#I appreciate he took time out of his day to do something he’s not a big fan of ❤️

[whatifitis]

♡ So American - FC 43 ♡

Summary: You and Franco celebrate Thanksgiving together for the first time and Franco nearly gags when he sees American Thanksgiving dishes

Author's Note: this is so ass so I’m sorry 😭 feedback is always appreciated

WC: 2296

CW: american reader 😲, fluff, thanksgiving food, wicked mentions, more overuse of song lyrics

You and Franco had been together for the better part of the year, about 7 months. Thanksgiving was coming up and, on the same weekend F1 would be racing in Qatar, not allowing Franco to be with you on Thanksgiving day, which was honestly a disappointment to the both of you. However, after moving around some plans, the two of you managed to pick a date that worked for everyone to be in your hometown to celebrate the holiday, before Franco had to go off and be a star (and an icon).

To say you were excited was an understatement. It was not only your first time having a boyfriend, but having a boyfriend during the holidays. You were excited to create new memories with Franco and show him how you celebrate the holidays in America.

Your family typically divides the work for the food every year and this time you were in charge of making the sweet potato and marshmallow dish, something you knew was gonna throw Franco into a whirl about. Your boyfriend enjoys making fun of some American dishes and you don’t mind because it’s fun and you can see how some of them are strange.

You two were in your apartment the morning of Thanksgiving dinner. You got ready for the day and decided it would be best to change into your outfit after you’ve cooked. You settled on wearing one of Franco’s shirts and a pair of his shorts for now. You then decided to head to the kitchen to prepare your dish, Franco trailing behind you like a puppy.

“You look pretty wearing my clothes.” Franco complimented.

You deadpanned to Franco with an emotionless face asking, “do I not look pretty any other time? Is this the only time I look pretty?”

Franco’s face turned red and he was panicking, “I- no, no, amor. Thats- that’s not what I-“

“I’m kidding, love. Relax, looked like you almost shit yourself then.” you laughed.

Franco took a breath of relief and just smiled at your antics, “ha ha, so funny.”

As you pulled out the ingredients you’d be needing, Franco watched in confusion.

“Amor, what- what are you making? You have sweet potatoes, marshmallows, and pecans on the table. Is it all for one dish? No, right?” he questions, cocking his head to the side.

“It is for one dish. I’m making a sweet potato casserole!” you exclaim excitedly, knowing it was one of your favorite dishes and you can only have it during Thanksgiving.

“Eugh. No, amor. No.”, you watch as Franco makes a face of disgust, “Why?”

“It’s good, baby. I promise. When it’s all baked together with the seasonings, it tastes like heaven.” you think, displaying a picture of the dish in your mind.

Franco all but side eyes to your response, “I thought I tasted like heaven…” he pouts.

“Sweet potato casserole tastes better, babe. Sorry.” you flash a toothy smile.

“Ay dios mio. Is this what I’m marrying into?” Franco jokes, dropping head into his hands.

“Ehm! I beg your finest pardon?! Where the fuck is my ring?”, wiggling your ring finger at him, “Don’t joke about marriage, bitch. Or I’ll start doing the ending riff of Defying Gravity all day long.”

“Ay no, por favor, no. As much as I love your singing, amor. I can’t listen to any songs from Wicked right now. It’s all you’ve been playing the past month! Please, anything but Wicked, anything!” Franco pleads with you.

“Fine. Your funeral though.” you say, carrying on with your cooking.

“Que?”

“Nada”

Franco is left speechless, but you carry on with your actions.

After plopping onto a chair and pouting, Franco got curious, “Amor, can you tell me what Thanksgiving is? I know you give thanks, but why?”.

“Well, in school we were taught that years ago, around this time, the pilgrims and Native Americans came together to share a meal and be peaceful with one another. They basically celebrated a successful harvest but with most of American history, there’s some lies. But Americans really don’t care about history. It’s just a day where most of us don’t have to work and an excuse to stuff our faces with food that’s really bad for us.”

“That’s….nice.”

“I can feel the judgement from here.”

“I’m not judging, just learning.” he smiles cheekily, “but in all honesty, your reality is so different from mine. In Argentina we don’t have this holiday and strange foods, but I want to learn all about your crazy American traditions if it means I get to be by your side. I go where you go.”

“I go where you got too.” you say, still blushing from his words.

“Maybe ‘I go where you go’ can be our ‘always’.”

You tried to suppress your laugh and threw a few marshmallows at his response, “You’re done. You’re done. I cannot believe you just quoted The Fault In Our Stars.”

He’s giggling to himself and it’s one of your favorite things in the world. It’s just not fair of him to be so cute and funny. If he keeps this shit up, you swore you were gonna marry him.

-=+=-

During the drive to your parents house for dinner, you and Franco listened to music. As passenger princess, Franco had control of the aux and he played a playlist he had made when you two first started dating. He knew that sharing music was sort of a love language of yours so he saved all the ones you had mentioned at times or the songs he would always find on repeat when you were around.

It was a peaceful drive, that is until No Good Deed from Wicked came on. As soon as the opening chords started, Franco knew there was no stopping you. He watched as you put on a one woman performance for him, and him only. Yes, it was from Wicked but he couldn’t lie. If you’re the one singing, he didn’t mind the constant sound.

He was also thankful it wasn’t Defying Gravity or else you would’ve been asking for a broom to hold. He also knew you would’ve fucked up your voice a bit if you attempted Cynthia Erivo’s riff.

The two of you arrived at your parents house and were warmly welcomed by the rest of your family. Though the house was already decorated in Christmas decor, the feeling of Thanksgiving was flowing through the air. Your dad already had the (American) football game

playing on the tv, calling Franco over to once again try and convert him into a fan.

You watched as your boyfriend was practically dragged away from you, laughing as he mouthed the words ‘help me’. Your dad adored Franco and your Franco loved hanging with your dad. As they went on to do their antics, you walked to the kitchen, setting down the dish you had prepared and began to help your mom finish up some cooking.

“So,” your mom starts, “how are you and Franco?”

You couldn’t help but smile, you’re glad she brought him up first because you can never have a conversation if it’s not about him.

“We’re good. When he found out that he was able to make it to dinner, he was so excited. He’d immediately asked me a million questions on whether he should bring something or not as a gift. But I told him to not worry about it, there’s enough food and drinks so we didn’t need anything.”

“He’s a sweet boy. I’m glad you found him, he’s brought back a light in you that I haven’t seen in a long time.”

You looked up at your mom and almost burst into tears. You didn’t know that color was coming back to you. Before any tears spilled, Franco walked into the kitchen and went straight to you. When you were close enough, he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close and kissing your hair.

“Do you guys need any help?” he’d asked you guys.

“I don’t think we need any help here but you know what I need help with?” you aunt asks, raising a cheeky eyebrow at Franco, “I need help dancing to this song.”

You watched as your aunt grabbed Franco's hand and pulled him away from you to dance with him. The two danced and swayed to the music as the rest of you laughed and cheered them on. You’re glad your family gets along with Franco well.

Music, laughter, and chatter filled the air, along with the savory and sweet smells of the food that was almost ready to eat. Once everything was cooked, your mother, aunt, and yourself began to set the table with the silverware and make the table look as beautiful as can be. As if they could sense that everything was ready, Franco, your father, uncles, aunts and cousins joined you at the table.

As each of you began to take your seats, Franco was almost split in half. Everyone wanted to be seated next to him. You were all for sharing but Franco was yours. As long as you got to sit on one side of Franco, no heads would roll and peace would prosper.

In the end, one of your cousins ended up sitting on the other side of Franco, ready to bombard the poor boy with questions about racing and F1.

Before digging into the food, everyone had to give thanks and say what they were grateful for. Most of your family said the typical stuff like thankful for having a happy, loving family and having a roof over their head. That was until it was your cousin’s turn…

“This year, I’m grateful that Logan was dropped from Williams and that Franco was able to have that seat. My best buddy is a F1 driver now. But R.I.P. Logan, my American king. Also R.I.P. Sebastian Vettel, you would’ve loved Franco. Anyways, who's next?” your cousin clapped his hands, looking around the table.

Crickets could be heard from the silence.

Franco, thankfully, moved the conversation forward and said his thanks. “Well, ehm. I think I have a lot to be thankful for this year. I’m thankful for my opportunity to drive in F1, and even though I don’t know where I’ll be next year, I’m still happy I got this chance. I’m also super grateful for y/n. We only met this year but she’s still amazing and has been there for me through a lot. And I’m also grateful for having been invited to join you guys today and that you guys are so cool and welcoming, so thank you.”

Everyone basically awed at Franco and his little speech. Meanwhile you were on the verge of tears. You’d never known love like this and you couldn’t believe he chose you. He was like a poem that you wished you’d written.

After some deep breaths from you, everyone began to dig into the food, well, everyone except for Franco. The boy was absolutely lost, he didn’t know what half the stuff was and he wasn’t sure how to go about anything. You took it upon yourself to start his plate for him so that he could familiarize himself with some of the foods and not get overwhelmed.

When you set his plate down in front of him again, he looked at the plate confused and then turned to you, silently asking you to tell him what everything was.

“You’ve got some ham, sweet potato casserole, green beans, and mashed potatoes to start. I know you like all those even if you haven’t tried some yet. From here you can work your way around the dishes on the table.” you smile.

“Gracias, amor. I really am grateful for you and all that you do.”

“Tell me, lover. How grateful are you?” you cheekily ask.

With a wink, Franco replies, “I’ll show you after dinner.”

-=+=-

“The only thing I will be showing you if anything is my shit because I am so full.” Franco tells you as he settles himself on the couch.

The whole family had wrapped up dinner and finished off the night with some dessert. Now some of the family were chatting over some drinks to end the night.

“Please don’t.” you tell Franco.

“Ok, I wasn’t actually planning on showing you my shit. Ay dios.” states as he rolls his head to rest on the back of the couch.

You take a seat next to Franco, resting your head on his shoulder, his arm instinctively wrapping around you. His other arm reached for your hands and held them close. You swore his hands were so warm that they made hell seem cold.

You really were grateful for him. The two of you had been through some tough times so early into your relationship. There were times where you wondered if it was meant to be and if it would all work out. You’d even tried to push him away at some point, believing his life would be easier if you weren’t there to drag him down. But he stayed. There have been moments where you’ve been mean to him, times where you were so depressed that you would stay in bed all day and didn’t move. Days where you didn’t respond to his texts or calls because you couldn’t. But despite all that, he’s still here.

You’ve burned so many bridges in your life. You’ve made the same mistakes over and over but now you know you did one thing right. You love Franco with everything you have and he’s the person you trust the most. He knows you better than you know yourself most of the time. Even when you lose your mind, he’s still yours.

[verstappenf1lecccc]

heyooo could you write a long one shot where Fernando is readers mentor when he “retires” teaches her everything she needs to know.: however then he returns to F1 and can’t mentor her anymore is instead a rival but pushes her off the track accidentally he thought it was ocon.. and he retires the car .. because along the way he’s fallen in love with her… again lots of angst and fluff I’m down for it ahah

comments are always appreciated:)

Red Flags and Green Lights

When Fernando retired he himself thought that it was the end of his career especially towards Motorsport. His last season was gruesome and frankly disappointing. McLaren had let him down big time it was almost as if each race was a joke. Poor strategy Poor performance Poor car.

At the end of the season Fernando knew he couldn’t take it much longer and had decided to draw the curtains up towards his impressive career.

To get away from the cameras and the journalist Fernando had decided to seek refuge in a small Spanish town just off the cost. The salty Spanish air made the Spaniard thrive. He had no intention of ever going back to anything related to Motorsport.

Beginnings

The first time Fernando Alonso had seen you on track, he had raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t the usual dismissive look he gave young drivers—those hungry, wide-eyed rookies trying to make a name for themselves. No, you weren’t like them. You were different.

You had come from the junior ranks, a rising star in a new generation of drivers, but there was something about you that intrigued him. Your precision, your ability to adapt to a car almost too quickly. But it wasn’t just that. It was the way you handled yourself off the track—there was a steeliness to you, a quiet confidence that made him think: This one, she’s got it.

Fernando had never been a particularly warm person, but he’d learned the hard way that talent alone wasn’t enough to succeed in Formula 1. Mentorship—that was the missing ingredient. He’d had great mentors, but his relationship with them had been less than ideal. He was determined to be better. To be the mentor that you didn’t know you needed.

And so, he took you under his wing. At first, it wasn’t obvious what he was doing. He wasn’t the type to sit down and give long speeches about racing. Instead, it was in the small moments, the subtle lessons.

“Don’t overdrive the car,” Fernando would say, tossing you a casual glance during a debrief. “The car doesn’t care about your ego. It’s about balance.”

At first, you’d bristled at his bluntness. But as you spent more time together, you realized he wasn’t being harsh—he was just pushing you in the only way he knew how. And you respected that. In a world of flashy trainers and corporate personas, Fernando was real. He demanded nothing less than your best.

But there were softer moments, too. When he’d see you frustrated, or exhausted after a long race weekend, he’d quietly hand you a bottle of water with a knowing smile. “You’re getting better,” he’d say. "But don’t burn yourself out. It’s a marathon, not a sprint."

Sometimes, after a race, when you’d sit on the pit wall, Fernando would join you. The two of you, silent, watching the crowd disperse, the paddock buzzing around you. He’d stare into the distance, and you could see the weight of his years in the sport, the regret, the battles won and lost.

“You’ll be in my shoes one day,” he’d say, almost absentmindedly. “Just... don’t make the same mistakes I did.”

You’d always chuckle. "I'll try not to." But deep down, you knew exactly what he meant.

You were learning not just the technical side of racing, but the psychology of it—the mental toughness that could make or break a driver. How to handle pressure. How to handle failure. Fernando was a master of that.

The Return

It had been a year since Fernando had “retired.” You were now racing for a mid-tier team, working your way up. You had started to gain attention, but it wasn’t easy. Racing was still a brutal sport, and no one cared how much potential you had if you didn’t win.

It was late in the season when the rumors first started. Fernando was coming back. You tried to ignore it, but it was everywhere. You told yourself it was just gossip. He’d never actually return.

Then, one afternoon, you were sitting in the debrief room, eyes glued to the telemetry, when your phone buzzed. It was a message from your PR manager: "Fernando's back. Announced this morning."

The room around you seemed to close in. It hit you harder than you thought it would. Fernando Alonso, your mentor, your friend, your rival. You had always admired his fiery passion for racing, but this—this felt different. He was coming back *to take your spot.*

The news hit you hard, but you swallowed it. You had worked too hard to let it defeat you. Yet, the sting of betrayal wasn’t easily ignored. He hadn’t told you. He hadn’t warned you. He was coming back to take the very thing you had worked so tirelessly for.

For days, you were a mess. Racing weekends became a blur of frustration. Every time you saw Fernando’s name on the timing sheets, every time you heard the roar of his engine in the distance, something inside of you twisted.

Rivals

The first time you went head-to-head with Fernando on track was at the Monaco Grand Prix. The streets of Monte Carlo, narrow and unforgiving, had always been a playground for him. You had grown up watching him win here, his aggressive style perfectly suited to the challenge. But now? Now, he was your competition.

The tension in the paddock was palpable. You hadn’t spoken much to Fernando since his return—an awkward, strained silence had settled between you both. He was now racing for Aston Martin, and you were still with your current team, fighting for every point.

Race day arrived, and as you suited up, your heart pounded in your chest. The press had been relentless, comparing you to Fernando—asking if you were nervous, asking if you felt the pressure. You couldn’t let them see you break.

As you lined up on the grid, your eyes drifted to Fernando’s car. He was in his familiar spot, just a few rows ahead of you. When his eyes met yours, you felt a twinge of something—regret, longing, but also something else. The rivalry. You had to put it all aside now. You weren’t his protégé anymore. You were his equal. And that meant you had to beat him.

The race was a blur of tight corners, full-throttle accelerations, and the constant threat of losing grip. Fernando had a knack for reading the race, for making late-breaking moves that left you on edge. Lap after lap, he pushed you, forcing you to respond with everything you had.

But it wasn’t just the pressure on the track that had you on edge. It was the way his presence haunted you. Every time you braked too late or took a corner too aggressively, you could almost feel him beside you, his voice in your ear.

Don’t overdrive the car. Control your emotions.

And then, it happened.

It was the final lap, and you were battling for position. You had the inside line heading into the chicane, the tires on your car worn and your concentration slipping. Fernando, pushing hard from behind, wasn’t giving an inch. You could feel his car getting closer, so close that his rearview mirror almost felt like it was inside your helmet.

You took the corner too sharply, trying to block his line. And that’s when it happened.

Fernando’s car clipped your rear tire. The next thing you knew, your car was spinning, the track blurring around you, the world upside down.

In an instant, you were off the track. The gravel crunched under your tires as you skidded to a halt. For a moment, there was nothing but silence.

"Shit! Are you okay?" Fernando’s voice crackled through your radio, panic in his voice.

You gripped the steering wheel, a lump in your throat. He didn’t mean to do that. It was an accident. But it didn’t change the fact that it was him the man who had once mentored you, the man who had taught you everything you knew, the man who had now put you in the gravel.

You sat there for a long moment, trying to regain your composure. The race was over for you. But it wasn’t over for Fernando.

You heard the engine roar as his car raced past. And then, as he crossed the line into the pits , he was the one who had retired without any reason to.

The Apology

The days after the incident were heavy. The press had made their usual spectacle of the crash. But you were quiet. You kept your distance, kept your head down. Fernando had won, of course. The car was still fast, even if he had been a little too aggressive.

He didn’t come to you right away. It wasn’t until the next race in Austria that you finally saw him, walking through the paddock, looking like he hadn’t slept a wink. His eyes met yours, and for the first time since Monaco, you both stopped.

He cleared his throat, stepping closer to you.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low, almost apologetic. “I thought it was Ocon.”

You blinked, trying to hold back the flood of emotions rushing to your chest. The apology wasn’t much, but it was enough to make the walls you’d built around your heart begin to crack.

“Fernando,” you said softly, “I know. I know it wasn’t intentional. but” You cut yourself off, swallowing hard. “You could’ve hurt me. You could’ve ruined everything we worked for.”

His gaze softened, and for a moment, he wasn’t the driver who had taken your spot. He was just Fernando the man who had shown you how to drive, how to fight for everything you wanted.

“I didn’t mean for it to go like this,” he said quietly. “I’ve been a fool.”

You were silent, looking at the ground, feeling the weight of the last few years crash down on you.

And then, finally, you looked up at him. “You taught me how to race. But you also taught me how to let go. Maybe... maybe it’s time for it for us to let go.”

Confessions

Months had passed since the Monaco incident, and the tension between you and Fernando, once thick and palpable, had slowly faded into a quiet understanding. The rivalry had not diminished the bond you shared, but it had forged a new dynamic. There were moments when you'd catch him watching you, his gaze steady, his usual cocky demeanor softened by something deeper.

It was after the Italian Grand Prix, a race that had been as unpredictable as the season itself, that everything finally came to a head. You had managed to finish in the points, a small but significant victory for you and your team, while Fernando had taken a step back from the podium, frustrated with his own performance. As you made your way through the paddock, you saw him standing near the garage, his eyes distant. You walked over, unsure of what to expect, but the warmth in his gaze when he saw you took you by surprise.

“Not bad today,” he said, his usual teasing tone absent, replaced by something genuine.

“Could’ve been better,” you replied, glancing at his tired eyes. "But you, you’re still a threat on the track, Fernando. Always will be."

He chuckled softly, then fell quiet. The noise of the paddock, the usual chaos of post-race analysis, faded as the two of you stood in that small, private bubble. It was strange, how it had always been with him. Every time you were around, you felt seen—truly seen, in a way that no one else could.

“You’ve come so far,” he said, his voice unusually soft. “I don’t think you even realize how much you've changed, how much you've grown since I first saw you.”

You raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk pulling at your lips. “It’s all thanks to you, isn’t it?”

He looked down at the ground, almost as if hesitating. The silence between you stretched, and then Fernando looked up, his eyes locking with yours. “Maybe... but it’s not just that. There’s something I need to say to you.” He took a deep breath, his hands gripping the edge of the pit wall.

You felt your heart skip a beat. "What is it?"

“I never meant for things to get so complicated between us,” Fernando started, his voice low but clear. “I’ve been trying to convince myself that it was just the rivalry, that it was all about racing. But the truth is I’ve been holding back for so long. Holding back from telling you what I really feel.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You knew what he was about to say, and yet, hearing it aloud made the words seem more real than ever.

“I care about you," he said, the words tumbling out, raw and honest. "Not just as a driver or a mentor, but... more than that. You mean more to me than I’ve let on."

For a moment, all you could do was stand there, staring at him, your heart racing. The past few months had been a whirlwind conflict, growth, understanding but now, in this quiet moment, everything felt clear.

“I care about you too, Fernando,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. “I’ve been so focused on proving myself, on being the driver you helped me become, that I never realized how much you meant to me until now.”

There was no dramatic confession, no grand gesture. Just two people, who had been through so much together, finally acknowledging the feelings that had been there all along.

Fernando smiled, a warmth in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before. “So, we’re not just teammates anymore?”

You shook your head, a small laugh escaping your lips. “Definitely not.”

He stepped closer, his hand gently brushing against yours. It wasn’t a rush or a need to act on anything. It was just a simple, unspoken connection—one that had been building for so long, and now, at last, it was out in the open.

“You’re incredible,” he said softly, his voice filled with admiration. “I’ve always known that. But now I get to see it up close. I’m lucky to be here with you, to be a part of your journey.”

You smiled, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders. The competition, the doubts, the uncertainty—it all melted away in that moment. You were no longer just a driver fighting for recognition. You were someone with a future. A future that, for the first time in a long time, didn’t feel quite so lonely.

“We’ll see what happens next,” you said, your heart lighter than it had been in years. “But I’m ready for it. Whatever it is.”

Fernando nodded, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder, a silent promise between the two of you.

The next race came and went, and although the rivalry remained on track, it had transformed into something deeper something that was no longer just about the competition. And when the season came to an end, it was not just your achievements that filled your thoughts, but the quiet moments shared with Fernando: the conversations after races, the supportive glances across the paddock, and the realization that you were no longer fighting alone.

In the end, it wasn’t the checkered flags or podiums that defined your journey. It was the person who stood beside you, someone who had seen you for who you were and who you could be. And for the first time, you weren’t just racing for yourself. You were racing for both of you.

[4linos]

cooking, lying, and loving you.

han jisung x gn!reader

synopsis: you surprise your boyfriend with a home-cooked meal after his long tour, but the dish turns out far from perfect.

wc: 705

After weeks of being on tour, Jisung has finally returned home, and you have been impatiently waiting his arrival. You chose to prepare dinner as a surprise for him because you know how much he must have missed home-cooked meals. Even though you're not very good at cooking, you've spent the entire day planning and putting your all into the dish. You're nervous yet excited, imagining his reaction when he realizes how hard you've worked.

When he walks through the door, the sound of his suitcase rolling across the floor catches your attention. “I’m home!” he calls out, his voice a little tired but warm and full of love.

You rush out to greet him, pulling him into a tight hug. “Welcome back!”

He grins, melting into your embrace. “It smells amazing in here. Did you… cook?” His tone is surprised but genuinely touched.

“Yup!” you say, beaming. “I wanted to do something special for you. Go freshen up—it’ll be ready when you’re done.”

Jisung heads off to change, and you quickly finish plating the food, making sure it looks as good as possible. By the time he sits down, the table is set with candles and everything. You can see how moved he is by the effort.

“Wow,” he says, his eyes wide as he takes it all in. “You did all this for me? You’re amazing.”

You blush at his words. “Anything for you. Now, dig in!”

He grabs his fork and takes his first bite. His attitude somewhat changes, but he masks it with a smile. His nod is a bit too enthusiastic. "Mmm," he adds. "This is so good!" With pride, you smile. “Really? I was worried that things wouldn't work out.” "No, it's delicious!" he insists, taking another bite, although at a slower pace. His thoughts are racing inside.

*It's slightly salty—no, it's really salty. And the texture isn't right. However, they put a lot of effort into this—I can't say anything. I'll simply push through.*

Feeling happy by his obvious enjoyment, you continue to watch him eat. "You really like it?”

“Of course!” he says, washing it down with a big gulp of water. “You did an amazing job.” He clears his plate despite the challenge, finishing with a triumphant smile. “That was so good. Thank you, babe.”

You’re practically glowing from his praise. “I’m so glad you liked it! I was worried it might not be perfect.”

Jisung shakes his head. “It was perfect,” he lies smoothly, leaning back in his chair.

Later, Jisung waits in the doorway, watching you with a sheepish smile as you get ready for bed. Casually, he scratches the back of his neck and says, "Hey." "Yes?" You look at him in the mirror and hum. "Well, I He took a step closer and says, "I have something to tell you.”

Curious, you turn around. "What is it?" After he pauses, he starts laughing. "Alright, don't be upset,

but the dinner wasn't that good."

Your jaw drops as you process his confession. “What?! You said you loved it!”

“I didn’t have the heart to tell you!” he defends himself, laughing so hard he’s clutching his stomach. “You looked so proud, and I couldn’t ruin the moment!”

You grab a nearby pillow and playfully hit him with it. “Babe! I can’t believe you lied to me!”

He tries to dodge, laughing harder. “It wasn’t a lie—it was… creative encouragement! You worked so hard, and I really did appreciate it!”

You can’t help but laugh along with him, even as you give him another light whack. “You’re impossible.”

“But you love me,” he teases, catching your hand mid-swing and pulling you close.

“Barely,” you joke, rolling your eyes.

He grins, leaning his forehead against yours. “Next time, we’ll cook together, okay? That way, you can’t accuse me of lying.”

“Deal,” you say with a smirk. “But don’t think I’m letting you off the hook that easily.”

Jisung kisses your cheek, still chuckling. “Fair enough. Just know that I’ll always finish whatever you make—even if it’s… memorable.”

You both laugh as you settle into bed, teasing each other until the night is filled with warmth and joy, the imperfect dinner already a funny memory to share.

—

nini’s notes!! 112724

heyy. i hope you all have a good thanksgiving tomorrow (if you celebrate, of course). i’m so ready for this year to be over 🤧.

asks are always open if you have a question, concern, or request!

-🎀

[winchesterwild78]

Thankful for You

Master List

Characters: Dean Winchester X Reader (wife), Sam Winchester, Eileen Leahy, Cass, Jack

Warnings: Just a little holiday fluff.

A/N: Just a short story about Thanksgiving Day in the bunker. The reader and Dean are newly married and she wants their first Thanksgiving as a married couple to be perfect. 

I picked Dean instead of Jensen or any of his other characters, because Dean was the one who wouldn’t know what a traditional Thanksgiving would look like.

Does not follow the Supernatural story line. Used characters from the show, but all work is my own. I do not own the rights to these characters. 

Please don’t take my work. Reblogs and likes are appreciated.

Written fast and not edited, please overlook any errors. 

Minors DNI 18+

I woke up early, Dean’s arm laying loosely over my body. I slipped out of bed to our shared bathroom and took a quick shower. I needed to get the turkey on so it could be ready before everyone came over.

Dean and I had been married about 6 months and this was our first real Thanksgiving. Since he grew up in the hunting life, Thanksgiving wasn’t something he celebrated. I on the other hand always had the traditional Thanksgiving with all the food, football and family you could handle. 

I had bought a turkey, ham, rolls, yams, potatoes, green beans, stuffing, and of course pie. I knew I wouldn’t have time to bake all the pies, so I bought a few, but wanted to make Dean a cherry pie from scratch. 

I was thankful we had multiple ovens in the bunker, otherwise there was no way I could pull off roasting a turkey, making a ham and the pie in one day. 

After my shower I went into the kitchen and prepared the turkey. Once it was in the oven I started on the pie and ham. By the time Dean got up I was washing and peeling potatoes. 

He walked into the kitchen and leaned against the doorframe. His arms were crossed over his firm chest, and his feet crossed at the ankles. He smiled as he watched me flit around the kitchen.

“Need any help, sweetheart.” His voice startled me. I looked up at him and bit my lip. God I was so incredibly lucky to have him. “Good morning, Dean. No, I'm okay right now.”

He crossed the room, came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me. I leaned into his chest and he kissed my temple. “Do I smell pie?” He grinned. 

“Yes you do, but it’s in the oven. You have to wait.” Dean’s bottom lip poked out in a pout. I turned and faced him, placing my hands on his chest. “Dean, it’s not ready yet. You have to wait.” “Is that the only pie?” He asked with a smirk. 

“Now what do you think?” I said as I walked towards the counter. I held up the pumpkin pie and a grin spread across his face. He took three steps towards me and took the pie out of my hand with a chuckle. 

“Dean Winchester, give that back to me. That’s for later.” He laughed as he held it over my head. “What’s wrong sweetheart? Can’t reach it? You’re welcome to have it back if you can reach it.” 

“Oh you’re so mean.” We both were laughing and I kept jumping, trying to reach the pie. Sam appeared at the door and saw us playing around. He loved seeing his brother so happy. 

“Alright you two, get a room.” He said as he walked in to grab a coffee. “Sam, please tell your brother to give me back the pie. It’s for later.” Sam chuckled, threw his hands up in defeat, “You’re on your own shortstack. I thought you’d know by now to never get in the way of Dean and his pie.” 

“Hey! You’re supposed to be on my side, Sammy.” I said as I kept trying to get the pie. “Thanks baby brother.” Dean laughed.

“Alright, both of you, out of my kitchen. I have dinner to finish and you’re distracting me, Dean.” Dean placed the pie down, pulled me flush to him and kissed my lips. 

“God I love you, Y/N. I can’t believe you’re mine.” “I love you too, Dean, and you better believe it. Until my last breath, I’m yours.” 

Dean walked out of the kitchen and turned back to look at me again. His heart leaped in his chest. 

I finished getting the rest of the food prepared and I set the dining room table. Sam invited Eileen, Jack and Cass were coming, and of course Dean and I would be there. I was excited to have all of our family there to help celebrate Thanksgiving. 

As I stepped into mine and Dean’s room I found him sitting at his desk writing. I hadn’t seen him write in a long time. He told me when we first started dating he would write sometimes to help with his anxiety. 

“Hey, baby. I’m just gonna jump in the shower before everyone gets here.” I said as I stepped into the room. Dean looked up, “Okay sweetheart. I’ll be done here in a minute.” I lightly touched his shoulder, “Okay Dean.”

“Hey sweetheart?” I turned to look at Dean from the bathroom doorway, “Yes?” “I love you.” I smiled, “I love you too, Dean.”

About twenty minutes later I was showered, dressed and ready for dinner. When I walked into the room, Dean was gone and his journal was tucked away in its spot on the desk. I nervously bit my lip. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness creep into my heart. Dean was upset about something, but he was keeping it from me. I had worked so hard to get most of his walls down, it broke my heart to think there was something bothering him that he felt he couldn’t share with me. 

I took a deep breath and walked towards the dining room. Sam, Eileen, Cas and Jack were all there chatting. I looked around for Dean but didn’t see him. 

They all greeted me, “Hey Y/N. Everything looks delicious, are you ready to eat?” I smiled, “Sure, y’all dig in. I’m going to find Dean.” Sam looked up at me, “He’s in the garage.” I nodded and walked towards the garage. 

I heard Dean before I even got in the room. I walked over to Baby and saw Dean sitting in the car. His eyes met mine, “Damn.” He whispered, causing me to blush.

“Dean, dinner is ready. Let’s go eat.” Dean climbed out of the car and pulled me flush to him. “Look at how beautiful you look, sweetheart. I am one lucky man.” “Don’t you forget it, Mr. Winchester.” “I could never, Mrs. Winchester.” 

“Before we go, Y/N I wanted to talk to you.” I swallowed the lump in my throat and bit my bottom lip, “Okay.” My voice barely a whisper. “I’ve done some pretty screwed up stuff in my life. I never thought I was worthy of anything, let alone love. Then I met you. I am thankful every single day I get to wake up next to you as your husband. You making this day special, this meal for us means so much to me. Nobody has ever loved me like you do. I know you saw me writing earlier, and I wanted to talk to you about that.” 

“Dean, you don’t have to. I know it’s how you deal with things in your head. Whatever you wrote, it’s okay if you keep it to yourself.” 

Dean stepped closer, “Baby I want to tell you. It’s about you, us.” “Okay, Dean. Whatever you have to say I can take it. No matter what it is.” My heart hammered in my chest. I was terrified and didn’t know why.

“Sweetheart, I’m ready.” I looked at him confused. “Ready to eat?” I asked. Dean chuckled, “No, well, yes, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m ready to start a family with you. I want us to have those babies we talked about. I want to leave this world a little better than we found it.” 

My breath hitched, “What? You really want to start a family?” “Yes, Y/N. I want to start a family with you. I can’t wait to see our babies and raise them by your side.” 

I threw my arms around his neck and wrapped my legs around his waist. “Yes, Dean! A thousand times yes! Let’s have a baby.” Dean kissed me deeply, “Wanna go start now?” He winked. 

“As much as I would, we do have a table full of guests who are hungry.” Dean chuckled, “You’re right. Let’s go eat. I can’t wait to get some of that pie you made.” “I can’t wait to start a family with you, Dean.” He grabbed my hand, “Me either, darlin’.” 

Dean and I walked into the dining room and greeted everyone. As I sat down and looked around the table at my family I smiled. I loved every single person sitting here with me, and I couldn’t wait to bring a little one into this family. 

We love each other deeply, protect completely, and never give up on each other. I know our baby will grow up loved, strong and protected.

As dinner started to wrap up, Sam and Eileen announced they were going to be getting married, Cas and Jack were rebuilding heaven, and Dean announced he and I were going to work on starting a family. 

Everyone was excited for us. Jack stepped close to me and whispered in my ear. I looked at him and he nodded. 

My heart fluttered. Later that night, Dean and I laid in bed, after a few times of trying and he held me tight. 

“Y/N, thank you for a wonderful day. I am so thankful for you.” “Dean, I am thankful for you too, and our baby.” 

Dean’s brain took a second to catch what I said. His eyes shot open and he propped himself up on his elbow, “What baby?” I looked at my husband, deep in his green eyes, “Jack told me tonight I’m pregnant, Dean. We’re pregnant.” 

“Oh my god, sweetheart. I’m gonna be a dad?” “Yes, Dean. You’re going to be a dad.” Dean gently placed his strong, calloused hands on my belly and kissed my lips. “Now this is something to be thankful for.” “Yes it is, Dean. Happy Thanksgiving, my love.” Dean cupped my face, “Happy Thanksgiving to you too, sweetheart.” 

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[delulupunk]

How the batboys would react to anniversaries!

Dick Grayson

He really tries his best to spend the day with you or carve out some time, but if you’re a civilian then it’s hard. He’s got to lead the titans, stop Mr Freeze, make sure Bruce doesn’t adopt anyone else, stop Mr Freeze again!

When he finally gets to you he makes it well worth your time. He’ll confidently give you your favourite flowers because he knows exactly which ones they are.

Dick is a diehard romantic so he’ll bring you back to where you had your first date, or wherever you first met depending on how memorable the moment was.

“Sooooo, I’m assuming you remember this place…” He’ll say with a cheeky smile- nervously he’ll add, “You do like it right?”

Expect a lot of nostalgia to the early days of your relationship, which will lead to you two falling in love with each other again.

“I wouldn’t miss this for the entire World.”

Jason Todd

“Well… do you want to celebrate our anniversary?”

Jason doesn’t believe it should be any different from any other days in your relationship. Sure he wants to commentate and appreciate your time together, but you two shouldn’t be doing anything drastically different right? After all you both put a 110% into your relationship naturally.

He’ll definitely buy you a very thoughtful gift, most likely a book that reminds him of you. However Jason doesn’t have the confidence to give it to you in person, because he’s scared you’ll reject the idea or throw his affections back in his face.

Instead he’ll leave the gift for you on the beside table with a note. Which is short and to the point, but again he’s worried that he may be overestimating how much you truly care for him, so he acts aloof.

“For you, happy anniversary.”

Tim drake

He’ll probably be a few minutes late to the date looking totally disorientated. Shoving your favourite flowers into your hand he’ll breathlessly give you an apology.

“Sorry-“ pant, “riddler,” pant, “is crazy,” wheeze.

Tim is looking for more of a casual day rather than a massive extravagant event. He just wants to spend time with his lover and feel free to be himself.

The pair of you will go on a date doing something that you both find equally enjoyable so the day isn’t solely spent on one of you.

Tim’s definitely bought you something expensive to give you after the date is over. It’s something that reminded him of you when he walked past a store in the diamond district a few weeks ago and he couldn’t resist. Secretly he hopes you like it, one because his bank account took a bit of a dent, two the store doesn’t do returns and three he’ll be scared he doesn’t understand you properly.

“It suits you perfectly.”

Damian Wayne

You and Damian have dinner at Wayne Manor, which sounds very simplistic, but the little details are what makes the anniversary special.

Either you or Alfred will make the dinner, while Damian goes patrolling. This means he has the entire night to give to you and not Gotham.

You both dress up as if you’re going to a fancy gala and insist on no interruptions.

It’s just you and Damian with the fireplace silently rustling behind you and the opulence of Wayne Manor to embrace you.

The affair is quiet and romantic, not overstated and tiring. It’s just the right pace for you and Damian.

No words need to be said at the end of the meal as you both stare into the fireplace, save for a previous statement.

“Thank you for trusting me with your heart.”

Duke Thomas

“No it’s next week right?”

Duke is so sweet and loves you to the moon and back. Unfortunately he’s a bit forgetful. Duke however makes things up for you in an impressive fashion. If there’s one thing Duke knows it’s kindness.

You’d think he hadn’t even forgotten considering how he takes you to all the right places and says all the right things. The day goes by so quickly but it’s completely jam packed with activities.

“I know you always wanted to, so why not today!”

Since he forgot the anniversary he doesn’t buy you a specific gift, but to you the day in itself is a gift. He completely forgoes patrol all together for you.

“Please forgive me, I love you too much to let you go.”

[scrumptiouskoalahottub]

☁️Invisible| George Clarke

Summary: you have a crush on George, but you don't believe you're good enough for him, little do you know you're just his type.

It wasn't unusual that you were the last person someone picked, whether it be for a teams in games or dates; you were the black sheep. You were outgoing, a bubbly person but was shy at the same time. You'd recently joined content creating and started on TikTok, expanding your taste palette for new ideas you came across a guy name George, he posted funny skits and impression videos, although you weren't the type to do those things, his content inspired you to create something new. You decide to follow him.

You post a haul of your shopping trip to b&m, showing your followers the new things and dupes along the way, you were an eye for bargains and anything similar to the expensive price tags. Racking just over 70,000 followers in just a short few months you were invited to a pr event with White Fox. A brand that you'd never personally purchased from but you did love their products, you accepted through your management and agreed to vlog/promote the brand at the event.

You were so excited, your first Pr opportunity. Tears form in your eyes from joy as you make a video "hey guys i have some exciting news! I've just been invited to my first pr event with White Fox, I'm going to vlog my whole experience and break it down for you guys along the way, I'm so grateful to be able to have these opportunities thanks to you guys watching!" You say with beams of happiness as you sign off the video and upload it.The event was 3 days away so you had time to prepare. You placed your phone on charge whilst you did the laundry, a time you like to take off social media and block out the outside world, although it's your job.

After your small detox you open up your phone, lots of TikTok notifications flooding through with congratulations when two stood out to you.

@georgeclarkeey liked your video

@georgeclarkeey started following you

Your eyes widened in shock, a creator you took inspiration from had followed you, you wasn't sure why all your content being girly related but non the less you were buzzing. You responded to a few comments on your video for a while as you sipped on an iced coffee, when a message popped on your phone.

@georgeclarkeey: "hey sorry for the random message, I saw your video about your pr event and I just wanted to firstly congratulate you on it, you're doing really well! Also I am aswell invited to the event, wonder if you'd like to meet there? Don't want it to come across weird haha"

Your mouth ran dry, a sense of shock and excitement overboard your body, how could someone like George Clarke want to meet me you thought, you were never people like George's cup of tea, the lonely kid in school who'd eat alone and now a big creator asks to meet you. You hesitate to reply incase you make a fool of yourself, strumming the confidence to reply.

You: hi! aw thanks for that, I appreciate it! It's been a shock to the system to say the least haha, I'd love to meet up, I'd know nobody there apart from my management so you'd do me a solid!"

You smile into your phone like a schoolgirl with her first crush, George was undeniable attractive he had a big girl following and everyone went crazy for him. You were quite fond of him yourself to say the least. @georgeclarkeey: "no problem at all, it's always a shock when you get your first but honestly the only way from here is up, would you like to meet at the event or beforehand? A coffee or something?"

You: "a coffee sounds great, let me know where and I'll be there, thanks for being so kind"

@georgeclarkeey: "perfect! I'll text you a coffee shop closer to the event so we won't have far to walk afterwards also it's my pleasure! Nice to see some other varieties of content surfacing, your contents lovely to watch"

Shut the front door. THE George Clarke telling you your contents lovely to watch? You're kidding. The world seems fake right now, so many emotions rushing through you.

You: "Thankyou George, it means a lot, I've took a lot of inspiration from your videos to try and open my confidence up a little, so you could say your contents helped me in ways to boost my career"

You continue to chat, getting to know eachother.

-

Day of the White fox Event

Your nerves were setting in, your first event meeting new people and also meeting up with George. You opted for a some casual clothes, baggy mom jeans and a white crop top with a flannel shirt over the top. Your makeup as basic as normal, a touch of brow gel, a pop of mascara and some skin tint. Nothing major. You make your way into London to meet George, he'd text you the address beforehand, a 2 second walk from the venue. Your hair cascaded over your shoulders as the London breeze hit your skin, a mix of crisp and warm air. Just as you get to the coffee shop your stomach sinks, what if he doesn't like me? Thinks I'm weird? The battles of your overthinking brain looms and looms as you step in, there he was, blue eyed and handsome.

His eyes shoot up as you walk through the door, a warm smile makes it way over his face "hey, glad you could make it" he says arising from his seat to hug you, a mixture of mint and aftershave flooded your nostrils as you embraced him for a hug "I wouldn't have missed it for the world, how are you?" You reply sitting down "ah I'm good, busy but good, yourself?" He replies "same really, not so much as busy as you probably but yeah, I'm excited" you smile, his gaze wandering down to your lips as you spoke as shivers tingle down your spine. You talk over coffee for a while before heading to the venue.

"You ready?" He says with a warm smile opening the door for you "I think so" you chuckle nervously "you'll be fine, don't worry I'm here if you need anything" he says with a reassuring tone which wrapped around you like a warm blanket of safety. You give your names to the people at the desk and collect your lanyards, you pull out your phone to introduce your video.

"Hi guys, I've just arrived and the nerves are kicking in, I'll try to film as much as I can for you all, trying to sink into the reality of it all along the way and make new friends which I seem to have-" you were interrupted by George poking his head in "she's already made one friend, well should I say I practically befriended her" he chuckles placing a hand on your shoulder as he walks to grab a drink. You put your phone away, saving the footage, George Clarke in your video would be a big shock to your fanbase for sure.

The night goes on and you meet new creators, have interviews with some labels and tell everyone on how you got into influencing, the night couldn't have gone much better; George was there to reassure you when you felt nervous and just guide you through the whole experience which you were thankful for. There was an after party, but you opted not to go.

"Leaving so soon?" George asking raising a brow, "yeah sorry, parties aren't really my thing, Thankyou for tonight George I appreciate it a lot" you say smiling "we could go grab a drink elsewhere if you wanted, just me and you?" He says, you were taken a back by his response that he wanted to leave the event, to be with you, in a strange turn of events you'd never imagine something like this would happen, you weren't up to beauty standards nor were you a model, why did he want to go for a drink with you? "You don't have to, I wouldn't pull you away from your friends" you reply "you're not, you're my friend and I want to have a drink with you" his sweet smile returns, a gaze of sincerity plastered over him like a genuine interest in you loomed inside him "okay, maybe just a quiet one" you say as he nodded, you said bye to everyone and left, scoping out a bar to indulge in.

You chatted for a while at the bar, like you'd known eachother a life time and not just a few days, you got on like a house on fire, taking in eachothers interests. It's like no matter what you said, did or how you acted George would always match your energy and it comforted you. After a while you call it a night, it was getting late. You walk out the bar as you book an Uber home

"I've really enjoyed today, Thankyou" you say with a soft smile "me too, normally I hate pr just because of the social interaction, but you've made it easy to bare" he says laughing "well atleast I could be of some use" you retort, silence looms over you as George stares at you for a little longer than normal "can I kiss you?" He says nervously, your eyes widen "really?" You say shocked "is that okay?" He says "yeah-just nobody's ever wanted to kiss me" you say nervously "why not, you're really pretty, funny and easy to get a long with" he says brushing his hand against yours, with a soft smile as he cups your chin and places a soft kiss onto your lips, a magnetic shock goes through you like it was something you had longed for a while, a connection that felt so right. You pulled away and stared at eachother for a minute as you sink in the reality of what had just happened. You exchange numbers and arrange to meet up again, turns out your worrying was for nothing, you were just his type.

-

🫶🏻

[aziraphales-library]

Hi, hello! I remember seeing this really good one but I can't find it, if yall can turn the description to the public to take a look I'd seriously appreciate it!

Fair warning it's nsfw

It was, like, I think it counts as a pollen fic, technically? Crowley was cursed with an Asmodeus amulet of some kind (I believe the Metatron was the one to do it), and the curse was that if the afflicted individual engaged in lustful acts, they would die. But until then, they'd be consumed by an almost debilitating feeling in their body.

The only way to break it is, like, to sleep with someone whom they genuinely love, and who genuinely loves them back.

Crowley is too consumed by the pain of the curse, and is willing to die to get it to end. So he seeks out aziraphale practically and begs him to hook up. He knows it would kill him, because surely there's no way Aziraphale would love him back, but he can't take it anymore.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, stubbornly refuses. He thinks he's being selfish in doing so, because he doesn't want to lose Crowley. He's well aware of the type of curse this is, but according to his knowledge, demons can't feel love. To be with Crowley would mean his destruction, and Aziraphale can't even imagine it.

After stubborn argument from both parties, they confess their love for one another, and in utter relief, break the curse together.

I'm gonna make it an anon post so that it's not my main, but if anyone knows what it is you can reach my alt @dinoace-reblogs . If anyone can help me out please, I'd be super grateful! Have a lovely day :]

I believe you're looking for...

We Only Said Goodbye with Words, I Died A Hundred Times by ras_elased (E)

Aziraphale felt his cheeks flush pink. “Yes. Well. It appears to be a curse for a cheating lover. The design is to create an ever-increasing obsessive need for the person who—” “I’m well aware of what it does,” Crowley interrupted. Aziraphale glanced up from the book and took in Crowley’s stance, the apparent lax posture belied by the way he was clutching the edge of the countertop with white knuckles. Aziraphale swallowed. “Is it…” Aziraphale faltered, then tried again. “Is it…” painful is how he told himself he wanted to finish the question. There was no other possible word to end that question that Aziraphale wanted to know. “Don’t play dumb, angel. It doesn’t suit you.” Crowley’s voice was low, an edge of something to it that Aziraphale hadn’t heard since the Tadfield airbase, the moment Crowley was ready to give up and accept the apocalypse. He met Aziraphale’s eyes. “You know who I want.”

- Mod D

[grapejuicebluesrry]

28th november fic rec!

*welcome to the final show*

this is the last 28th appreciation of 2024 for me, as i'll be posting my 2024 fic recs in the last week of december so ill just include my december recs in there :)

so! here's my november fic recs:

Eternal Summer (65K) by j_klmnop

After the death of his estranged father, Harry makes the trip from London to Naples, Italy to say his goodbyes. He has seven days before the funeral and since he's on summer break from university, he decides to make a road trip out of it.

His carefully planned trip is thrown a loop when he meets a beautiful blue eyed hitchhiker named Louis, who is trying to escape his controlling family. With no destination in mind— just the desire to get as far away as possible, Louis decides to tag along for the ride to Italy, with plans to continue on once they arrive.

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now that we're alone (say you hate me) (18K) by 28goldensfics | @28goldens

Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson are Co-Project Managers, constantly bickering at work, always finding themselves at odds, and competing to be the best. When a scheduling mishap with their company’s timeshare forces them to share a summer vacation, they're less than thrilled. But, as they navigate their time together, they realize that their animosity might be masking something a bit deeper than the hate.

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reminiscence (259K) by Fxckinf

“I’ll always look after you.” Louis whispers.

“Always?”

“Always and forever, Harold.”

Or

Louis and Harry were the friends that fell in love and then broke up. Harry tries to navigate having his ex in his friendship group, which only gets harder when it becomes apparent that there’s a secret.

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if we were butterflies (52K) by blueskiesrry | @blueskiesrry

“Is this how I used to look at you?” His hand hovers just over the collarbone of the sculpture, like he’s caught between wanting to touch and wanting to pull away, wanting to leave and wanting to stay.

Eyes stuck on Harry, unaware of anything else in the room, Louis whispers, “Something like that,” wondering now if he ever quite did it justice.

or: after recruiting harry to model for his sculptures and coming to know all his edges, louis loses him to a life more prosperous than he can provide. he finds harry again four years later.

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Seeing Blind (46K) by zedi

Louis finally turns his head in Liam’s direction, knows his face is showing the longing he’s been aching with ever since it took root in his chest. “What the fuck do I do, Liam? He wouldn’t want me like that, but I want-” his voice cracks, and he turns his face back downwards. “What do you do when you’re not perfect for the person who’s perfect for you?”

OR the one where Harry’s an independent omega who likes to have his fun and Louis is the blind alpha that changes Harry’s priorities.

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Stars over Amsterdam (4K) by HelloLovers13 | @hellolovers13

Louis remembers how stressed they were, trying to get tickets at all. The waiting for the email with the code, which only Louis got, the actual On-sale. How Harry stood behind him, peeling at his nails nervously. Trying not to distract Louis.

But it had all gone smoothly and he had gotten the tickets within just a few minutes.

Harry had jumped around Louis’s chair in excitement like a bouncing ball. Already starting to plan their outfits.

A gold fringe dress for Harry, Fearless was his favourite album, after all, and a matching shirt he had found online for Louis. So people could tell right away they were an item.

That was their plan. Before it all went to shit.

or

Fate in form of Eras Tour tickets forces Louis to meet up with his Ex.

Hopefully soon to be Ex-Ex.

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[series] I See Us in Black & White (70K) by Ioudloudlove

Harry Styles is just your average 20-something. He followed his soul to a new town and now he works hard as a barman and lives alone in his little house. That is until he's swept off his feet... literally.

When Harry regains consciousness, his entire world has changed. Everything that was once black and white is now flooded with colour. And the first person he sees is his soulmate...Liam.

What Harry didn't count on was Liam's best mate...Louis. What is it about him that Harry just can't let go of? Why has his entire world been turned around? And is it really possible to walk away from your soulmate to chase a dream?

Original Prompt:

soulmate au where you see the world in black-and-white until you meet your soulmate. Harry Styles meets two people at once at the moment he first sees in colour, makes the wrong choice, and falls in love with the right one anyway

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Whole Lot of History (73K) by Blue_Green28 | @bluegreen28fics

Louis and Harry have a whole lot of history. With 3 children coming out of their twelve years long marriage they are essential parts of each other's lives even though they have moved on with new partners since their divorce ten years ago. Or have they?

What happens when Harry finally gets some money to open the coffee shop he had always dreamed of and they spend more time together to plan everything? Does their love still have a chance?

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Not having a breakdown! (I'm just here for the kid.) (28K) by louisismycat (tiflamomet) | @liminalkitty369

Harry has to park outside his ex-husband’s (Louis) wedding so that he can whisk their kid away if a meltdown ensues during the day. Guests will not know this and will only see him parked outside, it cannot be stressed enough, his ex-husband’s wedding.

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Hazelbridge (77K) by CoolCrying

Nestled in the heart of the Yorkshire Dales, the tiny town of Hazelbridge has been home to Louis and his family for generations. Heir to his grandfather's historic bookshop, Louis lives a quiet but happy life, providing a hub for the town's many queer people, and indulging his love for books. That is, until Harry Styles comes to town.

This is the story of a town and two bookshops. It's the story of a family, and two boys with very different stories, who fell in love.

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At Least Let Me Buy You Dinner First (35K) by Anonymouis

“I said, Harry. As in Styles. AKA you. You’re pretty and certainly a piece of art if you ask me.” Louis mewls.

“Oh,” Harry breathes. He takes a moment taking in Louis.

Louis watches his eyes work their way all over his face and body trying to read him. Luckily, he knows just how to read Harry. The moment their eyes meet again, Louis leans in a little at a time, as slowly as possible. His heart racing, giving Harry all the time to back out, but then, Harry is reaching around Louis’ wrist and sliding their hands together, lacing their fingers and leaning in as well.

Then…

The bell above the door rings.

They both pull back at light speed, sniffling and coughing from almost being caught. Harry trips over his own feet with the force that he used. Giggles fall from both of them while Louis steadies him.

“First day with legs there, bambi?”

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Come What May (58K) by j_klmnop

Louis didn't believe in love at first sight until he met his neighbour Harry, the gorgeous man in the apartment next door who saved lives and had a smile that made his knees weak.

Louis was determined that today was the day he would finally grow some balls and ask Harry on a date.

Until his plans were disrupted by an unexpected delivery. One that would surely ruin his chances at any kind of love life.

Or, maybe it would be just what Louis needed to bring he and Harry closer together.

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2 a.m. texts (30K) by everysingleday

Harry has just come out and, with his best friend Louis’ support, he might finally be brave enough to go on a date with the guy he’s been chatting with on a dating app. Meanwhile, there’s a cat that wants to murder Louis, a fast-approaching deadline for Harry to find a new place to live, and this minor situation wherein he and Louis can’t seem to stop making out. It’s not a big deal. Louis is just being supportive.

—

aka, a practice kissing fic.

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Roman Empire (11K) by Speechless

One day Louis answers Liam's phone while he is in the shower.

That's how he meets Harry, Liam's friend who moved to Italy just a while ago.

And that's how Liam loses ownership of his phone.

“Do they sleep on the other side of the bed in Italy?”

He hears Harry laugh for a moment.

“I sleep right in the middle,” Harry replies. “Because no one will marry me.”

Louis bites back a little smile.

“Have you asked enough people?”

“The old lady walking her dog, just now.” Harry confirms. “She said no.”

Written for the BLFF 2024

Based on prompt 205: A Larry fic that includes the “I love you,” “no, you don’t” convo.

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stat time!!

948,562 words read (2% less than last month)

25 fics read (4% less than last month)

25 authors (0% more than last month)

🍫 for you for making it this far

[sleepyparalysisdmon]

Enhypen's Ideal First Dates

Requested? Yes! Request: ‘enhypen members and their ideal first date’

Jungwon - movie night Doesn’t have to be at a theatre either. He’s perfectly content to pile up on the couch with tons of snacks and drinks and watch movies with you until he can’t keep his eyes open anymore. But before that, expect some deep, conspiracy theory-esque conversations about whatever you’re watching.

Heesung - midnight drive I kind of picture this being an impromptu date. You both can’t sleep and decide to get up and go for a drive. He hands you the aux cord as soon as you get in. If it’s nice out, he rolls down the windows, but if it’s cold out, he turns on your seat warmer and blasts the heat. It’s kind of nice to just get lost, both somewhere in town and in conversation. Might not even realize it could be defined as a date until it’s nearly over. He might be dead tired tomorrow, but he will not regret it.

Jay - cooking dinner together Heavily inspired by the fact that he seems to be the unofficial chef of the group. You both pick a recipe to try. If you like cooking, he’ll be your sous chef, but absolutely doesn’t mind taking the lead if you aren’t comfortable with it. Enjoys the whole quality time thing (of course!!) but this will inspire him to cook for you as a surprise for future dates that he hopes he gets.

Jake - going on a hike He strikes me as someone that likes to be kind of outdoorsy and active. He’ll pick a nice day and then let you pick the trail and the pace. If you enjoy that sort of thing? Great! If not, don’t worry. He’ll do his best to keep it leisurely because it’s supposed to be fun. Totally not offended if you want something more relaxing next time, because he’s just relieved there’s a next time. (He just really wanted an excuse to bring Layla with him to help break the ice.)

Sunghoon - ice skating I’m sorry, but this one is so obvious and I cannot fathom it being anything else. As you both are getting to know each other and you mention you can’t really skate, he is determined to teach you. Will do his best not to show off (today, anyway). Skates backwards and holds your hands as you wobble in the beginning. Does his best to keep you on your feet but doesn’t let you get discouraged if you do slip. Is super proud when you can make laps on your own and is thrilled when you seem to really enjoy it. This will be a regular date, I fear.

Sunoo - cafe date I think he’d keep it simple and go to a cafe to hang out. It’s lowkey and easy to chat without the pressures of a more formal date such as dinner. It’s also nice because he can sometimes squeeze those into a busy schedule, even if it’s just an hour here and there. Bonus points if the cafe has an aesthetic look too it, because I think he’d appreciate that.

Niki - mini-golf He strikes me as someone that’s sort of competitive, so he’ll pick something that you guys can bicker over. It’s all playful of course, but he will not go easy on you. Might even smirk or chuckle when he tallies up how many hits it took to sink the ball, if only so you can pout or look a little angry and elbow him. Totally placating if he wins in the end, but will concede good-naturedly if you happen to win. (He might even let you but you will never know!!!)

[fool-tarnished]

"Remember me" - Chapter 1 - Kakashi Hatake x Reader

Synopsis : Born in Konoha, [Y/N] wasn't necessarily known as the most impressive or powerful ninja, but rather for her kindness and compassion. She became like an older sister to Naruto and a loyal, faithful friend to many ninjas in Konoha. Without even realizing it, she had earned a special place in the heart of one particular ninja with grey hair. But everything changed the day the Third Hokage entrusted her with a mission from which she would not return unscathed. Pairing : Kakashi Hatake x Reader

Warnings : Violence, memory loss

Inspiration : Remember me - d4vd

Words : ~ 3000 A/N : Hello there ! Here's the first chapter of a new story for Kakashi. There'll be many chapters (i don't know how many yet) and i'll do the same one for Tenzo/Yamato if some are interested (with a similar first chapter, but the rest won't be the same). So I hope you'll like it !

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Long before Naruto left with Jiraiya, the Third Hokage entrusted you with a mission. A mission that, of course, you wouldn’t undertake alone, but whose duration was impossible to predict. A mission that wasn’t supposed to be particularly dangerous either, but it still worried the young ninja, who had asked you to decline it and stay in Konoha.

You and Naruto had known each other for a few years now, and a sort of sibling-like relationship had formed between you. You didn’t necessarily show it, but you cared for each other as if you were almost family. The young blonde deeply appreciated having someone by his side he could consider an older sister: because yes, you were much closer in age to his famous sensei Kakashi than to him.

On the day of your departure, Naruto couldn’t help but ask you to promise that you’d go to Ichiraku together upon your return. That you’d promise to come back as soon as possible and, of course, without a scratch. A promise you made without hesitation and one you hoped to keep.

Kakashi, on his end, with whom you had built a connection during your time in the Special Forces, also came to say a few words before you left. Your relationship with the Copy Ninja was quite peculiar. You were close yet distant, making it complex between the two of you and in the eyes of others. You had never really put words to what it meant, and it hadn’t seemed to bother either of you.

At least, until things began to change for you. You were afraid of not returning, not just for Naruto’s sake but also for Kakashi’s. Yet, the fear was drastically different for each, which led you to question how your relationship with him had evolved. The feelings you experienced at the thought of leaving without knowing when you’d return and see him again weren’t the same as those you had for your other friends—Kurenai, Iruka, or Asuma. Something had shifted within you, and you hadn’t had time to reflect on it before being assigned this new mission.

"Be careful, [Y/N]. You wouldn’t want to miss the promise you made to Naruto. And don’t forget, you also owe me a replacement for that Icha Icha volume you ruined during our last training session," the grey-haired ninja said, with a smile you could easily discern beneath his mask. You left with your team, giving them one last look and a wave. Kakashi didn’t take his eyes off you until you were out of sight. ________________________________________

Crossing the Land of Wind had proven to be more arduous than expected. Whether due to the weather, unfortunate encounters, or other unforeseen events, it took you several weeks to reach its far edge. The team leader was the only one privy to the mission's details, and your task was to ensure their safe passage and protection. After finding the messenger, you set out again, this time for the Land of Earth. It was a particularly lengthy mission, but it seemed to be of critical importance to the Third Hokage, who had strongly emphasized its success at any cost. As for the contents of these messages? None of you had the slightest clue.

The journey through the various lands and the delivery of these messages ultimately took several months. You hadn’t faced any overwhelming challenges—just minor injuries, small delays, but nothing insurmountable. Nevertheless, the desire to return home grew stronger with each passing day. Every team member began to feel the absence of their loved ones, some even missing their children. As for you, you missed Naruto’s antics, the humor of your friends, and… the Copy Ninja, but for reasons that had become much harder to define.

It was during the final leg of your journey that these new feelings surfaced most clearly.

In the Land of Lightning, things took a turn for the worse. While crossing the vast expanse of rocks and mountains at night, you encountered a group of ninjas whose origins and true intentions you couldn’t discern. Everything happened far too quickly for you to fully grasp what was going on. A confrontation broke out, and the team leader made the decision to prioritize delivering the message, splitting the group in two.

This left you with just one teammate to try to hold off the enemies and buy time for the other two to escape.

The opponents didn’t seem particularly strong, but fighting at night clearly put you at a disadvantage. Fatigue began to take its toll, likely contributing to the event that would change everything for you.

As you saw several shurikens speeding toward your teammate, you decided to deflect them with your kunai to prevent him from being injured while fighting one of the attackers. What you failed to notice, however, was the unstable ground beneath your feet. Perhaps it was a combination of exhaustion, an unstable surface, and a strike from one of the enemies that caused you to begin a long fall from the rock where you had been standing. Without fully understanding what was happening, you desperately tried to grab hold of something—but it was futile. Your head struck a rock, and everything suddenly went black.

________________________________________

After spending more than a year and a half on the mission and successfully completing it, the team leader and the member who had accompanied them set out to search for the two ninjas they had left behind in the Land of Lightning.

It didn’t take them long to find their first comrade, who had been taken in by the Hidden Cloud Village, where they were treated and waiting for the team’s return. As for you, however, the story was different.

They found no trace of you—only your headband, which did little to encourage their search given its poor condition. They spent several weeks in Kumo, hoping to uncover information or even the faintest clue about your status or whereabouts, but their efforts turned up nothing.

Eventually, they returned to Konoha, disheartened, but determined to deliver their report to the Hokage and hand over your headband. Yet, much had changed since their departure. ________________________________________

"The mission is complete, Lady Hokage. All the messages have been delivered."

Tsunade carefully observed the ninjas standing before her.

"However, we couldn’t find [Y/N]. Only her headband was recovered. We don’t know if she’s dead or missing."

After uttering these words, the ninja lowered their head and placed the headband on the Hokage’s desk. Tsunade furrowed her brow slightly before picking up the object and examining it closely.

"Tell me everything about this mission," she said, her gaze still fixed on the damaged headband.

________________________________________

"We’ll probably run out of firewood tonight. I’ll go fetch some."

The elderly woman standing beside you gave a faint smile and nodded. She was preparing one of her famous soups, a recipe you now knew by heart. Its aroma always brought you comfort, especially in the winter.

Dressing warmly to head outside, you opened the door and carefully closed it behind you, letting out a sigh. The cold was so biting that you hurried to gather the wood and return inside. It was a ritual you had carried out every winter for the past two years, and to you, it felt as though you had never known anything else. In truth, you weren’t even sure if you had known anything else.

Everything was hazy—you remembered nothing beyond these moments spent in the little house nestled deep in the forest. How had you ended up there? Where had you come from? Why did it seem as though you couldn’t recall anything from before this home?

Poor Yubaba didn’t seem to know any more than you did. She would simply tell you that you asked too many questions whenever you embarked on this inner quest about your past. She’d say that everything would come back to you one day, but for now, your mind and body needed rest.

And you didn’t understand those words either. Why would you need rest? Was it tied to the headaches you frequently experienced?

Taking a deep breath, you firmly grasped the bundle of wood before stepping back inside the house. You placed it in front of the large fireplace that illuminated the modest living room where the old woman spent most of her time.

"This should be enough for tonight. But I’ll have to chop more for tomorrow," you said.

She turned to you gently, lifting the large pot and carrying it over to the table.

"Take off that heavy coat, Fubuki, and come warm yourself up and eat. It’ll do you good. Don’t forget your tea—it’ll help with your pain."

Nodding, you finally shed your warm layers, returning to your usual attire, and sat down at the table. Fubuki. It sounded strange, almost like it wasn’t real. Like everything around you.

And yet, how could you truly question the only things you knew when the rest of your existence was nothing but a massive void?

"Thank you for the meal, Yubaba," you said softly.

________________________________________

"So, how did the training go? Did it pay off?" Tsunade asked, seated at her desk.

"You really think we’d have come back if we hadn’t made any progress?" Jiraiya retorted, hands on his hips.

"We’ll see about that," she shot back, before Naruto jumped in with questions.

Kakashi was outside, seated near the window. Book in hand, he was quietly listening to the conversation inside. Naruto was back, and while the Copy Ninja was glad to see his student again, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of unease at the possibility of a certain topic coming up.

Tsunade had informed him months earlier that your team had returned from its mission. While Kakashi hadn’t shown it openly, he had been eager to see you again. The unpleasant news of your absence had shaken him more than he let on. Something deep inside him had stung sharply when the Hokage mentioned your damaged headband, accompanied by a lack of any additional clues—no body, no clear information about your fate.

He had stayed silent, though his face betrayed more than he intended. The Hokage hadn’t known what else to say and had simply expressed hope: the absence of a body might mean you were still alive, somewhere. And that one day, you might find your way back to Konoha.

Kakashi hadn’t responded. Instead, he abruptly changed the subject, redirecting the conversation to Naruto’s return and what lay ahead. The abruptness of his shift had startled Tsunade, but she didn’t push him further. She could tell he had emotionally shut himself off, erecting a barrier around him that might take time to dismantle. While she had tried to offer hope for your return, even she was unsure if there was anything left to hope for after so much time had passed.

"Well, Naruto, you’ve certainly grown," the silver-haired ninja remarked as Naruto leaned through the window, looking for him.

"And you haven’t changed a bit!" Naruto shot back.

With that, Naruto vaulted through the window. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a copy of the book that always seemed to brighten his sensei’s day.

"I’ve got a present for you, Kakashi-sensei!"

Shaking with surprise and joy, Kakashi accepted the book from his student under the watchful eyes of Sakura, Tsunade, and Jiraiya.

"By the way, do you know where I can find [Y/N]? It’s been so long! I’ve got a gift for her too!"

Kakashi’s gaze froze on the book in his hands. He took a moment to compose himself, considering how to respond.

Sensing that the conversation might take an unpleasant turn, Tsunade stepped in.

"She’s on a mission. She’ll be back soon, Naruto. For now, I believe you have plans with Kakashi."

Kakashi let out a soft sigh, closing his eyes briefly.

"I’ll be waiting for you at Training Ground 3. See you later," he said before disappearing.

Naruto turned to the Hokage, stepping back into the room with a questioning look.

"Do you know exactly when she’ll be back? She promised me ramen at Ichiraku!"

"Maybe we should head to the training ground, don’t you think, Naruto? You’ll see her when she gets back," Sakura chimed in with a soft smile, trying to steer him away from further questions.

"Fine, I guess. Anyway, Kakashi-sensei is probably already devouring his book—did you see his face?!"

________________________________________

After the young ninjas left the room, Jiraiya stepped closer to Tsunade. "Was she killed on the mission?" he asked bluntly.

"We don’t know yet. But I’m not sure it would be good for Naruto to know about the situation right now, especially since he’s just come back. Let him settle in first."

"I’m not so sure he’ll appreciate you keeping this from him. I only saw her briefly before leaving with Naruto, but he cares about her deeply."

"He’s not the only one. But I don’t think he’s ready to hear the truth just yet."

Jiraiya sighed and lowered his gaze. Glancing outside for a brief moment, he turned his attention back to the Hokage.

"The Anbu will eventually find her—or figure out what happened to her," Tsunade said firmly.

The ninja let out a small sound of surprise before smiling. "I see. You haven’t given up. Who knows about this?"

"No one, aside from the Anbu team assigned to the search. It’s better that way."

"And Kakashi?"

A brief silence hung in the air before she replied. "Kakashi doesn’t know either."

________________________________________

Months had passed, and Yubaba’s health had continued to deteriorate. The herbal treatments she made herself no longer seemed to be enough, and no matter what, she refused to see a doctor or go to a village to seek treatment. Despite your attempts to convince her to go to Kumo, she stubbornly insisted that it was pointless and that it would pass on its own. The day she could no longer even get out of bed, you decided, despite her protests, to take her to the Kumo hospital in one last hope of helping her.

________________________________________

After long hours of walking, you had finally arrived at the Hidden Cloud Village. Thanks to some passersby, you were able to get the old woman to a safe place so she could receive care. The doctors informed you that it would take some time, and that it was best for you to return in a few hours while they did what was necessary. This is how you found yourself wandering through the village, exploring the area as if you had never seen anything like it. It was pleasant to walk around in a place with other faces besides Yubaba's, to discover new places outside of the forest you knew by heart. But the noise of the passersby gave you a headache, and you would sometimes grit your teeth when sudden bursts of pain hit you. After a few hours of wandering, you made your way towards the hospital. Night was beginning to fall, and there were fewer and fewer people outside. The small street you were walking through was particularly quiet and empty, which reminded you of the calm of Yubaba's little house. But this calm only lasted for a brief moment. “[Y/N]?” The name you heard seemed to resonate inside you, but you didn't stop walking, simply furrowing your brows slightly. Your progress was halted when two figures suddenly dropped down from the rooftops and positioned themselves in front of you. Ninja uniforms, definitely, with a mask on each face. Exactly the same outfit. You stopped dead in your tracks, opening your mouth slightly as if to protest, before turning your head to see if you could retrace your steps. But two other figures had just landed as well, blocking your way. “I don’t know what you want from me, but I have nothing on me,” you said, your gaze filled with concern as you slowly raised your hands in front of you. The two figures facing you exchanged a glance before looking back at you. “You don’t recognize us, [Y/N]?” one of them asked. You couldn’t even identify who had asked the question, as fear was starting to rise within you. “You must be mistaken... I’m not [Y/N]...” “We’ve been searching for you for months.” “I... Why? I’m just here to care for the woman I live with. I don’t know what you want, but I don’t know you.” One of the two ninjas facing you leaned toward his colleague to whisper a few words before turning back to you. “Did you desert? And Naruto?” The headache was intensifying, and emotions were surging inside you, though you didn’t really understand why. “I... I don’t understand... What are you...?” Your vision was starting to darken, and breathing became more and more difficult. You began to feel an icy chill in your chest as the figures in front of you became increasingly blurry. Before you could finish your sentence or find your words again, everything went black.

[ultravioxence]

Clingy..

In the heart of UA High, where heroes were trained and friendships flourished, Bakugo Katsuki was known for his explosive personality. His intensity, both in battles and emotions, often left those around him bewildered. But beneath his brash exterior and the loud explosions of his Quirk lay a softer side—one that emerged when it came to you.

It started on a seemingly ordinary day. The sun hung high in the sky, casting playful shadows across the training grounds. You and Bakugo had just finished a grueling session of combat training, and while most students dispersed to socialize or head home, Bakugo lingered.

“Why are you still here?” he grunted, arms crossed, a frown etched on his face.

“I just wanted to cool down a bit before heading back,” you replied, wiping sweat from your brow. Bakugo rolled his eyes, but his gaze softened as he watched you. There was something about your calm demeanor that always drew him in.

As the days turned into weeks, you began to notice the subtle changes in Bakugo’s behavior. He would often wait for you after class, shooting glares at anyone who dared approach you. At first, you thought nothing of it—just classic Bakugo being overprotective. But as time went on, you realized that his clinginess was more pronounced than ever.

One afternoon, you decided to join your friends at a local café, excited to unwind after a challenging week. As you settled into a cozy corner with a cup of steaming coffee, Bakugo stormed in, his eyes scanning the room like a hawk. The moment his gaze landed on you, his expression darkened.

“What are you doing here?” he snapped, striding toward you with purpose.

“Just hanging out with friends,” you replied, motioning to the group. “Want to join us?”

The tension in the air thickened. Bakugo’s jaw clenched, and you could see the internal struggle brewing beneath the surface. “I don’t want to sit with them,” he grumbled, crossing his arms defiantly.

You raised an eyebrow. “And why not?”

“Because… because I don’t trust them!” he finally exclaimed, his voice raised slightly, causing a few nearby customers to glance over. “You don’t need them. You’ve got me.”

A soft smile crept onto your lips. His protectiveness, while overwhelming at times, was endearing. “I appreciate that, Bakugo, but I can handle myself. You know that.”

“Yeah, well…” His stubbornness flared to life, and he dropped into the seat next to you, keeping his glare focused ahead as if daring anyone to approach. The rest of your friends exchanged amused glances, clearly entertained by this unexpected display of possessiveness.

As the conversation flowed, Bakugo remained mostly silent, his presence like a storm cloud hovering over you, protective yet sulky. Noticing his attitude, you leaned closer, nudging him playfully. “You know it’s okay to let me have my space sometimes, right?”

He sighed, shoulders relaxing slightly. “I just… don’t want anyone else getting too close.” The admission hung in the air, and you felt a warmth rise within your chest. Underneath the tough exterior was a boy who cared deeply.

Days turned into weeks, and Bakugo’s clinginess became a familiar rhythm in your life. Whether it was walking you to class, insisting on sparring sessions even when you were tired, or simply waiting for you outside the dorms, his actions spoke volumes. He needed you close, and it was becoming harder to deny how much you cherished that.

One evening, as you both sat atop the roof of the dorms, the stars twinkling above, you initiated the conversation. “Bakugo, why do you feel the need to be so… clingy?”

He shifted slightly, his eyes on the horizon. “It’s not clingy. I just want to make sure you’re safe. You mean a lot to me, alright?” His honesty took you by surprise, and your heart raced at his words.

“Do you think I can’t take care of myself?” you asked gently.

“It’s not that,” he replied, glancing at you, his expression softening. “I know you can. I just… I just don’t want to lose you. I get worried.”

In that moment, everything clicked into place. Bakugo’s clinginess wasn’t merely possessiveness; it was born from a genuine fear of losing someone he deeply cared about. You reached out, resting a hand on his arm, grounding him. “You won’t lose me, Katsuki. I’m not going anywhere.”

He looked at you, vulnerability flickering in his eyes. “Promise?”

“Promise,” you assured him.

[mischiefbuckley]

This is random but I just for some reason wanted to ask somebody something soooo do you have a favorite scene of chenford and/or buddie?

Hi there!!!

My favorite buddie scene would have to be the kitchen scene with Buck, Eddie and Christopher in season 6. I love my Buckley Diaz family so much and that scene is so beautiful to see how integral they are to each others life’s as well as how important of a place Christopher holds in their life as well. It also just shows the love and appreciation that Buck has because he took the time to test out a lasagna recipe from Bobby to make for his Diaz boys and also how relaxed and at home they feel in Buck’s apartment like Christopher is doing his homework and Eddie is just relaxing drinking a beer and waiting for dinner to be ready like it’s so domestic and beautiful. Another favorite scene of mine would be poker date night that whole scene itself was so iconic and both Buck and Eddie looked so beautiful and also Eddie planning the whole thing out like OMG I love it so much. I would say also just 5x14 as an episode for Buddie is important because it really shows how much they are so important to each other and Buck was there when both Eddie and Christopher needed him and he was there helping out and making sure everything was running smoothly with Christopher so that Eddie could go to therapy and try to gain some perspective of how to deal with the trauma and the news and all the life changing events that had been happening at that point in his life and Buck being there to support him along the way.

I only did recently just finish watching The Rookie for the first time but I’m obsessed with Chenford. I would say one of the first moments for me that felt like wow this is going to be something beautiful is the Day of Death episode where Tim feels so guilty over encouraging Lucy to go out and have fun and he takes any means possible to try and find any information so they can find her in time. And then when he ends up finding her and pulls her out and hugs her that part got to me because you can tell he genuinely cared for her so much in that moment. Another would be when they go undercover because again I loved their undercover personas it was a funny watch to see a doppelgänger storyline actually be funny for a change compared to 911. Also when Lucy gets a hold of Tim’s radio and sends him on a scavenger hunt around LA to his favorite spots and when Aaron tells Tim it must be someone he knows immediately his first thought is Lucy. The moment that also broke me was Tim sending Kojo to give Lucy her birthday card like damn 😭

Thank you so much for sending :) I adore them all so much and they have all gone through so much together but at the end of the day they always have each other and it’s so beautiful to see on screen 🥹

[marisoil]

𝑪𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒

summary: ꪆৎ (1920s au) a cop with a badge too heavy for his shoulders, a socialite too bright for anyone's sanity, they’re both absolutely doomed.

an: i was ovulating during the writing of whatever this is (you can tell). i feel like itʼs lowk giving booktok,, feedback on this would be much appreciated!! (◞‸ ◟) might do some more depending on how this one goes [blink]

trigger warnings: power imbalance, jealousy, emotional turmoil, risky relationships, tobacco use, manipulation (if you squint), emotional vulnerability

genre: mostly fluff

word count: 3.5k

bertholdt hoover was a man made to endure, a man made for carrying things, for bearing heaps of what others could not. the kind of fella who kept his head down and his hands busy, broad-backed and quiet, shoulders like stone slabs meant for bearing things no one else could handle. the city of paradis didn’t have much patience for soft men; in the gilded chaos of the roaring twenties, the streets were thick with jazz, smoke, and dirty politics. amidst flappers with rouged knees, dapper men tipping their straw boaters, he did what he was supposed to; put on the uniform, took the oath, and kept his nose clean. a lawman through and through, his uniform was neat enough to draw eyes but never hold them.

but you were no burden. you were conflagration in satin stockings, burning through every oath he’d ever sworn to uphold. a socialite draped in silk and scandal, with the kind of laugh that turned heads and left men (him, most of all) wondering if mortal ears were ever meant to hear music so sweet. your name was always on the lips of cigar-chewing barkeeps and parasol-clutching harpies, you were grotesquely lavish, a kitschy cathedral built to indulgence and made purely out of another soulʼs restraint. mornings found you sipping spiked tea on sun-drenched balconies, while afternoons slipped away in the folds of boutique dressing rooms, where clerks bent over backward to find the perfect shade of temptation for you.

in every sense of the word, you were excess. too much money, too much charm, too much of a good thing stretched to itʼs breaking point. a chandelier swaying just before the fall, a glass of merlot filled to overflowing, a secret too loud to be kept.

at some juncture in your life, between the empty noise of their promises and the heavy silence of the mornings after. you began to believe no, that no one could stomach entire spoonfuls of you. perhaps only the undemanding aspects of your existence, the ones they admired from a safe distance, the ones they praised like dilettantes, unsure and shallow in their admiration. men, in their infinite optimism that could easily be mistakes for arrogance—insisted they could handle you; they threw their hats into the ring with all the gall of gamblers who think the house will finally lose. and for a while, they played the part: offering love as if it were currency instead of an unexamined reflex. but inevitably, as night follows day, they faltered, overwhelmed by the intensity of you and your contradictions, your needs, your refusal to be contained. “you don’t have to call me every time something happens.” “you’re something else, doll, but maybe take it down a notch, huh? no need to shout the house down.”“you’re amazing, but i don’t know if i’m the right guy for all of this.”they treated you like a puzzle, or worse—a nuisance. so you began to wonder if the problem lay with you: a creature too large for the paltry cages they called love, too restless to settle for what they called enough.

of course, that was before you met bertholdt.

he first saw you on a call, a routine disturbance at one of those upscale speakeasies masquerading as tea rooms. the kind of place where old money rubbed elbows with new money, and no one dared whisper the wrong names. you’d been sitting at the bar, cigarette holder poised in one gloved hand, with your manicured fingers curled around a coupe of champagne. reiner had nudged him toward you with a knowing smirk, but it was you who made the first move, as was your routine, your lips curved into a smile that could ruin a man. you’d looked at him, not through him, like most people did. something about the way your gaze lingered made his heart stall beneath his ribcage, and from there he knew he was sunk.

he hadn’t meant to take you home. hadn’t meant for your dress to pool on the floor of his apartment or for his hands to learn the heat of your skin. but you unraveled him like you’d been born for it. the morning after, he’d stood at the window, his shirt rumpled and his resolve liquefying as you stretched across his bed like trouble itself had learned to walk upright in silk stockings, a wry smile tugging at your lips when he stammered, “this can’t happen again.”

but then, days later by means of despicable coincidence, there you were, turning his world sideways once more, pulling him into the shadowed alcoves of ballrooms, your gloved hands gripping the lapels of his coat as if you’ll die without him like you insist you would. “you shouldn’t be here,” he mutters, his breath warm against your neck, but his hands betray him, slipping around your waist and pressing you closer like he once had during the night he couldnʼt forget even if he tried. you tilt your head, lips grazing the shell of his ear as you purr, “neither should you, officer.”

you were nothing he was supposed to have. not in this life and especially not in this city. it should have been easy to walk away, to stay away, but you’ve always had a talent for taking what you want and bertholdt, poor fool that he is, didn’t even try to stop you.

you’ve made bertholdt hoover an accomplice to his own undoing. his uniform feels heavier when you’re near, like the badge on his chest knows he’s betraying everything it stands for just by breathing the same air as you. it seemed, and to this day still does seem absolutely proposterous at first—you and him. he was just a flatfoot, after all, pounding pavement while you lived a life of velvet and champagne. you were the kind of woman who could get a man fired, and bertholdt knew it. but you had a way of making him feel like you were meant for him, and worse like he was meant for you. in his eyes, you were a grace-given gift. through some unseen kindness from a life he could not recall, he had been repayed in the form of you, sweetly cocooned in a douceur adorned with ribbons and bows just for him. all for him, every inch of you. only ever for him.

you adored him, he was completely enamored with you, and you don’t apologize for any of it, for the mess you make of him.

you’re a thief, he thinks. you take up all the space in his mind and in his pockets, where the little pieces of you collect. loose pearls from your necklaces, ribbons from your wrists. you leave a trail behind you that only he bothers to follow, like you know he’ll pick it all up. he keeps your earrings in a little dish by his bed, ones you claim to forget every time you’re over. one of them is missing its backing, and you said it doesn’t matter because “it’s just an excuse to come back.” you said it so flippantly, throwing the words over your shoulder as you twirled out the door, but bertholdt thinks about it every night. wonders if it’s true, if you’ll keep leaving pieces of yourself behind like breadcrumbs. wonders if one day, you’ll leave too many, and there’ll be nothing left of you except the trail.

he keeps a picture of you, folded neatly into the soft belly of his jacket, he can feel it even now as he walks behind you, his fingers brushing absently over the hidden pocket. it’s old, creased from being folded and unfolded, touched and caressed when the real you is not around for him to hold. it’s not much, just a snapshot really, but it’s enough.

and you have one of him, too, though yours is much, much larger than his, a little dog-eared from being tucked into your clutch, covered in those maddening lipstick marks of your affection. when he’d asked you about it you said, “well, it’s my favorite picture.” you never hide it. in fact, you brandish it like a trophy, waving it at him in public just to watch him turn pink all the way down to his collarbones and he swears he can feel his ribs bending to make room for you.

your lipstick leaves ghosts everywhere: on crystal rims, on the necks of champagne bottles, on the stark white collar of his shirt you stole one lazy morning. he can still see it there, smudged and pink, a ridiculous, infuriating claim you left behind like a signature.

you like to touch him, your affection spilling over in unmeasured handfuls, and bertholdt takes it all, always unsure how to give it back without breaking it. your foot hooks over his under the table, dragging lazily until he jolts, his knee banging against the wood with a sharp, graceless sound. your hand slides beneath his glove, fingers cool against his warm ones, your thumb pressing into the creases of his palm as if you’re trying to read the lines of his life. a flick at his ear when he’s being too quiet, too bertholdt. sometimes you’ll poke his chest like you’re trying to find the exact location of his heart, grinning when he finally relents and catches your wrist, his thumb circling over the thin bones there. bertholdt isn’t used to being wanted so openly, so carelessly, but you make it feel natural, like this is just how the world works: you touch, and he catches fire.

over time, you make him comfortable enough to reciprocate those affections but you still have progress to make. his hands, so large they feel almost grotesque to him, were built for things like restraint, utility, the cold grip of a gun. but when he touches you it’s like he’s terrified the world might break. you laugh at him for it sometimes, draping yourself across his chest, your perfume threading itself into the fabric of his uniform, and say, “bertholdt, you hold me like i’m a cracked egg.”

it frustrates you to no end. you’ve always been shameless when it comes to bertholdt hoover. maybe it’s the way his shirt strains against his shoulders, seams groaning under the power of him. you notice everything: the dip in his throat when he swallows, the faint press of his veins just under his skin, the way his jaw clenches when he holds an anger thatʼs never directed at you. he smells like smoke, sharp and bitter, but when you kiss him, his mouth is sweet, tinged with a faint metallic tang. but he holds back. doesnʼt give you all of which you want, which is all of him. so you push harder—pulling at his tie, sliding your fingers into his hair, nipping at his neck just to hear the low, shuddering breath he can’t quite suppress. he’s maddening, the kind of man you want to press against until he forgets himself completely, and you’re determined to make him forget.

you love him so, so much. you love him for the way he never makes you feel small, for the way he lets you be yourself without apology. and you’ll be damned if you ever let him go. bertholdt hoover belongs to you now, and you’ll fight the whole damn city if it means keeping him.

he lets you win every argument. always. even when you’re wrong, which you rarely are. your words are sharp, but they always soften when it’s him. instead, you tease and provoke, and he lets himself be provoked because he loves the way you grin when you think you’ve gotten the better of him. and you have entirely. there’s no part of him you don’t own, no corner of his mind you haven’t occupied.

he’s jealous, though he’d never admit it outright. he thinks you’re too radiant to belong to anyone, and yet he burns at the sight of other men circling you like moths to a flame. their hands hover too close to your backside. he tells himself it’s not his place, that he has no claim on you, but then you glance at him from across the room, your eyes daring him to say something, to do something. you’re playing a dangerous game, and bertholdt’s never been one for risks. until you.

“you’re angry,” you say one night, he’s standing too close, his jaw tight, his hands shoved into his pockets to keep from dragging you away from the room full of prying eyes. “you let him touch you,” he murmurs, the words barely audible, and your smile stretches, wicked and knowing. “oh, bertholdt,” you coo, your fingers trailing along his sleeve. “are you jealous?”

“stop it,” he snaps, and it’s so unlike him that you pause, blinking up at him with something almost resembling surprise. then, quietly, he adds, “please.”

bertholdt knows this can’t last, knows you’re everything he’s not, bold where he’s reserved, reckless where he’s cautious. he knows it’s wrong, knows he shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be sneaking into your estate under the cover of darkness, but he can’t stop. not when you greet him at the door in something entirely inappropriate, your smile bright and mischievous as you drag him inside. “i missed you,” you say, your voice soft, and it undoes him. every single time.

you kiss him like you’re trying to devour him, and he lets you. his hands are trembling as they slide over the silk of your dress, his breath ragged as you tug him closer. “what would your captain say,” you tease, your lips brushing the edge of his jaw, “if he knew where you were right now? what you’re doing?”

“donʼt,” he breathes, his hands tightening on your waist, but you don’t stop. you never do.

the city has no place for love stories like yours. it chews men like him to the bone and spits them out without ceremony, while women like you slip between its teeth, too clever to be caught. bertholdt knows this. he knows the weight of a badge, the weight of duty, the crushing inevitability of a city like paradis. but for you, he’d bear it all a hundred times over. all he knows is that for as long as you keep leaving pieces of yourself behind, he will pick them up and hold them close, even if it means losing himself entirely.

bertholdt hoover is a man made for carrying things, for bearing what others cannot. but for you, he has learned to let himself be carried, too.

you are the only thing that feels real. and bertholdt, for once in his life, is not strong enough to let go.

[angie-words]

Writers Guild Presents: Letting Go - a Write A Way one-shot!

Art by @ines2925 💜

The boys are back 😎 I'd been thinking of doing something with these two disasters again and then I got the Dom/Sub prompt for the @goodomensafterdark Fall Ball Kink Thrall event.

CW/tags: Dom/sub, Soft Dom/Top Crowley, Sub/Bottom Aziraphale, explicit sex, past trauma due to being neurodivergent in a neurotypical world, smut, human AU, ADHD Crowley and Autistic Aziraphale, dirty talk, blow jobs

Summary:

Azira and Crowley have been together for a few months and things are going great. However, when Azira catches sight of a particularly smutty piece of Accurate Prophecies fanart, it leads to him realising there's something he'd quite like to explore with Crowley, especially as it might alleviate some workplace stress...

Or: Crowley engages in some soft dom roleplay so he can give his angel exactly what he needs to stop thinking.

Excerpt:

While Crowley certainly found the illustration compelling, the effect it had upon Azira was far more interesting. His pupils were blown wide in arousal, barrel chest rising in stuttering breaths, lips hanging open as his tongue edged out to wet them. A flush began to grow across his cheeks, creeping slowly down that beautiful throat until it disappeared beneath a buttoned up shirt and bow tie.

The reaction was fascinating and Crowley took a moment to appreciate the sight of Azira Fell blue-screening. He and Crowley had been physically intimate for a while now and, while they’d both enjoyed being top and bottom at various points, they’d not discussed anything around submission and domination. The two things didn’t automatically go hand in hand, after all. Azira hadn’t mentioned being interested in such things, let alone a preference, but Crowley was starting to suspect his angel might have one.

“Alright there?” he asked, and watched as Azira slowly came back to himself, blinking rapidly and clearing his throat as he did.

“Oh yes,” he squeaked unconvincingly, “ah, tickety-boo! I hope it’s, well, given you some fodder for your next chapter!”

Eyebrows raised, Crowley let that exclamation pass (“tickety-boo”? Fuck, he really did love him) and covered his disbelief with a long sip of coffee. As Azira fussed with some imaginary fluff on his trouser leg, Crowley decided to wait and see. They hadn’t been together long, but one thing Crowley understood was that Azira took maybe a little more time to process how he felt about things.

Placing his phone on the table, he wrapped an arm around Azira and cuddled up against him, drawing a pleased hum from the adorable man. No, Crowley thought, better he worked things through. He’d talk to Crowley when he was good and ready.

It turned out “good and ready” only took a day.

Continue reading on AO3 or Start the Series Here

Thank you to @sakascal @playdohangel and @rofell and @bohoteacher being my wonderful beta readers!

[cursed2becringe]

OMG FINALLY SOMEONE ELSE NOTICED THIS 'CUZ I'VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS FOREVER!!

Also, an opportunity to rant about my headcannons? Don't mind if I do

At first Shad didn't see Gene as much other than a particularly useful (obedient, powerful and not a zombie) shadow knight. He certainly valued him a bit more than others due to his magic. But there is something about Gene that rather confused him in a way; his unquestioning loyalty.

He was incredibly easy to convince to serve the Shadow lord, quick to accept most of his new life. Shad didn't understand why exactly, most sentient knights took much work before they would eagerly join him. But Gene seemed to have a strange liking for his new lord. Perhaps the better word would be obsession, or even infatuation. This came plenty from Gene's way of coping with becoming a shadow knight. He very early on convinced himself that serving the Shadow lord would be the better thing to do than fighting or running away, which over time morphed into viewing him as an ideal of a sort, the perfect and righteous lord of the Nether. Torture on it's own was a pretty good motivator, but it also had much to do with the fact that Gene didn't have anything to fight for. His family and village saw him as a disgrace, he had no hope of returning home, and he didn't know anyone else that would take him in if he managed to escape. So as a mixture of hopelessness, compliance in result of torture and unexplored issues with being delusional he did a full 180, idealizing the Shadow lord and his purpose as a shadow knight to an extreme degree to escape both his own internal and outward physical torture.

Gene in particular being so compliant had many perks for Shad as well of course.

For many years Shad had had to deal with converting still sentient shadow knights on his own. Torture by itself often simply rules out cowards, ones that you know would run away first chance they get anyway, it takes more than that to convince someone mentally and physically stronger and therefore more useful. He could do so by a long process of brainwashing or by magically messing with their heads. Memory magic is hard, and, especially in his weakened form, Shad would waste plenty of his power on creating proper soldiers. Still, many shadow knights managed to break through his attempts and form revolts. They were all extinguished as they came but they came with casualties. That was the case until Gene showed up.

The Shadow lord discovered his abillity to alter memories. He not only had enough power to do memory magics, but he specialized in it as it was one of the only types of magic he could do. Sure he broke after merely a few days in the torture dungeon, but Shad figured he was useful enough to still keep around. He officially knighted him and immideatly utilized his power in converting other knights, new and old, and it worked wonderously. He grew a much larger, more capable and more loyal army. He kept Gene very close as to not let him do something foolish as attempting to run away. Using his magic this often drained Gene plenty, so in order to keep him running Shad would offer him special treatment like better food and plenty of time to rest. It took some time until Shad allowed Gene to leave the Nether in search of immortality in fear of losing such a useful asset. But he returned and owned himself some praise and trust from his lord. He keot rising the ranks and quickly became one of Shad's best knights.

Gene, in his mad delusion, viewed these benefits purely as displays of affection, solidifying his own beliefs in the Shadow lord's goodness and fondness of Gene, despite Shad's cruel and merciless punishments for his mistakes.

Then finally, after so many years of trial and error, Shad had a physical form again. It took many of his loyal soldiers to be able to get to this point, but none of them were as loyal as Gene, and none without brainwashing required. It made Shad, in a weird way, appreciate Gene just a little.

It was certainly difficult for Shad to adjust to having a body again after being an apparition for millenia. He had to get used to eating, sleeping and dealing with the sensation of touch. Shadow knights are incredibly durable, but they still have to feel the exhausting heat of the realm and the weight of their armour etc. Out of fear of being seen as weak he never voiced these struggles, he was the almighty Shadow lord after all. But occasionally he'd slip a little complaint to Gene. He was seemingly very understanding and caring about these little woes that he had long gotten used to, and it made the other appreciate him just a little more.

So Gene's batshit crazy fantasy of getting the lord of Hell itself to like him actually came true in a way. They definitely are not in a relationship, and even if they were there would still be a massive power dynamic and Shad still tortures Gene mercilessly for his screw ups. But, in his own way, he sort of likes him. Not to mention Gene is conventionally attractive and Shad can now get a boner. I definitely think they have something between them.

Shad and Gene had something going on in mcd s3 no one can convince me otherwisee the tension was there!

[jherbo10]

He’s so shy 🥹, he didn’t seem to amused, when he was walking in a fan ran up to him which was not nice :/

🎥:jherbo10