#I was going for a more graphic look with this

[starsinthesky5]

I think about this more than a healthy amount for some reason, so I gotta get it out there.

Joe really doesn’t like being called “Joey��. It’s just a childhood name that he feels he’s grown out of. BUT I think he’d have such a soft spot for his girl calling him Joey 🥹 maybe it catches him off guard the first time she lets it slip, but he likes it a lot more than he thought he would. And from then on he only wants to be her Joey and he gets all pouty when she just calls him Joe.

Soft cuddly little Joey bear is my favorite (grumpy irritated Joe is a very close second)

say it, please || joe burrow x reader

description: the ask pretty much sums it up!!

a/n: wow? another blurb? who am i?? this might be how i get back on track with YBWM and I'm not complaining!! again, rushed, written in a few hours, so please don't tell me if you hate it

word count: 1.9 k

warnings: fluffy fluff fluff

taglist: (ask to be added): @joeyfranchise @joeyb1989 @joeyburrrow @softburrow @burrowbarbie @yelenasbraid @lovelyburrow @yelenasbraid @starkeyswomen @grittysbiggestfan @definitelynotdomanique @lilfreakjez @fourburrow

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oh joe absolutely despises it when people call him joey. no matter who it is, his mom, his dad, his closest childhood friends, even his nana. he just hates it. he’d complain about how it was too “babyish” and “embarrassing”, and that joe was more adult and manly. joey didn’t fit that stone-cold, joe cool persona he had going on…joey was more like “oh, here’s our soft, cuddly, teddy bear QB1” and he grimaced every time he thought about it. 

until you came around.

you knew that he didn’t like the cute little nickname, it was one of the first things robin had warned you about when you had your first one-on-one talk with her. you never really understood why he hated it, because his reasoning seemed pretty dumb. it was just a nickname, right? and it perfectly matched how he’d get when he had those adorable puppy dog eyes and rosy cheeks. it was just so right. 

but you loved joe, so naturally you respected his wishes just as he respected yours. you dropped the idea of the nickname and carried on. 

until one lazy sunday afternoon in the middle of february. 

you were doing your best attempt at shielding yourself from the bitter winter cold, curled up on the couch with your oversized plush bengals blanket and wearing one of joe’s old LSU hoodies. in your lap was your tablet, and the app opened up was your sketchpad. you worked in graphic design, so you were naturally always found with your apple pencil between your fingers and with this app on the screen in front of you. the latest project you had was not the usual kind—this one was a favor called in by a local cafe, a hidden gem in the heart of the queen city which happened to be one of joe’s favorite spots since he came to cincy. it was quiet, hidden, intimate, and the perfect spot to have a normal conversation with normal people; just how joe liked it. so when he had leisurely strolled into the cafe as usual one day after practice, he found himself caught up in a conversation with the owner (more so his newest best friend considering he went to the cafe every single day after practice) and the topic at hand was their recent obsessions. it was silly, but it was a good conversation to have over smoothies & muffins after a grueling day as star quarterback joe burrow. sometimes he just wanted to be joe again, especially with his friends, and this cafe was a great place to do so. 

anyway, for steve, his obsession was the latest addition to his cafe. a shiny new espresso machine with too many settings and advancements to count. 

for joe, it honestly should’ve been obvious to anyone with working eyes considering every time he thought about it out loud or in his mind—which was a lot—his cheeks turned pink and his eyes softened like he was a stick of melting butter. there was only one thing that could make joe feel and look like that, and everyone in town knew what it was. i mean, it was the hottest topic once you showed up on the sidelines wearing that initial around your neck before the wild card game against the ravens. 

his recent obsession was none other than his lovely, adorable, larger than life…future wife. 

his precious girlfriend.

you. 

he was going on and on about you with that goofy boyish smile to the point where steve was questioning if joe was drunk, high, delirious, or all of the above and just deeply unwell. and honestly, he was. 

he was completely, totally, and utterly lovesick. 

joe rambled on about anything and everything related to you. from your unique hobbies like forging & pressing flowers into journals and resin molds, to your interests that didn’t involve sitting in the stands and cursing out referees for bullshit penalties, and even your cute little habits such as spraying joe’s cologne on your hoodies while he was at an away game so that you could still be close to him. he just loved to talk about you, to tell people how you and everything about you had been such a breath of fresh air in his suffocating life. you were the change of pace he so desperately needed, and he was going to make sure the entire world knew of that. 

then, he started telling steve about your passion for graphic design. you worked full-time at a PR firm for it, but that didn’t stop you from dabbling into side projects in which you had complete control. you’ve designed things like wedding invitations, baby announcements, birthday cards, and even a few shirt designs for your old high school. you were extremely talented, so obviously he’d show you off in that sense too. he loved how hardworking, independent, and creative you were.

that conversation joe had with steve was how you now ended up re-designing steve’s cafe’s logo for him. you really didn’t mind doing it, not that you could say no if you did mind anyway. you knew steve was joe’s friend so if you said no for a good reason, he’d understand, but if word got out that joe burrow’s girlfriend refused to help out a local cafe with something like this…whew. bad bad PR. so, it was a good thing that you loved designing and sketching in your free time because there was no reason for you to say no. everyone would be happy :)

as you twirled your pencil in your hand, gliding the tip along the screen to perfect the border of the design, you felt a weight press down on your shoulder—warm, soft, and familiar. 

joe. 

he really loved watching you do your thing, bonus points if he got to cuddle with you while you were doing your thing, so this was a natural place for him to be found now. you were completely focused on the task at hand, that you didn’t realize when he started talking to you. your ears picked up on bits and pieces of what he was saying, but most of it was drowned out by your own inner thoughts as you contemplated over which shade of green to use in the logo. 

“...so, is it okay if we order in from gloria’s tonight instead of going out in the storm?” he asked, his warm breath tickling your skin as he pushed himself further into the crook of your neck. he’d hide in there if he could, maybe even nestle himself inside your pocket to be as close to you as humanly possible. 

you heard him, and you thought you responded, but that must’ve been in your imagination because then you felt him gently poke your thigh to get your attention. “oh, hm?” you hummed, slightly tilting your head down to see him but keeping your gaze fixed on the screen in front of you. “...yeah, that’s fine joey,” you mumbled, not aware of what you were saying, and what name you just said. 

his heart stuttered in his chest, skipping a beat before picking up again, softer this time—like it was melting right into his ribs. that name, the one that usually made him cringe, that usually made him irritated, suddenly felt…warm. safe. like something sacred.  

because it came from you.  

you weren’t teasing him. you weren’t babying him. you just said it, all soft and dreamy, like it was the most natural thing in the world. like it belonged to him, to you—to both of you.  

joe blinked, his lips parting slightly, his body no longer tense against you but loose, relaxed in a way he didn’t even know he could be. his fingers twitched against his lap, itching to reach for you, to pull you close, to hear you say it again.  

“yeah?” he murmured, voice quieter now, hesitant almost.  

you finally peeled your eyes away from the screen, meeting his gaze, and that’s when it really hit him. the warmth in your expression, the way your lips curled ever so slightly, the way you looked at him like he was your favorite person in the entire world.  

god.  

and from then on, he only wanted to be your joey.  not joe. not burrow. not anything else. just your joey.  

and he made it painfully obvious.  

the first time you called him just joe after that, it was like you stole the sun right out of his sky. his face fell so fast it was almost humorous—eyebrows knitted together, lips pressed into the softest little pout as he stared at you like you’d just broken his heart.  

“what?” you blinked, confused at his odd expression.  

he huffed, shifting closer to you on the couch, arms crossing over his chest in the most dramatic sulk you’d ever seen. “nothing,” he mumbled, but it was so very much something.  

you tilted your head, studying him, before realization hit you.”oh my god,” you gasped, a slow grin creeping onto your face. “are you pouting because i called you joe?”.

he stayed silent. just pouted harder.  

you laughed, reaching over to cup his face, thumbs brushing over his warm, slightly flushed cheeks. “baby, do you wanna be my little joey again?”.

his lashes fluttered, shoulders dropping as he leaned into your touch like it was the only thing tethering him to the earth. and then, so quiet, so needy, it almost made your heart burst—  

“say it, please.” 

your breath hitched.  

oh.  

his voice was barely above a whisper, but you could feel it—the weight of his words, the way he needed to hear it from you, how it felt different when it came from your lips. he didn’t just want the name. he wanted you saying it, holding it close like it was something precious. like he was something precious.  

you softened, pulling him impossibly closer, pressing a kiss to his forehead, then his temple, then the corner of his mouth. “okay, joey,” you whispered against his lips, the name dripping in warmth, in love, in everything he ever wanted to hear from you.  

he melted instantly, arms wrapping tight around your waist, his face nuzzling into your neck like he never wanted to leave. and god, he didn’t. he wanted to stay like this forever, wrapped up in you, basking in the way you said his name like it belonged to you and you alone.  

because it did.  

no one else could say it like you. no one else could make his chest ache in the best way, could make his heart stutter and swell all at once. no one else could make him love the name he once hated.  

only you.  

his girl. his love. his everything.  

your joey.  

only yours. always.

–the end–

[omaano]

"...At some time, every creature which lives must do so...."

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Inspired by alternate prompts 2 (Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep quote) and 3 (Untitled by James Fenner) of @codex-week

The last part will be nice and in-character (for me) mushy, I promise. Whenever it's ready. They will be fine, they are coming together already after all.

DO ANDROIDS DREAM OF ELECTRIC SHEEP BY PHILIP K. DICK

UNTITLED BY JAMES FENNER

[transmaverique]

[img id

pictures of several pages from the sinister wisdom issue credited, reading as follows:

June 12 2016

A friend sent me word that the Klan had littered a house in Birmingham with flyers that said "trans abomination", that said "go pee behind a tree". And when I looked, yes, there was the familiar graphic, the hooded man pointing a finger, saying "The Klan wants you" -- to leave town, to die. Said they'd punish mixing Black with white, they'd punish mixing F with M, and any bi-going-in-between. No mixing, no mixing it up.

The power to put a symbol on anything, on a water fountain and say "white water" and "black water". Turn the four-pronged steel handle so the water spurts down like blood from a severed artery, spurts up in a sullied arc.

The national committee of one of the two ruling political parties in the U.S. is passing laws to make it illegal to walk through a toilet door if you don't match it's little stick figure. Otherwise, they say, go outside into the woods, you belong outside "civilization", and pee behind a tree.

Or the police will come and drag you out before the world with your pants down and your cunt hanging out of your jeans or your balls hanging out of your dress.

The power to put a symbol on two doors, and say sheep that way, goats this way. One path to heaven, one path to hell. "Men" that way, "women" this way.

The power to use those words and deny there is any doubt, any doubt at all, about what those words mean.

The power to use those words to cut up your body, your dear, dear body. The power to press those words down over our lives, cutting a bleeding circle out of who we are. The punishment when you are someone who can go through either door.

The power to look at those two doors and refuse to go through either. The power and the pride when you are someone who can go through either door, and do.

Now the anniversary of Stonewall, and the Tuscaloosa newspaper headline reads "PRIDE". People are marching in New York City, San Francisco, Sao Paulo, Sydney -- all around the world.

It's been two weeks, exactly, since the massacre at the Pulse gay dance club in Orlando, Florida. There 49 people -- lovers, friends, mothers, children, many Latinx -- lay dead and more gravely wounded.

So I saw the headline and foolishly thought, "Here's a bit of comfort, a word of courage." But no.

It was a brag about the Alabama football team, chosen by the editors for no particular reason this day except to scrape our raw wounds with the message that their PRIDE was not our queer PRIDE.

The first Pride event I went to wasn't in June. A man had been beaten to death on the Eno River, at a little swimming hole in North Carolina where gay men sometimes cruised. He was married, with two children, and then he was dead at the hands of those who hated queerness.

On April 17, 1981, over a hundred of us rallied in front of the Durham County Courthouse. Mab Segrest read a statement she'd written that began "We don't want to die."

That's pretty much the gist of why I ever march in Pride. That we still die dancing in a gay bar in Orlando because we are lesbian or gay or bisexual or trans, a relative or even a friend of queerness, proves the need to keep saying what should be obvious: "We want to live." To insist that we have the right to live, dancing in the street.

Leslie and I marched once in Winston-Salem in the middle of lightning and thunder for North Carolina Pride. We held hands in the pouring rain, up to our thighs in the flood that swept past us in the streets. I was so happy. There was a time I had thought I might kill myself there, after I lost custody of the boys for my "crime against nature".

When she and I were marching, it was the mid-90s, Senator Jesse Helms was still doing his best to make our lives miserable, African-American churches were burning all across the South, and the Klan was having one of its revivals.

Leslie spoke of revolutionary communism and the crowd cheered. Hundreds of us chanted and sang and danced through the rain, shouting defiance.

At some point she let go of my hand and rushed away, to return with a present -- a tiny plush trans-species bear sporting a pair of tie-on bunny ears.

My funny bunny, my Leslie, who knew so well how to live, who knew how to fight for our lives with every weapon she had, including laughter. Her smile, the dimple in her cheek when she smiled. Revolutionary optimism.

/ end id]

minnie bruce pratt, from sinister wisdom issue 122: How Can A Woman Who Is With A Trans Man Call Herself A Lesbian? spring 2024

[sagittariusmarz]

Your next glow up (pac)

Pile 1 Pile 2 Pile 3

🌸- I see that your next glow up is going to be exciting for you, I see you changing internally which will affect your environment in the outside. I see you being more outgoing and trying new things/having new experiences, I see something about your physical appearance changing which will get you more attention. I see feeling like you have more energy and feeling happier, I see you being able to problem solve faster and be more decisive, I see you feeling like you have less obstacles and things coming easily toward you. I see you changing things in your house and cleaning more, for some of you I see your skin getting clearer or losing weight. I see you guys changing routine and focusing more on what you need instead of stuff you want which will have a positive impact. I see feeling less stuck or stagnant, I see you reaching your goals easier. I see you being more abundant and not worrying so much about saving, there may be some people who will try to get closer to you so that they can keep tabs on you/a lot of people are going to want to be in your business. Signs- Aries/cancer, Leo in 10th house/ Aquarius in 6th house. Initials- W, F, L, Z, T, K, H

🌊- I see that youre going to meet someone new or be in a phase where you’re meeting slot of new people, I see your love life improving and feeling like you’re getting the treatment you want/deserve. I see that people going to be more generous or more emotional invested in you, I see the kind of people you spend time with will be upgraded like you’ll be spending a lot of time with people that add value to you and your life. I see you traveling more, I see you tapping more into your femininity and looking or appearing to be more graceful/elegant. I see your style is changing or you’re getting new clothes/ a new hairstyle that fits you more, I see that you changing your appearance or being more in your feminine energy will make you more abundant and make people be more generous towards you. Signs- Aquarius/scorpio, Virgo in 1st house/pisces in 8th house. Initials- T, I, X, S, Y, K

🦢- I see that you reaching personal goals that you’ve been working on for a while, I see you staying more to yourself or being more independent. You’ll be ecstatic about finally reaching a goal and you’ll be more to yourself, I see you becoming more physically attractive or more popular and alluring to people. I see something about your physical appearance like your face or the way you do your makeup is changing, some of you may dye your hair which will cause you to get more attention. I see you being more present and not so worried about the future especially after you reach a certain goal, I see that you’ll be spending less time around people with negative and draining energy. I see you having stronger boundaries to protect yourself, I see being more consistent and seeing positive results from it. I see you becoming more knowledgeable and being more logical/ feeling more mature, I see your life being more balanced and calm. Signs- Capricorn/libra, Capricorn in 3rd house/ libra in 10th house. Initials- K, I, F, G, L

Personal readings always available

Divider by @saradika-graphics

[orcasoul]

Marcus Acacius Headcanons:

Marcus Is Overprotective When You Go Into Labour

Warnings: swearing, graphic description of childbirth, blood, complications.

Word Count: 2, 027

"That's right, just breathe through it, My Lady," one of the midwives whispers into your ear as you are gripped by yet another contraction, fingers digging into her shoulders and forehead resting on her chest while you are practically doubled over. "This is impossible!" you grit through clenched teeth as you ride out the crippling wave. "It's what our bodies are made for, My Lady." You press your hands into your lower back as you begin to pace the room slowly. "Where is Marcus? He should be here by now."

"He'll be here any moment, I'm sure. Why don't we get you into bed?" the midwife suggests. "No. I'm not having this baby without him." "I'm afraid it's not up to you, My Lady. Baby will come when it's ready." You walk to the balcony doors, searching for any sign of your husband, tears building in frustration. "I can't do this without him," you cry before another contraction clenches your stomach. It's much stronger this time and it steals the breath from your lungs. From out of nowhere the sound of hoofs echo through the courtyard and if you hadn't already been crying, you would have now, in relief as you see Marcus jump down form his horse before the animal has even stopped.

Suddenly, your feet feel warm and wet and you look down to see a puddle surrounding you. "Oh god, my waters have broken!" "We have to move you to the bed now," another midwife says and they both take a hand each to walk you over. The door bursts open and Marcus rushes to over to you, breathless and wide eyed. The midwives let go of your hands and Marcus holds you steady by your upper arms. "Marcus!" you gasp, clutching the sleeves of his tunic. "My love, I came as fast as I could," he says through heavy breathes. He turns to the midwives. "How is she?" "The labour is progressing well, General," a midwife answers.

"Arrrgh...!" you wail, collapsing into Marcus' strong arms. "It's okay," he soothes. "Let's get you into bed." Marcus helps you onto the bed, laying you back against the propped up pillows. He leans down to kiss your forehead despite the sheen of sweat coating it. "Marcus, it hurts!" you grip his hand, squeezing tight. He holds your hand in both of his, wishing there was more he could do for you. He's never felt so useless. "I know..." his voice cracks at the sight of your distress. "But you're strong and you can do this, I believe in you." The midwives are now either side of you, one of them setting down towels on the bed.

The other turns to Marcus. "General, would you wait outside please? We must examine your wife-" "No! I want you to stay, Please!" you plead frantically, not letting go of Marcus' hand. "My Lady, we must examine you privately-" "I'm not leaving her!" Marcus interrupted, sharply. "But sir, it wouldn't be appropriate for you to remain for-" "I don't give a fuck for propriety! I'm not leaving this room! She needs me." The midwife nods her head in respect, "Yes, Sir." They do their checks and you're surprised when they tell you it's already time to start pushing.

Three hours later and you're still pushing. Wave after wave of pure agony rips through your abdomen as you bare down with all your might. Marcus has slid behind you, his legs on either side of you while he supports your weight against his body. One hand is taking the brunt of your pain while the other dabs at your forehead with a damp cloth. "I don't think I can do it anymore," you say, sluggishly, head lolling on Marcus' shoulder as the latest contraction eases. "Yes you can. You're more than capable, darling. You're doing so well," Marcus encourages you. The midwives have now been joined by a Medicus. Marcus had insisted on summoning a Medicus after two hours of slow progress. Better safe than sorry. Your back arches against Marcus and you scream. The contractions are now only a minute apart.

"Isn't there something you can do to help the baby along?!" Marcus asked the Medicus, trying but failing to keep his frustration hidden. "She's been at this for hours." "We're doing everything we can, Sir," the Medicus reassured. "Is it normal to take this long? She's exhausted." The Medicus sighed, "Everything's fine, General. It's perfectly normal for this stage to take a few hours or more." Marcus knew he was being overbearing, but he doesn't care. All that matters to him is the well being of you and his child. So used to being in control is he (wether it's on duty or at home) that having to rely on someone else leaves his nerves feeling frazzled.

He's always been a rock for you; always been able to make anything better and now for the first time, he's completely helpless. A sob so desperate breaks from you that Marcus can literally feel his heart crack in two. He brings one hand up to cup your cheek, wiping away the tears with his thumb. "It's okay, my love, I'm here," his voice shudders as his eyes fill with tears. "You're strong. You've got the heart of a warrior, you know that? Just think, when it's all over you'll get to hold our precious child safe in your arms. Just a little longer, my sweet. You've got this." "Marcus, I ca- arrrgh!" Marcus' body instinctually tenses along with yours, as if the action could somehow impart some of his own strength into you.

"My Lady, you must stop pushing!" a midwife suddenly instructed. Marcus' head snapped to the midwife. "Why?" "What's wrong?!" you both said at the same time. A moment of silence passed as the midwife leaned in closer to examine you, but to Marcus it felt like an eternity. "Tell me what's wrong!" he commanded, his patience wearing thin. "The baby's breach. Everything will be alright, but on the next contraction you'll have to push harder, My Lady." Marcus shuffled behind you, tightening his hold on you. "You can do this-" "I can't do-!" you cry in desperation but it's cut off by another need to push. "That's it, that's it. It's coming. keep pushing..." the midwife cheers you on. "The body is out!" she smiles widely as you collapse back against Marcus.

He can feel the heat from your flushed cheeks against his neck, your breaths ragged against his skin. He turns to press a kiss to your forehead, stroking your sweat slicked hair from your face. "Okay, one last big push and your little one will be here," the midwife excitedly exclaims. Without another word you tuck your chin into your chest and give it everything you've got. "That's it, you're doing it. It's almost over," Marcus praises you as you give one last scream. Then the most beautiful and anticipated shriek fills the room as the new life makes itself known. "It's a girl! Congratulatios, My Lady, General." The midwife holds the baby up and Marcus takes in the sight of his impossibly tiny and beautiful daughter. Her scrunched up little face framed with dark little curls makes his heart skip a beat.

He watches in awe as she is placed on your chest, your sobs of pain now replaced with tears of joy as your hands gently stroke her body, whispering how much you love her already. Marcus cups the back of her head, feeling her delicate warmth. "You did it, my strong, fearless wife!" he coos into your ear, unashamedly crying along with you. He couldn't be more proud of you; more in love with you than he is in this moment. But this bubble of joy is suddenly burst when your arms and head drop at the same time, your body going limp. Marcus looks frantically between the Medicus and midwives. "What's happening? What's wrong with her?!" The Medicus quickly places a towel under your legs. "She's losing too much blood." One of the midwives takes the baby off your chest, telling Marcus to move while the others lay you down.

Marcus hovers near the Medicus as the man and the other midwife jump into action, his heart in his throat. "Help her! Please, you have to stop the blood!" He can see they're doing all they can but as he watches, horror-stricken he just can't stop himself. "Do something!" he yelled in despair. "General, you must wait outside," the midwife holding his daughter steps in front of him. "I'm not leaving her!" "You must!" she now speaks more forcefully. "I know you're worried but you have to let them do their job if they are to save her. You must give them space." Marcus looks at her, a panicked haze clouding his mind. "And your daughter needs you, now." Those words alone brought Marcus back to clarity.

He takes his baby into his arms, the midwife wrapping a blanket around her and despite his every molecule screaming at him to go to your side, he leaves the room. He paces the hallway outside the door, whispering comforting words to his daughter as her eyes, your eyes, stare up at him. "Your mothers' a fighter, just like you, my angel. She'll be fine... Please," he prays the last word, hoping the gods will take compassion on you. A little while later the door opens and Marcus freezes when the Medicus walks towards him saturated in blood. His breath catches in his lungs, sharp and painful. No, please no! "She's stable, Sir," the Medicus informs him. Marcus' shoulders sag, the tension flowing from his taut frame.

"She lost a lot of blood and will be very weak for a while. She'll need plenty of bed rest for at least the next several days." "Thank you!" Marcus breathes out in utter relief. "Thank you for saving her. Can I see her now?" "Of course." The Medicus leads Marcus back into the room, where the midwives are tucking the quilt over you. "We'll give you a minute," a midwife says and they leave the room, closing the door behind them. Marcus pulls up a Curule (chair) next the bed and sits down with the baby snug and asleep against his chest. He gently takes your hand in his, the contact causing your eyes to flutter open. You smile wearily, squeezing his hand.

"Hi, darling..." his brows knit together in a sympathetic frown. "You scared me so badly back there. I thought we were going to lose you." "I'm... sorry," you mumble, voice strained from hours of screaming. "No, you've nothing to apologise for," Marcus kissed the back of your hand. "You did an amazing job." Your gaze falls to the baby. "Is she okay?" Marcus smiles, looking down at her in adoration. "She's perfect, just like her mother." "I need to hold her. I need to feel her, please," you say, almost in tears. "Okay, don't move. I'll bring her to you." Marcus carefully lays her down on your chest and his heart feels ready to burst at the sight of you both. Nothing in his life could have prepared him for this moment; the moment his life became whole.

"We're a family," he whispers, voice strained with trying to hold back a wave of emotions. You begin to cry again but this time Marcus isn't worried. The look of pure joy shining in your eyes is an image he'll always remember. "I love you," he whispers, voice filled with conviction. "I love you, too," you pause and look to your daughter then back to marcus with a beaming smile, "We love you." Marcus leans over to kiss both you and the baby. He truly is blessed by the gods. He has achieved so much in his years; wealth, respect, glory. But it means absolutely nothing compared to what he has now. Until today he didn't realise that this is what he was made for; to love, cherish and protect his family, and he'll do just that until his dying day.

[angelinthefire]

So I don't want to pick on op. But I think that this post is just such a clear example of a tendency in fandom that I wanted to directly on the post.

The trend being a really poor method of analysis, where the argument is entirely in-universe, without stepping back and considering what kind of story is being told. And, I strongly suspect, starting from the point that one wants to prove and marshalling facts to support that point, instead of starting from a general understanding of the story. I'll explain what I mean.

In the above post, op makes the argument that Caitlyn's use of the grey was super-targeted at the chem barons, and by using it against the chem barons Cait and Vi stopped a civil war, and that Ekko was aware of what they were doing and approved.

I think there's several leaps in logic in the post, but that's not the point. The point is that if you want to understand what the significance of Caitlyn using the grey is, you need to start from a more general perspective.

What is the story being told? In the first act of season 2 we see Caitlyn's fall from grace and the disintegration of her relationship with Vi. Cait's use of the grey therefore needs to be consistent with that story. That is, her choice to use it is part of her fall.

In season one Caitlyn was very much defined by her sense of justice and her righteousness. But whenever she tried to act on that sense of justice, she was blocked by those in positions of authority.

Season 2 puts Caitlyn to the test. It starts with her feeling tortured over her mother's death, and feeling a lot of guilt, anger, and hatred over it. But she still has her sense of justice, worrying about civilian casualties. And again, she's blocked, she's kicked out of the council chamber.

Then the memorial attack happens. And Caitlyn gets angrier. She's beginning the downward spiral that will continue to the end of the act. She calls the attackers "animals" with a snarl, with an unsettling close-up of her teeth, similar to some shots of Silco in season 1. Hatred is starting to be a real driving force for her.

And after that, Caitlyn is done letting authority figures tell her what to do. She takes authority for herself, and does what she thinks is right.

Which is a plan to capture Jinx while trying to limit the civilians who get caught in between. As Vi explains, they used the grey to get people off the streets (which, it should be noted, *necessarily* means using it on civilians. People are in the streets, and they're cleared out by the grey). Which does seem logical for their purposes.

But you also need to consider the way the decision is portrayed. The first time we see Caitlyn going through her family's archive to learn about the grey, "heavy is the crown" is playing which is quite a dark song, and the image of a skull is projected onto Caitlyn's face. When we come back to that moment in s2e3, the music is again quite dark and aggressive-sounding. The song starts with the lines "Can I do the right thing for the wrong reason? / Is it bad that I'm making friends with my demons?" We are shown graphic illustrations of the effects of the grey. The suffering that the people of the undercity experience due to the grey is shown on-screen and visually paralleled with Cait and Vi's current actions. The musical segment is book-ended by a clip of Caitlyn's ancestor saying "the people of the undercity deserve to breathe" - a very clear and deliberate juxtaposion, putting Caitlyn's actions in opposition to those of her predecessors. When characters see the grey approaching, it literally looks like a monster.

So this is obviously a bad thing that Caitlyn is doing, because it's portrayed as such. Which makes sense with her trajectory, she's continuing to spiral. She has an outburst of frustration in the arcade. Her behaviour is concerning to Vi (who is also in a downwards spiral btw). She hallucinates the flower petal when she has Jinx in her sights. She gets carried away in the fight. And then again, someone blocks her, only this time it's Vi. Which leaves Cait feeling frustrated and betrayed. And then when Cait's offered a position of even greater authority, to do what she thinks needs to be done in the way that she wants to do it, she takes that authority.

And then Caitlyn fails. Her story is about her failure to live up to her own principles. She gets into a position of power and finds out that it's not so easy. She's hemmed in by her alliance with Ambessa. But even more importantly, there's no good decision that she could make in her position. There's no good way to run a police dictatorship.

Just like there was no good way to lead a police invasion of a city. Either she release toxins into the air and avoid casualties, or she refrains from using the grey and risks civilian casualties. Liked Singed says, "no one in power is innocent." Not because everyone in power is a bad person, but because it's impossible to weild power innocently. That's what Caitlyn learns. So in the end she gives up her power, she gives up her seat on the council.

But before that, she reckons with her failure, through the battle with Ambessa. During which it's no coincidence that Maddie appears like a monster through the grey when she betrays Caitlyn; it's a reminder of Caitlyn's first betrayal of her own principles.

So, given all of that, how would it make sense for Ekko to approve of Caitlyn's use of the grey? How would it even serve the story for him to have a position on it? There is actually zero indication of what Ekko thinks about it.

Given that the use of the grey is part of Caitlyn's fall from grace, how would it makes sense for it to be a net positive?

To understand a character's actions, you can't just think about them in-universe. You need to understand where they fit in the narrative arc. You need to test your interpretations against the story to see if they make sense as part of the story or not.

If using the grey was so reasonable and acceptable, that would make the story way less interesting. Caitlyn's fall would be less sharp. There wouldn't be any basis for a role reversal between Jinx and Vi, with Vi taking on the role of the monstrous one, which is necessary groundwork for them to renegotiate their relationship in act 2. And it wouldn't make sense for Jinx turning the grey back on Piltover to have been so inspiring for so many people. It just doesn't fit the story.

An Analysis of the Concept of 'The Grey' in Arcane.

Also, I forgot to mention, but here's another confirmation that Jayce knew about The Grey, as he completely redesigned the mask.

The versions on the left were the last ones before Jayce, specifically designed for the concentrated gas. These still had a pipe outlet and an oxygen tank. In the version designed by Jayce, there was new technology that helped see through the dense Grey via lenses, and it directly filtered the air, eliminating the need for pipes and extra oxygen tanks.

This mask is closer to the one used by the enforcers, with the distinction that the lenses in Jayce's version are even more advanced, not only protecting the eyes but, as I mentioned, offering better vision. (This feature is visibly switchable on and off in ep 2 of s 2.)

Also here's one more thing about the grey:

It disperses quickly, even within a closed office, when it comes into contact with the air. The Grey back then was only present in Zaun because: 1. There was no ventilation system. 2. Since the factories were still in operation, they continued producing the Grey non-stop. Later, these factories were closed, and the Chem-Barons began using it for different products. The only remaining places where the Grey was still present were the closed pipe system and the fissures in the mines where it got trapped. Also, when the Grey was present in Zaun and the ventilation system was running at the same time, what do you think they did with the Grey? They let air flow from Piltover to Zaun, so that the Grey would dissolve as quickly as possible.

The Grey is a fictional gas in a CREATED show where the laws of physics work differently than in our world. Just like magic (Arcane), the Grey cannot be compared to the laws of our universe.

....

False, one-page or one-sentence ragebait posts always spread faster than detailed content, even though, to get an accurate picture,

it's important to examine the details, not just take something out of context without meaning.

If you're interested, you can find more in-depth analyses on my profiley such as why it was Heimerdinger, whose 200 years of neglect and inaction created the entire conflict between Zaun and Piltover.

(or there is the youtube link: https://youtu.be/y7Y__xyDyG8?si=Td3EuTLMMdcFkTko)

Thank you for reading it!

[imagine-it-was-us]

something on my mind || Lando Norris

Inspiration: Purple Disco Machine x Duke Dumont x Nothing but thieves "Something on my mind".

Author's note: To fully immerse yourself into the story, I highly suggest listening to the song first. My first instinct to go back to writing after 7 years was highly inspired by the song and the idea of the music dictating the narrative. So here we are. Hope you like it. ✨

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: The two of them could not be more different. A loud, extroverted racer, and the shy, introverted graphic designer. Yet you can't control the spark.

Word count: 2.8k+

✨✨✨

Lando’s life wasn’t meant to be simple and ordinary. He moved too much, changed cities like clockwork with brief moments of tranquility. F1 took him everywhere, yet because of that nowhere ever felt permanent. Don’t get it wrong. He simply adored his life, it was after all his dream. The constant buzz around him, the rush of adrenaline, the highest highs and the lowest lows. He enjoyed it all and never took it for granted. Yet living this particular dream has its cost.

That feeling of never being settled? It applies not only to the locations. It also does to people. It was easy to keep in touch with family or friends, it was all like second nature to them. But relationships weren’t easy to maintain. It is not like he didn’t try, but his last relationship was a complete disaster and had taught him that love didn’t fit neatly between airport terminals, paddocks and packed schedules. So now, he didn’t look for it. He didn’t want to get hurt like that again.

That’s what made one-night stands easy. There were no expectations, no heartbreak, no risk. No promises, no trust issues. It just provided the gratification he needed, blowing the steam off, as one could say. And he was purposely looking for the women, who were just like him. They didn’t ask questions and hold any expectations. They also didn’t stay.

And that’s how he ended up in another club tonight. He wasn’t a DJ—just a guy who knew enough about music to have fun with his friend, Martin Garrix, filling a gap in the setlist. Even though he enjoyed playing with music, everyone knew that this show was a one-off thing. Something to laugh about later. Standing behind the booth, watching a crowd move to the beat you controlled, felt good.

Then he saw her. 

She wasn’t the kind of girl who got noticed. And she liked it that way. She had never been the loudest in the room or the one who commanded attention just by walking in. She likes blending in the crowds and living her life from the sidelines. Yet as it happens to introverts usually, she was domesticated by rowdy extroverts, who teased her for it—Live a little, dance with someone, let loose for once.

She did dance. That was the only reason she had agreed to the club in the first place. Not for drinks, not for hookups—just the music. She had always found a kind of freedom in it, a way to exist without thinking too much. Just lost in the rhythm, in a world of her own, as if the music was the only thing that mattered. 

That night, she felt seen. She didn’t even know why she looked up. Maybe it was instinct, the pull of something invisible. But when she did, he was there. Watching her.

A stranger behind the DJ booth, but not like the others. Somehow he wasn’t showing off, wasn’t scanning the crowd for attention. He was just there, hands moving effortlessly over the decks, looking straight at her. Her breath caught.

Lando experienced the same thing. When she looked up at him, really looked, something in his chest tightened. For a guy who kept his heart locked behind logic, something about that made his pulse stutter. The moment stretched as the bass thrummed between them; for a second, it felt like the entire club faded away.

Then she looked down. And the moment was gone.

Martin coming to the booth caught Lando’s attention for a split second and once his focus shifted to the crowd again, she was already slipping away, vanishing between shifting bodies, just another face in the blur of neon lights. Frustrated, he tells himself it was nothing. A passing moment. A trick of the lights.

So he tried to let it go and let the night play out like it always did. Drinks. Another girl. A half-hearted hookup in a darkened corner of the club, taking her to his hotel room. But the second it was over, he felt it—that hollowness, the restless edge in his chest.

He knew exactly why.

Later at night, staring at the ceiling, with a nameless woman sleeping calmly by his side, Lando couldn’t shake the feeling that he had let something slip through his fingers. Not in a grand, romantic way—but in a what if way. A nagging curiosity. A voice in the back of his head whispering: Did she feel it too?

He told himself he was being ridiculous. It was just a passing moment. A look across the crowd. But then why couldn’t he stop thinking about it? And was she dreaming of him?

________

Imagine his shock when going through the streets of Barcelona, he saw her again. Not at the club, but in a quiet bookstore café, tucked into a corner by the window, with her full attention on the computer screen in front of her. There were no flashing lights, no pulsing bass—just her in her world, while headphones blocked out the outside buzz.

The second he saw her, something in his chest shifted. She wasn’t dancing now, but she still looked lost in another world. And this time, he was not going to let her disappear.

She flinched and gasped when she saw the cup of matcha appeared in the empty space on the table right in front of her. She stopped her favorite playlist and the gaze immediately shot to the one carrying it.

Her first instinct was to assume he had the wrong table. Maybe he was meeting someone else and just placed the drink in front of her by mistake. But by looking at his face for another second, she realised that she knew him. Not in the way that counted, but in the way you remember a face when it stands out from the blur of a night. He was the DJ from the club. The one she had locked eyes with for just a second too long before vanishing back into the crowd.

What was he doing here? More importantly, why was he standing in front of her like he remembered her, too?

“Hey,” Lando said, leaning against her table as she was pulling the headphones away from her head. “Saw your empty cup and thought you might wanna refill.” He explained when her eyes went from his face to the hot beverage. But selfishly he wanted to bring her attention back to him. “You ran away the other night.”

Her brows furrowed and she felt her stomach flip. “What?”

“The club,” he said. “You looked at me. Then you ran.”

She flushed and felt her cheeks starting to burn. “I—I didn’t run.”

“You disappeared,” he countered, while swiftly pulling away an empty chair from another table so he could sit right in front of her. “Felt a lot like running.”

She hesitated, then exhaled a small laugh, shaking her head. “I don’t really do clubs.”

“Yeah, I figured. So why were you there?”

“My friends.” She shrugged while closing her laptop. She felt that this conversation might be a little bit longer than just a quick chit-chat. She will deal with her responsibilities later. “I just wanted to dance. I didn’t expect… anyone to notice me.”

Norris studied her for a beat. Shy. Reserved. The opposite of the girls he usually ended up with. But there was something about her quiet confidence, the way she had felt the music that night, that intrigued him more than any of the loud, fleeting distractions he was used to.

“Well, I did.”

She bit her lip, then asked, shifting attention from herself. “You’re a DJ?”

He laughed. “Not even close. My friend shoved me up there for a set. I just went along with it.”

She tilted her head. “So what do you actually do?”

And just like that, conversation shifted. She thought he would be the kind of guy who only knew how to flirt in half-truths, but instead, he talked. Really talked. About his job, his travels, how he ended up behind that booth on a whim. The more he talked, the more flustered and surreal she felt. She had a literal millionaire sitting right in front of her, who could have been doing anything he literally wanted. And somehow he ended up sitting in her favorite cafe, chatting her up. And he showed the interest that she wasn’t expecting – even though she tried to talk about herself as little as possible, he persistently asked her about her days, what she was doing for living, about the kind of music she actually liked, about things that had nothing to do with the place they had met. When Lando realized that she had been living in Barcelona for a while and since it was just another stop before another grand prix, he asked her if she could find some time to show him the city. 

The connection was born and both of them were eager to further explore it. 

____________

Ten days passed quicker than any of them expected. Lando saw her every chance he got, whenever she wasn’t working and he was done with the meetings and practises. Their meetups had no expectations. No pressure. Just stolen moments—late-night drives with the stereo turned up, quiet dinners where he learned how she hid her laughter behind her hand when she was embarrassed. With every glance, every unexpected touch, the feelings were growing deeper.

Her heart was doing somersaults trying to warn her not to fall for his charming and immersive personality. Especially now, when she knows how his daily life looks and that his days in Barcelona are counted. Also, of course, once he said his name and his occupation, it took her less than 5 seconds to find countless articles online about him and his lifestyle. Parties, rumors, links to several different women. His world seemed so distant to her and on paper it would be difficult to find two people who are as opposite as the two of them were.

And yet it was hard to believe everything she saw online when she had a breathing and living example right in front of her. During their week together there weren't any acts of sheer extravaganza. He always chose to lay as low as possible. Instead of taking her to expensive restaurants trying to impress her, he asked her to take him to a pub that would repel any tourist, but was so loved by locals. As much as he claimed to love speed, somehow he ended up with the slowest rented convertible. Even though there were longing looks and accidental touches that seemed to last a little bit longer than necessary before one of them would pull away, he never pushed her and never threw himself on her or even asked her if she was feeling something.

And that was down to two things. Firstly, Lando believed that good things always required time. It didn’t matter that he was indeed hooked by her presence every time they met, but he knew that acting on his desires might simply turn it into another meaningless and awkward fling. And he most certainly didn’t want that. And secondly, as closed up as she was to the rest of the world, Norris saw her opening up just a little bit more every time they texted or saw each other and as cocky as it sounds, he knew that she felt it too. He knew that it was rational to give it a little bit more time.

Yet time wasn’t on their side as it was Sunday night after the grand prix and he had a plane to catch in the morning. He was still buzzing from placing second, but the happiness was overshadowed by looming goodbye. They walked in comfortable silence, the city humming softly around them. The celebrations had faded, but neither of them seemed in a rush to end the night.

She glanced at him—his hands shoved into his pockets, head tilted toward the sky like he was trying to freeze this moment in his memory. He seemed so out of place in these quiet and empty streets further from the action, but yet somehow he fit here. With her.

This was the part where she should start pulling away. She knew how to do it—keep things light, make a joke, pretend none of this meant more than it should. It was easier that way.

She had spent years perfecting the art of being just enough. Just friendly enough to blend in, just open enough to avoid too many questions. People rarely noticed when you kept your answers vague, when you laughed at the right moments, when you never let them see the parts of you that meant something.

But Lando noticed. Not in a way that was prying, but in a way that made it feel safe to be honest. And that was dangerous. Because honesty led to attachment. And attachment led to expecting things that were never really yours to begin with.

“You should be celebrating tonight,” she said, nudging his arm lightly. 

Distraction. Distance. The only tools she had left.

He seemed too deep into his thoughts and she had a strong feeling why he was in that state. Yet she didn’t want to seem cocky or push the forced narrative. 

Lando exhaled a short laugh, shaking his head. “I am.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

He stopped walking, turning to face her. The streetlight above them was casting a soft glow, making everything feel strangely surreal and intimate.

“You know,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “you’re a real pain in the ass sometimes.”

She blinked, surprised by the blunt expression. “Excuse me?”

“You,” he repeated, taking a step closer. “Making me enjoy slow drives and quiet nights when I should be focusing on my job.”

She crossed her arms, tilting her head at him. He knew from the get go that she couldn’t be further away from his typical life. And yet he accepted it with open arms. “You know, you had a free will to do whatever, right? Now you’re making it sound like I ruined you.”

His mouth quirked into a smirk, but his eyes gave him away—there was something deeper there, something hesitant but real.

“Maybe,” he admitted, voice softer now. “Maybe you just made me realize I want more than what I usually get.”

That did something to her chest, twisted it in a way she wasn’t ready for. She wanted to make a joke, wanted to deflect—but instead, she just looked at him, just like the first time in the club.

And he looked back. This time he wasn’t going to let her gaze go, still low key thinking that she would somehow simply disappear. Neither of them moved. Neither of them had to. The weight of unspoken words filled the air between them, stretching the moment just long enough to make it unbearable.

Lando inhaled sharply, like he was about to say something—then changed his mind. Instead, he just reached for her hand.

It wasn’t forceful, it wasn't desperate. Just an unvoiced question. Are you going to let me in?

She exhaled slowly. She knew that she could simply walk away from this. Right now, if she chose to ignore it, she would probably never see him again and the only proof of the last couple days would be random selfies on her phone and his presence would linger for a while in her favorite places around the city. But when he looked at her like that, she felt the sense rare sense of fuck it filling the air. And instead of answering that lingering question, she closed the space between them. It took a blink of an eye for Lando to meet her halfway.

The kiss wasn’t rushed, it wasn't perfect. It was something in between—a slow, careful exploration of something neither of them were ready to name. Of something so fragile that any rapid movement could break it. When they finally slowly broke apart, Lando let out a low chuckle, shaking his head and finally exhaling as if he was holding his breath this whole time.

“Well, damn.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes, feeling the sense of ease rushing through her. “Don’t let it get to your head, Norris.”

“Too late, you’re already on my mind.” His thumb brushed absently against her wrist before he finally—reluctantly—let go.

The moment lingered, heavy but not unbearable. No promises. No dramatic confessions. Just the quiet understanding that this wasn’t over.

And somehow, that was enough.

As they started walking again, neither of them spoke. But as the streetlights flickered above them, their hands brushed once more. And this time, neither of them pulled away.

[supernotnatural2005]

Sexual Encounters with Dean Winchester - Sex Toys

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Exploring new kinks with Dean.

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings/tags: SMUT! (18+ONLY!) sex toys, graphic descriptions of sexual activities, swearing, semi-public, fluff!

AN: A third instalment in this little anthology series, where we see Dean take (kinda) the reigns this time 😜🔥 I hope you guys enjoy! Fans at the ready 🪭

Main Masterlist

SEDW Masterlist

The soft hum of the bathroom light flickers gently as you smooth the sleek red dress over your curves, your fingers brushing over the silk fabric as you adjust it in front of the full-length mirror. The dress is just the right fit—mid-thigh, hugging you in all the right places, the spaghetti straps resting delicately over your shoulders. 

You can’t help but admire how the colour complements your skin, how the cut enhances the confidence you feel tonight. Your hair is styled in soft curls, framing your face just the way Dean loves it. You reach for the hem of your dress, making a few final adjustments, your heart racing as the evening draws near.

Just as you’re about to turn away, you feel his presence behind you, warm and steady. Dean slides his arms around your waist, pulling you closer against him, his chest brushing your back as he presses his lips against your ear. 

"You’re going to kill me in this dress, you know that?" Dean murmurs, his voice low and husky, his arms tightening around you as he leans in closer. His eyes scan your body in the reflection, almost possessively, before meeting your gaze. "You look fucking perfect.”

Your heart flutters and you feel your cheeks heat. It didn’t matter how long you two had been together, fighting the good fight and even how bold your extracurricular activities between the sheets had been lately, Dean could still make you feel bashful.

“You sure about this?" He speaks after a brief pause, his voice low, almost uncertain, the protective side of him creeping through despite the playful glint in his eyes.

You smile, finding his concern endearing. You meet his gaze over your shoulder, bringing your hand up to brush your fingers over his jaw, feeling the rough scrape of the scruff that’s grown in the last week or so. It feels a little scratchy against your fingertips but sends a shiver down your spine.

“You’re asking me that now? After everything?" You tease, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I’m more than sure.” Dean’s gaze softens, but there’s still a flicker of doubt in his eyes, though you can tell it’s more about his need to ensure you're comfortable with everything. 

He leans in, capturing your lips in a lingering, careful kiss—mindful not to smudge the deep crimson stain across your mouth, though the contact alone makes your body hum with heat. When you pull away, breath uneven, he nudges your jaw with his nose, guiding you back to the mirror.

A slow burn ignites in your belly as his lips graze along your shoulder, the delicate strap of your dress sliding slightly under his touch. He trails kisses up the curve of your neck, each one sending tiny shocks of anticipation through you, your body instinctively melting into his.

Then you feel it—his palm, warm and rough, gliding along the hem of your dress, fingertips ghosting over your soft thigh. Your breath stutters, your lashes fluttering as you lock eyes with him in the mirror. The mischief in his smirk is unmistakable as he watches your reaction, taking his time, revelling in the way your body reacts to him.

The air between you thickens when his hand disappears beneath your dress. His fingers brush over your bare skin, inching higher, and then—oh.

Dean exhales a low, satisfied groan at what he finds. “Look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick with approval at your lack of underwear. His fingers tease over your heat, barely touching, just enough to make you shudder. “Such a good girl. All ready for me.”

Your knees threaten to buckle as he drags slow, deliberate circles over your clit, his movements lazy, teasing. You press back against him, a whimper slipping from your lips as he watches you, enthralled.

“Eyes up, sweetheart,” he reminds you, his other hand gripping your waist, steadying you. “I want you to watch.”

You force your gaze back to the mirror, taking in the sight before you—the way Dean towers behind you, his suit crisp and commanding, a stark contrast to the sinful way he’s touching you. The way his eyes are darker now, pupils blown wide as he watches your reflection, drinking in every little reaction.

He plays with you, alternating between featherlight touches and firmer strokes, keeping you teetering on the edge but never quite giving in. Your breath is coming faster now, your hands gripping the arm wrapped around you for support as you push into his touch, silently begging.

Dean chuckles lowly. “So needy,” he muses, voice dripping with affection and control. “Think you can come just like this?”

Your body answers before your lips can, hips rolling into his hand, chasing friction. Dean groans, and this time, he gives in—two fingers slipping inside, stretching you with an ease that makes your head spin. The slow, measured thrusts, the slick sounds mingling with your ragged breaths—it’s all too much and not enough.

He sets a rhythm meant to undo you completely. His fingers work you over with perfect precision, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit as he pushes you higher and higher, his praises tangled in your skin, your name a hushed reverence on his lips.

And when you finally shatter—when your body tightens and trembles in his arms—Dean holds you through it, his grip unrelenting, his eyes burning with something possessive and completely, utterly devoted.

“Good girl.”

Dean’s voice is a low rasp against your skin, thick with satisfaction as he peppers soft, lingering kisses along your jaw, down the column of your throat, and over your shoulder. His fingers remain curled around your waist, steadying you as the last waves of your orgasm pulse through your body. Your legs feel like jelly, thighs trembling slightly, and he chuckles, clearly pleased with himself.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmurs, smoothing his hands over your hips before finally—reluctantly—pulling away.

You barely have time to process the loss before your gaze catches on him—Dean, standing before you, bringing his glistening fingers to his mouth, his eyes locked onto yours in the mirror as he sucks them clean, slow and deliberate. A quiet, pleased hum vibrates in his chest, and your breath stutters, heat pooling low in your belly all over again.

He smirks, straightening his suit like he hadn’t just unraveled you entirely. There’s a heat in his gaze as he looks at your reflection once more, admiring the flush painting your skin, the way your chest rises and falls as you catch your breath.

Then, with one last squeeze to your hip, he steps back. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

You barely manage to nod, still reeling as he disappears into the bedroom. Your hands grip the sink, fingers flexing as you work to regain feeling in your legs. The room feels too quiet without his presence, the ghost of his touch still burning on your skin.

When he returns, you glance up and the second you see what’s in his hand, a fresh wave of heat pools between your thighs.

A slow smirk tugs at your lips as your gaze flickers between the small pink toy and the dark, heated look in Dean’s eyes.

The love egg.

Your stomach flutters in anticipation. You had agreed to this the night before—Dean’s suggestion murmured against your skin as you lay tangled in bed, his voice husky with arousal as he painted the image for you. His fingers teasing over your body as he explained exactly how the night would go.

How he’d slip the toy inside you before dinner. How he’d keep the remote in his pocket. How he’d watch you squirm while he sat there, completely composed, while you struggled to keep it together in public.

And now? Now it was happening.

You press your thighs together instinctively, biting your lip as you meet his gaze.

Dean leans casually against the doorway, the small pink toy held between his fingers, his gaze locked onto you with a mixture of heat and uncertainty. “You still sure? You can still back out.”

Your heart thuds at his words, but there’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. Instead, you step toward him, reaching up to cup his face, your thumbs brushing over the rough scruff along his jaw. His breath is warm against your lips as you press a soft, lingering kiss to them.

“I’m sure,” you whisper against his mouth, your voice steady, filled with trust.

Dean exhales slowly, his hands smoothing over your waist, holding you there for a moment as he revels in your certainty. Then, pulling back just slightly, he lifts the toy between you both, his expression playful. “Then may I have the honour?”

You giggle, the sound light and breathless as you nod. That’s all he needs.

Without another word, Dean sinks to his knees before you, his hands soothing up the soft flesh of your legs, fingers grazing over your thighs, taking his time to savour the moment. When he reaches the hem of your dress, he hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, his grip firm but gentle, keeping you steady.

His darkened eyes flick up to yours, silently seeking one last confirmation, and you give it to him with another nod.

Dean hums in approval, his breath hot against your bare skin as he presses the toy against your heat, gorging himself on every tiny reaction—the way your lips part, the slight stutter in your breathing, the shiver that rolls down your spine. He takes his time, teasing you with the pressure, feeling you grip onto his shoulders for balance.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmurs, rubbing slow circles over your skin as he finally, finally pushes it inside.

Your body clenches around the stretch of the toy, your breath catching in your throat at the sensation, but there’s no discomfort—only anticipation, only the thrilling realisation of what’s to come. Dean stays there, his hands firm on your thighs, watching you, ensuring you’re still with him.

When you give him another breathy nod, he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, smirking against your skin.

“That’s my girl.”

And just like that, the night begins.

The restaurant is a far cry from the diners you and Dean usually haunt—no sticky vinyl booths or fraying menus, no jukebox humming in the background. Instead, the air is filled with the rich aroma of garlic, basil, and simmering sauces, blending seamlessly with the quiet hum of conversation and the soft notes of a live pianist tucked in the corner. Low-hanging chandeliers cast a golden glow over white-clothed tables, the polished silverware gleaming under the delicate light.

Dean holds the door open for you, his hand warm against the small of your back as he guides you inside. He’s a gentleman when he wants to be, and tonight, he’s putting in the effort—pulling out your chair, even indulging in a fancy bottle of wine to start the night, making the whole scene look effortless, natural. But even as you sip your drink and try to focus on the conversation, your mind is somewhere else.

The whole drive here, he’d left you simmering in anticipation. Every time he shifted gears, every time his fingers drummed against his thigh, you wondered—was he reaching for the remote? Would he push the button, send a jolt of pleasure through you before you could stifle your reaction? But he never did. He only smirked when he caught you staring, fingers deliberately grazing his pocket, a silent reminder that he held all the control.

Now, seated across from him in the dim glow of the restaurant, you take a moment to truly look at him. The years had changed you both — worn you down in some places, sharpened you in others. But through it all, Dean had never stopped surprising you. Whether it was indulging in your fantasies—or his—whether it was his unwavering loyalty or the way he loved you without hesitation, he always found a way to make you fall for him all over again.

Your lips curve into a small, private smile, warmth blooming in your chest as you tilt your head.

"What?" Dean asks, brows raising slightly, the corner of his mouth already twitching into a smirk.

You shake your head, reaching across the table to toy with his fingers, tracing the familiar callouses—the ones that had held you, protected you, learned every inch of you. "Nothing," you murmur. "I’m just happy."

Dean’s smirk softens, understanding flickering in his gaze. His grip tightens just slightly, his thumb stroking over your knuckles, and for a moment, the world outside this little bubble ceases to exist. No hunts, no threats, no looming shadows. Just him, just you—just the quiet affection that doesn’t need words.

Conversation flows easily after that, weaving through old stories, hunting mishaps, and teasing recollections of moments you’d rather forget. Laughter warms the space between you, the unusual stillness of the night wrapping around you like something fragile, something rare.

Then, the moment is interrupted by the arrival of the waiter.

A well-dressed man with a professional but welcoming demeanour, he introduces himself and lists off the specials with a rehearsed ease. You listen attentively, nodding along as you skim the menu, taking your time to decide.

You finally settle on something, fingers grazing the edge of the menu as you glance up. “I’ll have the—”

The sensation slams into you like a live wire.

It’s not a tease, not a slow build—it’s a direct jolt of pleasure that catches you completely off guard. Your breath stutters, your body jerking slightly before you can stop it, knees knocking together beneath the table as heat sears through you.

The waiter pauses, eyes flicking to you in mild concern.

You force your lips shut, fingers gripping the tablecloth as you struggle to school your expression, every nerve ending alight. The sensation dulls just enough for you to breathe, settling into a steady, maddening pulse that has your thighs pressing together on instinct.

“Miss? Are you alright?”

You glance at Dean—big mistake.

His green eyes glint with amusement, the picture of casual ease as he sips his drink, feigning innocent curiosity. But the smirk is there, tugging at the edges of his lips, smug and infuriating.

Bastard.

“Yeah—yes, I’m fine,” you manage, voice thinner than you’d like. You clear your throat, swallowing down the whimper threatening to escape as another pulse rolls through you, sharper this time.

Dean shifts slightly, his hand dipping into his pocket. The second he does, the intensity spikes.

A sharp gasp punches out of you before you can swallow it down, your grip tightening on the table’s edge as molten pleasure ripples through your core. Your eyes flutter, lower lip caught between your teeth in a desperate attempt to maintain control.

You don’t dare look at him again—you know if you do, you’ll shatter.

“I’ll have the lobster ravioli,” you say, breath hitching mid-sentence, your voice just a little too breathy.

Dean hums, tilting his head. “That does sound good, sweetheart.” His tone is warm honey, thick with faux innocence.

The waiter eyes you warily but nods, jotting down your order before turning to Dean.

Then—just as the waiter opens his mouth—the vibrations stop.

The absence is almost worse than the sensation itself, leaving you winded, overheated, and wildly frustrated. You inhale sharply, blinking rapidly as you struggle to ground yourself, your body still wound unbearably tight.

Dean, for his part, orders smoothly, completely unaffected, as if he hadn’t just unravelled you in public with the flick of a switch.

When the waiter finally walks away, you grip the table, exhaling a shuddery breath, your hands still trembling slightly.

"You’re an ass.” Your eyes snap to Dean, burning with a mixture of frustration and arousal. 

He only grins, leaning forward slightly. "Better get used to it, baby. We’ve got the whole night ahead of us.” 

The night is torture.

Dean keeps the remote hidden in his pocket, a constant, smug glint in his eye as he watches you squirm, shifting in your seat, your thighs pressing together in a desperate attempt to keep some semblance of composure. The vibrations never settle into a predictable rhythm—sometimes it’s a sharp jolt, ripping the air from your lungs, your fingers tightening around your fork as you try not to whimper. Other times, it’s a slow, maddening throb, stretching over minutes, leaving you breathless and aching, the heat between your legs becoming unbearable.

Your body is a live wire, every nerve on fire, slick pooling between your thighs, coating the skin between. Your attempts to mask your reactions are futile—your breathing is uneven, your lips swollen from biting them, and your posture stiff yet restless. Dean drinks it in with a lazy smirk, sipping his whiskey, pretending to be enraptured by the conversation, but his eyes flicker to you every time you tremble, every time your lashes flutter from another pulse of pleasure.

The worst of it comes when he cranks the intensity to full, the sudden jolt so powerful that you choke on a gasp, your nails sinking into the fabric of your dress as your back arches slightly. The couple at the next table glance over, but you force a tight-lipped smile, gripping the edge of the seat, your body clenched so tightly you might break. 

Dean only chuckles, pretending to wipe his mouth with his napkin as he murmurs under his breath, “Y’alright, sweetheart? Look a little flushed.”

If looks could kill, he’d be a dead man. Instead, he keeps teasing you through dinner, watching your frustration build until you’re on the verge of snapping. By the time the bill comes—paid with another fraudulent credit card of one, Mike Burns—your entire body is thrumming, slick and desperate, your patience long since shattered.

The moment you step outside, you don’t even give him a chance. As soon as you reach the Impala, shaded in the back lot beneath a large tree—almost like he’d planned it—you shove him against the car, hands fisting in his shirt.

“I swear if you don’t fuck me right now, Winchester, I’ll kill you and do it myself.”

Dean barely has time to let out a chuckle before you’re dragging him into a kiss, all teeth and tongue, filthy and desperate. He groans into your mouth, hands gripping your waist, pulling you flush against his body so you can feel just how worked up he is, just how much he’s been affected by watching you suffer all night.

You don’t wait—you yank open the back door and slide in, your dress riding up as you sprawl out beneath him, panting, eyes wild with need. Dean follows without hesitation, caging you in, his mouth hot against yours, kissing you deep and messy. His hand slips beneath your dress, fingers trailing up your trembling thighs, and when he finally cups you, he groans loudly, his breath ragged against your lips.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he growls, fingers sliding through the slick coating your inner thighs. “You’re drenched.”

You can barely think, barely breathe. “No more teasing,” you beg, hips canting up against his touch.

Dean nods, his own restraint crumbling as he grabs the end of the silicone tag and slowly, carefully slides the egg out of you. Your back arches as you cry out, pleasure crashing over you in a shuddering wave. When your vision clears, you see Dean holding up the soaked device, his green eyes dark with something between awe and pure, primal hunger.

Then you’re on him again, your lips crashing against his as you crawl into his lap, your fingers working frantically at his belt. He groans as you unzip his pants, helping you push them down his thighs, his cock springing free—hard, thick, aching. You don’t hesitate. You wrap your hand around him, guiding him to your entrance, and with a desperate moan, you sink down onto him in one fluid motion.

The second he fills you, your body snaps.

The orgasm crashes over you instantly, violent and uncontrollable, your walls clenching around him like a vice as you cry out, your whole-body trembling. Dean’s hands fly to your hips, his breath punching out in a curse as he squeezes his eyes shut, struggling to hold on, to not lose himself right then and there at the sheer force of your pleasure.

He holds you through it, his grip firm, grounding you as aftershocks pulse through your limbs, your forehead dropping against his shoulder as you gasp for breath. He presses kisses against your temple, murmuring something soft, something soothing, as your body slowly relaxes.

A breathless chuckle slips past your lips, the sheer intensity of the night catching up to you in waves of pleasure and disbelief. Dean’s chest rises and falls beneath your fingertips, his own breath ragged, but the moment you shift—just the slightest roll of your hips—the thick, aching fullness of him still inside you sends a fresh pulse of need through your body.

Dean feels it, too. Feels the way you tense, the way your breath hitches, the way your fingers dig into his shoulders like you’re already chasing the next high. A knowing smirk tugs at his lips as he nips at your throat, his teeth scraping over the sensitive skin before he murmurs, voice dark and commanding, “Take what you need, baby.”

And you do.

You plant your hands against his chest and begin to move, slow at first, savouring the stretch, the delicious drag of him inside you. But the hunger is insatiable, your body greedy after being tormented all night, and soon you’re riding him hard and fast, chasing the fire coiling tight in your core.

Dean groans, his head falling back against the seat, hands gripping your hips tight, guiding you, grounding you. His mouth finds your pulse point again, sucking dark bruises into your skin before trailing lower, his lips hot and wet as he tugs the top of your dress down, wrapping his mouth around one stiffened peak. The sensation sends another shudder through you, your hands yanking at his hair, scratching down his shoulders as you use him for everything he’s worth.

His grip shifts, hands sliding lower, grasping your ass in large handfuls as he helps lift and pull you down onto him with each thrust. The Impala rocks with the force of it, the windows fogging as heat and desperation build between you. Every thrust, every roll of your hips, sends you higher, closer, faster.

“That’s it, baby,” Dean pants into your skin, his voice thick with raw desire. “Fuck, look at you—so goddamn perfect, taking me so well.” His fingers dig into your flesh, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your throat. “You were made for this—made for me.”

A shudder rips through you at his words, your nails sinking into his shoulders as you chase your release, the thick stretch of him hitting you just right.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he urges, his breath hot against your ear. “Be a good girl and cum for me again. Let me feel you.” 

Your body locks up, a sharp gasp punching from your lips as you shatter again, muscles clenching tight, waves of white-hot pleasure ripping through you. It’s blinding, overwhelming, your mind going blank as you tremble in his arms.

“Fuck—yeah, that’s it, baby,” Dean groans, his grip tightening as he thrusts up into you, chasing his own release. “So tight—so fuckin’ good—”

A strangled groan leaves him as his grip tightens, his hips snapping up into you one last time before he spills deep inside you, his whole body shaking beneath yours. His face buries into the crook of your neck, a choked whimper escaping against your skin as he pulses inside you, holding you as tightly as you hold him.

For a long moment, neither of you move, both spent, hearts hammering against each other. Slowly, your breathing evens out, the haze of pleasure fading into something softer, something warm. Dean presses a lazy, open-mouthed kiss against your shoulder, then your jaw, then finally your lips—slow, lingering, tender.

A quiet hum rumbles in his chest as he cups your face, fingers stroking over your cheek. “Damn,” he murmurs, voice rough, smirking against your mouth. “Think I might’ve killed you a little.”

You laugh, shaking your head, utterly blissed out. “You wish.”

Dean grins, pressing another slow, lazy kiss to your lips, his thumb brushing over your swollen and lipstick-smeared bottom lip as he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes are dark, still burning with something insatiable, something dangerous.

“Good,” he rasps, voice thick with promise, his hands gripping your waist, rolling his hips just enough to make you gasp. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

A shiver runs through you at the sheer hunger in his tone, at the way his fingers flex against your hips, holding you there like he’s not ready to let go. His eyes drag over you, dark and heavy with intent, already mapping out the ways he’s going to unravel you all over again.

The night was far from being over.

AN: In these last couple of fics, I don't think I've written this much smut in all my writing life! But it's with Dean so I enjoy it too much 🤭. I hope you guys liked this one? It was a new thing for me to explore. If you guys want to see any specific kinks between these two, feel free to suggest any 😘

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @cevansbaby-dove @shadysoulangel @piptoost @star-yawnznn @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27 @idontwannabehere7 @maddie0101 @kr804573 @shadysoulangel @mrs-nesmith @zepskies @ohheyguyss @suckitands33 @ultimatecin73 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @arcannaa @aylacavebear @bobbdylann @waynes-multiverse

[vad-hander]

MY SURGICAL SOULMATE

pairing: Johnny Suh x reader

genre: hospital!au, fluff, smut, some light angst, co-workers to lovers, Johnny is a doctor, y/n is a nurse, happy ending

warnings: language, sexual content (sex in a hospital, nipple play, unprotected penetration, thigh riding), mentions of surgeries and emergencies (nothing graphic)

words: 9k

synopsis: you have a perfect synergy with Johnny, whether it's you two matching each other professionally in OR or giving each other exactly what you need in bed. You click with each other in every aspect of your life and after one of your successful shifts together you realise you're ready to ask Johnny for the next step. Johnny's answer, though, flips around your outlook on the future of your relationship

______

You stepped into the hospital cafeteria, the scent of freshly brewed coffee immediately hitting your nose, mingling with the faint scent of antiseptic that seemed to always linger in the air anywhere you went within the building.

It was early morning, chatter of nurses and doctors filing the area despite the early hour, creating the backdrop for a very long shift ahead of you. As you entered, you spotted Johnny sitting at a corner table, a steaming cup of coffee in hand and a playful smirk on his face. He had already spotted you at the entrance, and by the look on his face he wanted you to join him.

“Hey there, early bird!” he called out, the teasing was palpable in the tone of his voice. He gestured for you to join him and you let him know with your gestures that you'll get the order and walk right to him. You ordered an iced americano, as you've already had your daily portion of wake-up coffee at home. Your eyes focused on Johny's cup of obviously hot beverage.

“Hey, sleep-deprived night owl,” you teased as you slid into the chair across from him. The warmth of his smile made your heart flutter in a non-colleague way. You shook the feeling away, taking a sip of the sweating drink in your hand. “Night shift?“

“Uh-huh, and about to rock through another one of those tonight. You?” he asked, sipping on a cup of just black coffee. Knowing Johnny, you were sure he asked for a quadruple shot of espresso or something like that to add to his drink. Johnny needed all the caffeine in the world after a night shift. You knew that like no one else did and more importantly you were absolutely on his side with that one.

“I got here 20 minutes ago. Night shift tonight, tho.” you added the second sentence with nonchalance so fake, you were actually embarrassed to look Johnny in the eyes for a second. You were sure he read through you already.

"Guess tonight won't be much of a torturous night, then.” both his brows raised as a suggestive smile adorned his face. You were supposed to keep your face straight. You even tried to force the corners of your lips downwards - it didn't help. You put your lips around the straw and looked at the table, leaving Johnny's words to hang in the air.

“Any important plans for today? Save a few lives? Go on a coffee run?” he asked, a glint of mischief in his eyes letting you know he didn't actually expect any response from you. His main goal was to make you smug, and he succeeded, ready to move on with his small talk.

You chuckled, taking a sip of your coffee. “A bit of both, I think. And definitely saving you from another awful cup of cafeteria coffee. I'll make sure to get you Paik's during the break.”

“Oh, I kinda was developing a taste for this dark substance,” he replied, feigning pain in his chest. ”You're the best, tho. I'll appreciate that.”

You smiled, basking in the easy banter that danced between you. "I hope I'll be able to appreciate your payback also." you took it a small step further, sinking in his proud smile. Johnny always appreciated people that were able to match him - whether it was in the OR or at the cafeteria or in his bed. You had enough time to learn that and bring him occasional satisfaction with your comebacks in all the right situations.

As the sun beamed through the ceiling window, landing on the side of Johnny's face, your brain couldn't help but fantasize. Moments like these, when the Gods above or some other power allowed you two to just sit and chat, have a little break before surgery calls and emergency after another emergency come one after another, these moments of just the two of you felt like a precious gift for you.

You watched Johnny take a sip from his cup, not being able to stop yourself from imagining how mornings like this could be a very normal routine for you two. How coffee dates before shifts, your laughter in unison echoing against the walls of the hospital can be your norm. How instead of coming in separately, you could just get to the hospital in one car, walking around with your fingers intertwined, giving support to each other. Having lunches together, leaving for coffee breaks with your team, having Johnny on your side. Taking the scrubs off at the end of a long day and basking in each other's presence until you're ready to go back home and hold each other in your sleep. You envisioned weekends spent in cozy cafes, playful debates over which pastry was superior, lazy afternoons where you would curl up together with books, both of you lost in the words, but still making sure to give each other a little sweet touch.

But for now, this was all just a dream, a fantasy tucked away in the depths of your heart. You merely smiled as you enjoyed the present moment. You maybe were taking the slowest baby steps in history of baby steps towards this life, but given your insane schedules, you were moving with super speed. As long as Johnny found comfort in you - you were happy, because he was your comfort. For the past year he's been all that and more. Gentle, polite, understanding and caring. Love and all those relationship things, duh, they obviously lacked - but if he chose you every time for a whole damn year, it's pretty clear those things could also come. With time.

Suddenly, the intercom crackled to life, cutting through your reverie. “Attention all staff. Code Blue in the ICU. All available personnel, please report immediately.”

The lighthearted atmosphere shattered, replaced by the urgency that came with the call to action. You exchanged a glance with Johnny, both of you instantly shifting into work mode.

“Looks like we’re up,” he said, standing and offering you a hand. You grabbed onto it, as he pulled you to stand. As you wondered if he'd maybe planned to drag you by the hand, he let go and grabbed both his phone and wallet.

You also collected your belongings, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you rushed toward the ICU. The two of you moved around the hospital sharing glances as you navigated through the chaotic environment. You had spent countless hours together, and the unspoken understanding between you was palpable. You could anticipate each other's movements and were about to prove that on a patient. Every shared look and gesture felt like a language of its own as you worked in unison your magic. People in your ward knew that you were like a perfectly tuned mechanism when it was about an emergency, they found pleasure watching your duo get work done with high professionalism.

Johnny's fingers pressed against the elevator button about twenty times at once, you held your breath, only taking one in as the door finally opened.

As you arrived at the patient’s side, you fell into the rhythm of the urgency around you. Johnny getting you to work the second he got to the patients bed.

“Y/n, can you stabilise the airway?” Johnny asked, glancing over at you standing at the bedside. “We need to intubate immediately.”

“Yes, Dr. Suh. I’m on it.” you replied, your hands steady as you prepared the intubation kit, the familiarity of the routine comforting your brains in this chaos. More nurses ran into the ward, ready to provide immediate help. Nurse Kim forced passersby out of the ward, stopping people from peaking. Nurse Kang stood with panic in her eyes, moving her head at the exchange between you and Johnny.

“Make sure we have the suction ready,” Johnny instructed, his eyes never leaving the patient. “Their breathing is shallow, and we need to clear any obstructions fast.”

“Got it,” you said, your voice steady. You glanced at the monitor. “Heart rate is dropping—currently at 40 bpm.”

Johnny’s brow furrowed. "Grab an epinephrine syringe. We need to get the heart rate up.” Johnny addressed nurse Kang, Seulgi seemed to be affected by the emergency, not giving a reaction to what Johnny said. “Nurse Kang, prep the epinephrine!” he called out with a bark. She finally unfroze and rushed to get the adrenaline. Johnny seeing her in action turned his focus back to you. “Nurse Y/N, how's it going with the airway?” the tone of his voice got back to collected steadiness.

“I’m almost there, just a few more seconds,” you replied, your voice also steady, Johnny's presence and confidence in what you were doing gave you enough to stay calm. Seulgi was on her 6th month of work - if you were her, you'd probably also freeze at the sight. You made a mental note to comfort her afterward - Johnny wasn't a villain - he just wanted people on his team to put in work to save his patients.

“Make sure to keep the head tilted back and chin lifted. Let’s get the tube in hand,” he instructed, positioning himself near you - to assist if necessary.

With a deep breath, you inserted the laryngoscope, carefully visualizing the airway. “I have a clear view. Preparing to place the tube,” you said, your focus unwavering.

“Good work, now do it smoothly,” he coached, instinctively placing a hand on your shoulder for support. “Let's start with just one smooth motion” his fingers dropped from the shoulder down to your waist. You felt a wave of heat run over your body. Johnny didn't really make moves on you during work or generally in public. This felt weird and out of place despite making you all flushed. You shook his hand off before anyone noticed.

You shook his hand off because he was making your hands unsteady, and you weren't about to risk someone's life because of a man.

“Got it,” you affirmed, reassuring yourself as you advanced the tube into position. With a practiced motion, you secured it and connected the ventilator. “The tube is in place and confirmed. Starting ventilation.” you vocalised your actions like you were in the OR a very handy habit when you worked in a team.

“Excellent,” Johnny said, glancing at the monitors as they began to stabilize. “Ventilation settings are good—let’s keep an eye on those vitals. How are we looking?”

“Heart rate is rising—now at 60 bpm,” you reported, relief washing over your voice.

“Good!” Johnny instructed your colleague as you cleaned up the mess you made in a rush, not focusing on his instruction.

“Fluids are going in.” you announced.

Johnny nodded, pride evident in his tone. “We’re not done yet, Y/N. Prepare to move to surgery. They're not stable enough to hold here.”

You looked up at him, and the intensity in his gaze confused you. “Sure, Dr. Suh.”

“Okay, nurse Kang. Prepare the surgery room!” Johnny commanded. You realised he wasn't addressing you.

-

It was a long and intense surgery, but the two of you proved once again what it meant to be compatible colleagues, each of you knowing exactly what the other needed without having to say a word. It was in moments like these that you felt truly alive—adrenaline pumping blood in your chest, the connection deepening between you and Johnny with every passing moment.

When the surgery was over, you were dragged into another one right after you sat your butt down for a break. Right after your daily nurse routine you were once again in OR because quote - Johnny could only bare another surgery for the day with you in his OR. He was tired and mad over his previous surgery, he needed you for things to go smoothly. And you could never say no to that. You were a sucker for being needed by Johnny Suh.

So when that surgery was finally over, you felt a rush of relief wash over you. You stepped out into the quiet of the hallway, your shoulders unwinding as the tension lifted. You were finally, hopefully, free for the night. You found yourself back in the staff lounge, settling onto the well-loved couch in the corner of the room. You were hoping to have a calm rest of the night, just fall asleep and wake up in the morning, when you'll be dismissed to go on your merry way. But first, sleep.

“Insane day, huh?” Johnny quipped, leaning back against the couch, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. You've dreamed of moving somewhere calm for the past three years, but you had exactly the same face expression. You were exhausted, but you were happy with the work you've done today.

You chuckled, the exhaustion hanging in the air “Yeah, one more not that bad of a day in our ridiculous ward. You were great in OR,” you replied, warmth flooding your chest as you felt Johnny fold and rest his head in your lap. You touched his shoulder, your fingers running over his arm in a soothing motion, swallowing a gasp as your fingers trailed his bicep. It felt like saving people made his muscles grow bigger by night.

“Thanks, but what makes me look great is a good team. Today has proved once again I can only trust you in this hospital.” he said, his tone sincere, something lingered behind his eyes that made your heart flutter.

"Shush." you covered his mouth with your palm.

"Should I confess?" he moved your palm away, gripping onto your fingers and you gave him a barely-there nod. You were expecting some sort of banter out of his mouth. "My 48-hour shift kinda washed away by your magic touch. If you want to-." he sat up, changing his position so he'd sit facing you. Johnny's palm cupped your face, and as he caressed your lower lip with his thumb - all tiredness washed away from your body also. "I could close my payment for today's Paik's?" you opened your mouth to shoot some flirtiness back at him, but his thumb was in front of your mouth and you simply gave his finger a lick instead of an answer.

Johnny pulled you onto his lap within the same moment and smashed his mouth against yours. Fear of being interrupted either by another blue code or a colleague made your mouths move faster. As Johnny got you onto his lap, your mouths already were exploring each other's tongue. His fingers raised the scrubs up your body with a confident movement, he had no time and energy for teasing.

Johnny's focused gaze sent a flutter through your chest as his fingers danced across your breasts, and you felt a shiver run down your spine as he approached your nipples with his tongue, bending his back in a ridiculous angle. His lips grazed your tender skin, fanning his breath over previously touched areas, making arousal drown your panties.

Johnny's mouth continuously send rushes of pleasure through your body, washing away post-OR tension. He knew damn well nipple play made your body relaxed, helped you to unwind and forget about blood and bruises you saw behind that door. Johnny made sure he could ease you down even in the shortest time he was given. Today and always.

His mouth was soft yet firm, knowing just how to coax pleasure from your body. Your nipples peaked under his touch, responding to his action. Johnny's tongue suddenly felt cold as blood rushed to your sensitive bud. As Johnny worked his mouth over your chest, your thighs subconciously rubbed against his. You felt the bulge in his pants grow heavier, making it harder for you to keep the pace and keep at least a small fracture of your brain sane. You felt like you could quite literally rub both of you to release.

Johnny whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "Just relax, let me take care of you." You gripped onto his shoulder, you loved it so much when Johnny was caring for you like that. You loved so much how he paid attention to your bodies' response. You slowed down with your hips, allowing him to take the lead in your pleasure. Johnny sucked in your nipple, your nails gripping onto his nape. His tongue played with the swollen bud, while his lips were giving pleasurous pressure. You tilted your head backwards, enjoying the care Johnny was giving you.

You loved all the things he did to you and for you, but for a funny reason it never crossed your mind to tell him that out loud. Tell him you loved him taking care of you. You loved that he cared. You loved him. God, this was such a forbidden territory. And absolutely unrequited also. The only reason you held back in talking feelings, was Johnny's absolute indifference for such a topic. And also because you never before felt that determined to have him as your boyfriend.

Johnny's mouth moved in a slow, rhythmic pattern. The sensation was exquisite to you, and it took your breath away and made you think even more how you genuinely never let him know how you felt about him besides fucking. How you never told him that recently you were in extra good mood whenever you had a shift together. How him not replying to your messages was driving you insane. You only told him praises when he was balls deep inside of you. You told him how good he felt only when his tongue was drawing eights over your folds.

He never did that either, but in the very moment it felt like the most insane realisation - you and Johnny did not appreciate enough each other in your ordinary life. You felt an inching wish to change that inside of your heart now.

You tried to block in your head the fact you almost never communicated or met outside the hospital. By almost you actually meant never, because you were trying frantically to remember when you saw him last in his casual clothes outside hospital walls and the answer was nearing to a never. Maybe you just couldn't remember in the moment, your focus on Johnny present in front of you. His attention shifted to the other breast and it was hard for you to focus on anything. Your only focus were Johnny's lips, skimming across your skin, making you melt in him completely. It was as though he had put in effort into studying the intricacies of your body every time he saw you naked, you were convinced he mastered the delicate balance of pleasure and anticipation you enjoyed.

Johnny murmured, his voice low and husky. "Your body is incredible." You looked down at him, your eyes meeting.

Johnny smiled at you, licking into your mouth for a brief moment. His arm wrapped your waist, lifting you with just an arm to pull your pants down with the free one. Your arms were in his line of vision, trying to hold onto his face and lick into his mouth, while Johnny worked hard to return the kiss, but also tried to free himself from the material of his own pants.

As he was able to do so, you felt his cock spring up against your thigh. Your fingers wrapped around him blindly, your hand working him with just enough pressure to make it pleasurous for him. You smoothed pre-cum over his length, Johnny's mouth making a puffing sound as you squeezed your fingers around the tip. He didn't need your stimulation, he was hard and heavy in your grip as you continued.

You had no intention on stroking him for long, you needed Johnny inside of you immediately, rising to your knees and guiding him to your entrance. As you teasingly slid him against your wet folds, covering him in your juices, you almost lost balance at how good even that small action felt. Johnny gripped onto your waist, holding you in place as you continued to torture both of you.

You lined him up with yourself - letting go of him to wrap your arms around his neck and make your mouths also line up. Johnny moved his second arm to your waist - gripping onto you before you were ready to take him inside of you. Your mouth opened, you took your tongue out and licked Johnny's mouth, sinking down at the same time.

His arms immediately rearranged, helping you up and down his length in the pace that felt comfortable to kick off the intercourse. He did make you wrap around him pretty tightly with no stretching beforehand, but he was a little too obsessed with that feeling and you loved seeing his eyes roll back in pleasure. Johnny allowed for you to adjust, before he smashed you against him, as his patience wore thin and his wish of chasing his high overpowered everything else. Your mouths continued teasing each other, licking and sucking, adding up to the pleasure that was building where you connected.

Johnny's arm moved to your face, his fingers holding your face in place, as he lifted his hips up to meet you halfway, making sure he's able to watch your eyes roll to the back of your head with each thrust of his hips.

You came up with a rhythm, moving in unison, your hips making a motion towards him in circles, Johnny meeting you halfway with a nasty slap of skin on skin. His arms moved positions once again, gripping onto your butt cheeks. You knew he needed to make sure you were feeling all of him, he needed to fill you up completely, make sure that he angled you right, making sure that he was hitting your uterus.

"Fuck, Johnny." you moaned as he let go of your body, resulting in him nestling deep inside of you. You felt immediate pressure in your lower stomach, grabbing Johnny's now free hand before he began to move again. You pressed his palm over your pelvis, knowing for sure he could feel himself pressing inside you from here. The pressure in your stomach was borderline uncomfortable, but you would endure it for hours, knowing how badly it send Johnny into oblivion.

"Fuck." Johnny moaned, making a little move, keeping the hand accurately on the same spot. You lifted yourself up, sinking down in the same angle and feeling exactly the same pressure as before, Johnny's hand holding on to your abdomen to make sure he didn't imagine the feeling. You sure knew he didn't, he felt that handful of times, but every time his sex drive was through the roof after feeling himself squeezing down your organs. "Fuck." he repeated himself and moved.

"You're filling me up so good, Johnny, no one does it like you. You are so fucking perfect. God." you moaned in his ear. Your heart pacing like you needed to get in ICU.

_

Schedules worked in a funny way. It's been a week since the last time you've had a shift with Johnny and you missed him terribly. Right when you wanted to talk with him about your relationship and ew, feelings, you were separated. Almost like gods above told you to reconsider your decisions. But who were you to listen to advice.

The week helped you realise and reconsider - you needed to confess, you needed him to know, otherwise what was the point of this relationship? If Johnny wanted you in that way, he should be wanting you in other ways too. Or else, maybe you should annul the arrangement? The mere thought made your palms sweat. You had 7 very determined evenings to work out within your system whether you loved the man for sex or you loved the man because you loved him. You were certain it's not true love - but a very nearing experience at least. You had to if not confess - at least ask him about his feelings. Both of you have been virtuous in ignoring any and all sorts of conversation that would have you two making any sort of agreements and and any conclusions about this thing you were in. You were busy, Johnny, probably, even more so than you. There was no urgency to sit down and consider your feelings. Until the very recent week, obviously.

The day finally fell upon you. You clocked in, seeing Johnny's name two rows above yours as you filled in the needed paper work. You were back at the hospital for another night shift with Johnny. While the fact brought thrill down to your core, your feelings pressed heavier in your chest, washing away all excitement. You feigned confidence in front of a mirror in the elevator, but seeing his name so close to yours made it hard for you to swallow, drawing out scenarios of you bringing up the topic.

You weren't scared. You were purely nervous because you were either about to become a very happy taken woman or get your heart broken by the hottest man you've ever met. And being heartbroken at work wasn't on your list of to-do things for today. Or ever.

You glanced over at Johnny through the glass door, he was engrossed in a case file, the familiar warmth curling in your stomach despite the nerves. His handsome features focused and determined, as the patient continued their story, probably giving Dr. Suh details on their symptoms. You couldn't hear through the door. Johnny moved his gaze back on the patient, his head nodding rhythmically, while the nurse next to him wrote down a few things into the patient's file.

Johnny moved his eyes to the door - probably noticing a figure standing for a long while with no movement and wanting to shush them away. You raised your hand up, giving him a little wave as a hello. Johnny gave you a wink, his smile showing off his perfect teeth. As his eyes lowered back to the patient, the smile faded, his mind going back to work mode.

You bit onto your lip and walked away. Johnny wouldn't break your heart. He clearly has a thing for you, too. You convinced yourself, mood rising up with a click of your finger. Walking on that cloud of confidence, you felt like nothing could bring you down today. Not even those scheduled back to back surgeries.

“Been a little while since we had a shift together.“ Johnny bumped his shoulder with yours, giving you a little shock as he approached you from the back. "Thought you weren't big on the wending machine coffee?" he questioned your choice as you leaned to get the cup from the machine.

"Beggers can't be choosers." you took a sip and crinkled your face. "Nurse Kim had to leave early, something happened with her son at school, no one could cover for her. Automatically I had to take care of both her and mine patients. No time for a coffee run." you walked away from the machine with Johnny by your side.

His hand fell onto your shoulder, you raised your head to see his face - what was the intention behind that touch? There wasn't any, you could tell by his face. Just a neutral smile plastered on his face. "I seem to be quite free tonight. Want me to help with left patients? Or I could run to get you a coffee."

"Can't make a doctor do the nurses job." you couldn't even imagine Johnny putting drippers for patients. It's not like he can't, but you were sure chief of your ward would get you fired the same moment he sees Johnny do your job.

"Okay-" Johnny clearly wanted to suggest the coffee run.

"Also can't make a doctor run errands for me. Thank you, though." If he was the boyfriend, though-. You wouldn't mind him doing that.

"Think of this as me running for a coffee for myself. I also haven't had a good drink because of you." His lips made a little pout, and you couldn't hold back a thought how kissable those lips looked.

Your brains fogged and you agreed immediately. You can't say no to a Johnny that begged to take care of you. "If that's the case. I'll have an iced Americano. I'll transfer you the money, thanks."

Johnny's mouth got closer to your ear. "It's okay if you'll pay me back with the payment I usually make. You're on the night shift, right?" his brows raised in a playful manner.

"i am, but I also may be dead tired after tonight." you raised your brows matter of factly. You weren't sure you'd be able to give him anything tonight, if he won't ask for cuddles. And he won't ask for that.

"I'll ask for 5 shots of espresso, then, for your drink" you chuckled, Johnny letting go of you, speeding up to get the coffee. "Wait, did you also not have any lunch?" you shook your head a no. "What would you do without me?" he shook his head dissaprovingly and walked off, making your heart tremble.

"Are you the nurse?" an old lady asked you, taking you out of the trance.

"I am." you gave her a nod, the brows furrowing confused.

"My neighbour snores so loud I can't even-" you began to nod, walking the lady away from the corridor.

-

"Special delivery for the best nurse in this hospital!" Johnny announced, not even 30 minutes later. You were filling in some patients files, other personnel minding their business next to you, before Johnny's voice silenced all the other noises in the corridor.

"Who would that be?" Nurse Lee smirked, you wondered if she hoped that was her.

Johnny snorted, laying his palm firmly on your shoulder. "My surgical soulmate, obviously." You wondered if someone in the hospital had a clue about the nature of this relationship. Besides truly being totally compatible work-wise, of coruse.

"Thank you." you smiled, not paying much attention to the man. You were hoping he'll put the coffee cup next to you and leave. But he didn't and you had to actually raise your head to see. "What's that?" your brow furrowed.

"Special delivery?" he smiled teasingly. You wondered what was up with this sudden burst of friendly affection in public. Did he miss you? Did he also had a change of his heart and wanted you two to date?

"Yeah?" you nudged him to continue that sentence.

"You didn't get to have your lunch, I brought you lunch." he announced loud enough for the personnel surrounding you to hear that, also adding in a brow movement. I'm a very nice man, you see.

You clearly felt astonished. That did not sound like Johnny at all “You did?“

“Well. One more question and it's going back with me." he jerked back a little with a threat. You didn't feel like risking your food. You straightened your back and looked at him with polite eyes.

"Thank you, doctor Suh." you made up a smile and reached for the bag in his hold. With utter respect for the man in front of you, you reached with both your hands firmly, adding a little bow as you expected him to let go of the bag and let you finish work in peace. You had to make sure people noticed the two of you being strictly professional, surgical soulmates. And surgical being the main word, underlined three times.

Johnny pulled the bag closer to himself and made you unsteady on your feet. "Nuh-uh. I have a feeling you won't take off to eat right this second and the food needs to be eaten right now."

"What's in there?" You let go of the bag completely.

"Come with me, I'll let you see." Johnny gifted you a smirk and you flushed. Your eyes ran over the room, people already losing their peak interest in this conversation and carrying on with their duties. Good, because if you were reading between the lines correctly, Johnny was suggesting sex. Even before the sun set? He can't be serious.

You voiced out your concern "Huh?" you cackled flabbergasted.

"Come." Johnny gestured and grabbed your elbow, walking you somewhere else. His office, you later worked out. Johnny locked the door and you started to doubt even more, whether or not he wanted to make sure you ate at all.

Johnny walked over to the table, placing the bag there. As he walked out of the way you also noticed the promised coffee cup.

"You could've just texted that the coffee's at your office."

"And would've waited for you to take it for hours. I needed to summon you right now." Johnny talked with his back to you, until he plopped on the couch, spreading his legs in an unmannered way and looking at you. Was he inviting you?

"For sex?" you asked straightforward. You had no time to tip-toe around the topic. Johnny made a low giggle like you were the most ridiculous person he knew.

"Jesus, for food. I brought you dongaseu, you definitely have to eat it now before it gets soggy." he had a point.

But also, how the fuck did he know you liked dongaseu? "How did you pick what to get?" you asked, walking closer to his table. Your fingers quickly undoing the knot on the bag to dig in.

"You had it maybe 80% of the times we had lunch at the cafeteria?"

"I did?" you looked at his face. If he cared to remember something like that, he'd probably considered you as someone he cared for. If you were someone he cared for, didn't that mean asking him for a next step was a given? Doesn't that mean that maybe now, is the perfect timing?

You sat down, taking food out of the bag and opening boxes. You took a sip of your coffee to have a little energy burst and looked at Johnny who leaned his head against the wall, dozing off into the ceiling.

"I wanted to talk with you." you started off from afar.

"Yeah?" Johnny focused his eyes on you, the tone of his voice soft.

"You know, how w-." a knock on the door interrupted your words. The handle shook a few times from behind that door.

"Doctor Suh?" one more knock. Johnny quickly moved over to the door, unlocking it and blocking the view of who the person was. "The patient, we admitted him today in ward 23?"

"Yeah?" the tone of his voice completely different to the way he asked you.

"He asks for your immediate presence." you could hear the panic in the nurses' voice.

"What happened?" Johnny was unmoved by her stress. Collected and even a little annoyed, you'd say.

"I don't know, he doesn't tell us. He asks for you, he seems out of his mind?" you pressed your nails into your palm to keep your mouth shut. You really had a wish to step in and help. If you would've brought a doctor every time a patient threw a tantrum, you would've been jobless by now.

"Can’t you deal with a patient yourself?" the woman stuttered in reply, Johnny sighed. "I'm coming in a second." he turned back at you, but didn't say a thing, looking back out the door. "You can go. I said I'll come in a second."

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry. Thank you." she bowed out and disappeared.

"Shit." Johnny cursed under his breath, looking at you. You probably looked disturbed, you were ready to drop the food and be of help with your entire being. "I'll come back, just wait for me here, okay?"

"It's okay. I'll come another t-."

"No, hold on to that conversation. I'll return." You swallowed a smile, giving him a nod. "Lock yourself from the inside, just in case anyone wants to bother your lunch." you nodded once again, locking the door a moment after Johnny left the room.

You quickly finished off your meal, sipping on coffee, your back resting against the couch. You weren't big on sleeping during day time even with your hectic schedule but the couch at Johnny's office always had that special power of lulling you. You rested your head on the headrest and maybe you could blame food coma for this, maybe it was just your tired body - you closed your eyes and fell into a sweet dream. Your mind took to your -you hoped- nearest future. You hanging out on this very couch when you had some time for a break. Your body wrapped in Johnny's hold, his fingers caressing your shoulder blade while you take in comfort and steadiness of each other. Your personal little hide out from all that craziness behind the door. You could dream of that for at least an eternity. Knocks on the door took you out of slumber. You dropped your feet back on the floor, focusing on the noise behind that door - if someone else was looking once again for Johnny, or it was him that returned to you.

Knocking repeated, in a comforting thumping of Johnny's fingers, you were sure by now it was him. You quickly unlocked the door, peeking through.

Johnny swept you off your feet - quite literally. He stormed into his office, not forgetting to lock the door behind himself. As you tried to give him space, his arms scooped you in his hold, lifting you up and crossing the room back to the couch. He sat down and sat you on his lap all within a moment.

"Wha-?" you gasped as Johnny's fingers sneaked under you scrubs and held your naked ass. "The sun has not even set, Doctor Suh." you teased, your palms finding their place on Johnny's chest.

"Got scheduled an emergency surgery tonight at nine. Won't be done for at least five hours." his fingers pushed on your skin, forcing your core to slide up his thighs.

"You're not asking me to do the surgery with you?" you pouted, moving your arms to Johnny's neck, to get your faces closer.

"I can't. You said you've already worked for two people."

You cooed, leaning into him. "Why are you so caring? Don't tell me you have feelings for me." you teased, making it painful for yourself. If he'd reply with yes, I do, he'd make your life so much easier. You'll just have to tell him 'I do too' and let him sweep you in a passionate kiss. Your heart trembled a little, as you were expecting an answer.

Johnny closed the gap between your mouths and kissed you. You kissed him back, expecting him to pull back any moment and give you an answer. He didn't.

His fingers traveled up your back, lifting your clothes and searching new skin available with his mouth. Your hips moved a tad bit forward, feeling Johnny getting harder under you.

Johnny's tongue flicked your nipple "You wanted to talk." he suddenly remembered, straightening his back and looking you dead in the eyes, your clothes falling back to cover you.

You were in no mood to talk about your feelings now, when his hard cock was giving pressure to your not any less turned on cunt. You really didn't want to ruin the mood. "Now's not the time." you chuckled, crawling your fingers over his nape.

"Why?" Johnny's fingers kneaded your ass once again.

"I can't keep my train of thought when I'm this close to your cock." you kissed his mouth, hoping the conversation's over.

Johnny pulled you back, his arms peeling yours off of his nape. "My curiosity makes my dick soft. Just tell me." he actually had the audacity to push you off his lap, forcing you to sit next to him on the couch. If only he knew that your next words could possibly turn him off of you for forever. "Is it the hospital?" he asked carefully, seeing you shuffle with your fingers over your lap.

You were desperately coming up with a topic that would not divide your life to a before and after. Nothing was coming to your brain in this forced down from a high panic. "No."

"It's personal, then? Did something happen?" Johnny turned to face you, his knee bumping with your thigh as he moved around. "You can tell, I'll do my best to help you." your eyes finally met his comforting stare. Johnny read your face expression too well, he mirrored your level of worry in concern. His fingers even found yours for support and you wondered if he imagined something terrible have happened like one of your family members died or something worse.

It was, probably, worse. You wanted to know if you had a chance to become his significant other. You wondered if he wanted you besides the sex when your nightshifts matched. "It is, personal. But it's not something bad."

"Okay? You can tell me." he squeezed your palm in his hold. But you were confident it's better to lose any and all physical contact with Johnny to be able to have that conversation.

You moved your body a little further from him, being nervous to an extent where you stood up and turned away from his stare. This way you could imagine you were pacticing this conversation to the wall and not to the very alive and very real Johnny behind you. "Ugh-." you swallowed. "it's about you and I." you sighed and closed your eyes. "We've been seeing each other like this for over a year. Recently, I've found myself needing more. I need more of you, Johnny." you turned around, startled immediately as the man you talked to got in front of you. “I can’t keep doing this—whatever this is between us. It’s more than casual now, and I believe we should be brutally honest with each other. I can’t preten otherwise.” you said, trying your hardest to keep your tone steady.

“I didn’t know you felt that way,” he replied, surprise coursing through his voice, but it was quickly overshadowed by something you couldn’t quite decipher.

“I do. But I feel like it's so complicated. This… whatever we have—there’s so much more at play here than we like to pretend. I realised I feel so much for you, and I can’t keep doing this not knowing if there’s a chance for a future. Something more for you and me.” The admission hung heavily in the air, your heart racing.

He took a moment to respond, his expression shifting. “Y/N, you know I care about you a lot." you had a feeling a but was approaching you. Your heart shuttered before the 'b' left his mouth "but I can’t provide a healthy relationship. My schedule is fucking insane. I can't provide myself with enough sleep, I can't promise you a relationship off the bat. Dating while being a surgeon in emergency ward is an insane job.”

"And I'm not worth of putting in work?" you took a step back. The question was stupid. It wasn't the question you wanted to ask, you wanted to tell him no relationship can be perfect right off the bat. It needed work and you were willing to do that for him. You'd meet him halfway. But instead of all that you spat venom and shut down.

Disappointment flooded through you as you laced your fingers together. You took a deep breath, not being able to hide away your disappointment or the way you wanted to leave the room. This here really didn't go the way you wanted it to. Your heart was working hard to keep pumping blood, to keep you steady on your feet and keep you reasonable. Though it clearly failed with the last part already. You were two adults talking about a casual relationship - you had to keep yourself collected and coldblooded. At least Johnny seemed pretty casual about the conversation. "Jesus, this is absolutely not what I meant. I didn't know you wanted a boyfriend, I never gave you a reason to think of me like that. I thought we were on the same page here."

"I see." you swallowed. It was too hard to keep yourself straight. Your heart was crumbling, your feet giving up on you. Your head? It was just dizzier by a second and you wondered when will Johnny dismiss you. He very much put a full stop to everything that was happening between you before. You just needed to say your goodbyes and take off.

His gaze hardened slightly. “Don’t be ridiculous. We can’t change everything just like that. We’re still young, if you suddenly want to settle, you deserve something better than what I can give you with a job like that.” it stung. His words stung like a bitch and you found it hard to hold back your sobs. You still, though, held them in like a champ.

Despite that, you felt your heart shatter at his words, each syllable landing like a crushing blow. “So, you’re telling me I should just walk away?” you replied, voice trembling, stretching your resolve to the breaking point.

“I'm saying if you suddenly think about your future, you should put a full stop to this and look for someone else. Someone, who can give you their all.” Johnny said, but he didn’t look or sound convincing enough, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice. You couldn't understand why would he drop the most important part - you didn't want any boyfriend - you wanted Johnny as the boyfriend.

A wave of frustration rose inside you, and without thinking, you blurted, “You are so fucking right, I can’t waste my youth on this. I can't waste my youth on you. This feels … empty. You're fucking heartless, I should've guessed that by now. A man that sees so much misery and death for a job can't have a heart.” your eyes closed automatically, holding in tears that were treacherously trying to flood your face.

You turned away, the wound opened wider as you did so, the weight of your words crashing down.

Johnny didn’t respond, and within the silence, you forced yourself to step back into the reality of your relationship. You backed away, tears welling in your eyes. “I can’t do this,” you said quietly, shaking your head. Your eyes trained on the door, your feet already taking you towards it.

“Y/N, please don’t go,” Johnny pleaded, trying to reach out to you. He just told you to go away, and he's already asking you to stay. You felt sick.

"I'm sorry, Johnny, I'm sorry I brought this up. It's better to rip off the band-aid early." even though you didn't rip it off early, it's been a long fucking while of you two living on different planets. You turned and fled from the room.

You rushed through the hallways, every step echoing the finality of everything that had just been said, guilt and regret overwhelming you. You felt his presence behind you, calling out your name, but you weren't sure you weren't hallucinating. Maybe it was just another episode of your wishful thinking. You needed to escape, to reclaim your heart, but you had no chance to do so. You had to stay at the hospital, mere meters away from the man you despised, despite loving so much.

In this moment of pain and clarity, you knew you had to take control of your choices. You could no longer linger in a world where everything felt uncertain. You had to prioritize yourself first, even if it meant leaving what you once cherished behind. Even if it meant avoiding Johny from now on, losing your surgical soulmate. Losing the only reason work never felt too shitty.

As you disappeared into the hospital, going around to check on your patients the weight of heartache sat heavy in your chest. It was a little difficult paving your future and avoiding Johnny. Avoiding him at all costs, begging your friends to switch shifts with you. Trying to avoid him as much as possible when you still ended up in the hospital on the same shift.

You were thankful Johnny gave you space, you felt appreciative when he asked for a different nurse for his surgeries. You felt great even, when those nurses would come out of the surgeries all frustrated with his behaviour. He was always strict and dissatisfied with their way of working. It stroked your ego. Not once did he bad mouth you during the surgery.

Even if you didn't mean a thing to him in that way, he suffered surgery-wise and it made you feel better.

He deserved to feel that.

Rejection stung like a bitch. Even a month later.

-

You were so perfect at avoiding Johnny that at one point you relaxed and rolled with the flow. And that was very much a crucial mistake. "Hey, Y/n? Can I have you for a word?" Johnny's voice sounded like a thunderbolt in the clear sky as you passed down the hospital corridor. You felt confused and then realised you forgot to check who from the surgeon personnel was assigned for today.

You faced him, feigning ignorance. "What is it?" Johnny instead of a reply pushed a piece of paper in your hands. You gave it a look. It was a vacancy in a hospital on the other side of the city for the nurse position. Your first immediate thought made you choke on air.

Did he want you to change your job - what a fucking bastard, you chocked on air once again at the audacity. You almost smashed your palm with the piece of paper against his chest. If he was uncomfortable it's on him to change jobs, not forcing you to give him what he wanted.

"It's a job in planned surgery ward. No emergencies, 9 to 5 on weekdays, free weekend. Well, emergencies do happen, but they're more of once in a blue moon situation. Nothing compared to here." he quickly explained, as your eyes searched the paper with confusion.

"Why?" You asked with a scoff. You wanted to hear the words come out of him and itched to slap him.

"I had an interview there, they're giving me a job offer. I said I'll think about it." Your heart broke in pieces instead. He didn't want you to leave. It was him who was leaving. Not seeing Johnny at work everyday will take a toll on your life. Even though you avoided him for a whole month, it still gave you mental strength knowing you shared a job. You still loved him, despite calling it quits. You blinked multiple times at him to process.

You couldn't work out why exactly did he show off his new hospital to you. Go on your fucking merry way then, coward. You really wanted to tell him just that. If he wanted to see a reaction - you would not give him the pleasure. "Ah-. Why are you letting me know? Congra-" you stuttered, though, not being able to talk properly. It suddenly hit you. Nurse position? He clearly didn't get a job offer for a nurse position.

"I told them that giving my girlfriend a job with me could be a breaking point for my decision." his eyes raised suggestively, you couldn't understand what he was doing. Did he really want to destroy you mentally on his last day here?

"You have a girlfriend now?" you blinked to not cry. You didn't mean to ask it out loud, but since it already came out - you said fuck it. This was officially the worst day in your life. And Doctor Johnny Suh was officially the most cruel man on earth.

Johnny smiled at you, giving you a soft chuckle. "I don't know yet. Her brain seems to be not working this morning."

"What?" you asked confused and then suddenly gasped and closed your mouth with both your hands, letting the piece of paper fall. Johnny bent to get it up for you.

The nurse vacancy in your hands, the hospital move and the girlfriend proposal all hung above your head in a moment. He wanted you to be his fucking girlfriend. Wanted you to move jobs with him. Completely out of the blue decision. Didn't he say he didn't like you in that way? Or you imagined the conversation?

"You let me know pretty clearly you didn't reciprocate the feelings-."

Johnny took a step towards you "I was looking for ways to make some time for you, after what you told me. I haven't been able to sleep properly since then, I realised I needed you more than I imagined. This month completely ruined me, I just wished I could have you back by my side under the title you'd be happy to. I found this job so I could make time for you. I will have actual time to put in work for us. Night shifts are still a thing, especially for nurses. But I will not be in surgery as much, this ward only do them planned. I could pick you up and take you home and spend all the possible time in the world with you, adjusting to your shifts. I realised that I wanted this too. I want you too. I like you too, I want your presence in my life more than it's possible to imagine. More than I imagined I could feel and want." Johnny touched your elbow, so you'd give him a reaction. He caught you after a night shift - you were exhausted and now overwhelmed too. You were so confused as to what was happening, but at the same time so certain you'll go anywhere if that meant being with Johnny. If he wanted you as much as you wanted to go with him. "Ah, you're crying? You're my backbone. How are you crying?" Johnny hugged you, giving your temple a little kiss. You crushed under his touch, breaking down completely and wrapping your arms over his waist.

"Johnny, do you understand that I've loved you for some time now, and I thought I've lost you completely." you sobbed into his chest.

"I know, sunshine. I did think I lost you forever too. I'll never let us be separated ever again, okay?" he gave you a moment to collect yourself. You were overwhelmed with how being sure that you two were done turned into this. "I'll give them a call then, will tell them we're ready to start working when they are ready to take us. Right?" Johnny pulled you back a little, looking at your face and capturing your lips with his as you gave him a nod.

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[shehungers]

this stupid ass site has already eaten my feedback on this once, I do not have it in me to write it all out again, but I'll basically summarize the gist of everything.

overall, this was absolutely phenomenal as far as dark content and dead dove goes. one thing that I love more than those is cannibalism as a metaphor for love—and, man did you fucking deliver on that front!!

my only true constructive feedback that I recommend you go forward with is formatting. writers like us rely heavily on our prose and details for storytelling as opposed to heavy dialogue like others do. in doing that, we often create these massive paragraphs that can come across as enormous, tedious bricks of text that ultimately become too daunting and distracting for readers.

for writers like us, the devil is in the details and our details are the heart and soul of our work. the things we say in them and the language we utilize tend to do most of the heavy lifting. knowing that, it's important to break down your paragraphs for readability and for impact.

a good example off the top of my head w/o going back through the fic is the paragraph where mc and Jonathon meet—exchange a simple pleasantry. I think that entire paragraph could've been broken down a bit to get your point across clearer.

other than that, though I don't have much I can offer you in way of constructive feedback because I think you did a spectacular job!!

one area where I think you really shined the most was with Jonathon's characterization. I don't know much about him, but with how he was written, I could be convinced that you stayed loyal to his canon personality and did it justice. his thoughts, his actions, his madness, his fear, his love all felt so enormously authentic to the story that you were writing that it just felt right, and like he belonged there, y'know?

I think a little snippet where you mostly perfectly portrayed him (to my understanding), really utilized language to give a cohesive picture of his thoughts and feelings and inner workings was here:

—here you can see his analytical side at work, mentioning constricting the blood flow to the brain and mc being ruled by secondary emotions. he is very much trying to rationalize what he's doing, despite how utterly batshit it is to us readers who know better. the fact that he calls it "a mercy" is batshit bonkers and I LOVE IT.

a couple other really good examples of this were the lobotomy scene (which I'll round back to) and how he's convinced what he's doing is the consequence of love and that it's what needed to be done, and at the ending where he's spersed mc's remains out across places that had meaning to them. like, SIR, you're kinda fucking insane in the worst way 💀

a hallmark of effective writing imo is when something can really get to me, really make me squirm and your lobotomy scene did that for me. as someone who writes DC/dead dove, it takes a bit to unsettle, but the language and descriptions that you used for that scene were so fucking visceral, graphic, and horrific that it had me wriggling around and making faces. It was highly impactful writing, gloriously hideous and fucked up, yet you could still fully envision crane's shaking hands and that slipup where the pick went into the brain.

moving on:

—I don't think you could've really described his interpretation of what love looked like to him better than this. It's cruel, ugly, disgusting in what he's doing and how he's thinking, but him regarding all of it softly and tenderly is apeshit wild. the entire cannibalism scene, I felt, stayed true to the idea that "cannibalism is a metaphor for love" with that hunger bringing people as close to one another as they could possibly ever be.

I think the last scene, where he's digging holes to dump MC's remains and he's regarding them all with fondness is wild as well, bc throughout the oneshot, nowhere is mentioned that he's doing things out of fear of being caught (that he confesses to)—but it's more just keep mc for himself. even in the end, it's said he's doing it bc that's what mc would've wanted, to be buried in their favorite places.

Eating the molar at the end was fucking crazy and I am so here for it.

The last thing I have to comment on was actually a paragraph at the beginning of the fic, which I think is perfectly encapsulated foreshadowing, while also divulging the extent of crane's darkness:

The imagery of this is off the walls crazy, simultaneously terrifying but beautiful. demented but entirely intimate. It's probably one of my favorite bits from your fic! I think this was positively exquisite!!

all in all, this was such a remarkable fic, moth! I can see how much it means to you and the effort that you put into it. from beginning to end, it shows that. I think you should be proud of what you achieved with this, because I'll be thinking about this fic for a while now. the powerful language, the visuals, how visceral it all was???? FANTASTIC!!!! 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

If There's No End

Pairing | Jonathan Crane x Reader

Warnings | DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!! MAJOR CHARACTER DE*TH – Reader d*es! ANGST, HURT, NO COMFORT, CANN*BALISM, do NOT read if any of this feels too uncomfortable!! Jon is very, very delusional in this, drugging, lobotomy, established relationship, again - CANN*BALISM. (tumblr wants me to censor this :'] )

Summary | Jonathan reminisces about your shared life and the day you found out his secret.

Words | 2.7k

Notes | Don’t yell at me for this, you’ve been warned! Not proofread, please don’t beat me up.

@kiss-me-cill-me welp, this is the cannibalism fic lmao bon appetit

Jonathan never thought he’d know guilt. But now that he’s hunched over on his knees, digging through the mud with trembling hands, he suspects that this might be it. His vision is still blurry. Has been for the past few hours. The tears have turned his world into a faded, abstract mess, like a child’s chalk drawings that are in the middle of being washed away by the rain. If it had been anyone else, he would have settled for the large dump of hazardous waste behind ACE Chemicals. But not in this case. Never in this case.

Jonathan never thought he’d grow to respect another person, but you crashed into his life with an earth-shattering intensity that nearly made his knees give out as soon as you turned to greet him. Hi. Two letters, one syllable. And it affected him in such a profound way that his ears still burn at the memory. Even during that first fleeting conversation, he felt as if the edges of his person began to become cloudy. Desperate to merge with yours until there was no end and no beginning to the two of you as separate people. Until flesh and bone and viscera were a shared commodity between him and you. A fever dream with the appropriate symptoms. Some nights he woke from a beautiful dream, a fantasy in which the two of you were irrevocably merged into one being. And on those nights, hot tears of disappointment and anger burned so harshly on his cheeks that he expected his sheets to sizzle where the drops fell.

It was love. It had to be. And when the universe finally relented to the prayers and wishes he whispered until his throat became hoarse, his life exploded with color. Fleeting glances and coy small talk managed to bloom into something more, something deeper and more intimate than Jonathan’s analytical vocabulary could ever fully explain. You loved him in a way that was entirely foreign to him. Unconditional and patient. You just… got him. Without even trying to. Your gaze traveled past skin and ribs down to his very heart and soul, and you didn’t turn away. But you didn’t know everything back then. How could you? He was so secretive about everything involving his studies. Sometimes, he couldn’t resist the temptation of monologuing about fear and its shackles on humanity. But that was all he was willing to share with you. He granted you a microscopic detail of the true extend of his passion. A laughably small excerpt of his obsession.

Jonathan never thought he’d know love. But you proved him wrong with every smile, every whisper of praise, every tender touch upon his skin.

He knows how cliché it is to claim that settling down with someone never occurred to him before he met you, but it's the truth. In a life that was filled with hurt and contempt, you were the first to take a chance on him. Undeterred by his sometimes standoffish nature and cold attitude, you pressed onwards until he cracked, revealing the mush that you've managed to melt him into.

A future with you was worth everything he had endured up to that point. The plan was to graduate, find jobs and get hitched immediately. He wanted to put his last name on you, give you a part of himself that you would take wherever you went.

The first two steps were already completed with him getting a PhD and a professorship, that he quickly lost again, somewhere in the middle. Aside from a few mishaps and arguments about his attitude towards his patients at Arkham, all seemed right in paradise.

Often, the two of you would lie awake at night, talking about your future while you played with his fingers. "I'd like to get married in Spring," you said. And he just nodded, already imagining your bright smile when he'd put the ring on your finger. On those nights, the urge to become one often overtook him, and he rolled on top of you to devour you in a different way. In hindsight, he should've told you. Given you a chance to see the true extend of his rotten soul. You already knew so much about him, yet you still wanted a life with him. You often said how much you craved the mundane with him. Lazy Sunday mornings, standing in line to get groceries, gossiping about your neighbors in the quiet part in the outskirts Gotham City that you wanted to move to. He should've told you about the toxin he keeps stashed away in his office, no more than 15 feet behind the pillow you rested your pretty head on.

He didn't dare to think about what could've been. No, he made the right decision. Surely.

He still remembers your wide eyes. The way the color vanished from your complexion as you turned towards him with his mask in your hands. He remembers how wrong the burlap looked, crushed between your beautiful fingers. You asked him to explain, even though you were already tearing up just by looking at him. Jonathan was always convinced that he could read you like a book, but in that moment, he doubted himself. And he panicked. From one second to the next, he lunged at you, putting you into a headlock that constricted the blood flow to your brain, and you wheezed and wailed for him to stop, but he couldn’t. If he let go, you’d let yourself be ruled by secondary emotions. Emotions like betrayal and heartbreak that threatened to overshadow the deep, deep love you felt for him. It was an act of mercy for both of you. So, he held you until your struggling stopped, and your consciousness slipped away. It always takes longer in real life than in the movies. And he cried with you. God, did he cry, soaking your hair with his tears as he choked you into a blackout.  

You were out for ten minutes. Ten agonizing minutes which he used to prepare for what needed to be done. Your happiness was his happiness, so he had to do something to take your mind off of the situation. Or any situation for that matter. He has never done this before, but the thought of desperate measures during desperate times, didn’t give him the opportunity to hesitate. A local anesthetic and a muscle relaxant would suffice, he decided as he rushed to gather the equipment. By the time you came to, he was already straddling your torso, leaning over you with fresh tears in his eyes. As you began to silently panic, Jonathan was quick to try and shush you. Oh, how it hurt him more than it hurt you. The lobotomy set was a Christmas gift from you. A tongue-in-cheek nod to the history of the profession he chose. It was fate. It had to be.

The tip of the ice pick-like instrument felt cold against your eye socket, and he clenched his teeth at the shiver that ran down your spine. His hands were violently shaking already, and your involuntary movements didn’t make it any better.

“Shh… shh… don’t move, angel… It’ll… it’ll be so quick, I promise.”

Another sob wrecked through his body as he lifted the delicate metal hammer.

“You need to try and sing for me, okay? Or hum. Or anything. I need… I need to know when it’s deep enough. Just try, angel. Just try, okay?”

Jonathan’s voice was as shaky as the grip on the instruments. But by God, he had to do this. He had to keep you by his side. His other half, his future, his everything. The vessel of every passion and love he poured into you. You just stared up at him through watery eyes, unable to open your mouth anymore, so you settled for humming. It was a nonsensical melody, a mish-mash of several nursery rhymes without a title. The first strike of the hammer against the orbitoclast caused an incredible pressure to spread in your skull, and black spots settled in your vision as the tip of the instrument breached bone. The crack was nauseating, but you couldn’t even struggle. Jonathan’s breathing became heavy, and he wheezed out a sob that sounded like it came from a dying animal when he saw the blood that began to fill your eye. But he had to continue.

“Just like that. Just like that, angel.”

With trembling hands, he prepared himself for the second strike, but he underestimated the adrenaline that his blackened heart was pumping through his veins. Something went wrong, his sweaty hands slipped off the equipment, skewing the angle of the pick when he hit it. And he hit it hard. Immediately, your humming stopped and turned into stuttered noises. A bead of clear fluid dripped from your nose, rolling down over your lips. This wasn’t blood.

The crushing realization that he messed up caused Jonathan to freeze entirely. Cerebrospinal fluid was leaking out of your nose at a quick rate, sending him into a blind panic. He tried to pull the pick from your eye, causing even more damage to your precious brain. A brain that was meant to love, not hurt. But here you are, wasting away before his very eyes. You’re suffering beneath him like a bird that hit a window in a curious attempt to explore. And you did explore.

Back in his childhood, he once found an injured crow in the shade of the family house. The poor thing was twitching and bleeding, much like you are now. Jonathan remembered the crushing emotions that he felt when he looked at the animal. And he also remembered the feeling when his grandmother put it out of its misery by crushing the crow’s head under her shoe like it was nothing. Like it was nothing. You weren’t nothing, but you still deserved that brand of mercy.

He doesn’t remember how he did it. Whether he wrapped his hands around your throat or injected you with enough muscle relaxant to put you down. In fact, he doesn’t remember much of the first night of complete silence. When he emerged from the blur, his throat felt raw from sobbing, and his eyes were swollen and red. He had left the room that contained your body immediately, fearing that he’d catch fire from stepping into a place that had been consecrated by the death of an angel. Eventually, after he had bitten his lips bloody and used up every tear in his eyes, he dared to face you again. And God, were you still so beautiful. And as ashamed as he was for thinking this way, there was also a positive to this. A big one at that. You would always be his. No one else would ever get the privilege of seeing your eyes or hearing your voice again. You truly belonged to him in every way. And as he stepped over to kneel besides your body and take your hand in his, he actually smiled. It was just the two of you. Like you always planned.

It was a grueling process. To strip skin from flesh, and flesh from bone. But he was patient. Patient in the same way that you were with him. Patient in a tender, saccharine way that made his insides squirm as if he was infested by maggots. But the only parasite inside of him was love. That's how it works, right? You can never truly get rid of it.

Once the bones were clean, he had to step back for a while. The impending loneliness made him stumble into the bathroom to vomit into the toiled bowl. For a good 30 minutes, he sat there. Doubled over and white-knuckling the porcelain. There was no disgust involved. Just fear. God, he was terrified of being alone again. Terrified of truly losing the one thing he couldn't breathe without. And as he sat there, heaving like a dog, he found a solution.

He ate your heart first.

Every bite, every mashing of teeth against teeth was an act of love. He had to pause a few times, chuckling at himself for his choice. How cheesy it was to go for the heart first. But how could he not? Even Jonathan wasn't immune to symbolism. It wasn't about taste or texture. It was about the growing sensation of having his stomach filled. Of having his hunger satiated by forming an everlasting connection with you. You would never be wearing his wedding ring, but you'd be with him forever in a different way. You'd be his until the day that he died. And even then, he hoped, your spirits would be so entangled that there was no way of separating the two of you. Maybe you'll get reincarnated as one soul together.

Over the course of three weeks, he forced himself to consume as much of you as he possibly could, setting the table for two since you were there as well. It always started off tame. He tried to savor the feeling of becoming one, but at some point, his composure always cracked, and he ate your body like he was a starving animal trying to fill the never-ending pit inside of him. The part that hurt him more than anything, though, was crafting a story. In the process of keeping you to himself, he had to ruin your reputation.

It was easy for others to believe. Of course, you would leave Jonathan for someone else. Most people in your small circle secretly never believed that this relationship would last. It was easy to make them believe something they had already expected to happen at some point. In this crafted lie, you went off to live with someone else, far away from Gotham. But in reality, you were always here with him. Beneath his skin that now became your own.

Jonathan never thought he’d feel peace. But now, that he has finished digging this hole in Gotham Central Park, he thinks he’s gotten pretty close. It has started to rain a few minutes ago, but he’s not bothered. In his mind, it’s your doing. Your loving attempt to wash the sin and guilt from his body. Because you know the depths of his devotion, know the intend behind his actions. This isn’t the first hole he has dug since the two of you became one. But it’s the final one. Back when he was confronted with the reality of what to do with your bones, he decided to do what you would want. You always were the romantic in the relationship, so he decided to leave your remains in places that were significant to the both of you.

His hands aren’t shaking anymore, as he pulls the plastic bag that he brought closer to himself. The material shreds quickly as his fingers tear through it, and he pulls it open to reveal the last pieces of your previous body. A tender smile spreads over his face as he reaches into the bag to pull out the bones of your fingers and wrists, remembering how he tore off the flesh and skin with his teeth. Your loving touch would always be with him. Carefully, he lowers everything into the hole he dug before he turns to the final piece. Tears of relief well up in his eyes as he gazes upon the empty sockets of your lovely skull. With the caution and gentleness of a mother setting down her newborn, he places your skull into the earth, whispering promises of everlasting love under his breath. This isn’t the end. Far from it. Once he wipes his eyes with his sleeve, he notices something else. It takes a moment to dislodge one of your molars from your jawbone, but Jonathan eventually manages. The piece of ivory bone almost seems to glow in the dim light that’s being casted by a distant street lamp. It’s your tooth. You share his now, so there’s no need for it anymore. But it’s one last piece of your smile.

And in a final act of completion, he swallows it.

[carylmeanslove]

CAN'T FORGET THE FORGET ME NOTS.

Universe speaking to us about Lukola? or Lukola deliberately choosing the hotel due to their China pattern sending us a message? You be the judge.

The flowers in this China patten look to be Forget Me Nots.

As you can see from my graphic above the China pattern on the Ritz's website looks to be a bit of a different pattern & design. The flowers are more spaced out on the China on their website compared to the room service pictured dinnerware. The rims of the plates are different too. On the website it's a light scalloped edge & there being no scalloped edge on the room service picture. Idk if it's because one being a saucer & the other is a dinner plate.

In saying all that I still wanted to give you guys the tea. 😆 See what I did there. Those of you who know me, know I had to do my floral knowledge thing.

Forget Me Nots

Our lovely pair Luke & Nicola love & respect each other so much. But do you see what else they symbolize?

Remembrance = They remember each other. These two who bring each other up unprompted, in interviews that are about themselves & their careers.

ETA: Luke remembers so much about when he met Nicola. Even things others wouldn't. That shows how important that moment was to him.

Luke remembers Nicola's birthday & has been known to be the first to wish her a happy birthday. No one should count this year because anyone who has any common sense knows that social media means little in real life relationships. When you see each other in person it's not needed in a REAL relationship to interact on social media. Any two people who do it's fake as all get out. The fakest of fake. As fake & performative as NDA Obligation like one particular liking every single post situation we know.

Eternal Love = We know they love each other. They have said this. Eternal love is the kind of love that is never-ending, it's supernatural even. Just like every in our face 'out there' level stuff we see about Lukola. The matching outfits months apart/in different countries, the body mirroring, finishing each other's sentences, the reading each other's minds (Yes, they've said things about reading each other's minds. You don't believe me go re-watch the WT interviews & videos)

Respect = They have shown so much respect for each other. Being a team, backing each other up, standing up for each other even when some in the fandom are hating on the other like after papgate debacle. Correcting people with just plain horrible assumptions like the cake Fondant picture.

Fidelity & Faithfulness = That even though he is having to take A out due to NDA obligations he still looks miserable. Anytime he was or is around A his look screams he rather be away from her, that he wants to be home with Nicola. He still does what he has to do because he remembers why he is in this situation. He fell on the sword to protect the woman he loves. Everything he & Nicola share (IYKYN) is the most important thing to him so he does what he must.

So, all the above along with all the other clues in that room service picture that screams Nicola. Not to mention that the whole photo dump was very Nicola coded. I think this could be added to that list.

For the unaware or unsure about the other items in the picture.

The iPad playing Love Island? Didn't Nicola mention watching stuff on an iPad recently? Nicola loves Reality TV & has mentioned Love Island Kisses when talking about Polin's kisses.

The Pasta? Pasta to which Nicola in the past has asked Luke to bring home for her.

What looks like could be Curry sauce for the French fries. Nicola has mentioned Curry Sauce. Also, French fries are made of potatoes & we know how happy potatoes make her. The excellent spuds they are.

The color of the flowers being blue could allude to Bridgerton & so can the vintage style furniture of this room. Basically, it's a period piece room.

And finally, the one for my nephew who I have talked his ear off about this couple, I must add his personal find. He sees an N traced in pasta sauce on the edge of the plate closest to the camera. N for Nicola.

Also, the pasta plate on the left of the picture @furbs905 on Tumblr, noticed the fork is on the left side of the plate as a left-handed person would lay a fork. I tip my hat to you for the observation, furbs. It makes this whole photo even more Lukola coded due to we know Nicola has had to send Luke photos from her phone to his phone to post in the past due to him not having any. If her camera is the one who took the room service photo, she would have sent it to his phone for him to post it to his account.

So anyway, I am going to wrap this up because it's getting long.

[blueskittlesart]

Can I have your directors insight on your Mipha comic? :0 I'd love to know why you chose certain imagery like the hand holding and head kisses and wounds.........I'm going insane over it 😭 🫶 Ive been a fan of your art for a while now and mipha's my favourite so Im so obsessed with this comic haha

YESSSS 😁 so as previously mentioned ive been attempting to write a mipha comic for a little over a year now, and most of the time what stopped me was the fact that there's SO MUCH about her that I found interesting and wanted to cover. the process for this comic was a little bit different than my usual one in that I actually started with the last few lines "i thought maybe if i loved hard enough, i could stop time / I could freeze you in place as i knew you once / the little boy whose skinned knees were so easy to heal / what a childish thought" and built the script out from there, which thankfully gave me a clear direction to focus on, i.e. wounds/healing and aging. the script also went through a few revisions (the first version was much more heavily based around the word 'pain' which eventually became 'wound' in almost every instance because I thought the imagery of a wound was easier to tie to the other concepts i was working with than a less concrete concept like pain.)

One of the major differences in structure between this comic and my sort of. standard i guess? is the aspect ratio--when i started drafting in my usual portrait orientation, I realized that a lot of the panel compositions and imagery I had in my head were very vertical, which meant I wasn't getting the level of gutter space I felt I needed for my text to have the right impact, which is why the final comic ended up in a landscape orientation! truthfully i'd also been getting kind of bored with my standard ratio--i'm doing a (VERY LONG) graphic novel in that same ratio for my senior thesis right now, and at a certain point the standard panel layouts that look good and flow well with a page shape like that kind of start to bore you. When I changed the orientation of the page all of a sudden everything clicked and the project started being exciting again!

As for the imagery itself, I usually have SOME idea of the imagery i want to use as i'm writing, and with this one the things I knew for certain had to be present were the use of red for both mipha's body and link's blood. you mentioned the wounds--honestly, the heavy focus on wounds and blood was in large part due to color. Mipha's character design happens to be this really striking red, and she also happens to be a character whose story deals very heavily with wounds and blood by virtue of being a healer, so the idea of using the same singular spot color for both her body and the wounds she was healing, inextricably tying up her presence in link's life with the presence of pain, was SUUUUPER compelling to me. (I do also just. really like drawing wounds. which sounds insane but it's true)

the hand-holding and head kisses truthfully weren't something I thought really hard about beyond like, something that was standard to me as a display of affection between children. One of the most important layers to link and mipha's relationship imo is their relative ages and the way in which that changes overtime. When they meet for the first time, they are both fairly young children. Their relationship at that point is what most childhood relationships are: uncomplicated. easy. they fit together without a second thought. Mipha is slightly older than him, but they're in similar enough phases of their lives that it doesn't really matter; they are able to relate to each other intrinsically in that way. I kind of thought about the gestures of affection common in children who are just starting to understand the concept of romantic attraction--hand-holding, maybe the occasional kiss on the hand or forehead, but never anything more intimate. That way, when they grow up, there's an extra layer of longing on top of it all. Now they're both older, but link has matured much more significantly than mipha in their time apart. Mipha still remembers him as the little boy she knew, and that's reflected in the way she treats him. She'll hold his hands and kiss his forehead, but she's completely unable to go any further. their relationship is so fundamentally juvenile that the only way she can picture his body, let alone touch him, is when it's a job for her to do, when there's a wound there that needs healing. She's younger than him, now, so young that her schoolgirl crush seems monumentally silly and immature in comparison to his adult problems, and the only time she ever comes anywhere close to adult intimacy with him is when there are striking, unavoidable reminders of the weight he has to carry literally carved into his body.

[criminallyvenomous]

Star Shaped Scars & Dinosaurs - Spencer Reid X Reader (Part Two)

Part One

I couldn’t help myself but write a part two for this pair! I’m a half-hearted hater of slow burns so it goes straight to date night.

~

The night went surprisingly well for a first date. Spencer had been nothing but a gentleman, buying the popcorn to the Spanish film and complimenting your appearance.

“Y/N!” He called out as you arrived at the theatre, you headed towards him.

“I like your shirt.” He compliments the niche graphic tee, “You look great in general. You always do.” You chuckled at his comment.

“Thanks, Spencer. You look great too.”

By the time the movie was finished and the two of you walked out, you reached for his hand and he obliged. He was grateful for your confidence, due to his lack thereof.

“Can I take you home? You said you took a lyft.” He offered.

“That works with me.” You followed to his car and headed to your apartment. He walked you to your door, again, complete gentleman.

“Do you want to come in? Maybe watch something a little less depressing?” You joked. He nodded, hesitantly.

The two of you sat on your couch as you put on a random episode of a comedy series. You looked over to him and he was already staring at you. He smiled.

“You’re so handsome, Spencer, not to mention hilariously intelligent. I wish you said something sooner.” You admitted, chuckling a little to help limit the anxiety that was evident.

“I was intimidated, if I’m being honest. You’re gorgeous and so talented.” He moved closer to you.

“Can I kiss you?” You asked. Sure, he had considered the possibility of a goodnight kiss, but hadn’t put too much thought into it. He wasn’t even sure that the date would go well.

“Yes.” He responded frankly and you moved even closer to him.

You looked into his large brown eyes and unconsciously smiled. He leaned in and you tilted your head to the right as you connected your lips. He half expected it to just be a peck, something small, but he was utterly intoxicated by your lips on his.

It was a softer kiss with innocent intentions to start, but after a minute or two one of you deepened the kiss to add a tongue. To be honest, you couldn’t tell who did what, but you weren’t complaining. There was such an attraction to each other that had just built up more and more as you continued to work for the team. To even meet his mouth onto yours was unimaginably a beautiful expression of interest.

His hand crept onto your neck and you felt a shock through your spine as his cold fingers met your skin. You placed your hand onto the back of his head, pulling him in closer as the two of you caught your breath.

“You’re amazing.” He let out and you smiled. A smile he could never forget, having seen for the first time months ago and the thought of it plaguing his brain ever since. However, there was nothing like seeing it this close and personal.

“I can’t help but say the same to you.” You kissed him again, lightly pushing your hand through his hair as you interlocked into a softer, but still warm and comforting kiss.

“I think I missed the episode.” He joked as you separated.

“We’ll just have to watch it again sometime.” He nodded, gulping unconsciously.

He had to leave, having to work early the next morning. The team was heading out to the Carolinas, having a new disturbing case.

“When you get back, would you want to do something?” You asked as he was heading out the door.

“With you? Anything.” You blushed as you closed the door.

~

Let me know if you guys want to see anything else for these two! More dates, more firsts? Just shoot me a request lol. Probably gonna write a prof! reid short fic to cope with college sucking lmao.

[buckysgirl27]

Off To War

Part Two

40s Bucky x Reader

Summary: Reader and Bucky are married in the 40's. Hydra captures Bucky and commands him to eliminate them. Can he do it? What will happen to future Bucky with this new information.

A/N: Thank you for all the love❤️ ok the context for this chapter. Y’all might not really like it but I’ve decided to make it slightly more comic compliant. In which Bucky meets Steve at the camp. If something doesn't seem like it's something Bucky would do, like how he dropped out of school...it's most likely I got it from the comics ok? This chapter will be mostly comic compliant. It’ll make more sense for the story I promise!

Trigger warnings: semi graphic war conditions, swearing

You remembered his promise vividly.

He loved you. He was coming back to you.

However, he did say he would write you every day and it had been three weeks and you still had not received any word from him.

You knew what he was doing was important. For Queen and country and all that shit. But that was no excuse. You needed to know he was okay. Especially since you had decided to quit fighting your feelings.

You stared at the ceiling of your bedroom from your spot on the bed. The paint was peeling. If you had mentioned it before he left he would have offered to fix it. He was nice like that.

You blew out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding and forced yourself off your bed.

It was time to start the day whether you wanted to or not.

~~~~~~~~

Bucky looked at the patches on the walls of his assigned tent. He wished it was the four walls of his home in Brooklyn. The home next to you.

He thought about you a lot and felt guilty he hadn't written you yet. He honestly didn't know what he would tell you. What would he say? Hey beautiful, it's awful here. Food is shit, I haven't slept more than an hour a night in 3 weeks and I think I'm starting to get infections...everywhere from God knows what. But I love you...wait for me?

No. He couldn't say anything like that. You didn't need to know about anything cropping up or how bad living conditions were there.

The thing about the war is that they made it sound great to be a part of.

It's noble. A worthy cause. Fight for your country! Be a part of something that matters! Stop Hitler! Join now! Help Captain America!

But it was shit. You get there and you're packed in a small tent with ten other guys. The smell of shit and piss permeating the air. You're lucky if you're not assigned next to the med tents. The smell of the rotting flesh whenever he walked by made him want to vomit.

Bucky rolled out of his cot, joints cracking as he rose. When he was fully stood he rolled his shoulders back and groaned.

He was trained for undercover work as a teenager. Not this. He was good at what he did. Infiltrate, collect data, and occasionally if necessary, take someone down. He didn’t want to do this.

But when you get a letter of recruitment what other choice do you have but to pack up?

~~~~~~~~~~~

You had made up your mind. If he wasn't going to write to you, you would write to him. You knew where he was stationed, that wasn't the issue. You just wished you didn't have to be the one to instigate it.

You grabbed a pen and a blank piece of paper from a notebook and sat down at the dining room table.

James-

You said you'd write every day. You haven't. I hope you're not dead. I don't think you are though. I'd like to think that you'd have had them send someone here to let me know if you were. If not me then maybe mother. Maybe you wouldn't have though. It's been quiet without you. No one around to smack on the back of the head for eating the last of the bread when I know for a fact that he has his own perfectly good loaf at his own house RIGHT NEXT DOOR! I miss the walks in the park, and the market trips. I still haven't forgiven you for knocking me over James Buchanan Barnes. Don't even try to say it wasn't your fault! You know it was! Anyway. I miss you. Stay safe. Come home soon.

-Your Babydoll

You read over the letter and smirked. You knew for a fact he would be defending himself to the men who would be reading the letter over his shoulder when he started laughing at the quip about the market when you first met.

You slipped a photo of yourself inside the envelope along with the letter so he would have something to remember you by. Just in case he couldn't keep his promise.

You quickly slipped your shoes on and left a note for your mother letting her know you were heading to the post office. After all, James was no longer here to walk with you, who knows what could happen. It'd be better if someone knew where you were.

The thought stopped you in your tracks.

Ha. Propriety. Propriety my ass.

He'd get a smack when he got back for making you think you needed a man just to walk to the post office. Even if it was just a harmless passing thought for a split second.

You walked the now slow walk to the post office, across the street, around the corner, two blocks over. You almost bumped into 3 people. Maybe him knocking you over really was your fault.

Before you knew it you had arrived.

"Hello miss. Watcha sendin' today?"

The attendant looked at you with annoyingly bright and eager eyes. She must be new.

"Just a letter."

"Oh ok. To who?"

She really wanted a conversation? Why couldn't she just read the name on the damn envelope? Oh right, you should probably hand that over.

You passed it to her.

"My boyfriend. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes."

Her eyes dimmed. At least she had the decency to show some respect for men on the lines.

"Oh I'm sorry. I'll get this out right away."

"Thank you. That'd be much appreciated."

~~~~~~~

"Mail Call! Johnson, Campbell, Barnes, Sm-"

Bucky's eyes shot open. Barnes? Did he hear that correctly? He'd been gone over a month. He'd never gotten mail.

"Yeah! Barnes! Over here!"

The mail carrier walked over to him and handed him the small envelope.

Bucky traced over the cursive letters in which you had written your name. He grinned like a little kid on Christmas. He'd seen enough grocery lists to know it was your handwriting.

This was a moment that he was glad he waited until later in high school to drop out.

He ripped open your letter and read it quietly to himself.

Of course you still held a grudge about him knocking you over.

"Barnes? What's got you in such a good mood?"

Bucky looked over to one of the men who he shared the tent with, still grinning like an idiot.

"I got a letter from my girl. AND a picture."

The man wolf whistled.

"What kind of picture?"

Bucky glared at him.

"Not that kind of picture, asshole."

Bucky showed him the picture. It was his favorite one of you. You were wearing your sky blue dress with white polka dots. There wasn't necessarily anything spectacular about the dress itself. It was a normal A-line style that any girl would wear when they went dancing. But it was the dress you wore when he took you dancing for the first time. So he loved it.

"Guess she's alright."

The man shrugged and walked away.

Bucky sighed. He had to write back to you now. He had no choice. He tracked down a piece of paper and a pen and began to write.

Sweetheart-

Thanks for writing. I'm sorry I haven't written you sooner. Honestly I didn't know what to say. I miss our walks as well. More than you know. I love you. If I make it out of this I'm going to ask you to marry me babydoll. You don't have to give me an answer now. Just wait until I get back. But I'm going to ask you. Life's too short. I love you.

-James

He sighed. Signing his name as James felt so official. He didn't like it. But you said his nickname Bucky sounded ridiculous. It made him sound like he was a pet squirrel. So to you he was James. Not Bucky. He saw you actually minutely flinch whenever you heard the nickname used by others. Buck was your least favorite.

He was serious though. He was going to marry you.

~~~~~~~~~

You stared at the letter in your hand. Marriage?! I mean you had expected it eventually. You didn't know when but not this soon. Not in 1 and a half months about.

Well. He'd propose in 1 and a half months. Who knows when the big day would be and who you would invite and what you would wear, where you would have it, who would be invited. Your thoughts swarmed like a tornado in your head and you didn't notice your mother enter the kitchen until the sound of the fridge door shutting shook you from your trance.

You snapped your head back to look at her. She looked at you questioningly.

"Is that from James honey?"

You looked back down at the letter that had fallen from your hand into your lap and then slowly back to her.

"Um, yes. Yes it is."

"You don't look well dear. Are you alright?"

You took a deep breath and shook your head.

"Yes. No. I don't know."

Your mother laughed.

"This isn't funny mother!"

She rested her elbow on the counter and her cheek in her palm.

"He asked you to marry him didn't he?"

You stared at her with your mouth open.

"How? What? How did you know?"

She straightened up and walked over to the table and sat next to you.

"I knew you would end up together from the moment I saw the two of you together. It was only a matter of time honey."

"Mother I hated him."

She laughed at you again.

"Who are you kidding? No you didn't."

You glanced at the letter again but this time you smiled.

"I guess I'm getting married."

Masterlist

Taglist:

@goth1c-pinki3-pi3

@svtbpbts

@homiesexual-or-homosexual

@baw1066

@theflowerswillbloom

@lapii

[604to647]

Homecoming (drabble)

0.94K / Detective Tim Rockford x fem!reader

Summary: Detective Rockford returns from weeklong tactical training.

Warnings: Starts a little naughty but ends very fluffy. Soft!Tim, established relationship, lingerie, nicknames per usual (Shutterbug, baby).

A/N: Direct follow-up to Training Days (from The Rockford Portfolio), but can be read as standalone (though it's written as a sort of answer to Shutterbug's emotional call in the previous part).

Dividers by @saradika-graphics / Series Masterlist

As soon as you hear his key slide into the lock, you’re up.  Leaping from your waiting spot of the last fifteen minutes (though one might make the case that you’ve actually been waiting for the past five days) and sprinting to the door, you twist and yank back the handle with a force that stuns the mountainous man on the other side.

And then you climb him.

Taking up the entirety of the door frame, Detective Rockford is barely rocked when your scantily clad body (Is that new lingerie?) slams into his hard chest, but he is amused by the ferocity with which your kitten nails scratch at his shoulders, mark his neck - clawing through his hair as you pull him in to meet your kiss.

Tim’s mouth crashes to yours, his own pent-up frustration at being apart from you for so long unleased as he parts your lips and licks in messily.  You match his hunger – clamouring for all of him with your hands, tongue, moans, trying to make up for lost time.  Tim delivers and devours, meeting every one of your demands for more, more, more until he remembers where you are, “Let’s go inside, Shutterbug.  Don’t want the neighbours to see.”

“Don’t care,” you pout against your detective’s breath, tongue still tangling with his.

Detective Rockford gives your lithe, half naked body a hard squeeze and growls low, “I care.  Don’t want anyone else seeing what’s mine.”

A pathetic whine falls from your lips, but your body sighs and allows Tim to guide the two of you back into the apartment.  The door slams behind him with an aggressive bang as he manhandles you passionately to the living room couch; you fall onto your back, lips and hands still glued to your man, bringing him down with you.

Detective Rockford’s hands endlessly roam, reacquainting himself with what’s his while your body writhes beneath his weight and long-missed touch.  You can hardly breathe between Tim’s fervent, open mouth kisses and the electric sear of his hands.

And then without warning, he’s gone. 

Your eyes fly open in anguish to find Tim hovering above you.  Hands no longer on you but planted on the couch bracketing your head, his chocolate eyes are fixed upon yours as the space between your bodies fills with an expectant pause.

“Let me look at you, Shutterbug.”

You relax and bask in his gaze, studying Detective Rockford as he just looks at you in the simple quiet of the moment.  His expression of lust, so intense only a moment ago, melts into the lines of his face - handsome features overtaken by something more palpable, more powerful.

Surrender.

His capitulation comes without any surprise or reluctance on his part. Tim had long ago happily surrendered not only his heart, but his peace to you; only ever with his Shutterbug does he allow himself to rest, relax - vulnerabilities and insecurities exposed.  You don’t need him to be big, bad Detective Rockford - he can, without reservation, be known, only faithfully himself when with you.  And in your relief and care, Tim knows he is loved unconditionally – he fears for nothing: not judgement, punishment nor abandonment.  His peace lies safe in your protection.  He is safe.  He is home.  Tim longs to return to you over and over. 

And for privilege of your guardianship, he will forever gratefully pay in your chosen currency: devotion, loyalty, tenderness, worship, fierce, fierce love.

Tim doesn’t know if you can read all of this from his expression, but the softened contemplative look on your pretty face and the angelic yet knowing tilt of your head leads him to believe that your heart feels what his own is desperate to convey.

Sitting up, Detective Rockford hauls you gently into his lap, eyes never leaving yours.  Though you remain nearly nude, the charge of the moment has shifted; the previous fire now quelled by the gravity of unspoken emotions, you stroke Tim’s facial scruff lovingly, your countenance now serene,

“You came back to me safe, Detective Rockford.”

“Nothing can keep me from you, Shutterbug.”

You beam upon hearing his familiar oath, “You must be tired after driving for so long, Tim.  Come, let me feed you.”

“Don’t worry about me, baby.  I’m just happy to be home.  We can do anything you want.”

You have what you want: Tim’s home.  With affection, you insist, “I want to feed you, Detective.”

Directing Tim to put his things away and get changed, you grab a long cardigan to cover up and pad to the kitchen where dinner is already simmering.

“That smells good, baby,” praises Tim as he comes up from behind, face now washed and donning sweats, just as you turn on another element to boil some water.

“It’s been reducing for about two hours, so it’s all ready.  After I cook some noodles, we can eat!” you chirp, proud of your domesticity.

Tim looks at his girl in awe – after a long day of your own you returned to the home you keep so well and make so welcoming for him, cooking a delicious meal that took who knows how long.  And you did so not out of obligation or to fulfill some expectation, but out of love?  How the hell did he ever get so lucky?

He curves one hand around your waist and gently turns you to face him - with his other, he turns off the stove.

Confused, you cock your head adorably, “Aren't you hungry, Detective?”

“Yeah, I am,” voice husky, Detective Rockford descends on your perfect lips, prepared to show you just how happy he is to be home. 

“I’m Yours” by soulxscape

[aayakashii]

YOU ALREADY KNOW I'll be posting Valentine's Day themed headcanons for each House in Tokyo Debunker!

All prompts come from this post here ♡

And dividers are from @saradika-graphics 🫶

Taglist: @wannaberecluse

Frostheim | Vagastrom | Jabberwock | Sinostra | Hotarubi | Obscuary | Mortkranken

Valentine's Day in Hotarubi

Subaru

how does he show affection?

He openly tells you (despite his shyness) that he wants to spend time with you. Subaru invites you for afternoon tea every single day, and every single day, he is ecstatic that you are giving him your precious time. If there is a day in which you can't go, he feels like his day is incomplete. Which is why he then started to invite you to spend every lunch together as well. Maybe he should also invite you to breakfast and dinner?

does he like hugs? what are his hugs like?

He likes hugs, but can't ask for them nor give you one of his own volition to save his life. You ask him if he's okay with hugs every time you feel like hugging him, and every time he goes beet red when he says yes. You're gentle when you embrace him, as if he's porcelain under your touch. He hesitantly leans his cheek against your head, and you can feel the faint scent of aromatic herbs on his clothes. His heart slows down; he melts against you.

is he good at flirting? how does he flirt?

He's too anxious for that, which can be endearing in of itself. Despite that, he still makes small comments that take you aback: he turns to you, a small smile on his features as he quietly tells you how much he enjoys your company and how grateful he is to spend time with you. It may not be a planned pick-up line, nor a seductive remark, but it still warms you up all over.

is he good at gift - giving or does he struggle to get it right?

He's great at it. More than anything, Subaru loves to listen to you. He knows every little detail about your personality and your tastes, and that makes him the perfect gift-giver. He spends time researching a way to give you a proper Valentine's Day gift that you would truly love, and he's always successful.

is he quick or slow to give his heart away?

Slow. He knows what's happening – he has read enough books to know some metaphors for love. He knows his racing heart, clammy palms, and blushing cheeks aren't mere anxiety; the pit in his stomach isn't fear nor anger; he isn't sick, he isn't feverish – he's in love. Subaru immediately decides to just bring it with himself to his grave. Why bother? He's hardly worth it. But when you spend more and more time with him, his feelings seem to create a life of his own and choke him, angry that they're being pushed aside and left unsaid. One day, much to his dismay, they win the battle.

does he find ‘i love you’ easy or hard to say?

Hard. But, by the gods, he tries it. He takes it like a challenge to be won. He needs to prove to himself that he can be sincere with you, anxieties be damned. He tries and tries. It gets easier after the first time.

does he get jealous in a relationship?

He does. He's not one to explicitly express his jealousy, but you still can tell from the way he stares, eyes half-lidded and darkened with something that looks too venomous to be only disdain. To anyone else, he might look serious, but you know better: he's seething, a quiet storm brewing under his skin. He stares at the guy that's being way too friendly with you, and if looks could kill, that man would have probably been mauled to death by now. You quickly jog your way back to Subaru, and he relaxes his fists. You intertwine your fingers with his, and suddenly, as if he never knew hatred, he gives you a genuine smile. All is well.

what is his ideal date?

A beautiful, quiet, rainy afternoon at Hotarubi. Every day you visit him is his ideal date. Subaru doesn't like crowds nor does he like leaving his quarters – he's happy to be with you, in his favorite place. That's all he needs.

would he ask the big question or expect their partner to?

He wants to ask. He wants to take the reigns for once in his life and prove to you that you can trust him, you can lean on him as much as he leans on you. He wants to spend his life bettering himself and conquering his fears, so he can become the person he thinks you truly deserve. Let him ask.

how does he feel about valentine’s day?

He remembers he used to receive chocolates back when he was still acting, but they were all giri choco. He never had the experience of living a normal student life before Darkwick, and even then, he barely had any thrilling experience. He doesn't want to create expectations, but he can't lie; he wants to know what it will be like to spend Valentine's with you.

does he get protective easily?

He does, but he's afraid he might be too paranoid. He gives you space, only quietly watching you when he sees you walking through the campus. If he could, he'd just have you walk with him wherever he went. But he can't, so it's yet another feeling he pushes down and tries to smother.

does he believe in true love?

Yes. But he has read so much about it and performed so many plays in which love was at the core of everything that he wondered if true love has to be like that: tempestuous and painful. You're teaching him that it doesn't need to hurt at all.

Haku

how does he show affection?

He lingers. Always at the peripheral of your vision, although distant. He watches you from balconies and windows; finds you in the middle of a crowd and lays his head on his hand, content with observing. Sometimes, you catch his gaze, and he blinks his tired eyes as a smile quirks his lips upwards, thinking of gods-know-what. Don't worry, he'll get closer if needed. You know he always does.

does he like hugs? what are his hugs like?

He likes hugs but won't take the initiative to give them. Doesn't mean he won't be constantly waiting for you to wrap your arms around him so he can wrap his around your waist. Hugging him is always disarming, though – he makes sure to press your whole body flush against his and nuzzles your hair, inhaling the scent of your shampoo with the same eagerness he had when he still took drags of cigarettes. He sighs loudly, perfectly content, and drowns you in his sandalwood scent.

is he good at flirting? how does he flirt?

Please. You know he is. It's actually unnerving how easily he turns you into putty in his hands as he teases you with his unabashed comments. Despite that, his flirting is always laced with a hint of self-belittlement, as he puts you on a pedestal for him, a mere mortal (or so he says), to worship. He isn't sure if he deserves to be flirting with someone that's way too good for scum like himself, but he does it anyway.

is he good at gift - giving or does he struggle to get it right?

He's good at finding small, meaningful gifts that he likes giving to you in the spur of the moment. He might try to give you a more valentines-esque gift, but he genuinely feels like none of it would feel genuine, because he'd just be following a trend, not giving you what he thinks truly fits you.

is he quick or slow to give his heart away?

Slower than most. Haku started talking to you in the same way he always talked to the pretty people in whom he had a sudden interest – he flirted without much thought, all double entendres and sweet pet names. But when he noticed his interest wasn't waning this time – in fact, it seemed like he exponentially needed more and more of you near him – alarm bells began ringing on his head. Did he want to pursue this? Did he think he deserved this? He had to fight a long battle with himself before he could muster the courage to confess to you.

does he find ‘i love you’ easy or hard to say?

Easy, but he only says when you two are completely alone. He says it reverently, like a prayer, looking at you as if you held the answers to all of his problems. And maybe you did.

does he get jealous in a relationship?

Kinda? His jealousy translates into passive-agressiveness (towards the other guy, not you) and INTENSE self-deprecation. He says things like "haha it's okay, I knew it was too good to be true, to have you give me the time of your day..." and it makes you wanna scream and shake him by the shoulders because what the actual fuck is he talking about? (kiss him while you do this and he'll stop sulking.)

what is his ideal date?

He's another festival goer. After all, despite all everything, he still loves japanese culture. He wants the whole cliche: a festival during the night, the both of you wearing yukatas, walking around the stalls while holding hands, getting masks (a tanuki one for him) and eating hearty food. And at the end of the night, he would find the perfect spot for you to watch the fireworks show. Because you bet he would only be looking at you.

would he ask the big question or expect their partner to?

He thinks about proposing every single day, but his mind gets the best of him: he's too much of a coward, and he can only allow himself to dream of a future with you. Which is why you will probably have to ask him and prove once and for all that, yes, no matter how much he hates himself, you still love him more than enough. And you'd like to keep on proving that every day if he allowed so.

how does he feel about valentine’s day?

It's a little bit tiring. He used to dodge all the students that went after him to give him chocolate all throughout high school, so now his Valentine's Days are usually spent in isolation, so he can nap. However, he can't lie: he's kinda looking forward to his first Valentine's Day with you.

does he get protective easily?

Kinda. He's always keeping an eye out for you, checking if you're in trouble or not, but he doesn't pounce at everyone and everything that approaches you. He knows your friends can probably help you too and that you're no weakling. If true danger is nearby, though, he will always keep you safe to the best of his abilities. But otherwise, he trusts your strength too.

does he believe in true love?

Yes. He stopped believing he would know what it is like to feel it, though. Until that one day.

Zenji

(P.s.: in these headcanons, Zenji will be alive because I don't wanna write heavy angst in this series '^^)

how does he show affection?

He is all sorts of loud about his love for you – sings about you, recites poem about you, talks his friend's ears off about you... Sometimes you have to reel him in, because while you're already used to his antics, not everyone has fun when that tall, boisterous man starts playing biwa in the middle of a cafeteria, on a school day. Unfortunately, not everyone has taste, after all.

does he like hugs? what are his hugs like?

He LOVES them, but usually, you have to initiate them. Zenji likes to be as dramatic as possible, so when he sees you, instead of hugging, he straight up kneels and kisses your hand. It's when you roll your eyes and pull him up to embrace him tightly that he finally melts in your arms. He rests his head on the top of yours and sighs happily. (He loves it when you do that, which is why he keeps this routine).

is he good at flirting? how does he flirt?

He's. Actually kinda bad at it. He can write about love as much as he wants, but when it comes to trying to woo you, he's slightly clumsy. He may memorize some charming line he'd love to use on you, but as soon as you look into his eyes, he goes scarlet red and all chance he had to charm you without stuttering is gone. You're still very much charmed, though, because he's oh so endearing.

is he good at gift - giving or does he struggle to get it right?

He's a bit confused, but he got the spirit. He gives you things that he genuinely thinks you might like, but unless you two have the exact same taste in everything (which he firmly believes you do), he might miss sometimes. He likes to give you antiquities, books and old musical instruments. To him, there's nothing more romantic than art itself.

is he quick or slow to give his heart away?

He's quick. It all sweeps him under his feet, as a ferocious wind storm. He doesn't waste any time once he knows that he's in love because why would he? It's a reason to celebrate, whether you return his feelings or not. Your answer will define the tone of his poems and songs from then on, though.

does he find ‘i love you’ easy or hard to say?

It's easy. Being open about his love is so easy to him that it looks like it's natural. He was born to say those words, and he'd be damned not to voice it as frequently as possible to you. He loves you, and he could say that as many times as you'll allow him to.

does he get jealous in a relationship?

Not really. Zenji trusts you so much that he genuinely feels that nothing can come between you two. Of course, if someone is being overly-touchy, he's not gonna like it, but he'll just tell them to respect your boundaries, and then he introduces himself as your boyfriend.

what is his ideal date?

Going out to see a traditional music concert with you would be the perfect evening for him. He gets to appreciate art with you, the one person he wishes to show every little thing he loves. Seeing your eyes admire what he has loved since he was a kid warms his heart in a way he could not put into words, no matter how many times he tried.

would he ask the big question or expect their partner to?

He wouldn't mind proposing first, but he WILL get teary-eyed if you propose to him. It's as if after all of those years of his life, in which he unabashedly loved everything that surrounded him, the love he has put out is finally making its way back to him. Finally, Love decided to prove to him, once and for all, that It loves him back; through you and the promise of a lifetime together, Zenji knows he is loved.

how does he feel about valentine’s day?

Oh he loves it. Love is in the air! He always had so much fun observing the couples and all the brave people that gathered their courage to confess to the ones they love the most! And now he gets to celebrate it too, with the one he loves? He can't wait.

does he get protective easily?

He's a worry wart, but he tranquilizes his anxiety by just. Hanging out nearby, wherever you are. If he can see that you're safe and happy, he's satisfied. But if notices you're not having a good time, or worse, you're in danger, he immediately runs to your side and does his best to tuck you under his arms and run away with you.

does he believe in true love?

If loving so deeply is an art, Zenji is a whole masterpiece. He's true love itself.