#Do as many crossovers as you’d like

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 321

You know Content Warning? Lethal Company but youtube videoing? 

Danny does that- just well, with the Zone. It’s not like it can be mapped out, what with people moving their Lairs and more lairs and islands constantly manifesting. And well, there’s so many things out here, and it’s not like he can be an astronaut.

So, he decided to make exploration logs for the Zone instead, alongside his friends and a doppelganger or two holding equipment. It’s great, and people can donate whenever he live streams so he’s getting income too. 

He just erm, maybe should have double checked it was uploaded to just his dimension…

[hellishjoel]

wild like the west

3.3k / pairing: cowboy!joel miller x cowgirl!reader

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summary: joel and his cowgirl warnings/information:  MA 18+ (minors DNI), implied but unspecified age gap, joel is technically reader's boss (so power dynamic stuff), swearing, dirty talk, pet names (baby girl, brat, etc.), unprotected p in v, pussy pronouns, asphyxiation kink, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, clean up on aisle reader's stomach, reader is described having hair but otherwise (I believe) reader is a blank slate, no use of y/n, barely edited A/N: I unfortunately have not stopped thinking about a game joel miller x yellowstone crossover, and I feel like he would like this to be his long, happy life. I also haven't written for joel since may which feels like a sin! sorry baby!

It doesn’t matter how many ass bruises you get, or the pain of repeated thrashes to your knees from getting bucked off; this unruly horse will bend its spirit to your will. 

Half the job of purchasing new horses for the Miller Ridge Ranch is breaking them in like a pair of new shoes. 

Any cowboy, or for you, cowgirl, knows that a horse can sense your personality and fear from a mile away. If you sprout fear, it won’t trust you to be the guide on its back. It’s a mutual thing to trust one another. It’s the trust Joel thrust upon you after loyally working at the ranch for a handful of years. Sure, you were young, but you had a good head on your shoulders.

He perches his cowboy boot on the low fence rail, teeth gnawing at a toothpick as he watches you with careful eyes. The morning dew settles over the long grass and tall trees, untouched by man, fostered by nature. With the sun clawing at the horizon, the land turns from a pale blue to a beaming orange glow.  It’s beautiful here, peaceful. You imagine this is the life that Joel always wanted, craved. He’s not from around here, he’s got too much Southern twang to be from these northern Montana woods. 

Life guided him up here and he never turned back. 

You can feel the horse grow agitated under your haunches, whinnying with anxiety as it takes a few rough steps backward in the ground-up dirt. 

“S’okay, boy, take it easy, easy,” you coo in a gentle voice that lets the horse breathe through its panic. You grip the colt’s mane at the very base of his neck, right by the horn of your saddle, gently scratching that sweet spot that seems to bring him some tranquility.

You’re the only one who seems to calm these beautiful boys. 

“You got a habit of gettin’ in’ta trouble before it even knows to start lookin’ for ya.” Joel’s southern drawl rumbles deep from his chest, stepping into the training ring and crooking his first two fingers in your direction. 

“I got it, Joel,” you say insistently, guiding the horse by a little squeeze of your boots to its belly in Joel’s direction. 

“Know ya do.” Joel stops at the horse’s chest and pats its neck, large and calloused hand stroking down its coarse mane as he stares up at you, squinting from the morning sunlight. 

His eyes are starkly brilliant in this light, typically a dark brown, now a glowy amber under the brim of his black cowboy hat. “You know that part of learnin’ how to be a cowboy is lettin’ them break in their own horse. Hop down.”

A sigh leaves your parted lips as you unhook one boot from the stirrups and throw yourself off. Taking the reigns, you walk with Joel back to the main fence. 

“You’re too nice to ‘em. I hired you to be a bit more…” He pauses indefinitely, tilting his head.

“Ruthless. I know.” Your eyes connect, both hardened after years of this long life. One day of being a cowboy felt like a year at any other job. 

The plan was plain and simple, a route you’d taken a hundred times with a crew that changed on and off for the past couple of years. The cattle were in need of fresh resources, lush grass to graze on, and streams of pristine crystal water. Up through the valley they’d go. 

The cowboys and cowgirls were gathered on their horses, Joel sat atop his beautiful black mare, eyes piercing his crew even behind his tinted sunglasses. Any season besides summer in this state demanded thick, warm work wear. Joel adorned a chocolate brown Carhartt and thick denim jeans under old, worn-out brown chaps. 

“I want Wyatt and Jack to take front, Bo and Sadie, swing, Jess and June on the flank, Tucker and Sammy on the drag. Wear your bandanas, it’s gonna get dusty back there,” your eyes flick up to a string of confused faces, “any questions?” 

“Why do we have to go through the valley? We’d have to push hundreds of cows through open water,” Bo mutters, disdain for a woman making all these choices for him, perhaps. 

“Yeah, n’I can’t swim. Never learned.” Another pipes in. 

“Then you’re a goddamn idiot,” old man Wyatt gurgles up a chuckle. Wyatt has been a cowboy longer than you have been alive. He raised you up to be tough with a streak of kindness that could never be washed away. He gives you a tight nod of reassurance as you sigh weakly. 

All this tomfoolery seems to be a bit much for Joel’s taste. “She’s takin’ questions about the plan, not your ‘pinions on it. I tell her what to do, she tells ya’ll what to do. You question her, you question me. So do as she says, or you answer to me.”

Joel’s always had a tight hand on the crew. He intimidates them. He is their boss, after all. They have a problem with you or this ranch or anyone else, they answer to him. Joel takes off his sunglasses and narrows his eyes on Bo, the newest cowboy with a pretty big mouth on him who bucks just as bad as your new colts. And his dead eyes are set on you. 

The rest of the crew sets off towards the direction of the cattle herd, everyone except Bo. 

Your head jerks upward in his direction, your own eyes narrowed. “You wanna say somethin’?” You ride alongside Bo, who seems to be wrestling with his stupid thoughts. But before he gets a chance to say anything, Joel intervenes. 

“Got a fight in you? It starts an’ ends with me.”

Bo looks between both of you, simply scoffing before he backs his horse off and trots along towards the crew. 

The view from the top of the valley is beautiful, all yellow and golden, with a pale blue sky and tall trees that harbor the secrets of the forest. Joel used to tell you it would whisper to him, warn him. Your chestnut-colored horse stands tall next to Joel’s, and both of you are overseeing the herd and the crew working together. 

“Not as bad as I thought this was gonna be,” Joel mutters, turning his head in your direction. You’re unrecognizably quiet. He’s never known you to be so still. 

He watches as your fingers anxiously twirl your horse’s mane. “You undermine me in front of them, and they don’t respect me, Joel.” 

So that’s what got you so stiff. He takes in a deep breath of mountain air, crossing his wrists over the horn of his saddle and glancing over at you out of the corner of his eye. Your hair blows in the wind, gentle and flowing. Almost graceful if it wasn’t in this wild west. Your beauty was city beauty, he was surprised you ever found your way out here. 

“Bo’s as green as grass. He needs to learn not t’talk to you like that. And if he needs to learn from me, so be it.”

Keeping your lips zipped, your eyes scan the points that use the dogs to guide the herd in the right direction. The swings and flanks work the mid to back-mid to maintain movement, and the drags stationed at the back ensure that any loose stragglers keep up. 

Joel rolls his eyes and sighs, reaching his hand across to your horse’s reigns, keeping your horse tucked to his side. 

“C’mon, Cowgirl. Spit it out.” 

“You go about defendin’ me, it looks like we’re sleepin’ together,” you gripe, “and I don’t need our crew slingin’ the slander that I got my job fuckin’ the boss. I don’t want that shit, Joel.”

Joel shifts his jaw from side to side, silent as he usually is. His tongue muscles over the right words, the words that will settle that ball of uncertainty you have nestled in your gut. 

He settles on the truth. 

“We are sleepin’ together.” 

Shaking your head, you steal your reigns back from Joel and gently nuzzle your boots against the horse’s underbelly. “Well, maybe that should end.” 

Joel watches on with a small smirk as your horse is set in motion down the grassy hill. He shouts loud enough for his voice to carry down from the high ground. “You set those boys straight, or I’ll have to keep doin’ it for ya.”

You sling back your middle finger in his direction, both of your horses riding side by side now as you follow the crew through to the valley. 

Joel sighs upon entering his large, private cabin, resting his cowboy hat to air out on a hook by the front door. His clothes wreak of his musky sweat, and the shower calls his name. He walks stiffly. Joel’s thick thigh muscles are as strong as iron from riding his horse, and his back cracks each time he inhales.

But he can’t deny that this life was made for him. 

Training to be a carpenter, earning pennies on the dollar to work in the hot Texas sun, and for what? Building someone else’s dream property? He had his own dreams. 

The ranch was his dream.

He always had a profound appreciation for nature and the outdoors. 

Fuck the city, fuck car horns honking obnoxiously, fuck the traffic. He found more fulfillment in listening to the wind flutter through the trees and would much rather hear the moos of his cattle than impatient commuters at six in the morning. 

Plus, he’s never felt more free or independent. This was his land, and he made the decisions on how it was run. Hiring the sassy cowgirl from the metropolis just happened to be a nice bonus on lonely nights when there wasn’t much left to his whiskey bottle, and the ride into town was more than twenty minutes for a new one. She sated him all the same, better, even.  

Despite years of riding and wrangling, you’re so fucking soft. You have soft eyes, a pretty voice, and satiny thighs. Your lips are plush against his weathered ones, and you don’t seem to mind sitting in his lap with his rougher-than-barbwire hands feeling over your body. 

But in turn, you’ve made a little soft spot in his wild like the west heart of his. And he swore he’d never settle down; you seem to have the same intentions. 

Things were easy. Nice and easy. Almost routine. 

The bunkhouse would be busy with cowboys and cowgirls playing card games, drinking their beers, singing to the music on the radio, and talking nonsense. You’d slip out after dark and wind up upstairs in his bed. 

He recalls you saying something about how his bed is more comfy than the ones in the bunkhouse. 

“Whatever you say, darlin’.” 

Tonight was no different. Fresh from his shower with a towel secured low on his waist, he hums curiously at the sight of you sprawled out across his bed. No more than a minute later, you are tugging it loose from his frame and letting it pool around his ankles. 

“Thought you said you were done,” Joel muses with a hint of teasing. You sit up from the bed on your knees and wrap your arms around his broad trap and shoulder muscles. 

“I ain’t a quitter,” you mutter against Joel’s mouth, feeling his tongue glide along yours as he explores you freely. 

He sheds your clothes, feeling your freshly showered skin and hair under his rough palms. He can’t help but touch you like you’re his, like he owns you. But no man can possess the wind. 

You kiss as he slips you under the bed’s cool sheets, drunk on the way you move so pliantly under his guidance. His lips move to the slope of your neck, his greying whiskers scratching your skin before he washes over the irritation with more kisses. 

Joel’s hands slip between your legs, cupping your clothed center in one hand. Your eyes light up at the friction, mewling up a moan of his name as he massages over the wet spot growing on your panties. 

“She’s already soaked, darlin’. You been thinkin’ ‘bout this?” Joel muses, sitting up properly to peel your shirt off your body, two fingers curling around the hem of your panties and chucking them mindlessly on the floor. 

“Joel,” you whisper breathlessly as he’s about to slip down between those pretty legs of yours. 

“What?” He asks, damn near annoyed. 

“I can’t wait,” you beg breathlessly, his eyes meeting yours. “I-I can’t, I’m beggin’ you, please. It’s been a long day.” 

Joel sighs but ultimately nods. It’s not what he wants, but sometimes you both need a quick fix. 

Joel’s body parts your legs, a grunt escaping the depth of his throat as he ruts his hips against your own. 

“Good idea,” he mutters against your mouth, leaning down and distracting himself with your kisses as he lines his length up and down your soaking center. 

You sharply inhale as he enters and the sound is music to his ears. He feels your nails carving into his back muscles as he sinks himself in deeper deeper deeper, both of you panting with eagerness by the time his hips are flush with your own, lost in where you end and he begins.

You let out a string of moans as he reels himself back, only to return to your depths with a snap of his hips that releases a shrill whine of his name from your throat. His forearms are buried in the fluff of the pillows on either side of your head, forehead against forehead, his hips grinding against you now. 

The friction is enough to make your head spin. You can feel the coarse hair of his happy trail tickling your already anxious pearl. 

“Fuck,” you huff out, letting your hands slip down his back, knowing that if you want him to pick up the pace, you’ll have to ignite his fire. In one quick movement, your hands drag themselves up Joel’s back, your nails creating etched lines that raise red once you finish at the very tops of his shoulders. 

Joel releases a long, low groan in response as his eyes snap open to meet yours. The sting of pain creates heat along Joel’s spine. His jaw is wound tight as he brings his large hand to wrap around your pretty throat, thumb on your chin to force you into staring straight at him. 

“Such a goddamn brat,” he growls, adding pressure to the column of your throat as he begins to pound into you harder and harder with each thrust of his hips. You cry out his name, a cacophony of your panting moans and your slick squelching against his hips fill your ears. The ecstasy of losing just a smidge of air is enough to make your eyes roll into the back of your head. 

He’s obsessed with the way your eyes gloss over in lust, your body jerking up the bed with each powerful thrust he gives you. Your mouth hangs open, gasping for air that’s just out of your reach. 

“You take it, baby girl, you keep takin’ it. She’s so fuckin’- goddamit, so fuckin’ good for me,” he pants, feeling the warm air dissolve against your skin as Joel begins to swell fatter inside of you. 

Perfectly slick and warm, he loses himself in your pussy. You squeeze and choke him, his orgasm only building as you whimper how good he feels. 

“Holy fuck, Joel, please please please, right there, ohmygod you’re gonna make me-” you gasp, your back arching off the mattress as you grip onto his forearm that’s still holding your delicate throat, your other hand gripping the hair at the nape of his neck. He knows to squeeze a little harder as you fall apart, the euphoria of the combination sending you over the edge. 

Joel’s holding on for dear life, always focused on putting you first, always trying to prove your jokes of him being an old man wrong. But he can’t deny he’s nearly finished twice now, your pretty cunt all nice and warm for him. 

What’s wrong with pushing you over the edge a little?

Joel abandons the hold on your throat as you still are witnessing the aftershocks of your orgasm, his two thick fingers circling over your swollen clit. 

Joel smirks as your eyes snap open, your jaw dropping wide as you silently scream in pleasure. He nods sadistically, smirking as he overstimulates your already twitchy clit.

“You’re gonna give me another, right here, right now,” Joel grunts, stilling his hips as he’s buried to the hilt inside you, feeling your pussy clench around his cock as your gasps and strangled moans fill the room. 

“Fuck, Joel I don’t think I can,” you cry out, bracing the wrist of the hand that’s still working figure-eights around your pearl. Joel watches as your chest rises and falls quickly, nipples at peaks as you continue to clench repeatedly around his cock. 

 “Know you can, baby, cum on this cock again. You’re a strong cowgirl, ain’t’cha? You been thinkin’ ‘bout this all day, getting this pretty girl drilled by me, know ya have.”

And he’s right. Shamefully so. Denying Joel looks good in and out of his cowboy attire is just nonsense. The way he rides his horse with his thighs snagged tight around its middle, gnawing on his toothpicks to ward off the need to smoke a cigarette or chew; at this point, it’s everything that he does that turns you on. 

And maybe that’s why it’s so easy to give him a second one. 

Your nails pierce into his skin as your hands grip his biceps, mewling and moaning something wrecked, feeling the warmth gather deep in your belly once more. 

“Keep fuckin’ me, I didn’t say to stop,” you pant.

Joel disguises his laughter by meeting your lips with his own, giving you messy kisses that taste better than perfect ones. His hips and fingers work in tandem to force you over the edge. You’re shaking under him, your thigh muscles twitching with excitement, legs wrapping around his middle as he grows closer to his own finish. 

Just as he feels like he’s going to give way, he can feel your pussy clenching around his aching cock, his tip brushing so perfectly against that spongy spot that sets your insides alight. 

“Fuck,” he grits, ripping himself loose of your perfectly wasted cunt as he yanks over his length. One, two, three more times, and he’s spilling warm spend across your belly. The pretty splatters are like a Jackson Pollock. He stares in awe at how pretty you look getting finished on. 

The bed dips as he falls into place beside you. He doesn’t lay idle. He reaches for some tissues from his bedside table, politely wiping away his mess as you stare at him with lustful eyes. You were so fucked out. Sorta cute. 

“Quit,” he mutters, avoiding your eyes. 

“You ain’t as old as I thought you were.” You whisper, a smirk tugging on the corners of your mouth. 

Joel chuckles softly at your familiar tease. He's heard it countless times, but it never ceases to make him roll his eyes and pull you closer to him. He kisses your forehead affectionately, his voice carrying a hint of playful banter.

“You gonna keep remindin' me about my age every chance you get? Don’t stop ya from comin’ back each night.”

You lay your head on his chest and listen to his heart thump. 

Joel’s got one arm slung around your shoulders, the other on your thigh that’s draped across his middle. His strong hand works slowly into your tired muscles. You play with the greying curls on his chest, taking note of the dark, nearly black ones still speckled throughout. 

“Goodnight, old cowboy.” You say, patting his chest, hearing his slow laughter rumble from his chest. 

“G’night, pain in my ass.” 

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[jollyhunter]

Beau!Dean x hunter!reader - The Broken Circle

Feedback and reblogs are highly appreciated! ♡

Characters: (mostly) Beau Arlen / (flashbacks, for now) Dean Winchester x hunter!reader, also Denise and Cassie AU: "Supernatural" x "Big Sky" crossover, set after S15 of SPN

One Shot (???) UPDATE: A SEQUEL IS PLANNED! THANKS SO MUCH FOR ALL THE POSITIVE FEEDBACK!! 🧡🧡🧡

Warnings: - Major MC death mentioned (end of SPN spoiler), implied panic attack, angst and just buckets of tears (I'm coping with a certain someone's death here) - No use of Y/N - English is not my native language

Words: ~4,050

Setup: "Winchester" - That's the name you applied with at the police department, when you started a new life in Big Sky, Montana, 4 years ago. It's your deceased husband's name. Or rather, meant-to-be husband, since Dean died 2 weeks before he got to propose to you. Today you return from your one month time-out. But a lot has changed since you went to visit Sam; You've got a new sheriff.

And he's the same man you thought you'd never see again.

The Broken Circle

Cold.

In one word, that's your last memory of when you gingerly cupped Dean’s face. How your tender fingers caressed his bruised cheeks and wiped away the dirt from his battered skin. Shakily combed out the rubble from his damp brown hair and scrubbed the dry blood off his fingers.

The last time you squeezed Dean's lifeless hand before it slipped from your trembling fingers. Cold and busted lips scraped against yours when you gently kissed him goodbye for the last time in this life.

...Or so you hoped. Who knew what heaven had in stock for you two.

You just wished you could have been there, in that damn barn. Been with him in his last minutes. Could have held his hand next to Sam. Could have told him how much you loved him. Reassure him that you'd give up the hunting life like you both had planned. That you'd try and live a good life for him... and that you were sure you'd see each other again.

But instead you had to take leave of Dean's lifeless body. Hollow. Drained of everything that made him the man you loved and had planned to spend the rest of your life with.

Dean gave his life for so many innocent people – hell, for the entire world. But he never got to have his own life. Never got to live it the way he wished to.

It just seemed so damn unfair. You had so much planned for your future. Have yourself some rug rats, a dog maybe, a house, a garden with those ridiculous white picket fences. You’d live a cherry pie life once you’d leave the hunting life behind you.

Or so you liked to picture it in your heads. On those rare, peaceful nights where you'd rest in each others arms like an old couple. His fingers combing your hair while your thumb carefully stroked his battered knuckles. Whispers of daring dreams filling the silence.

But reality was cold. Bloody. Like an animal put down. With a last effort, put to rest on his bed in the bunker by Sam and you.

This image will haunt you for the rest of your life, you know it. It already did for the past 5 years. If only you could have —

"Winchester?"

You blink rapidly, your mind thrown off for a moment when you snap out of your spiraling thoughts.

Denise waves with a paper in front of you to get your attention back. "She was mutilated. And it wasn't a bear. Her heart had been cut out."

"Jesus," Cassie breathes with a look of shock and disgust, shifting uncomfortably next to you.

"Yeah," Denise's face grimaces into a painful one. Her eyes are darting from Cassie, down to the report and back up to your still slightly absent gaze. "What do you make of it, Winchester?"

"Sounds like a werewolf." Damn it. The words slipped your lips before you could fully snap out of your memories. “I mean, sounds like a bit far-fetched but I’ll let Sheriff Tubbs know.” You force a wry smile when you grab the piece of paper from Denise’s hands, ready to head out of this messed up conversation.

“Sheriff Arlen,” Cassie calls after you and you stop in your tracks to look back at them with arched eyebrows.

“Sheriff who?” You inquire with a puzzled look. How the hell could you have missed this much in just one month off duty?

“Sheriff Beau Arlen,” Cassie repeats and Denise quickly adds with a teasing hum, “And his ass is just- mmmh-” she makes a chef’s kiss hand gesture while Cassie rolls her eyes with an amused chuckle.

You let out a huff in mock-annoyance but can’t help the faint grin on your face. Maybe, one day you’d dare to befriend them. Maybe, whenever you’d feel ready for letting people into your life again. But not today.

Ready to pick up your work at the police department, your eyes immediately land on the new name on what used to be Sheriff Tubbs office. ‘Sheriff Beau Arlen’ is written in an arched, golden text across the door’s glass.

You raise a sceptical eyebrow at the name. “Beau” you spit out the name under your breath, already feeling a distaste for this new sheriff.

In your defence, it wasn’t personal. It is just in your nature to feel sceptical towards anything new, especially people. Perhaps you gave up your hunting life. But any hunter will tell you between a swig of whiskey and a loaded shotgun that you’ll never lose your hunter instincts, no matter how hard you try. That’s not how it works. You don’t end this business by walking out the door.

It ends you.

In some way you were like trained bloodhounds. Always one chase away of your next kill. Unable to ignore the smell of blood. You were painfully aware of that fact. You could never live a fully normal life without the occasional hunch or a nervous look over your shoulder.

But you’d learned to accept it and make the best of it.

Here you can still help people. Save people. And once in a while nudge the sheriff into the right direction when you suspected something more than a suicide. Or you’d discreetly plant anti-possession charms on people when you had a hunch that demons were involved in a case.

Yet Sam believes you had retired fully from hunting like he did. And you liked to belief so, too. But on some days you weren’t so sure whether you even wanted to.

In some twisted way, hunting will always connect you with Dean. And at the same time it pains you, like a slow poison. Because you know it’s what he hated and never wanted for you.

And what took him from you.

It is a walk on a tight rope, really.

With a little huff of defiance you push the door to the sheriff’s office open. Your eyes dart around the empty room as you lean slightly forward, “Sheriff Arlen?”

Nothing. Oh well. With a quick glance over your shoulder you decide to take the chance and just drop off the report. You step inside, your fingers tracing the edge of the paper as your mind is instinctively drawn back to the case. I’ll have to look into this… bloody werewolf —

“Ah, Deputy Winchester, ain’t it?”

You freeze in mid motion.

And so does time. The paper slowly slides from between your trembling fingers and flutters to the floor. The unmistakable voice jolting through your mind and body like a lightning bolt. Your breath is caught in your throat, your mind and body paralysed.

The world holds its breath.

This is impossible.

“...Winchester, innit?” he repeats as he steps into the office and casually walks up to you, a wide smile spread across his face.

It can’t – NO.

You don’t dare to turn around.

Not that your body would be capable of any movement anyway. Every muscle is tense, your spine’s gone completely rigid. And your heart’s hammering against your ribs like it’ll crack your chest open from the inside.

You stand there like a deer caught in headlights. Headlights of a ‘67 Chevy Impala called Baby.

It has to be my imagination.

“Ya got somethin’ for me there? Oh-” You feel his elbow briefly brush your side as he bends down to pick up the paper next to your foot.

You don’t move an inch and stare ahead.

He straightens up again and steps around you to place it down on his desk. When he finally moves into your view and turns around to face you with his warm smile – your heart stops.

Emerald green eyes look back at you. Deep and sparkling green oceans. Alive.

Your brain freezes. Your mind scrambling for an explanation but failing to come up with anything.

This can’t be.

After a moment of tense silence, the tremors of your bottom lip make way for what your mind refuses to believe in.

“Dean?”

His name slips you in a mere breathless murmur. Afraid that whatever this is, will shatter the moment you dare to breath again.

Beau raises a brow. “Dean?”

He repeats the name with such nonchalance, such valuelessness, like it’s just some random clerk who he’s got no business with. As if that name didn’t mean the world to you once. Still would. Still does.

But the way his name dropped from his lips…

It clogs your airways. And the question mark at the end was him ramming a dagger into your heart and twisting it, without him even realising.

“Uh, no ain’t that.” He gently shakes his head and his lips melt into a cheeky smile as if that would make his next words any less painful.

“I’m Beau.”

Silence. Once again you feel like the air’s sucked out of your lungs. Like someone had pushed you off a cliff.

Someone who is an imposter of your deceased husband.

Beau. Your jaw clenches. And the name bounces off your mind. Your initial reaction being immediate rejection. No, you’re not... Beau.

Your eyes flicker across the man in front of you.

He might look quite… changed. He’s got a beard, neatly trimmed even. His hair is longer and… soft. Gone was the rugged and calloused man you loved. But it is still him. His eyes with their hidden secrets lingering behind those intense glinting, emerald green pools. His bow legs you’d recognize out of a hundred. His voice, his features, his – everything. Everything on him seems much softer but still… in your eyes, it’s Dean. No doubt.

“Why are ya lookin’ like you saw a ghost?” Beau questions with a tilt of his head, leaning back against the edge of his desk.

His voice snaps you out of your intense gaze. Your mouth opens, but no words make it past your quivering lips. All words drowned out in a flood of a million questions. Your focus drifts off, your eyes darting around the office like you’re expecting Gabriel to pop up any second and laugh at you.

But the room stays reduced to the two of you.

You feel like you’re on a tipping point.

Hands clenched, one subtly moves back to your hidden silver dagger – you do what you were trained to do in situations like these; Your mind grips for the lifeline and kicks into hunter mode. You rattle off the list of possible monsters; Shapeshifter? Ghoul? Am I dreaming? Is it some sick game of a trickster God? —

“Darlin’? You alright?” he asks, his voice now more concerned. You look terrified. As pale as a sheet, the blood drained from your face. Close to a panic attack, he guesses by your rapid breaths. Beau reaches out with his hand, gently patting your arm to get your attention. “Hey… Easy, just breathe.”

At his touch you jolt and finally snap out of your state of shock. The hand hovering over the concealed weapon falters. His worried eyes lock with yours.

The life-line snaps. Your mind tips over. Enough to make your stomach twist and turn, about to throw up. With only one shared look, everything’s back; The pain, the poignant grief, the cold skin under your fingertips, Dean’s lifeless expression, emerald eyes gone dull, the stench of decay, of old blood and dirt and his burning flesh and-- it all crashes down on you. All the emotions and memories you had buried in the depths of your mind, now laid open.

Fresh and hungry. Slowly swallowing you whole. Again.

“I- I don’t feel so… good – sorry,” you sputter, your hand clutching your chest in an effort to keep it together. The same second you spin around on your heels and storm out of the office without looking back once.

Beau. His mere presence was suffocating.

You remember the moment you and Sam cleaned up Dean’s lifeless body. How your fingers brushed against a folded paper, carefully tucked away in his jacket’s inside pocket.

Sam’s face had contorted the moment you pulled it out. Clearly, he had known what secret the paper held and before you got to question his knowing look, he suddenly got up. While walking out, he said he’d give you some time alone with his brother.

Once you unfolded the notepaper halfway, your breath stopped. Your eyes slowly shifted from one scribbled word to the next, each of them hitting harder than the next, each of them taking more of your breath. You swallowed past the lump in your throat when the realization of what you’d been holding in your hand slowly set in.

They were notes of Dean. Notes for your upcoming anniversary in two weeks.

You unfolded the rest of it and your eyes widened. The paper began to crumple in your shaking hands while wet stains swallowed some of his jotted down keywords. When your burning eyes reached the last four words, it had felt like whatever was left of your broken heart had just been ripped out entirely.

The raw emotions rolled down your cheeks, your tears mixing with his last unspoken words…

“Will you marry me?”

Beau was left back staring at the slammed door in bewilderment and a little stunned. After a moment, he sighs and pushes off the desk to follow after you.

“Winchester!” He calls down the corridor, watching you stumble out the front door into the outside. He jogs after you, slightly panting, while his eyes dart around the parking lot in search for you.

The rain crashes down on him the moment he steps outside. His head briefly tilts up to face the grey sky with an annoyed groan. The raindrops are pattering against his creased forehead, running down his cheeks to pool at the tip of his beard.

But then he hears a muffled sniffle next to him. Strands of his soaked hair fall into his face when he whirls his head around, spotting you leaned against the wall.

“No- no – it can’t be you – Damn it – it can’t…” you mutter under your rapid breaths, somehow trying to fight your scrunched up, stinging eyes with words of common sense. Your chest feels constricted. Your heart’s hammering in your ears and your breath’s clipped, feeling like you might faint any moment of lack of oxygen.

Leaning back against the wet wall for some support, your mind’s on the brink of a breakdown. There’s no explanation for this. This can’t be happening.

Beau suddenly appears in front of you and before you get to react, he places a hand on your shoulder. You flinch but don’t pull away. His hand feels heavy against your soaked jacket, grounding, gentle – but casual, like you would with a stranger. You are strangers.

“Hey, hey take it easy. You’re gonna give yourself a panic attack. You’ll be okay.” He says as he crouches down to your level. He glances over your trembling body and how your eyes try to avoid his, your expression like you’d just witnessed a murder in slow-motion.

“Look at me, deep breaths.” Beau speaks in a firmer, yet gentle tone, trying to break through your panicked state.

When you refuse to look up, he tilts his head down to meet your eyes behind some soaked stray hair that sticks to your skin. He pushes them out of your face, his intense gaze searching your contorted face for some form of hint for what’s got you so spooked.

He gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze. While his soothing words just keep coming, his voice now a lower whisper as he’s desperately trying to understand what is going on in that head of yours, “Hey, c’mon… talk to me, Winchester…”

Your eyes are burning from the tears that have been building up until now. Eyelashes heavy and clumped together by the droplets of the rain. And his intense eyes staring into yours, the very same eyes you fell in love with over 10 years ago, do nothing to ease your pain.

You try to tear your gaze away from his, but find yourself caught in them. It’s like you’re staring into a beautiful forest after years of living in a desert. They pull you in, and you feel like you are right back where you’d always longed to be. Home.

But a home that isn’t yours any more. The soul behind those eyes looks familiar and yet unfamiliar at the same time. You thought you’d never see those eyes again – but those very same eyes hold no memory of you.

The same question keeps repeating in your head, ripping at your heart and soul like a Hellhound.

Dean… is this you?

His voice cuts through your thoughts like a soft knife. “Take deep breaths darlin’, it’s oka-”

“Please- just-” you cut him short, a painful, shaky breath rippling through your voice, “Just stop talking.” Beau’s voice is like a dagger to your heart, twisting it whenever he speaks up. Mocking your memories with that uncanny tone of his.

I’m just tired. You hear Dean’s voice in your head and just like him, you wished you didn’t feel a damn thing.

Beau raises a brow and tilts his head forward, studying your face. For a moment he opens his mouth about to speak again, but when he sees you flinch, he forces himself to shut it closed.

His jaw’s clenched from fighting the urge to talk and feeling a bit overwhelmed with the entire situation. Not knowing where to go with himself or what to do without making things worse. He isn’t sure what it is, but something about you tugs at his heart in a way he can’t quite understand. But he quickly dismisses it, for now.

His eyes snap up to the sky when the rain starts to increase. Heavy drops splatter off the both of you, coaxing a single tear to let go of the corner of your eye. It was like the sky cried for you. Eyes that parched exactly 5 years ago.

Without a word he moves closer, gently wrapping his free arm around your waist. But you stop him before his palm touches your side. Your hand's shaking as it clings to his wrist like a lifeline.

Beau’s eyes widen in surprise, but he doesn’t comment on it. His expression grows pensive and his eyebrows slightly furrow, watching your trembling form. Your chest's heaving heavily, like you’re struggling for air. And your eyes are out of focus, like they're reliving some nightmare.

He suddenly feels a strong protectiveness - decides to hold himself back, though, afraid he might make things worse. But it pains him terribly to see you this way, even if he might not know you, yet.

You don’t say anything. Unable to form the right words as nothing could express the storm of contradicting emotions you are trapped in. The wavering grip on his arm is clenching and unclenching subtly as if unsure whether you want to push him away or pull him in.

“Sorry,” you finally croak between shuddering breaths, unsure what you were even apologizing for, “I’m sorry…”

Why were you apologizing? A strange feeling settles in his guts, one of this being a lot bigger than he could comprehend.

Next moment you know, you’re pulled into a tight hug. Both his arms wrapping around you to pull you close and hold you together.

At first you stiffen. Standing there like a fragile, shaking tree. Your arms pressed against your sides, unable to comprehend any more what is happening.

But he keeps you in his embrace, murmuring soothing words, muffled by your hair and the heavy rain. You lift your head slightly, just enough for your wavering eyes to meet his again.

That’s when the realization hits you. He looks so whole. So unbroken. His skin and his hair was smooth and tender beneath that thin layer of rain. He lacks any form of scar, any edges or any memory of the horrors you and he had faced and committed. Your heart twists; This isn’t what a scarred hunter looks like. And at the same time you feel your heart sink at the next conclusion… Beau would have been Dean’s idea of a perfect life, without ever having been born into the hunting business.

And it makes you wonder whether he was granted that alternate life.

Beau feels your trembling body against him and how your gaze is searching his face for something he doesn't know. Why are you looking at him like that? A lump forms in his throat. His hand gently caresses your back in a circle motion, while his other keeps stroking your hair.

“It’s alright, s’okay. You’re okay.” Beau says in a soothing, comforting tone and he tugs you a little closer, allowing you to rest against him.

Your wet hair falls into your face once more when your head drops to his chest. You both stay still, the only sound being the pitter-patter from the raindrops against the hood of his truck and the puddles around you. Your ragged breath’s nearly drowned out by the rain. The world seems to have shrunk to the beat of his heart softly thudding against your ear.

And that breaks the dam. Tears it down as the floods of emotions search their way out. Your shoulders rise and buckle against his chest. The tears finally break free, streaming down your face, mixing with the rain soaking your clothings. Your body wracked with sobs – raw, desperate, painful. Liberating.

You begin to shake uncontrollably, the sobs growing more and more powerful. They start to rack through every fibre of your body. Your legs grow unsteady beneath you, daring to crumble from the weight of every emotion you had buried in the past 5 years released and unloading all at once.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll stay right here as long as ya need me to. C’mere…” He reassures you, and pulls you even closer. His chin comes to rest on top of your head, his facial hair brushing against your scalp and his warm breath wafting down at you. “Just let it out… you’re gonna be okay… you’re not alone, ‘kay?”

You clutch at his jacket tightly, holding onto him like you’re drowning. Like you’re afraid he might be a dream after all. Might disappear from your grasp at any moment. Everything spills out of you, incoherent words bubbling from your wet lips. “Y-y-you’re alive- you’re alive- a-alive- I missed you so much, Dean- so so much-”

Beau can’t exactly make out the words that are tumbling from your mouth, but he can feel you shaking against him terribly. He quickly takes his big jacket off to drape it over you, to try and keep the rain and cold off you.

His heart tightens at the sight of your curled-up body, clinging to him while shivering badly and breaking apart in his arms. He slowly begins to speak again, a hint of an encouraging smile on his face, “Hey, ‘m gonna pick ya up. Ya ain’t gonna stand that cold and rain. Ya’ll get sick.” He then places his arms on your back and under your thighs, before lifting you up off the ground in one smooth motion.

He holds you close against his chest, wrapping his jacket over you for extra warmth. The rain patters against the concrete floor while his boots splash through the puddles, carrying you over to his truck.

You don’t protest as your body was giving in at this point. Like a run down shed in a storm.

Your fingers slowly going numb from the death grip, the wet and cold. You choke on your sobs while the tears keep rolling down your reddened cheeks.

But from joy.

You don’t know whether he is Dean or not. Whether this is real or you finally lost it.

But in this very moment you didn’t care.

You let yourself drift back to the happiest place in your mind. One you hadn’t dared to visit for many years. Locked up and keys buried along your husband. Deep down in your broken heart.

When you close your eyes and press the side of your face against his chest, you can hear his heart pounding. When he speaks, you hear Dean’s voice above you, soft and peaceful.

And you feel his body through the drenched pieces of clothings between you.

He feels warm. Warm.

A/N: it was meant to be a drabble IT WAS MEANT TO BE A DRABBLE

I'M NOT CRYIN'- OKAY FINE I'm still coping with his death - I haven't even watched it since I'm still catching up with the seasons. GAWD I HTE THIS - I JUST NEEDED CLOSURE DAMN IT

Anyway, I just had to get this story off my chest before next year. I don’t know yet whether it deserves more parts but do let me know if you think so!

Tags:

@aylacavebear

[elikajinnie]

Hi!! Idk if you do actual Hogwarts crossover but Heeseung and Draco Malfoy in the same story would be a dream 🙌💞💞

Just a thought though… haha. I love your work!

I Am Not In Distress - L.H & D.M

a/n: .... i could kiss you.. i LOVE THIS! Thank you for ur support! Hope you enjoy<3

P: Slytherins!Heeseung & Draco Malfoy X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Rivalry, Tension, Teasing, Suggestive Content, Ambigious Ending, they both desperate for you.

Synopsis: Purebloods are bad news—that’s what you always told yourself. Yet here you are, caught between two of them, both determined to have you. And this? It’s far from a friendly rivalry.

now playing: heartless by the weeknd | alejandro by lady gaga | bored by ari abdul

hogwarts au masterlist

--

You disliked purebloods to an extent—not enough to hate them outright, but just enough to stay clear of most of them. It wasn’t hard to form that opinion, not when so many of them walked around with a superiority complex, like the simple fact of their lineage made them better than everyone else. Half-bloods? Muggleborns? Practically dirt under their expensive shoes.

Most of them were in Slytherin, of course, which only cemented the stereotype further. And while you knew not every Slytherin was like that, it was easier to assume the worst and keep your distance. You didn’t have the patience for their arrogance, their entitled sneers, or the way they always traveled in packs, like a group of sharks smelling blood.

Out of all of them, though, two stood out as the absolute worst in your book. Draco Malfoy and Lee Heeseung.

Both were practically Slytherin royalty, both pureblooded to their cores, and both annoyingly aware of it. Wherever they went, people trailed behind them like lost puppies—giggling, flattering, desperate for their approval. It was sickening. You never gave either of them a second glance, which wasn’t difficult considering they were always too busy basking in their own popularity. And honestly? You thought you’d never have a reason to interact with either of them. Hogwarts was a big school, after all. You could go years without crossing paths in any meaningful way.

Or so you thought.

One stupid dungbomb. That’s all it took. Filch had caught you red-handed, and before you could even think of an excuse, you were marched off to detention, grumbling all the way. Cleaning duty. Fine. You could deal with that.

But what you hadn’t expected—what you couldn’t believe—was that you’d be stuck in the same room with both Draco Malfoy and Lee Heeseung. Just the three of you.

Fantastic.

This was shaping up to be the longest detention of your life.

When they spotted you, their conversation halted mid-sentence. Both Heeseung and Draco turned their heads, their sharp gazes locking onto you like a pair of predators catching sight of their prey. You could feel their eyes tracing over every inch of you, sizing you up, as if your mere presence had somehow interrupted their perfect little world.

It was unnerving.... to say the least. Their stares weren’t casual—they were calculated, assessing, almost intrigued. You shifted uncomfortably, tugging at the hem of your robe as if that would somehow shield you from their scrutiny. Without sparing them another glance, you made your way to the table and began organizing the potion ingredients the way Professor Snape had instructed. If you focused on the task, maybe they’d leave you alone. Maybe you could get through this detention without having to speak to either of them.

But, of course, life wasn’t that kind.

“Well, well,” Heeseung drawled, his voice smooth and just a little too smug for your liking. “Who would’ve thought you’d end up in detention?”

You didn’t look up, keeping your eyes trained on the jars of dried herbs in front of you. “Yeah, real shocking,” you muttered under your breath, hoping he’d take the hint and drop it.

He didn’t.

Draco chimed in next, his tone dripping with his usual snide arrogance. “Didn’t take you for the type. I thought you were supposed to be all proper.” He let out a quiet laugh, and you could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “Or did I get that wrong? Maybe you're more suited to being a troublemaker.”

You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to stay focused on the task at hand. You weren’t about to give them the satisfaction of a reaction. “Maybe you should mind your own business,” you said evenly, not even sparing them a glance.

That only seemed to encourage them.

“Oh, don’t get all shy on us now,” Heeseung said, his voice laced with mock amusement. He stepped closer, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the empty room. “You’re already in detention with us. Might as well make the most of it.”

Draco chuckled at that, his laughter light but tinged with malice. “Exactly. It’s not every day we get to be with someone so... charming.”

The sarcasm in his voice was impossible to miss, and your patience was starting to wear thin. You slammed a jar of powdered asphodel down onto the table a little harder than necessary and finally turned to face them.

“Look, I don’t know what your problem is,” you snapped, your eyes narrowing as you glared at them, “but I’m just here to serve my detention and leave. So why don’t you both do the same and stop bothering me?”

For a moment, they both just stared at you, as if surprised you’d actually spoken up. Then, to your irritation, Heeseung’s lips curved into a slow, amused smile.

“Feisty,” he remarked, his tone almost teasing. “I enjoy that.”

Draco smirked as well, crossing his arms as he leaned casually against the table. “Careful, Heeseung,” he said, his voice dripping with mock warning. “You might scare her off.”

You rolled your eyes, turning back to the ingredients with a muttered, “Idiots.”

The three of you carried on with your assigned tasks in silence—at first. If you pretended hard enough, it was almost like you were alone in the room.

But, of course, they couldn’t leave you in peace for too long.

“Is it just me, or does she seem a little too focused on her work?” Heeseung mused aloud, his tone light and deliberately provoking.

Draco snickered. “Overcompensating, maybe? Trying to make up for their little... incident.”

You ignored them, carefully placing a jar of beetle eyes onto the shelf. They were just trying to get a rise out of you. If you didn’t react, they’d get bored and move on.

“Oi,” Heeseung called out after a moment, his voice laced with mock curiosity. “You’re not ignoring us, are you? That’d be rude, don’t you think, Draco?”

“Oh, very rude,” Draco agreed, feigning an exaggerated gasp. “But then again, I suppose we shouldn’t expect much better. Detention and manners don’t exactly go hand in hand, do they?”

You tightened your grip on the jar in your hand but still refused to look at them. Breathe in. Breathe out. They were just words. Nothing worth wasting your energy on.

“Think she’s mad at us?” Heeseung asked, leaning lazily against a nearby desk, his voice full of mock innocence. “I mean, it’s not like we’re the reason she’s here in detention. Are we?”

Draco chuckled, leaning forward slightly as if to get a better look at you. “Oh, I don’t think she’s mad, Heeseung. I think she’s just too embarrassed to talk to us. Can’t blame her, really.”

This time, you rolled your eyes but kept your mouth shut, stacking a few jars onto the shelf with more force than necessary. You could hear them snickering behind you, clearly pleased with themselves.

“Nothing to say?” Heeseung pressed, stepping closer, his voice taking on a teasing sing-song quality. “Come on, it’s not like we’re that scary. Are we, Draco?”

“Terrifying,” Draco said with a smirk. “Absolutely petrifying.”

You finally turned your head just enough to glare at them over your shoulder. “Do either of you ever shut up?” you snapped before you could stop yourself.

Heeseung’s grin widened. “There it is,” he said, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Knew you couldn’t hold out forever.”

You gritted your teeth, cursing yourself internally for giving them even the smallest reaction. Without another word, you turned back to your work.

“You know,” Draco said, clearly still enjoying himself, “it’s actually impressive how much restraint you’ve got. Most people would’ve cracked by now.”

“Yeah,” Heeseung agreed, his tone dripping with amusement. “But I think we can do better, don’t you?”

Fantastic. They’d taken your response as a challenge.

The rest of detention dragged on painfully, with both Draco and Heeseung continuing their relentless teasing. It was as if they’d made a silent pact to see who could irritate you the most.

Draco started by pretending to inspect your work. He sauntered over, arms crossed, his sharp eyes scanning the ingredients you’d just organized. “Hmm,” he muttered, tapping his chin dramatically. “You’ve mislabeled this one, you know. Wouldn’t want Snape to find out, would you? He’s not exactly forgiving when it comes to incompetence.”

You didn’t even glance at him, your voice flat as you replied, “I didn’t mislabel anything, Malfoy.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow, picking up a jar and holding it just out of your reach. “So confident, aren’t you? Let’s see… powdered bicorn horn, is it? Or was it powdered something-else-entirely?”

“That is powdered bicorn horn, genius,” you shot back, snatching the jar from his hand and placing it firmly on the shelf. “Try harder.”

Draco blinked, as though surprised you didn’t falter, but the smirk quickly returned to his face. “Not bad,” he said, a lazy drawl in his voice. “But I wasn’t wrong about Snape, you know. One slip-up, and you’ll be scrubbing cauldrons for the rest of the year.”

“Good thing I don’t make mistakes, then,” you retorted, already turning your back on him.

Draco huffed softly but didn’t push further—for now. Heeseung, however, decided it was his turn.

“You’re pretty quick with comebacks,” Heeseung remarked, his voice smooth as silk. He leaned against the table next to you, watching you carefully. “Must’ve had a lot of practice, huh? Who do you argue with so much? Your friends? Or maybe your professors? Bet they love you.”

You exhaled sharply, doing your best to ignore him. Heeseung’s teasing was less obvious than Draco’s, but it was no less infuriating. He had a way of making everything he said sound like a compliment, even when it clearly wasn’t.

“You know, it’s kind of impressive,” he continued, smirking when you didn’t answer. “I mean, most people would’ve lost their temper by now. You’re… stubborn.” He tilted his head, feigning curiosity. “Or is it pride? Which one is it?”

“Neither,” you muttered, slamming another jar onto the shelf. “It’s called wanting to finish this detention without having to listen to you two.”

“Ah, so you are listening,” Heeseung teased, his grin widening.

You clenched your jaw, refusing to take the bait. If you kept engaging with them, this detention would feel even longer than it already did. You just had to make it through this. Just a little longer.

But they weren’t done yet.

“Do you think she’s always this serious?” Draco asked Heeseung, loud enough for you to hear. “I mean, look at her. Practically fuming. It’s like she’s never heard of having a bit of fun.”

“Probably doesn’t know how to have fun,” Heeseung agreed, shaking his head mockingly. “Sad, really.”

“Very sad,” Draco echoed with a smirk.

It wasn’t until the end of detention that they finally let up, though not without a parting shot.

As you were putting away the last of the ingredients, Heeseung leaned in closer, his voice low and teasing. “You know, this wasn’t so bad. We should do it again sometime.”

Draco snorted, smirking as he added, “Yeah. Let us know next time you get caught. We’d hate to miss out.”

You shot them both a glare before turning on your heel and leaving the room without another word. Their laughter followed you out, echoing down the corridor.

As frustrating as it had been, you were proud of yourself for not giving them the reaction they’d wanted—at least, not entirely. But as you walked back to your dorm, you couldn’t help but feel a sinking suspicion that this wasn’t the last time they’d try to get under your skin....

Turns out, your guess was absolutely, fucking correct.

The very next day in History of Magic, you settled into your usual seat near the back of the classroom, fully prepared to endure another hour of Professor Binns’ dull droning. Your plan was simple: take notes, avoid eye contact with anyone, and maybe even catch up on some homework if Binns got too repetitive. Easy.

Or so you thought.

The first sign that your day was about to spiral downward was the sound of a chair scraping obnoxiously close beside you. You looked up, confused, only to see Draco lowering himself gracefully into the seat next to yours, acting as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His smirk was already in place, and you could feel your blood pressure rising.

Before you could even process his sudden and unwelcome appearance, Heeseung dropped into the seat on your other side with the kind of casual arrogance that only someone like him could pull off. He leaned back lazily, his long legs stretching out under the desk as if he owned the entire classroom.

“Morning,” Heeseung said smoothly, as if the two of you were old friends.

Draco didn’t bother with pleasantries, instead glancing at you with a raised eyebrow and a mocking smile.

You blinked, your brain short-circuiting for a moment as you stared at the two boys flanking you. They were both watching you expectantly, like they were waiting for some kind of reaction.

“What the hell are you two doing here?” you hissed, your voice low enough to avoid attracting Binns’ attention.

Draco shrugged, his expression annoyingly smug. “What does it look like? Sitting. Breathing. Existing.”

“Unfortunately for you,” Heeseung added, his lips twitching with amusement.

“Plenty of empty seats,” you snapped, gesturing to the rest of the classroom. “Go exist somewhere else.”

Draco leaned forward slightly, resting his elbow on the desk as he tilted his head toward you. “Why would we do that when we’ve got you right here?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but before you could respond, Heeseung cut in. “Don’t be so cold. We’re just here to keep you company. You looked a little lonely.”

“Lonely?” you repeated, incredulous. “I was perfectly fine until you two showed up.”

“Exactly,” Draco said, smirking. “Too fine. Can’t have that, can we?”

You groaned quietly, dragging a hand down your face. Of all the people in the school, why did they have to decide you were worth bothering?

Class started, and you tried your best to ignore them, determined to focus on Professor Binns’ lecture. But, of course, neither Draco nor Heeseung had any intention of letting that happen.

Every few minutes, one of them would whisper some snide remark or another, just loud enough for you to hear.

“Do you even understand what Binns is saying?” Draco muttered at one point, leaning closer to you. “Sounds like he’s speaking Mermish, doesn’t it?”

You ignored him, scribbling furiously in your notebook.

“She’s actually taking notes,” Heeseung whispered to Draco, his voice dripping with fake awe. “How noble.”

“Very noble,” Draco agreed. “But, then again, she does have a reputation to uphold. Isn’t that right?”

You gripped your quill tighter, willing yourself to stay calm.

When you didn’t respond, Heeseung leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Are you really going to keep ignoring us all class? That’s no fun.”

You clenched your jaw, refusing to give them the satisfaction of looking at them.

Draco, clearly delighted by your silence, smirked and added, “Maybe she’s just shy, Heeseung. You know how it is. Some people get nervous around greatness.”

At that, your quill snapped in half.

The sound was loud enough to draw a few curious glances from nearby students, but thankfully, Binns remained as oblivious as ever. You let out a slow, frustrated breath, carefully setting the broken quill down before turning to glare at the two of them.

“What do you want?” you hissed, your voice low but venomous.

They exchanged a glance, their smirks widening.

“To keep you entertained,” Heeseung said innocently.

“Consider it a public service,” Draco added with a mock bow of his head.

You rolled your eyes, turning back to your notes. “You’re both insufferable.”

“Thanks,” Heeseung said with a grin, leaning back in his chair like he didn’t have a care in the world.

For the rest of class, they didn’t let up, continuing until you were practically counting down the seconds until the end. By the time class was over, your nerves were completely frayed. Bolting upright, you were determined to escape the classroom and leave Draco and Heeseung behind. But before you could even take two steps, you felt a hand at your waist.

You froze, glancing down to see Heeseung’s arm wrapping itself around you in a way that was far too casual for your liking. His hand rested lightly at your side, as if this was something he did every day.

“What are you doing?” you asked sharply, trying to twist away, but his grip only tightened—gentle, but firm enough to stop you from slipping free.

“Relax,” he said smoothly, his tone far too self-assured. “Just thought I’d help you out. Wouldn’t want you to get lost on your way to class, after all.”

You glared at him, but before you could retort, Draco sauntered up beside you. “Heeseung’s right,” he drawled. “We are all headed to the same place, after all. It would be terribly rude of us not to walk you there.”

“Oh, how thoughtful of you,” you snapped, your voice dripping with sarcasm. You tried to step away again, but Heeseung matched your pace effortlessly, keeping his arm firmly around your waist as he steered you toward the door.

“See? She appreciates it,” Heeseung said, ignoring your tone entirely.

Draco chuckled, falling into step on your other side. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“I didn’t say thank you,” you shot back, glaring at them both.

“Not out loud,” Draco said, his smirk widening. “But I can tell you’re grateful. You just don’t want to admit it.”

You let out an exasperated sigh, deciding that arguing with them would only make things worse. Instead, you focused on walking as quickly as possible, hoping to reach your next class and put some distance between yourself and the two infuriating Slytherins.

Unfortunately, they seemed to have other plans.

As the three of you made your way down the corridor, Heeseung kept his arm firmly in place, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Draco, meanwhile, kept up a steady stream of commentary, most of it designed to annoy you.

“Do you always walk this fast?” Draco asked at one point, easily keeping up with your hurried pace. “Or are you just trying to get away from us?”

“Obviously the second one,” you muttered, not bothering to look at him.

Heeseung chuckled, his grip on your waist tightening slightly as he guided you around a corner. “Aw, don’t be like that. We’re just trying to be friendly.”

“This is what you call ‘friendly’?” you shot back.

“Of course,” Draco said, his smirk never faltering. “You should consider yourself lucky, really. We don’t do this for just anyone.”

“Oh, I feel so special,” you deadpanned, rolling your eyes.

“You should,” Heeseung replied, his tone teasing. “Not everyone gets to be escorted to class by the two most charming people in Hogwarts.”

You snorted. “Charming? That’s what you’re going with?”

“Don’t act like you’re not impressed,” Draco said, clearly enjoying himself.

By the time you finally reached the door to your next class, your patience was hanging by a thread. As you tried to step away, Heeseung finally released his hold on your waist, but not before leaning down slightly and murmuring, “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You shot him a glare, but before you could respond, Draco spoke up. “Looks like we’re all here,” he said, glancing into the classroom.

You groaned inwardly, resisting the urge to bang your head against the nearest wall. This was going to be a long day.

You slipped away from them quickly, weaving through the rows of desks until you found a seat at the very front of the class. If there was one place they wouldn’t dare to bother you, it was here—right under the professor’s nose. At least, that’s what you hoped.

You were determined to focus, to shake off whatever bizarre fixation Draco and Heeseung had developed on you since detention.

But, of course, you should have figured it out by now. Once you had their attention—for whatever inexplicable reason—they weren’t going to let up.

You’d barely settled into your seat when you heard the faint scrape of chairs moving directly behind you. Your stomach dropped as you turned your head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of the two boys taking the seats directly behind yours, looking far too pleased with themselves.

Heeseung leaned forward, resting his arms casually on the edge of your desk. “You know,” he murmured, his voice low so only you could hear, “running away isn’t very polite. We walked you here, after all.”

“Not to mention,” Draco added from your other side, “we were hoping for a nice little chat. But here you are, acting like we’re some kind of nuisance.”

“Because you are,” you hissed under your breath, glaring at them both.

Draco feigned a wounded expression, clutching his chest dramatically. “How cruel. And here I thought we were becoming friends.”

“Keep dreaming, Malfoy,” you muttered, turning back to face the front of the class.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Heeseung said, his tone light and teasing. He poked you lightly with the end of his quill. “We’re just trying to make your day more exciting.”

“By annoying me?” you shot back, swatting his quill away.

“Exactly,” he replied with a grin.

Before you could retort, the professor entered the room, and the class fell into a semblance of quiet. You let out a relieved breath, grateful for the temporary reprieve. Surely, they wouldn’t risk drawing attention to themselves now—not with a professor watching.

But you should’ve known better.

Throughout the lecture, you felt the occasional nudge against the back of your chair—Heeseung, no doubt, trying to get your attention. You ignored him. Then there was the faint sound of parchment being crumpled, followed by a soft thud as a tiny ball of paper landed on your desk.

You unfolded it reluctantly, your irritation mounting.

Inside, in Draco’s neat handwriting, was a single line: “Having fun yet?”

You crumpled the paper back up and tossed it over your shoulder without a word, not caring where it landed. You heard Draco chuckle softly behind you, clearly amused by your reaction.

A few minutes later, another paper ball landed on your desk. This time, it was from Heeseung, the writing messier but just as irritating: “You know you can’t keep this up forever, right?”

You sighed, your patience wearing thin. Without looking back, you scribbled a reply on the paper and tossed it over your shoulder.

It wasn’t long before you heard Draco snicker. “Looks like she finally have something to say.”

Heeseung unfolded the paper and read your message, keeping his voice low. “Leave me alone before I hex you both into next week.”

“Hex us?” Draco repeated, his tone dripping with mock disbelief. “How positively violent.”

“Indeed,” Heeseung added with a grin.

By the time class ended, you were practically bolting for the door, hoping to escape before they could follow. But, of course, they were right on your heels, flanking you once again as you stepped into the hallway.

“See?” Draco said, falling into step beside you. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“I barely noticed you were there,” you lied, shooting him a sideways glare.

“Ouch,” Heeseung said, clutching his chest dramatically. “You really know how to hurt a guy, don’t you?”

You quickened your pace, hoping they’d get bored and leave you alone. But as they continued to trail after you, still grinning like they’d won some kind of game.

You were practically weaving through the crowd of students filling the hallways. Surely, they had better things to do than to keep following you like persistent shadows?

Right?

But, of course, they didn’t.

“So,” Heeseung said casually, keeping stride beside you as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “What’s next on your schedule? Care to share?”

“I bet it’s something riveting,” Draco added on your other side, his smirk firmly in place. “Like Herbology or... Divination.”

You gritted your teeth, refusing to answer.

“Silent treatment again?” Heeseung asked, leaning slightly closer. “You know, that’s starting to hurt my feelings.”

“I didn’t realize you had feelings,” you shot back before you could stop yourself, your frustration finally bubbling to the surface.

Draco let out a bark of laughter, clearly delighted. “There it is! Knew you couldn’t stay quiet forever.”

“Careful, Malfoy,” you said sharply, stopping in your tracks to glare at both of them. “If you keep pushing me, you’ll find out exactly how much quieter your life will be with a Silencing Charm.”

“Oh, scary,” Heeseung teased, though there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes that made you want to hex him right then and there.

Draco, ever the instigator, stepped closer with that same irritating smirk. “Go on, then. Let’s see it. I could use a good laugh before our next class.”

“Don’t tempt me,” you snapped, narrowing your eyes at him.

Heeseung, clearly enjoying himself, stepped in as if to defuse the tension—though his tone was anything but sincere. “Now, now, let’s not resort to violence. We wouldn’t want anyone to get detention again, would we?”

You rolled your eyes, shoving past them both and continuing down the hallway. “I don’t have time for this,” you muttered under your breath, hoping they’d finally take the hint.

But, they didn’t.

Instead, they followed you all the way to your next class.

“Should we place bets on where she’s sitting this time?” Draco mused aloud as you entered the classroom.

“I’m guessing front and center,” Heeseung replied, trailing after you. “Seems like their style.”

You ignored them completely, choosing a seat near the middle of the room this time.

And the moment you sat down, they flanked you on either side, their presence looming before you could even pull out your notes. Heeseung plopped into the seat on your right, draping one arm casually over the back of your chair, while Draco claimed the seat on your left with his usual air of entitlement.

“Miss us?” Heeseung asked, flashing you an infuriating grin.

“Not even a little,” you replied, your tone flat.

“Liar,” Draco said smoothly, leaning just enough to invade your personal space. “Admit it. You’d be bored out of your mind without us.”

“I was doing just fine before you two started this little... whatever this is,” you shot back, glaring between them.

“‘This little whatever this is’?” Heeseung repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Ouch. You’re really struggling with words today, huh? Must be the company.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose as the professor walked into the room, signaling the start of class. “Will you two just—”

“Shh,” Draco interrupted, holding a finger to his lips. “Class is starting. Let’s be respectful, shall we?”

You shot him a glare, but he only grinned in response, clearly pleased with himself.

For the next hour, they both continued their antics—soft whispers, poking at your notes, and the occasional “accidental” nudge to your arm. Every time you tried to focus, one of them would find some new way to distract you, and by the end of the lesson, your patience was hanging by a thread.

As soon as the professor dismissed the class, you bolted from your seat, determined to escape before they could follow you again.

But, they were right behind you in an instant.

“So,” Heeseung said as the three of you stepped into the hallway, “what’s next? Lunch? Study session?”

“Or,” Draco added, his smirk widening, “are you finally going to admit that you enjoy our company and stop running away?”

You stopped in your tracks, spinning around to face them both with an exasperated glare. “Why are you two so obsessed with bothering me?”

They exchanged a glance, their smirks never faltering.

“Because it’s fun,” Heeseung said simply, shrugging.

“And because you’re so bad at ignoring us,” Draco added, his tone practically gleeful.

You groaned, turning back around and storming off down the hallway. “You two are unbelievable,” you muttered under your breath.

You were on the verge of snapping, your fists clenched at your sides as Draco and Heeseung trailed after you like determined shadows.

And just when you thought you’d never get a moment of peace, salvation arrived.

“Draco! Heeseung!”

A loud, familiar voice rang out from the end of the corridor. You glanced up to see a group of Slytherins heading toward you. Blaise Zabini was leading the pack, with Pansy Parkinson and a few others following close behind, their expressions curious as they spotted the two boys at your side.

“Oh, great,” you muttered under your breath, praying that this didn’t somehow make things worse.

“Looks like our friends are here,” Heeseung said, his grin widening as Blaise reached them.

“Friends?” Draco drawled, shooting you a quick, smug glance before turning to greet the others. “They’re more like pests.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Blaise retorted with a smirk, crossing his arms as his gaze flickered to you. “And who’s this? Your new... project?”

You bristled at the comment, opening your mouth to respond, but before you could say anything, Pansy cut in.

“Draco, Heeseung,” she said, her voice dripping with honey, “we’ve been looking for you everywhere. What are you two doing hanging around here?” Her eyes flickered to you briefly, but she didn’t seem all that interested.

Draco waved her off lazily. “Just having some fun.”

“With her?” Blaise asked, raising an eyebrow at you.

You decided that was your cue to leave. With their attention now firmly on Draco and Heeseung, you took a slow step backward, careful not to draw attention to yourself.

To your immense relief, neither of them seemed to notice as you slipped away, blending into the crowd of students moving through the hallway.

Once you were out of sight, you quickened your pace, weaving through the corridors until you reached the library.

Finding an empty table near the back, you set your things down and let out a relieved sigh. Finally, some peace.

You pulled out your notes, determined to get some studying done before your next class. For the first time all day, you felt like you could actually breathe without the weight of two smirking Slytherins bearing down on you.

But as you started reviewing your notes, a nagging thought crept into your mind: why had they suddenly decided to fixate on you? And more importantly, how long would it last?

Whatever their reasons, you weren’t going to let them distract you any more than they already had.

Finally, without Draco and Heeseung’s incessant teasing, you could concentrate. The words on the page seemed to make sense again as you worked through your assignments, your quill scratching quietly against the parchment.

You were so immersed in your work that you didn’t notice someone approaching until they were right next to your table.

“Found you,” a familiar voice said, smooth and far too smug.

Your head snapped up, and your heart sank as you saw Draco standing there, his arms crossed.

Behind him, Heeseung strolled in, looking far too pleased with himself as he dropped into the chair across from you. “Nice hiding spot,” he said, leaning back in his chair like he owned the place. “Took us a minute to figure out where you’d run off to.”

You stared at them, utterly dumbfounded. “Are you serious? Do you two not have anything better to do?”

“Not really,” Heeseung replied with a shrug, as if the answer was obvious.

“We were bored,” Draco added, sliding into the seat beside you without waiting for an invitation. He propped his chin on his hand, turning to you with an almost lazy smile. “And you’re far more entertaining than whatever Blaise and Pansy were droning on about.”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “What do you even want from me?”

Draco leaned closer, his voice dropping just enough to make it feel conspiratorial. “What’s wrong with wanting to spend time with you?”

“Plenty,” you snapped, your tone sharp. “Because I don’t want to spend time with you.”

Heeseung let out a low chuckle, clearly unbothered by your hostility. “See, that’s what makes this fun. Most people fall over themselves to get on our good side. But you?” He gestured to you. “You’re not afraid to tell us off. It’s refreshing.”

You rolled your eyes, turning back to your notes in the hopes that ignoring them might make them leave. “I don’t care if you find it refreshing. Go bother someone else.”

But, of course, they stayed put.

Draco pulled one of your books closer to him, flipping through it idly. “History of Magic? Boring,” he commented, wrinkling his nose.

Heeseung leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he peered at your notes. “Are you really studying, or are you just pretending so we’ll leave you alone?”

You slapped your hand down over your parchment, glaring at him. “I was studying until you showed up.”

Draco laughed, tossing the book aside. “ Admit it. You’d miss us if we left you alone.”

“I’d celebrate if you left me alone,” you shot back.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Heeseung said, leaning even closer. “You’ll hurt our feelings.”

“I doubt either of you has feelings,” you muttered under your breath, turning your attention back to your notes.

Draco raised an eyebrow, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Keep telling yourself that.”

For the next few minutes, they continued their antics—poking at your books, making sarcastic comments about your notes, and generally being as insufferable as possible.

But then Madam Pince’s sharp voice cut through the air. “If you three can’t keep it down, I’ll have you removed from the library!”

You seized the opportunity, shooting to your feet and gathering your things. “Good idea,” you said, your tone clipped. “I’ll remove myself.”

Before they could say anything, you slipped past them and hurried out of the library, your heart pounding with equal parts irritation and relief.

--

Another thing you hated about pureblood Slytherins was their egos—massive, sky-high, and unrelenting. It would take a catastrophic event to bring them down a peg. And because of that ego, they always went for things that would feed it, things that would boost their status, power, and sense of superiority. They believed they deserved the best—whether it was fame, wealth, influence, or...

Well, apparently you.

Which made absolutely no sense.

Because here you were, in the middle of yet another detention (this time for hexing a Gryffindor who wouldn’t take no for an answer—big deal), and somehow, somehow, you’d ended up against the wall of the empty Potions classroom.

Kissing Heeseung.

Your brain struggled to catch up with the situation, thoughts running in frantic circles as his lips pressed firmly against yours. It wasn’t soft or hesitant, no—it was confident and teasing, much like the boy himself.

How the hell had it come to this?

Just moments ago, you’d been sitting at your desk, silently fuming as Snape rattled off on a long lecture before leaving you to clean up the mess of spilled potion ingredients. Heeseung, had been there too, lounging in his chair like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“You really can’t help yourself, can you?” he had said, leaning back with an infuriating grin. “Hexing people now? You’re starting to sound like us, you know.”

“Don’t lump me in with you,” you’d snapped, aggressively scrubbing the cauldron in front of you.

“Why not? You’ve got the temper for it,” he’d teased, standing up and sauntering closer.

You’d turned to glare at him, your grip tightening on the rag in your hand. “Say that again, and I’ll hex you next.”

“Oh, scary,” he’d murmured, leaning in just enough to make your breath hitch. “Go ahead. Hex me. I dare you.”

And then, before you could even think of a retort, he’d closed the distance between you, his lips crashing into yours with the same audacity that he carried in everything he did.

Now, here you were, pinned against the cold stone wall, your heart racing and your hands frozen mid-air as he kissed you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your first coherent thought was to push him off, and you did—your palms pressing against his chest as you shoved him back. He stepped away with a smirk, completely unbothered, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement.

“What the hell was that?” you demanded, your voice sharper than you intended as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand.

Heeseung tilted his head, his smirk never faltering. “What does it look like? It’s called kissing.”

“You don’t just—just do that!” you sputtered, your cheeks burning with anger.

“Why not?” he asked, his tone maddeningly casual. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

You stared at him, completely dumbfounded. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Thanks,” he said smoothly, running a hand through his hair like he hadn’t just turned your entire world upside down.

“Don’t thank me—it wasn’t a compliment!” you snapped, still trying to wrap your head around what had just happened.

Heeseung laughed softly, stepping closer again—but this time, you pressed your back firmly against the wall, holding up a hand to stop him.

“Don’t even think about it,” you warned, your eyes narrowing.

“Relax,” he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m not going to kiss you again.”

“Good,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. “Because it wouldn’t happen even if you tried.”

“Really?” he asked, as he leaned slightly closer, his voice dropping to a low, teasing murmur. “Because I think you liked it.”

Your jaw dropped, and you opened your mouth to argue—but no words came out.

Because, unfortunately, a very small part of you had liked it.

And from the way Heeseung was looking at you, he knew it too.

That brief moment of hesitation���barely a second—was all Heeseung needed.

Before you could pull yourself together or think of something sharp to say, he closed the distance again, capturing your lips in another kiss. This time, it was different. It wasn’t rushed or teasing—it was confident, and demanding.

Your body reacted before your mind could catch up. Your hands shot up to push him back, but he was faster. His fingers wrapped around your wrists, and with a swift movement, he pinned them above your head against the stone wall.

The shift startled you, and your lips parted to protest, but Heeseung used the moment to deepen the kiss, groaning softly into your mouth as his body pressed against yours.

Your heart was racing, pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it. You hated the way his touch sent a shiver down your spine, hated the way his lips moved against yours like he knew exactly what he was doing.

But most of all, you hated that you weren’t stopping him.

It had been a while—a long while—since you’d let anyone get this close to you. And you couldn’t deny that Heeseung was... handsome. Annoyingly so. And, as much as it pained you to admit, a damn good kisser.

You fought it at first, your pride screaming at you to push him off, to put him back in his place. But the longer the kiss went on, the harder it was to ignore the way your body was betraying you by leaning into his.

Heeseung must’ve felt the shift because his grip on your wrists loosened slightly, as he realized you weren’t resisting anymore.

So, you let yourself indulge, just for a moment. Your lips moved against his, tentative at first, then more certain as you gave in.

His groan deepened, vibrating against your mouth, and the sound sent another shiver down your spine. His hands slid from your wrists, releasing you as his palms settled on your waist instead, pulling you closer.

For a moment, it was easy to forget where you were, easy to ignore the fact that this was Heeseung, an insufferable pureblood Slytherin.

But the moment couldn’t last forever.

The sharp creak of the classroom door opening snapped you out of it like a bucket of cold water.

You shoved Heeseung away, your breath coming in quick, uneven pants as you turned toward the sound. Filch’s scruffy silhouette loomed in the doorway, his squinting eyes scanning the room suspiciously.

“What’s all this noise?” he barked, his voice gravelly and accusing.

Your face burned as you quickly stepped away from Heeseung, who looked frustratingly calm and unbothered, like he hadn’t just kissed you senseless against the wall.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, smoothing down your robes and hoping your flushed face wasn’t too obvious.

Filch grumbled something under his breath before narrowing his eyes at the both of you. “Get back to work,” he snapped, before turning and stomping off down the hallway.

As the door slammed shut behind him, you turned to glare at Heeseung, who was watching you with a satisfied smile, his hair slightly mussed and his lips still pink from the kiss.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you hissed, keeping your voice low just in case Filch was still nearby.

Heeseung shrugged, his smirk only widening. “You didn’t seem to mind it by the end.”

Your face burned again, and you clenched your fists, tempted to hex him on the spot. “Don’t push your luck.”

He stepped closer, leaning down just enough to whisper in your ear. “If that’s how you react when you resist, I can’t wait to see how you act when you’re not trying to fight it.”

Before you could respond—either with words or violence—he was already moving away, leaving you standing there, furious, flustered, and more confused than ever.

--

Okay, so maybe kissing Heeseung wasn’t that bad. The guy had practically acted desperate for it, like he’d been waiting for that moment forever. And fine, you’d kind of enjoyed it.

But you’d sworn to yourself—repeatedly, in fact—that it would never, ever, in a million, trillion, gazillion years, happen again. You wouldn’t allow it.

…Except, apparently, self-control was harder than you thought.

Because here you were, pressed up against the cold stone wall near the Slytherin common room, Heeseung’s robes fanning out around you as he shielded you from view, his hand gripping the side of your neck while his lips moved hungrily against yours.

Your hands weren’t much better—they had a mind of their own, one gripping his tie and the other clutching at the fabric of his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer.

It was reckless. It was stupid. It was everything you’d sworn you wouldn’t let happen again.

And yet, when his thumb brushed the sensitive skin of your jaw and his tongue grazed your lower lip, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Heeseung broke the kiss for just a second, his forehead resting against yours as he caught his breath.

“You’re terrible at keeping promises to yourself, you know that?” he murmured, his voice low and slightly ragged.

“Shut up,” you muttered, but there wasn’t any real bite to it, not with the way your chest was heaving and your fingers were still gripping his tie.

Heeseung chuckled softly, leaning down to press another kiss to the corner of your mouth before trailing his lips along your jaw, making your breath hitch.

“This is a bad idea,” you said, even as you tilted your head to give him better access.

“The worst,” he agreed, his voice muffled against your skin.

“You’re going to get us caught,” you added, your fingers tightening in his shirt.

“Then stop me,” he challenged, pulling back just enough to look at you, his smirk creeping back now.

You hated how smug he looked, like he knew you wouldn’t actually do it. And the worst part? He was right.

Instead of pushing him away, you pulled him closer, tugging on his tie and crashing your lips back onto his. His quiet groan vibrated against your mouth as his hand slid down to your waist, gripping you like he was afraid you might change your mind.

But you didn’t.

At least, not until the sound of approaching footsteps made both of you freeze.

Heeseung cursed under his breath, quickly adjusting his robes and stepping back just enough to make it look like nothing had happened. You smoothed down your hair and robes in record time, silently praying that whoever was coming wouldn’t notice how flushed you looked.

A group of Slytherin students rounded the corner, laughing and talking amongst themselves. One of them narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the two of you as he passed.

“What are you doing lurking out here?” he asked, his tone dripping with suspicion.

“Just talking,” Heeseung said smoothly, flashing one of his charming smiles.

The slytherin didn’t look convinced, but he shrugged and kept walking, the rest of the group following him into the common room.

As soon as they were out of sight, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, turning to glare at Heeseung.

“This is why I said it was a bad idea,” you hissed.

Heeseung grinned, looking far too pleased with himself. “Bad ideas are more fun, don’t you think?”

You rolled your eyes, brushing past him as you headed down the hallway. “Don’t get used to it, Heeseung. It’s not happening again.”

“Whatever you say,” he called after you, his tone confident. “But you’re terrible at keeping promises, remember?”

You didn’t bother responding, but the heat creeping up your neck told you that, once again, he was probably right.

And he was right… again, and again, and again.

It was infuriating how easily Heeseung managed to worm his way back to you, over and over. At first, it was once a day—a moment between classes or in an empty corridor. Then once became twice, twice became four, and before you knew it... you’d lost count.

It was like he’d memorized your schedule, always managing to find you at the exact moment you were alone. Whether it was slipping into an empty classroom, pulling you into a alcove, or even cornering you in the library when no one else was around, Heeseung always found a way.

And the worst part? You let him.

Every time, you told yourself it would be the last. Every time, you promised you’d shove him away, hex him, or at least say no. But the moment his lips were on yours, his hands gripping your waist or threading through your hair, your resolve crumbled like parchment in a fire.

And it was always him who started it—Heeseung who instigated, Heeseung who sought you out, Heeseung who acted like you were his personal secret to keep.

And you hated yourself for how much you didn’t hate it.

This time, it was in an empty stairwell, tucked away from prying eyes. You barely had time to register his presence before he was there, his hand grabbing yours and pulling you into the shadowed corner.

“Heeseung,” you hissed, but he didn’t give you a chance to protest.

His lips crashed onto yours with the same familiar desperation, one hand curling around the back of your neck while the other slid to your waist, pulling you flush against him. You gasped into his mouth, fingers curling into his robes before you could stop yourself.

“Missed you,” he mumbled against your lips, his voice low and breathless.

“You saw me two hours ago,” you muttered, but your words were muffled as he kissed you again, stealing away whatever resistance you’d managed to muster.

Two hours, four hours, it didn’t matter. The way he kissed you made it feel like he’d been waiting an eternity.

And it was addictive.

“People are going to notice,” you said between kisses, your hands gripping his shoulders like they were the only thing keeping you upright.

“Let them,” he said, his voice laced with amusement, though you knew he didn’t mean it. Whatever this was between you, it was still a secret. A forbidden, reckless secret that you both somehow managed to keep under wraps.

For now.

But Heeseung didn’t seem to care about the risk. If anything, it only seemed to fuel him.

“Stop overthinking,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your jaw before trailing down your neck. You shivered, your fingers tightening in the fabric of his robes as he pressed a particularly firm kiss just below your ear.

For someone you were supposed to dislike, Heeseung had a way of making you forget all the reasons why this was a bad idea.

You would’ve thought that someone would’ve noticed. With the way things were escalating, it seemed impossible that no one had caught on. But somehow, miraculously, no one did. You figured you and Heeseung would keep this up for a while, maybe until one of you got bored, or until your resistance finally cracked through.

But of course, that didn’t happen.

Instead, what happened was Draco.

It started off like any other day—just another class, just another moment when you were certain you’d get through the day without any major complications. You were walking down the hall, trying to get to the library for a study session when you felt a familiar, irritating presence looming just behind you.

You didn’t need to turn around to know it was Draco. The smug aura he exuded practically followed him like a cloud.

But then, before you could even make the decision to ignore him, his hand shot out and grabbed your wrist, yanking you to a stop.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you asked, a sharp edge to your voice as you yanked your wrist back.

“I think we need to talk,” Draco said, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous light you didn’t trust for a second.

You crossed your arms, eyeing him with suspicion. “What, about what? How much of a pain you are?”

“Something like that,” he murmured.

You barely had time to react before Draco closed the gap between you, one hand gripping your shoulder as he pulled you towards him. His lips pressed against yours with a force you hadn’t expected, and your body tensed in shock.

It wasn’t like Heeseung’s kisses, not in the least. Where Heeseung was often teasing, in a way that made you shiver, Draco was… commanding. He kissed you like he thought he had every right to, like there was no room for resistance.

Your first instinct was to push him away, but then you froze. Your body didn’t react the way it had with Heeseung—there was no heat flooding your chest, no rush of excitement. Instead, you were caught between the confusion of why this was happening and the overwhelming sense of deja vu.

Draco pulled back just slightly, looking at you with an amused glint in his eyes. “Surprised, aren’t you?”

You blinked, still trying to process what the hell had just happened. “Why would you—”

“Because I can,” Draco interrupted smoothly, his tone all too familiar, like he was enjoying this more than he should.

You scoffed, trying to push him off, but his grip on your shoulder tightened, keeping you locked in place. "You’re insane,” you muttered.

“Yeah," Draco said with a smirk. "But you’ll always remember that i gave you attention.”

And with that, he stepped back, his eyes lingering on you for just a moment longer than necessary before he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving you standing there, dazed and more confused then ever.

Well, this was a lost cause.

You really didn’t know if they had taken something, or if you had somehow been sprayed down by some potion that made them act this way. Or maybe they’d both gone completely mad. Because now, you were stuck in this strange, twisted mess where both Heeseung and Draco seemed to think they had the right to kiss you whenever they felt like it. And worse, you couldn’t resist.

Every time they were near, your resolve crumbled faster than you could rebuild it. One would find you in the hallway, the other in the library, and then it would happen again. Another kiss. Another moment you had no control over.

It was maddening, but also… tempting.

There was a part of you that couldn’t deny it. Sure, you could resist them, keep pushing them away, but what was the fun in that? Attention like this didn’t come regularly at all. Hell, it wasn’t normal for anyone to have two arrogant, handsome Slytherins fighting for their attention. And if you were honest, even just for a second, you kind of liked it.

So why not have a little fun with it?

It wasn’t like you had anything to lose, right? Besides your pride, maybe. But pride was overrated, especially when they were both so good at what they did. And maybe it was the thrill of it all—the secrecy, the danger of getting caught, or maybe the idea that you were wanted by two of the most insufferable, yet undeniably attractive, people at Hogwarts.

You didn’t know. You weren’t even sure you cared anymore.

One evening, you found yourself slipping into a quiet corridor, headed to the library for some much-needed solitude. But, of course, Heeseung was there.

“You’re awfully quick to retreat these days,” he remarked, his voice light, teasing. “Hiding from me?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to play it off. “Hardly.”

“Then why don’t you stay and chat with me for a bit?” He stepped closer, his eyes scanning you.

Before you could even answer, he’d cupped your face in his hand, pulling you toward him. His lips met yours with an ease that made it feel like nothing had changed. His kiss was soft at first, but the pressure grew quickly, the heat of his touch igniting a familiar spark within you.

And, just like that, the resistance was gone.

A few breaths later, Heeseung pulled back, looking at you with that same, infuriatingly smug smile.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he teased, his voice low and amused. “You like this more than you want to admit.”

You opened your mouth, about to defend yourself, to argue, but before you could form the words, Heeseung leaned in, capturing your lips in another kiss.

You didn’t fight it. You didn’t want to.

Your hands found their way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his robes, the feel of his body against yours sending shivers down your spine. Slowly, Heeseung guided you backward, his lips still on yours as he moved you toward the wall.

When your back hit the stone of the wall, Heeseung broke the kiss just enough to look into your eyes. His gaze was hungry, but there was also something tender in the way he watched you.

"See? I knew you’d come around,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

You swallowed, trying to steady your thoughts. "Sure, sure," you muttered, but even you could hear the lack of conviction in your voice.

He smiled that smile, the one that made your stomach flip. “Admit it. You like it when I’m like this.”

You should’ve pushed him away. You should’ve told him to stop, to back off, but all that came out was a small, frustrated sigh as he kissed you again, this time more insistent.

His hand suddenly gripped your thigh, lifting it effortlessly to hitch it around his hip. The movement was quick, and before you could think, you found yourself pressed even closer to him.

You should’ve pulled away, told him this wasn’t you, that you weren’t this person. But instead, you let him.

His mouth left yours for a moment, just for a moment as his lips trailed down your jaw as you gasped for air, your hands moving instinctively to his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his robes like it was the only thing anchoring you to reality.

"You're not pushing me away," he murmured against your skin, his voice laced with satisfaction, like he knew exactly what you were feeling. "Might start thinking you want this."

You clenched your jaw, unwilling to admit that he might be right, as he pulled you closer, his hand sliding to your back, his lips finding the soft spot beneath your ear.

Damn him.

All you could focus on was him—his touch, the way his body moved against yours, the way he made you feel like you were the only thing in the world worth paying attention to.

You should’ve stopped. You knew you should’ve. But when his lips found yours again, slow and deep, you couldn’t bring yourself to push him away.

Then Heeseung's hand suddenly, ever so subtly, glided underneath your skirt, his touch gentle. You could feel his fingers trace the curve of your thigh, a sensation that sent a shiver down your spine.

Without breaking eye contact, you reached for his green tie, your fingers working to untie the knot. The fabric slipped from his neck, falling away with a soft rustle.

Slowly, you tugged at the collar of his shirt, pushing it aside, revealing more of his neck, and Heeseung let out a low, appreciative sound. His lips moved back to yours in a needy kiss.

And just when you thought you’d lost yourself completely, a voice—unexpected, unmistakable—cut through the haze of your thoughts.

"Really?"

You broke away from Heeseung, looking up to see Draco standing at the end of the hall, his eyes narrowed, his posture tense. He’d been watching the entire exchange, his expression a storm of emotion.

"Really!?" Draco shouted now, his voice was sharp, like a whip crack. "You think you can just—" He cut himself off, stepping forward, his eyes flicking from you to Heeseung. "Just take her like that!?"

You shifted uncomfortably, feeling your skirt rise higher as Heeseung kept you in place. You tried to ease out of his grasp, gently attempting to pull your leg down, but his hand tightened on your thigh in response, pulling you back toward him. It was like he refused to let go of you, like you were a prize he wasn’t ready to relinquish.

“Let her go, Heeseung,” Draco spat, stepping closer, his jaw clenched in frustration. His eyes darted between the two of you, and it was clear he didn’t like seeing Heeseung so close to you. “She doesn’t belong to you.”

Heeseung’s gaze remained cool, as he leaned in closer to you. "She doesn’t belong to you either," he replied back. His fingers traced the edge of your skirt, the contact sending an involuntary shiver through you. "But if she chooses to be here, with me," he added, "then that’s her choice, not yours."

Draco was visibly seething now, taking another step forward, his hand reaching out as if he could just take you from Heeseung. But before he could get any closer, Heeseung suddenly spun you around, his arm wrapping securely around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The movement was quick, shielding you from Draco’s view, and you were now facing Heeseung, back to Draco, as Heeseung’s hands gripped you tight, his breath warm against your ear. "You want her?" Heeseung’s voice was soft, but there was an edge to it. "You’ll have to do better than that."

You were trapped between them—caught in their struggle, their silent battle for possession. And as you stood there, something inside of you wondered how you’d gotten here, caught between two people who seemed determined to claim you, as if you were a prize in their war.

But you weren’t anyone’s to take, were you?

Before you could fully process the thought, Draco’s voice sliced through the air again, a low, mocking laugh slipping from his lips.

“You really think you can keep her to yourself, Heeseung?” Draco sneered.

And yet, Heeseung didn’t let go, didn’t back down. Instead, he kept you pressed against him, his breath still warm on your neck.

“Let her decide,” Heeseung’s voice was a growl, holding you like he wasn’t about to let go.

For a moment, everything went silent. You felt the heat of both their glares, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t bring yourself to move away from Heeseung’s grasp.

They had given you time to decide, but it was clear they were both impatient.

But you didn’t want any part of this. You hadn’t asked for this—any of it. All you wanted was a peaceful year, a chance to get through your classes, study, and avoid being caught up in whatever power struggle was unfolding between Heeseung and Draco. But here you were, stuck in the middle, torn between two people.

How were you supposed to choose between them?

Your heart raced, thoughts spinning in every direction. Both of them were waiting for you to make a decision, but the truth was, you didn’t want to choose at all. You didn’t want to get involved in their rivalry, didn’t want to be the reason for whatever animosity existed between them.

"I don’t want to be part of this," you muttered, frustration boiling beneath the surface as you finally spoke up, unable to keep it in any longer. "I didn’t ask for this. I don’t want to be some kind of... trophy for either of you."

But both of them merely exchanged a glance before turning their attention back to you.

"Nobody said you were a trophy," Heeseung replied.

Draco, on the other hand, narrowed his eyes, stepping closer as if he were trying to close the gap between the three of you. "No one gets to walk away, not when we’ve already made our intentions clear," he said, his voice low. "So you either pick or let me show you why i am the better choice."

Your stomach twisted as the pressure mounted, and you felt that sense of dread creeping up on you. You had no idea how to navigate this—how to choose one of them.

It wasn’t supposed to be this complicated. You just wanted to survive the year, get through it without becoming a pawn in some twisted game. But as you all stood there, waiting for you to make your move, you couldn’t help but feel like there was no way out.

How could you even choose?

a/n: im gonna end it here and leave it up to you dear reader! who would to choose? personally i was never a draco girl so yeah.

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[willowsnook]

The Ultimate Crossover

quinn hughes x stroll!reader

——————————————————-

After a childhood in the spotlight, and befriending one of the most popular athletes while you were in college, your goal for your life when you moved to Vancouver was to fly under the radar. So far, you were killing it.

You’d been on the athletic training staff for the Canucks for six months now and not one person had brought up your family or a certain quarterback that still called you once a week to chat. Here you were just a normal girl with a normal job.

The guys had all been really nice to you and you loved Vancouver. You grew up in Montreal and as much as you loved being in the US for college, you wanted to be back in Canada to start the rest of your life. You had a couple of childhood friends who had moved to Vancouver after high school so you reconnected with them and were integrated into their friend group.

That friend group is who you were with now, sitting in a VIP section of a new club that had just opened. Your last name carried a lot of weight so you ended up being invited to opening weekend and asked to bring as many friends as you wanted.

It had never crossed your mind that you could see anyone from work so you were surprised when you heard your name being called as you were heading to the bathroom. Turning, you saw two Canucks’s players, staring at you like they were mesmerized.

“Hi boys,” you said tipsily. Elias was the first to meet your eyes, Quinn was still in a trance looking at the way your short, tight, dress hit all of your curves perfectly. You flushed under his stare, feeling naked.

Not many guys could catch your attention these days, especially ones that were famous, but there was something about Quinn Hughes. It had to be his quiet nature, he was a mystery to you. He was always polite to you when you worked on him, almost too polite to where it was frustrating. A lot of the other guys, Petey included, treated you like a friend. With Quinn it was all business.

“You look hot,” Petey said bluntly and you laughed as Quinn elbowed him in the side.

“Thanks Petey,” you said sweetly. “When did you guys get here?”

”We just did,” Petey said. “Are you in a VIP section? I thought I saw you come out of one.”

“Yeah,” you said nodding to your friends and both the boys looked over. Petey gave you a confused look.

“How’d you manage that section? We had to beg to get a spot this weekend,” Petey said and you looked away, trying to figure out something to say. “You must know someone important.”

”Yeah, something like that,” you muttered before looking towards the bathroom. “I’ll see you guys later.”

Your best friend Anna was waiting for you when you got back, an eyebrow raised.

“Can I just say I’m very jealous that you get to work with men that look like that?” She said and you laughed. You followed her gaze to where a group of Canucks players were, settling on Quinn who was nursing a drink and listening intently to something Petey was saying.

“Yeah yeah,” you said back to her. “Let’s dance please.”

Anna called over a couple of other friends and you all made it to the dance floor. It felt good to stop thinking about work and other life things and just let go. By the end of the night you were stumbling out, after telling your friends goodbye. Standing on the sidewalk outside, you shivered as you waited for your Uber to pull up. A jacket was placed over your shoulders and you held it close to you, turning to its owner.

“Little cold for that outfit,” Quinn commented, looking unbothered without his jacket; his long sleeve quarterzip clung to his body.

“It was hot inside,” you said with a slight slur, stumbling as you turned to face him completely. His arms shot out to steady you, an amused smile on his face.

“Easy there,” he said.

“I feel like you don’t like me,” you said, the alcohol in your system deciding this was a great time to bring it up. His eyebrows furrowed at your words, lips turning into a frown.

“Why do you think that?” He asked and you sighed dramatically, moving your hands to his shoulders as you looked at him.

“Everyone jokes around with me besides you,” you complained. “Yeah you’re friendly but you are literally one second away from calling me ma’am. Everyone loves me but you.”

Quinn was amused by the pout on your face as you confessed this to him. His hands were resting gently on your waist and he allowed himself to enjoy it for a moment before disconnecting from you.

“I’m the captain y/n,” he said. “That means I have to set a good example for the team. Part of that example is having professional relationships with the staff, no matter how attractive a particular staff member might be.”

You blushed at his words but felt a wave of giddiness, “so you do think I’m attractive.”

Quinn’s cheeks tinted pink and you smiled wider.

“It’s okay Quinny, I won’t tell anyone,” you said cheerfully. “I guess I can live with this, it’s refreshing to have someone treat me like a normal person anyways.”

“What does that mean?” Quinn asked and you were saved by the bell: your Uber pulled up right as he asked. You ignored his question and pressed your lips to his cheek before climbing into the car.

—————————————————

Quinn was itching to get back on the ice; this hand injury business was driving him insane. In his mind, he was ready to be cleared, but the head athletic trainer disagreed. So here he was yet again, in the training room waiting to get evaluated.

“Hey Quinn, sorry I’m late,” you said, greeting him as you neared the table he was on. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, expecting to see your boss.

“Where’s Roman?” He asked.

“He’s in a meeting, so you are stuck with me,” you said with a teasing smile. After washing your hands you turned back to him, reaching out for him to put his hand in yours. Losing yourself in concentration as you looked him over, you didn’t notice how his breath hitched as you got into his space.

Your vanilla perfume smelled like heaven to Quinn and he was trying to look anywhere else besides at you. You bit your lip as you focused and Quinn wondered what they would feel like against his own lips. What would your hands feel like on other parts of him? He was lost in thought and flinched when you moved one of his fingers.

“Fuck,” he snapped and you smiled apologetically at him.

“I’m sorry, just trying to get an idea of the mobility right now.”

“I want to play,” he said, and you looked him in the eye, your heart sinking at the sad look he was giving you.

“I know, it is getting better,” you said and he deflated. “Maybe we can find some kind of brace that would work.”

“How long would that take?”

“Let me talk to Roman about it okay?” You said and he nodded but you could tell something else was going on. “It’s normal to want to get back immediately, but that’s why I’m here, to protect you.”

“I know,” he said, offering you a small smile. “The Petey/JT thing is getting worse and I feel like I’m not making an impact there and now I’m not on the ice.”

“They’re grown men, Quinn,” you said nonchalantly. “Maybe all you need to do is lock them in a room and not let them out until they figure it out.”

“Not a bad idea, thanks,” he said.

“I’m full of them,” you said cheerfully, grabbing your things. Quinn watched you leave, noticing that he was starting to get more flustered everytime he was around you.

“What’s on your mind Huggy?” Petey called out as Quinn walked back into the locker room. He was rubbing at his hand absentmindedly which didn’t go unnoticed by his teammate. “Have it looked at again?”

“Yeah, y/n thinks it won’t be long now,” he muttered, a slight pink tint covering his cheeks at the mention of you which made Petey grin.

“So y/n saw you,” he said casually.

“That’s her job,” Quinn replied, not giving in to where he knew Petey was going with this.

“She looked good the other night, don’t ya think?” Petey pressed and Quinn shot him a look.

“No fraternizing with Canucks employees,” Quinn recited from the HR handbook.

“Whatever man, don’t think I didn’t notice the way you were looking at her the other night.”

————later that night———————-

The Canucks ended up pulling off a good win and the locker room was buzzing. Sometimes when other athletes or celebs attended the game they came to hang out afterwards, especially if it was a win. So Quinn wasn’t surprised to see some NFL players hanging around, especially since the ones there now weren’t in the playoffs.

“Quinn, meet Joe,” Petey said and Quinn turned to see Joe Burrow standing there. They shook hands in greeting, chatting a little bit about the Bengals season and mutual friends they had. Joe hung around until Quinn was leaving, following him out.

“Are you coming out with us?” Quinn asked and Joe shook his head.

“I’m actually here to surprise my friend,” he said and Quinn nodded as they walked.

“Does she work for the Canucks?” He asked.

“Yeah, she’s an athletic trainer,” Joe said and Quinn stopped; there was only one female on the athletic training staff.

“Y/n?” Quinn asked and Joe’s eyes lit up.

“Yeah, do you know where I can find her?”

Quinn felt a weird sense of irritation at Joe’s excitement to see you and it took everything in him to not say no and leave him. He told Joe to follow him, leading them to the athletic training offices where he knew you’d be wrapping up.

“Joey!” He heard you squeal as you saw Joe.

“Hi angel,” Joe said, holding his arms out for you to jump into. You held him tight, tears filling your eyes as you took him in. He gave you a lazy grin, wiping one that had escaped down your cheek.

“Tears for me?” He joked and you hit him.

“Happy tears, I’ve missed you,” you said. You hadn’t seen him since the summer and it had been hard. You were glued to each other’s side in college and you followed him to Cincinnati so when you left, you both suffered a little bit.

Quinn was watching the interaction with a sour taste in his mouth. He did not like seeing another man holding you and before he could stop himself he stepped forward.

“Can you look at my hand y/n?” He asked randomly and you gave him a confused look.

“You didn’t play?”

“Someone bumped into me,” he mumbled, embarrassed but you didn’t notice, just sighing as you stepped away from Joe.

“Yeah let’s see it captain,” you said beckoning him into the training room. You turned to Joe, “wait for me?”

“Of course, I’ll be chilling by the locker room,” he told you and you smiled.

Quinn hopped up on the table and you looked over his hand.

“It literally looks the same,” you said looking up at him.

“It hurts,” he countered and you rolled your eyes. You grabbed a bottle of lotion and started to lightly massage around the sensitive areas.

“So how do you know Joe?” Quinn asked, trying to be casual.

“We went to college together,” you replied, not looking up. “I interned with the athletic training department my senior year and worked with him a bit and we just hit it off.”

“So you’re just friends?” He asked and your head snapped up, a small smirk on your lips.

“Why, jealous?” You asked and he scoffed, looking away. “Is that why you dragged me in here to look at your hand that I literally looked at earlier today?”

Quinn didn’t say anything and you smiled wider, “what happened to staying professional to be an example? What would your teammates think about you faking an injury to hang out with an athletic trainer?”

”I don’t like you,” he said pouting and you wiped the excess lotion off on your jeans.

“Mmhmm,” you said. “Let’s go captain.”

He followed you out of the room and back down the hall. Joe was talking with some other players but lit up when he saw you again.

“Ready?” He asked and you nodded.

“Not coming out with us?” Petey asked Joe who shook his head.

“Nah, we’ve got a whole season of House of Dragon to catch up on,” he said and you beamed. You said bye to the boys and left with Joe. Petey shot an amused look at Quinn.

“Not a word.”

———————————

“I’m exhausted, see you in the morning?” You asked Joe, who was sprawled out on your couch.

“Yeah, then you can tell me what’s going on with you and Quinn,” he said nonchalantly and you froze.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said lightly, cleaning off the coffee table and not making eye contact with him.

“Sure, angel,” he said. “I’ll just pretend that I didn’t notice you looking at him like he was a god.”

“I don’t look at him like that,” you snapped back and Joe grinned.

“Touchy subject?”

“We work together Joe, nothing could happen,” you said, sighing. “Plus we don’t really even know each other that well.”

“You mean he doesn’t know that he could play professional hockey for the next ten years and still not come even close to having as much money as you do?” He asked and you threw a pillow at him.

“People get weird when they know who my family is, you know that,” you said and he gave you a sad smile. Your dad had worked so incredibly hard for everything he had and you were proud of him. You wouldn’t trade your family for the world, but you had a lifetime of people only being friends with you because of your wealth so it was a touchy subject. When Lance made it to F1, it only got worse, now you had people who wanted you for your money AND access to your brother.

“But you like him,” Joe said and you sighed.

“A little, yeah,” you admitted. “I like how I can be myself around him, he’s a good listener, and the way he leads the team is attractive.”

Joe smiled at you, “I’m happy for you, y/n. Don’t get in your own way.”

————-Canadian Grand Prix——————-

It had been a few months since you had admitted your crush on Quinn to Joe but nothing had really happened. He got over his injury so you saw him less at first but as you got closer to the team, you saw him at social events a lot. The energy between the two of you had definitely been flirty but he hadn’t made any kind of move.

“It’s like he’s scared to be alone with me,” you complained to your sister Chloe, after she picked you up from the airport.

“That’s a good thing then,” your sister said. “It means he doesn’t trust himself around you.”

You rolled your eyes, “well I’m tired of it.”

“You know he’s going to be here this weekend right?” She asked and you nodded. The Canucks had a game in Montreal, and since it was the same weekend as the GP, a few players had been invited to the paddock, Quinn included.

“In the Alpine garage though, so it doesn’t matter,” you said and she smirked.

“Well I can’t wait to meet him,” she said. “Better hope he doesn’t run into Lance.”

You stopped cold, “What do you mean? How does Lance even know about him?”

“Oh it’s just come up a couple of times,” your sister said. “It’s been a while since you had an interesting crush so I was excited.”

“You are the worst,” you complained. You prayed that they wouldn’t cross paths.

Unfortunately, your wish did not come true.

Quinn and Petey were walking around the paddock when Petey stopped what appeared to be two drivers who were walking nearby.

“Esteban man, good to see you,” Petey said, dapping him up. How Petey knew all these random athletes was a mystery to Quinn.

“Hey Elias,” Esteban said. Petey introduced Quinn to Esteban and Esteban introduced the other driver. “This is Lance.”

Lance eyed Quinn curiously and Esteban caught on, laughing loudly.

“So you’re friends with y/n?” Lance asked and Quinn stiffened in surprise.

“Our athletic trainer? Yeah I guess,” he said awkwardly.

“If you ever make her cry I will end your career,” Lance said and Quinn shot Petey a confused look.

“Okay? I’m not sure how that would be any of your business, even if there was something going on,” Quinn said. Esteban looked at him in wonder before realizing what was going on.

“Oh my, he doesn’t know,” Esteban said, smirking at Lance, who was still glaring at Quinn.

“Know what?” Petey asked.

“That y/n is my sister,” Lance said and Quinn felt all the blood drain from his face. Y/n was a Stroll? The girl he had a crush on was worth billions and now her brother, her famous F1 brother, was glaring daggers at him. Petey burst out laughing at the revelation and Esteban looked incredibly amused.

Of course, this was the moment that you chose to appear, seeing the back of your brother and not who he was talking to.

“Lance!” You yelled excitedly. He turned around to face you and you frowned at the sour look on his face but when your eyes met Petey’s you had a good idea who else was there.

Quinn was frowning at you and your heart sank at the look of betrayal he was giving you.

“Hi y/n,” Lance said, pulling you in for a hug. “Met some of your friends here.”

”I can see that,” you muttered. Petey was giving you a cheeky look but Quinn wouldn’t meet your eyes. Lance launched into conversation with Esteban and Petey but both you and Quinn stayed silent. As the drivers were called off to get ready for a practice run, you stayed with Petey and Quinn.

“I’m going to head back to the garage,” Petey said and you nodded, not taking your eyes off of Quinn. He left and the two of you stood in front of each other, neither saying anything.

“Are you mad at me?” You asked, finally breaking the silence.

“I don’t know,” he admitted and you deflated. “I don’t like feeling like you were hiding something from me.”

“I wasn’t hiding it from you, it just didn’t come up,” you argued and he gave you a look. “Just because I don’t go around telling everyone who my dad is doesn’t mean I was keeping it a secret.”

Quinn let out a frustrated sigh, raking his hand through his hair.

“Is there somewhere private we can go?” He asked and you nodded. You led him to the Aston Martin garage, smiling at your brother’s team members as you entered and headed towards his drivers room. He was about to be on the track so you knew it would be open.

Shutting the door behind him, Quinn looked at you as you stood nervously before him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked softly.

“Because I liked being a normal person in your life,” you said and he tilted his head, indicating for you to go on. “I’m not a normal person Quinn. My family is worth almost $4 billion. I can’t go out with my family without being mobbed by the press. I don’t have a ton of friends, because most people that I meet just want to use me.”

“I didn’t want you to look at me differently,” you finished, your voice quiet, almost fragile. “I didn’t want you to see me as just that girl—the one with the famous family, the one who’s always surrounded by people who want something from her.”

Quinn stood still for a moment, his expression unreadable, and then he stepped closer. Slowly, almost as if testing the waters, he reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from your face.

“You think I’d see you that way?” His voice was soft but firm. “All I see is a woman who is smart, funny, and makes it difficult to focus. That’s still all I see when I look at you now.”

”Then why haven’t you done anything?” You asked, frustrated. “You’ve had to have known that I have feelings for you.”

He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips, “HR policy.”

Groaning, you laid your head on his chest.

”You are so irritating,” you complained. “This means that you were actually jealous when Joe visited, right?”

Quinn rolled his eyes, “I didn’t like how he was looking at you.”

“He’s my best friend Quinn,” you said, looking up at him.

”I don’t have to like it,” he argued and you smirked.

“You quite literally do have to like him if you want to be with me,” you countered.

“Whatever,” he mumbled, burying his head into your shoulder as your arms wrapped around him. You sighed into his touch, happy to have finally figured this part of your life out and feeling a weight lift off your shoulders.

Quinn pulled back, looking at you with an amused face.

“What?” You asked.

“This means that you are officially my sugar mama,” he teased and you snorted.

“Whatever captain,” you said and you lifted up your feet to press your lips against his. The kiss was everything you imagined it would be: soft, but filled with a lot of emotions. His hand moved down to grip your waist as the kiss deepened and your hands fiddled with the bottom of his shirt. You were just about to tug it up when the door banged open.

“Are you fucking serious right now y/n?” Lance complained. You giggled as you pulled back, shielding Quinn from your brother’s irritation.

“Sorry Lancey,” you said with a sweet smile. His eyes softened at you and he rolled his eyes, stepping away.

”You’re setting me up for failure,” Quinn murmured in your ear and you laughed.

”You set yourself up for being on the Canucks and not the Canadiens.”

[mahoganyrust]

So Im new to the httyd fandom and I was curious about the hijack ship. I don’t think Jack Frost is in httyd. Was it just one of those things where you saw Rise of the Guardians and thought Jack would go well with Hiccup? I’m just curious. ☺️

Hiiii. So I’m definitely not the one that came up with Hijack XD The ship has been around for over a decade now it’s not exactly news. But I understand when ppl first come across it it seems strange so I’ll give you a rundown.

And you’d be right. Jack isn’t in httyd and nor is Hiccup in Rotg. So in the fanon community, this is what we call a ‘rare pair’ or aka, a ship that crosses fandoms and is made up mostly of fanon content. It might seem strange but it happens a lot. It’s fanon. And crossovers are the traditional crux fun of fanfiction so it’s not that weird.

Hijack is heavily associated with a very popular quadruple crossover known as ROTBTD or Rise of The Brave Tangled Dragons. This is an intersection between Disney Merida and Rapunzel with Dreamworks Jack and Hiccup. Rotbtd went craaaazyy in the 2010s and there’s a lot of different content with fics and fanart.

From this, some ppl often ship Jackunzel or Mericup or etc etc you get the idea there’s a lot of different dynamics.

I never really dove too heavily into the rotbtd stuff but I’m still familiar.

So that’s the history. As for Jack and Hiccup? They’re weird as hell I get it lmao. Like wtf is this? XD.

Hiccup’s married with kids. Jack’s in the modern era etc. They have a lot of canon hurdles so why do people ship them?

My answer?

They work.

They work together so well in so many different ways that it takes over your brain. Hijack grows on you bit by bit.

As for what they have in common. They’re both big fliers and adrenaline junkies. They both question their purpose. They both know what it’s like to lose family. They both have gone through years of loneliness. Jack is a guardian, Hiccup is a chief - they’re both protectors. They’re both fighters. They’ve both been suddenly shunned after feeling like they were finally beginning to belong. They both have issues with footwear (lmao sorry). Hiccup creates inventions, Jack creates frosty art and fun with his powers. They both do their character development by a lake in a forest lol. They both have burly accented father figures XD. Jack is the boy who fell into icy water. Hiccup is the boy who fell into blazing fire.

There’s a beautiful parallel in lines here.

Rotg: “Jack Frost is many things, but he is not a guardian.”

Httyd: “You are many things Hiccup, but a dragon killer is not one of them.”

And they both originate each from their own book series that got adapted.

And that’s just the factual stuff. When it comes to their personalities whooowheeeeee.

From the last decade I’ve seen lots of stuff that does them a disservice when ppl reduce Jack to the outgoing ‘jokester’ and Hiccup to the introvert ‘nerdy guy’. In the earlier days some ppl were shipping httyd1 Hiccup, which personally I find extremely weird. Never engaged with that lol. After httyd2 came out that disappeared mostly but still it’s unsettling.

Anyways I don’t like the simplification of their characters and prefer when maybe older creators can take them in a more emotionally complex direction and when they do ohhhh my goddddddd. You end up with storytelling masterpieces with amazing character dimensionality.

I could go on for hours. There’s just something about them. It’s hard to put it into a single word but when they’re done right they just work.

[solangeloficawards]

solangelo fic awards 2025!

just when u thought it was over, we're back with number eight (better late than never)

"best ____" fic nomination forms

best series nomination form

author of the year nomination form

let me know if you find any mistakes with the forms and i will fix it asap. you can also submit fics via message or ask! submissions end 02/01 and voting will (hopefully) be up by 02/03!

keep reading for past years, categories, & guidelines

best fluff (award for the fluffiest, sweetest fics!)

best au (award for the best alternate universe or trope fics!)

new! best buddies (award for a fic involving more than one person. whether that be a co-author, illustrated inclusion, or a gift fic, let's celebrate collaboration!)

best canon compliant (award for best demigod-centric universe following straight along with the classic riordan universe!)

best angst (award for the most heart-wrenching, angsty fic!)

best oneshot (award for one-chapter, under 5k word fics for our short story writers!)

best wip (award for your favorite unfinished or abandoned multi-chaptered fics! previously best unfinished chaptered)

best misc (any fic that you dont think fits well into any of the other categories! this could include crackfics, crossover fics, miscellaneous oneshots, or any of your favorite tropes!)

best series (award for multiple fics within one series that all relate to the same plot/universe)

author of the year (to show your favorite author some appreciation!)

references:

from the past: 2018 winners. 2019 winners. 2020 winners.  2021 winners. 2022 winners, 2023 winners, 2024 winners

every fic masterlist: 2018 masterlist, 2019 masterlist, 2020 masterlist, 2021 masterlist, 2022 masterlist, 2023 masterlist, 2024 masterlist

guidelines:

you can submit your own work

you can submit as many or as little fics as you’d like for any of the categories. the more the better!

fics published at any date can be submitted; however ,fics submitted after the deadline will not be included

fics cannot be any of the following: fics that have already won in previous years, non solangelo centric, orphan or anonymous fics (if i dont know the authors idk if they want to be included), explicit nsfw or any mention of underage nsfw (nsfw fics otherwise will be tagged as so), rape/non-con fics, graphic depictions of suicide, contains unnecessary racism/homophobia/trasnphobia or any other hateful content, written with AI, harry potter aus, and any other content with oppressive origins origins. fics submitted that violate any of these will not be included

you can submit multiple fics per category, however please do not submit the same fic for more than one category (if this does happen, i’ll just decide what category it best fits)

there is also a chance your fic may change categories from where you submitted it. this is only to help your fic do better, but you can let us know if you dont want that to happen

you are allowed to nominate fics that were nominated previous years; however, please do not nominate a winning fic from last year. the previous years nominations list and winners list can be found above (they will not be included in case you miss this, but if you do know please just save us some time)

in the case that you do/someone else has submitted your work, you are allowed promote yourself, however you cannot offer anything in return for people to vote for your work. theres no prize for winning besides personal satisfaction so theres really no need

please do not be upset at me or anyone involved if you don't win. theres always next year!

all submissions are anonymous. a google sign-in will be required in order to vote when nominations do come out to ensure everyone is voting only once, but emails will not be collected or distributed! you can always nominate or vote via ask (wont publish but ill lyk i received it) or direct message if you wish

please let us know if you see anyone violating the rules! we'll handle it from there!!

if you have any other questions, you can check out our faq! you can also message me or put it in an ask!

all relating posts for this year are tagged with #fic awards 2025! good luck :) <3 with love from cj & liz

[infiniterealms]

Infinite Realms: A Danny Phantom Remix Event

Have you ever read an amazing fic and wanted to have a go at it yourself, but felt too shy or like you’d be doing something wrong? Have you ever seen the Two Cakes comic and wistfully remembered a oneshot someone wrote that you wish you could continue? Do you want to show an author you love their work to the point of your own creation, but you don’t know how to make fanart?

This is your opportunity to give something new a try!

What is a fanfiction remix?

When you remix a fanfiction, you write a piece based directly off the fic. There are many ways to do this, and the ones accepted in this event are as follows.

POV Flip - Retelling the same events from a different character's point of view.

Role Reversal - Swapping the roles of two key characters. An example would be remixing a fic where Valerie hunts Danny, by turning Valerie into the hunted and Danny into the hunter in your version.

Sequel/Prequel - The events leading up to or following the fic. This should overlap with either the first or last scene of the original.

Genre Change - Changing the fic to a different genre. An example could be changing a modern day canon setting to medieval fantasy or to a space opera.

For Want of a Nail - One small detail at the beginning of fic is changed, causing things to happen differently.

One Crucial Detail - Focus on what you think is the most important detail of the fic for a character’s point of view, and let everything else fall away.

Guidelines

For this event, we will be doing gen fics only. This is to create a space where everyone can enjoy the pieces regardless of shipping preferences. Potential future iterations of this event may include a shipping option.

Other types of remixes are okay if the author of the oneshot specifies that in their fic description.

Three things cannot be changed - who the characters are, the basic setting, and the basic plot.

Please keep your pieces rated T and under, and use all appropriate trigger warnings.

No direct plagiarism - you need to write things in your own words for the fic to be included in the collection. It’s okay to quote some dialogue or a key sentence or two, especially if you’re writing overlapping scenes, but your fic should mostly be your own words.

In the spirit of the event, crossovers should be avoided unless the author specifically states on their fic that they would be okay with them. In future years we may introduce a crossover category, but for now, avoiding crossovers makes your pieces more accessible to everyone in the fandom.

This event is specifically for writers. However, if artists wish to participate, then they can also feel free to do so. 

Timeline

January 5th to 12th - Initial Author Sign Ups

Please note that I’m hoping for 10 to 12 initial authors, so that there will be a decent selection of one shots for remixing during February.

This is first come first served, but even if allocations are exhausted, that’s okay! You can still participate in writing remixes in February for this event, and there’s no reason you can’t write your own oneshot anyway and tag it that remixes are welcome anytime.

January 13th to 26th - Initial Oneshot Writing Time

The 10 to 12 initial authors will write their oneshots. These pieces should be:

1k to 3k words long

A new or recent oneshot written for Danny Phantom

Rated T and under, and use all appropriate trigger warnings

Gen fics only

January 27th to 30th - Final Review

This is time for last minute questions, beta reading, and formatting for initial authors.

January 31st to February 1st - Initial Oneshots Posted

All of the initial oneshots will be posted, and listed in a masterlist on the infiniterealms tumblr blog with summaries and any author preferences.

February 1st to 28th - Writing Time!

Everyone is welcome to participate! This is not a contest this time, it’s just a celebration of shared interests and a different way of engaging with fic.

Posting instructions will be released on February 1st.

There is no limit to how many pieces anyone writes.

There are no word count restrictions.

All pieces should follow the event guidelines in order to be reblogged on the infiniterealms tumblr or included in the ao3 collection.

February 28th - Last Day to Post!

Last official posting day for your remix fics.

Looking forwards to seeing what you all come up with!

Event organised by @lexiepiper Icon by the very talented @jackdaw-sprite

[pink-hydrangea]

Foxes socmed AU!

Also real quick, since I started making these I’ve realised just how many fab fab creators are doing these too that I haven’t read all the way through (yet), so if you are one of those creators and notice that I’ve accidentally posted a duplicate of a tweet/text exchange you’ve already done and want me to take it down, please just let me know! Never my intention to copy anyone, I get my inspo for these from Twitter and Insta so any crossover is completely accidental - always feel free to drop me a message if there’s anything you’d like me to remove ❤️

(Part 1 with links to all parts)

[ofmermaidstories]

do we think we can make a silent hill x mha crossover work? is that a thing The Vibes would permit? Us, leaving the city during a golden afternoon after a shitty day at work—driving into the night trying to get to a small town in the mountains. Maybe we stop for petrol, a bottled drink. A snack pack of gummy worms we throw onto the passenger seat next to us. Are we tired? Does it matter? We keep driving and driving until the world narrows down to the curve ahead in our headlights. Maybe we’re just outside of the town’s limits when it happens: the kid appearing in the middle of the road.

Do you scream? Do you even remember? Does it matter? Whatever noise you make, you manage to jerk the wheel, a sharp twist that sounds like a bone snapping, somehow, as the pale concrete of the pylons alongside the road are illuminated by your lights like headstones as you spin straight into them.

And when you wake up? When you blink, laid over your wheel and your horn blaring, screaming into the now white blanket of a foggy day—do you even remember the kid? How slight he was? Does it matter?

Maybe it doesn’t matter to you, right now, sitting up. Nothing aches, you’re not uncomfortable, you’re not even thirsty—you’re just there, still in your car, the horn now silent. Why is it daylight? Where did all this fog come? Did no one really drive past in all the however many hours you were out? Does it matter? Pray to God but row to shore—it’s a Russian proverb, supposedly, but you’d heard it on a TV show once, or maybe read it in a book. You can sit there in your car that smells like fog and pineneedles or you can get out and get yourself help. You get out, stumble; and then you follow the curve of the road down into the valley.

You almost feel relief when you see the tiled rooftops. Civilisation. Driving in the dark always felt like driving between worlds, suspended in time, only you and your music, low, the twin lights of other cars, other ghosts going past. But now you’re broken free of it, running down that road, now, your footsteps sharp and echoing against the rockface of the cliff above you—following you down into the ground levels out and leaves you standing there, at the edges of a rice paddy, your relief curling back into the bitter weight of fear when you realise it’s still so quiet. Where is everyone?

You make your way past a couple of small cars, parked up. One of them has a smashed window; you skitter around the edges, something thick in your throat.

“Hello?” You call out, when you make it to a small cluster of homes, the residential street small and tidy.

There’s a scuff of shoes—like they’re kicking off from a wall, or in gravel—and then you startle as just a few houses in front of you, a small boy jumps from behind a wall and bolts—leaving you to call out, “HEY! WAIT—”

He disappears around the corner before you can even reach him and when you turn you scream—coming face to face with a man in the green and gold of a Pro Hero suit, his hands up, catching hold of you as you scream again, twisting.

“Whoa!” He says. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I heard you call out and—I’m sorry, this must be so weird. Are you okay? Are you okay?”

His hands squeeze your arms tighter, reassurance or warning you can’t tell but you—you try to pull back, as much as you can, your eyes flitting over his face as he does the same with you, brow furrowed, big green eyes worried under a riot of dark, green curls.

His lips part, and he swallows. “Are you okay?” He asks for a third time, a whisper. “You’re the first person I’ve seen here since—since I got separated from the others. Please. Are you okay?”

Your heart is thumping hard but you’re no longer trying to fight against him and instead of answering you shake your head—you don’t know. You don’t know. But does it matter?

Wide, firm hands squeeze your arms once more—and then release you, letting you stand, the Pro Hero’s face (and he must be a Pro Hero, you think with a frown, although suddenly you can’t remember ever having seen him) grave.

“Everything will be okay,” he says, firmly. “I’m here. We’ll stick together, find the others, and get out of here.”

From his belt, there’s the click and fuzzy roll of static, coming from a small radio. You swallow, and nod.

(His words sound familiar to you—why do they sound so familiar? Maybe it’s just the script all Pro Heroes say. But it nags at you. It’s nagging at you. Why? Why does it matter?)

[revelboo]

Ignore me-Not Transformers, I just like the angry boi and a friend reminded me of the Transformers/Overwatch crossover and that he was paired with Megs for it. Love his design and the Omnics in general, but so, so incredibly awful at this game. Also, title’s not a Motion City Soundtrack song

Anti-Gravity

Ramattra x Reader

• Heart racing, you run headlong down the street. Hearing the explosions and trying to guess how many streets over they are. You don’t even know where you’re going, just following the people in front of you. When they reach the intersection and start screaming and scattering, you’re shoved down by the panicked people ahead of you. Falling at the feet of an Omnic taller than any you’ve ever seen, seeing its head tip, ribbons on its head sliding against its shoulders. Unable to move as Nullifiers storm the street in a violent tide around him. And his arm lifts, a staff in his hands as you hear the scream of jets overhead.

• They scatter like insects before him and his followers, screaming in fear. Knows they think he’s a monster for what he’s doing, even though they’re the ones that drove him to this. He never wanted any of this, trying again and again for peace only to see his people cut down. Because to them, the Omnics are expendable. Things that can be used and thrown away, not living beings. But not anymore. Never again ignored, because he will be seen and heard.

• That head turns and you catch the faint glow of optics under that mask as the biggest Omnic sees you on the ground, time seeming to slow as his head turns away dismissing you, those ribbon like strands on his head stirring in the breeze as the jets turn. They wouldn’t dare attack, they have to know there’s civilians down here with those monsters. You want to believe that so bad, but when the first missile is launched, you’re frozen but not surprised. Not really. Null Sector makes the news all the time, its leader thwarting attacks repeatedly. Always slipping away before he can be brought down.

• Growling, his arm lifts and a barrier shield flickers to life as the first missile hits. They’re really desperate enough to not care about collateral damage like the human sprawled at his feet or the ones still running just to try and end him. His Nullifiers turning and returning fire as another missile hits a building overlooking the street. Seeing the damage, seeing the building lean over them all. Any cost to stop him, then. Because now they see him. Fear him. Swapping to nemesis form, he bends, dragging the human out of his way and slamming his fists down. Again. Street buckling under the force, aware of the building coming down as he falls and the human screaming as they go with him. Rending pain. And the building crashes down, entombing him in darkness. But they’d seen him.

• Something wet drips in your face, and everything hurts as you come to by degrees. Wherever you are is cold, dark, and wet. Shafts of light spearing down from above, dust dancing in the golden glow. Pain slices through you when you try to move, trying to remember details. The building came down on you, so how had you survived? You remember the tall Omnic getting bigger, looking at you and raising his fists. Falling. You’re below the street? Gingerly sitting up, you try to figure out how badly you’re hurt. And there, a flicker in the dark. That Omnic, the one you’d seen on the news. Ramattra, Null Sector’s leader. He’s right there, unmoving. One of his legs pinned under debris, an arm torn completely off. Much worse off than you are, though shifting sends a jagged lance of pain through your ankle. There’s a broken rebar near you and you reach for it without thinking, the metal bitingly cold against your palm. As cold as the realization that you could end this. Drive this twisted spike of metal through his head and the fear disappears. Optics flickering behind the broken mask, its head turns to stare at you. And snared by those awful optics, you drag yourself to your feet.

Next

[supernova41st]

ok but like I loved ur mercy!reader post and considering my love for crossovers ESPECIALLY character interactions I was wondering if u could do more???

Nerf this! ₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎

Tf2 x Dva!Reader

A/n: If you’re not familiar with Dva then I suggest watching the Dva Cinematic. It’ll sum her character up and she’s a fun one at that ^^. A lot of my tf2 x ow fics are platonic so unless I outright say that it’s romantic you can imagine it however you’d like, enjoy <33

Warnings: None

Divider creds: Sister-Lucifer on Tumblr

Engineer

Since you guys were forced to share a workshop it looks pretty similar to the bedroom from Sam and Cat, one side being dull and grey with little to no decorations while the other is pink with cute plushies/figurines around the place.

After a bit you grew closer, sitting around in silence while working on your projects got pretty awkward so it was about time before someone broke the ice.

“You ever name your bots?”

“Huh, don’t think so.. you?”

“Yes! I call her Tokki, she’s cute isn’t she?”

“And one hell of a shade of pink”

Engineer is really competitive when it comes to you, being that you both are engineers/inventors. You guys have fun 🫶

“That’s 10 kills! Can you do that grandpa?”

“Haha! Just wait til’ you see what my other babies can do”

Will gladly show you some old tricks that he’s learned over the years since he’s more experienced. Plus he’s the only person you’ll ever trust your dear Tokki with.

Speaking of which-your self destruct sequence is always done by him, any of the other mercs will FUMBLEEE

“how do I friggin do this?? Is there like a joystick I can move around?”

•

“Too many dæm buttons on this zing! I zon’t know what I’m doing”

•

“pulls out glasses your mouse controls the small pointer on ze screen, use it to-WHAT DOES ANY OF THIS MEAN?”

“IT MEANS YOU’RE STUPID HEAVY.”

Interactions/Voicelines 🎤

Team kill with Self Destruct

“How’s that for a shade of pink?”

•

“Definitely haven’t seen somethin’ like that in my years.”

•

“Thanks Tae-I mean!-Engie!!”

Domination

“Too slow, peepaw!”

•

“Hope that wasn’t hard on your arthritis -3-“

Medic

Medic gets so excited when you’re on a mission with him. Loves pocketing you, partly because you’re the nicest when it comes to asking for help

“CMON THEN DOCTOR”

“heal me pussy.��

“DOCTOR, HEAL NOW”

“heals plss 😚”

He also enjoys how you’re full of surprises, he thought you were gonna die when your mech broke down but no! You jumped out that thing and pistol whipped the whole team’s faces off like the diva you are.

“PISTOL TO THE FACE!!”

“Y/n slow down 🙂”

He loves you but you overstimulate him.

Interactions/Voicelines 🎤

Ubering

“LETS GO!”

•

“RAHHH!! GET OUTTA MY GAME!”

Spawn Interactions

“Vill you surprise me out there, Hase?”

“Of course! You know I always do ^.^”

•

“Nett mech”

“Nett coat!!”

“Aw, vy thank you”

Spy

This ho won’t stop talking shit. Every time he opens his mouth about you it’s him complaining about how “you’re too young to be on this team” or “your ‘experience’ with video games doesn’t serve a war” or “stop playing video games y/n we’re in the middle of battle”.

He avoided you for the most part until you decided to make some small talk while you both awkwardly stood in an elevator, big mistake 😬

“I bet your gun does a ton of DPS”

“Must you always muster up your video game vocabulary with reality?”

“Must you always be so petty?? 😒 old Frenchie fuck you and your dps gun”

Clearly he’s not fond of youngin’s joining the team. Though he does find you more “tolerable” than scout since you at least have some experience with fighting in a war (kinda)

He hates that he has to crawl to you for tech help, he doesn’t know what he’s doing-you’re the tech expert!!

“Y/n.. something is wrong with the radio.”

“..oookkayyy??”

“Can you help?”

“LOL!!”

Meetings with you always end up in him taking your game console away, he just won’t leave you alone 🙄

“Hey! I was in the middle of beating a boss!!”

“You’ll have it back once you listen to what I have to say, girl.”

“Ughh fine”

Interactions/Voicelines 🎤

Spawn interactions

“Don’t you think your little pink robot will be a distraction?”

“That’s.. just the way I like it!”

Blaster light gun kill

“See that, Spy? Pure skill.”

Spy callout

“Ping!Ping!Ping! Spy around here!!”

[geeks-universe]

Cooper Howard x F!Reader (not to spoil it, but you know I love my crossovers so…)

The Fallen pt. 1

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once, when the world was younger and you were still naive enough to believe in fate, you asked your father about love.

He’d laughed then- a deep, cheery kind, that spoke of a wisdom you could never hope to achieve.

“In time,” he’d promised, taking your hands into his, “You’ll learn that love comes in many forms, and the love you choose will always be the greatest.”

Even after everything, after years and years of disappointment, of cruelty and emptiness, you couldn’t forget his words.

So, in an act of rebellion, you chose love.

You chose the love of your brother, the brother who would lose everything, who would fall from Grace, just for defying fate.

You chose the human race, who turned their back on you, who hurt you over and over again.

You chose a better life, that seemed impossible most days- but sometimes, just sometimes, everybody lives.

And you chose wrong.

The world tore itself apart, and just when you wanted to believe it could find itself again, it would fall into the greatest trap in human history: greed.

The love in your soul turned to dust, like the cities you’d once roamed, crumbling until all that remained was an empty space and broken dreams. You’d held onto what you could of yourself, desperate to piece together the fragments into something that resembled the person you’d been, but there was no hope. The spark of hope you’d once kindled and raised to an inferno was doused, nothing but ashes in the ocean of your disappointment.

There were still a few things you couldn’t abide by, however, and Cooper Howard dragging an innocent woman through the desolate Wastelands was one of them.

You’d happened upon the scene by accident, just passing through, but the familiarity of the figure had you lurking longer than what was normally deemed safe.

“Coop?”

Your voice was gentle, like the beginning strums of a sweet song. Cooper wasn’t sure how the harshness that had etched itself into your demeanor never invaded your speech, but he would be eternally grateful. It was a goddamn godsend he didn’t believe he ever deserved.

“Well, now,” he drawled, careful to keep the smile that threatened to peek through hidden. “Last I heard, you were headed East.”

You had no such reservations, and even the years of guilt and pain couldn’t wipe away the upturn of your lips. For an action so small, it sure did radiate in a way the sun never could.

“I did, but it didn’t stick,” you shrugged, grabbing the straps of your backpack. Never one for subtlety, you gestured at the vault-dweller, who had been eyeing you with a keen interest.

She had been quiet, obviously, for the sake of herself and how Cooper might react to her asking for help. Now that you’d acknowledged her, though, she started speaking up, much to Cooper’s chagrin.

“I’m Lucy,” she said, tugging harshly at the restraints around her neck. “I’m looking for my father.”

You nodded, and the fluttering in Lucy’s heart slowed, fear mixing with her initial curiosity. You knew the ghoul holding her captive, the chances of you helping her were slim to none, but she tried to remain optimistic. Maybe, just maybe, there was still a good person on the surface.

“Might be hard to do with that,” your eyes flicked from her neck to Cooper, with a pointed raise of one brow.

He let out a low whistle, leaning back with the confidence of a man who’d lived long enough to not be afraid of shit. If it were anyone else, friend or not, he would’ve shot them dead and been done with it. He didn’t need to answer to anyone, but something deep in his chest forced his hands steady.

“She broke my vials,” he explained, cautiously avoiding your gaze. “Seems only fair she gets me more.”

“He used me as bait!” Lucy argued indignantly, trying to take a step towards you only to be tugged back by Cooper. “I had to do something.”

“Your father,” the word is strained, a haunting in your eyes Lucy can’t place, “Where is he?”

Lucy tried, once again, to walk to you. Coop, however, was keeping her on a tight leash, refusing to let her near you. It’s for his benefit, he tells himself, even if some small part of him does it for your protection.

Over the years, he’s run into you many, many times. No matter how hard he’s tried, it’s like fate keeps bringing him back to you. At first, he’d been downright horrible to you, terrified to admit that there was something in your eyes that made him feel human again. Slowly, ever slowly, like a stubborn weed you grew on him, and it’s been impossible for him to deny the way his body reacts to you.

“Coop,” you chide, your voice like velvet, enveloping his skin in a soft warmth. Fuck, he did love it when you used his name.

You gave Lucy a half smile, and the growl that threatened to leave Cooper’s mouth got caught in his throat as he realized you weren’t walking to her, but to him.

“I’ll get you the vials, just let her find her dad.”

He stood a little taller as you approached, planting his hands on his belt as he ran his tongue along his teeth.

“Darlin’, I ain’t doing this for the hell of it,” he replied, and then paused. “Mostly.”

You reached your hands out, carefully enveloping them around where he was grasping the rope. In all his years, he hadn’t recalled a single touch ever stirring his stomach the way yours did. You’d only ever touched him once before, and it was a brief graze of his cheek. This was intentful, and it felt a hell of a lot more intimate than it had any right to be.

“Please,” you breathed, and he could see the despair in your eyes - eyes that were far too old for someone who looked so young. He could never quite piece together how you fit in this world, or how you managed to look as if you’d stepped right out of the past just to have this moment with him.

He sighed, maintaining a scowl for all he was worth. Cooper Howard would not let you see the effect you had on him.

“Thank you, Coop.”

His stubborn heart skipped a beat as he clenched his jaw, his expression emanating annoyance. You weren’t perturbed, however, turning away to free Lucy.

“I’m (Y/N),” you introduced yourself, careful not to irritate the marks on her neck further. Cooper was rough around the edges, you knew that, but you saw the man beneath the armor in the little moments, the times he couldn’t quite hide who he was.

It intrigued you, made you think about yourself and the person you’d become. Perhaps, you had been too hasty in throwing that person away. Maybe, that part of yourself was still alive too, buried underneath layers of armor.

“Thank you,” she was sincere in her gratitude, and that tiny piece of yourself flared, begging to be remembered.

“I could help you too, you know,” you offered after a delayed pause, chasing the optimism she held tightly onto.

No matter how hard you tried, your soul fought back, demanded to be whole again.

“Really?” Her surprise morphed to joy, and you found it contagious.

“Now hold on just a damn minute,” Cooper interrupted, not pleased with that development. “Your services are required elsewhere.”

“I’m capable of servicing more than just you.”

His leg twitched at the insinuation, at the way you looked at him from beneath your lashes with an innocence he doubted you possessed.

“But, since you asked so nicely cowboy,” your smile was devious, your tone far too sultry for the sweltering heat of the desert. “You first.”

Lucy’s brows were to her hairline, unsure what to make of the dynamic between the two of you. Her entertainment, however, was cut blissfully short when you threw a canteen towards her, which she caught instinctually.

“Now you’re coddling her, sweetheart?”

You took a moment to wrap the lasso Cooper carried around into a neat loop, your gaze locked with his as you approached once more. Lucy was too preoccupied with her water to notice the two of you sizing one another up.

“Don’t be jealous, Coop,” you grabbed the front of his belt roughly, forcing him a step closer to you.

He fell into the motion, tracing his eyes dangerously slow from where you gripped his belt to the soft curve of your lips.

“You’re still my favorite,” you promised on a breath as you tucked his lasso securely into his waist.

His hands snatched your wrists before you pulled away, and for a brief moment, the intermingling of your breath was all that interrupted the silence. His gaze was a challenge, and yours was far too playful.

It was damn near unfair how you could walk through the apocalypse and still look like you belonged on a fucking billboard. There was an unnatural allure around you, and he wasn’t sure if it was the twinkle in your eyes, or the smoothness of your skin, or the gentle bur of your voice- but holy fuck you looked like an angel that’d accidentally stumbled into hell.

The silence was interrupted by Lucy clearing her throat, an awkward smile as she caught your attention.

“I’m sorry to interrupt but-“

“It’s okay,” you assure her, grazing your fingers along Cooper’s palms as you step from his proximity.

“Vials first, daddy dearest after,” you reminded them, taking the lead.

Lucy was more than happy to walk beside you, while Cooper trailed a small distance behind. Where Lucy was insistent on speaking, keeping up a steady conversation through the long trek, Cooper preferred to observe.

First, he focused on the way your black jumpsuit hugged all the right areas, tight enough it could be considered a damn sin. That train of thought was dangerous though, and left him with an ache he knew he couldn’t satisfy on his own.

So, he instead focused on the way you effortlessly dodged Lucy’s line of questions, and redirected the questions to learn about her. It was curious, that. As much of a tight lipped bastard that Cooper was, you were doubly so. Through the years and the friendly encounters, he’d let some of his life slip in conversation. Nothing substantial, but you certainly knew more tidbits than anyone else.

He, however, didn’t know anything about you. He knew what he observed, but you never told him anything about your past.

It helped pass the time, sifting through your noncommittal answers to make assumptions about the life you lived.

It was difficult though.

Sometimes, you talked about things like you’d witnessed them, even though it would’ve been impossible. He didn’t know your age exactly, but if he had to guess, he’d put you at maybe mid-twenties, and that’s at the oldest. It was damn near a miracle you didn’t have any missing limbs or obvious scarring. You looked as unmarked as a damn vault dweller, and he was starting to think that perhaps you had been one.

“Have you always lived on the surface?”

He never thought he’d be thankful for the damn vault dweller, but it was nice having someone try to pry some answers out of you.

“That’s a harder question to answer than you’d think,” you laughed a little coyly, like there was a joke that only you were privy to.

When it was obvious you weren’t going to continue speaking, and Lucy had far too many manners to push any further on the subject, she asked another question.

“Why’d you help me?“

Your gaze turned toward the setting sun. It had been over half the day since you’d decided to help them both, and the sun was just now slipping below the horizon. The three of you would have to rest soon.

“It’s hard to forget the person I was,” you admitted lowly.

The symphony that was your voice turned decidedly melancholy, unnaturally so. Normally, it sounded more like a romantic string of tunes that captured the essence of life. This, however, was sad, dead.

“Maybe the world needs more people like that,” Lucy provided, and Cooper didn’t miss the flash of guilt that devastated your expression.

Curious, indeed.

“I’d reckon that’s the last place we’ll find ‘fore the sun disappears,” Coop states, pointing to a rickety, old house, somehow still standing against the desert in defiance.

“It’s as good a place as any for the night,” you shrugged, leading the small group to the rest spot.

Where Cooper was cautious, weapon drawn, you were careless, opening the door like you knew nothing was in there that could hurt you. He felt a twinge of annoyance that you would be that reckless, knowing the dangers of the Wasteland. He was many things, but a protector was certainly not one of them.

“Here,” Lucy tried to hand you back the canteen you’d gifted her earlier as you settled yourself down in a corner.

The building was definitely empty, and provided some amount of protection from both the elements and any creatures lurking about, but there wasn’t any intact furniture. You’d found a relatively comfortable pile of sand and laid your pack down, as if it were a pillow.

“Keep it,” you refused to take the offering. You were honestly a bit surprised she had even saved some for you.

“But you haven’t had anything to drink all day.”

It was an oddity that Cooper had noticed too. While both he and the vault-dweller had taken an occasional sip of water or a bite to eat, you hadn’t done either, and the brutal pace you’d set hadn’t reflected that.

“Believe me, “ you said, turning your back to your two traveling companions. “I’m okay.”

Obviously unsatisfied with leaving the conversation, Lucy frowned, but obeyed. Her probing look to the ghoul warranted no answers, and eventually she found her own patch of sand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next few days passed along in a similar manner, and the more of you that the two observed, the more confused they became. They didn’t voice their concerns, however, far more focused on the destination you had in mind.

“It’s…”

Lucy trailed off, side eyeing you with a questioning look.

“A lab,” you supplied.

“Right, a lab!” She echoed enthusiastically, deciding it best not to point out that it was very much in a state of disrepair and the likelihood of anything surviving the looting prevalent throughout the Wastelands was little to none.

“Sugar, I don’t have the time to be fucking around right now.”

It was the closest tone to anger that Cooper had spoken to you since his first year of knowing you. In the past two days specifically his coughing had grown more severe and more often.

You’d explained a generalized version of what would happen without help to Lucy after the first night, and since then she’d been a bit more apologetic to the ghoul, even if he was a dick.

“Stay out here,” you ordered, not waiting for their inevitable protest as you slipped into the decrepit building with a loud screech of the door.

At the very least, your traveling companions didn’t follow you into the descending hallway, which was more than you expected.

Whatever source had powered the underground facility had died years ago, leaving the bulk of the supplies sealed tight behind an impenetrable door. The bunker was lined with 2 feet of lead, and a door weighing many tons. It was nigh impossible to get in, and if you were anyone else, you would’ve considered it a lost cause.

Instead, you cast a glance back towards the faded light where the entrance was, ensuring that you were not followed while you grabbed hold of the door handle.

You sighed, yanking with a great deal of force until the door made a loud pop, coming unhinged and falling to the ground with a deafening thud. There was a hushed murmur from where Lucy had yelled down to you, but you didn’t bother replying, instead focused on the rows and rows of vials.

Most of the initial testing sites were still secret, a forgotten part of history that, despite their usefulness in the current state of the world, had fallen into the cracks of negligence. Luckily for you, and by extension Cooper, there was enough supply to last him damn near a year if he could ration and store it properly.

Just as you dropped the first vial into your backpack, which was in a convenient metal container, you heard a distinct whooshing noise. You didn’t need to look at the falling object to know who had decided to drop by, and with an exasperated sigh, you tilted your head toward the ceiling of the very dark, very cold bunker.

“Brother…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Do you think we should check on her?” Lucy was having trouble keeping still, straining her eyes down the dark hallway. “What if she’s hurt?“

“She ain’t hurt,” Cooper shot back, leaning back against the dingy building and crossing his arms over his chest.

“She could be de-“

“Finish that sentence and you might find yourself there, sweetheart,” He threatened, his fingers reaching down toward his holstered gun.

Maybe it’d be better to keep her mouth shut, but after a tense silence, and quite literally nothing better to do, Lucy couldn’t help herself.

“So, you and (Y/N)-“

“Do you like breathin’? ‘Cause I’m getting the distinct feeling that you certainly do not.”

“I couldn’t help but notice you look at her with this-“

“I have no qualms with blasting a hole through your head ‘nd tellin’ her you decided to run off.”

“And then there’s the way she talks to you-“

“I’m gonna stop you right there, sweetheart. If one more word comes out of your mouth, it’ll be the last.”

The two met stare for stare, the threat lingering in the hot breeze between them. Lucy had no doubt she was beginning to grate on the ghoul’s nerves, but she also didn’t really think he’d harm her, not when it was obvious you’d know it was him that did so.

He wouldn’t risk you being upset with him.

Probably.

And because Lucy really didn’t know when to stop talking, she spoke one more time.

“I know that you think I’m naive, and maybe I am, but I do know that life is unexpected and people die, like, a lot.” She dragged in a breath, envisioning her last, and only, memory with her mother, surprised that Cooper had actually let her speak for this long without interrupting.

“Especially up here, so maybe, just… keep that in mind.”

The silence stretched, and for a long moment, Lucy was sure he was going to shoot her. Or at the very least, not answer.

Ever so quietly, however, in a low grumble she heard him mutter, “I know.”

The air felt significantly less murderous after that, and she left the ghoul to contemplate his complex feelings on the subject. She might not fully understand the extent of your connection, or even why you felt that way towards him, but she could appreciate the raw emotion that sparked in the conversation between you both.

If anything good came out of her coming to the surface, besides bringing her dad home, she hopes it would be them realizing the gift they have. Idly, she thought about the knight she’d met back at Filly. That was the first real connection she’d had with anyone, as silly as it was to think about.

“I’m glad nobody’s shot,” you interrupted the quiet contemplation, the smile on your lips not quite reaching your eyes.

Whatever happened in the mysterious lab couldn’t have been good, but you seemed entirely unscathed outside the haunted, nervous look in your eyes.

“Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Cooper greeted, tipping his hat back a titch so he could inspect your person. If he took a little extra time to appreciate the curves of your body- well, who could blame him?

“It’s cleared out,” you rattled your pack in the air before you, nearly dropping some of the overstuffed vials.

Coop let out a low whistle, and Lucy commented, “That’s enough for a lifetime.”

“Not quite,” you laughed, passing along the top one to Cooper. “But it will certainly last a while.”

While the ghoul tended to his needs, Lucy and you wandered further into the Wasteland, eyeing the pipboy on her wrist with the directions to the head.

“So the head for your dad?”

There it was again. The sourness in your voice at the word “dad”. Lucy wanted to ask without being too terribly intrusive, but let the subject drop.

“Did anything happen in the lab?”

You bummed, shaking your head. It was clearly a lie, further proven by the frown that settled on your lips. There wasn’t a lot of yourself you trusted other people with, especially not when it came to your family, but your soul was burning with the desire to shed your armor.

“My brother’s name is Lucy,” you said suddenly, unprompted. “Well, his nickname.”

Lucy, at the very least knowing where the boundary was, decided not to press her luck. Despite seeming to be such a small piece of information, she could see the effort you put into sharing it nonetheless.

“Lucy?” Cooper echoed, having snuck up at some point to follow you.

You weren’t bothered that he’d overheard though. On more than one occasion you’d wanted to share pieces of yourself with Cooper.

“Lucifer,” you provided his full name, a twinge at the top of your shoulder blade, where your battered, broken wings began, ran down the length of your spine.

“Like the devil?” Lucy inquired cautiously.

A laugh crawled up your throat, and before you could stop it, you were giggling heartily, nodding your head.

“That’d be the one, yeah.”

She didn’t understand the truth you were telling her. You knew she wouldn’t, couldn’t possibly fathom the implications that ensued with that knowledge either.

Lucy casted one quick glance at Cooper, then cleared her throat and claimed she was going off the path to use the bathroom quick.

There was a tense silence that permeated the hot, desert air when she left, a new development that neither occupant knew how to navigate. Finally, Coop broke it.

“Ya know, you’ve never actually talked about… all o’ that.”

Your family.

He didn’t say it in so many words, but you could fill in the unspoken topic without much thought. You hummed, acknowledging your own secrecy regarding your past.

“Sometimes it’s better to leave the past buried.”

Coop breathed out a laugh.

“Don’t I know it.”

The smile you gave him was genuine, albeit small. Hesitantly, you reached out towards his gloved hand, grasping it lightly between your own. You didn’t have anything you really wanted to say, didn’t need to, actually. He could see it in your eyes, the gratefulness shining in your bright gaze, clearing some of the guilt that stayed stagnant on your person.

“The vaultie reminded me today,” he drawled, his voice even lower than normal. If you didn’t know him any better, you’d say he was almost flustered.

“People die.”

You waited for him to continue, and when he didn’t, you raised a brow in question.

Cooper felt his heart jump to his throat. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bare himself- not now, maybe not ever. The world felt like it started spinning around him, and he pulled his hand from yours, cradling it to your chest.

“Just hope you’re not one of ‘em, darlin’,” he finished lamely.

You swallowed, deciding it was better not to push. Not today.

“You too, Coop.”

Words simmered between you. Dangerous, terrifying words. But Cooper couldn’t get them out, couldn’t get past the panic that played his heart like a damn fiddle.

And you, well you couldn’t let go of your guilt, couldn’t see past the pain of watching the world go to shit and not doing anything to stop it.

So those words stayed unspoke, utterances of the heart, but not of the lips. Maybe, if they were never voiced, they could freeze, and eventually crumble, like time did to all.

Lucy returned then, and the unlikely group continued on as before, leaving the forgotten words to decay away in the dry sand of the Wasteland

[samsseptember]

Samtember 2024 Calendar, Rules, and Guidelines!

Hi, Sam Wilson Nation! It’s that time of year again when we all get together to celebrate our beloved Sam Wilson’s birth month. That’s right, it’s ✰Samtember2024✰ !!!

As per usual, the event will be running from Friday, September 1st to Saturday, September 30th and there will be prompts set for each day:

Week 1:

Day 1 - Free Space

Day 2 - Bird Telepathy

Day 3 - Costume

Day 4 - Crossover/Multiverse

Day 5 - Canon Divergence

Day 6 - Hurt/Comfort

Day 7 - Future Fic

Week 2:

Day 8 - On Your Left

Day 9 - Move Your Seat Up

Day 10 - I Never Said Pilot

Day 11 - The Big Three

Day 12 - When Do We Start?

Day 13 - Man, Shut the Hell Up

Day 14 - Moon Stuff

Week 3:

Day 15 - Cap Quartet

Day 16 - Redwing

Day 17 - Mission Fic

Day 18 - Shield

Day 19 - Wakanda

Day 20 - Undercover

Day 21 - Co-Pilots

Week 4 + 2 Days:

Day 22 - Cookout / Boil

Day 23 - Birthday

Day 24 - Fishing

Day 25 - Louisiana

Day 26 - Lovers

Day 27 - The Paul & Darlene

Day 28 - Slice of Life

Day 29 - Wilson Family

Day 30 - Home

We will open a collection on AO3 soon. We will update this when the collection is ready, but when it is you'll also be able to find it by typing samtember2024 in the add to collections option.

You can also tag any works you post with #samtember2024 or tag this blog @samsseptember. Works will be reblogged every day throughout the month. 

What works count for this fan event?

Any of the following count:

fanfic

podfic

fanart

gifsets

photosets / moodboards / collages

graphics

Haikus

videos / edits

playlists

fic rec lists

comments

Whichever way you want to celebrate Sam Wilson, it’s up to you! 

The rest of the FAQ and rules are under the cut.

FAQ

What is this?

It’s a Sam Wilson fan event.

Is there any pressure?

No pressure at all. Fill one prompt. Fill all the prompts on for the month. Do however many you please.

Can I fill more than one prompt with one piece of art/one fic?

Yes! You can fill one prompt with one piece of art or fic. You can try to fill all 30 prompts at once with one piece of art or fic. If you can fill every single prompt from every single day in one fill, that’d be wild but it’s okay by the rules. You can do any number in between.

Are there any prizes for making anything for this event?

Just the satisfaction that you made something cool.

Should the work I make be Sam Wilson-centric?

Yes. You can make a gen work or a piece with any ship with Sam Wilson in it, but the main focus should be Sam Wilson.

How long will this event run?

It will run from September 1st to September 30th.

I heard there are badges I can use for each fill?

There will be! They will come out daily.

Do I have to post my fic for the prompt on the day of the prompt?

You can if you’d like, but it’s okay if you post a piece on a day other than the day of the prompt.

RULES AND GUIDELINES

What are the guidelines for the event?

For Everyone:

1. Remember to tag @samsseptember in the post as well as #samtember2024.

2. Please also tag the prompt you’re filling (for instance, if the square is “Redwing”, use “#redwing” as one of your tags when posting about it on Tumblr).

3. If you’re uploading to AO3, please:

a ) Say somewhere which prompt you’re filling.

b ) Add it to Samtember 2024 Collection that you can find here.

For Artists:

1. Create at least one piece of new art that can’t have been posted anywhere else before this.

2. All visual art forms are welcome:

a ) Gifsets, at least 3 gifs.

b ) Aesthetic boards or moodboards, at least 4 images each.

c ) Drawing/painting, that is not a sketch.

d) Fan video.

e) Graphics edit.

For Authors:

1. At least 500 words.

2. Posted on Tumblr or AO3.

3. Can be part of a series, but should work as a standalone.

For Podficcers:

1. The podfic should at least be 5 minutes long.

2. It should be posted on either Tumblr or AO3.

3. The podfic can be of a fic made for the event, a fic not made for the event while still adhering to the prompt, or a notfic.

For Fic Rec Lists:

1. You must have at least three fics or podfics on the rec list.

2. Make sure to give brief descriptions of the fics or podfics as well as their rating and wordcount.

For Commenters:

1. Any amount of comment counts, from a heart emoji (“❤️”) to an essay.

2. We would rather this be about what makes you happy and joyful about reading than any scathing critiques.

Things to be mindful of when creating:

For Sam

Avoid framing Sam only as a caretaker or emotional support for Bucky. Be mindful of Sam acting angry or aggressive in an out-of-character way and falling into the angry/sassy Black man trope (check out the MCU source material to help with character traits).

Avoid decentering Sam as a main character and refrain from focusing entirely on Bucky.

In art: avoid whitewashing Sam’s skin and research drawing Black characters.

General disclaimer: Race affects every aspect of his life, including interacting with police/government and the white structures of the world when it comes to performing his duties as Cap and simply being a Black man that lives in the U.S.

For Bucky

Avoid phrasing “flesh/normal/human hand” to refer to the contrast between his prosthetic arm and his right arm. The phrasing is ableist. You can simply refer to his prosthesis when relevant, otherwise use “right/left arm/hand”.

For more information, please check out this document suggested by @ninesdb on how to write Bucky as an amputee. @ninesdb is also open to questions if you have any queries not answered by the google doc.

Specific Tags:

Avoid tags in AO3 like “Sam Wilson is a Gift”, “Sam Wilson is a Saint”, and “Bucky Needs a Hug”.

Have fun and we look forward to all your wonderful works! ✰

[karaspal]

so i was js scrolling thru ur page and i wanted to know if you have any good starter comics abt the superfam ?

oh do i have some recs for you, my friend.

i’ve already answered for kara here and made a jon reading guide here.

now onto my boy clark:

superman: birthright - it’s an origin story. great way to get introduced to the superman universe;

superman: the secret years - it’s a more old comics, but still great. revolves around clark’s college years;

superman: kryptonite - clark’s first encounter with kryptonite;

action comics by greg pak - it’s during the new 52 era. you can skip the unnecessary crossovers and just read his individual arcs - “action comics (2011) #25 - 29, 35 - 40”);

superman: man of tomorrow - hero of metropolis - low stakes. slice of life. great vibes. great way to get introduced to a few superman villains;

superman by kurt busiek and geoff johns. reading guide here;

the warworld saga by phillip kennedy johnson. my favourite superman story ever;

superman smashes the klan. it’s a great story.

if you want to read superman comics chronologically, here you can find great starting points.

it’s a bit more complicated with lois because she is a second main character for a lot of clark’s stories, but doesn’t have her own titles very often (which is a shame because she’s great!). you’d get a pretty good idea of who she is from the superman recs, but during 2019, greg rucka wrote a comic with her as the main character - “lois lane (2019)” so i’d recommend checking that out. you can also check “supermans’s pal jimmy olsen (2019)” as well. it doesn’t have lois, but it has jimmy and he’s pretty cool.

note: both kon-el and john henry irons debuted during “reign of the superman” storyline.

as for kon, i haven’t read much of his comics, but he had a solo in the 90s and he’s a prominent member of the young justice comics so i’d recommend checking “superboy (1994)” and “young justice (1998)”. he also had a mini recently - “superboy: the man of tomorrow”.

as for john and nat, john also had an ongoing in the 90s - “steel (1994)”. nat was a main character during “52”. not sure if i’d recommend her story in that one though. but you can check it out and see if you like it. after that, she was in “infinity inc. (2007)” which is a follow up to her 52 storyline and again, not sure how much i recommend it. as far as i know, nat was also in the titans for a bit - “titans (2016) #23 - 36”. i’m yet to read it though so i’m not sure if it’s good. recently, there was a miniseries called “steelworks (2023)” and it was really good. both john and nat are main characters.

lana, same as lois, unfortunately doesn’t have that many solos. she was great during greg pak’s action comics run. and she had a solo during rebirth - “superwoman (2016)” that heavily featured john henry as well.

kenan debuted during the rebirth era and had a solo - “new super-man (2016)” and that’s pretty much it. he also had a two-part back up story in action comics #1058 - 1059 that explained how he joined the family.

as for lois and clark’s kids (that aren’t jon), you’ll find out more about chris during kurt busiek and geoff johns’ era and more about otho and osul during the warworld saga.

that’s all i’ve got. there are more superfamily members, but those are the once i feel confident giving recs for.

[webanglikethat]

Hiiii just wanna say this is a slay blog (got all my interests, from Conan to kpop to rc to Taylor to GTop... ANYWAYS can you yap about Conan? Anything about Conan you feel like you could write a PhD only /lh. Have a nice day!

omg hi !!! are we like platonic soulmates? I can't believe we like all the same things !! that made me so excited <33

also omg you can't just ask me to yap cause I WILL shortcircuit and forget everything /j /lh 😭

well we could talk about how the whole Kaishin accident of last year was .. Something.

Gosho HIMSELF stated that MK (Magic Kaito) and DC were in separate universes and were not canon to each other. one of the main differences between the two is that in MK magic actually exists, which I feel like would ruin DC's plotline (just think of the fake 'magic episodes' like the dog on fire episode).

-> so how do their crossovers work? don't ask me idk 😭

if I remember correctly, in MK it was even implied the Professor is the one who built Kaito's gadgets so like ???

I think Gosho messed up by not making these two worlds unite in the first place. I mean he did write MK first then gave up on it, but I still think he has made the plotline and worldbuilding flawed. he shouldn't have flat out said they were not relevant to each other. ofc he couldn't have foreseen how popular DC would become but still.

and his father being alive ?????????? TO BE FAIR we kinda knew that since like 2017 already BUT still ????

from the very beginning, Kaito’s whole reason for becoming Kaito Kid was to figure out the truth about his dad’s death. he thought his father was killed because of this shady organization that’s hunting for the Pandora gem, a magical stone that supposedly grants immortality. it’s a HUGE responsibility for a high schooler, but he took it all on because he loved his dad and wanted justice !!! like he is still just a child !!!! now the organization thinks HE is the original KID !! and he is in danger !!! but he won't give up !!!!!

and then they are like, “oh, by the way, Toichi faked his death and let Kaito think he was dead for years.” YEARS. do you know how damaging that is??? Kaito grew up grieving. he put himself in so many life-threatening situations because he thought it was the only way to honor his father’s memory. and now we find out that Toichi let his own son suffer through all of that on purpose? ON PURPOSE ?????

and yes, maybe Toichi had some big reason for faking his death. maybe he thought it was the only way to keep Kaito safe or whatever. I'm assuming it's gonna relate to the Organization plotline. but like guess what? it didn’t work cause Kaito still ended up in danger!!!!!! so good fucking job !!!! like you're telling me he is oh sooo good at masking himself and he couldn't have faked a new identity?

and you know who else failed Kaito? Yusaku Kudo.

he’s Kaito’s uncle, which means he absolutely knew what was going on. he knew about his 'death'. he knew Kaito lost a father. he knew he was grieving his dad. and what did Yusaku do? absolutely nothing. you're telling me that not even ONCE he went to see him? Toichi is still alive and in contact with Yusaku and that just . Is Okay to Them???

I mean does Yukiko know??

if they were cousins, why have they never tried to interact before? even if their families were distant, you’d think someone would have mentioned the connection. Yukiko was Toichi's student, she should have known about Kaito, right? but in every interaction we’ve seen, Yukiko talks about Toichi as if he was just her teacher, nothing more. no fond family anecdotes, no “Oh, how’s Kaito doing?”—just silence. if she knew they were cousins, wouldn’t she have at least acknowledged the connection? did Yusaku just . Lie to her??? for like what, 20+ years? if Yukiko and Toichi were related, she would have brought it up at some point especially since Yukiko is a bit of a gossip and loves to tease people (what a queen, I love her). you think she wouldn’t have mentioned her oh so pretty and charming nephew Kaito in all her dramatic flair? no way.

then there’s Kaito’s symbolic funeral for Toichi. where were the Kudo family members? if they’re actually related, how do you justify none of them showing up?

also agree with this point: post here

grief was/is a huge part of who Kaito was. this just cheapens everything.

it’s lazy writing, plain and simple. Gosho could’ve explored their connection in so many interesting ways without making Kaishin related. this also downplays Toichi/Yusaku's dynamic cause all the times Yusaku stopped Toichi he was just stopping his own brother lmao.

instead, he threw in a cheap twist that doesn’t add anything to the story and actively detracts from what was already established.

mfers when they see their nephew:

also I hate the 'oh they but look similar, how did you not know?' argument like;

mf this is them:

Gosho you will prey kaishin out of my DEAD hands (and I don't even care about this ship that much!). these two KISS on the MOUTH.

& let's be real: there’s no way Gosho can sweep this under the rug with some heartwarming reunion or throwaway explanation. his father can't just show up and be like 'Hi child! I am alive! let's get some food to eat and discuss your school grades'. I desperately hope it won't be some comedic relief situation, or a joke or whatever. this is DARK.

I suppose the worst part is that Kaito didn’t spend his life secretly hoping Toichi was alive or refusing to believe the evidence. he accepted that his father is dead. Kaito grieved fully. yk how there are characters that are like, 'no, my dad is alive! nobody belives me but please, I know it!'. that simply is not Kaito.

when Kaito finds out Toichi is alive it’s not going to be pretty. IT BETTER NOT BE. Kaito isn’t the type to have a “you’re back, I missed you” moment. I hope he's going to be furious because he’ll feel betrayed, lied to, and robbed of the years he spent mourning. he should be allowed to take a few swings at him tbh -

Gosho NEEDS to dive into the emotional consequences. if Gosho skips over that, it’s going to feel like a complete disservice to Kaito’s character. it needs to be ugly and messy. this can't be fixed immediately. it should be over few different ARCs imo.

another sad part is how Kaito pretty much lives in father’s shadow, trying so hard to live up to this idealized version of Toichi; a version that probably never existed in the first place because he doesn't know his father. he has to piece together the prettiest colours of his memories, from scraps of tales, fragmented news, and his own desperate need for a father figure. when your eyes forget your father's face, tinted glasses veil your orbs.

and in doing so, he put Toichi on this pedestal so high that he could never realistically reach it, no matter how good he actually became. and the worst part is, he DID surpass his father. yes, Toichi was undoubtedly skilled, but Kaito is doing all of this crazy fucking shit while being a teenager. fighting the organization, fighting pirates, risking his life MULTIPLE times? like that one time he almost was blown up in the train?

and Kaito doesn’t even realize it. he’s so fixated on this perfect image of his father that he can’t see how far he’s come. he can’t see that he’s not just living up to his father’s legacy—he’s surpassing it. and maybe to admit that he surpassed it would feel like a betrayal to his father.

I just hate this. you spend so much of your life idolizing your parents, because if you don't, then it also feels like a betrayal. you spend years justifying their mistakes, convincing yourself that everything will make sense someday, that they’ll come through, that they’re doing their best. you try to make sense of why they aren’t there when you need them, why they aren't the people you thought they were. and then the worst thing happens: you realize you’ve been holding onto an image of them that wasn’t real. and not only that, but you were the one who built it. you’re the one who put them on that pedestal in the first place, because you didn’t want to see them as flawed. you couldn’t afford to, because it would mean that everything you thought you understood about your relationship with them was a lie. you lose the last thread of control you had.

so then you paint the walls of your heart with this fantasy version of them, and you know deep down they could never live up to it. idealization is a double-edged sword. when you only see a person as perfect, you set yourself up for constant disappointment, because no one is perfect, and you’ll never be able to live up to the expectations you’ve placed on them cause people are messy and flawed.

so yeah, TLDR: Kaito deserves better. he deserves to be angry, to grieve the years he lost, the loss of normalcy, the loss of his teenage years, and to hold Toichi accountable for the pain he caused. whether or not Gosho will give him that remains to be seen, but if he doesn’t, it’s going to be a massive betrayal — not just to Kaito, but to the fans who’ve followed his story all these years.

in conclusion: