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samsno1 · 1 year ago

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One Hell Of An Agent

Sam Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: After weird deaths start happening and your friend becomes a victim of it, two men appear at your door for questioning and your day turns into the weirdest you've ever lived.

Warnings: SMUT, size kink (if you squint), oral (f. recieving), big d sam (obviously), dean gets forgotten lmao, unprotected sex (wrap it up guys), piv, tit sucking, sam is a sweetheart, pet names (doll, baby, beautiful), a bit of body insecurity but, as i said, sam is a gentleman, reader is shorter and overall smaller then sam, use of y/n, NOT PROOF READ, english isn't my first language (if i forgot anything TELL ME)

Read it on AO3

WC: 6.1k

You can learn how to change the "Y/N" for your actual name here

enjoy your meal babies, mwah mwah

It was supposed to be just another day where you went to work to get pennies in exchange for spending close to 12 hours in front of a computer screen, get back home to drink until you decided you should take a shower and sleep. Then repeat.

You, standing in your living room with a circle of kitchen salt around you and two men who were supposedly FBI agents holding shotguns and the ghost of an old woman trying to kill you, wasn't in your plans.

They both had arrived at your house in suits earlier that day, knocking on your door. You groaned and got up from the couch, leaving your beer bottle settled on the coffee table. Once you opened the door you widened your eyes at the two men standing there.

The taller one greeted himself first. He had a – almost – shoulder length brown hair and beautiful hazel eyes. To say you were shocked at how handsome he looked was an understatement. The shorter one had deep green eyes and short hair, he was pretty too but his partner…

“Hello, I'm Agent Page, this is my partner, Agent Plant” He said, showing you his badge and nodding to Plant, him copying what his partner did.

You furrowed your eyebrows, recognizing the names from the Led Zeppelin band.

“Plant and Page as in…the Led Zeppelin guys?” You questioned and they shared a look. The shorter one stepped foward, giving you a once over, clearly checking you out.

“Just a coincidence Ma'am” He said, smiling at you and you nodded, still a bit skeptical.

You opened the door wider for them both to get in.

“Come in, please. Have a seat” You said, gesturing to the couch and they sat besides each other. Page eyed the beer at the coffee table in front of him and you cringed.

“Sorry, I wasn't expecting the FBI at my door” You chuckled lightly and took the beer bottle to the kitchen in the other room. When you came back, both their eyes were on you and you felt a bit intimidated.

“Well…why are the feds at my house…?” You asked, sitting at the armchair and resting your hands on your lap, fidgeting nervously with your fingers.

Page put his elbows on his knees, his fingers crossing in front of him as he leaned forward to talk closer to you. You took notice of his big frame wondering how someone could be so…wide?

“Miss…”

“Y/N” You filled in the gap.

“Miss Y/N” He said, licking his lower lip with his tongue “We are here to ask about the recent murders around”

“Oh” You said. You knew well about one of the victims, a friend of yours. It had been a little over 2 weeks since her death but you always went with the mantra to keep going no matter what. At the memory of her you felt your throat restrict and you blinked back tears.

Page seemed to notice and put a gentle hand on your knee to comfort you. When you looked up he was smiling slightly and you calmed down.

“We know Beth was your friend and we are sorry for your loss” He said, squeezing your knee “But we'd like to ask you some questions, if you don't mind”

You nodded and looked between the both of them, taking a deep breath.

“Yeah…yeah of course” You said and he nodded, pulling his hand away from you, the warmth still lingering where he had placed it.

“Did you notice any weird behaviors before your friend passed? Like she was distant, cold…?” Plant asked and you made a face trying to remember anything. You recorded a night you two went out

“Five days or so before she died…” You started, turning your head down to stare at your fingers over your lap. “We went to a bar near my house and she kept glancing behind her, nervous, on edge, as if something would jump her at any moment. When I asked her what was wrong she looked at me, terrified, grabbed her things and bolted”

You sighed thinking you should've went with her now that she was gone.

“I tried calling, texting. Nothing. For those five days I didn't hear anything from her then…they called me announcing that she was gone” You started tearing up again and closed your eyes to hold them back.

“She didn't have anyone else, y'know, I should've been there for her, I–” You choked on an inevitable sob and covered your face with your hands. Then you felt the taller man's hand on your knee again, his thumb stroking your leg.

“We are truly sorry, it wasn't your fault” He said, a voice so comforting and calm you felt it in your heart.

You took your hands away from your face and sniffed, letting out a slight chuckle. You felt a bit embarrassed to be crying in front of them both.

“I'm sorry” You said and brushed your hair back with your hand “I think this was it. She was always a very quiet girl but sweet, caring, I couldn't think of anyone that would do this to her”

The men nodded and looked at each other, a silent conversation you weren't a part of. You looked down to see Page's hand still on your knee and you smiled to yourself. What a nice fed.

"Thanks for the information Ma'am" Page said. When they looked back at you, he patted your knee lightly and got up with his partner. You stood up as well to accompany them to the door, them both behind you.

You opened the door and looked at them both going out, your gaze lingering longer on the taller one, looking him up and down.

They turned to you with a tiny card in his hand and gave it to you, your finger brushing against his.

“If you remember anything, give us a call. Thank you for your time” He smiled warmly along with the green eyed Agent.

“Will do, thank you so much” You said, smiling back seeing them walk away to the Impala parked in front of your house.

You kept your gaze locked until they drove away, snapping you out of your daze getting back in your house and locked the door, smiling like an idiot at the image of the handsome guy you just met.

Inside the Impala, Dean kept glancing towards Sam, who had his face buried into the newpaper about the couple murders happening.

“Dude” Dean finally said, a grin on his face. Sam looked up at him and made a questioning face at his side profile.

“What?” He asked

Dean laughed lightly and looked at his brother.

“She was eating you with her eyes” Dean said and at that Sam's full attention was on him, lowering the paper with a confused face.

“Who? Y/N?” He asked and Dean nodded. Sam sighed and rolled his eyes at his brother. “Dean, c'mon” He said.

“I'm serious, the look she gave you when we left, staring you up and down like a feast” Dean laughed mischievously, looking for a couple seconds at Sam's shocked expression. “She's pretty, y'know, if you don't want it, I'll have it”

“Shut up Dean” He said but he couldn't help thinking about your looks towards him and the impulse he felt to comfort you with a hand on your leg when he realized you were upset.

Dean laughed and shook his head at the stubbornness of his brother, driving back to the cheap motel they were staying at.

Your day went by as usual, some couple more beers here, a whiskey there, some movie you had on the TV.

You ended up falling asleep on the couch for a couple hours until about 2AM when you heard a loud thud in your house and your entire body entered fight or flight mode.

You got up and kept your ears trained for any more sounds until you heard your stove, the gas being poured out in your house and the color drained from your face. What the hell?

You went into the kitchen and for sure the smell of the gas hit hard on your nose and you gagged.

Suddenly the door to the kitchen closed behind you and you jumped in shock. Your heart started ringing in your ears and your hands were trembling.

“Hello?! Is anybody there?!” You asked, your voice shaking as you went to the door. Locked. You started to panic, were you crazy? Was this a dream?

There was a noise behind you and you turned, seeing the knife cabinet open and you glued yourself to the door, trying to get the lock open when a kitchen knife started to float up and towards you.

You screamed and banged at the door.

“Help! Someone, please!” You screamed and the knife was plunged in the door, close to your head and your body fell back in the ground, tears rolling down your cheeks when everything stopped.

You slowly got up and tried to open the door. Success. You scrambled out of your kitchen and unlocked the front door, sprinting out of your house terrified.

You remembered the card the Agent gave you. You didn't know if it was okay to call him this late but you just almost died. You thought he could make an exception.

With trembling fingers, you dialed the number on your phone, putting it to your ear. Please pick up, please pick up.

“Hello? Agent Page speaking, who is this?” He said with a gruff voice, he was definitely sleeping and you felt a bit bad for waking him up.

“Agent?” You practically whispered, your voice shaky with fear.

“Y/N?” He recognized your voice and made a confused face, sitting up on the bed. “What's wrong?”

“I– I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have called I–” You spoke fast, nervous. He took notice of that “Something happened” You said simply.

“We are on our way” He said and slipped on his shoes, already on outside clothes. He nudged Dean to wake him up. “Hang in there”

“Okay” You said in a whisper as he turned the call off, biting your thumbnail in order to stay calm in the circumstances.

Dean woke up to see Sam getting his bag ready in a frenze, a worried look in his younger brother's face.

“Y/N called, something happened, she seemed stressed, let's go” He said, throwing Dean his bag, the oldest groaning as he grabbed the keys for the Impala.

As they drove there, Sam couldn't help but get even more stressed the long it took for them to arrive. He wondered if you were okay, if you had gotten hurt, or worse. When they arrived, you were sitting on your porch, legs tucked close to your body as you shivered.

When you heard the noise of the car you got up. The two came out and you were a bit weirded out to see them in normal clothes but relieved nonetheless.

When they got closer you breathed out in relief, the taller of the two coming closer then Plant, grabbing your shoulders and eyeing you up and down, looking for any visible damage.

“Are you hurt? What happened?” He asked and you shook your head at the first question.

“I don't know…If I explain it I'll sound crazy” You said

“Oh, sweetheart, believe me, we know crazy” The green eyed Agent said and you looked at him, the nickname foreign but you brushed it off.

“I was sleeping in my couch when I woke up with a loud bang” You began. “I got up to see that my stove started leaking gas and…when I wnt to the kitchen, the door…It shut behind me, locked” You said, shakily and Page brushed his hand on your shoulder, the same way he had done to your knee earlier “I couldn't get out and a knife started to fucking float, it charged at me, caught the door and then it all just…stopped”

“I was able to leave my house and…call you” She said and looked into his eyes, the comforting gaze seeping into her. “I'm sorry, I know it's late”

“Don't bother, it's fine. Let's try and see how we can help you, okay?” He said

You looked at him, puzzled, tilting your head at him

“You believe me?” You asked and he let out an aired laugh in amusement.

“What if I tell you we aren't truly FBI agents” He said.

“Oh” You widened your eyes and looked between the both of them, shameful smiles on their faces. “Right”

“Get in, we will explain everything we can to you” He said and you nodded getting inside your house.

After a couple minutes you learned that they were actually brothers, the tall one was named Sam and the shorter was Dean. They told you all about what they did, the family business, how real the supernatural was and tried to explain that you experienced something ghost-like.

You were absolutely dumbfounded as they said all that. It was hard to believe that, how is all of it real if you hadn't seen anything your whole life similar to what they explained to you? Just now?

“Okay so…you both are like…the Ghostbusters?” But hotter. You noted, mentally.

“Basically, yeah” Dean said.

You sat there with your hands over your face. You didn't know if you wanted to laugh or cry at the situation.

The brothers walked around with the so called EMFs, machines you learned could sense the presence of ghosts.

You couldn't help but glance at Sam. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, his hair falling around his face and from time to time he bit his lower lip.

You were entranced at how annoyingly handsome he was until loud beeping from Dean's EMF startled you.

Sam whooped his head towards him and they shared silent looks. Sam turned to his bag and got a shotgun out and you widened your eyes at him. He took notice of that.

“They are loaded with rock salt, don't worry” He said and you made a confused face. He smiled at you and your heart skipped a beat. “Let's say…ghosts don't like salt. Salt and iron are their weaknesses” He said and you hummed in acknowledgement getting up and going to your fireplace to get an iron rod.

Sam stared at you as you walked back to him and you shrugged.

“It's iron, you said it could keep them at bay” You said and he nodded.

A loud noise startled all of you, in the kitchen, where Dean was the closest to and he cooked his gun, Sam doing the same and protecting you with his body.

“Stay behind me” He murmured to you and you nodded, iron rod in your hand prepared for any attack.

“Come on you son of a bitch!” Dean said and, as if on cue, the ghost of an old lady appeared in your kitchen and you gasped, recognizing her immediately.

“Mrs. Greene?” You whispered and apparently she heard you because in a moment she was there and in the other she was behind you.

“Y/N, watch out!” Sam yelled in front of you and you turned around, swinging your weapon and making her vanish for a couple of moments.

You were breathing heavily, your ears ringing until Sam snapped you out of your daze, turning you around by grabbing at your arm.

“Are you okay?” He asked, concern laced in his voice as he gave you a once over.

“Yeah, I think” You replied and Dean appeared as quick as possible making a circle of salt around you and Sam stepped out of it, letting your arm go.

“You need to stay there, she can't get you because of the salt” Dean said.

“You know her?” Sam asked and you looked at him, nodding.

“She was Beth's mother. Died in a car accident that…my father caused. Me and Beth bonded through their deaths but I guess her mom didn't really approve of that” You said, smiling sadly to yourself.

“Where is she buried?” Dean questioned.

“The cemetery near the only church in town. About 5 miles from here” You replied and Dean gave Sam a quick nod as he got his bag and gave his brother extra ammunition.

“I'll go do the dirty job, you, protect her, make sure that bitch doesn't kill her” Dean said as he went out the door, shutting it behind him.

You sat on the ground, in the middle of the salt circle, mindlessly playing with the iron rod in your hand. Sam looked down at you. You looked more than upset, understandably.

“Everything is going to be okay” He reassured you and you looked at him with a gentle smile. Until you weren't smiling anymore and instead was looking behind him.

“Sam, behind you!” You said, getting up again and he turned shooting the ghost and she reappeared behind you, outside of the circle.

You turned around, shaking and lifting your weapon at her. She looked down at the salt circle and the creepiest smile you've ever seen opens up in her face, sending shivers down your spine.

Suddenly the windows broke open and a strong gust of wind came in with full force. You covered your head to protect it from the glass until you looked down and the salt circle was broken around you.

Your heart dropped as she started approaching you and Sam shot her again from behind you.

To your dismay, she was behind him again, and before you could warn him about her she grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and threw him against a wall.

“Sam!” You screamed and she turned to you again, slowly walking towards your frame and you backed away, the iron rod propped in front of you protectively.

She knocked the rod out of your hand and you looked desperately at it on the ground.

Your back pressed against the wall and you closed your eyes, preparing for your death when she started screaming and you opened your eyes.

She was quite literally burning right in front of you, with her hands reaching for your throat until she was just gone, no burn marks on your ground, weirdly, and her desperation echoed through the house.

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, your heart beating in your ears. You heard a groan and remembered Sam was basically knocked out on the other side of the room.

You rushed to him and kneeled down besides him with a hand on his cheek and the other in one of his knee.

“Sam, are you okay?” You asked as he slowly opened his eyes. When he seemed to retrieve consciousness again he breathed in deeply and scrambled to get up but you held him down by putting a hand on his chest.

“Hey, hey, it's okay, she's…gone, I guess” You said and he focused his eyes on yours when you smiled. You felt your face heat up at the look he was giving you until Dean barged in through the front door, whistling at the mess.

He looked towards both of you on the ground and made a face, holding back a smirk.

“Burned her up…Am I interrupting something?” Dean asked playfully and you felt a tad of embarrassment, helping Sam get up with a grunt.

They started to gather their stuff and you wondered how the hell you were going to clean up your whole house. Glass and salt everywhere, a hole on the wall where Sam was thrown at.

When they were all done you got each a beer. They tried to deny it but you insisted, claiming it was a thank you treat for saving your life.

You finished all your drinks, throwing the bottles away and you walked them to the door, the Impala parked in front of your house. They got out and stood outside as you smiled at them.

“Thank you, again, really, you both saved my life” You said.

“It's nothing, really, we do this everyday” Dean said with a dismissive wave. “I'm going to load the car” Dean said, giving Sam a pat on the back and a look you didn't understand but apparently Sam did, since he gave a deep breath and a practically death glare at his brother, his chest going up and down.

“So…” He started, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.

“So?” You nudged, smiling up at him and biting your lower lip. His eyes stared at your mouth and you felt small under his gaze.

“You were amazing back there, you know?” He said, crossing his arms in front of him and smiling. “You knew what to do, few people can do what you did”

He complimented and you looked down, smiling like an idiot. He’s so sweet.

“Oh I just…went by logic I guess, nothing much. You said iron and I reached for iron” You said, fidgeting with your fingers as you looked up again.

“Yeah…” He said, looking from your eyes to your mouth and back up again. You decided to be a bit brave and got into your tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek, holding on his shoulder for support.

When you pulled back he didn't pull away and one of his hands cupped your cheek, looking between your eyes when he leaned into you, his lips against yours in a light kiss.

You responded almost immediately, your hand going to the back of his neck to deepen the kiss and he placed his hands on your waist. You reluctantly pulled away with a hum, dazed by the kiss with your eyes still closed.

When you opened them his eyes were on your face and you felt warm again. He pulled you back in your house and you giggled in surprise when he closed the door, his hand still holding you.

“What about your brother?” You said as he turned his attention back to you, a smirk on his face when he squeezed your waist. He leaned in closer and you held your breath.

“He can wait” He whispered against your lips before kissing you again, this time more intensely then before and you hummed, burying your hand on his hair while the other stroked his chest.

You started taking his jacket off when you stopped and pulled away.

“Is this okay? I mean I'm totally fin–” He cut you off with another mind blowing kiss and you gasped.

He shrugged off his jacket, dropping it to the ground and clasping your face in both his hands.

“Does this answer your question?” He smiled teasingly and you chuckled, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down to kiss his lips again and his hands grabbed your hips in response.

He brushed his tongue against your lower lip and you opened your mouth to let him explore it, moaning lowly against his mouth.

He lowered his hands to the back of your thighs, not breaking the kiss, and lifted you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and you yelped in his mouth.

You noted he was big, you just didn't know he was this strong, lifting you in his arms as if you weighed nothing.

He walked to the kitchen and placed you on the counter, his hands going under your shirt and experimenting with his touches on your bare skin.

You whimpered, shivers running through your whole body as his big hands roamed through your burning skin.

You pulled away, your forehead touching his, a whispered “Fuck” coming out of your lips. Your hands went to the hem of your shirt and slowly pulled it over your head, leaving your torso bare besides your bra.

Sam drank you in, his adam apple bobbing when he swallowed and you felt embarrassed under his strong gaze, your hands slowly coming to wrap themselves around your stomach.

He held your wrists gently, pulling them away from you and his hands went up and down your arms.

“Don't hide from me, you're beautiful” He whispered and started to leave kisses down your neck, nibbling and biting where he noticed you liked the best with the noises leaving your mouth.

Your hand wrapped in his hair to pull him back to your lips, his kisses addicting like a drug.

He pulled away again to pull his shirt over his head, revealing his defined torso and your jaw physically dropped at the sight. He had some scars, some pale, old, others a pink tone, more recent but it just made him look even better, showing how much he had lived through. He chuckled at your reaction and settled his hands on your hips again, gently squeezing.

“See something you like?” He teased and you closed your mouth, your hands reaching slowly to touch his bare chest. He gasped at your feather-like touch on his tanned skin and you looked at him again, his eyes dark with desire.

“You're…stunning, like– I knew you were…muscular…from the get go but you're…” You trailed off and he chuckled, a bit embarrassed and leaned down to crash his lips against yours again.

His hands went to your back and unclasped your bra, helping you take it off and toss it on the ground along with the rest of your clothes.

His hands came to the front and grabbed at both your breasts, squeezing them and making you moan into his mouth. His fingers teased at your hardened nipples and you arched into his touch.

His mouth started trailing down towards your neck, your collarbone, until he got to the valley of your breasts and looked up at you. Your mouth was open, eyes hazed and deep breaths were making your chest go up and down. What a sight.

He closed his mouth into one of your nipples and you whined, the warmth of his tongue circling around it making you grasp at his locks with a certain strength that made him groan around your skin. His fingers teased the other breast until he switched sides, feasting on your breasts.

“Sam…” You gasped his name and he hummed in acknowledgement of your plea, pulling away from your breast with a smile. “Please”

He gave your lips a peck and went down your body again, leaving open mouthed kisses down your stomach until he got to the waistband of your jeans and looked at you again, asking for permission and you nodded at him.

His fingers popped open the button of your pants and opened the zipper. You lifted your hips to help him pull the clothing off and he dragged it down your legs slowly, drinking you in.

You felt a shiver run down your spine at his hungry gaze on your frame when his eyes noticed your soaked underwear.

He discarded your pants and ran his hands up your legs, his look never leaving your covered pussy. His hands stopped at your thighs as squeezed the flesh and you closed your legs instinctively.

He looked up at you and pried your legs open with his hands.

“What did I say about hiding from me?” He said, his tone deep and dominant making you swallow a whine as you spread your legs wider and he settled between them with a smirk.

He kissed your covered sex and you let out a low moan, his mouth traveled to your inner thighs, biting and kissing at the flesh, driving you insane.

“Please…” You begged, grabbing at his hair and he hummed.

“So desperate” He said against your skin, grasping your panties and pulling them down. You gasped at the cold air hitting your dripping core and he groaned at the sight.

He cupped your whole cunt with his hand, making your hips buck up into his touch and a low moan left your throat.

“Beautiful” He whispered and gave your thigh one last kiss. “Tell me if it's too much, okay?” He said and your heart melted.

“Okay” You breathed out and he smiled up at you. He took his hand away and you almost frowned when his lips wrapped around your clit and you moaned, bucking your hips against his mouth.

He smirked against you and put one hand over your hips to hold you still as he did wonders against your cunt. His tongue eating you out as if you were his last meal, ripping loud moans from your throat.

“Oh, fuck” You moaned, pulling at his hair “Sam– God” He hummed and groaned against your pussy sending jolts of pleasure through you.

He teased your hole with his finger, slowly entering you and stretching you out, hooking up and rubbing right at that spot and you moaned loudly.

“Jesus, fuck, right there– Shit” A string of curses left your mouth and he grinned proudly, adding another finger to your torture, making you cry out, his name slipping out of your lips.

You felt the knot inside of you tighten, your pussy clenching around his fingers and Sam knew you were about to cum.

“Cum for me, doll” He said and quickened his movements against you and your moans got louder.

“Fuck!” You groaned loudly as you finally came against his lips, your orgasm hitting you like a truck, your eyes closing in bliss, your fingers tightening in Sam's hair.

He helped you ride your orgams until the stimulation got almost painful and you started to try and close your legs.

“T'much, Sam–” You moaned and he pulled away, your juices shining against his face as he got up from his knees and grasped your waist tightly, smashing his lips against you, the foreign taste of yourself lingering on his tongue as he attacked your mouth.

“Taste as sweet as you look” He praises and you smirked.

You glance down at his still covered legs and crotch, the tent in his pants looked almost painful and you bit your lip. He noticed that and took you in his arms again, wrapping your legs around his hips, making your sensitive core grind against his jeans and you whined.

“As much as I'd like to bend you over that table and fuck you senseless” He said, getting closer to your ear and whispering: “I want to fuck you on a bed to see your cockdrunk face when I make you cum”

You shivered, not expecting these words coming out of his mouth and you attacked his neck with kisses and bites.

“My bedroom is down the hall, on the right” You mumbled against his skin, breathless, and he carried you to the room, his hands squeezing and digging in your ass as you continued marking his skin.

He gently placed you on the bed, kissing your lips hungrily and you led one of your hands down to his crotch, palming him through his jeans and he pulled away from your lips to groan, his forehead against yours.

“Fuck me, Sam” You breathed out and he kissed you one last time before standing up and unbuckling his belt and opening his zipper, dropping his pants to the ground and taking off his shoes.

You were staring, eating him with your eyes as he took off his boxers teasingly slow, stepping out of them and looking at your face for a reaction.

Your mouth watered and your pussy clenched around nothing. He was big. You expected him to be large, he was tall after all but you still were very shocked and wondered if you'd be able to take it all.

Sam seemed to notice your worries and grasped your chin to give your lips a comforting kiss. He wasn't cocky but he was aware of his size and knew it could be intimidating.

“We'll go slow, baby, if you want to stop, just say” He assured you and you felt all fuzzy and warm on the inside. It was hard to find men that actually cared and it seemed like you hit the jackpot with Sam. You nodded and he crawled over you, smashing your lips against his again.

He rubbed his cock up and down a couple times and lined it up with your entrance making you whine in anticipation. He slowly pushed into you and you pulled away to let your mouth hang open in a soundless moan.

Sam made sure to distract you from the pain, rubbing your thighs up and down and kissing your neck and collarbones. It took everything inside him to not pound into you. You tightened around him deliciously and he pressed his forehead against your shoulder.

“You feel so fucking good Y/N, God” He whisper-moaned against your ear and you hummed, your nails digging into his shoulders, definetly leaving marks to remind him for a couple days of this encounter.

“I feel so full, it feels so good” You moaned breathy as he was almost all the way inside you, his kisses soothing your hot skin, his fingernails marking your hips as he held back to let you adjust to his size once he was all the way inside.

You felt him in your throat and it took you a couple of moments to let the pain turn into pleasure and Sam was willing to wait as long as you needed.

When you finally stopped feeling the pain of the stretch you wiggled your hips against his cock and grabbed his cheek to give him a messy kiss.

“You can move, please” You said and he pulled back and forth, both of you moaning at the feeling, his dick hitting deeper than you thought was possible.

“Y/N” Sam moans against your shoulder, his strokes inside you making his whole body tremble with the tightness. His hand roams down your body until it reaches your lower stomach. He presses his hand down against your skin and you moan loudly. He grins, his breathing heavy as his hair makes a curtain around his face.

“Oh– fucking God!” You practically scream, your eyes rolling back as your nails scratch at his shoulder. He felt impossibly deeper and he quickened his thrusts, your whole body going limp and your mouth letting out incoherent babbles and moans of his name.

He was panting as he held himself up in his elbows to look at your fucked out face, kissing your cheeks and your lower lip.

“You look so pretty like this” He said against your skin as he kept his thrusts steady and deep. "I told you I wanted to look at your pretty face...when you came undone under me."

You felt your skin tingle, your body trembling and that familiar feeling on the pit of your stomach like a fire lighting up.

"The looks you were giving me..." He groaned against your skin, his hips sttutering as his orgasm came closer "I wanted to make those beautiful eyes roll back the moment I saw you" He admitted, giving your neck a harsh bite, definetly leaving a mark.

“Sam!” You moaned out, your hand tangling itself into his hair. “I'm cumming” You warned and he quickened his pace and your head shot back, exposing your throat to him.

“Cum for me beautiful” He said, leaving a hickey just below your jaw.

You unraveled below him with a loud moan of his name, your heels digging into his ass. A few more thrusts and Sam pulled out, stroking his cock one, two, three times until he came over your stomach, groaning and panting your name.

You looked at his face, sweat sticking some hairs on his face, his eyes closed, mouth agape and his hair a mess thanks to your hands.

You smiled in a daze and traced your fingers over his face and he opened his eyes, catching you already looking back at him. He leaned down and kissed you passionately for a couple seconds until he pulled away and stood up to go to your bathroom.

He came back with a wet towel to clean you up, gentle in your sensitive sex then he left the towel on the bathroom sink and layed down on the bed beside you again, pulling you into his chest and kissing the crown of your head.

You hummed as he wrapped his arms around you, massaging your sore muscles.

“That was…” You said, not finishing. No words were able to describe what you felt.

“Yeah, it was” He confirmed, smiling.

You snuggled into his chest, your hand tracing mindless patterns against his skin. Then you started to chuckle and he looked down at you.

“What?” He said with a hint of a laugh behind his tone.

“Your brother must be pissed” You said between laughs and he started to laugh too, feeling his chest vibrating against your cheek as his hand stroked your upper arm.

“I don't care, this, you, was worth it” He said and you looked up at him with a shy smile, not knowing what else to say.

After a while of silence between the two of you you started to think a bit.

“You're leaving town soon, right?” You asked and he hummed an affirmation. You hid your frown from him. “You're welcome back anytime, you know that, right?"

You said but didn't look at his face when you felt him looking down at you and he squeezed your arm as if to say I know.

You started to fall asleep against his steady breathing, your eyes heavy.

As you were almost sleeping you felt him leave a kiss on your forehead.

“I will” He whispered and you smiled to yourself, letting yourself fall asleep in his embrace.

☆

A/N: Notes and reblogs encourage me to keep writing. Feedback makes those writings better. Thank you for reading. Xoxo

#sam winchester smut #sam winchester #supernatural #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fic #supernatural imagine #supernatural smut #supernatural x reader #sam winchester x female reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam x reader #sam x you #dean winchester #sam winchester fluff #smut

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hyperfixating-rn-brb · 1 year ago

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The Good Omens Fandom has had a lot of fun recently with the knowledge of Aziraphale and Crowley holding hands on the bus at the end of season 1.

Soo here's everything that went through my head as I learned of it for the first time.

For that entire scene, Aziraphale is really far gone. He's dissociating so hard he can't even realize he's been sitting on a sword. Crowley is probably the only thing keeping him grounded.

They just narrowly stopped Armageddon after a showdown with literally Satan, and still can't let their guard down. For the first time ever, they're completely on their own side. Now they have to orchestrate a body swap to save both of them. They wouldn't just be killed, they'd be completely destroyed. Everything must go exactly according to plan, but how often does that actually happen?

And on top of that, his bookshop, his home, his safe place with the demon he has to pretend not to love is burned and gone.

Crowley is so incredibly gentle and reassuring this entire scene. He's been through so much trauma himself and has spent a lot of his existence shielding the angel from it, hoping to protect some of his innocence and naivete. Crowley is absolutely familiar with every symptom of PTSD and anxiety.

Now he has to see his sweet angel see such a small bit of the horrors of heaven and hell and start to crumble inside. He's going to do his dam best to try and help Aziraphale through it. Speaking softly, ("the bookshop burned down... remember?) slowly and carefully, gradually helping to pull the angel back to reality, reminding him that he's there and will help ground him.

They get on the bus, and sit next to each other. 11 years ago, they sat nearby but separated while Crowley begs Aziraphale to help him prevent the Apocalypse. Now they are sitting together. Both an act of reassurance and unity.

Crowley sits first, Aziraphale could so easily just sit across from him, behind or in front. But he chooses to sit right next to him. And hold his hand. Aziraphale desperately needs to be near to the *former* demon he loves, to hold him, to make sure they won't be separated.

In the book, their famous lines of "none of this would have worked out if you weren't, deep down, just a bit of a good person" and "just enough of a b*stard to be worth liking" came as Satan rose from the earth, as a goodbye in case they were destroyed.

Luckily, that didn't happen and they survived. Armaggedon was stopped. But the angel is still so anxious of losing Crowley. So he chooses to reach out, to anchor himself and reassure himself that Crowley is still there beside him and that they are okay, at least for a few minutes.

And Crowley let him. He knows how badly Aziraphale needs him, he needs the angel just as much. He knows how badly he craved an anchor and support system as he was first abused and traumatized by his Fall, then further by Hell. So he's going to continue being there for Aziraphale, doing everything he can to make his angel feel safe and comfortable.

Over the next few years, Aziraphale would become so much more comfortable reaching out and touching Crowley. Leaning into him, resting a hand on his shoulder or briefly touching his chest. Somehow both reassuring himself that the former demon was still there, and reminding Crowley that he's still there for him at the same time.

Then Crowley becomes more comfortable with the touch, leaning into the angel by himself. No longer flinching at a sudden graze of a hand or reassuring squeeze.

That one moment of the two holding hands on the bus cemented so much of their relationship. "The last few years, not really..." all started on that bus the moment Aziraphale chose to sit down next to Crowley.

edited: at first this said "new knowledge" because I just found out about this all the other day, and wrote this up at 3 AM, and didn't really fact check when this knowledge became well known. I've only really been a GO fan since maybe 2021, and only really started being active in the fandom during the last few months, so a lot of info that is fairly well known is still generally new to me. soo yeah this was edited :)

source for anyone asking for it!

#good omens spoilers #crowley #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #good omens #go2 #bus scene #they like holding hands #neil gaiman #david tennant #michael sheen

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ataraxianne · 11 months ago

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This will be long and I apologise in advance, but I've spent the last hours researching and analysing so here we go

Analysis of the flowers in the recent Helluva Boss characters' portraits in the new Spring collection (or, at least, what I think these flowers are)

Blitzø ~ White geranium: this flower mainly symbolises pure love, but also innocence, purity and protection. While protection is quite evident in Blitz's character, the other three meanings may seem out of place, but that is precisely what they've been doing with Blitz's personality this whole time. He follows the "they think I'm a monster, so I will become one" path, but despite his flaws and self-sabotage he is a nice person, full of love that he does not know how to properly express and he is not really the one to blame for the accident that happened years ago at the circus. He is not the heartless imp he make himself up to be, but a rather simple, hurt guy who's hoping and longing for love

Loona - Purple rose: this is also an interesting choice. The main meaning of this flower is the "love at first sight", but it also gives the idea of an endless love. It is, then, also a symbol of nobility and royalty: this may be a reference to the fact that in the group, she is not only the only one who can read and use the Grimoire, but that has also learned a lot of spells from it (ex: being able to give herself a human disguise). Unless there are also other possible future connections with her and nobility...

With Moxxie and Millie there really aren't any double or secret meaning (or none that I could find)

Moxxie - Hesperis matronalis: this flower is present in many legends, all related to a promise of eternal love and fidelity (of course, this is for his marriage with Millie). I read somewhere that they're also a symbol for loyalty, which may be a reference to his relationship with Blitz (and also something he probably struggled with too, after Chaz betrayed him), and its name "matronali" is a reference to ancient Roman matronae, probably a reference to his mother (who was featured in the merch as well)

Millie - Geranium pyrenaicum: apparently in folklore they were said to counter love spells, which is hilarious considering the serenade Moxxie did to her at Ozzie's, where he literally says he feels under a love spell when he's with her. Maybe it's a way to say that their love is actually real and that it will last, since this flower also symbolises love, joy and health - and in some cases also protection

Stolas - Dahlia: (I'm going to fucking die)(when I tell you I SCREAMED) Yellow dahlias are a symbol of affection and gratitude (THANK YOU BLITZ. FOR MAKING ME SO HAPPY. EVEN IF FOR ONLY A LITTLE WHILE)(kill me now please). These flowers are said to despise cold temperatures since it prevents them from flourishing (call 911 I'm begging you). They also symbolise kindness, dignity, resilience and inner strenght, together with eternal love, and in some cases they're also viewed as a symbol for regality

Octavia - Purple hortensia: oh this is interesting. Hortensia's significance may vary depending on the culture: while in Japan they're a symbol for an heartfelt emotion and apology, in Europe they symbolise arrogance and vanity. I think both these versions apply to Octavia and to her way of, not seeing the world in general, but probabily her now-complicated relationship with her father. She's a bit arrogant in her teenage headstrongness, but she still loves and cares for him. Purple hortensias, then, specifically symbolize a desire to deeply understand (again, definitely in relation to Stolas)

Fizz - Orange carnation: these flowers are said to generally symbolize positive feelings, while the orange ones specifically connotates happiness, warmth, determination and creativity, but also desire and enthusiasm - all qualities that are easily attributable to him.

Verosika - Azaleas: this one is interesting too: these flowers convey a lot of different meanings, but the most typical one is womanhood, femininity, but also passionate love, especially in their red variant. They can also mean "taking care of" (both of one's self or of others, but even "take care of yourself for me"). Another prominent answer, then, was temperance (as per Moxxie and her mother, Verosika too is featured in other new merch products among which there is also a scene of her peacefully sat somewhere in Sloth Ring - where she stayed for rehab). From the trailer it is clear that, at least in one episode, she will have an important role both for Stolas and for Blitz, and maybe we will also have some more information about her relationship with my favourite disaster imp, together with infos about herself and, at this point, a possible recovery for her and her clearly-still-broken-but-she-won't-admit-it heart?

(I'm starting to get tired, I guess y'all are too)(If you even kept reading this far)(I'm almost done, I swear)

I'm putting the sins together simply because their flowers are strictly related to their "sinful roles" and not to their characters

Ozzie - Poppies: I mean, I guess in this case we're referencing more the opium you can extract from them, so lust's and sex's narcotic and feverish effects on people

Beelzebub - White peony: apparently they convey an idea of shamefulness?? Probably what people feel after drinking whatever they can at her parties lmao. Also disgrace and, to a certain amount, wealth and prosperity

Mammon - Mimosa: honestly here the only meaning I want to give is that they smell of piss

LOOK HOW BEAUTIFUL THEY ALL ARE, THEY MAKE ME BELIEVE IN LOVE AGAIN

Okay so, they're all the same flowers, lilies, which in general represent purity, probably in relation to the depth of their love. However, there are additional meanings depending on their collours

M&M - Yellow lilies: symbols of joy, happiness and desire of enjoyment (they're each others' shadows and main interest, this is all too accurate)

Fizzarozzie - Blue lilies: serenity, rebirth and new beginnings (EXACTLY WHAT FIIZ DESERVES AND WHAT THIS RELATIONSHIP IS GIVING HIM)

Stolitz - Red lilies: they symbolize pASSION AND ROMANTIC LOVE, THEY'RE USED TO EXPRESS DEEP FEELINGS OF LOVE AND ITS STRONG INTENSITY

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crescenthistory · 5 months ago

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begging for a fic where regulus says “i love you” to reader for the first time and it FLOORS them bc reggie is not one to voice his feelings a lot, much less something as powerful as the feeling of love

listen, when i saw this ask i sat down and wrote this in ONE sitting, THANK you. you probably intended for this to be a scene at the beginning of a relationship, but i instead decided to psychoanalyse my poor darling reg for a few thousands of words and give him a patient partner. hope you'll forgive me lols<3

Words: 3k

Warnings: not proofread, the most ancient and noble black family trauma (including descriptions of abuse and neglect), gn!reader, black brothers angst and reconciliation, sunshine!reader, reader is very patient and understanding with regulus, kinda past bartylus, barty is a hugger here, reg pov so some spiraling, vague implied references to sex (so implied that i believe it's safe for minors, but just putting that out there)

on the tip of my tongue

It’s not that Regulus didn’t love you. Quite the opposite, actually.

It’s just that love had not been a spoken matter in his life until you barged into it. Love was implicit as much as it was hidden and reserved; something you grabbed greedily at while you had it and rationed carefully over the next few weeks or months, hoping to get by on it.

For a long time, Regulus thought his mother loved him. She was strict and firm, but when he came to her for advice, she would give it and might even pat him on the cheek if he accepted what she had to say readily enough. He would hold his cheek afterwards and syphon the warmth left from her touch, wishing there was a way for it to stay with him forever.

When he got to Hogwarts and experienced true, unrestrained friendship he realised there was a way for it to stay with him forever – the other party just had to not withhold it. His cheek would be warm if the people who loved him kept holding, kept returning. With them, attention was not something he was occasionally graced with, it was always on him, within easy reach.

It took him a while, but Regulus eventually got used to the physical affection, at least from his friends. He came to expect it and lean into it, which in and of itself felt like a weight lifted off his shoulders. There were hugs and pats on the back and tousled hair. There were pretend-scuffles on the quidditch field and the common room. There was that one term in third year where Barty decided he and Regulus simply must learn how to kiss and the boys spent most nights sneaking off into the empty common room and unskillfully, sloppily making out through kisses. There was that one night in fifth year where they picked it back up again.

Still, with the hands-on approach to love that Barty and Dorcas had and infused into their little safe haven of a friend group, it remained unspoken. There was the occasional “mate” or the nicknames he brought with him from home – “Reg” was fine and while he did not much care for “Reggie”, he let it slide due to the affection it held. The closest they got to spoken love were the promises to fiercely protect each other, to kill and die by each other’s sides if must be. To beat the living daylights out of anyone who lays a finger on the other and then hex the pain to stay with them forever. An oath of loyalty was their "I love you".

Other than them, Sirius had been his one source of affection throughout his life, but as everything else in Grimmauld’s Place it had been quiet.

Sirius was the perfect big brother, whether Regulus wanted to admit that or not. He held his hand when they crossed the street and held Regulus at night when he cried. Sirius taught him as much as he could, and though he occasionally was arrogant or impatient with his lessons, he didn’t give up on them. Regulus knew he loved Sirius at the very least, even if he had in more recent years questioned if that love was returned.

The problem with Sirius is that Regulus does not know of most of the affection the older boy showed him. Sirius insists that the two spent the majority of their first years attached at the hip, but Regulus struggles to remember much before the age of 12, which you had once told him he might want to look into with a professional at some point. To which Regulus emphasised the “at some point” more than the rest. So any hugs or touches or love Sirius showed him has been long since forgotten. Apart from the bed-sharing; Regulus remembers that vividly. Crawling into his older brother’s bed at night when he had nightmares, hoping Sirius could chase the monsters away. Regulus didn’t think he did it that often, but Sirius swore he once slept an entire three months solely in Sirius’ bed.

The most significant way Sirius loved Regulus, though, was through what he did for him, not to him, which Regulus did not himself see. He was such a good shield between their parents and Regulus that the young boy didn’t even realise the service he provided. Scoldings, blames and beatings – there was nothing Sirius did not take for Regulus.

If Regulus’ childhood was painful enough not to remember, he could not stand the thought of how Sirius’ must have been.

That is part of how he learned not to resent him for leaving Grimmauld’s Place – even that he did in part for Regulus. When left alone with an increasingly vexed Walburga Black, Regulus learnt quickly how severe some punishments can be. Consequently, he learned what Sirius had endured for him, how strong of a shield he had been.

Sirius knew he could no longer withstand the weight of that house, so he left, in hopes that he could be a better protector for Regulus from afar. Finding a good home full of warmth and smiles, and coaxing Regulus into joining him there under safer circumstances than he himself had. When the two had their infamous heart-to-heart, it was Sirius choking on the words “better protector” that finally broke Regulus – the first time he had cried in front of his older brother since they were little.

Now he knew well that Sirius loved him, beyond most words. And the things they said to each other during that talk where he convinced Regulus to leave might even mean more than a simple “I love you”. Still, it remained unsaid.

It was simply not tradition for Regulus Black to speak them.

Then, he met you.

What was that thing James always says? Game-changer? You were that for him.

Somehow, affection just came pouring out of you like you were overflowing with it and just had to share it. With your friends and your family, even strangers – it just came naturally to you. And when Regulus entered your orbit through his reunion with Sirius, you more than happily let that extend to him as well.

It absolutely floored him.

The first time you said “I love you” to him was long before you got together or before he even had the nerve to actively flirt with you. You ran into him in the hallway and stopped him, trying to squeeze as much conversation as you could out of him in the few minutes you both had between classes. It was evident you were soaking up his presence as if it was truly enjoyable, and it warmed something in him he was only able to name later on. When you had to run, you ended the conversation with a casual “okay, see you later, I love you, bye!”. Regulus was left gaping. Nearly ended up late to McGonagall’s class because of you.

Saying it as a form of temporary goodbye reminded him of how he used to ration his mother’s touches, it carried him until the next time he saw you. Except next time with you was dinner later the same day, and then breakfast and then hanging out in the library. He never had to wait long, never had to go wanton.

The love kept flowing freely from you in all the ways he had gotten used to over the years and then many more – physical touch, quality time, acts of services, words of affirmation, you checked off the whole list. He began calling you soleil, French for sunshine because of how you shone with that love for everyone. It was a slip of the tongue one day, and when he saw how it made you smile, he just kept calling you that.

With such a loving and lovely creature, Regulus thought he couldn’t help but fall in love with you; he was not at fault for it, you were entirely to blame with your loveliness.

His voice had shook some when he first confided in Sirius about it. The older boy had smiled fondly and joked, “That was not quite what I meant when I told you to make yourself at home with my friends, but I’m glad you’re comfortable.” Regulus argued he in no way shape or form felt comfortable with the emotion, but Sirius would have none of it.

His voice shook even more the first time he told you how lovely you look today, but unlike Sirius, you didn’t notice. You smiled and returned the sentiment with ease. He realised then that he would likely not be able to talk himself into a relationship with you, given his lack of skill and your lack of deducing any intent behind sweet words, so he went the Regulus-route as Sirius had called it.

Meaning, he pursued you through quiet, unwavering loyalty and company, attaching himself at your hip for as long as you seemed comfortable with it. When he realised there was no limit on the amount of time you were willing to spend with him, he went further.

Regulus went to hold your hand for the first time in Hogsmeade. Looking back on it, you both laughed at how he spent ten whole minutes inching his hand closer and closer to yours, practically holding his breath, awaiting a rejection or harsh response. Ever so slowly, he interlinked his pinky with yours. An opening both for you to take it further or cast him aside, whichever you pleased he would accept. The beaming smile you flashed as you looked up at him then, lacing the rest of your fingers together tightly, never left his mind for long.

Hand holding led to walking arm in arm which led to prolonged hugs which finally, finally found you both sitting in the Astronomy tower, kissing with large, dumb smiles on your faces. The same night you had your first kiss Regulus surmises you probably had your first hundred kisses.

Now, laid in bed beside you, two years into dating, Regulus could not imagine not being comfortable around you. He smiles fondly when he thinks of the boy he was before you decided to simply drown him in affection, but he does not relate to him anymore. There is no place he would rather be than here by your side, in the flat he purchased for the two of you straight out of Hogwarts – the last time he can remember panicking before asking you to take the next step in your relationship – playing idly with your fingers as you hummed some melody he could not place. It felt right.

The one thing that had remained the same throughout your relationship, both before and after it turned romantic, was that you overflowed with “I love you”s and he had not said it once.

You had talked about it before, of course you had. Sirius had given Regulus a stern talking to about communication when you first started going out, unwilling for his baby brother and friend to get hurt by their own stupidity.

“I don’t know if I can say it,” Regulus had said then. “It sounds ridiculous, but I don’t know how.”

“It’s a good thing you don’t need to then,” you had said so simply, through a smile that made his heart spin happily. “I know what I need to know. I like saying my truth because that’s how I am; but I am more than happy to accept you showing yours because that’s how you are. And I love you as you are.”

Regulus had known in his bones that you meant it, and that made it all the more sweeter. He attacked you with kisses after that, relishing in the giggles it drew from you.

“If it ever changes, will you tell me?” Regulus asked after, when you quieted down in each other’s arms. “If you ever need to hear it?”

You had said something about how you “do hear it”, always with your metaphors and abstract ways of viewing things. When Regulus, ever the pragmatist, had insisted on getting an answer to his question because “you know what I mean”, you had promised to tell him. You never did need to because it never changed for you.

It was Regulus it changed for.

In your shared bed, your hand in his as he followed its outline and your bare legs entangled, something deep in him shifted. You were sleepy and content above him, reading some paperback he borrowed you ages ago that you only picked up once you moved in together and all your books were in the same place anyway. He was laying half on top of your chest and staring at you with what had to be love in his eyes because that’s what he felt in his soul. He had been staring for the past half an hour, not even realising it, lost in his train of thought.

He had expected that when he would finally say it, there would be some grand reason, some special moment. Something that would cause that shift, something that required him to voice what he felt and you knew.

There wasn’t; it was just you and him, and he was so unbelievably happy and comfortable. He had tried microdosing love and you ended up giving him a lifetime supply instead. You were everything.

“Sol?” The question drawled out of him, mouth ahead of his brain but heart running miles before both.

You looked up with a smile, stopping your absentminded humming. “Yeah, love?”

His eyes crinkled at the corners and he spent another minute just looking at your face. You let him, indulgent and sweet as ever.

“I love you.”

You froze. The smile remained on your face, the same contentedness there, but your eyes widened and your hand on his back stopped mid-circle. “What?” you whispered.

He kept staring at you with a smile, almost finding humour in your increasingly shocked expression, though some old part of him remained alert for rejection. Which makes no sense, she tells you it every day, he reminded himself. Still, old habits die hard.

You decided to trade one question for another upon his silence and your mental recalibration. “Why?”

“Why?” Regulus repeated through a laugh, as if the thought was incredulous. “Have you met yourself, soleil? Have you seen what you’ve done to me? I’ve always loved you.”

You sat up quickly at that, jostling Regulus up with you, though he was less graceful in the change of position as he did not anticipate it. You looked at him with the same wide-eyed expression. “Not what I meant,” you said then.

Regulus opened his mouth to say something, though he wasn’t sure what.

“But you didn’t have to,” you blurted out before he could. Rushed, almost frantic. “Don’t say it because you think you have to.”

Regulus furrowed his brows in confusion before they cleared up in realisation of your fear. He shifted to sit closer to you, practically pulling you between his legs, and grasped both your hands softly. They had been hovering between your forms, as if over an injury you did not know how to treat. Slowly, he dragged his thumbs back and forth over your knuckles. “Amour, soleil,” he whispered, emphasising the words with all his might. “I know I don’t have to. I wanted to. I want to, it feels right. I– I love you.”

The second time, the phrase flowed more freely from his tongue. Easily. He found he quite liked the taste.

You opened and closed your mouth twice, eyes flickering all over his face as if to deduce whether you trusted his words. Then, ever so slowly, he saw that smile he loves so much begin to grow over your lips, that looked increasingly more kissable to him.

“Yeah?” you asked him breathily through your oncoming grin.

“Yeah, baby,” he whispered. “I love you. I always have, you know. But I felt like saying it now.”

Your laughter was almost watery as you squeezed his hands in yours. “I do know. And I love you,” you asserted clearly, as if there had ever been any doubt.

“So I’ve heard.” The cheeky remark was the last thing that left Regulus’ lips before he moved forward and captured yours.

Just like that first kiss in the Astronomy Tower, one led to possibly a hundred more. Giggles and sighs all mixed together into what Regulus was proud to call his life.

A life with you. A life of love.

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threeacttragedy · 3 months ago

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Entry 18: The One Where Two Roads Diverged in a Wood of GIFs and Written Words

“Lukola Crisis Hotline. How may I be of service?”

Me: Houston, we have a problem.

Dad: Do tell!

Me: You won’t believe who showed up last night! –

Dad: Oh, my goodness! Oh, my goodness! Whoa! I don’t know what to say! Wait – let me grab my Coke and my smokes. <waiting> Okay, I’m back. So, Misty appeared out of nowhere with Thang?! Well, this just got fun! <laughing>

For clarity’s sake, my father tends to give everyone a pet name. Some of the pet names are funny; some are quite cruel. But if they help him remember who the players are in this fandom (and in any other situation), I’m game to play along. Plus, his pet names tend to add a little comedy relief to whatever is being discussed, especially when it is not an outwardly funny subject.

In Lukola-Land, Luke is “Thang” (it’s actually “Thing” – as in the hand from The Addams Family – but my dad’s accent muddles the pronunciation into “Thang”); Nicola is “Ireland,” for obvious reasons; Antonia is “Misty,” for, umm, the Clint Eastwood movie, “Play Misty for Me;” and Jake is – well, Jake is actually just “Jake” because my father finds the USS Jakola offensive. In fact, when I was discussing the recent fandom events with him on Friday evening, my dad was genuinely shocked to learn the Jakolas still existed. His pet name for the Jakolas is “Fucking Stupid,” by the way.

Moving on to the matter at hand –

There’s been so much “noise” over the past few weeks that, when taken collectively, it is rather eye-opening. We’ve got Luke’s mother posting on Facebook about “Luke’s girlfriend…from Cyprus.” The leaked funeral video and photos (by allegedly Luke’s family). The Best in Show pap pictures of Nicola and Jake. The “just friends” interview. The disappearance of Jake (because he’s rehearsing for a play) and the sudden reemergence of Antonia.

If you’ve noticed from my recent entries on this blog, I have obviously found most of what has happened of late to be comical and not worth putting into written word. Instead, my thoughts have been dumped into GIF stories. To be honest, I was rather disappointed I couldn’t put this last part – Antonia emerging from the misty edges of the forest – entirely into a GIF story. Her reappearance was like a certain Bond villain coming back to life for the seventh time. In other words, it was total cringe. But it also altered an otherwise slow burning campfire into a motherfucking forest fire.

Me: Thoughts?

Dad: I need some time to think about this one – and a cigarette. Or two. Call me back in 15 minutes.

“Psychotic Fan Rescue Center, at your service.”

Me: You’re a dumbass.

Dad: <laughing> Well, this is insane. It makes no sense and it’s a convoluted mess. Why bring Misty back? She was killed off two seasons ago.

Me: No shit, Sherlock.

Dad: Hell, maybe this has all been a nest of vipers.

A nest of vipers? Ah, yes, the idea that we have a group of venomous snakes thrown into the same close-quartered trench – in an every-man-for-himself type situation – each taking strikes at the others whenever their backs are turned.

In Entries 1, 13, and 15 – with an emphasis on “Entry 13: The One Where the Ashes Blew Towards Us with the Salt Wind from the Sea” – I wrote about what the Lutonia narrative could look like, if real. I will not rehash in detail those entries here, but I will link them at the end of this entry if you want to read, or reread, them.

Now, the General Audience almost certainly didn’t pay a lick of attention to Antonia when she appeared alongside Luke at the Boss event held January 30 (she’s always just been a Face in the Crowd). But the sudden reappearance of Antonia stopped the Lukolas dead in their tracks because – like my dad said – she was seemingly killed off two seasons ago.

The Lukolas have suddenly found themselves at an intersection of confusion and, likely, a bit of distress. The long and winding road we’ve been traveling along has diverged into two paths – and, no, you cannot travel both.

The problem with the Lutonia narrative has always been that Luke has never formally acknowledged Antonia as his girlfriend. In fact, Luke had the perfect opportunity to do so when he posted about the Boss event on his Instagram grid – but he did not. I could rationalize the idea that Luke and Antonia wanted to keep their relationship private after the Papsmear misstep if it weren’t for the fact that Antonia has been historically loud in her social media posts. We spent the summer and fall with insinuation post after insinuation post from Antonia. Yes, all those posts that alluded to her being with Luke without any actual evidence that she was, in fact, with Luke. By the time Antonia got to “Pasta-gate” in mid-November, the Lukola fandom barely even blinked before dismissing her as, well, the antagonist from “Play Misty for Me.” And this leads to something even more problematic for the USS Lutonia – Luke has never rescued Antonia from being ridiculed and torn apart by the fandom. My dad would call – and has called – Luke a cad for this.

Jumping to the other side of this misshapen triangle, we have Nicola and her Assassin (my dad’s pet name for JVN). Assuming Lutonia is real, the only logical answer for Nicola’s behavior is that she has spent months trolling Luke, Antonia, and <gasp> the fandom. Nicola herself has admitted to being chronically online and, at a minimum, being aware of fan edits – so much so that during the London premiere she commented that she and Luke “can’t do anything” without the fandom reacting to it. Therefore, I will call “foul” on anyone who tries to persuade me that Nicola was unaware of, at a minimum, how the Lukola fandom had reacted to the Claddagh ring, Chaos Week, and the October airplane posts. JVN openly mocking Antonia on social media with, for example, their Slick Back Bun routine only added fuel to this fire.

For shits and giggles – and so I can get to the bend in this road – we will roll with my dad’s “Nest of Vipers” theory for a moment. We will concede that Lutonia is real, which, in my opinion, makes Luke the absolute worst boyfriend in London and Antonia a woman who doesn’t mind being treated like roadkill. It also, unfortunately, makes Nicola and Fan Favorite JVN come off like online bullies – with the only plausible reasoning for the bullying being that Luke and Nicola are at odds with each other. No, I take that back – they’re not at odds with each other – they’re seemingly at war with each other. I’ll even amp this up a bit and throw in the suggestion that, assuming Lutonia is real, Netflix & Co. is aware of the strife between its two Polin actors and are protecting their asset with blurred Polin-Lukola posts to pacify the fandom. Dun-Dun-DUNN! And yes! That was a sly nod to Jake.

Me: Thanks for that. You just made Luke into an absolute prick and gave Antonia’s starring role in “Play Misty for Me” to Nicola.

Dad: Hey, I’m not the one who dug up Misty! That was all Thang!

Me: Then why does everyone say Luke is the nicest person? Nicola, his co-stars –

Dad: All lies.

Me: Would you STOP?!

Dad: But I’m serious! Thang could be a complete pig behind closed doors and Ireland could be on the verge of a psychotic meltdown because, uhh, maybe she’s obsessed with Thang and pissed he chose Misty.

The unfortunate thing about this Nest of Vipers theory is that I could almost certainly make a convincing argument that it was legit. I’ve always joked with my Inner Circle of Lukolas that no one wants to see me go rogue, especially not – I’ll bite my tongue on that one. But I will emphasize the importance of keeping an open mind when you’re reviewing information. Always consider both sides of the coin. That said, it’s hard to ignore the evidence that was presented to us through the World Tour interviews and behind-the-scenes footage; therefore –

Me: I’m having a hard time believing Luke is someone who wouldn’t protect his girlfriend. He seems to support Nicola online quite a bit. Why wouldn’t he do the same for Antonia?

Dad: <laughing> Fine. Antonia isn’t his girlfriend. Maybe it’s all just a bunch of fuckery like I’ve always said.

“Fuckery” is my dad’s pet name for PR bullshit. If you didn’t pick up on it in previous entries, I am not fond of PR theories. But I also cannot ignore that PR relationships do exist and have for decades (hell, we could go back centuries and find examples of PR relationships across multiple noble and royal families – think about that, naysayers). It was my dad who first sold me on the possibility of Antonia being PR. So, I will consider this road to PR-ville in the same manner as I did the Nest of Vipers theory – with this PR theory having perhaps the better claim.

I mentioned earlier that the General Audience almost certainly paid little attention to Antonia’s existence at the Boss event. Although some people may find what I’m about to say a bit unkind, it doesn’t make it any less valid (and I’m not saying it to be cruel): Antonia, in the overall scheme of things, is of very little importance to the General Audience. She has less than 15 thousand followers on Instagram, even after being connected to a man who has almost three million. However, oddly enough, that didn’t prevent the Daily Mail from dropping a story which predominantly focused on Antonia within the same timeframe that images from the Boss event were being dropped on the Internet. It also didn’t prevent video footage of Luke and Antonia at the Boss event from being leaked online almost immediately – even when there were undoubtedly more famous celebrities attending the event. I’ll be realistic with this next comment, too: Luke may be relevant to the Bridgerton fandom, but that does not mean he is significant to, say, People Magazine’s average reader. So, why the sudden burst of publicity at this event?

I waited to write this entry to see what Luke did with the exposure from the Boss event. Would he finally put Antonia on his Instagram grid? Would he put her in his Instagram stories? Would Antonia post pictures from the event on her Instagram grid or stories? Would Luke unambiguously acknowledge a relationship with Antonia?

Although Luke posted to his Instagram grid and stories about the event, he did not include Antonia – at least not directly. The closest he came to including Antonia was via an Instagram story – on which he did not tag her – of a black screen with a link to a Boss TikTok that included images of Luke and Antonia from the event. The TikTok did not tag Antonia either. Luke did not post Antonia’s image to his grid or his stories.

And Antonia didn’t post about the event at all.

I wasn’t sold on a PR narrative when I started writing this entry, but my eyebrows raised when I saw Luke’s “black screen” Instagram story. This was either Luke attempting to circumvent the Lutonia narrative while throwing Antonia a bone, or it was Luke being an absolute douche of a human being. And, if it’s the latter, Mr. Newton needs to check himself into Assholes Anonymous.

I will concede that a couple of mutuals put up a few stories about the event (which disappeared after 24 hours) and Boss included (and tagged) Luke and Antonia in an Instagram and TikTok reel – without formally identifying Antonia as Luke’s girlfriend. On a side note, Luke could have reposted either of these reels – which tagged Antonia – but he did not. Luke also did not like this Boss Instagram reel with Antonia in it (and he does not have a public TikTok account), but Luke did like a separate Boss post of him and David Beckham (without Antonia). The only news outlets that called Antonia Luke’s “girlfriend” were rag-mags like the Daily Mail and Hello, both of which put an emphasis on Antonia. Digital Spy noted that Luke and Antonia “have yet to officially confirm their relationship.” So outside of some tagged reels (that weren’t reposted or acknowledged by Luke) and rag-mag speculation, what did Antonia get from this?

Dad: Publicity.

A single word but one that resonates throughout an otherwise silent wood.

But to be honest, I’m not entirely convinced this was for publicity. I’m not saying I believe Antonia is Luke’s girlfriend either – that’s a whole cauldron of contradictions on its own. I’m simply intrigued that Antonia has her Instagram tags turned off and she has not yet allowed any Boss event tags to appear on her page. So, outside of some junky rag-mag callouts and a few TikToks, what benefit did Antonia receive? And, if Antonia didn’t truly benefit from this appearance (or, at least she doesn’t appear to be reaping the rewards from a girlfriend or PR standpoint), who did benefit?

I mentioned at the beginning of this post that a series of events had happened one after the other over a relatively short two-week period: (1) Luke’s mum mentioning “Luke’s girlfriend…from Cyprus” in a Facebook response; (2) leaked video and photos of Luke from a funeral; (3) those utterly ridiculous pap pictures of Nicola and Jake; (4) Nicola stating she and Luke were “just friends” in an interview; and (5) the sudden summoning of Antonia after exactly six months of being MIA.

As I sat here writing out the events of the past two weeks – and considering the reappearance of Antonia – I couldn’t help but speculate as to whether each of these events was meant to have a specific purpose that didn’t get its desired result.

The comment by Luke’s mother was so far out in left field, most Lukolas chucked it up to being suspicious and dismissed it as such. The funeral pictures and video released by one of Luke’s family members was quickly scrubbed from social media; therefore, just as quickly ignored. The pap pictures of Nicola and Jake were openly mocked across social media as being staged. The “just friends” comment – after almost a year of, particularly, Nicola dodging that phrase – didn’t seem to send many Lukolas overboard. Is it possible that the fandom’s mild reaction to all these events wasn’t anticipated? Which leads me to wonder if Luke and Nicola wanted a reaction and realized the only way they were going to get it was to play the only card they had left – Antonia.

When you look at the above referenced events individually and collectively, they appear to indicate a push to shut down the Lukola narrative. Why?

They could have shut down the Lukolas before the World Tour even took off. They could have shut down the Lukolas during the World Tour. They could have shut down the Lukolas after Papsmear. Why wait almost a full year to draw the line in the sand? Especially after every devoted Lukola would argue that (mostly) Nicola has left a trail of Swiftie-like clues to insinuate Lukola is real, and that Luke has made a visible effort to remove Antonia from his narrative.

Whatever the reasoning may be, we must admit Antonia’s reappearance had a purpose – and one that we need to respect. I have a hard time believing Luke would voluntarily step in the same pile of dog shit he stepped in back in June without a valid and significant reason for doing so.

And this is where I will draw the line.

I will not speculate further about why Antonia suddenly rose from the ashes of Manderley – and I will not tell you which road to take from here. That’s something you need to do on your own but, be warned that regardless of which road you choose – the one where you conclude Luke and Antonia are a couple, or the one where you decide Antonia is playing the role of PR distraction – the Lukolas are currently fighting a losing battle.

The Lukolas have become collateral damage. They’ve either been caught in the crossfire of an online war between Luke and Nicola (and their respective sidekicks) over, presumably, Antonia; or they’re the unwitting victims of some messy PR bullshit that has resulted in Lukolas being bullied across every social media platform by rabid Jakolas and Anti-Lukes.

Amazingly, though, many Lukolas remain resilient.

When the going gets tough…

But sometimes the tough don’t get going.

Yesterday, someone wrote to me, “Why are we still here? Just when we think something good is finally going to happen we get pushed back down. I’m tired of the dumb games.”

I rarely answer “Asks,” but my response to this comment is:

“Two roads diverged in a wood…”

Two roads.

One road is quite disheartening and the other is shrouded in underbrush.

But what you've overlooked is that there is an alternate path – a third road – the one that brought you to this point.

Turn around.

That road takes you back home – and, if you’re ready to go home, go home. It’s okay. It takes an unbelievable amount of courage to admit you’ve had enough. Remember that saying – “A wise woman once said, ‘fuck this shit,’ and she lived happily ever after.”

Take your time and decide what makes the most sense to you.

Dad: What are you thinking?

Me: Of a poem.

Dad: Oh, which one today?

Me: “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I – I took the one less traveled by…”

Dad: Which road is that…?

P.S. Just for a bit of comic relief at the end of an otherwise somber post (not even Dad could make it lighthearted), I just wanted to say:

I love eating grapes.

IYKYK.

Those links I promised:

#lukola #luke newton #nicola coughlan #my thoughts #my opinion #speculation only #my humor #did you see what i did here?#grapes anonymous

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latenightreadingpdf · 5 months ago

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Knock on the Door - Spencer Reid

₊‧⁺˖⋆ Masterlist ⋆˖⁺‧₊

Summary: In the midst of an intense investigation, Spencer and Derek bring you into protective custody after a disturbing discovery links you to their case. As you navigate the unexpected situation, Spencer’s calm presence offers reassurance, sparking an unexpected connection amid the chaos.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The quiet street was a far cry from the usual high-stakes BAU scene, but the tension in the air made Spencer’s skin prickle with unease. He glanced at Derek, who was already preparing to knock on another door, exuding his usual calm confidence.

"This one could be a lead," Derek muttered, showing a slight glint of hope in his eyes as he raised his hand to knock. The case had been dragging on, and frustration was growing with each unanswered question.

When the door opened, Spencer noted the faint hint of confusion in your expression. Derek immediately flashed his badge, his tone respectful but firm. "Ma’am, I'm Agent Derek Morgan. This is my colleague, Dr. Spencer Reid. We’re with the FBI."

Your eyes darted between the two of them, registering the serious expressions they wore. "The FBI? What's going on?"

"Have you had any strangers come to your door recently trying to sell you something?"

A flicker of recognition passed over your face, and Spencer leaned in, catching the shift. "Actually, yes,” you said, brows furrowing. “A guy came by yesterday… He gave me his card.”

Spencer and Derek shared a look. "Do you still have that card?" Spencer asked, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice.

"Yeah, I think so. Let me grab it." You turned back into the house, leaving the door partially open, and returned a moment later with a card in hand. As Derek took it from you, he confirmed with a nod that it matched the cards left at the other crime scenes.

You looked between them, anxiety creeping into your voice. "What is going on? Who is this guy?"

Spencer’s voice softened, his gaze meeting yours directly. "We believe he's a dangerous criminal who may be responsible for several recent homicides. His method involves gaining entry to homes under false pretenses."

Your face paled as the weight of his words sank in. Derek placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "We need to take you back to the station to make sure you’re safe. There are some steps we’d like to take to ensure you’re protected while we gather more information."

"Safe? Is he going to try and kill me?"

Derek’s expression turned serious. "We have reason to believe he might try to come back, and it’s important we get ahead of him."

A sense of dread settled over you as you let their words sink in. You followed them to the car, feeling your stomach twist with a mix of fear and disbelief. As you settled into the backseat, Spencer turned to give you a reassuring nod.

“Just so you know,” he began, his tone gentle, “we’ll have officers posted near your home to ensure he doesn’t have the chance to get in. We’re taking every precaution.”

“Thanks,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just… a lot.”

“Understandable,” Spencer said, glancing at you with a sympathetic look. “We’ll also have you meet with a sketch artist and undergo a cognitive interview. It’s standard procedure, and it might help us learn more about him.”

You looked out the window, processing the reality of the situation. The quiet chatter between Derek and Spencer drifted over you as they discussed possible motives, patterns, and theories. But for now, you were too lost in your own thoughts to make out their words.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

When you arrived at the station, Spencer took a moment to walk you through the cognitive interview process. "It’s designed to help you remember specific details," he explained, his voice calm and assuring. "It might feel intense, but I’ll be with you the whole time."

You nodded, glancing around the bustling police station, feeling a strange mix of curiosity and adrenaline. "Okay, so… I just answer questions, and you’ll be able to get a clearer picture of this guy?"

Spencer gave you a small smile. "Pretty much. Think of it as helping us paint a portrait. Every detail, no matter how small, could be useful."

The interview went smoothly; Spencer’s presence was patient and encouraging, never making you feel pressured to remember something you couldn’t. Afterward, he led you to a small break room, offering you a seat at a worn table with a coffee machine humming nearby.

A few minutes later, Spencer returned with two steaming cups, handing one to you. "Here," he said, "it's not gourmet, but it’ll keep us awake."

You took it gratefully, feeling a sense of normalcy settle in. "Thanks, Spencer." You sipped the coffee, savoring the warmth. "I didn’t expect to spend my afternoon in an FBI station, but… it’s definitely more interesting than my usual routine."

Spencer chuckled, seeming surprised by your laid-back attitude. "Most people aren’t as calm in situations like this."

You shrugged, feeling the weight of the situation but refusing to let it get the best of you. "I don’t know. I figure, if I’m in good hands, there’s no point in freaking out."

As you chatted, Spencer filled you in on some of the behavioral profiling techniques they used, giving you a peek into the mind of the BAU. His eyes lit up as he explained the ways they’d been analyzing the unsub’s behavior to find any possible patterns, and you found yourself genuinely interested, asking questions and absorbing his answers.

"Do you ever wonder why people do these things?" you asked thoughtfully, watching him as he considered your question.

"All the time," Spencer replied, his voice softening as he looked down at his coffee. "But there’s rarely a straightforward answer. The best we can do is study the behaviors and try to make sense of them. Hopefully, it helps us stop them."

A sense of respect grew in you as he spoke, and you found yourself admiring the dedication he had for his work. "That sounds exhausting. Important, but exhausting."

"It can be," he admitted, his gaze meeting yours. "But it’s worth it, especially when it means keeping someone safe. Like now."

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you at his sincerity. "Well, I guess I’m lucky you guys were around."

The door to the break room opened, and Derek poked his head in, giving Spencer a grin. "You two doing all right in here?"

Spencer nodded, standing up to update Derek on the details you’d given during the interview. As they talked, you finished your coffee, feeling a strange sense of calm despite the unusual circumstances.

When Derek turned his attention to you, his gaze softened. "We’re going to have a team set up around your house tonight, keeping a close eye on things. We’ll catch this guy if he shows up."

You nodded, feeling reassured. "Thanks, Agent Morgan. I know you guys are handling it, so I’ll let you do your thing."

Spencer glanced back at you with a small smile. "If you need anything, or have more questions, just let me know."

As they walked you to the main desk, Spencer looked back, his gaze soft. "We'll keep you safe," he assured you once more, his sincerity unmistakable. "Until then, try not to worry. We’re on it."

A small smile tugged at your lips as you nodded. "I trust you," you replied, giving them one last grateful look before they escorted you to a waiting area. And as you waited, you felt a sense of calm, knowing you weren’t facing this alone.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

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chaiisms · 9 months ago

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BALDURS GATE 3 PARTY BANTER PROMPTS LIST.

all of the following prompts are taken from party banter between the companions in larian studios' baldurs gate 3 (2023). there should be no spoilers! also, a disproportionate amount of these are from astarion and karlach. i'm not sorry.

I am enjoying our walks together, aren't you, [ name ]?

You'll be as depraved as the rest of us in no time.

Friend of yours?

Were you always so sneaky?

If there's hope for me there's hope for anyone.

How are we not there yet? My feet are killing me.

This is what I get for trying to strike up conversation.

We're not going to have trouble, are we?

If we continue this way, we may get too close for comfort.

Don't get too comfortable. We shouldn't overstay our welcome in such a place.

Do you have pet names for each other yet?

[ name ]! Was that a joke?

You know what - that is not the easiest of questions for me to answer.

Given your own nature, are you really the one to judge?

You can read?!

I'm surprised - I expected you to turn your back once you got what you wanted.

I wouldn't know a flirtation if you whacked me alongside the head with it.

Why stay somewhere safe and comfortable when we could be in mortal peril?

Can't say I love what they've done with the place.

I'm learning to enjoy the taste of chaos. Count me in.

At least you didn't tell me to 'be myself'.

You have so much to learn. Repeat after me: honey muffin, sweetie pie, sugarplum.

Nice to be in a crowd of normal people for once.

So [ name ], how is your sad, hopeless pining going?

You seemed a million miles away just then.

I fear I've been rather hasty to judge you, [ name ].

Ready to enter the belly of the beast?

Step one of starting a conversation: think before you speak.

I hear your relationship has taken on a new aspect recently…

All right, just keep it down. We're conspicuous enough without your hyena call.

Not one for roughing it, I see.

Why not have a little fun?

You're right, of course. Forgive me.

My money's on you, [ name ].

The echoes - listen! They're coming from three directions!

Want me to carry you?

Feeling at home?

Treat them right, or you'll have me to answer to.

Oh, darling, would you?

No doubt they found me too intimidating.

A girl could get used to this.

Now I don't know what to believe.

Well - yes, it was a joke.

I know that, too. It just wasn't funny.

And here I thought I rubbed you the wrong way.

Man, it's good to be home. First round on who?

Oh, I wouldn't actually leave. After all, where would you be without me?

You've quite the knack for finding the bright side of things, haven't you?

Well what would impress you, then?

Let's just stop this conversation right here, shall we?

Must've been an awful day for the people who lived here

You've clearly thought this through a great deal. I'm impressed and appalled in equal measure.

Sure, but think of the stories you'll be able to tell.

I never was scared of the shadows.

I know you're not really as heartless as all that.

I judged you wrongly. I'm sorry.

Are you charging for this sage advice, or is sticking your nose into my business just a hobby?

Pragmatism, thy name is [ name ].

That's ironic, coming from you.

We're either very clever or very lucky.

You do not need luck to survive, [ name ]. Not when you have me.

That will make getting word to my mother rather tricky.

Stop gawking at the decor. This place is dangerous.

I can't tell if you're joking.

So, what's it like caring for someone other than yourself, [ name ]?

You think I'm beautiful?

I feel it too. Here if you need a pick-me-up.

Yet another thing we have in common. We're two peas in a pod.

Is it so unbelievable that they would simply like me?

Use your words.

You gonna catch me if I eat a brick?

[ name ], I've heard you talking in your sleep.

Let's never speak of this again.

You can take a day off once in a while, [ name ]

Hey! Something bit me.

Cheer up. It might be all downhill from here.

I love a nice secret hideaway, don't you?

Think the bar is open?

#roleplay meme #roleplay prompts #rp meme #rp memes #rp prompt #rp prompts #chaiisms #revisms #baldurs gate 3 rp #bg3 rp

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bogleech · 1 year ago

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I can't count how much media, from adult to little kid's media, has had some scene where someone plans to drop a weapon in a populated area, potentially killing civilians because they think that's worth killing the Bad Guy, and the entire world agrees that in this narrative that character has become as evil or more evil than whatever they thought they were fighting. That choice is presented as a horrifying thing absolutely everywhere, except when it finally happens in real life and is going to kill real people, and suddenly half the world wants to argue that no, that's exactly what Heroes do apparently.

The most recent movie I saw with this exact moment in it was Nimona but when I was a little dumb baby I was learning this lesson from even the fucking Ghostbusters and Ninja Turtles. When we were little spongy minded infants we could comprehend that it was objectively something only a cruel and terrible person ever even considers. And guess what???? The real life adult world actually isn't more complicated. Not at all. This isn't something you find out is more nuanced as you get older. There's nothing to debate about. There's no "well, actually" to be stated. Someone who kills bystanders is exactly as one-dimensionally evil to the fucking core as a cartoon bad guy, and any good person should want to do absolutely anything in their power to stop them at any and all cost.

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lanasheart · 4 months ago

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LOV members and their love languages ~

★~`

Shigaraki ~

DEFINITELY an Acts of Service man.

Do NOT expect this man to try and touch you.

If he really loves you, I doubt he'd dare touch you as he wouldn't wanna accidently decay you.

Plus, this man absolutely hates it anyway. The only person he wanted to touch was his mama.

He would totally kill anyone you ask him to, either if he's jealous or if he has the urge to kill.

Or, he'd just invite you to play League Of Legends or Fortnite with him and Spinner.

(which isn't bad because he could definitely carry you in fn)

He would try and learn everyday how to be a good boyfriend. (He pays way more attention to you than you notice.)

He enjoys receiving Physical Touch, but to an extent.

You could touch his face, or anywhere really, but definitely not his hands.

He just doesn't want to lose you.

Touya ~

Acts of Service and Words of Affirmation.

He'd probably be super surprised if you told him your feelings

But he'd be open to a relationship since he'd be down to try something new.

SECONDS into the relationship he's making up so many nicknames for you.

'Babe', 'Darling', 'Hottie', you name it, he's calling you it.

And, he'd definitely kill someone for you.

I think he'd be more down too than Shigaraki would be.

He'd probably be all of the other love languages too, because don't tell me this man won't steal you a thousand dollar ring.

If you were also a villain, he'd totally BEG Shigaraki to let you go on missions together.

He likes Quality Time the most, since Endeavour never gave him any.

So, if you watch this man shoe you his special moves, he's gonna fall 2x as much in love with you.

Toga ~

Himiko literally seeks acceptance through unconventional love.

So I'd think her love language is Physical Touch or Acts of Service.

Along with the others, she'd be more than happy to kill someone for you or more likely impersonate someone for you.

Plus, she'd definitely have to avoid the temptation of using her knives on you.

So, if you told her she could use them, she'd be the happiest girl in the world.

She would be turning into you everyday.

As a means to show her love for you.

She'd want to be you, and feel what your body feels like upon her own accord, like if she was you.

If not, she could find out every little detail about your body by Physical Touch.

She definitely cuddles. (no one can change my mind!)

She likes receiving Words of Affirmation the most, so if you call her beautiful or pretty, she'll go feral for you.

Jin/Twice ~

Quality Time man.

Even a few weeks into your relationship, he'd be down for you to move into his little apartment, if you wanted to.

This would literally be so big for him, he'd spend every single day next to you, even if you were just cooking or cleaning.

If you were showering, he'd literally comes in and sit on the sink to talk to you.

You would definitely have some deep chats about the state of society, or the people you both retrospectively spend your other time around.

I think this man would somewhat enjoy Physical Touch.

Even if it's holding your hand on a busy subway, or leaning your head on his shoulder as he smokes his cigarette.

He would go feral.

It would be difficult to keep his clones' voices under wraps, but if you love him for them too, he'd be happy enough.

Iguchi/Spinner ~

Gift-Giving, definitely.

Although this man spends probably all of his time playing League Of Legends with Tomura, he'd definitely put some time aside to get you presents.

Whether it's something expensive that he's stole, or something small that he's recently heard you talk about.

Such as a new plush, or figurine.

He probably thinks it's more romantic to actually buy the gift, instead of stealing it, so trust me when I say this man has multiple piggy banks in his room.

He would try and ask Tomura for help, but we all know this man wouldn't give good advice.

'buy her League' shut tf up Tomura.

He would buy you both games he'd think you'd like, and would help try to teach you to play.

If you already play games, he'd buy you everything in the game, like DLCs or extra skins.

He most likely enjoys receiving Words of Affirmation.

He didn't get complimented much growing up, so when you do it for the first time, he's super confused.

But, he relaxes more into it and loves when you call him pretty.

Mr Compress ~

ATSUHIRO MY BABY

He'd totally be into Gift-Giving.

I mean, this man comes from a bloodline of thieves, and you think he won't steal you everything you want?

He would literally go to every store in Japan to buy you the most perfect rings, or necklaces, or clothes to make you look even more stunning than you already are.

He'd make sure you had matching things too, like jewellery or clothes, or even small little trinkets to remind yourselves of eachother.

Your room would literally be filled to the brim of everything he's gifted you, also because you would never throw it away.

He'd swear he doesn't need anything in return, but he'd be more into receiving Acts of Service.

Even if this is making him food or coming to see him if he lives a long way away, he'll appreciate every little thing you do for him, no matter how important it is to yourself.

Muscular ~

Muscular would probably just be into Physical Touch.

This man is 6"6, so if your any shorter he would be making fun of you everyday, by ruffling your hair or leaning his arms or head down on your shoulder or head.

Even though he is huge, he'd love to hold hands, if you even can.

He'd LOVE showing off to you, by picking you up or throwing you over his shoulder with ease.

He might have a small feeling that you dislike his muscles or eye, but if you disregard that, he will be all over you again.

Just make sure that you don't get smushed underneath him and his muscles.

Because we all know he would not be careful at all.

He'd be into Physical Touch too, as he would definitely like having his muscles appreciated by your hands.

If you ask him to flex or show his muscles, he will be down within a millisecond and will show you them in every position possible.

hey guyss this is my first proper post to give you a taste of what I wanna do [even if this is not a lot or very detailed so far], so pleasee give me some feedback, and help me so that I can grow my account. feel free to ♡ !!

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yaut-jaknowit · 1 month ago

Note

Heyo, i hope your doing alright and have a good day/night :)

I've just recently found your page and absolutely fell in love how you write and draw, please dont stop doing this :^).

Ive been thinking of mabye something like Body and culture exploration? Like lets say GN!reader just recently got with a yautja and they get comfortable enough to actually touch like their mandibles and stuff? Mabye even wanting to know more about their bio masks (like touching or mabye even putting it on) cause thats just something i would personally do. For the yautja could it Wolf? I love my elders hihi. Plus he has a missing tusk there too which i find badass

Thanks <3

(Pls dont mind the grammar, english is not my first language)

A Personal Look

Pairings: Wolf (Male Yautja) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 2004

Summary: In the home of Wolf on Yautja Prime, it's just the beginning of your relationship with Wolf. There is quite a lot to learn about him. Not just his mind but his body as well. You take a moment to learn your differences physically.

Author Note: It's all good! Thank you for the ask!

Masterlist

Ao3

Lounging in the main room of Wolf’s home on Yautja Prime, you occupied yourself with learning. Learning about Yautjas. Since said Yautja has given you a tablet to fill your time, you’ve scoured what they have for internet about them. They were mysterious and kept to themselves for the most part. Solidary creatures by nature but are willing to choose a mate. Clearly since you are here in Wolf’s home.

Admist your research, the universal wide web holds little about them. Just small articles and posts about either thoughts or lies they thought they knew about Yautjas. Some say they can read minds and teleport. Clearly those articles were thrown out. That only left you with one possible, reasonable source. Yet, even that offered little to quell your thoughts.

This was still in the beginning stage of your relationship with Wolf. The mighty Wolf. Each touch you’ve felt like you danced with fate and death. No, you don’t fear him. Instead… it was more of a respect. The first time meeting him nearly was your last. An inch closer and those blades would too sink into your skull.

Somehow, you still live.

There was something that lured you to him. The same for him. The nearing elder Yautja didn’t understand. Of course, he took matters into his own hands and asked for you to come along with him. The least he could do for almost killing you, you thought. Then, whatever that bait was enough for curiosity to spring life. Then, later… love.

It’s fresh love. Very fresh. Barely out of the womb and still soaked in fluids.

Both of you seemed to dance around each other. For a headstrong Yautja, he took a soft, almost timid approach. You would never say timid and him in the same sentence though. Wolf allowed for you to control this, as if he knew humans needed time to comprehend things. Maybe it was for himself as well. Not to rush into something so fragile.

A groan surpassed your lips. The tablet is discarded onto the nearby stone coffee table. How were you suppose to learn about them without directly asking the source? Wolf’s probably got plenty of information about humans already. Yet, all you got was females are larger than males and they breath more nitrogen then oxygen. Useless!

Up a few steps and on a balcony, sat Wolf enjoying the fresh morning air. An inquiring noise sounded from him. You sat up from the soft couch cushion and looked over at him.

Despite not knowing much about his species, you could see what would show him as an elder among his kind. The crow’s feet, the wrinkles among his face, the greying of his tresses, the way he carries himself. Don’t get you wrong, he is still a deadly warrior, through and through. But he’s lived his life. Now he enjoys relaxing and bathing in the suns of his planet. Though he is old, he’s most likely going to out live you still.

“It’s nothing,” you dismissed, not wanting to lead him onto your plans just yet. You wanted to be prepared before going into this. How were you going to accomplish that when said information wasn’t available to you? God, you wanted to throw yourself out a window.

You drape yourself partially over the back of the couch and watch from afar. Wolf lounged in peace. Eyes softly closed; chest softly rising and falling with each breath he took.

Something within you wanted to gingerly glide your knuckles along his cheek. To fully feel his skin against yours. Properly. Not these fluttering touches the two of you give in passing. A growing need to learn about him physically then move onto mentally. You wanted to know him.

“You watch,” he observed without even opening an eye. Immediately, you flustered and bowed your head, slinking back down the couch. “I was not telling you to stop.” You perked up a little and peered over the edge of the couch to find him in the same spot. “I will not bite.” Was he inviting you closer?

The lump in your throat was forced down before you slipped off of the couch and timidly stepped closer to him. Curiosity may have killed the cat but satisfaction will bring you back.

Nervously, you took each step towards in hesitation. Not of fear. Well… maybe of fear but not of him. Maybe it was the situation. Stepping into the unknown. That’s hit the nail right on the head. There was nothing to know beforehand. So all of this was new.

Sooner than you come to realize, you stand just on the edge of coverage from the harsh twin suns. Wolf blinks his bright yellow eyes open then sits up in a smooth, controlled manner. Quite the opposite of your racing heart threatening to beat straight out of your chest. He looks at you from underneath the beating suns, arms resting on his knees. A poised position of ease. You bite at your lower lip.

“You want something.” It was a statement. Your head raised only a centimeter but he watches the movement. “You are free to speak.” He’s given you all the rope possible. Every last inch of it to control the situation. “You are free to ask.”

Despite your fingers twitching towards him, you tampered down that feeling. Permission. That requires words. Words that are lodged in your throat, stuck in way that you didn’t know how to free yourself. You wanted to touch, to explore what he feels like. To learn about him in a way that you’ve never experienced ever.

Those bright eyes. The first thing saw when he brought those blades down. They pierced straight into your soul directly. They also noticed the twitching of your fingers. You noticed the twitching of his fingers. The two of you were frozen in time. Just watching. Just waiting.

Wolf gave the briefest of nods.

Then, you moved. You found your spot between his legs. The heat from the sun and him causing your core temperature to rise immediately. Though, he doesn’t take his eyes off of you, he presses a button on his lounge chair.

The awning above extended fully, covering you from gathering blisters. Yet, that didn’t stop you from feeling the heat the radiated off of him. The lump in your throat returned. Instead of letting your words speak for you, actions spoke louder.

He watched as you gingerly lifted up a hand in his direction then paused, holding the hand nearly a foot away from him. Wolf takes a moment then dips his head again. Permission granted. The unease that had settled in your chest lifted a little, giving way to hope. The corners of your mouth twitched, just enough to show off the twinkle in your eye.

When the pads of your fingers brushed against the scales of his upper mandible, you couldn’t help the small gasp. For a rugged, hardened warrior, the flesh there was smooth, nearly velvety in a strange way. Like touching a gecko. It was the last thing you were expecting from him. You couldn’t help the giggle that left your lips. Once more, you flustered and retracted you hand out of embarrassment.

Instead of letting the moment fall away, Wolf raises his own hand and waits for permission. When given it, the rough texture of his palm cups your cheek. That was more of what you were expecting. But, you didn’t retreat. You leaned into the touch and let your eyes hooded over, gazing at him with… love. Because that’s what this was, wasn’t it?

Though, the callouses were rough against your skin, you didn’t mind it. You were learning. Learning what he felt like. What a life of a hunter felt like against a human. He slowly let that hand drift down and teased the collar of your shirt then up the column of your throat. Not intimate in a sexual way… but exploring.

You helped by tilting your head back and allowed him to feel the way your throat bobbed; the fluttering of your pulse between layers of skin. Skin that was drastically different than his. His pointer and thumb pinched your jaw softly and brought you face to face with him again. You brought your hand back to his face, inches from touching him. Another nod.

Feeling the smooth flesh again wasn’t as shocking as before. But you still couldn’t help the glimmer of a smile on your lips. The softness of it with folds and wrinkles that marked his age. Years. Hundreds of them. You trailed down his mandible, feeling it twitch under you touch. Yet, you stayed clear of the scars that marred the other side of his face, afraid of upsetting him or passing over a boundary.

Wolf was smart. He could sense things before you could, sense a disturbance, even in you. So, the elder took things into his own hands. Literally. With his free hand, he wrapped them around your other wrist and brought the tips of your fingers to the gnarled skin. Your eyes jumped wide, breath caught in your throat at the touch. This felt like a true velvet than just the scales of his mandibles. Your other hand dropped to his shoulder as you focused on the scars.

Your eyes darted to his for a moment but the elder was focused on the feel of your skin. So, you took that opportunity to press onward by following up what was left of his mandible.

The scar was messy. It spider webbed across nearly half of his face and head. A painful experience you have no doubt about. A story for another time.

Though the healed wound was clutter of stretched and sinewed skin, you were memorized by the texture and patterned. You closed your eyes and let your fingers guide the way.

Inside of your mind, you forged his physical form into memory. A different way of experiencing him. You used your other hand as well to map him out. All the different dips along the dome of his head. The ridges and bumps of his features. The scales that were scattered around. Then, you slowly blinked your eyes open and smiled at him.

His own fingers found the curve of your nose. Starting from between your brows and following down the ridge, letting the lethal black claw ghost over fragile skin. The sight of it made your heart jump but he wouldn’t hurt you.

Not with the way he was looking at you.

Like he was discovering the joys of life for the first time. And maybe he was.

That same finger lingered on the tip of your nose for a moment before sliding down to the plushness of your lips. Subconsciously, you let them part. The sharp end of a claw dragged down your bottom lip, almost catching on the skin. You made no move to warn or stop him. Not even fearful he may hurt you. He stops for a moment when the tip was at the juncture of your bottom lip before continuing.

He went back up and diverted to the side. To your ear. If he thought your face was soft, when he touched your ear there was a stark difference. Wolf lightly pinched the cartilage with wonder flashing in his eyes. You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped from you. To see the big bad Wolf amazed by something natural to you is amusing.

Then, up to your hair his fingers went, carding through the strands much thinner than his own. He pinched a bunch together and rolled it. The snort you made drew his attention back to your eyes. Wolf, too, dropped his hands to your shoulders in a similar fashion to you.

There. All you two did was stare at each other, admire the other’s differences. Not bad differences. Just… different. Alien if you must put a name to it. That was the beauty of it all.

Exploring each other.

#yautja #predator #yautja x reader #yautja x you #alien vs predator #predator x reader #yautja x human #predator x you #predator x human #x reader

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humaling · 28 days ago

Text

Two Victors, One Closet II

pairings: finnick odair x reader

summary: it's the 70th hunger games victor party and somehow, finnick manage to convince you with his stupid deal.

warnings: finnick being a lil shit, usual hunger games, mentions of death and blood

word count: 4.5k

author's note: ask and u shall receive! i'm thinking of making this into a mini series but idk

part one

It’s another Capitol party—loud, garish, and painfully predictable. The air is thick with artificial scents, laughter that doesn’t quite reach the eyes, and the clinking of glasses filled with glittering drinks. The people here are draped in some twisted imitation of District 4 fashion—ocean-inspired, but exaggerated to the point of absurdity. Flowing fabrics mimic the movement of waves, bodices are studded with pearls and seashells, and someone even had the audacity to wear a shimmering shark tail. You caught a glimpse of it earlier, just as you were picking through some poor excuse for District 4 delicacies. The sight was ridiculous enough to make you pause, but you chalked it up to a trick of the light and moved on.

The newest victor is Annie Cresta—you think that’s her name. You didn’t bother to check again after your tributes were slaughtered at the hands of her partner. As soon as the cannon sounded, sealing their fate, you turned off the screen and went home. Their screams had already burrowed deep into your skull, breaking through walls you thought were impenetrable.

You were sure they would make it. You had done everything right this time, every lesson tailored to the arena’s secrets. You got wind of the dam that would break midway through the Games and planned accordingly. You pulled strings, demanded swimming training, and drilled them relentlessly until they could navigate a flood with their eyes closed. How do you know that skill so well? That’s a secret you don’t share.

Finnick caught on quickly. He always does. He didn’t ask outright, just gave you that knowing look before offering his help. On one condition—his tributes got the same training. You agreed, of course. You even went a step further, teaching Marcus, his male tribute, a few hand-to-hand combat tricks.

And then he used those very tricks against your tributes. Killed them with techniques you had burned into their bones. The betrayal of it gnawed at you, but what ate you alive was the way Marcus died. Drowned, unable to swim through the flood. The very skill that should have saved him—would have saved him if he'd actually listened—became his downfall.

You should have felt guilty. You should have mourned him, the way you mourned your own tributes. But when you heard how he died, you felt nothing but relief.

You click your tongue the moment you spot the familiar Capitol couple—Cecilia and Felix, striding toward you with their usual air of forced familiarity. No matter how many times you've brushed them off, ignored their greetings, or given them the coldest of stares, they always come back. Like flies to a corpse.

At this point, you’ve stopped trying. You’re too drained to care, too weighed down by exhaustion to put up a fight. The sleepless nights have piled onto your shoulders, pressing down until even standing upright feels like an effort.

“It’s a shame none of your tributes made it,” Cecilia chirps, voice light as if discussing the weather. She’s smiling. Smiling. You learned her name recently, when your escort wouldn’t shut up about some designer and their latest collection. Two of the featured models were—of course—this couple.

Felix, her husband, nods in agreement. “I heard you went out of your way this time. I am very sorry for your loss,” he says smoothly, reaching out to pat your shoulder. His gloved hand lands gently, but the touch burns. It’s mocking.

Your body tenses instantly, throat tightening. The phantom sounds of your tributes’ screams claw at the back of your mind, but you push them down. Your hands ball into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms.

You force yourself to swallow, then clear your throat. A small, polite smile stretches across your lips—perfect, practiced, empty. “Thanks.”

The word is flat, dry, hollow. It doesn’t match the sweetness of your expression, but you don’t care. Let them figure it out. Let them stand there, picking apart the mismatch, trying to decide whether or not to pry further. You’re done with this conversation before it even begins.

Everything feels artificial. The lights, the music, the laughter, the meaningless conversations. You just want to go home and hope the sun never shines on you again.

Felix’s hand finally lifts from your shoulder, but his presence lingers like a stain. He and Cecilia don’t move on, don’t take the hint. Instead, they exchange a glance before launching into whatever pressing Capitol affair has them so invested tonight.

“I heard President Snow is hosting a private gathering next week,” Cecilia hums, taking a sip of her glittering drink. The liquid glows under the chandelier light, swirling like molten gold. “Very exclusive. Only the most influential guests are invited.”

Felix nods, feigning casual disinterest, but his chest is puffed slightly. “Naturally, we’ll be attending.”

Their voices blend into the background almost instantly. Muffled, meaningless, unimportant. The words reach your ears, but they don’t stick. They slide off, fading into the constant hum of Capitol chatter, the clinking of glasses, the laughter that isn’t real.

Because suddenly, everywhere you look, they’re there.

At the buffet table, a girl reaches for a platter of oysters, her sleeve sliding up to reveal a delicate wrist. Too thin. Too familiar. Your chest tightens. It’s the same kind of wrist your tribute had, small and bony, barely strong enough to hold a weapon but fast—so, so fast yet not fast enough to evade an attack from behind.

To your left, a young man throws his head back in laughter, his golden curls catching the light. The same golden curls that were matted with blood when the cannon fired.

Your breath hitches. Your grip tightens around your glass.

The marble floor beneath your feet tilts, just slightly, but enough to make you dizzy. It’s like the world is shifting, bending, pulling you somewhere you don’t want to go.

Cecilia keeps talking, oblivious. “And have you seen the latest trend? Surgical gills! The idea is simply revolutionary.”

A woman nearby brushes past, her perfume suffocating. The scent—saltwater and something sharp, metallic—copper?—hits you like a fist to the ribs. It drags you back, plunges you under.

You see your tribute’s face—eyes blown wide, mouth gasping for air that will never come. You remember the way she clawed at her throat, the way her hands, small and trembling, reached for help that wasn’t there.

You blink rapidly, forcing the image away. Your throat is too tight. Your vision is too blurry.

A gentle laugh flutters through the air. A girl passes by, no older than fifteen. The same age your tribute was. She smiles, bright and careless, utterly safe in the Capitol’s embrace. She will go home tonight, climb into bed, and wake up tomorrow alive.

Your tribute did not.

Something inside you cracks.

“—don’t you think?”

You snap back to reality. Cecilia is looking at you expectantly, waiting for a response. Felix raises an eyebrow, like he already knows you weren’t listening.

You swallow. Your drink sloshes in your glass from how hard you’re gripping it. “I… yeah.”

Whatever the question was, the answer doesn’t matter. Nothing does.

Cecilia beams, pleased. Felix chuckles, exchanging another glance with his wife before smoothly shifting the conversation forward. They don’t notice the way your hands tremble. The way your eyes dart around the room, bracing for the next ghost.

The party continues. The music plays. The Capitol sparkles. The world continues to rotate and you’re stuck in the middle of it, drowning.

“I’ve been looking for you, sweetheart.”

The words pull you out of your thoughts like a hook to the ribs. You don’t want to turn around. You already know who it is.

Slowly, you turn your head, and there he is. Finnick Odair.

Finnick stands just behind you, a glittering orange drink in hand, posture relaxed like he has all the time in the world. The party lights catch on his hair, styled in deliberate curls tonight, instead of its usual effortless mess. There’s a faint dusting of blue makeup on his eyelids, making his sea-green eyes stand out even more than they already do. He looks like something out of an old District 4 bedtime story—a prince of the sea, dressed in ocean treasures.

His outfit only adds to it. A white dress shirt, unbuttoned just enough to show his chest. Black sleek pants. Pearls and seashells strung across his wrists, around his throat. Designed to be looked at.

Your jaw tightens, fingers curling slightly at your sides. Out of all times to approach, he chooses now? Right here, in front of everyone?

Felix and Cecilia have already turned their attention to him, entertained by the sudden shift in the conversation. They’re Capitol-bred—meaning they thrive off tension, off the undercurrents of something unsaid. And there’s plenty of it between you and Finnick.

You haven’t spoken to him since that night in the common room. Since the Games ended. Since everything went to hell.

Finnick tried. He had stood there, hands on his hips, voice low and steady, trying to get through to you. He wanted to talk. Wanted to explain. As if there was anything to explain. As if any of it would bring your tributes back.

You didn’t want to hear it. Couldn’t.

So you walked away. And Finnick, for once, let you.

But now he’s here again, standing in front of you like the past few weeks haven’t stretched between you like an open wound. His gaze flickers over your face, searching, reading, picking apart the things you don’t say.

Cecilia lets out a soft laugh, tapping a manicured finger against her chin. “Oh, Finnick, what a sight you are tonight,” she purrs. “I do wonder, though—who exactly were you looking for?”

Finnick doesn’t blink. Doesn’t miss a beat when responding.

His gaze stays locked onto yours as he says, “You.”

“Now,” Finnick shifts his gaze to the couple, effortlessly slipping into the role they expect of him. He flashes a charming smile, the kind that makes Capitol hearts flutter, as his hand slides to the small of your back. His touch is light but firm, a silent warning.

“Mind if I sweep my sweetheart away tonight?”

Cecilia lets out a delighted laugh, waving a hand as if she’s granting permission. “Oh, of course! She's all yours!”

Felix nods beside her, grinning as if he’s in on some great secret. He gestures for you to go, ushering you away with Finnick, who wastes no time guiding you toward the dance floor. His hand stays steady against your back, his usual signature grin stretched across his face like this is all just a game to him.

Behind you, the couple is already whispering—giddy, thrilled, utterly convinced.

“Oh my god, did you see that?”

“They really are together!”

Finnick hears it too. You can tell by the way his grip tightens, just slightly, like he’s holding back a laugh.

“You really are trouble, Odair,” you hiss, tilting your head up to glare at him.

Finnick only grins, entirely unbothered as he spins you onto the dance floor, the motion forcing you closer. His hand stays firm at your waist, the other clasping yours with practiced ease, like he’s done this a thousand times before. And he probably has. The Capitol loves their golden boy. Their charming, untouchable Victor.

But you are not one of them and right now, you do not want to be in his arms.

“Trouble?” Finnick repeats, amused, swaying the both of you in time with the elegant Capitol music. “I just saved you from the worst conversation of the night. I’d say that makes me more of a hero, wouldn’t you?”

You scoff. “You are the last person I’d call a hero.”

He tsks, spinning you smoothly under his arm before pulling you back in, his voice dropping to something softer—something that feels too familiar. “That hurts, sweetheart. Really, I think I deserve at least a little gratitude.”

You want to snap at him. Want to pull away. But the room is watching, eyes glued to the spectacle of Finnick Odair and his supposed lover twirling across the dance floor. You can feel it—the weight of their attention, the whispers, the way the music almost seems to slow as if accommodating for you.

So you stay. You grit your teeth, keeping your steps in sync with Finnick’s, because the alternative—making a scene—is worse.

“Gratitude?” you echo bitterly, gripping his shoulder tighter than necessary. “For what, exactly? For making me the latest Capitol headline? For dragging me into whatever mess you’ve made this time?”

Finnick hums, tilting his head as if considering. His fingers press slightly against your back, guiding your next step. “Mm… no, I was thinking more along the lines of saving you from the couple of the year's horrible attempts at sympathy.”

Your jaw clenches. He’s not wrong, but that’s not the point.

His expression shifts slightly, the usual playfulness in his eyes dimming just enough for you to notice. “You looked like you needed an out,” he says, quieter this time. “So, I gave you one.”

You stiffen, and Finnick must feel it because he exhales softly, like he already knows what’s coming.

“You don’t get to act like you care,” you murmur, barely moving your lips as you step in time with him. “Not after what happened.”

Finnick’s grip tightens—not painfully, but enough to make his frustration clear. “You really think I don’t care?” His voice is still light, still laced with that ever-present charm, but there’s something else beneath it now. Something sharp. “Come on. You know me better than that.”

You shake your head. “Do I?”

Finnick exhales through his nose, a faint smirk ghosting across his lips, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You really are determined to be mad at me forever, huh?”

You glare up at him. “My tributes are dead, Finnick. Killed by yours. And you think this is something I’ll just… get over?”

Something flickers across his face. Guilt, maybe. Regret. You can’t tell. But then he smiles, because of course he does.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better,” he says, twirling you again, his voice just as smooth as before, “mine didn’t make it either.”

You stumble slightly at his words, and Finnick, ever the performer, corrects it effortlessly, making it seem like nothing more than an intentional dip.

The music swells around you, but all you can hear is the memory of cannon fire. The screams. The sound of rushing water.

Finnick pulls you upright again, his hand still steady at your back. “See?” he murmurs. “Now we both have ghosts.”

Your brows furrow, his words throwing you off balance more than his stupid dance moves ever could. "What do you mean, 'yours didn’t make it either'?" You glance around the room pointedly. "Annie Cresta is right there, alive and… well."

Finnick laughs—not his usual, full-bodied, Capitol-winning laugh, but a quiet, disheartened chuckle, like he finds something deeply amusing and tragic all at once. "Oh, sweetheart," he muses, spinning you again just to keep up the illusion of a perfect dance. "You think Annie made it out of those Games?"

You frown, confused. "She won, didn’t she?"

Another dry chuckle. "Sure. She won." His voice is light, almost teasing, but there's something hollow underneath. "And when they pulled her out of that arena, they got… well. Something that looks like Annie. Something that breathes and blinks and smiles at the cameras when they tell her to. But the girl I mentored? She drowned in that flood just like yours did."

Your stomach twists uncomfortably. You've seen Annie since the Games ended—seen her standing beside Finnick, silent and distant, her expression always unreadable. But you'd assumed… well, you don't even know what you assumed.

Finnick must notice your expression, because he grins, the picture of effortless charm, even as his fingers tighten at your waist. "They really should’ve let her die, you know. Would’ve been a lot kinder."

"Finnick," you warn, heart pounding.

But he doesn’t stop. "Oh, don’t look at me like that," he says, tilting his head. "You think I don’t know what you were thinking when you saw Marcus' cannon? When you found out he couldn’t swim? I bet you were relieved."

You tense, throat tightening, but Finnick only smirks, dragging you effortlessly through another step. "Come on, you can admit it. Just between us."

"You're disgusting."

"I'm right."

You hate him. You hate how he always knows.

"Why are you telling me this?" you murmur, voice tight.

Finnick exhales, his smile dropping just a fraction. "Because you think I'm the villain here," he says, dipping you slightly, the movement forcing you closer to his face. "And I think it's only fair you know—I'm just another casualty, same as you."

His lips quirk, just slightly. "Only difference is, I make this look good.”

You grimace. "I don’t think of you as a villain, Finnick," you retort, your voice softer around the edges now.

"Then what?"

"I just…" You hesitate, eyes dropping to his exposed neck, the way his pulse flickers beneath his skin. "I welcomed you and your tributes in. My tributes didn’t deserve that."

Finnick lets out a small scoff, the sound barely audible over the music. "Honey, no one deserves any of this," he corrects, his grip firm as he sways you through the rhythm, leading with an effortless grace that makes the whole room believe this is nothing more than a dance. "Not even you. But we don’t really have a choice here, do we?"

The lump in your throat grows tighter. The burn behind your eyes intensifies, and you can feel a sob creeping up, threatening to spill past your quivering lips. You bite down on it, hard, forcing your expression into something blank, something indifferent—but Finnick sees through it.

He always does.

For a second, his mask slips, and there's no teasing smirk, no playful glint in his sea-green eyes. Just quiet understanding.

Without another word, he pulls you in.

Your body stiffens at first, caught off guard, but then your forehead presses against his chest, the warmth of him bleeding into your skin. The steady rise and fall of his breath grounds you, his arms solid around you as the music continues to play.

“Don’t cry. Not in front of everyone,” Finnick whispers, his lips barely moving as his eyes scan the room. A few pairs are watching, their gazes hungry, dissecting your every move. The Capitol lives for this—the spectacle of it all.

You nod against him, focusing on the steady rhythm of his breathing, matching it with your own. No way in hell are you going to let them see the cracks in your wall. The dam threatening to break.

Finnick lets you have that moment, just long enough for you to collect yourself. And then—because he’s Finnick, and he can never let a moment sit without ruining it—he exhales dramatically, as if burdened by the weight of your existence.

"Well," he muses, voice tinged with amusement, "as much as I enjoy holding you like this, sweetheart, I have to admit—you're a terrible dance partner."

Your eyes snap open, brow furrowing as you pull back slightly to glare up at him. "Excuse me?"

Finnick grins, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. "Don’t get me wrong," he continues, voice dropping into that signature, lazy drawl. "I love a good dramatic moment. The tragic lovers, the tears, the emotional tension—very poetic. But you’re clinging to me like a barnacle, and it’s kind of killing my vibe."

Your face heats. Oh, you want to slap him.

"You absolute—"

"Ah, ah," Finnick interrupts, smoothly spinning you away before pulling you back in, his hand pressing lightly against the small of your back. "Careful, sweetheart. You wouldn’t want to ruin our perfect little romance in front of our adoring audience, would you?"

Your fingers dig into his shoulder hard enough to bruise. "I hate you."

Finnick's smirk deepens. "See, now that’s just hurtful."

You resist the urge to stomp on his foot. Barely.

"Oh, come on," he drawls, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Admit it. I’m making you feel something. Would you rather go back to being sad, or do you want to be mad at me instead? I know which one I’d pick."

You grit your teeth, but you don’t argue, because damn him, he’s right.*

Finnick Odair, with all his ridiculous antics and unbearable smugness, has successfully pissed you off just enough to push the grief aside, if only for now.

You know why Finnick is here. Dancing with you, holding you close, spinning you around like you’re both part of some grand performance. There’s an edge to the way people are watching—something sharper than usual. Their eyes track your every move, lips curving in whispers, anticipation practically humming in the air.

Something’s up. And Finnick knows exactly what it is.

Like he can read your mind, he leans in, voice dropping low enough that only you can hear. “Word got out about the closet.”

You shoot him a sharp look. “No, it didn’t.” The words come out flat, a firm rejection of the very idea. Because there’s no way.

Finnick grins, the picture of smug amusement. “You can keep denying it,” he says, as if he finds your resistance adorable. His arm stretches above him, effortlessly twirling you around before pulling you back in. His lips brush your ear as he speaks again, voice firm this time.

“But the second Snow asks you about it, you tell him it’s true.”

And then, before you can protest, he dips you.

Your breath catches, body tensing as Finnick pauses mid-movement, holding you suspended in the air, his grip steady at your back. Your arms instinctively tighten around his neck, anchoring yourself.

He doesn’t pull you back up. He just waits.

You narrow your eyes. “Absolutely not, Finnick.”

Finnick rolls his eyes like he was expecting that answer, like you’re being difficult on purpose. “Honey, it’s a do-or-die. So, you either date me—” His grin widens. “—or die.”

You deadpan. “Dying sounds better than dating you.”

Finnick sighs dramatically, as if you’ve just wounded him in the most tragic, irreversible way. "You really know how to hurt a man, don’t you, sweetheart?"

His voice is teasing, but you don’t miss the undercurrent beneath it—the way his fingers press just a little tighter against your back, the way his eyes flicker with something unreadable.

You swallow hard. “This is a terrible plan.”

Finnick tilts his head. “Yeah? Well, you got a better one?”

Your fingers tighten around the fabric of his shirt, grip firm against his shoulders as he finally pulls you upright. You barely have time to regain your balance before Finnick is leading you through another slow turn, his hand pressing just a little too smugly against your back.

“You know,” he muses, voice low and smooth, “if you stopped fighting this so hard, we might actually be kind of convincing.”

You scoff, leveling him with a glare. “Convincing? Finnick, the only thing you’re convincing people of is that you have terrible taste.”

Finnick grins, unfazed. “That’s rich coming from the person who got caught in a closet with me. Sounds like you’re the one with terrible taste.”

Your nostrils flare. “That was an accident.”

“Sure it was.”

You swear you could kill him. He’s enjoying this way too much, the smug glint in his eyes practically daring you to lose your temper.

You step in a little closer, just enough to make it look intentional, enough to make it seem like you’re leaning into whatever ridiculous act he’s trying to sell to the Capitol. He doesn’t pull away. If anything, he welcomes it, smirk deepening as he raises a brow.

“If we have to sell this, Odair, let’s make one thing clear,” you whisper, voice sharp despite the fake sweetness laced into it. “You’re the one chasing me, not the other way around.”

Finnick chuckles, tilting his head like he finds that adorable. “Sweetheart, if that helps you sleep at night, I’ll let you believe it.”

Your fingers twitch at his hold, itching to punch him, but you force yourself to keep up the act. You roll your shoulders back, composing yourself as you take a slow step back—just enough to put some distance between you.

Finnick watches you, amusement still dancing in his eyes, before leaning in one last time.

“Just remember,” he murmurs, lips dangerously close to your ear, “if Snow asks, you’ve been hopelessly in love with me for months.”

You don’t even hesitate. You stomp on his foot.

Finnick hisses, the grin finally slipping from his face as you yank yourself free from his hold. “I hate you.”

Finnick laughs through the pain, barely even phased as he takes a step back, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve like nothing happened. “Yeah, yeah. Keep saying that, sweetheart. It only makes the act more believable.”

You don’t just storm off. You march across the dance floor, teeth clenched, pulse hammering at your temples. The absolute audacity of Finnick Odair. You can still hear his laugh trailing behind you, light and amused, like he’s delighted that he’s gotten under your skin.

He’s insufferable.

You barely make it three steps before Finnick’s voice chases after you. “Come on, don’t walk away so soon. You didn’t even let me dip you dramatically a second time.”

You whip around so fast he nearly collides into you. “Finnick, I swear to—”

He raises his hands in mock surrender, expression gleaming with pure mischief. “Relax, sweetheart, you’re making this way too easy for them.” He tilts his head ever so slightly toward the crowd.

You don’t want to look. You really don’t, but you know exactly what he’s talking about. The Capitol’s eyes are still on you, their expressions ranging from intrigue to outright glee. Some of them are whispering to each other, exchanging looks like they’ve figured something out.

Finnick sees the realization flicker across your face and smirks.

He leans in, voice dropping to that annoyingly smooth, lazy drawl. “That’s right. We sell this, or we’re both dead.” His grin widens. “So, if you want me to stop annoying you, then act in love.”

You inhale sharply, resisting the urge to wring his neck. Instead, you plaster on the most sickeningly sweet smile you can muster.

“You’re right, Finnick.” Your voice is sugary and poisonous all at once, dripping with an exaggerated affection that makes his eyebrows twitch. “How could I possibly resist you? You’re just so—so—”

You grab his collar, yanking him forward, just enough for your lips to hover dangerously close to his. Finnick’s breath hitches for just half a second.

Then, in the smuggest voice imaginable, he says, “Speechless? Happens all the time.”

Your roll your eyes. “I was going to say infuriating.”

Finnick laughs. Loud, genuine, eyes gleaming with absolute delight. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, placing a hand over yours, effortlessly prying your fingers from his collar, “if you think this is infuriating, just wait until I start courting you properly.”

Your stomach drops. Not because you’re flustered, obviously. Just dread. Absolute dread.

“You wouldn’t,” you whisper, already regretting this entire night.

Finnick grins, the kind that sends a chill up your spine. “Try me.”

You might actually have to kill him.

part three

#finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick odair #hunger games finnick #the hunger games

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yanderes-galore · 2 months ago

Note

Yandere Shouta Aizawa/Eraserhead from BNHA but an AU where he's a villain? Can be concepts or a short, I'm happy with either! Darling could be a hero or a civilian but either way they have a powerful quirk, I think it would be cool to see what happens when Darling is faced with a yandere they can't rely on their quirk to defend against c: Of course, if you wanna keep Aizawa as a hero and feeling slightly guilty over his actions(but rationalizing them, of course), that could also be fun. Heroes are trustworthy, right? ;)

Honestly... Could go for some Villain AU, sure. I made you a hero in this :)

Yandere! Villain! Aizawa with Darling who has a strong Quirk

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Possessive behavior, Violence, Stalking, Restraints, Kidnapping, Sadism, Forced relationship.

Honestly, this idea is pretty neat if we make it a Villain/Hero story.

You're no doubt a pro hero who learned how to utilize your strong quirk for good.

Although, since you have such a strong quirk, you've most likely been utilizing it more than you should.

Since you've trained you've used it as a crutch.

You just haven't realized it... until it was taken.

Many pro heroes have a tendency to rely on their quirks.

Aizawa no doubt knows this weakness heroes have.

He may be lazy but he's observant.

He's actually learned how to fight with not just his quirk due to this.

After all, it's easy to bind a hero if they can't rely on their power.

Pathetic.

Aizawa no doubt observes his targets.

He knows you're a pro hero, he knows your quirk, and he knows your standing on the ladder.

Aizawa actually knows a lot more about you than you think.

He's always been observant of those he deems as targets.

Honestly, him being your yandere in this scenario is humbling.

When you first encountered Aizawa, that's when you realized just how vulnerable you are.

He knows that too.

You knew Aizawa was an infamous villain.

You knew of his quirk, you knew he went by Erasure.

Despite that... You weren't prepared.

You had first met him when you were called to detain him from a scene.

Unfortunately, you became reckless.

During your fight against him, Aizawa managed to make eye contact with you through his goggles.

It's nearly instant that your quirk stops and he manages to restrain you.

By the time the binding cloth wrapped around you... you expected him to seriously hurt you.

If not kill you.

Yet, instead, the villain grinned at you with a look of sadism.

Honestly, he was having fun with this.

You're cute when you realize your efforts are hopeless.

When you squirm it's amusing.

"Did you just realize you're out of your league? You seriously call yourself a pro when you can't even fight without your silly quirk?"

By the time the fight concludes and Aizawa spares you, you're left feeling weak.

This is also the start of you two seeing one another frequently.

Aizawa becomes the reason you train harder.

You're humiliated and anxious after your recent loss to him.

So after that... you work hard on training without your quirk.

Aizawa, on the other hand, is keeping track of your every move.

He likes how much he's affected you.

It's funny how him simply putting you on your rear is enough to make you rethink your whole routine.

If only all heroes thought about that.

Aizawa likes you because he's manipulative.

He likes to toy with you, to see how much he can push you before you're vulnerable.

In a twisted way... He's fallen for you.

He loves to make his hero hopeless.

It's a satisfying feeling to see someone so powerful fall.

Aizawa craves it when it comes to you.

You're driven with the urge to best Aizawa, to convince yourself and others that you can be strong as a pro.

Aizawa, however, meets with you because he enjoys seeing and toying with you.

He wants to see you break.

Each fight you two have gets closer and closer...

Yet you haven't studied Aizawa as much as he has with you.

Each fight ends the same.

You try to fight him quirkless, he's much faster than you, and you end up restrained.

It's not like you can avoid him either.

Even when you try to focus on other threats in the area, Aizawa always seems to be there.

Aizawa could easily control his obsession.

It's easy for him to kidnap you.

Well... with some planning.

Aizawa would have to snag some quirk canceling cuffs if he plans to keep you in one place.

Yet once he does... All he needs to do is find you again.

Your final fight is actually closer than expected.

You had been training your skills in physical combat just to face him again.

You aren't as fast but you've managed to learn some decent defense.

Unfortunately... Aizawa is once again determined to break you.

You manage to break out of his cloth a few times, you even manage to get him to blink.

Although... eventually Aizawa catches you off guard, once again making you feel weak despite your reputation.

You expect this to go as the last few times... only for you to feel the metallic click of cuffs on your wrists.

"Sorry, sweetheart... This time you're coming with me."

Once at this stage, things are easy for him.

Aizawa likes to keep you in his secret hideout, cuffed in his room where you get to look all pitiful for him.

Despite being such an intimidating villain... you notice he certainly naps a lot...

Most of the time near you.

Aizawa originally takes you so he can break you into his little doll.

You soon learn that... isn't entirely true.

Aizawa wants to break you not only for his own sadistic joy...

But because he adores you.

To him, this is his form of courtship.

He wants to keep you here as his entertainment, all for his pleasure.

You may not understand how he feels... but breaking you mentally is euphoric.

Poor you, supposedly a big strong hero meant to protect the innocent...

Now you're just like a civilian, captured and helpless, all at his mercy.

You may not love him yet, or even understand his motives...

But he'll break you... then train you to be his...

How's it feel to be weak, hero?

#yandere my hero academia #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere mha #yandere bnha #yandere mha villain au #yandere aizawa #yandere villain aizawa

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ainywanie · 10 months ago

Text

૮₍˶Ó﹏Ò ⑅₎ა OF LOVE AND DREAMS

synopsis: or, in which a stressed out and overwhelmed kenji sato eats takeout with you and slow burn occurs.

requested by; anon / requests are open!

*⁠･⁠゜ﾟ⁠(⁠^⁠O⁠^⁠)⁠↝ read this as well in ao3

Baseball. Fatherhood. Ultraman.

What did those three things have in common? Absolutely none. That was the problem. Neither of those three things had any correlation which made it hell to learn how to split them all evenly. Had Kenji Sato found out earlier that his life would involve tons of juggling things around he would've signed up to be a clown instead of a celebrity.

“There ya go.” Kenji whispers, him in his Ultraman form cradled the adorable Emi who chirped and cried and did everything else but fall asleep in his arms. He's been having a long day and truthfully all he wants is to be less miserable than he was now.

He taps the girl’s back, the small Kaiju looking up at him with — which he swears he can practically see— literal stars in her eyes. “Daddy's here.”

Despite how normally he'd find some sense of contentment and probably even relief or satisfaction from finally soothing Emi from her distress, right now all his mind could try to even focus on was baseball and the fact the KDF were after Emi.

And, for a horrible moment, his heart clenches at the very thought of everything in his life just going away. He's already beating himself up with the recent games, he didn't need anything else adding onto that ever growing giant pile of lists on why Kenji Sato wasn't all that he said to be.

So, here he was, ready to just drown himself (and his sorrows) away with a can of unfortunately healthy coconut water. Couldn't a man drink and get drunk? A nice bottle of alcohol and wine would definitely hit just right for him at this moment.

“God damnit— Mina!” He exclaims, sighing and running his hand through his hair while he examines the drink in his hand, placing it down with a rather miserable expression. ‘This thing’s going to kill me before anything else’ He mutters to himself.

“It is best to incorporate a healthy lifestyle, especially with your many responsibilities lately.” Mina appears with her typical monotone and robotic voice.

“I'm as healthy as you can get.” He argues, walking around the rather huge kitchen he's got. Stardom tends to give out a whole heap of money, and that wasn't anything Kenji could just decline.

Mina stares at him —at least— he's sure if she were a real person with an actual human body she'd probably be staring at him with an unimpressed look. And then his mind flashes to his mother who'd also most likely be doing the same.

“I work out,” Kenji starts, deciding to defend his case. “I wake up early,” He adds, looking around the cupboards and making a mental note to get groceries soon. Soon would be way too far in the future. Soon is barely a day close to tomorrow considering he's already got a lot going on.

“I'm a professional athlete.” Kenji scoffs, leaning against the counter.

“Indeed you are. That is why I contacted—”

Just in time, the front door rings. He doesn't hesitate staring at the robot in disbelief and anger at the sudden visitor. As sudden as the visitor came, Mina promptly went away. “You've gotta be kidding,” He mutters, sighing as his hand rubs his temple while he walks over to the front door to see you at the other side.

His face falls, eyes widening in surprise as he didn't expect this whole thing. “What's up?” He asks, doing a 180 and attempting to be his typical suave self, though, internally he's already hitting himself for being so panicked.

What kind of greeting was ‘what’s up’?

“I bought take out.” You say with a smile, bringing up the paper bag filled with food and drinks and instantly it's almost like Kenji was a teenage girl. Nodding his head and promptly moving aside to let you in, he shuts the door behind you and follows after you into the kitchen.

“So,”

“So?”

He stares at you, watching as you take out plates and utensils for the two of you. “Seems like you've got this whole place down. I would've thought you owned the place instead.”

“I wish I owned this.” You only laugh, shrugging your shoulders, watching him stare at you and you swore he could melt things with how intense he's looking at you. “Seriously, when are you giving me the ownership of this house?”

He only rolls his eyes, walking over to you and nudging you lightly by the shoulder, helping you set the whole thing before he recognises the familiar look of the meal. It was from that one restaurant he'd promised to bring you but never got to.

“Thank you, by the way,” Kenji says, glancing at you from the corner of his eye with a soft smile. It was really the only thing he can say considering it was his mistake to have put all else before you.

“For the food?”

“For everything.” He corrects just before wincing at how absolutely lame and cheesy it sounded. “It sounded better in my head.” He quickly adds, watching you laugh.

“I'll take it.” You reply, enjoying how sweet he was being at the moment. It wasn't even a rare sight for him to treat you so nicely —he always did— but somehow something about the way he talked and looked at you just felt like something was up.

Kenji clears his throat, insisting you sit down on a chair next to him as you two dig into the food you bought from a restaurant that just opened up that you and him always talked about going to. “Wow, it's really good.” He says, glancing at you with a smile.

“Here, taste.” He holds up his chopsticks, the tempura in between as his other free hand is at the bottom opened up to catch any crumb that falls.

“Tastes good, right?” He asks without letting you get another word out as he eats more. “I should've brought you there— the restaurant. I think it would've been a nice experience for us.” He laments without another thought.

“It's fine. Eating takeout with you right now is the same as eating inside the place.” You assure, taking more bites of the meal. “Anyway, what's up with you lately?”

He raises a brow, turning a bit to the side to look at you as his hand stops midway before he takes another bite of his food. “Excuse me?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Do I really?” He shrugs his shoulders, attempting to push and change the topic. Kenji feels his brows furrow as he pushes the rice in his bowl around with a clear frown.

“Ken.”

And god does it drive him crazy when you call him by just that: Ken. Not Sato, Kenji, nor Ultraman. Ken. Which was weird considering you weren't the first nor the only one calling him by that nickname, but all he knew was that the way it rolled off your tongue just melted him and made him feel good in a way.

Ken sighs, groaning somewhat. He knows there's no escaping you when you set your mind full onto something.

“Okay, I've been busy with other things.” He admits.

“You mean baseball?”

He almost corrected you. Almost. Unfortunately he remembered you weren't aware he was Ultraman or that he was technically the father of a huge 20-foot Kaiju that lives in his basement.

Ken sighs, looking at you with a rather sad and clearly exasperated look. It's clear that he's really tired with whatever he's been busy with. And truthfully, you didn't want him to feel like he was being forced to tell you the truth.

“You don't have to tell me.” You whisper, taking a hold of his hand and squeezing it as you look up at him with a smile. “You'll tell me about it anyway in the future. Eventually, at least I hope.”

He smiles, letting out a small chuckle as he looks at you with a certain gleam in his eye, his hand squeezing yours back. “Yeah. I probably will.”

“See? And whatever those ‘other’ things are,” You bring up, attempting to cheer him up. Your fist connects with his shoulder playfully before your hand just naturally rests there. “I'm sure you'll handle them just fine no matter what.”

“Besides, I'm here if you need help.”

“I know.” Ken looked over at you, his hand coming up to hold the one you had on his shoulder. He can't exactly find the words to explain things: whatever he's feeling, whatever this moment meant, or whatever you and him were. Why would he need to ponder on your relationship?

You both just sat there, looking at each other expecting something yet also nothing at the same time. Would he? Would you? Neither one of you had any idea on what to do.

“I could kiss you right now.”

Now it was your turn to look at him in astonishment at his blunt words. You could practically feel your eyes leaving your socket and your jaw falling open. “Excuse me?”

“Platonically.” Ken adds in a panic. He sounds surprised and shocked at what he said as if it wasn't him who literally said it out loud. “Like on the mouth— cheek. On the cheek.” He clears his throat, completely looking away from you now with both shame and horror evident in his expression as his fingers begin to drum on top of the table.

The air is tense. The place was now quiet save for the sound his fingers make as they tap. “I appreciate it,” You awkwardly reply, looking away and it's clear both of you are extremely flustered. “The kiss on the cheek.” You said but was that really all you wanted?

“You would?” Ken raises a brow, managing to find some strength in facing you despite the way his heart started to beat in his chest furiously. “Great. I guess we could.. Do that?” He clears his throat, once more already imagining himself hitting his head from the back with a bat. Why did he have to keep talking?

“Deal.”

Despite the tension, whether it be because of the awkwardness or something else entirely neither of you cared as you laughed and ate the food. He told you stories, about his childhood, his work, or whatever he's just been up to in general; and in turn, you told him hilarious and rather stupendous jokes you often hear from your coworkers, but it always makes him laugh so you suppose it does the job.

“— and then I accidentally hit her on the head so you can bet it wasn't nice afterwards.” He told you the story of him teaching Emi baseball, disguising Emi as a girl he babysits ‘on the side’ often whom he also grew pretty fond of watching over. “She's a sweet girl. Needy. But sweet.”

You laugh, enjoying his stories which were never dull and always filled with a sense of amazement every time he tells you one. “Well, what else did you expect from a kid?” You reply with an amused smile.

“I knew what to expect, okay?” He chuckles, shaking his head as his thoughts drift to his times of being with Emi and spending time with her who he practically saw as a daughter. “I just didn't expect things to be hard.”

You send him a raised brow and a playful smile. “If I didn't know any better, I would've thought this Emi was your daughter.” You comment. It wasn't really that hard for you to notice how proud he looked when he told you about this Emi. And frankly, this was even the first time he brought her up so it was a surprise for you to learn he even did babysitting as a side job.

Ken nearly chokes on his food at your words. He couldn't be that terrible at keeping his facts straight and making up a whole cover-up story, could he? He turns to you with a forced chuckle leaving his lips. “That just shows how she means to me now, yeah?” He attempts to reply.

“Guess so,”

Eventually, it was getting late, and not wanting you to travel alone back to your home, Ken had insisted you sleep in his room on his bed which surprises you.

“You've got two beds?” You ask, surprised but you follow him to his room nonetheless. In it, you're not surprised with how minimalistic the whole place is. Though you'd probably also be concerned if it was uncharacteristically decorated and done.

Ken raises a brow at you, gesturing to his single bed in the room. “Just that.” He answers, fixing up the bed for you before grabbing some extra blankets and bedsheets from his closet where he neatly places them on the floor.

“Don't sleep on the floor.” You say, stopping him before he can pull some of the pillows down. “I don't mind sharing.”

And so, now, here you both were. Laying down side by side and staring up at the ceiling as silence is present. You're both beneath the sheets, still somewhat wide awake.

“I really appreciate you coming over.” Ken whispers, shifting a bit so he's on his side and looking at you. “You were just what I needed.”

You smile, shifting as well to face him and so you're both staring at each other with wide grins yet shy looks. He was also what you needed. You could tell both your moods improved with just one dinner despite how uneventful it sounded, it meant a lot.

“Thanks, Ken.”

“For what?”

“Everything.”

Baseball. Fatherhood. Ultraman.

Maybe he should seriously start wondering if he should also add love onto the list. But for now, with a quick kiss to your cheek (which takes you by surprise), Ken turns around and closes his eyes and feels himself start to dream.

#「 ♡ 」 ULTRAMAN: RISING #⊹₊ ⋆ kenji sato #kenji sato x reader #ken sato x reader #ken sato x you #ken sato x y/n #kenji sato x you #kenji sato x y/n #ultraman rising x reader #ultraman rising x you #ultraman rising x y/n

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zepskies · 11 months ago

Text

Down to the Crust

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: You’ve set out on a very specific mission for Dean. The problem is, you now have ulterior motives for your (formerly) pure love of baking.

Request: Since reading your imagine, "Dean Gives You an Impossible Choice," I have not been able to shake it, one point specifically. I was wondering if I could request a fic where the reader is learning to bake pies for Dean. She's best friends with the boys, but she and Dean have undisclosed feelings for each other…

AN: You guys know I love baking shenanigans lol. This one is set at a particular time during season 14…

Song Inspo: “Joy” by Blackstreet

Word Count: 2.6K

Tags/Warnings: Flangst, hurt/comfort, hint of spice~

No, no, no, no, NO!

You did your best to scoop out the salt you’d just poured into the flour.

You can’t really be this dumb, you berated yourself. How could you confuse one white powdery thing for another? Salt vs. sugar—it wasn’t that hard!

You shook your head in simmering frustration. You decided to just dump the whole contents of the bowl, salty flour and all, into the garbage. You’d have to start again…for the third time now.

Frankly, this was getting ridiculous. You could make cookies, brownies, even cupcakes (with homemade buttercream).

How hard could a pie really be?

Maybe it was the telltale tremble of nerves in your hands.

Maybe it was because you had an ulterior motive for doing this, besides your formerly pure love of baking.

Maybe because this promised dessert was for one pie-loving glutton who was set to come upstairs from the garage any minute. Or at least, whenever Dean’s stomach finally called him back to the kitchen.

Though recently, he hadn’t been all that hungry. He’d denied your friendly offer of a snack earlier (since when did he turn down taquitos?), and he’d barely touched the pizza you guys had for dinner yesterday. (One slice? The man could eat half a pizza in one sitting. To your knowledge, there wasn’t a pie he didn’t like.)

Dean hid it well, but he wasn’t on his game. You knew why, of course, but…

You sighed and measured out the last of your flour for a fresh try. If you messed this one up, you’d literally have to wash your hands of this mission. And yes, it had become mission fucking impossible, as far as you were concerned.

Once the flour was safely mixed with a cup of sugar, you cut up some chilled butter to create the pastry dough. You followed the instructions in the recipe even more carefully this time, from your open laptop on the kitchen counter. The keyboard was dusted with flour at this point, along with your hands and arms. You even felt it under your nails and in your hair, but you didn’t care.

You were going to make this damn pie if it killed you.

You’d even bought real cherries, not the canned filling. It meant more work for you in removing all the pits inside them, but this was worth the extra labor.

However, as it just occurred to you, you’d left them simmering with some sugar, lemon juice, and cornstarch in a pan, around the time of your second attempt at pastry dough.

“No!” you gasped, hastening to open the lid and checking the saucepan.

Oh, thank God, you thought, seeing that the cherry filling wasn’t bubbling over. It actually looked like the proper thickened consistency and smelled delicious. You just needed to do some more stirring.

An hour or so later, you had successfully shaped the dough, chilled and poured in the filling, and covered it with the (embarrassingly uneven) lattice work on top.

“Whatever. The man still believes in the Five-Second Rule. He’ll eat this,” you muttered as you slid the pie in. You even remembered to do an egg wash on top. You admired it for a moment in its raw pastry form, then closed the lid to the oven with a nod of satisfaction.

You wore a wide smile, feeling accomplished, until you turned around and saw the disaster you’d made of the kitchen. Flour was dusted across the counters, a pile of dishes in the sink, cherry remnants in the pan and dripping across the stove, and so much more. You winced at the sight.

“What the hell is this?” came a gruff voice.

Your gaze drew to the doorway with a sharp intake of breath. Dean was standing in the doorway to the kitchen with a bewildered expression on his face.

The man had a thing about people in “his kitchen.” You got ready to placate him with your hands raised as you took a step towards him, but then you gasped.

“Shit!” you yelped, slipping in some egg that had dropped on the floor. Your hand accidentally banged the oven on the way down, but your head also hit the corner of the wall.

You ended up sprawled on your side across the dirty floor, dazed and winded. Dean hurried to your side with one of those frowns that always made you want to smooth the wrinkle between his brows.

He braced your shoulder, almost but not quite touching your hip with his free hand.

“Damn. You okay? This ain’t a slip n’ slide,” he said.

Your lips twitched at a smile, but you sighed. “I’m okay.”

“You hit your head?” he asked, beginning to help you up slowly.

“A little,” you admitted. “Nothing the old bag of frozen carrots in the freezer won’t cure.”

Dean grimaced, but after he made sure you were settled on your feet, he checked the back of your head. You tried not to blush (and revel) at the feeling of his fingers slipping into your hair, even if he was trying to feel for a knot back there.

He was close enough that you could almost feel his body heat through the black shirt he wore, for once without the outer layer of plaid. He smelled like grease and sweat; likely he’d been working on Baby.

Were you weird for kind of liking that smell?

“Well, I don’t feel any goose eggs, so you’re probably fine,” he remarked.

“Thanks, House. Is that your final prognosis?” you asked, beginning to smirk.

Dean’s gaze met yours in amusement.

“Tell you what,” he said, “If you get a headache, I give you full permission to take one of the fun little pills I’ve got in my dresser.”

You laughed. “If it’s not Vicodin, I don’t want it.”

House M.D. was one of those shows you and Dean liked to watch together, along with Game of Thrones, and even Smallville, on occasion.

Dean smiled slightly. But even that was a small feat, and something you hadn’t seen from him in weeks. Not a real smile, anyway. Before today, nothing you’d tried had been working to brighten his mood.

Not pizza Fridays. Not letting him listen to the same damn Zeppelin album without complaint for that eight-hour ride on the last hunt. Not trying to gouge his level of broodiness and offering to hang out, to be a listening ear if he needed it.

He still hadn’t taken you up on the last one. While that hurt, you also understood it. You understood how Dean dealt with things he didn’t want to think about, let alone talk about, even to his own brother.

Dean now looked down on you knowingly, gesturing at the rest of the kitchen.

“You gonna tell me what you’re doing in here?” he asked.

You crossed your arms and raised your chin, a smile playing on your lips.

“What, can’t handle somebody else in your kitchen? What’re you, Gordon Ramsey?” you teased.

Dean’s brows kicked up, his lips twitching.

“You’ve made a mess of my kitchen any number of times, but I ain’t ever smelled sweet, sweet cherry coming out of that oven,” he said. “You’re finally making me pie?”

You had to laugh. Inside, you were pleased that he now looked excited, his green eyes dancing. You clapped your hands over his arms.

“Yes, I’m making you your damn pie. Only took me fifteen tries, but it’s happening,” you said. You turned to check on it, but the second you opened the oven, black smoke billowed out.

Your eyes widened in horror and your mouth fell open on reflex, but harsh coughs tore from your throat as you waved your hand against the smoke. Dean quickly handed you the oven mitts, and you shoved them on before taking out the steaming dessert.

The entire top crust was scorched black. Cherry filling oozed out, and not in a good way. You slammed the oven shut with your hip, and you had to toss the pan onto the counter for how hot it was.

Inside that pan was a dreadful excuse for a pie.

Dean had an arm crossed under his elbow, while a hand came up to cover his mouth as he took in the state of it. He then looked over at you.

He saw the shock, settling into pursed lips and tight shoulders. You turned in slow movements.

You saw that the oven had been switched to “Broil” on the highest setting. You’d probably messed that up when you fell and hit the dial with your hand. But Christ, was that a powerful oven.

Those old white guys really didn't mess around when they built this damn bunker, you thought sourly.

Dean took another look at the steaming pie and grimaced, despite his amusement.

“Well, she won’t be entering any beauty pageants, that’s for sure,” he teased.

His playful smirk fell, however, the moment you turned around. He saw the way you were biting your lip, and the tears brimming in your eyes.

He softened, and he went to you.

“Aww, sweetheart. It’s okay,” he chuckled, and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. “‘S probably better than I could do.”

You rested your head against his chest and sniffled. You blinked to try to stem off your tears.

“It’s not about the damn pie! I mean, not really. It’s just…” you trailed.

You quieted, realizing you were about to say things you’d rather not.

Dean noticed though. Because of course he did.

“Then what’s it about?” he asked.

You avoided his gaze at first, though he was too perceptive not to notice. He jostled you a little against his side.

“Huh? You wanna answer me?” he asked. His lips curved at the way you were fighting a smile yourself. Your tears won out though.

You turned under his arm and leaned up on your toes, so you could hug him. Your arms twined around his neck and you held him tight.

To say it surprised Dean would be an understatement, his eyes widening a fraction. He still held you back, almost on reflex.

“I couldn’t do anything else,” you said, through tears. “Not for you, or Sam…or for Mary.”

Dean’s confusion descended into grim understanding. A weight fell deep in his gut, clenching painfully the way it always did, when he thought about his mom.

The fact that Jack didn’t have his soul didn’t make a difference, no matter what Sam said. Not in Dean’s mind, anyway.

Jack had killed their mom.

She was gone, had been taken from them. And that second loss had torn a new chasm in Dean’s heart, deeper than the last one. He held you a bit tighter without realizing it.

“I’m sorry,” you said, rubbing his back. “I know you don’t want to talk about it. I just wanted to…to do something for you.”

Slowly, Dean pulled away a little. His hands moved to your waist as he looked down on you with a heaviness in his eyes. For a moment, he just took in the contours of your face, your eyes shining with tears that clung to your lashes. You were looking up at him like all you wanted to do was fix it. And fix him.

Well, you had to know that was a lost fucking cause. But it just didn’t stop you from staying here with him and Sam, living with them, hunting with them, being one of the last friends they had, after all these years.

It didn’t stop Dean from loving you for it, either.

He let out a breath, and he couldn’t help but raise a hand to get some of the flour off your cheek. He smoothed the back of his hand against your skin, along your jaw, and finally brushed his thumb across your lower lip, where you had worried it with your teeth.

“You’re too damn much, you know that?” he murmured.

You were blushing hot at his touch, but you frowned at his words. Until you noticed the fond glint in his eyes…and for the first time, something more. Something he was finally allowing you to see.

When he bent down and claimed your lips, your thoughts stuttered to a halt. You gripped the front of his shirt instinctively. He framed your face with his hands; they were calloused and smelled like motor oil, but you didn’t give a shit. Not one iota. Because it meant something, and your heart swelled with a warmer, brighter feeling.

You gripped his shirt tighter and leaned up to meet his second kiss. His hand moved to your lower back, pulling you flush against him. You grabbed onto his shoulders and let him invade your mouth with his warm tongue slipping against yours. You moaned, the sound echoing between you both and shooting right to his dick.

His brows furrowing, Dean’s fingers slipped into your hair again, but this time, to tangle in the strands. He walked you back until your ass hit the counter, where he grabbed hold of your thighs and hefted you on top of it, regardless of whatever stains covered its surface.

He moved in between your jean-clad thighs and encouraged you wordlessly to wrap them around his hips. You didn’t need much encouragement.

“Dean,” you whispered, between heated kisses, hands wandering down your body, exploring soft curves and warmth over clothing.

“Hmm?” he said, into your mouth. It was distracting, but you found the strength to slow things down, gently taking his face into your hands.

You both caught your breath for a moment. It allowed Dean to see the thread of uncertainty in your gaze, even though you caressed his stubble-covered cheeks.

“I just…do you…is this…” you tried, but your brain seemed to be on a short fuse. You blamed his sinful lips entirely.

Said lips drew into a smirk. Dean’s hands moved up your thighs and held your waist less gripping, more comforting (and claiming).

“I really do, and damn straight it is,” he said, slightly teasing. He did lean back in to press a gentler kiss to your lips.

“Trust me,” he said, as he became more serious. “If you want more from this…”

At that, your uncertainty melted into warmth. You released his face, holding onto his shoulders instead.

“Yeah, Dean,” you nodded. “More than anything, yes.”

He read your sincerity, and it warmed him too. Again, he gave into the urge to brush his thumb against your blushing cheek.

“I uh…I had a feeling it was always gonna be you,” he said.

You raised a brow at that, even though your smile threatened to unravel him further.

“Oh, yeah? How long?” you asked.

Dean pretended to think.

“Since that first batch of oatmeal cream pies,” he said, with a cheeky grin. “Pretty sure I was marked from there on out.”

And not just because he’d been imagining what you’d be like to taste, ever since.

You giggled, though you gestured with your eyes at the charred pan next to you on the counter.

“Guess I should try again on that pie. Wonder what that’ll get me,” you hedged, letting your thumb graze his neck. Dean smirked.

“All right, sure. Remind me to pick up a new fire extinguisher,” he said.

You guffawed and hit his shoulder, but he just laughed and pulled you in for another kiss.

It was sweet enough on its own.

AN: I know, I know. I'm a sap. 😂 Let me know what you thought of this pie-filled episode! 🥧 💕

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