If Dean's honest (and he's not), he feels a bit like this cabin; old, falling apart, and forgotten.

But he’ll have to keep taking in your brightness and warmth, continue arguing with you about music and other inane shit, and pretend that every small touch of yours doesn’t ignite his skin. That it doesn’t make him have to beat down every instinct he has to pull you into his body and blanket you with his scent, ravage you, claim you, and make you his. 

He never thought this would happen to him. He never thought someone like you was out there…for someone like him.

He knows it though, deep in his gut. You’re meant for him. You’re meant to be his mate.

Which means he’s already screwed. 

AN: And we're off! Special thanks again to Michelle (@luci-in-trenchcoats) for being my sounding board when I was first writing this series. Let me know what you think of Part 1! 💜

Next Time:

I buried my wife today. Even as I write that down, I don’t believe it. Last week we were a normal family…eating dinner, going to Dean’s T-ball game, buying toys for baby Sammy. But in an instant, it all changed…

When I try to think back, get it all straight in my head…I feel like I’m going crazy. Like someone ripped both my arms off, plucked my eyes out. I’m wandering around, alone and lost and I can’t do anything.

This is Dean’s father, you realize. The more that you read, with no small amount of dismay, you also realize that this man is writing about his wife, Mary.

Dean’s mom…

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[cece693]

PART 2 TO THE STU AND BILLY FIC PLSSS 🙏🏻🙏🏻

Looks Can be Deceiving Pt. 2 (Stu and Billy x M! Reader)

So I totally didn't put much effort into the first part, but I appreciate all the love it has gotten :) The original request had the male reader being nice, however, I want him to also be kinda of a bimbo so apologies in advance if he doesn't feel like the same character.

Summary: Billy and Stu were fighting over you, it takes time (more than you would like to admit), but you catch on and make them play nice :)

tags: soft/bottom reader, you make Billy and Stu get along, kisses, suggestive language, Billy and Stu are a mess, cursing

link to part one

(not my fanart, just couldn't find a good gif to go alongside this :) Credit to the creator)

It took you way too long to notice the competition brewing between Billy and Stu—embarrassingly long. You weren’t dumb, not exactly, but you tended to…miss things. Like the way Billy would glower whenever Stu made you laugh a little too hard, or how Stu practically shoved himself between you and Billy whenever you were all on the couch. You thought they were just being, well, Billy and Stu. A little intense, a little weird, but harmless.

It wasn’t until you walked into the kitchen one morning and found Stu dramatically arguing with Billy over who got to “sit next to you at breakfast” that it finally clicked.

“Oh my gosh,” you said, smacking your forehead. “You guys are, like, totally fighting over me, aren’t you?”

Billy and Stu froze mid-argument, their heads snapping toward you.

“What? No,” Billy said immediately, his voice sharp and defensive.

“Yup,” Stu said at the same time, grinning like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

You tilted your head, frowning as you processed their reactions. “You are! Oh my god, that’s so cute!”

Billy groaned, dragging a hand down his face. Stu, on the other hand, lit up like a Christmas tree. “You think we’re cute?” he asked, sidling up to you with a grin.

“Yeah,” you said, giving him a sunny smile. “Like, two puppies fighting over a squeaky toy. It’s adorable!”

Billy’s jaw clenched, his dark eyes narrowing. “We’re not puppies,” he muttered.

“Of course not,” you said, patting his arm like you were trying to console him. “You’re more like, I dunno, angry alley cats or something.”

Stu burst out laughing, slapping you on the back. “Alley cats! Dude, you kill me.”

Billy didn’t laugh, but his lips twitched slightly, betraying a flicker of amusement.

From that day on, you couldn’t help but lean into it.

You weren’t exactly a mastermind, but you knew how to get a reaction—and boy, did they give you plenty to work with. It started small. Wearing slightly tighter shirts around the apartment. Stretching a little too dramatically during your workouts in the living room. Flopping onto the couch between them and resting your head on one of their shoulders, just to see who would get jealous first.

And when you realized just how much they worshipped your chest? Oh, that opened a whole new world of possibilities.

One particularly hot day, you decided shirts were overrated. You lounged around the apartment in nothing but a pair of gym shorts, your big tits on full display as you sprawled out on the couch. You pretended not to notice the way Billy’s eyes kept darting toward you or the way Stu’s grin stretched just a little too wide.

At one point, Stu plopped down beside you, his arm slinging across the back of the couch. “Damn, Big Guy,” he said, his tone teasing but low. “You trying to kill us or something?”

You blinked at him, all wide-eyed innocence. “Huh? What do you mean?”

Stu snorted, his hand twitching like he wanted to touch you but thought better of it. “I mean, walking around like that. It’s distracting, dude.”

Billy, who had been leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, scoffed. “He knows exactly what he’s doing.”

“Do not!” you protested, pouting a little. “I’m just comfortable! You guys are the ones making it weird.”

Billy’s eyes darkened, his voice dropping to a low, almost dangerous tone. “Weird, huh? Keep pushing, and you’ll find out just how ‘weird’ we can get.”

You stared at him for a moment, your pout deepening. “That sounded kinda threatening, but also kinda hot? Like, what are you gonna do? Wrestle me or something?”

Stu burst out laughing again, practically falling off the couch. “Oh, man, you’re gonna get yourself in trouble, Big Guy.”

And you should've heed his warning, easing on your teasing, but it was fun. That was until they fought back. You’d been wandering around the apartment in one of your usual lazy outfits—just a pair of boxers and a loose tank top that did absolutely nothing to hide your chest—when you felt the atmosphere shift.

It started with Stu, as always, bounding up to you with that mischievous grin of his. “Hey, Big Guy,” he said, stepping into your personal space. “You been working out more? ‘Cause those things,” he gestured at your chest, “look like they could take me out in one punch.”

You laughed, swatting at him playfully. “Oh, stop. You’re so silly.”

Before you could escape to your room, though, Billy appeared, blocking your path. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—something dark and intense—that made your heart skip a beat.

“Seriously,” Billy said, his voice low and rough. “Enough’s enough.”

You blinked, glancing between them in confusion. “Enough of what?”

Stu leaned in, his grin turning wicked. “The teasing, Big Guy. You’ve been driving us insane, and we’ve had enough.”

Before you could respond, Stu’s hands were on your shoulders, pulling you down into a messy, hungry kiss. His lips moved against yours with wild abandon, his fingers gripping you like he was afraid you might slip away. When he finally pulled back, you were breathless, your mind spinning. “Whoa,” you muttered, blinking at him.

And (to make things better), Billy stepped in, his hand gripping the back of your neck as he kissed you with a slow, deliberate intensity that left you dizzy. His lips were firm, his movements calculated, like he wanted to savor every second of this moment. The heat from him was palpable, his grip possessive but not forceful—just enough to keep you still as he took what he wanted. When he finally pulled away, his dark eyes locked onto yours, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You like teasing, huh?” he murmured, his voice low and dripping with restrained heat. “Well, now it’s our turn.”

Stu, never one to be outdone, slung an arm around your shoulders, his grin as wide and wild as ever. He looked at you like a predator who’d just caught the juiciest prey. “Cancel any plans you might have, big guy,” he said with a laugh. “’Cause you’re gonna be real busy for a while.”

You blinked, still reeling, your cheeks flushed and your heart pounding so hard you swore they could hear it. “Wait…does this mean I have two boyfriends now?” you asked, your voice coming out breathless and faintly incredulous.

Stu laughed loudly, pulling you closer until your sides were pressed together. “Yes, and I hope you realize that means you’re ours. Only ours.”

Billy’s smirk softened into something more dangerous as he moved behind you, his arms wrapping around your chest from behind. His hands settled on your pecs, his fingers teasingly circling the broad muscle as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “That’s right,” he murmured, his voice a low purr. “You’re not going anywhere. And anyone who tries to take you from us?” His smirk returned, darker this time. “They’ll regret it.”

Stu nodded eagerly, his fingers brushing against the other side of your chest like they were testing the limits of your patience—or maybe just reveling in how easily they’d gotten you to blush. “Yeah, big guy. You’re stuck with us now. Two-for-one deal of the century.”

You groaned, dropping your head back against Billy’s shoulder with an exasperated laugh. “You two are insane. Both of you.”

Billy chuckled softly, his fingers tightening just enough to make your breath hitch. “Maybe. But you like us that way, don’t you?”

Stu grinned, leaning in so close his nose brushed against your cheek. “Admit it, big guy. You wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And, damn it, they weren’t wrong.

[gyubakeries]

❆ 𝐠𝐲𝐮𝐛𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 : 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐬! ❆ | 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐮 - 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 <𝟑

❆ 𝑑𝑎𝑦 9: pre-christmas dinner | k.mg

a/n: hi!! welcome to day 9 <333 be prepared to see some chef!mingyu haha :P i also must thank kyii and sousy for brainstorming with me for this fic, and a few others as well. love u guys <3

p.s. it definitely takes much more time to pull off an entire roast chicken, but for the sake of the fic, the process is relatively faster and mingyu is like, the masterchef or something. also im writing this the evening before a major exam and im just as cooked as the first chicken lol.

word count: 1.2k contents: mingyu x gn!reader , established relationship , ceo!mingyu , cooking , theyre gonna roast a chicken for funsies , good chef!mingyu , clumsy helper!reader , fluff , christmas fun , one (1) chicken was ..... cooked too well in this fic , im sorry chicken (or not...) , read to find out why <3

"baby! i'm home!" mingyu calls out, and that's all it takes for you to come out to the living room, only to be met by the sight of your giant of a boyfriend dragging in huge bags.

"you said you were going to buy some ice-cream," you raise an eyebrow at mingyu. "so, either you bought an entire year's worth of cookies 'n cream, or you bought stuff that we didn't need."

"you know how i get at grocery stores, especially the large, gourmet ones," mingyu pouts. "everything looks so good."

"this is exactly why you need to let me buy groceries," you sigh, grabbing one of the bags and starting to empty the contents. "your bank account won't thrive for long."

"please, we both know i have more than enough money to live comfortably," mingyu sasses. you turn away from the pantry, where you were putting away the organic pasta mingyu had bought, to face your boyfriend.

he looks absolutely adorable like this; beanie nearly slipping over his eyes, large figure bundled up in a sweater and crouching in front of the fridge, stuffing two boxes of something in the freezer.

in moments like these, it's almost impossible to imagine mingyu as the CEO of a high-tech company. trying to visualize him in the crisp suits he wears to work feels like a distant dream, especially when at home, he's just the embodiment of a golden retriever, always so soft and loving.

"yeah, i know mr. ceo," you snicker when he plops down on the floor, complaining of a backache because of crouching at a weird angle. "you don't have to flex your money."

"i'm not flexing," mingyu defends himself with wide eyes. "just saying; we could totally quit our jobs and travel the world, and we'd still have enough money to buy your dream house in the countryside of france."

"we'll see about that," you laugh. just as you finish putting all the groceries away, your stomach starts rumbling. "what's for dinner?"

"roast chicken," mingyu hums, and you notice him flitting around the kitchen, gathering spices, sauces, herbs, and lots of other things.

"you're kidding," you deadpan. "you're gonna roast a chicken?"

"yes!" mingyu grins at you, patting a box placed on the counter. "mr. chicken is here. i'm just going to let him marinade for a while before we roast."

"you're insane," you gape at how professional he looks, washing an entire chicken, patting it dry, mixing together a quick marinade, covering the chicken in it and setting it aside in a matter of thirty minutes.

"again, why aren't you a full-time chef?" you ask him. you're both munching on some snacks while he waits for the oven to finish pre-heating and the chicken to rest in the marinade.

"because i only want my baby to eat my cooking," mingyu answers, stealing some of your chips.

"you've literally cooked for all our friends."

"okay, my baby and our friends."

"and what about our future children? won't you cook for them?" you tease, and as usual, mingyu whines.

"y/n, you know what i meant," he sulks. "i didn't want to turn something i love doing into a profession that i may end up hating."

"well, i'm lucky to have experienced your amazing cooking skills," you remark, and mingyu rolls his eyes affectionately. "if you're trying to sweet talk me into giving you the last slice of cheesecake in the fridge, it's not gonna work."

"aw man," you frown, and mingyu presses a kiss to your cheek as compensation. as if on cue, the oven's timer dings, and mingyu springs into action. he takes the chicken out of the fridge, and you watch in awe as he preps a baking tray, places the chicken in it, and puts it in the oven.

he finally finishes fiddling with the settings of the oven and comes over to you, expression serious.

"babe, i have an online meeting right now. the chicken's gonna be in for an hour. can you keep an eye out for when the oven timer rings? i should be done by then, but if i'm not, just carefully take it out of the oven and set it on the counter, okay?"

"got it, chef," you mock salute, and he smiles, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. "stay alert okay? you do remember what happened last time with the cake, right?" mingyu teases.

"i got distracted by the show! it could happen to anyone," you cross your arms.

"i know, but i don't want a repeat of that," mingyu chuckles. "cleaning burnt cake wasn't exactly fun."

"i promise, gyu, i'll be extra attentive this time," you assure him, and he heads into the study for his online meeting.

to no one's surprise, you completely miss the timer.

your best friend had called you fifteen minutes after the chicken had started cooking, and what was supposed to be a five minute call regarding what dress your friend should wear to her boyfriend's office party, turned into more than an hour of gossiping about your respective office colleagues.

you only notice something is wrong when you smell something burning, and it hits you then.

the chicken.

apparently, mingyu too had smelled the burning, because he's already grabbing the tray out of the oven and placing it on the counter.

the chicken is burnt, and there's no way of salvaging it.

"min, i'm sorry-" you gasp, mortified by your mistake. "i swear i was trying to-"

"it's okay," mingyu shakes his head, setting the tray down in the sink, leaving the disaster of a roast chicken to cool before he attempts to scrape it off the tray. "i kinda thought this may happen, so i got reinforcements."

you watch with furrowed eyebrows as mingyu walks over to the fridge and pulls out another box, revealing yet another whole chicken.

the entire situation seems absurd, and all you can say is, "were they twins??"

mingyu bursts into laughter, and so do you. it's hilarious seeing his six foot-something figure double over as he nearly falls to the ground because of how hard he's laughing.

"babe, you're so silly," he wheezes, trying to catch his breath. "i just got a backup chicken, in case something went wrong with the first one."

"and you didn't bother to check if they were from the same family?" you gasp in mock offense.

"my bad," he raises his arms in surrender. "in my defense, the burnt one kinda looked like this one's cheating ex, which is why it has to go in the trash."

"hm, i'll allow it then," you nod, face serious, as if you both weren't making up ridiculous stories about chickens of all things.

"anyways, now, all you have to do is sit back, while i cook this one," mingyu instructs you.

"it was a mistake," you pout, crossing your arms and leaning against the kitchen counter. mingyu crosses over to you and pecks your lips. "i know it was baby, and it's okay. you can help me with the marinade this time, okay?"

(the way your eyes lit up in joy makes mingyu feel like he'd be okay with any food burning, as long as it gets you this happy to help him redo it.

god, he'd buy you all the chickens in the world, just to see you like this.)

- fin.

divider made by @bernardsbendystraws !

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@t-102 @gyuguys @grapejuicelh @aaa-sia @cixrosie

series taglist in comments!

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head to the series masterlist - here <3

head to the masterlist for more!

[summikomi]

I like the one where y/n is fascinated with Sukuna’s tummy 😂 I just think it’s so cute. Could I request an instance where she gives it some attention.

Like usually y/n will kiss Sukunas face and ignores his stomach but one day she finally notices his tummy mouth pouting because it never gets attention so she asks Sukuna before she starts spoiling his tummy mouth with kisses, sweet words and he blushes around his abs and maybe even purrs and coos at her doting. Sukuna is just stunned by the whole thing because none of his previous consorts/concubines would ever go near his tummy (fear of being bitten/esten) but yeah! That’s my idea 🥰🥰🌷🌷🌷

this is so cute i can't believe i took so long to get to it lolol here u go darling <3 it got totally away from me and also got mildy suggestive at the end, so cw for that!!

".. you're doing this again?" sukuna huffs exasperatedly, playing up his distaste as always, but you're not letting it get to you. with gentle hands you tenderly run your fingers over the lines of his waist, admiring the defined muscle that surrounds that mouth on his stomach. you can see he's scowling over your head, but the blush dusting his prominent cheekbones makes it hard to take his displeasure seriously.

-

you hadn't intended to make a habit of it when it began, but you and sukuna had a schedule. at the end of every week, you'd both settle into his massive bed together, and you would make an evening of worshipping him like he deserved. his large, powerful form would always turn to putty in your hands, basically purring in your hold by the time both you started to get tired. you knew he loved the attention, but there was a part of him you'd been neglecting without noticing.

it came to a head one night, while you were (totally innocently) running your hands over his chest, and you looked down to see the lips on his stomach.. pouting? the view was so surreal that your hands stopped, and sukuna didn't take long to notice and complain.

"mrrh?" he intonated, something like a confused cat, and although it was cute you were too entranced by the view to pay it much mind.

"who said you could stop?" a deep voice murmured, but it was less intimidating with the slightly dazed look on his face and the pout on his tummy.

"oh!" you gasped softly, turning to look up at him again, and resisted the urge to snicker at the almost matching pout he had on the lips of his face, "sorry, it's just, hm.."

with a cautious touch (more because you didn't know if he'd like it, rather than if he would allow it - sukuna liked to act tough, but he'd let you do basically anything) you reached out and splayed your fingers over his stomach, and then gently ran them over the lips there. it was surprisingly soft, but it felt more like the skin of his torso than the one of his lips, and you marveled at the curiosities of his anatomy silently.

"..what..?" his voice was gruff, and if you didn't know him better you might think he was mad - but he was definitely flustered.

"do you like being touched here?" you asked curiously, and he frowned at the question as if you'd just personally insulted him.

rather than answering upfront, because that would obviously be too easy, sukuna answered like this:

"do whatever you want."

-

do whatever you want, you did. if he wanted you to stop it would be more than in his power anyways, so you continued on your quest to spoil that neglected tummy mouth, and sukuna continued to pretend he didn't like it. just as he was today.

a thought popped into your head. hmm.

without much thought, you leaned in and pressed your lips over the ones on his stomach, and giggled softly over the skin when it made him jolt.

"what," sukuna said, a big hand flying over the back of your neck to scruff you like a cat, "are you doing now?"

"kissing you, silly." his grasp was too gentle to restrain you, so you leaned forward and pressed another kiss to the right corner of the mouth, delighting in the way his muscles tensed under you. he was very flustered, indeed.

it was a rare treat to make sukuna speechless, and you enjoyed every moment as you placed kiss after kiss over his stomach, going over his abs and the marks on his skin, including rough scars and a lost freckle or two. sukuna was so cute. not that you would ever tell him that - unless you wanted to see the world burn.

"you can cease this already–" he complained, but before he could finish a loud sound interrupted his speech - and your actions.

for a moment you almost thought his stomach was growling, but then the realization hit you like a brick to the head.

"sukuna," you enunciated, utter delight coating your words in honey, "are you purring right now?"

"it's not me, it's that stupid thing." he tried to defend himself, but his ears were matching the pink of his hair, and you laughed loud enough that you were sure most of the servants around the estate would hear.

"so it has a mind of its own now?"

"shut up," he barked without any bite before pulling you into his arms, one pair coming under your thighs to pull you close and the other wrapping around your shoulders and waist, fully surrounding you.

"i'll find a spot that makes you purr now. i hope you're ready."

"huh? wait, sukuna–"

..you learned a few lessons about your own body that day too.

[hpgal]

DC X DP: VACATION TO A DIFFERENT UNIVERSE Pt. 1

CW: mentions of death

TLDR: Danny is stressed and depressed feeling like despite all the changes in his life, he feels like he is still the same.

Word Count: 1310

a/n: I plan on making multiple parts to this one but it will take some time. This is more a draft to part 1 than anything else and will most likely end up on AO3 in the future as a more completed version of itself once it is done here on Tumblr. Any feedback and suggestions (or even if you want to continue this plot with your own spin on it as long as I am credited/ tagged so I can read it too!) is very much welcomed!!

Danny wanted a change.

Not just for fun either. Though fun would be nice between all these Ghost King responsibilities he had been forced to start learning for when he comes of age, or well not, technically?

He doesn't know! It's complicated! He was 17 now, but his ghost age was only 3! The Observants said to fully assume the throne his ghost age was supposed to be 18 at the youngest but they'd make an exception for when he was 18 in the living realm.

Ghee, thanks you weirdos, because I totally wanted my adult life to already be over so I can manage my undead life.

Anyways, between trying to graduate and learn his forever job, he had been going to therapy now that he isn't the only ghost fighter in town. He has breaks! A support system! 14 year old Danny would never believe his parents accepted him for his ghostly side!!

His friends learned to fight and trap so well over the years that they don't even need him by their side anymore for every fight. The GIW was chased out of town and supposedly disbanded by the government because "it was a scam and ghosts don't actually exist." Even his parent's business was booming in town.

They started leaving the field work to others and focused on research. They hold ghost defense classes 3 times a week for any and all citizens. They build home defense gadgets and other anti ghost equipment to sell to the town, too. There are even kids from his class who want to get into the field now and intern at FentonWorks.

Over the years, everyone in town has grown incredibly capable of handling ghosts themselves that there is a city funded ghost protection task force. And that is all to deal with the ghosts that are more on the unruly side.

The reality is that it is not exactly necessary anymore to always be prepared for the next daily ghost attack. Since it became public knowledge for the Ghost Zone that he'd be assuming the throne, most ghosts have opted to leave Amity Park alone since it was his haunt. However, he has opened it up to any ghost who wants to visit as long as they do not leave Amity Park. And so, ghosts and the living live in harmony in the town.

In his senior year, the town has become so open to ghosts that when a ghost whose obsession is teaching, they hired him at Casper High! Danny is even in the class. He teaches an elective on astronomy, something the school could never afford. Ghosts didn't want to be paid in cash, so it helped! All Dr. Denver wants was to teach and to be allowed to claim the observatory for his research.

But while all this was great, Danny felt depressed. Which leads him back to why he was in therapy. It felt like all these amazing things have happened. That everyone has changed, except him. Thanks to his halfa status, his physical state isn't changing as much either. He discovered he is aging much, much slower.

Talking to his therapist, she helped him realize that what he craved was for a change for himself. Sure, he IS going to become The Infinite Realms king and that'll be a big change but it isn't what he wants.

He doesn't know what he wants, really. Which meant his therapist has given him an assignment to figure it out. So he talked to Clockwork, naturally hoping for some help. And Clockwork told him something surprising instead.

"Yeah, I'm ready for a change, but I don't know what to change." Danny told him in hopes the wording would draw Clockwork to give him an answer instead of something cryptic. He really didn't want to do the legwork to figure it out while he had midterms to study for and more ghost king lessons with The Observants later.

Clockwork paused as if in thought, "You could take a vacation to your universe of origin," he suggests. "That may help give clarity in what you need to change to be happy."

Danny floated next to him. He couldn't bring himself to be frustrated with the being of time for knowing exactly why Danny was here. Instead, he stared at him in confusion, distracted by what he just said, "What do you mean? I am not from here?"

He grins, his form flickering from old to young, "When you became a halfa, you changed universes from the complicated process you went through to become one."

Danny contemplated for a moment, confused but intrigued. A different universe? I wonder how different it would be from here. Without a second thought, Danny grins eager.

"I wanna go!" He exclaims like a young puppy who discovered a new toy for the first time.

"That would not be a problem, time runs differently between there and here. A week there will be an hour here so you won't need a time medallion." Clockwork simply looks off into the space surrounding them before continuing, "I have a friend who will act as your guardian while there. Head through the star shaped door near the Yetis whenever you are ready and he will be standing by, waiting for you" He shifts back into an older version of himself, pleased with himself for already knowing Danny would be taking this chance to go and made the preparations for this moment weeks ago.

Danny does a small dance in midair without a second thought and starts to drift off in that direction, "Oh, and Danny?" Clockwork calls out, "Legally, you are dead in that universe and.. well, much is different from what you know, so do be careful. Due to how time and the laws of that dimension for being such as myself, I am not the main ruler of time there, so the protection spells I placed on you are not guaranteed to save you this time." Clockwork grins knowingly towards Danny as Danny speeds off, oblivious to how serious his warning was.

---

Danny flies like the wind through the vastness of The Ghost Zone until he arrives at the door Clockwork described. His thoughts start to sour at the thought of this universe where he is considered dead despite it being his origin.

The door he arrives at is huge. Like he was not sure how to open the door huge. But wow, was it beautiful. It was like staring into space itself. It sparkled unlike any night sky he has even gazed upon. As he approached the beautiful door, he hesitated.

He was technically returning home, but he didn't feel any attachment to the universe in front of him. To him, nothing seemed different. Everything was exactly the same when he woke up after the accident, so he never noticed. The entire idea that he abandoned his family and friends by dying here was a horrible thought, but it wasn't his fault. He didn't know what happened here.

Wait, did that mean Vlad wasn't from that universe either? Danny shakes his head at the thought. It was pointless to fall down that particular rabbit hole now.

Maybe he should've asked Clockwork more before flying off without a thought. Clockworks words echoed inside him for fear of what he might find. Was this really a good idea? To return to the place he no longer existed? Could he handle seeing what the grief of his passing had done to those he loved?

A moment passes, and Danny shakes his head and steels himself. He needs to know how much changes, if he really did make an impact. Was he important?

With his decision made, the door seems to open itself. A bright beam of a soft white light floods through the threshold, and Danny steps through.