#I’m probably not going to actually give it to her.

[alinathinkstoomuch]

Heels of Dreams

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader summary: you wear heels for a fancy dinner, but in the end, it’s not your shoes that carry you home. warnings: suggestive, fluff, hotch being the perfect man once again by carrying reader home and taking off her heels, age gap implied, reader giving hotch a hard time about being old. (all i hear is hotch is a boobs man, hotch is an ass man no! hotch is a legs man! he told me himself!) word count: 2k ✧ masterlist

Your feet ached – so much so that you weren’t even surprised when Reid, probably fed up with your quiet whining, casually mentioned over dinner that high heels were originally invented for men. And honestly? That made perfect sense. Only creatures that ridiculous would willingly subject themselves to this kind of torture.

He had then launched into an explanation about how, somewhere in the eighteenth century, heels became associated with women’s fashion, but by that point, you were far too focused on two things to pay attention: the persistent throb in your feet and the slow, deliberate movement of Aaron’s hand as it slid over to rest on your thigh.

That had effectively wiped out any interest in Reid’s history lesson.

It had been a small dinner, one of those rare nights where the girls – Penelope, really –  insisted on dressing up. She had made a reservation somewhere far fancier (and significantly less sticky) than your usual bar, declaring it a much-needed change of scenery.

So, you had picked out the prettiest pair of shoes you owned – the ones you knew Aaron liked because he had insisted on buying them for you. He hadn’t even flinched when the price climbed high enough to require a comma, just given you that quiet, unwavering look that made it clear he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

And now, after hours of balancing on them, you were really hoping that look extended to carrying you to the couch.

“Regretting your choice of footwear?”

You huffed, dramatically shifting your weight onto one leg. “I regret your choice of footwear.”

His brow lifted. “Mine?”

“You picked these out, remember?” You gestured toward your aching feet, the expensive, unreasonably gorgeous shoes peeking out from beneath the hem of your dress. “You practically demanded I get them.”

Aaron hummed, slowing his pace just enough to make you aware of how much effort you were putting into keeping up. The ass. “I don’t recall any demanding,” he said, tone far too innocent. “I seem to remember you trying them on and looking at me like you were hoping I’d tell you to buy them.”

You gasped, stopping in your tracks. “That is not what happened.”

He turned to face you, his expression unreadable – except for the glint in his eyes, the one that only appeared when he was in the mood to toy with you. “No?”

You narrowed your eyes. “No.”

He paused for a moment before asking, “Which one is it going to be?”

“Huh?

“Do you want to walk home in my shoes,” he clarified, like he was offering you something as normal as his jacket, “or am I carrying you?”

You stared at him, trying to gauge whether he was actually serious. “You can’t just carry me,” you argued, crossing your arms.

Aaron arched a brow and before you could react, he took a deliberate step forward, closing the space between you. ��You underestimate me,” he said and suddenly, you were very aware of how close he was.

“Oh, I don’t doubt you can – I just don’t think you should.”

His lips twitched, like he was holding back a smile. “Why not?”

“Because it’s ridiculous.”

“You’re limping,” he pointed out, not unkindly. “And you’re already dramatic when you’re comfortable, I can’t imagine how much I’ll have to hear about this tomorrow if I don’t carry you.”

“Jeez, you’re making me sound like a real catch.”

His smirk deepened just enough to make your breath hitch. “You are,” he said simply, like it was the easiest truth in the world. “That’s why I’m carrying you.”

And before you could even form a protest, his arms were around you, lifting you effortlessly off the ground.

A surprised yelp escaped your lips as he adjusted his hold, settling you securely in his arms, carrying you like you were weightless. The absurdity of it all – his confidence, the way he did it without hesitation, the sheer ridiculousness of being carried down the street like some sort of Disney princess – sent you into a fit of laughter.

“This is silly,” you managed between giggles, clinging to his shoulders. “Baby, put me down, I’ll walk barefoot.”

“Not happening.” His grip on you tightened, as if the very thought of letting you go was out of the question.

You let out another giggle, looping your arms around his neck for balance – not that you needed to, because Aaron held you like you were made for this, like carrying you home was just another part of his routine. Like it didn’t even require effort.

“Well, at least it’s not too far,” you mused, mid-yawn. “Wouldn’t want you throwing your back out.”

Aaron huffed out a laugh, the warmth of it brushing against your temple. “My back is fine. I think I can manage a few blocks.”

You tilted your head up to look at him, a teasing smile curling at your lips. “You think you can manage? Should I be concerned?”

“I should drop you just for that.”

Your eyes widened in mock horror, gripping his shoulders a little tighter. “You wouldn’t.”

Aaron’s lips curved into a smile “Wouldn’t I?”

Still, you gasped dramatically, clutching him even tighter. “Wow. Threatening to drop your much younger wife? That’s low.”

He sighed, the kind of long-suffering exhale that only came from years of dealing with you. “Here we go.”

You bit back a grin, pressing your cheek against his shoulder. “I mean, I get it – you’re not as young as you used to be. It must be exhausting carrying someone so full of youthful energy.”

“You do realize I’ve tackled suspects more than twice your size, right?”

“Yes, yes, very impressive,” you conceded with a wave of your hand. “But, you know, they don’t cling to you and distract you with conversation while you’re carrying them.”

“No, usually they’re either trying to stab or shoot me.”

You blinked, considering that. “And I’m the difficult one?”

Aaron didn’t bother dignifying your last remark with a response, he just shook his head, adjusting his grip on you. The movement brought you even closer and you could feel his warmth bleeding into you. If you weren’t still revelling in the absolute delight of being carried, you might’ve admitted that this had been your plan all along.

Eventually, the familiar sight of your apartment building came into view, and you sighed dramatically. “Well, we made it. Against all odds. How’s your back? Need me to book you a chiropractor?”

“Maybe a divorce attorney,” he mumbled, earning a swat at his chest from your clutch.

“Excuse me?”

But before you could demand a proper retraction, he angled you slightly, adjusting his hold so effortlessly it was almost infuriating, and you barely had time to react before he nodded toward the door.

“Kick,” he instructed.

Rolling your eyes but obliging anyway, you lifted a foot and tapped the door open, muttering, “Chivalry is dead.”

“Chivalry is alive and well,” he corrected smoothly, stepping inside with you still securely in his arms. “It’s just carrying a very mouthy woman up the stairs.”

You gasped again, scandalized. “Wow. I think that definitely just earned you a night on the couch.”

“We both know you’d end up joining me anyway. In fact,” he mused, his voice dropping as he carried you up the stairs, “I recall you saying that the best sex we’ve ever had was on that couch.”

Your mouth snapped shut, heat rushing to your cheeks so fast it was disorienting.

“You cannot just say things like that,” you hissed, your head whipping toward the door opposite yours. “We have neighbours. You know Agatha is a night owl.”

Aaron exhaled a quiet chuckle, completely unfazed. “Agatha’s hard of hearing.” He paused then added, “Keys, honey.”

With a dramatic sigh, you started digging through your clutch, fingers sifting through a graveyard of lip glosses and tiny perfume samples you had no intention of ever using but refused to throw away.

Aaron tilted his head, watching with mild amusement. “Need some help?”

“I’ve got it,” you muttered, ignoring his deeply unnecessary smirk as you fished out your keys. “Not all of us have the luxury of bottomless suit pockets.”

“That’s not what they’re called.”

“Whatever, Mary Poppins.”

He shook his head as he patiently waited for you to unlock the door – still very much carrying you.

Finally, your fingers closed around the keys, and with an exaggerated motion, you yanked them out. Aaron hummed, the sound low and pleased, before lowering you just enough so you could reach the lock.

The door swung open and he carried you inside, kicking it shut behind him. He made his way over to the infamous couch. The moment he set you down, you let out an exaggerated sigh of relief, stretching out dramatically. “Ugh. My hero,” you drawled. “My feet may never recover, but at least I died beautifully.”

You watched as he crossed the room with that same grace, making his way back toward the door. He slid off his suit jacket, draping it neatly over the back of a chair before reaching for the lock.

He made his way back over to you without a word, nudging your legs apart just enough to settle between them, sinking onto his knees. His fingers went immediately to the delicate strap of your heels, the pads of his thumbs brushing against your skin as he worked.

“Wow. Didn’t even have to ask.”

Aaron barely glanced up, his focus on your ankle as he did his best to undo the tiny buckle – one-handed, no less, because his phone and wallet were still in his grip. “I take care of what’s mine.”

Your stomach did a little flip, but you refused to let him win just yet.

“Hold these.” He pressed his phone and wallet against your stomach, and you took them instinctively.

Your fingers brushed over the wallet – the one you had given him for his birthday last year, the worn leather soft and familiar against your palm. You turned it over in your hand, shaking your head. “Oof. Trusting me with your wallet? Big mistake, Hotchner.”

He slipped the first shoe off your foot. “Spend whatever you want,” he murmured, his fingers wrapping around your ankle, lifting it slightly. “Take whatever you want. Take everything.”

Before the words could even land, he dipped his head and pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your ankle. His lips continued to trail lower, placing another kiss just above the curve of your foot, then another, his movements achingly tender.

You exhaled a quiet, contented moan, your body melting into the cushions as his touch worked its magic. It was like he knew – of course he knew – the exact places that hurt, the spots that had been aching for hours, and now, with nothing more than his lips, his touch, his presence, he was undoing all of it.

Like he needed to make it better.

Like he wanted to erase every trace of discomfort you’d felt all night.

His hands skimmed up your calves, pushing your dress up, fingertips pressing gently into the sore muscles before his thumbs followed, kneading warmth back into you.

Then, with that same patient care, he reached for your other foot, undoing the second buckle. The strap slipped free and he set the shoe aside before his hands returned to you, skimming up the length of your legs.

And then his mouth followed. Kissing. Worshipping.

His lips trailed over your shin, each kiss pressing something deeper into you – something that made your chest feel full.

His breath was warm against your thigh when he mumbled, “Marry me, baby.”

You blinked down at him, another giggle slipping from your lips, light and breathless. “Aaron, we’re already married.”

You felt him smile against your skin.

“Marry me again.”

Another kiss.

“And again.”

Another.

“And again.”

Your fingers slipped into his hair, tugging it slightly, your heart stuttering as warmth curled deep in your stomach.

He looked up then, eyes full of love, lips hovering just above your skin.

“As many times as you’ll have me.”

And just like that, you knew – you’d say yes to him a thousand times over.

[reminiscingtonight]

Guilty

Lia Wälti x Russo!Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: Tis the season for sequels. Featuring a lot of Kyra and Alessia and not so much of Lia

[The Thing About Families Masterlist]

You should have known better than to trust her. 

There’s a reason Steph’s always more than happy to drop Kyra off on your doorstep whenever camp’s over.

There’s a reason Mini looks like she’s gained five years every time the younger girl has been granted privileges to “babysit” her two kids. 

You have a million reasons to not trust her yet you did. 

Why did you trust Kyra with the ring?

Your knuckles are nearly white as you drag the young girl into a nearby unoccupied conference room. Kyra’s looking apologetically guilty, but a delirious haze is starting to take over you. It’s a mixture of horror and disbelief, but at the bottom of it all, you feel beyond stupid.

“What do you mean you lost it?!”

Kyra looks like she’s moments away from crying, but you can’t find it in yourself to be compassionate. You can console her later. Right now you need to get to the bottom of this and try to salvage your relationship with your girlfriend first. 

“I swear it was stashed at the bottom of my drawer but it just wasn’t there when I looked this morning.”

“Well where did you put it?”

“I never moved it! Someone must have taken it.”

You pinch your eyes shut, praying to whatever soccer gods that are above that this was just a cruel joke. This wasn’t really happening and you weren’t about to postpone all the plans you’ve spent months working on. “Kyra, I am begging you not to do this. What am I supposed to do? The dinner’s been booked! The restaurant knows I’m proposing!”

“We can get you a new one! I’ll front it, I swear.”

Forget Kyra crying, you’re going to cry. 

“Unless you’re willing to shell out five grand in the next few hours, I don’t think ‘buying me a new’ one will work.”

The young Australian’s eyes bulge out at the sound of how much you spent on Lia’s ring. 

It’s not a well kept secret that you were going to propose. You and Lia have been together for years now, married in every way except for the official one. Wedding plans have already been discussed, from venues to food to the invitation list. The last thing you actually had to do was the actual proposing and getting married parts.

Though with the ways things are going, you’re not sure you’re going to get married anytime soon. 

There’s a knock on the door but you ignore it, pacing back and forth as your mind races. There’s not really much you can do at this point. The place you got Lia’s ring custom made at is already closed at this time of day, and your girlfriend deserves something better than a last minute generic engagement ring. 

A flash of blonde enters your peripheral just as you make your decision.

“Okay. I think I’ve got a plan.”

“Oh I’ve been looking for you guys--”

“Now’s not a good time, Less,” you wave your sister off, not even bothering to pay her any attention. “Okay Kyra, listen closely because I won’t repeat myself.”

The younger girl nods, determination painted all over her features. 

“I’ll cancel the reservations. That’ll buy me a couple days.”

“Guys--”

“Less. Not a good time,” You repeat, shuffling to turn your back to her to ensure Alessia can’t interrupt again. “The jeweler still has the plans I sent him. I can probably get Gio and Luca to lend me some money, but you have to find where you stashed that ring, Kyra. It wasn’t cheap.”

“About the ring--”

“Not now Alessia!” This time your and Kyra’s voices blend together, neither of you willing to give Alessia a minute of your days. 

She lets out an offended huff and you have half a mind to just strangle her right here and now, your mother’s feelings be damned. 

Gritting your teeth you turn around, not really happy to have to find out what your sister wants. She has free reign to bother you at any minute of any day but why was she so insistent on doing so right now? “What could possibly be so important, you impatient piece of--”

You cut off suddenly, eyes doubling in size when you look down at her hands. 

There’s a velvet box clutched between her perfectly manicured nails, the tiny thing sitting there like it’s mocking you for losing your temper earlier. 

“That’s my--”

“The ring! But-- but--”

“Where’d you find it?”

“Oh god, Lessi I could kiss you, you just saved my ass--” Kyra breaks off, something clicking in her brain. “Wait, where did you find it?”

There’s a slight pause as you wait for Alessia’s answer. 

“Err��� so funny story.” She blows out a breath of air, trying her best to look nonchalant. “I might have been-- actually Kyra hid…” Alessia fidgets, not liking the crease that was growing deeper and deeper between your brows. “IwantedtoprankKyraaftersheprankedmesoItooktheringthelasttimeIvisited.”

She slams her mouth shut the second the words are uttered, but no one says a word. 

An uncomfortable tension settles into the room and Alessia does her best not to wilt to the ground. 

You stare at her.

Kyra stares at her.

Alessia stares at a spot past your faces, nervously shuffling under the weight of your gazes.

There’s no mistaking icy stare or the clenched jaw that proved you caught every word of her fastball confession. 

“You… What?” There’s an edge to your voice, a tone Alessia rarely was at the end of growing up, but one that she recognizes all the same. The order there is clear, but Alessia’s not so sure she wants to repeat herself out of self preservation.

She shrinks, suddenly wishing she wasn’t so tall. “Um. Well. So Kyra hid my earrings the other day, and I, uh, I thought hiding this would be a funny way to prank her back?” Alessia cringes, not liking the way this all sounds now that she’s saying it out loud. “But judging by the looks on your faces, I’m going to say otherwise.”

Your nose flares but that’s the only response she’s given. 

Kyra looks grumpy, probably the result of taking your misplaced anger from earlier. 

You hold out your hand.

No words are exchanged but Alessia is quick to drop the box into your hand. 

Just as quick as she darts forward to do so, she jumps back, shoving her now empty hands into her pockets. 

“See, no hurt no foul, right?”

Crickets. 

That’s all Alessia hears as she nervously chuckles. 

Neither you nor Kyra have moved, faces giving nothing away. 

At least not until you call the Australian’s name calmly, eyes never leaving your sister’s.

Alessia watches as the two of you slowly peel away from each other. Her eyes keep darting between the two of you, feeling more and more like prey that’s being stalked as the seconds tick by. “Guys, c’mon–”

“Remember how I told you to play nice with my only sister?”

Kyra’s frowning. It’s probably supposed to come off frightening but she looks too much like a kicked dog for it to really do too much.

But the look on your face… yeah, that was intimidating enough for the two of you.

“Forget everything I’ve ever said. I don’t have a sister.”

Alessia gulps.

“Get her.”

She bolts.

[dduane]

I’m watching ‘Where No Man Has Gone Before’ from TNG and I got irrationally excited when I saw you co-wrote it. Like THATS DIANE MY FRIEND FROM TUMBLR LOOK AT HER GO!!!

Thank you!

It was a lot of fun, that. (And pitching for it was the scariest thing I’d ever done that wasn’t brain surgery.) 😏

(but also, per @princesscolumbia:)

...what an odd thing to say...

…Only if you haven’t been a nurse who’s scrubbed in on brain surgery. Which I have been, and did. (Brains are kinda shockingly pink-and-white, if anybody was curious…)

I keep having to remind myself that sometimes people think writers just come out of nowhere, without having had previous—or sometimes very current—careers. Most of us have had. (Otherwise the wisdom about “Don’t Give Up Your Day Job” wouldn’t make much sense.) I passed my State Boards as a registered nurse in New York state in 1974; and as part of that qualification, some of my experience naturally involved a medical-surgical unit including “circulating”* during and scrubbing in on various kinds of surgery. Mine, as it happened, included brain surgery. Which, since my qualification was in psychiatric nursing, was unexpectedly apropos.

The brain surgery was actually a lot calmer than (ten-plus years later) unexpectedly pitching “Where No One Has Gone Before” to Gene Roddenberry, as I knew beforehand what was going to happen in the surgical suite. But at least in Gene’s office I didn’t have to hand anybody any dropped instruments, or worry about sterile field discipline. …Anyway, if anybody had dropped anything, Bob Justman (who was also there, gods rest his good soul) would probably have picked it up. Producers can be so tidy… :)

…Hope this helps resolve any confusion.

*For the curious: a nurse doing “circulating” work is the one who brings necessary objects to the active surgical team, and removes stuff no longer necessary for the work. “Scrubbing in” means you’re prepped to work on the surgical patient yourself, or to work closely with the person(s) leading the surgery. Being scrubbed in requires a higher level of sterile discipline.

[thjsrots]

Can I ask for a counselor!Sevika and reader with social anxiety? And Sevika has to attend those fancy "parties" of the Council, and there are so many people there, the reader feels uncomfortable (she doesn't cry, but almost), and Sevika notices and takes her out of there and comforts her? Sorry if this is confusing, I'm writing this in the middle of the night and a little sleepy!! Thanks (And forgive me if I wrote something wrong, English isn't really my first language...)

-🦇

i love me some sappy sevika. here u go!!! hope its okay! <3 (also don’t sue me i couldnt find a good maroon button up pic. i’m sorry. luv u.)

never really alone

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ sevika x reader fluff

It was nighttime, the moon gleamed down on you as you looked perfect. Your hair was styled, had on the most beautiful gown that Sevika picked out just for you, and your makeup was flawless. Everything about you was perfect. Except, you didn’t feel perfect. You felt the dress synching your waist in, making it hard to breathe. Your hair and face felt heavy, and the unnecessarily tall heels pinched your feet. But alas, you were doing this for your wife, so none of that mattered to you. You’d be able to suck it up just this one night for her, just for this one party.

The two of you walked in through the large doors, hand in hand. The immediate buzzing sound of people chattering, drinks pouring, and fancy music hit you like a truck. You gulped, squeezing Sevika’s hand, looking over at her. She looked straight ahead, eyebrows furrowed (per usual; she has a resting bitch face), maroon button up blouse semi tucked into her black slacks, belt buckle shining in the light. You could feel your cheeks flush underneath all the foundation as you stared, admiring but also trying to find comfort in her face. She looked over at you, eyebrows immediately relaxing, giving you a small smile.

“You ready, princess?” She asked, squeezing your hand back. A little sign to show that she had you, no matter what. You felt your tense body loosen up a bit, breathing out deeply, and nodding.

“Yes,” You started, smiling back. “I-I’m ready.” You pushed those words out of your mouth the best you could. Of course you weren’t ready. If it were up to you, the two of you would be at home, snuggled up watching a movie. Before you could even second guess your answer, she began to walk forward, leading you into the drowning sound. You followed behind her, of course. Those stupid heels were already hurting, so it definitely took you a second to catch up.

You knew Sevika didn’t necessarily enjoy these parties, but she had to show up and put on a face as best she could (which… was never really her best, you could tell she hated it). So you knew you probably wouldn’t be there long. All you had to do was suck it up and push the anxiety down as best you could for an hour or two.

Right?

As you were caught up in your own thoughts, you felt Sevika’s grip loosen and let go from your hand, making you snap back to reality. Your head snapped up, eyes darting towards her.

“Sevika! Glad you could make it,” Someone (of importance, you assumed) said, leading her away. You didn’t care much about seeing their face, your eyes stayed glued on Sevika. “There’s some people here who want to meet you. Follow me?”

She looked back at you, almost like she was asking for permission without actually asking. You couldn’t possibly hold her back from this, doing her job. So you forced the best smile you could, nodding. “Go ahead, darling. I’ll be here.”

She sighed annoyingly at the request, but smiled back at you. “Thank you. I’ll keep my eye on you, don’t stray too far. Okay?” She said before turning around and walking away. You watched her until she got lost in the crowds, leaving you by yourself. Your breath hitched once you lost sight of her, fingers twiddling as the panic began to settle in. You shook your head around, trying your best to push the feeling down.

I’m a grown being, I can do this. I can totally do this. You thought to yourself, trying to fake it till you make it. With the bit of courage you had, you made your way to the bar area, grabbing one of the drinks that were being given out. You sipped on it, face immediately twisting up. The alcohol tasted bitter, the cranberry juice doing absolutely nothing to mask the flavor, making it hard to swallow. You gulped it down as best you could anyway. You figured maybe getting a little buzz might cool the anxiety down, I mean, it didn’t hurt to try.

…So you picked up another drink after forcing down the first. You walked around, exploring the place, which was huge. I mean, truly, there was no ending to it. Halls after halls, multiple doors, stairs that led to Gods knows where. It seemed like you were doing fine. You were almost confident in yourself, dress shimmering, hair shiny, lashes batting.

Until… a group of women began to walk towards you. You stood there at first, trying to look nonchalant. I mean, no way they were coming to you. Right? Wrong.

“Hey! You’re Sevika’s wife, aren’t you?” One of them questioned, eyes gleaming as she stared. “Wow, what a beauty. She’s certainly lucky, isn’t she?” All of them giggled, touching your hair and dress. You felt it creeping up again, that same feeling that was always lingering in the pit of your stomach.

You cracked a smile anyway, hesitating before responding. “Y-Yeah, I’m her wife. Thank you. I should go find her, actually.” Was the best you could do. You figured you were coming off as rude, but these ladies did not catch the hint.

“What? Going so soon! Tell us more about her, she’s such a drag to work with usually. How could her cranky self wife up someone like you?” Another of them commented, their giggles turning into loud laughter. You could tell this was drunken banter, but that didn’t seem to help you at all. The feeling began to grow bigger, heavier, pushing down on your chest. It slowly became hard to breathe as their words overlapped, molding into something you couldn’t understand. Your chest was rising and falling too fast, so fast you couldn’t keep up. Your hands gripped on the cup, squeezing hard, shaking as they continued. How could they possibly not catch the hint? You regretted telling Sevika yes. Yes to joining her, yes to walking in, yes to letting her go join the others. You felt your eyes begin to water, hot tears beginning to build up, begging for their release. It was pathetic, you were pathetic, totally fucking path-

“Ladies,” Sevika’s husky voice broke your internal battle. The women immediately peaked over your head, looking at her as she stood behind you. She grabbed onto your waist, pulling you in. “Looks like you’ve bothered my wife enough. It’s about time you get going.” She said, voice stern and low. They smiled awkwardly, nodding and agreeing as they walked away, mumbling not so nice things under their breaths.

You felt Sevika grip onto your hand, leading you outside to the balcony, closing the doors behind you. She immediately wrapped her arms around you, making you spill your drink along the tile floor as you held onto her, face nuzzling in her neck. Although she was squeezing a little, you felt like you could finally breathe. Her hand ran down your back, then up again, rubbing it slowly.

“I’m sorry I left you alone, princess. Are you okay?” She said as she pulled away, cupping your face in her hands, her grey eyes full of worry. You held onto her hands as did so, resting your head against them. The anxiety began to melt away as you stared into her eyes, felt her skin against yours, her scent wrapping around you. This was your safe place.

“I’m okay,” You said, eyes closing, taking it all in. “I’m sorry I freaked out. Did I ruin it for you?”

“Of course not, I get whatever I want around here. So, my work for tonight is done.” She said, scoffing a bit.

Your eyes opened, immediately raising an eyebrow at her, giggling at her sassy remark. “Is that so?”

“It is so, and you know what it is I want now?” She asked, leaning closer into your face.

You giggled. “What does her highness want now, hm?”

She suddenly grabbed your waist, pulled you in, then kissed you. It was a soft and slow kiss, taking the time to feel her lips melting into yours. This was heaven, you were sure of it. Her soft and salty lips, gentle yet secure hands holding you, her care for you. She was your heaven. She pulled away, smiling softly, staring into your eyes. “I want us to go home and have the night to ourselves.” The moonlight hit her face just right. Her eyes glistened as she looked at you, skin glowing, and muscles showed through her shirt.

Your heart fluttered, ears reddening up a bit. Gods, you were so in love with her. The corners of your mouth lifted up into a toothy smile, one that Sevika absolutely adored. “I’d love that, Vika.” You said, pushing her hair back to get a better look of her face in that moment. You wanted to remember this, have this memory of her forever.

She grabbed onto your hand, kissing it softly, then looked back down to you. “By the way, alcohol is horrible for anxiety.”

Your eyes widened at the sudden comment. “How… did you know?” You questioned, blinking quickly.

“I tasted it all in your mouth, babe.” She started as she began to lead you back inside. “Plus, I had my eye on you the entire time, you were never really alone. I’d never do that to you.”

You blushed, smiling at her comment as the two of you walked back inside. She wasn’t usually this sappy, but when she was, you ate it up. You’d definitely bring up how hot her need to always protect you was later. She quickly said her goodbyes, brushing off the small talks, then led you outside the giant doors you had came in from. You couldn’t help but stare at her lovingly the entire time, wanting nothing more than to kiss her over and over. Maybe do even a little more than that, but you’d save that for the bedroom.

[aeribbon]

runway star | kim mingyu (seventeen)

summary; when you catch someone’s eye on the runway and find the love of your life at the same time

pairing; idol!kim mingyu x model!reader

fc; yasmin wijnaldum

warnings; english isn’t my first language, some innuendos ? + i tried to write something at the end but its my first time so 🙈

an; hi i'm back ahaha 😅 taking requests if you guys ever have an idea :) + like and reblog are appreciated

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min9yu_k

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dispatch_english

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min9yu_k

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min9yu_k 💋🌊🍔✈️❤️

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instagram story from alexconsani

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

the sun is shining bright in your room as you open your eyes, feeling someone shifts beside you and hands wrapping around your waist.

''i had a bad dream'' mingyu whispers in your ear as he also wake up. ''oh yeah what did you dream about ?'' you ask, moving the bedsheets aside to finally face your boyfriend.

''i dreamt that you wasn't there at the fashion show where we first met, can you imagine my life without you ? i don't know how i would have survived without you, your smile, your humour, your eyes, your love.'' he presses soft kisses all over your face. ''i hope you know that i love you right ?'' he continues.

''oh trust me i know that ahaha but i think i love you more'' you tease, deciding to shower him in kisses too, ''i would have found you anyway ? i truly believe we're soulmates.'' you add, starting to feel a bit shy as the words leave your mouth.

''i'm gonna marry you one day'' he murmurs, and your cheeks grow even redder at his words. you erupt into shy laughter, your heart swelling with love.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[lightlycareless]

the jealous y/n i promised. one of them, anyways :)

warnings: naoya used to like someone before you. the thought of it makes you... uncomfortable, by some reason. highschool au. minimal proofreading but sometimes you just gotta let things go...

It all started because someone decided they just had to mess with you on your first trip to Kyoto, during your first school exchange event.

As yearly intended, the game would be hosted on the winning school; not that someone managed to defeat Gojo and Geto, but to shake things a bit the higher ups decided to break the rules and give the opposing school a chance—maybe fighting in their hometowns would help against them.

Coincidentally, this would mark your first time participating, and what better way to do so than by going to a city you’ve never been to?

We’re you excited?

Undoubtedly. How could you not consider these past details?

However, that wasn’t the only (not the most important) notion that had you feeling such way; what actually got you all giddy was the fact that you’d be going with your boyfriend! Which secretly turned this school trip into a small holiday of sorts, a promise of a good time once he offered to take you to the city and show you all kinds of enthralling experiences you wouldn’t be able to find anywhere else.

It was bound to become a memorable visit, one that you wouldn’t be able to forget, worthy enough to share with your eventual children!

And it was… but not for the reasons you expected.

“Ooooh, you know what this trip actually means, right Y/N?” Gojo would begin to stir, as usual. You do your best to ignore him. “You can ignore me all you want, but I’m just warning you, it’s going to be awkward.”

“Awkward?” You blink, taking his bait. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t say it, Satoru…” Geto warns, going against his very nature, which is to rile him further, and instead, showing genuine caution that you’d come to lament later on. “You’re just being cruel.”

“What is? Tell me!” You cry, fallen victim to your curiosity.

“Probably not as cruel as Naoya taking his girlfriend to see his crush. Or past crush, I guess.”

“Crush…?” You blink, your heart dropping to your stomach at the thought of his affections once belonging to someone else. It shouldn’t be that way, of course. Whatever happened before you met him should be beyond your concern.

And yet, you couldn’t stop yourself from torturing yourself with the thought, needlessly wondering who was the lucky girl to previously obtain his attention.

Was she nice? Was she pretty? Did anything manage to happen between the two…?

…

…

Does she look like you?

You ought to know better than to ask questions you do not want answered.

“Naoya hasn’t told you?” Satoru worried. “He used to have this huge crush on Utahime, like you don’t imagine how big it was; he’d stalk her everywhere she went, turn all red whenever she was near—“

“Satoru!” Suguru condemned, but it was too late.

It’s safe to say you no longer looked forward to your trip to Kyoto.

“She was going to learn so anyways, might as well get it over with!”

“And?? That doesn’t give you permission to be an idiot about it!”

“I’m just preparing Y/N! It’s not my fault that Naoya hasn’t told her about it… which is quite suspicious if you ask me, more so since he’s been in contact with her quite recently! Did you know he asked me for her number? I think he might not be over—“

“Do you ever shut up, Satoru?” You coldly interject, retreating soon after before the tears forming in your eyes could further humiliate you.

Suguru was right, there was no need for him to be as imprudent when it came to the relationship you were clearly very happy with; but you should’ve not let his behavior affect you either, that’s just how he is—everyone knew that—since he was a little kid.

Satoru just had this need to make everyone miserable simply because he could; but now that your insecurities were stirred, all you could do was revisit Naoya’s enthusiasm for your visit… and tie it with Utahime.

Overanalyze every interaction you had with him and wonder if he ever imagined it was her instead of you.

Like when he complimented you for appearance, called you cute when decorating your hair with a bow, which after Satoru’s bold accusations, you come to find it might’ve been because of nostalgia, longing. Not because Naoya actually meant it.

Utahime’s beautiful, there's no denying that.

She's also taller than you, brighter, determined; with no patience for nonsense yet kind enough to help others when asked. You should know, on the few occasions you’ve had the opportunity to interact with her, she was nothing but gentle when explaining one of the assignments you were struggling with—even offering to tutor you if you continued to have questions.

Undoubtedly, a perfect match for Naoya; both politically and personally. A conclusion that makes your poor heart ache the longer you keep comparing yourself to her.

No one looks at her and thinks “she's too childish” or “she's unsuited for the life of sorcery”. In fact, she’s the type of person one would go to when in trouble, the one to look for when in need of comfort.

While you… well, you’re funny. And apparently, a bit childish too. But definitely not the hope for the next generation of sorcerers.

When weighing all these alleged facts, and after placing Utahime on a pedestal while desecrating your own worth, you question…

Did Naoya settle on you because he couldn't end up with her?

Or were you simply a steppingstone, a diversion while they reunite in the future?

…

…

…

Are you fated to never be good enough by yourself? Everyone’s second choice when their initial plan doesn’t work?

It's not something you'd discern at a simple glance, but when Naoya begins to act more and more secretive the closer the date of your trip got, the more you're inclined to believe so; his distance had been so glaringly obvious that the only time you’ve managed to spend with him was when accidentally bumping into each other in the hallways when going to your next class.

Still, your stubborn heart gave him one last chance. One more opportunity to deny all the ridiculous claims plaguing your mind and realize that the sole reason he’s glued to his phone is because of his family, tending his responsibilities as heir…

And not because he’s seeking another woman.

“Ah, Y/N… I'm a little behind with some of my projects right now so I don't think I'll be able to join you for lunch… but don’t let that stop you, go ahead, eat something. I wouldn't want my princess to starve because of me”

That’s when everything made sense.

Because Naoya, though he may hate paperwork, essays, and all that deviated from exorcizing curses, he was still an excellent student and always delivered on time. Might’ve coerced someone to do his work from time to time when not in the mood, but it still brought you back to the same conclusion.

A realization that sparked your anger, bitterness—jealousy.

But most importantly, sadness.

Which you could no longer hide the fateful day of your trip.

“Wait, Y/N—! Why are you in such a rush? We’re still on time for the train!” Naoya would say after catching up to you. The two had previously agreed to meet up just outside your dorm and go to the train station together from there; but alas, you were nowhere to be seen when he eventually arrived, and this caused him to be very surprised.

After all, you were virtually inseparable from him; you would’ve spent the night with him if only it wasn’t prohibited. So… why the sudden indifference?

One could only try to be compassionate when remembering this was his first, serious relationship, so there were many things he had yet to learn about having a girlfriend and how to treat her.

It’s just a misfortune he’d come to learn that lesson harshly so.

“I'm fine, thank you.” you frown, ignoring Naoya as you continue to pull your suitcase towards the exit. The faculty gave students two options, either take the provided transportation and ride with the rest of your classmates to the train station or go by yourself.

Solitude was only appetizing with the silent turmoil you carried.

Your boyfriend doesn't say much after that, though he does note the striking difference of your usually bubbly personality with this… muted version of his girlfriend.

When you once harbored excitement to travel to a completely new city, you now… well, it looked as if you'd rather get sick than do this. And it didn’t seem to be caused by anxiety either, he’d seen you nervous and this was not the way you behaved when such.

Not exactly the disposition he hoped for today's happening, and yet, he’s still light years away from figuring why!

Was it better to simply… leave you alone?

“Y/N, let me help you.” he decides otherwise, at least your stubbornness is something he’s familiar with and thus, not easily swayed to back off when you ignore him again. “Princess—”

“Don’t touch me!” You exclaim, pulling your hand away from his. “I said I'm fine, now leave me alone!”

Naoya blinks, at first startled by your sudden outburst, before growing irritated, never one to enjoy being lashed out on—less if it came from someone as important as you.

“What the hell has gotten into you?!’ Naoya scorns, trying to get a hold of your hand only for you to dismiss him again. “I'm just trying to help you!”

“Yeah, right. Just to get there quicker, huh?” you frown.

“I mean, is that not ideal?”

“You're unbelievable.”

“Huh??? Will you at least care to explain why you’re so moody out of the sudden??”

His choice of dismissing words stabs your heart in a sharp, painful way that only serves to ignite your anger even more. Naoya really had no idea, did he?

Or did he believe you were as naïve as he desperately intended to portray you?

“Oh, it’s nothing. Nothing at all! In fact, how about I just step aside so you can do everything you want in Kyoto? Go see who you want to see while I stay behind, quiet, so you won't have to worry about me?!”

“But—what?? Did you forget were supposed to spend time together over there?? Show you the city?!” Naoya exclaims. “What happens to that??”

“I don't know, you tell me!” You cry back. “No, you know what, don't tell me. I don't feel like hearing—”

“Oh, no you're not.” Naoya says, take ahold of your arm and forcing you to see him face to face—getting a good look of your red, swollen eyes from undoubtedly spending the whole night crying, that only made his determination to find out what ailed you even stronger.

And deal with whomever was responsible for this dreadful act.

Even if it was yourself, or unwittingly himself too.

“We're going to spend two hours on a bullet train which I don't intend to have by you ignoring me through the entirety of it.” He goes on.

“Naoya—”

“Who did this to you? Tell me who hurt you and I'll make sure they—”

“Just stop it already! You don't have to set up all these… theatrics just so you can feel less guilty about seeing her!”

“Her?” He breathes, of all things you could’ve sputtered, this is the least, most shocking one he could’ve received. Where did you even get this idea?? “Pray tell, who am I seeing?”

“I don't—I don't want to talk anymore.”

“Y/N!” Naoya exclaims, you flinch—a reaction that has him immediately regretting his act, softening his voice. “I can't help but feel there's a sort of misunderstanding here, just tell me what's going on… Please.”

“...I just want to know if you— if you still harbor feelings for that person before me?”

“Huh?” Naoya frowns. “Talk clearly, mochi. I don't understand a word you're saying—”

“I'm asking if you still like the girl you liked before me!” You cry. “Or perhaps never stopped liking…”

“Who did I like?” He asks back, genuinely confused.

“Are you going to make me say it?!”

“I mean, if we're to get anywhere.”

“Fine! I’m referring to Utahime! You like her, don't you?!”

“Uta—what?? Where did you get that idea?!”

“Don't—don’t act like you don't know what I'm talking about!” You insist. “Satoru told me…”

“Ah, and he's nothing but a reliable source, isn't he?”

“Suguru confirmed it too! Or at least his reaction did…”

Naoya pinches the bridge of his noise, exasperated.

“When are you going to stop believing the stupidities they spew at you?”

“Well, Satoru had no reason to lie about that!”

Naoya can think of many, thousands in fact, and they always boil down to malice…

It's hard to believe how he once used to admire him, even thought of himself as very similar to him. But now that he keeps needlessly tormenting his love, that sentiment is far gone—he’ll deal with that matter soon enough, right after reassuring you he doesn’t have feelings for his past classmate.

Not anymore, that is.

“... Just tell me if you still like her, so I can stay out of your way—”

“I don't like her, Y/N.” Naoya declares. “Honestly, I don't think I ever did.”

“Then why did he say that?”

All must’ve started back when he was still a first-year student, having just transferred from Kyoto after demanding to be close to one of his admirations.

Satoru, always the obnoxious one since the beginning of time, had the tradition of pestering all newcomers in hopes of finding a victim to let out all his frustrations on for the following years; however, his sights were specifically the Zen'in heir whom he was previously acquainted with and was quite surprised to see “interacting with the mortals”, since their families often preferred to homeschool their talents.

Of course, now that he was within reach, he just couldn't miss the opportunity of mocking him in any conceivable shape and form, beginning with questions intended to get a rise out of him.

“Are you trying to tell me you don’t like any of the girls here?” Satoru would begin, for the nth time that day. “Or perhaps left a darling back at home?”

“No, I do not” No matter the insistences, Naoya remained strong in his beliefs, much to Satoru’s disappointment. But if anything, this made it into a far more gratifying challenge.

“Oh, really? Do you expect me to believe the great Zen’in heir has trouble getting with girls?” He continues to tease. “Hm, should’ve known—the only way anyone could tolerate you people is by coercing—"

“Fine! Alright! I like Utahime!” Naoya promptly declared, making Satoru’s expectations… well, shatter. Whatever he had in mind was nothing compared with the seeming reality!

“No way, you like her???!!”

Obviously, for someone as aggravating, set to get the worst of people, he could never truly find enjoyment in Utahime that wasn’t from tormenting her.

But to Naoya… well, he’d soon find out there was more to his answer than just selecting the one he found attractive at the moment.

Just as it was stated, he found Utahime to be quite… alluring. She was fairly good looking, and conservative enough in certain aspects, at least the ones he considered his clan would care of.

Perhaps the only thing he didn’t enjoy was that explosive temperament of hers, how she always fell victim to Satoru’s provocations instead of ignoring him, as a proper lady would’ve.

But he still gave her a chance, tried approaching her, get to know what she thought of him, how much he knew of the Zen’in clan, and most importantly, if she enjoyed being a miko—because such lifestyle could prove detrimental if they got together, and the last thing he needed was more personal struggles to deal with.

Yet, as much as he insisted…as much as Utahime tried to ignore his preceding reputation and give him the benefit of the doubt, nothing would come out from someone that didn’t have the patience to see past of his rough exterior and understand why Naoya was the way he was.

Who he could truly be.

Such things were meant for soulmates, after all.

And all that could’ve been was effectively terminated the moment he decided to transfer to Tokyo.

But for the only other person who saw everything unfold, Satoru, there was still much, much more to exploit.

“...Satoru said you’d always get all flustered whenever she was around” you quietly continue. “So, if you really didn’t like her, why would he say that?”

“Because he'd follow me everywhere to tease me, it was becoming quite… irritating.” He answered honestly, but still not enough to ease your poor heart of its selfish, hurtful assumptions.

“It still doesn't explain why you were talking with her these past few days” you go on, as much as a part of you desired not to.  You just wish that whatever you found out, it wouldn't shatter you. “You’d even hide your phone from me…”

Naoya, understanding how bad this looked, sighs. Nonetheless, if he wishes to preserve your affection he cannot hold back on the truth.

“I… I didn't want to tell you, it was meant to be a surprise, really…  but, well, I managed to figure out where the exchange event is to happen, which is coincidentally, an area to which Utahime is native to. And since I promised to show you around, take you to the best places…. I thought it might've been productive to ask for her input.

I know I pride myself on being from Kyoto, quite arrogantly so, but the truth is… I barely know anything outside what my family has shown me. I wasn't much of a friendly person so I didn't have anywhere to hang out.

And I didn't want to disappoint you, I couldn't let you down, especially after instantly listening to your excitement. The thought alone of ruining your first trip to the city is enough to drive me mad, so… I believed that doing all this was the right path to take.

… But had I known this would be the outcome, I would rather face your disappointment that to never have you by my side again.”

At his explanation, conformed of genuine words and concerns, all you could do is cry.

Weep at the incredulity of your assumptions, ashamed of your distrustful behavior towards him for once again, believing the past that once plagued Naoya.

How long would it take for your insecurities to finally free you? To stop listening what others whisper at your ear, of how he was the wrong person for you?

Until he decides he’s had enough of your childish antics and leaves for good?

Naoya’s far from perfect, undoubtedly so, but he's trying his hardest and he's changing because of it: when he once cared for nothing but his needs, all he could think of now is your happiness.

Were you willing to disappoint him? Rupture this relationship and lose him forever?

You'd never forgive yourself, which is why you wept, and wept, and wept.

Because you had, right before you, the only thing you ever wanted in life— a man that loved you just as you are—and almost ruined it.

But Naoya, whom perhaps regretted this situation the most, didn’t see the reason behind your tears and instead, believed them to be caused by his own failure, the lack of oversight to realize the gravity of his acts and subsequently poorly attempting to bridge his misjudgment.

A part of him doesn’t worry about your solitude, because he knows you’ll always have your friends and family to support you.

But him… without you, he’s truly alone. And he can’t—couldn’t let you go.

 “Tell me, Y/N. What do I need to do for you to believe me? For you to trust me again?” he quickly begins to beg, spew just about anything that might earn him your compassion and forgiveness—one last chance.

Though a simple remedy was all that he needed.

“A—A—hug…!” You sob, and Naoya doesn’t need to be told twice to quickly wrap his arms around you and pull you close into his chest, hoping that by his warmth you’d be reassured into ceasing the one thing that always shattered his heart. “I’m—I’m sorry, I should’ve never distrusted you, it’s just that I—”

“You don’t have to say anything, princess. It was just a mistake.” He says, pressing his face against the top of your head.

“But I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did!” you retort. “I shouldn’t have accused you of something that I wasn’t certain of! Of something you would’ve never done, now I know…”

“Why did you believe that I’d have eyes for another woman in the first place…? Have I not shown you what you mean to me?”

“Ye—yes, but…”

“But?”

You sniffle, before swallowing.

“I guess a part of me always felt undeserving of you.” You confess. “Skeptical to believe I found someone that truly loved me, that’d be willing to do all you’ve done for me.”

Naoya at first remains quiet, starting at you in complete disbelief before letting out a warm chuckle, making you frown.

“What’s funny?”

“Nothing, I just… learned we’re not so different, after all.”

You look up to him. “What do you mean?”

“I too, at times, feel underserving of you.” He confesses. “You don’t know how many times I’ve feared the possibility of you simply… deciding you were no longer happy with me; that you might realize there is someone infinitely better than me and leave.”

A certain friend of yours made sure to revive such sentiment within him whenever nearby.

But just as him, you never had eyes for anyone else that wasn’t the love of your life.

“…I guess that’s another way to know we’re meant for each other.” You quietly discern, resting your face back into his chest while Naoya laughs once more. “Does that mean you’re not… upset with me anymore?”

“Upset? If anything, I was quite delighted to see you jealous; you’re quite cute when you are, you know?” He teases, gently pinching your cheek.

“I wasn’t jealous!” You cry, he raises an eyebrow. “I mean… not without reason.”

“Have I not told you already that you are the most beautiful, adorable, gentlest woman in the whole world?” Naoya continues, you turn bright red.

“Now you’re just embarrassing me!” you gasp, pushing your face deeper into his chest.

“The list is honestly endless, but we do have a train to catch.” He reminds you, making your eyes widen and gasp.

“Oh, my god you’re right! We have to hurry!” you say, ready to fetch your suitcase, before bashfully looking back to him. “…Are you still sitting with me?”

“Unless you’re saving it for a random person.” He raises an eyebrow.

“Nope, and I do not want to run the risk of being paired with a weirdo!”  you exclaim. “You have a lot to catch up with me, anyways.”

“I know.” Naoya responds. “Though I doubt talking about preparations and schoolwork will be any exciting.”

“I was thinking something a bit more… personal. Like kisses.” You murmur, and he smirks before leaning down to peck your lips, heart fluttering in return.

“Is that a good way to start?”

You smile, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him back.

“Perfect.”

Your trip to Kyoto proves to be just as exciting as you expected, if not more thanks to all his precedent planning, that you simply couldn’t wait for the day you’d come again.

Thankfully, you’d have plenty of time to do so once convincing Naoya to take you to visit the Zen’in… much to his chagrin. But anything to make you happy, he supposes.

yes i love setting up more stories should I be blamed? NO. ahahaha

anyways, I hoped you enjoyed it 🙈 I couldn't (nor wouldn't) write anything that might be interpreted as slander against utahime cause i don't feel that way about her (though I feel incredibly disappointed that we didn't get to see more of her 😒😒😒😒) but also I couldn't write her in such way that would make one ask "well, if she was so good for naoya then why is he with y/n? lol"

yet I hope I was able to show how immature/selfish he was with her 🤣 asking questions like "I wonder if she's heard of my clan" instead of trying to genuinely get to know her and such. it's the power of love y'all.......................................

aaaah what i mean to say is, I hope you enjoyed this :') i think it's the first time I ever write Naoya taking interest in someone else, even though it was in the past 🤔 still...

take care and hope to see y'all soon!!

p.s. what do y'all think utahime's reaction was to naoya dating y/n? I have a few ideas but have yet to choose one lol.

[mullermilkshake]

Hide and seek

Things get hot and heavy before the eve of the next game. The players vote to stay.

Frontman!Satoru Gojo x Fem!Reader x Frontman!Suguru Geto (Squid game au) Request by @vampir-queen Tags- MINOR DNI, Smut, PIV sex, semi-public sex, readers a virgin, murder,misogyny,mentions of threesomes/ejaculation/creampie, voyeurism, lets be honest Satoru and Suguru have definitely fucked, canon-typical violence, blood gore, kind of torture

Part three

Suguru laid up in his bunk after the final vote for the third game, he should have been elated. Yet the niggling feeling he had didn't leave his mind entirely.

Where had Satoru gone, and where were you exactly? 

He hoped he’d get a chance to spend time with you before the next game. Your little innocent face making him think about settling down often.

Maybe he should get away from these games and find himself a wife who took care of him, and in turn, he would take care of her.

He was an accomplished lover and he could imagine the sort of faces she’d pull when he did his duties as husband. Then, he thought about your pretty face, and how that would look.

Suguru turned over and fiddled with the sheet on the bed in the deepest thought he’d been in since entering. He could admit that he sort of liked you, but more in a ‘like to fuck you and run’ sort of way.

You had debt in your name, and though it wasn’t by much, it was still an inconvenience to him financially.

He had overheard once that Sukuna was married. Suguru wondered who was dumb enough to go with a grumpy old man such as him and actually make it legal. Would she be as dramatic and twisted as he was? Or perhaps she would be the innocent type like you who would most probably do whatever she was told?

Who knew? If there was one thing Suguru learnt from the brief reflection, was that he just wanted to get laid, a quick fuck to tire him over and help him sleep.

Lights out was fast approaching, Satoru and you were still nowhere to be found. So he got up and asked to be taken to the toilets, to relieve himself before the night started. 

Suguru barely opened the door when an old man marched out, folding his arms and cursing to himself about respect or something.

Then he heard it. Moaning, excited huffing and natural slapping of wet, sweaty skin.

“You like that?” A loud smack echoed around the restroom.

“Yes- yeah, I really do- oh god.” A breathless woman, clearly fucking in one of the stalls.

Suguru wanted to pay it no mind, consciously fighting his inner monologue to give the guy a handshake for getting lucky. He took a piss and tried his best to ignore the distorted moans, the water from the sinks sort of blocking it out.

And when he turned to leave he heard it again. “This pussy is mine, you hear me? Fuck, I wish Suguru could see this-“

Hold on a second… is that Satoru?

He tiptoed over and got as close as he could before his shoes would be visible under the door. The idiot got lucky enough with someone, though Suguru had his hunches, because unlike Satoru he wasn’t an idiot.

Satoru had gone missing. You were missing too. It wasn’t difficult to piece it together.

Well, fuck.

“I’m… oh my- I’m going to-“ your moan hit his ears, that sweet innocent drawl turned filthy.

You were most probably thinking that tomorrow was going to be it, that tonight was the last night before death. Suguru simply wouldn’t allow it, he would make sure you got through it, because he wanted some of what Satoru was having.

But for now he wanted to ruin it, because he was a dick.

He knocked and waited for Satoru’s lazy retort. “Fuck off. This stall’s occupied, if you couldn’t hear.”

Suguru snorted and stood closer so that his shoes were visible now, then knocked again.

“Jesus - I’m trying’ to get laid here, can it wait?”

He heard you whispering to him, audible only just barely. Satoru responded again. “Look, I’d be happy for you to join, but the lady ain’t up for that so get out of here.”

“Ten minutes until light’s out, Satoru.” The bathroom stall went quiet when Suguru spoke for the first time.

“Shit, that’s you?” Satoru laughed, the sound of skin on skin sounded again, your little moans were stifled but still there. “Open the door will ya?”

“What? No, I don’t want people seeing me like this, I’m embarrassed already.”

Satoru cooed and whispered back, “Don’t worry, Suguru’s like a brother to me, it won’t be weird, I promise.”

Suguru could hear you were uncomfortable, but decided not to comment on it, not if it gave him material to keep burned in his memories. And what a sight too, you half naked, sat on Satoru’s cock like the most comfortable seat in the house.

Now, Suguru had seen Satoru’s cock plenty of times, just like he had seen his too. Plenty of threesomes when times got boring in between games in their little town. Plenty of pretty girls, and what’s a little quick fuck with a girl in between amongst friends?

“Hey man, you good?”

He nodded and folded his arms, standing out of the bathroom stall looking in. “Can’t complain, but I came looking for you when you disappeared.”

“Sorry, got caught up in this, can you give us five? I wont take much longer.” Satoru continued to fuck you, though you wouldn’t dare look in Suguru’s eyes.

There was nothing to be embarrassed about, the human body was beautiful, Satoru’s included and Suguru would never judge someone getting off in the midst of murder and bloodshed.

He wondered, would you take him into the toilets too? He could only dream.

“Yeah, just be back by lights out, or the masked guys will come looking.”

“You got it.” Satoru slammed the stall door shut and Suguru left the bathroom, wandering back to his bunk and the mindset to fight off the hard on he was currently battling with. He could just go and jerk off when the lights went out, tonight was safe enough before the special game tomorrow, but he wanted to savour it.

To savour you. 

If Satoru had you, then Suguru automatically wanted you, it was just a thing that happened between Satoru and Suguru regularly. Like brothers or bratty children that wanted everything the other had.

He thought about how Satoru would finish, would you be risky and let him come deep inside you so that you were dripping come light’s out? Or perhaps you were a prude and made him come all over your tits or ass so it dripped all over the tiled floor for the masked soldiers to clean up.

Oh… now that was disrespectful. Something Suguru admired.

He’d ask Satoru about it later.

Once in bed, Suguru closed his eyes and never bothered to wait for Satoru to come back, slipping into sleep quickly before the usual boring music woke everyone up for the impending game.

Which game would it be today? Hide and seek maybe… or what about the other one? Suguru’s favourite, a game he came up with actually.

Only one way to tell.

“Mornin’.” Satoru climbed off his bed and joined Suguru down by the stage, awaiting the square mask to accompany them inside. “Man, I slept like a baby.”

“I bet you did, you sly dog. How many attempts did it take to get her in that stall anyway?”

“None.”

Suguru did not expect that, not from you of all people. “None? You mean-”

“Yup.” Satoru was incredibly pleased with himself by the grin on his face. “She propositioned me, and she’s a freak too- she put it under the guise that she was scared of dying today so she wanted me to take her virginity.”

“She was a virgin?” Holy shit, Suguru missed a few chapters here. “Fuck, how did you get so lucky?”

Satoru shrugged and watched as the large cool double doors opened for the soldiers to enter. “What can I say? I’m just one hell of a dreamy guy.”

“The next game will start shortly-”

Suguru ignored the soldiers. A virgin, you were a fucking virgin- how were you a virgin? “Lucky? That’s a one in a million.”

Fuck.

“Morning you two.” You appeared out of nowhere, your player jacket zipped up all the way this morning. 

“You seemed chipper today.” Suguru was making polite conversation as they entered the set of staircases leading to the game hall.

“Um… I mean- well I got some sleep. So I think that’s why.” 

Yeah, not because you had your brains fucked out by his best friend. Satoru wasn’t even trying to hide it, much to your own shyness, looking around every so often with his arm around you blushing and twiddling your fingers.

“Oh right, yeah, I’m sure that’s why.”

As they approached the doors to the game room, Satoru leaned into Suguru away from your prying eyes. “Hey, how do you wanna do this today?”

“I’ll take her this time, it’s my turn.” 

Satoru pouted. “Aw, what? But I’m on a roll here.”

The audacity. “Yeah, and you got to fuck her last night, give me some slack.”

“You coulda joined if she was into it, but she said no, what could I do?”

While Suguru did agree that it was your choice, he hated the carrot being dangled that close to his face and he couldn’t dive in head first to try it.

When the doors opened, the room was littered with furniture and Suguru could tell immediately what it was. He invented it this way. Large sofas and table tops, chairs and bed frames set up in an almost surreal way, tilted and twisted in the ground into sections. Comfortable enough to hold two people at a time.

“Welcome to the third game. The game will be played in pairs. The game is, The Floor is Lava. All players will stand on the ground until the countdown of twenty seconds begins, then players will need to find somewhere off the ground to remain while the floor becomes lava. There will be six rounds. Those who fall off, or if there are more than two people in the specified safe area, the players will be eliminated.”

“Oh god…” You looked around too, clinging to Satoru’s arm like you were rubbing it in too.

Luckily for you, Suguru knew the way around this game like the back of his hand.

He squeezed between you and Satoru and took your hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe this round, I used to be the best at this game when I was a child, right Satoru?”

Satoru just grumbled. Suguru relished it.

“Really? You’d do that?”

“Of course.” Suguru smiled as sweetly as he could and waved Satoru off. “See you on the other side, Satoru.”

He grumbled and wandered off in the crowds with his hands in his pockets. You were indifferent to his departure and observed the forming pairs and hung close to Suguru.

“So how should we go about this?”

“I repeat, welcome to the third game. The game will be played in pairs. The game is-” 

Suguru took your hand and held it firmly. “Stay with me at all times, if we climb on something, I’ll make sure no one gets on with us. That’s how we do this. But relax and do as I tell you and we’ll be just fine.”

“Alright then.”

The first round began once everyone was in pairs, the creepy music played that Suguru chose himself and each pair walked around the room anticipating the countdown that went off at random intervals.

Twenty seconds ticking away and Suguru pulled you over to an upturned sofa stuck in the ground at an angle. The part of the lava being on the floor had been misleading, though true. The floor was out of bounds and totally uninhabitable when it counted down to zero.

No shooting in this game.

You held on and Suguru watched, the panels in the floor opening completely which caused several people to disappear. The drop down into the pit was a massive one, fully set with punji sticks for added measure for the depravity Suguru held.

Satoru enjoyed breaking people down to nothing, Suguru enjoyed eviscerating them, making them suffer under the guise of conserving ammunition. Sukuna had been amused by that, he seemed to enjoy the punji sticks and was adamant to get a camera installed to watch as the players landed on them.

All Suguru had to do was keep you on a solid piece of furniture to get through the next five rounds.

After the numbers of the deceased players were called, the floor reset itself and the music began again. You climbed off first and slipped your hands in his for the time being, watching the countdown clock to go off at any second. 

“You’re doing great, just keep focused, can you do that for me?”

You nodded and zipped your head around for a piece of furniture when the timer started. You ran over to a table this time, not the best when it was slippery, but it would do. Once you climbed on, another player came over and yanked you off of it by your hair.

Suguru’s eye twitched, it was part of the game and there was nothing against the rules. However he wasn’t about to die for some dumb loser who couldn’t  get their life in order. Not at all. So he yanked the man off and shoved him into another table close by. He kicked the other player he was with off, pulling you up in the process just as the timer clicked off.

The men fell to their deaths and two other select pieces of furniture disappeared into the pit when there were more than two people on it.

Should have listened to the rules, they aren’t exactly difficult.

As the numbers died down and the final round approached, people were getting more desperate, frightened, and Suguru grew more excited.

Seeing people fight each other for survival fascinated him, he also wanted to see how you would fare too at some point.

But after he got a chance to fuck you.

Look at you now, clung to a sofa for your life. You were just begging to be fucked again. 

And where better else to be holed up in the bathroom during the special game tonight?

Perseverance, and he’d get rewarded.

Part two <- -> Part four

DISCLAIMER - I do not own any of the characters of Jujutsu Kaisen, or anything from Squid game. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[wvffles]

ohhhhhhhhh goshhh 😩 the anticipation continuessss

“And I had an angel standing over me,” he added, his eyes growing heavy. Guilty. “A bona fide angel. She’d stitched me up, she told me. She also told me I was lucky to be alive. The doc wanted to toe tag me and be done with it, but she thought I still had some fight left in me.” “She was my anchor,” he said. “After it was all said and done, she followed me here, held my feet down to the ground. Sometimes she had to hammer me down, ya know.”

the fact that this is how he sees their story, yet he's still chosen to be a dirty lying no good scoundrel really grinds my gears. like he needed to forget his name? I could smack him with a frying pan rapunzel style for the same effect lol

“I’m the guy who can’t die,” he muttered.

my immediate thought was well try harder 😭 and i did feel bad for a second, then I finished the chapter…i stand by my statement 😅

You marveled that you could smile at all, but it was only thanks to Dean Winchester.

so real lmaoo

her inner conflict tugged at my heartstrings, i'm just glad she's giving herself some grace at least <3 it’s a difficult situation all around

the flowers!!! 😩 oh dean :( and michael is truly a classic douche like sir you cannot just magically make it better with some flowers and dinner 🙂‍↔️🤚🏽

Each position captured was more compromising than the next between Michael and Dolores Daye. Apparently, he was paying most of her bills as well with your combined household funds. So part of your own money was financing his exploits.

i would get so violent are you kiddingg meeeee

it’s bad enough he’s sleeping with a floozy on the regular but to take his wife’s money as well to fund that is actually beyond ballsy and insane. i hate them, justice for my girl fr 🫶🏽:(

Dean nodded, taking a deep breath. “That’s good…but, I need to head home for a little while.”

ngl I had to put my phone down for a moment and yell into a pillow because dean, what the hell man 😩

“Really. When did you figure that one out, in the whole week you’ve known me?” he asked. It was harsher than he meant to be, but he couldn’t help the words that were spilling out of his mouth. “Didn’t that get you in trouble the first time? I’d a thought you would’ve learned your lesson by now.”

oh dean, getting stabbed would’ve probably hurt less

He pulled you back into him, but you looked away from his imploring gaze. Your breaths grew shallow while you tried in vain to stop yourself from crying. It damn well broke his heart.

mine’s breaking too dean 😔 i’m just glad he’s trying to ‘fix it’ somewhat immediately instead of just letting her leave like that.

Except that you realized…this was goodbye. So you took advantage of every second of it.

yeah my heart is definitely broken 🥺 i’m glad they didn’t end things off with hostility and got to have that bittersweet moment at least 😔

Sam stared back at him, still with that frown. His guilt and reluctance to see Dean go was reflected in his eyes; those sad puppy dog eyes that used to get him out of almost any punishment with their parents when the boys were young. Before.

oh they’d work on me for sure 😭

Before Dean could get into the cab, Sam stopped him. Their gazes met, but in that moment, no words were needed.

They pulled one another into a firm hug.

…

Afterwards, Sam watched the yellow cab take his brother away to the train station, feeling a weight in his heart that wouldn’t subside.

He would never know that Dean felt exactly the same way. Except that impossible weight felt a lot like your hand, gently laid over his heart.

my heart aches, this chapter was so sad 😩 (not in a bad way!!🫶🏽) I feel for all three of them 😔🤍

“I just took a closer look at Milligan’s finances,” he said. “Before you go, there’s something you might want to know.”

ahhhhhh the cliffhanger! i’m guessing he found something illegal and/or dangerous 🤔 the preview is making me anxiousss, he better not hurt her! 😩

this was a wonderful chapter, very excited to see the drama unfold!!💗💗

BETWEEN THE CITY & THE STARS - Part 4

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: In the fall of 1945, Dean is having a difficult time assimilating back into civilian life after the War. He’s visiting his brother Sam in New York City, where he’s beginning to build up his law firm. At two minutes to closing time, you interrupt their evening to solicit a solicitor. Your request? You need help in order to divorce your husband.

AN: Now we get into the aftermath of the night before, with all the insecurity and heartbreak to go along with it. 💙

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Historical Epic

Song Inspo: “Danke Shoen” by Wayne Newton

Word Count: 4K

Tags/Warnings: Mentions of cheating, angsty angst, trauma/PTSD, and a cliffhanger…

✨ Series Masterlist

🎵 YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

Part 4: Complicit

Sam would give Michael one thing. The guy damn well knew how to drink.

He didn’t stop all night, throwing back whiskey like it was cheap beer. His words began to slur, his movements sloppy, but he was still coherent. When he got up to visit the men’s restroom, Sam got up as well. Maybe he could get Michael talking.

Sam stopped the other man from tripping into the urinal. The two laughed it off, with Michael thanking him before he unzipped to finish his business. Sam did the same.

After washing their hands, Sam looked over and noticed Michael’s gaze lingering on his own reflection in the mirror. It was becoming a rough sight—his blonde hair no longer neatly coiffed, purplish rings under his eyes, the stench of alcohol clinging to his skin and clothing.

“You all right there, Milligan?” Sam asked.

Michael ran a hand over his face, sighing when it didn’t get any better.

“Fine,” he replied. “So, Winchester. What did you say you do for work again? Something about your own business?”

Sam nodded. “I started up a law firm.”

That much, he had to be honest about. It was all too easy for someone to look up his name in the directory.

“Sounds like a good outfit,” Michael said, with an incline of his head. “Every lawyer I know wears a Rolex.”

Sam chuckled, glancing down at his father’s watch. “Well, I’m not quite there yet.”

“Someday soon, I’m sure,” said Michael. He bumped Sam conspiringly on the shoulder.

“And you?” Sam asked. “What’s keeping the lights on at your place?”

Michael raised a hand to sort through his unruly hair, a dirtier blonde in this unflattering light.

“Well, you could say I’ve inherited a business of my own,” he said. “I run a meat packing plant down in the district.”

Sam’s attention piqued. There had been a meat rationing during the war, even some rumors and propaganda about “meatleggers,” black market operators.

“How’s it been with the rations?” Sam asked. “Been hard to even find a good carton of eggs lately.”

Michael gave him a slight smile. “Been on the turnaround, actually. I’ve been able to make some connections with vendors outside the city. A little grease on the palms makes a little go a long way, if you catch my drift.”

Sam slowly smiled and nodded. A little grease on the palms, huh?

“Do what you gotta do in the times, ‘s what I say,” Sam agreed.

Michael snorted. “Now you’re talkin’. That’s all we can do, you know. Try to make a thing work, with whatever scraps we get. Try to stay afloat.”

“Try to stay alive,” Sam rejoined.

Michael made a low sound of approval. He became more contemplative, crossing his arms as he once again glanced at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Sam’s gaze on the other man was perceptive, gaining ever closer to what seemed to be eating at the very core of him. Whether Sam actually believed what he was saying or not, each of his words was a test, a subtle nudge.

“You know,” Michael said. “I was shot down in France.”

Sam sobered further. Leaning against the counter, he retrieved two cigarettes and a lighter. He didn’t often smoke, but he thought it might keep the other man talking. He handed one over to Michael, and he took it gratefully. They lit up together and coiled musky tobacco smoke into the air.

“Where?” Sam asked.

Michael snorted, huffing a bit of smoke. “Lord knows. But when I woke up, I had stitches from here to here.”

He gestured to the back of his head, all the way to above his brow. It explained a small, but noticeable scar near his temple.

“And I had an angel standing over me,” he added, his eyes growing heavy. Guilty. “A bona fide angel. She’d stitched me up, she told me. She also told me I was lucky to be alive. The doc wanted to toe tag me and be done with it, but she thought I still had some fight left in me.”

Michael shook his head. “The next chance I got, I married her.”

Sam’s brows rose. He knew you had been a nurse, but he hadn’t known this part of your story.

“A wartime romance, huh?” he said. Michael quirked a smile.

“She was my anchor,” he said. “After it was all said and done, she followed me here, held my feet down to the ground. Sometimes she had to hammer me down, ya know.”

He hesitated, his eyes somewhat glazing over. He stared over Sam’s shoulder at something only he could see.

“But sometimes…sometimes an anchor just feels suffocating,” he said. “Sometimes, you need to forget your own damn name. Forget that your entire life and mortgage is in a warehouse that might as well be a freezer full a’ dead cow meat. And still, it smells a hell of a lot better than lying on a dirty cot—where the last guy who had your spot probably got his leg sawed off.” 

Michael considers the cigarette in his hand for a long while before he takes another puff.

Sam exhales smoke as well. He spent the last three years behind a desk, but he sees the same shaken core in Michael Milligan that he too often sees in his older brother.

“You know, Winchester, there’s two kinds of men,” Michael said, just a hint of a slur in his voice. “The ones who pray to live…and the ones who beg for it to be over.”

“And what kind of man are you now?” Sam asked. His tone was loose, but his gaze was sharp.

Michael snorted. He dabbed the butt of his cigarette on the inside of the sink before he threw it away.

“I’m the guy who can’t die,” he muttered.

He rolled his shoulders, as if to let the weight of his words and everything that came along with them to roll off his back. Then he pushed his way out of the bathroom, leaving Sam considering more than just half a cigarette.

That night after Dean left, you slept in the guest room instead of your bed. You couldn’t even bring yourself to sleep next to Michael when he stumbled in at four in the morning, especially now that you had seen his game with your own eyes. 

However, you also felt complicit yourself the next morning. You felt…ashamed. You took your vows seriously. You had never in your life thought you would be someone so brazen. You never thought you would dishonor your husband as well as yourself.

And yet. All while you got ready for work, hearing Michael’s snores from the other room, your mind was filled with warmth and memory—of Dean. His smile, his voice, his eyes, his lips, and of course, his hands. You couldn’t decide which of them was your favorite, but his hands were high on the list. 

You shouldn’t have let him in, you reminded yourself. You nibbled on your lower lip while you prepped the coffee maker. You should have told him goodnight at the door and saw him off. You should very well not have invited him up to the apartment, let alone drank with him, or let him touch you…

You paused while the sound of percolation and the smell of fresh coffee filled the kitchen. You looked up at yourself in the small mirror that hung on the wall. The woman looking back at you was conflicted at best.

Yes, you felt guilty. But at the same time, you didn’t. Was it really betraying your marriage if your husband had been doing far worse, and for God knew how long?

No. This wasn’t a marriage. This was a sham. A mockery of the very thing.

You frowned angrily and almost slammed the carafe on the counter when the coffee was done. Forcing yourself to take a few steadying breaths, you allowed that hate and anger to slowly drain out of you, and you smiled.

You marveled that you could smile at all, but it was only thanks to Dean Winchester.

What the hell am I doing?

Dean stared at the two bouquets of flowers. One was a bound bunch of red roses, the other was wildflowers and other colorful ones he didn’t know the names of. He was having a hard time deciding, namely because he didn’t know what kind of flowers you liked.

Because after all, he barely knew you.

He sighed down at the roses. They were pretty, but expensive. He could imagine your surprise, followed by your smile—the one that actually lit up your eyes and changed your whole face, made you sweeter, almost shy.

I’m buying flowers for a married woman.

The thought managed to make him pause, with a rough exhale of breath. The truth was, he’d crossed the line with you. More than once.

The hard part about it was, he didn’t really care. He did wonder if you cared.

He wondered if you’d be embarrassed to see him again. He wondered if you wanted to keep last night a memory, and nothing more. He wondered if he was better off booking his train home now, and leaving some kind of note for you with Sam. Dean didn’t think he wanted to see that look of mortification on your face, the whiskey finally cleared from your mind to see what he really was: a man with no job, no commitments, and very little prospects on the horizon.

“Ah, ‘scuse me,” a young man said from Dean’s left side.

“Oh, sorry,” Dean said, making way for the guy. He wasn’t quite as tall as Dean, lithe, blonde, and blue-eyed. He grabbed an arrangement of blue and yellow iris flowers from the case and took it up to the front. The florist seemed to recognize him.

“Oh, Michael! Been a while since I’ve seen you,” he said.

When the florist asked about you as well, the mention of your name rang between Dean’s ears. A feeling like inky claws raked through his chest; he raised his head from the roses and finally recognized Michael Milligan. He was the same man Dean had spotted in your wedding pictures hanging on the wall last night, right in the foyer.

“She’s all right,” Michael chuckled. “Truth be told, I’ve been working late this week. Hoping to surprise her tonight, take her out to dinner. Somewhere nice, you know.” 

“Oh, really? Why don’t you take her to that nice steakhouse off of Broadway…” the florist twittered on as he continued to ring up Michael’s order.

Anger and disgust prickled under Dean’s skin, his fists clenched at his sides. More than anything, he wanted to turn around and lay your husband out flat. If he thought one little bouquet and a Salisbury steak was going to wash him clean, then he was an idiot as well as a selfish bastard.

But Dean knew, deep down, that Michael would be just as justified to throw a swing right back at him.

So Dean left the flowers, the flower shop, and the entire busy street and all its blaring sounds behind.

During your lunch break, you quickly made the trek over to Sam’s office. He’d called you this morning with a story that only confirmed everything you’d inherently felt, and yet, some of it still managed to shock you. 

You didn’t even have the patience to wait until after work, but when you got there, he reassured you. It had taken him a few rounds of poker and discreetly following Michael and Dolores after they exited through the back of the club…but Sam had gotten the evidence not long after. They weren’t exactly discreet in the alley. Or in the nearby motel.

You had the envelope in hand filled with the pictures he’d developed from his camera.  

“You don’t have to look,” he advised. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“No, I want to see it,” you said. You took the pictures out, and your expression didn’t change as you look through them all. Each position captured was more compromising than the next between Michael and Dolores Daye. Apparently, he was paying most of her bills as well with your combined household funds. So part of your own money was financing his exploits.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said. He was sincere, with those hazel eyes of his.

You nodded and gave him back the envelope. “What’s next?”

“I went ahead and filed the petition. I’ll take this right to the clerk’s office myself.”

“How long will it take to be over?”

“As long as Michael plays along, should be quick. A few months at most, after he’s served the divorce papers and signs them,” Sam assured.

A few months? That wasn’t quick enough in your book, but you agreed with a nod. You got up from the chair opposite his desk. You hesitated there.

“Oh, I meant to ask…how’s your brother?” you said.

Sam began to smile, but he tempered it. “He just called before you came in. He let me know he was stepping out for a walk.”

“Oh, really? Did he happen to say where?”

You not only found Dean in Central Park, but close to the very same bench you two had sat on yesterday and talked the night away. He was surprised, but he smiled when he saw you. Your pace quickened, until you were hastening over to him. He welcomed you into his arms. He bent his head towards yours, stopping just shy of kissing you. Instead, he pressed his forehead to yours for a moment.

“Well, look who’s here?” he teased. “How’d you find me?”

“I stopped by Sam’s office,” you said, holding onto the lapels of his coat. A cold November wind pushed at you both, ruffling your clothes. “The paperwork is on its way. Soon enough, I won’t be a married woman anymore.”

He tucked a wild strand of hair behind your ear and smiled, but it didn’t altogether reach his eyes.

“How soon is soon?” he asked.

“A few months, according to your brother.”

Dean nodded, taking a deep breath. “That’s good…but, I need to head home for a little while.”

That made you pause, tilting your head in confusion. Though you supposed it made sense. He was only here visiting his brother. He was planning on going home eventually.

But surely, that was before we… You lowered your gaze.

“Back to Lawrence?” you asked. Again, he nodded.

“I need to take care of some things, figure out my next move,” he said.

You pulled away from him to brace yourself, and not just against the cold. “Well, when will you be back?” 

He stayed quiet, worrying you even more. There was a deep pit forming in your stomach, churning with unease.  

“Dean?” you prodded.

He stepped back in to grasp your arms gently.

“Sweetheart…the truth is, I don’t have much to offer you,” he said. “I don’t have a business to inherit from my folks. I don’t even have a job. I’m a man who was about as useful as a jackhammer, until the war ended.”

You frowned, resting a hand against his chest. “Dean Winchester, that’s not all there is to you.”

“Really. When did you figure that one out, in the whole week you’ve known me?” he asked. It was harsher than he meant to be, but he couldn’t help the words that were spilling out of his mouth. “Didn’t that get you in trouble the first time? I’d a thought you would’ve learned your lesson by now.”

You snatched your hand back, hurt filling your eyes. You turned to walk away before he saw your tears. You should have known. You should have known a man like him would never be serious. Not about you. 

As soon as he let the words go, Dean realized what he was doing. Yeah, he was frustrated, but it wasn’t aimed at you. It couldn’t be aimed at you.

God knew he didn’t want to hurt you, or for you to hate him. He really couldn’t stomach either thought, so he relented and reached out to grab at your hand, before you could get too far. 

“Wait,” he said, managing to pull you back to him. “I’m sorry.”

You tugged your hand to try and free yourself from his grasp. 

“You know what, maybe you’re right,” you said, your voice wobbling with anger, dismay, and tears. “Maybe I ought to stop letting a man get even an inch into my heart. At this point, it’s my own fault.”

“Stop,” Dean demanded. “No, it’s not.” 

He pulled you back into him, but you looked away from his imploring gaze. Your breaths grew shallow while you tried in vain to stop yourself from crying. It damn well broke his heart.

“It’s not your fault. I’m just an idiot,” He cupped your cheeks and wiped your tears as they fell. “But you…you deserve to be happy. With a man that can take care of you, protect you. A man who has a little more of his life figured out.”

“You’re just saying that so you have an excuse for toying with me. So you can keep chasing skirts,” you said, pushing at his chest. “Yes, your brother told me about all your little exploits.”

Dean took the blow, both proverbial and physical, with a raise of his brows. He guessed he couldn’t blame you for that one. Still, the disdain behind your words stung. He allowed you to break free of him.

You stepped back and straightened your clothes. You took in a deep breath that did nothing to calm you, and you uttered a humorless laugh.

“I suppose it makes sense. Why would you want anything to do with me?” You gestured down at yourself with a dismissive hand. “A-a walking mess. Even when I am divorced, that’s how people will see me. Damaged goods. I don’t even know how I’m gonna tell my parents.”

You covered your face against Dean and the rest of the world, and after weeks and months, you finally allowed yourself the one thing you hadn’t since your first inkling that your husband was being unfaithful. You finally allowed yourself to break.

The first sob shuddered through your body, followed by hot tears. You squeezed your eyes against them and wiped at your face in vain.

Dean broke too, in his own way. He gathered you into his arms, where he shushed you gently and pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

“I wasn’t giving you an excuse,” he said.

Despite how much you wanted to push him away, the deep, steady timbre of his voice pierced you and soothed you at the same time.

“I meant every word I said. I may not be the right guy for you, but don’t you dare take a scrap of what anyone else might say, you hear me?” he said firmly. “You’re beautiful. You don’t suffer fools like me, and you’re better than that sad sack excuse of a man deserves.”

You looked up at him with watery eyes.

“You’re a lot of things, Dean Winchester, but you’re not a fool.”

He shook his head, not wanting to argue with you anymore. He just kissed you, deeply, thoroughly, the way you always imagined a kiss should be.

Except that you realized…this was goodbye. So you took advantage of every second of it.

You met him with as much as he gave and reached up to touch his cheek. It felt a little rough under your fingers, just like you remembered. You would probably always remember that feeling, long after you left the park.

That evening, you packed as many bags as you could. You put together the savings you’d been collecting for a few months. It had been at your coworker Jess’s advice, ever since you started feeling the inkling that something wasn’t right in your marriage.

After you were all packed, you took one last, long look at the space you had tried to make your home. With one last tear trailing your cheek, you stepped out of the apartment. You took the bus uptown, where you later checked into a hotel. 

When your husband finally got home from work, he would find a one-page letter written in your own hand. 

For once, Sam was actually home in his apartment. He was helping Dean take his suitcase to the front door after calling a taxi to come shortly. Sam wasn’t happy about it though.

“You don’t have to go so soon, Dean,” said Sam.

Dean gave a humorless laugh. He grabbed his coat from the rack and threw it on.

“I’ve gotta get back to the house. It’s already been empty too long,” he said. Three years too long. “Fact is, I’m just getting in your way here.”

He couldn’t quite meet Sam’s eyes as he went to the door, but Sam stopped him with a pressing hand on his arm, tugging him back.

“Hey,” Sam said, his brows furrowed. “That’s not true. Where’d you get that idea?”

Dean raised his brows. “You mean the way you’ve haven’t been home more than a few hours a night? The way the only time I see you is if I go find you at that office. You should open up a Bed n’ Breakfast there. You’d make a double killing in this town.”

Sam wilted. “Dean, we opened the firm barely a month ago. I’m just trying to—”

Dean laid a hand on his shoulder, relenting.

“Hey, look. I’m not judging you, Sammy. I’m not,” he said. “You’re building something. I know that. I just need to go figure out how to do the same, whatever that means for me.”

Sam stared back at him, still with that frown. His guilt and reluctance to see Dean go was reflected in his eyes; those sad puppy dog eyes that used to get him out of almost any punishment with their parents when the boys were young. Before.

The corner of Dean’s mouth kicked up into a smirk.

“Don’t worry. I’ll see you again soon,” he said.

“How soon is soon?” Sam asked. It was something their mother used to say to John whenever he called late, promising he’d come home after long days in town buying supplies for the farm.

“The divorce papers will be served to Michael Milligan,” Sam added, pointedly raising his brows. “She…could use your support.”

Dean’s smile faded at the mention of you. His hand slipped from Sam’s shoulder.

“She’s got a strong head on her shoulders. She’ll be all right,” he said. He heard the honk of the taxi outside. He grabbed up his hat, set it on his head, and took up his bags. He turned back to Sam at the last moment. “I’m sure you’ll look out for her.”

It was somehow both a question, and an imploring charge. Sam sighed, but he nodded in agreement. His brother could be so very stubborn. Once he got an idea of what he thought he needed to do, there was almost no talking him out of it.

Sam opened the door for him and walked him out to the car, helping him with his bags. Before Dean could get into the cab, Sam stopped him. Their gazes met, but in that moment, no words were needed.

They pulled one another into a firm hug.

I’m sorry. I should’ve been there more for you.

Don’t worry about it. It’s already forgotten.

Dean released him first with a smile, and a heavy pat of Sam’s shoulder. He turned and climbed into the cab’s backseat. Afterwards, Sam watched the yellow cab take his brother away to the train station, feeling a weight in his heart that wouldn’t subside.

He would never know that Dean felt exactly the same way. Except that impossible weight felt a lot like your hand, gently laid over his heart.

Dean took up his suitcase as the train pulled into the station. He stepped up onto the platform and retrieved the ticket from his pocket, but he paused, hearing a familiar voice shouting his name.

He turned his head and saw Sam rushing to meet him at the platform.

“What’s the matter? What’re you doing here?” Dean asked in surprise. He didn’t like the wary apprehension written across Sam’s face.

“I just took a closer look at Milligan’s finances,” he said. “Before you go, there’s something you might want to know.”

AN: Come on, we needed at least one cliffhanger in this series! 😘 What do you think Sam rushed over to tell Dean? What did you think about their "goodbye," as well as her and Dean's goodbye? ...And are you ready for all the drama that's about to go down? lol 

Next Time:

Except the loud, insistent knock on the door broke you out of your thoughts. Straightening up with a frown, you set down your glass and went over to the door. Maybe it was Housekeeping coming up to bring you the fresh towels you asked for. The ones that had been laid out in the bathroom smelled musty.

You opened the door to a tall frame taking up room in the doorway. It was Michael, standing there both disheveled and steaming mad. He held your letter crumpled in his left hand. 

“Michael, what—what’re you doing here?” you gasped and stepped back. He followed you inside the room and slammed it shut. He looked around at your open suitcases in disbelief, then finally at you.

“What’s this supposed to mean, huh?” he demanded to know. He shook the flimsy piece of paper at you.

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[chelseacult]

False Hope

Niamh Charles x Reader

Summary: off at an away game, you and Niamh ditch the team dinner for a night in at your hotel.

Word Count: 1.8k

The thickening tension in your joint hotel room could be cut with a knife. The look of concentration on Niamh’s face as she eyes down the chessboard considering her next move intimidates you. You struggle to predict where she’s planning on placing the knight that her fingers rest on. She picks it up, and that’s when you see her game plan. She’s got you hook, line, and sinker with one move. You’re about to lose.

You let out a defeated sigh upon realizing that she’s going to beat you again. At the noise, she glances up at you. She hesitates for a second before reversing her path and placing the piece back where it was. Her hand leaves the knight, switching over to her last standing bishop, and she slides it down the board. 

“Your turn,” she urges as she leans back in her chair, looking up at you with an encouraging smile. 

You look down at the board, noticing that her move has left her king vulnerable. You look back at her, shooting her an unimpressed look. “Babe, come on.”

“What?” she asks with a slight tilt of her head.

“There’s literally no way you missed that,” you gesture to the chessboard. 

“Missed what?” she pretends to be confused, leaning forward to inspect the board. You reach forward, moving one of your pieces and capturing her king, signaling your win.

“You won!” Niamh gasps, theatrical enough to let you know she’s not actually surprised. The way she’s smiling at you is usually enough to make you melt, but you’re more focused on the fact that she just let you win.

“I know you saw that! Stop letting me win,” you say exasperatedly, your voice laced with more annoyance than you’re really feeling. 

“I’m not! You’re getting better! I’m so proud of you,” she says excitedly. She abruptly rises from her seat and rushes over to you, pulling you into a tight embrace. The angle’s a little awkward with you still sitting, but the warmth of her lips against your temple and the soft whisper of “good job, baby” against your skin distracts you from the straining of your neck.

The minuscule amount of annoyance you’re still feeling dissipates when you see the look on her face as she pulls back. She’s the most competitive person you know, but she looks over the moon at your win.

“Rematch?” she asks, sliding back into her seat. You nod.

The two of you get back into action, tension once again rising as you take turns stealing each other’s pieces and attempting to keep the other on their toes. As it always starts, Niamh is outplaying you, and you’d bet money that your loss is impending. As you’re waiting for the inevitable checkmate, she switches up her attack. Almost identical to her ploy earlier, Niamh moves her pawn forward, freeing up a direct path for you to capture her king for the second time tonight. 

“Really?” you exasperrate, staring at the board in disbelief. 

She brushes off your complaint with a smirk. “You should think about going pro. Beating the team’s resident chess champ isn’t a simple feat, you know.”

“I’ve never seen you make a move that stupid.” You lean back in your chair, arms crossed, eyebrows raised as you stare her down.

“Honest mistake, love. I’m off my game today,” she chuckles, giving a slight shrug.

“I see right through you.” Despite your words, you mirror the smile on her face. 

“If you don’t want to admit you’ve beaten me fair and square, we can call it a draw.” Her gaze flickers to the board momentarily, then back to you, amusement present in her eyes. “I’d savor the moment if I were you, though. Probably won’t happen again,” she adds with a smirk.

You scoff. “You’re taking your supposed losses too well. If you really want to sell it, you need to act more upset.”

“I could start crying if you want,” she jokes, the knowing glint in her eyes still present. 

“I mean, yeah, that’d be in character for you.”

She laughs. Your laughter follows.

“But, seriously. The pawn out of all pieces to-” you start, but she raises a hand, stopping you mid-sentence. “Don’t ruin this for yourself. Enjoy the win,” she urges.

“Round three, then? Maybe we can get you on a winning streak,” she asks, pointedly ignoring the glare you shoot in her direction. The underlying message in her words is clear: I’m going to keep letting you win.

“A pity win streak, thank you so much,” you deadpan, unable to stop the hint of a smile threatening to break through. She must notice your failed attempt to keep your smile at bay because her grin widens the longer she looks at you. 

A rush of feelings hits you then, and you’re overcome with love for the woman seated across from you. She just let you win again, and she’s happy about it. It’s almost subconscious when you stand and walk over to where she’s sitting. Her smirk softens as you lean down, and she tilts her head to meet you. Your lips meet hers, pressing a brief kiss against them. 

“I love you. Even when you lie to me,” you whisper, feeling her smiling against your lips.

“I love you too,” she whispers back. 

You turn to walk back to your chair, but she grasps your wrist and tugs you back in. Her hands reach either side of your face, warm as she pulls you down to her level. She presses a series of sloppy kisses against your lips, and the laugh you muffle between the kisses causes her smile to widen.

She watches as you retake your seat, her face a bit redder than before. It’d be impossible to miss the adoration in her eyes. You’re positive that both her growing blush and look of adoration are reflected on your own face.

The two of you begin resetting the board, preparing it for another round. The silence is comfortable as you put the pieces back in their respective positions. 

“I don’t let just anyone beat me, by the way,” Niamh eventually states.

Your attention shifts back to her, noting the small smile on her face. “Oh, you’re admitting it already?”

The smile on her face shifts to a look of feigned confusion as she glances up at you. “Admitting what?”

“I give up,” you huff.

“Good. Your start,” she smiles, nodding to the board and gently nudging your foot with hers.

As you go to move one of your pieces, there’s a loud series of knocks at the door, causing you both to flinch. 

“Room service!” Niamh shouts. 

You send a confused look her way. “You ordered room service?”

“Nah, joking. I don’t know who it is,” she laughs. You let out a sound that mixes a scoff and a laugh as you stand up and head to the door. You’ve barely undone the lock before Sam comes barreling into the room. 

“What are you guys doing? Come on, team dinner! We’re all going,” she yells. You and Niamh let out matching groans at the reminder of the event you were both hoping to avoid. 

“How’d you know our room number? Creep,” you ask with a teasing lilt.

“I have my ways.” Sam stops in her tracks as she notes the chessboard on the table. “You guys are seriously hiding away to play chess? Nerds.”

“Rude!” Niamh utters under her breath. Sam waves a dismissive hand in her direction. “Who won though?” she asks.

Niamh gestures in your direction, and her proud smile almost makes you believe her false narrative of your success.

“What? No way. She let you win?” Sam shifts her attention to you.

“Ye-” you start.

“No! She just has a good teacher. Best on the team, I reckon,” Niamh says smugly, subtly winking in your direction.

Shifting her attention back to Niamh, Sam gives her a skeptical look. You turn to Niamh and mirror the look on Sam’s face.

“Don’t gang up on me!” Niamh exclaims.

“Niamh, you hate losing,” Sam says pointedly. 

“It’s not preferred, but I don’t hate it,” she argues.

Sam raises one eyebrow. “Yes, you do,” she counters.

Niamh sighs, then shrugs. “She just gets really happy when she wins,” Niamh admits almost sheepishly, making an effort to avoid eye contact with you.

Sam’s exaggerated fake gagging cuts off the teasing remark on the tip of your tongue. 

“Stop, I’m disgusted. And we need to go! Niamh, get up,” Sam gestures for Niamh to get out of her chair, prompting another groan to leave her lips. You shuffle over to her, holding out a hand to help pull her from the chair. 

“You’re also late, if you failed to notice,” Niamh remarks to Sam as she takes your hand, giving it a grateful squeeze as she stands.  

Sam shrugs. “I have an excuse. You guys are here being losers.”

“You’d die if you saw the puzzles we brought,” you laugh, the laughter of the other two following shortly after. 

“Gonna pretend I didn’t hear that. And don’t get me started on how you bribed Sonia to assign you guys the same room.”

“We’ll give you some tips!” Niamh playfully remarks as Sam walks back to the door.

“Lobby. Five minutes,” Sam says sternly, pointing back and forth between the two of you. “If you’re not there, I’ll come back up and drag you both out of the room.” She exits before either of you can respond.

You turn to Niamh with a smug grin on your face. If the bashful look on her face tells you anything, she knows exactly what you’re about to say.

“You admitted it.” You punctuate your statement with a gentle tug of her hand, urging her to meet your gaze. She obliges, her fingers momentarily tightening around yours as she sighs and turns toward you.

“Alright,” she drawls. “I let you win. I thought you’d let it go by now.”

“You know better than that.”

She huffs out a laugh. “I know. Ever the persistent one, aren’t you?” she teases, leaning forehead to kiss your forehead. The warmth of her lips on your skin spreads like wildfire through you.

“Come on,” she mumbles against you before pulling away. “Sam will kill us if we make her wait any longer.”

“Fine,” you relent, extending a hand towards her. “But we’re having a rematch when we get back. And you’re not going easy on me this time.” 

“Deal,” she agrees, smiling as she firmly shakes your hand. 

Her grip lingers a little longer than necessary. As she lets go, you catch a flash of something unreadable in her eyes. It’s enough to have you wondering if she intends to keep her word. When she leans in to kiss you one last time before you exit the room, you realize it doesn’t really matter. 

a/n: this idea popped into my head while I was watching an old lionesses YT vid where chess was brought up. sorry if the chess lingo is confusing, hope you enjoyed!

[dr9com9ge-ix]

Apparently Sprunki is getting a remaster and Nyanio has said that that they'll be replacing Wenda bc she's the worst of the content farms

Thoughts? Both in general and related to the AU

oh god, Okay opinion time. It’s a long one folks… It’s gonna get maybe a bit emotional and please don’t take my word as gospel or something, Have opinions please! I also use “you” alot when I’m not referring to any specific person/ when I refer to a general person so apologies if I sound accusatory or anything- It’s a habit of speech.

Okay actual stuff under the cut.

Dude can do what he wants, I already know of this news and choice (Honestly I really try not to think about it because it bums me out), The choice to abandon her is understandable considering like… The horrible content that has been made of her and not wanting to use the character anymore. I do despise content farms and what they do to media in general (I used to watch people discuss how bad they’ve gotten in recent years— MAN I also like TADC so I’VE BEEN THROUGH THE WRINGER TWICE MAN. It kind of hurts to see Sprunki so often in them that I stopped watching videos regarding dissing content farms.)

I kind of understand (Though heavily disagree with)people watching some of it in Sprunki’s case because of the lack of story driven media if you only focus on content on YouTube. I’ve tried watching like… I think GameToon’s Sprunki and just was like “Man… These characters deserve so much better than this, I’VE SEEN BETTER DONE WITH THESE CHARACTERS!!! ON TUMBLR!!!” and not to mention them literally stealing OCs and me not having the mental fortitude to handle like… How content farmed content’s tone usually is.

(I WILL REITERATE, I do not think you are a bad person if you watch GameToon’s content and like it-

I just do not like what content farms do in general for a media’s reputation and search results. ESPECIALLY REGARDING SPRUNKI as the creator was literally DOXXED over it as far as I know. Nobody deserves that for just creating things. It’s frustrating and heartbreaking when it happens.

Though watching farms does unfortunately support them and thus they make more and more usually low tier, low brow and if I’m being a pretentious artist… Heartless content. Made for a profit off of something they don’t actually like as much as who they’re targeting. If they did care they wouldn’t have taken other people’s ocs. They would have been consistent with characterization and themes—SHIT They’d probably try to have the SAME VAS for some characters!!!! I only watched some of it solely because someone on the sprunki tag said they gave Jevin a “hot voice” and I ALSO HATE HOW THEY MAKE HIM A VILLAIN A MAJORITY OF THE TIME AS FAR AS I’VE SEEN.)

Actually the whole horrible thing that happened to the creator and a video discussing it is how I got into Sprunki- I felt terrible and went “Why don’t I give into the impulse to draw something from this? I’m sure making something nice of it will be better than… Whatever horrors get spat out for ad revenue.” and I did! I think I do have a kind of underdog bias with a comment under one of the most popular mixes with the original mod going “Why they never use the blue one? :(“ or something so Jevin became my favorite and first to be drawn- With the rest following because I’d genuinely gotten so attached to all these funky little guys!

And regarding Wenda in my AU? She’s not going anywhere.

I would understand if the creator went “Please stop using her in anything.” I would respect that wish (albeit tearfully) but he didn’t he just told people to behave- Not act a fool and such which I don’t think making an AU is that…. It’s just making your take on a media you like as a fan. I’ve already like… Pack bonded with the OG characters and WENDA INCLUDED. I have so much planned for her she’s too important to it and also I think one of my friends would probably get really sad if I ever did just scrap her. I truly just want justice to be done for her (aka GOOD MEDIA THAT CARES ABOUT IT’S CHARACTERS) because I think she’s probably one of the potentially most interesting of the OG bunch if you take away any outside media (Like questions of “why did she do what she did in Horror mode?”, “How was she like previously? Was it a sudden snap or something a long time coming?”) and I think any answer to it is interesting!

I also kind of hate the reductive take of “Too many people do this interpretation of [character], I hate it now!! I’m doing a different one!” I see sometimes so I don’t want to hear about that, Sometimes that’s just the natural assumptions one would make about THE SAME CHARACTERS IN A MEDIA… And that’s an entirely different gripe unrelated to this! Like shush… There are fans of that interpretation and I’d rather you make yours WITHOUT disrespecting other’s interps.

Anyways summary is:

DO WHAT YOU WANT FOREVER!!!!! (as LONG AS YOU AREN’T HURTING/DISRESPECTING PEOPLE!!!!) Love your medias!! Make your arts!! And Sunshine Suburbia! Wenda is staying because… I love her too much. c,: And again DO WHAT YOU WANT FOREVER!!!!

[solarmorrigan]

18 with platonic stobin please! (Sorry if this sends twice I got an error message >:( whack)

Did not send twice, but I'm glad it came through at least once!

18. Headache - Platonic Stobin

cw: mentions of alcohol use

-

Robin is certain of three things:

1) Today is going to be terrible, 2) she’s dying, and 3) Steve is the worst.

Well – okay, no, that last one isn’t really true; he’s actually making breakfast for them both right now, which is great, because, again, Robin is probably dying.

It’s just he has the audacity to bustle around their kitchen like he hadn’t had just as much to drink as Robin had last night, like the morning sunlight filtering in through the windows isn’t stabbing painfully into his eyes the way it is Robin’s, like his stomach isn’t roiling like they’re on a ship in a storm, like the dark circles under his eyes and his sallow complexion don’t indicate he’s every bit as hungover as Robin is.

“How are you even functioning right now?” Robin whines from where her head is half hidden behind her arms, slumped over at the kitchen island.

Steve shrugs. “Practice, I guess?” His voice is a little croaky, but he sounds otherwise unaffected, and Robin hates it a little.

“There is no way you’ve been this hungover often enough to just be used to it,” Robin argues. “I would’ve noticed.”

“No, not hungover,” Steve answers with the soft breath of a laugh. “Just– migraines, y’know?”

Robin gives a vague, affirmative grunt, but it takes a few long moments for the meaning of the words to reach her through the soupy mess of her brain.

“Wait,” Robin mumbles, braving the murderous rays of the sun to look up at Steve where he’s standing over the stove. “This is what a migraine feels like?”

“I mean, I don’t know exactly how you’re feeling right now, but– are you nauseous?” Steve asks.

Robin swallows thickly, humming in the affirmative.

“Kinda dizzy?”

“Mm.”

“Light and noise make you feel kind of like you want to die?”

“God, yes.”

“Head hurt so much that you wish it would actually just fall off?”

Robin jams the heels of her palms into her eyes, nodding pitifully.

Steve hums. “Then that’s about it, yeah.”

“Oh my god.” Robin drags her hands down her face, staring blearily at Steve as he pokes nonchalantly at the eggs he’s currently scrambling. “You do this regularly?”

“Sometimes it’s not as bad. Sometimes it’s worse. That’s when I get stuff like trouble seeing, or talking. But I guess?” Steve shrugs again, the line of his shoulders stiff; it’s clear he doesn’t feel well, but he’s far more active than Robin thinks she has the capacity to be right now. “Like, this sucks, but I’d still classify it as okay enough to go to work. Maybe run errands, if they’re important.”

“Oh my god,” Robin mutters again, laying her head back on her folded arms. “You deserve financial compensation for being alive.”

Steve snorts. “When you find someone to talk to about that, let me know.”

The quiet clink of porcelain against tile sounds just beside Robin’s head, and she opens her eyes, unable to remember when she’d closed them. Scrambled eggs and buttered toast are laid out temptingly on a plate before her, looking good enough that she’s willing to contemplate actually eating them despite the faint protests of her stomach.

“Did you take something for your head already?” Steve asks.

“Tylenol,” Robin says, fingering the edge of the plate. “Definitely hasn’t kicked in yet.”

Steve rounds the island, coming to stand behind the stool Robin is perched on. “Here, sit up straight for a minute.”

Robin groans, but slowly drags herself upright. Behind her, Steve laughs.

“Don’t complain; I’m gonna make it worth your while.”

Before she can ask just how he’s going to do that, Steve’s hands come up to rest at the juncture of Robin’s neck and shoulders, large and strong, a little clammy, but comforting and warm all the same. Then he digs his thumbs into the tense muscle at the back of Robin’s neck, and she thinks she might actually murder him.

The pain only lasts a few moments, though, before the stiff muscle gives way under Steve’s attention, loosening and relaxing until the persistent ache that’s been radiating from the back of Robin’s head begins to ease.

“Holy shit, you’re magic,” Robin says, hushed, almost reverent, shifting slightly in discomfort as Steve moves on to her shoulders, before the muscle there yields, too, granting another ounce of relief.

“Magic, huh?” Steve teases, sounding warm and smug. “I’m gonna remember you said that.”

“Tell anyone and I’ll deny it. You’re too full of yourself as it is,” Robin says, though it comes out with zero conviction, on the tail of a pleased sigh.

“Uh huh.” The massaging motion of Steve’s hands slows and tapers off, leaving him rubbing warm, comforting circles just at the slope where her neck meets her shoulders. “Well, now that I’ve worked my not-magic, do you feel like you could eat?”

Robin looks at the eggs and toast again and finds that her stomach has calmed a little now that her head isn’t pounding. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Good. I didn’t put all that work in just to have it go to waste,” Steve says, moving back around the island to hop up on his own stool, pulling a second plate towards himself.

“Oh, yeah, ten whole minutes of work. You poor thing,” Robin drawls, but there’s an amused little smile tucked up into the corners of her mouth.

It might not be such a bad day after all, she decides, and she’s probably not dying, but she does know that Steve is actually, probably, the best.

[honeyhour]

“that’s a very intimate approach, so maybe i shouldn’t be that surprised. who knew you could learn so much about a person based on the method of murder they choose? i think more people should try using it as an ice breaker.” it really helps to set a tone right from the jump, though she would suggest asking before getting into a car with the other person. just in case. “uh, no, don’t you dare. if i gave you a video of me naked, i would expect you to watch every minute, thank you very much. none of this cowardly closing out early bullshit. you commit or you don’t get.” much like doing the act itself, este is of the belief that he should feel grateful he’s even getting a glimpse, hypothetical or not. it’s like he wants her to change her mind and find someone else who will appreciate it more. “yeah? finally, the compliments i was looking for,” she gives him a smile, though it wanes soon after. “i don’t know... you sort of just answered the question yourself. i’m not used to someone paying attention to me, at least not at home, so even if you were just doing what was expected of you, i still appreciated it. it made me feel normal for a change and after the way dinner went, i wasn’t going to turn down the opportunity to feel that again… besides, it's probably better to get out for a while than overthink alone in my room. if it weren't for the whole ‘sister’s boyfriend’ thing, we might actually make pretty good friends.”

"definitely hands on. i like to feel their last breath under my fingertips, you know." admittedly a little morbid but with a softer grin still on his face, he hopes to steer clear of any sort of fear factor. especially as they're starting to wind through the hilly countryside a bit, shrouded in darkness with nothing but bright headlights to guide them through. "you said it was a win-win, i might as well enjoy it, right? well, up until the point you call him dad. that's when i either mute the video or close out of it to finish on my own." because surely she can't expect to send something like that without even a little bit of audience participation, right? hypotheticals will remain hypotheticals, however, so answering his tiny blips of worry is just wasted energy. "yeah? you think so? god, that's really fucking sad in general that someone like me is out here making you feel better. you really don't deserve the ghost treatment, este. you're a lot of fun to be around, you make damn good jokes, and everything's just been real with you. for some reason, that's hard to come across these days. maybe that's why i'm being 'pretty sweet'," jesper remarks back with quotes, just because he doesn't want to get her hopes up just yet. there's always times to make things worse, even if he doesn't mean to at times. "... can i actually ask you the same thing then? why did you decide to come outside to hang out with the guy dating your sister? i thought you'd be happier in your bedroom. i fully expected you to say 'no', honestly."

[coffeenvibes]

I asked Chat GPT to come up with a funny sketch where MC calls Sylus from a police station, and oh I had such a good laugh. Then I asked for more and it got me a whole series called "MC's vs. The Law", and I found it hilarious, so I wanted to share.

1. “Your girlfriend is in Holding”

It was a peaceful afternoon at the office when Sylus’ phone buzzed with an unfamiliar number. He glanced at it, debating whether to pick up. It wasn’t a saved contact, but something in his gut told him to answer.

“Yes?” he said briskly.

A small pause. Then, a sheepish, but unmistakable voice came through the line.

“Hey… so don’t freak out, but I’m kinda at the police station.”

Sylus closed his eyes, inhaling sharply. Of course.

“MC/n” he exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Explain.”

“Well,” MC/n started, and he could already hear the defensive edge in her tone, “I went to get my coffee, right? My usual. Grande Caramel Macchiato, extra shot, oat milk, you know, my drink. And this—this absolute menace of a man—just grabs it before I could reach for it.”

Sylus opened his laptop, already signaling his assistant to clear his next hour. “And?”

“And,” MC/n continued, as if she were narrating a crime documentary, “I very politely pointed out that it was actually my drink, not his. But instead of just apologizing like a normal, civilized human, he gives me this look and goes, ‘Well, I already touched it, so what are you gonna do about it?’”

Sylus sighed. Oh no. “MC/n… what did you do about it?”

“…Okay, so in hindsight, maybe I shouldn’t have tried to grab it back.”

He closed his laptop with a quiet thud. “You started a physical altercation over coffee?”

“Physical altercation is such a strong phrase,” she huffed. “I’d say… I strongly expressed my feelings about the blatant injustice occurring.”

Sylus rubbed his temple. “Did you hit him?”

“…Not exactly.”

“MC/n.”

“He was a condescending asshole!” she burst out. “I barely even touched him, and now somehow I’m the problem?”

Sylus could already picture it. MC/n, absolutely incensed, probably invading the guy’s personal space, yanking at the cup while shouting, “Give me my damn coffee, you thief!” Meanwhile, some poor barista in the background panicking.

“Did the police actually arrest you?”

“Well, no,” she admitted. “But they said I was being aggressive and escalating the situation.” He could hear the air quotes. “So they asked me to calm down and step aside—like I was the bad guy!”

Sylus exhaled, a slow chuckle threatening to break through his exasperation. “You, calming down? They had no idea what they were asking for.”

“I know, right?”

He shook his head, already reaching for his car keys. “Stay where you are. I’ll be there in twenty.”

2. The "Borrowed" Shopping Cart Incident

Sylus had barely stepped out of a meeting when his phone rang. MC/n. He sighed, already bracing himself.

“Let me guess,” he answered dryly. “You’re at the police station.”

A beat of silence. Then, “…It’s not what it looks like.”

“MC/n.”

“I might have borrowed a shopping cart.”

“Borrowed?”

“It’s just that my car was parked far, and I had a lot of bags, so I borrowed it to take them to my car—”

“And?”

“…And then a security guard saw me pushing it across the parking lot and thought I was stealing it.”

Sylus pinched the bridge of his nose. “MC/n.”

“I was going to return it!”

“Did you tell them that?”

“Yeah, but they didn’t believe me. Apparently, they’ve seen me before.”

Sylus went silent for a moment. “How many times have you done this?”

“…It’s not important.”

3. The Dog Rescue Incident

This time, Sylus answered with pure exhaustion.

“Please tell me you didn’t fight someone.”

“…I didn’t fight someone.”

He exhaled. “Okay, good.”

“But I did break into someone’s backyard.”

“MC/n.”

“In my defense, they left their dog outside in the rain! I was just rescuing the poor baby!”

Sylus closed his eyes. “Let me get this straight. You saw a random dog. In a random backyard. And decided, ‘Yes, I, MC/n, should climb the fence and steal it?’”

“Well, when you put it like that, it sounds bad.”

“It is bad.”

“But it was cold!” she whined. “And I was gonna give it back! After they learned their lesson.”

“…I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

4. The Wrong Uber Incident

By now, Sylus didn’t even flinch when her contact name appeared on his phone.

“Let me guess. You’re at the police station.”

“…Soooo, funny story.”

He sighed. “Just tell me.”

“I got in the wrong Uber.”

A pause. Then—“What?”

“I thought it was mine! The car was the same color, same make—”

“Did you even check the plate?”

“…Vaguely?”

He groaned. “So what happened?”

“Well, I got in, and I was giving directions and everything, and the guy was really confused, and I was like, ‘Why is this man acting brand new?’ And then—”

“—You realized it wasn’t your Uber.”

“—I realized it wasn’t my Uber.”

“MC/n.”

“In my defense, the real driver pulled up at the exact same time, so it was an easy mistake to make.”

Sylus pinched the bridge of his nose. “And now?”

“Well, they called the cops because I, uh… refused to leave until he took me where I needed to go.”

Sylus dragged a hand down his face. “Stay put. I’m on my way.”

Bonus 1.

The next time her name popped up on his phone, Sylus almost ignored it.

Then, he answered with an exhausted, “What now?”

“…Okay, so technically, I’m not at the police station.”

He narrowed his eyes. “MC/n.”

“But my car is.”

Sylus groaned. “I knew I shouldn’t have gotten you that Aston Martin.”

Bonus 2.

At some point, one of the twins had made a whole group chat logging each of MC/n’s police encounters like they were sports highlights.

Group Chat Name: MC/n vs. The Law (Live Updates)

📌 Kieran: BREAKING NEWS: SHE’S DONE IT AGAIN. THE QUEEN OF CHAOS RETURNS TO HER KINGDOM (THE POLICE STATION).

📌 Luke: What happened this time?

📌 Kieran: SHE GOT INTO A STRANGER’S CAR.

📌 Luke: ……did she steal it?

📌 Kieran: NOPE. JUST GOT IN LIKE IT WAS A TAXI. SHE WAS EVEN POLITE ABOUT IT.

📌 Sylus: DELETE THIS CHAT NOW.

📌 Kieran: You can’t silence the truth.

📌 Sylus: I am blocking you.

📌 MC/n: LMAO this is my favourite fan club.

📌 Kieran: WE RIDE AT DAWN FOR OUR CHAOTIC QUEEN.

📌 Sylus: I AM BLOCKING ALL OF YOU.

5. The Duck Incident

Morning. Sylus, in his office, already deep in emails. Then—

MC/n: Sooooo… don’t be mad.

Sylus immediately leaned back in his chair. "What happened?"

"Okay, first of all, did you know that it’s illegal to take a duck from a park?"

Sylus inhaled slowly. "Tell me you didn’t."

"I rescued it! It looked lonely!"

"You kidnapped a duck."

"I borrowed it! I was gonna bring it back!"

"MC/n."

"Okay, fine, the park ranger didn’t believe me either, so… yeah, I’m at the station."

Sylus closed his laptop, stood up, and grabbed his keys. "I’m coming."

6. The Shopping Spree That Went Wrong

Evening. Sylus was reviewing reports when his phone lit up.

MC/n: Sooo, I might need you to come get me.

He called immediately. "Where?"

"At the mall."

"…Why?"

"Okay, you know those fancy stores where they watch you like you’re about to steal something?"

"What did you do."

"Nothing! I was just in one, and the lady was hovering, so I made eye contact and dramatically whispered ‘I will rob this place’ as a joke—"

Sylus groaned. "You joked about committing a crime in a luxury store?"

"Well, yeah, but I said it ironically! Apparently, the security guards don’t do irony!"

"Stay put. I’m coming."

The One Time Kieran Called MC from Jail

...It was 1:37 AM when MC/n’s phone rang.

She groggily reached for it, squinting at the screen.

Kieran.

Huh. That was unusual. What’s he doing calling me at—

She answered.

MC/n: “…Kieran?”

There was a beat of silence. Then:

Kieran “Okay. Before you get mad—”

MC/n sat up. Oh, this is gonna be good.

MC/n: “Oh-ho, no, no, no, you do not start a conversation like that. WHERE are you?”

Another pause. Then, a sigh.

Kieran: “…The police station.”

MC/n: “OH MY GOD.”

She was suddenly wide awake.

MC/n: “YOU?! YOU’RE IN JAIL?! NOT ME FOR ONCE?!”

Kieran: “First of all, rude.”

MC/n: “Second of all, WHAT DID YOU DO?!”

Kieran mumbled something.

MC/n: “What was that? Speak up, jailbird.”

Kieran: “…There was a situation.”

MC/n: “A SITUATION?! DID YOU KILL SOMEONE?!”

Kieran: “I—WHAT? NO! WHY IS THAT YOUR FIRST THOUGHT?!”

MC/n: “Because you’re a demon”

...

Group Chat Update: "KARMA IS REAL"

📌 MC/n: EVERYONE WAKE UP. KIERAN. IS. IN. JAIL.

📌 Sylus: What.

📌 Luke: BROOOO. WHAT DID YOU DO.

📌 Kieran: WHY DO YOU ALL ASSUME I DID SOMETHING BAD?!

📌 MC/n: BECAUSE YOU’RE IN JAIL, KIERAN.

📌 Sylus: I just woke up for this. Explain. NOW.

📌 Kieran: I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING THAT BAD.

📌 MC/n: THAT BAD??!

📌 Luke: Bro, did you steal a car?

📌 Kieran: WHY IS THAT THE FIRST GUESS?!

📌 MC/n: I’M ON MY WAY. IF I GET THERE AND IT’S STUPID, YOU OWE ME MIDNIGHT CAKE.

📌 Kieran: Deal.

Group Chat Update: "SITUATION GETS WORSE"

📌 MC/n: UPDATE: LUKE IS ALSO IN JAIL.

📌 Sylus: WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING TONIGHT.

📌 Luke: In my defense, I did nothing wrong.

📌 Sylus: CLEARLY, SINCE YOU’RE IN JAIL.

📌 Luke: Hey, we just defended a lady’s honor.

📌 MC/n: Okay, that is admittedly hot, but STILL.

📌 Kieran: Are you bailing us out or not?

📌 MC/n: Oh no. I’m letting you suffer for a bit.

📌 Sylus: Leave them there for the night.

📌 Kieran: BOSS.

📌 Luke: RUDE.

📌 MC/n: I’m at least making them buy me cake before I pay.

📌 Kieran: Fine. But expensive cake.

📌 Luke: Deal.

[areanoodles]

Miraculous Ladybug Rewrite

Finally posting this. My rewrite for miraculous.

Ive been working on it for a while and just adding to it slowly. So, this is what I have for it so far. I'm deciding that I'm most likely going to make a second blog for just my rewrites (I currently have two I'm working on). So there will probably be a more polished version of this if I make the second blog.

Without further ado, here is my miraculous rewrite (so far..)

-

●Marinette and adrien are still both the main protagonist

●Adrien will actually have more of a focus, if not being more of the main character than Marinette

●Adrien's vocals will be added in the theme song as backing vocals (like in the full version of the theme song)

●Chloe will have a redemption arch

●Marinette and Adrien's romance will sort of be slow burn still, but will happen a lot faster in a way. Instead of dragging it on, they’ll start off having more of a friendship/some platonic banter, and as it progresses they’ll slowly start to realize their affection for one another

●In the umbrella scene (in origins pt. 2), we know marinette develops her crush on adrien from there, but, for this rewrite, marinette may question if she truly loves adrien. She may think she has a little affection for him, but, her crush for him will only slowly develop over time

●so, from the umbrella scene, she won’t actually have a huge crush on him

●adrien will actually be the same since the umbrella scene. He’ll consider Marinette a friend at first, but as time progresses, he’ll also develop a crush on her. He may not recognize it at first when he actually has feelings for her. Marinette will be more likely to detect her feelings for Adrien once she has feelings for him

●Zoe may be given a role in the show if I can properly give her development or any type of character

●not everyone of marinette’s classmates will be given a miraculous (such as Marc, Nathaniel, Ivan, Sabrina, max, Zoe, Kim, rose(?))

●Ladybug and Cat noir will still be the main super heroes. But if they develop a group over time, they’ll have queen bee (chloe), carapace (nino), and Rena Rouge (alya)

●temporary holders that will be recruited time from time will be, viperion (luka), ryuko (kagami)(?), purple tigress (juleka)

●bunnyx will always be a miraculous holders regardless since she has to deal with the timeline and time travel and her as a holder is a lot older (before current alix gets the bunny miraculous)

●Not sure how ill do lila’s (or cerise) character, but I want to figure out what I could do with her just like Zoe

● Gabriel (hawkmoth) won’t akumatize every single day. I think it would be better if he took time to pause from doing destruction, maybe trying to improve his powers during these times he’s not akumatizing, or just doing his job as a fashion designer, or any other lore that could be explored of the agreste family. I also feel like those episodes or times where he doesn’t akumatize anyone, could also give us time to know adrien and marinette better as main characters, can give them more exploration in their civilian lives

●Since I’m most likely keeping zoe in the Rewrite, I might have something that’ll make her more interesting(?)

●Chloe and Zoe don’t know about their existence before they actually meet

●Audrey purposely never told any one of them that they had a half sister in a complete different country

●Audrey was there for chloe, then left to new york

●I guess I’d like to go with the idea Audrey cheated on Andre (since it’s not really explained much in the show)

●Audrey has zoe in New York

●I think Audrey would’ve been flipping back and forth between going to new york and Paris for both of them (while also telling zoe and Chloe that she has to leave because of work and for fashion shows)

●zoe is more cold in this rewrite ●She holds a huge grudge towards audrey for leaving her all those years (and neglecting her for when she was there)

●Zoe for the most part cares less about Audrey. She feels there’s no need to care about something that hasn’t been there for her. Chloe on the other hand is pretty similar if not the same to her season 2 counterpart. She wishes for Audrey to praise her, to acknowledge her. She grieves the mother she wished she had.

●Audrey was more in zoe’s life, but even then, was still neglected by her. Audrey barely paid any attention to her, and didn’t take any time to spend with her

●Chloe also didn’t have a parent to spend time with. Andre was always busy with something and barely took time to hangout with her.

●When chloe and Zoe do meet, they are kind of distant to each other

●Chloe holds a slight grudge towards Zoe cause she feels like she got the better end of the stick (having a mother figure with her, especially since all chloe’s ever wanted was for her mother to be there with her and acknowledge her existence)

●Though, she’s totally oblivious to how much Audrey has affected Zoe too, and that Audrey isn’t as great as much as she gives her credit for

●Zoe really left her boarding school because of the homophobia that she got

●The main reason why cockroaches were eventually put in her locker

●Master Fu dying

●Sometimes characters need to die, and maybe mater Fu being that one character during the time of the show

●I think this will really effect marinette even more than just master Fu losing his memory

●Maybe by the time Master Fu dies, the superhero group would be a thing (ladybug, cat noir, carapace, Rena Rouge, and queen bee), and it'll all greatly affect them

●this will take a toll on them, but marinette especially. The one mentor, the only mentor she had, is now gone, and she’s going through another mental spiral

●she began off in the series with no guidance, finding Master Fu, finally have some sort of guidance, now doesn’t have guidance anymore

●Maybe even the celestial guardian can be introduced this way. With Fu now dead, he presumes the miracle box is still out there, and then figures out a teenager is in possession of it

●this is obviously still close to in show canon, so its not too different

●But, instead, the miracle box isn’t passed down to marinette at all. So marinette’s put in this weird position where she has to take charge and care for the miracle box

●I do want to do something where Marinette/ladybug isn’t the only one taking care of these things, but also has adrien/cat noir to help

●I’ve also been thinking that at some point Zoe will know Chloe is queen bee (as well as the rest of the teams identities)

●Kagami will definitely know some how

-

Thats it. That's what I have so far, this is a really long post.

When I said earlier in the post that adrien will have his vocals added to the theme song, I was in the thought process of if this rewrite were to be animated.

Question marks are put near certain names because I might be unsure of my idea for them for the rewrite

If anyone would like to see more, I can definitely make another post for this rewrite. I do have some more ideas but I will be adding them on slowly

Thats all

[hellvst]

OFFSEASON – quinn hughes

featuring ; quinn hughes x fmc (sydney gray)

✮⋆˙ warning & content ; swearing

✮⋆˙ word count ; 3.5k

✮⋆˙ previous chapter – series masterlist – next chapter

a/n ; woohoo chapter three is here! also what's up with the hughes brothers getting hurt within the last 48 hours...hope they're ok :c also thank you all for the recent support, means a lot! uh this isn't proof read, but happy reading <3

CHAPTER THREE

QUINN

The bell above the café door chimed as I stepped inside, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries hitting me almost instantly. I wasn’t much of a coffee guy, but I definitely needed it today.

The place was an average size for a café, cozy, slightly packed with students hunched over laptops and the occasional older couples chatting over mugs of tea.

Conor, who trailed behind me with Brock next to him, actually suggested this spot, claiming it to be one of the best coffee in this side of Vancouver. It wasn’t my go-to energizer. Still, after the morning skate we had, I could use something to wake me up.

After coming off a big-time loss, post-practice was always tougher.

If people thought we’d been left off the hook to start the off-season early the following day. They have never been more wrong. So fucking wrong. Just because we were out of the game, did not mean that it was over.

Everyone on the team had been anticipating that text from our coach and told us to “Get your asses in the rink. Now.” Knowing Tocchet, he was ready to give us hell–more specifically Simon and I. And we got it.

The skating and puck handling drills were relentless. I don’t think we’d ever been pushed like that before. They were much more intensive, fast-paced, more difficult targets to hit in the goal post. I tried my best to keep up, which I did, but I would be lying if I had said it didn’t wear me down to the max. My body absolutely felt like I was checked over and over again.

Not the best feeling in the world. Trust me, I would know.

Conor and Brock stood behind me, still joking about the brutal morning skate we had to endure. “Man–I need something strong.” Brock said while his eyes wandered the menu. “I swear, if we have another skate like that, I’m gonna need a new set of legs.”

Conor huffed a laugh. “Better legs wouldn’t make a difference for you, buddy.” 

I smiled while Brock gave him a look, “Whatever–” he waved his hand before looking at the menu again. “So, what do you usually get here Gar?”

“Yeah, Garland. You’re the one who said this place was good.” I muttered.

“Because it is. And you need some caffeine in you, Huggy.” Conor shot back, nudging towards the counter. “Maybe then you’ll stop looking like you wanna skate into oncoming traffic.” 

I ignored him since it was probably true, and not a terrible idea considering what I had to deal with in a week or so.

My mind was stuck on last night’s game and the conversation with Tocchet. I couldn’t get it out of my head. The rest of the team didn’t hound me after figuring out what transpired in the coach’s office between me and Simon. They knew not to press me on it–I was glad that they did as I was already in a bad mood. I doubt that Simon kept his mouth shut about it to some of the guys, ranting to them per usual. 

Conor and Brock continued on with their banter. I was only half-listening as I stared at the menu, pretending I knew what any of the drinks meant or how–

I blinked and before I could react, as soon as I took a step forward, the person in front of me turned around–colliding straight into me. I watched as the girl’s cup tipped forward, brown coffee spilling all over her grey hoodie.

“Fuck!” She let out a sharp and frustrated voice under her breath.

My stomach dropped. This wasn’t good.

I staggered back, looking at her. The girl in front of me–who I had just completely steamrolled–stood frozen and appalled, coffee staining the front of her hoodie. The brown liquid spreads rapidly across the cotton like wildfire. 

Her jaw clenched, a mix of annoyance and disbelief flashing across her face.

“Shit, I–” I started, but the words barely left my mouth before she snapped her gaze at me, clearly about to let me have it–then she froze.

I watched her expression shift, something unreadable flickering her chestnut-colored eyes. Her pupils softened, but still held that glare. Her gaze swept over me in a quick assessment. I could almost see the wheels turning in her head.

Oh, she was pissed.

Looking at her, she was strikingly beautiful. Dark brown hair tied in a ponytail, long eyelashes, very light freckles dotting her nose across her tan skin, the kind of natural beauty that didn’t need any effort. But it was the look in her eyes that got me–like she had already sized me up and made her judgement. 

And from the way her mouth pressed into a tight line, it wasn’t in my favour at all.

“I, uh–” I looked at the sight in front of me, wincing at the view. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

Shit. Not the best first impression.

I grabbed napkins from the counter and held them out to her. She took them but didn’t seem all that convinced they would be much help. I watched as she tried to dab at the stain, her expression growing more annoyed by the second. Yeah, the napkins weren’t much help.

It was only right that I offered to buy her another coffee–although, I figured it would make matters worse–so I opted to at least buy her a new hoodie. 

She shook her head to refuse, still working with the napkins. What she said next had caught me completely off guard. “I don’t need anything from an NHL player, alright–”

Then she stopped, her own words registering, her eyes widened slightly.

My brows furrowed. “So, you know who I am?”

Maybe she was a Canucks fan.

She met my gaze again, unimpressed. “Yes, I do.” The tone in her voice made it clear that wasn’t exactly a compliment. 

Alright, maybe she wasn’t a fan.

That surprised me. Most of the time, when someone recognized me, there was some level of excitement. But her? She didn’t seem impressed in the slightest. If anything, she looked more annoyed and pissed than before.

A strange mix of amusement and curiosity flickered in my chest. What the hell, that was new.

“Can I at least get your name or number?” I asked, then immediately realized how that sounded. “To replace your hoodie or pay for dry cleaning, anything to fix what I caused.” 

I had no other intentions behind that statement. For all I cared, I just wanted to make a things right. Not just because there were now a couple of eyes watching us, but it wouldn’t be fair for her to leave this place without anything in return to help her. Then I’d feel like a complete asshole. 

Sure. She was pretty. Beyond her looks–and her built up frustration–she carried herself with grace and poise. Even in a stained-hoodie, black leggings, and white sneakers, there was still that elegance to her like no one else had–you just had to be born with it.

Wait. I couldn’t be like this.

“I’m not making you buy me a hoodie. I can take care of this–” she gestured down. “–myself. So, I think I’ll respectfully pass up on that offer of yours, but thank you though.”

Before I could say anything else, she turned away.

Don’t look like an asshole. Don’t look like an asshole.

On instinct, I reached out, lightly catching the material of her sleeve. “Hey look, I’d feel really bad if I left here without making it up to you.”

“Oh, really?” She paused, raising a brow at me.

Of course I’d feel terrible. She could have gone off on me in front of the entire shop, but she hadn’t. And now I was weirdly determined to fix it.

But she smirked slightly. “I think I’ll survive without your help, but thanks.”

I stared, absolutely stunned, but a tinge in my lips dared to curve. And just like that, she walked off, returning to her table with another woman–most likely her friend–before I could even respond.

Well that caught me off guard. I don’t think I’ve ever been let down like that. Strangely enough, I was not bothered by it, but just fascinated. It’s not everyday I get these kinds of interactions.

The sound of laughter brought me back, and I turned to see Brock and Conor watching the whole thing unfold with shit-eating grins plastered on their faces. I forgot they were here for a moment.

“Dude,” Brock said, he shook his head in disbelief. “Did we just witness the Quinn Hughes talk to a girl?”

Conor was quick to add, whistled lowly. “Not just talk. Get rejected.”

I rolled my eyes. It wasn’t a complete rejection, noting she ‘respectfully’ declined.

“She didn’t reject me.”

“She literally just rejected you,” Brock deadpanned.

“She didn’t even let you buy her a new hoodie,” Conor mentioned the obvious, also shaking his head in mock sympathy. “That’s tough, Huggy.”

“Maybe she saw last night’s game and watched us play like shit and–”

“Shut up.” I said under my breath. 

Given she knew I was an NHL player, there was no doubt that she knew about last night’s game. I wondered if she had even watched it at all. Better if she hadn’t, the sight of us losing on our home turf was not only embarrassing but rather disappointing.

If I were a fan, I would be feeling anything but happy. That realization crashed down on me a lot more than I thought it would.

Brock’s laugh brought me out of my short trance. “No, no, this is big,” he said, grinning like an idiot. “Quinn, do we need to have the talk? You know, the one where we tell you how to approach women like a normal person?”

“You two are the worst.” I wasn’t completely paying attention to them. 

My gaze drifted towards the exit, just in time to watch the same coffee-stained hoodie girl leave the cafe alongside her friend. 

I didn’t know who she was. I didn’t even get her name. But, there was that feeling down my gut that told me this wouldn’t be the last time I was going to see her. 

And usually, my gut-feeling has always been right.

I had two weeks of freedom. A glorious, responsibility-free stretch of time before I had to start this personal hell.

And I spent it the only way I knew how: watching hockey, reading new books that I got a few weeks ago, hanging out with some of the guys, and watching more hockey. 

It was the perfect balance of nothing and everything. Until now. Until this.

I pulled into the Lumé Wellness parking lot, stared at the building through my windshield like it was about to swallow me whole. The building itself was tucked in the center of downtown Vancouver, which was near the Rogers Arena. The area around the studio wasn’t too busy or lively, I didn’t have to worry about the media at this time.

If I could put this mandatory cross-training off another week, I would have in a heartbeat just to prepare myself for this moment. Hell, I would have put it off forever if it meant I wouldn’t have to do this with Simon.

But no, that wasn’t an option, not if I wanted to come back at my best instead of my ass being glued to the bench next season.

My fingers drummed against the steering wheel. I was about to hop out when I glanced around the lot and realized that Simon’s car wasn’t here yet. I took the liberty of keeping track of his cars whenever I could, just to avoid bumping into that prick at random places. 

I was expecting him to be here, especially considering his whole ‘I’m better than you, I know everything, and I make the shots you would have   missed’ complex. But, who was I kidding? Simon didn’t want to be here, and so had I. If he didn’t show, then I wouldn’t blame him. Since he wasn’t here yet, that either meant he was running late on purpose or–worse–he was about to show up here with his sister.

The hoodie girl at the café popped into my head before I could dread what was about to come. 

The thoughts of our interaction weeks ago lingered in my head, which was strange, because usually I didn’t dwell on these things. But the reminiscence of spilling coffee all over her and interacting with her, it had been itching at my brain ever since.

She looked so annoyed, so unimpressed. 

It also didn’t help the fact she knew exactly who I was. I had no idea if she hated me or not, but she probably did now. Not that I cared what people thought of me on or off the ice–except, for some reason, with her, I kind of did.

I shook the thoughts out of my head, got out of my car and walked towards the entrance of the studio, pushing open the glass door. 

The foyer was empty, which was unexpected. I came prepared to see a lot of people here, but it was quiet–too quiet. The scent of essential oils idled in the air, a mix of eucalyptus and lavender, almost enough to make me forget how much I didn’t want to be here. 

I made my way past the front desk, my gaze roaming over the sleek, modern with contemporary wooden interior. Soft lighting, smooth hardwood floor, and floor-to-ceiling arched mirrors in every studio room.

Great. That meant I’d have to watch myself struggle through whatever the hell was about to happen here.

As I wandered further into the hallway, I passed more studio rooms, each one either empty or locked. Then, as I turned the corner, I caught the faint sound of music–Michael Jackson.

I slowed my steps, glancing toward the slightly opened door at the end of the hall. Inside, a single figure was stretching in front of the mirrors.

My feet stopped moving. It took me half a second to realize why.

No. There’s no way.

The café girl. 

She looked the same as the last I saw her. Brown chestnut eyes, her hair in a braid instead of a loose ponytail. Rather than a stained grey hoodie, she wore black yoga pants and a matching fitted jacket. 

I traced her face through the reflection of the mirrors, watched as she moved fluidly, adjusting her position with practiced ease. She was focused, lost in whatever she was doing–until she wasn’t. 

I hadn’t realized how long I was like this for. She must have sensed me, because she suddenly straightened up, her eyes snapping to mine through the mirror. 

“What are you doing here?” She turned to face me, looking just as surprised.

I blinked, clearing my throat. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Her lips quirked, but it wasn’t a smile. “I asked first.”

Okay. Fair enough.

“I, uh–” I scratched the back of my nape. “I have a session today.”

She tilted her head in amusement, probably found it hard to believe that me, Quinn Hughes, would be at a Pilates studio. I also found that reality hard to grasp around my head. “I’m sure you don’t see a lot of guys here, right?” 

“Well, believe it or not Hughes, I see a few male athletes here and there for Pilates. So, don't go around thinking you’re all that special now.”

Great, it looks like she hadn’t forgotten me after all. I couldn’t tell if I should be happy or worried about that. “So, you remembered me.”

She only nodded, but not in a way that meant it was a good thing. “Well, duh. You’re the reason I had to throw my favourite hoodie in the bin.”

I saw that coming, there was no way she would look at me any other way than this. I wasn’t just an ‘NHL hockey player’ in her eyes, instead I was now dubbed ‘the guy who ruined her clothes’.

“I offered to buy you another one or pay to get it cleaned–”

“I’m just kidding,” she chuckled, ever so lightly, waving her hand. “It’s a good thing washing machines and laundry detergent exist. It took a few cycles and extra scrubbing to get it out, but it’s all gone–good as new.”

That weight I have been carrying on my shoulders for the past two weeks, instantly lifted after hearing that. So, she didn’t hate me in the end. I dodged a bullet there.

“Oh, good–” I huffed out in relief. “I am sorry about that, again.”

All she did was smile. Who knew that a single smile would ignite something beneath my chest. There was that feeling from the cafe again. And I wasn’t sure why it only kept happening around her.

Taking that she hasn’t kicked me out yet, I took a few strides into the room, inviting myself in. I have never been to any Pilates studios, so I have never seen what was inside one–although, I had a good idea of it. 

One side of the walls were large arched floor to ceiling mirrors, the opposite side were windows that overlooked outside, multiple pilates reformers in one neat row, and the other end were laid out yoga mats and more equipment.

“Do you come here often?” I asked.

I figured she was in her twenties, but I could be wrong. I guessed since most Pilates’ clients were either young adults or middle-aged. I did some research prior to coming, and I would know a bit about it since my mom picked it up a couple years ago.

She gave me a vague shrug, “Something like that.”

I exhaled, shifting my weight as I walked around the reformers, taking in my surroundings, still keeping my distance from her. “I should’ve known you did Pilates.”

I recalled from the café; she stood so close that I noticed the small flecks of sweat glisten against her skin. She most likely earned them after being here.

Her brows lifted, “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know, you seem like you’d be good at it.”

Now that I realized it, I sounded awkward just then. I mentally face-palmed myself for my ‘game’–more like lack thereof. Maybe that talk Brock and Garly were referring to on that day might have come in handy for times like these. I sound like a fucking idiot in front of her.

But, I wasn’t trying to flirt with her. This was simply to make conversation. That’s all.

She stared at me for a moment before she shook her head with a laugh–like she wasn’t sure if I was complimenting her or just making shit up.

I was about to say something else, anything to save me from my impending doom, when Michael Jackson’s voice blasted through the speakers again. I recognized the song immediately.

“Beat It?” I said, more to myself than anything. “Solid choice.”

She turned her back to her bag on the floor, kneeling to grab her water bottle. She glanced at me, amused. “Yeah, you a fan?”

“I know good music when I hear it.”

That earned me a small smirk on her pink tinted lips. 

I didn’t know why, but I felt the need to keep talking to her. I wasn’t usually like this–I didn’t go out of my way to make conversation, unless I had to–but, especially not with strangers. But, my mouth was already moving before I could think about stopping.

“What's your name? You know, since it's only fair because you know mine.” I asked, looking at all the equipment surrounding us.

She exhaled a short scoff, “You ask a lot of questions.”

“You’re not answering them.” 

She twisted the cap off her bottle and took a sip, like she was debating on whether or not she wanted to humor me. Before she said anything, though, another voice cut through the air.

“Let’s not waste time and get on with it.”

I knew that voice all too well. Fuck.

I turned my head just as Simon strolled into the room like he owned the place, then tossed his bag to the side by the wall.

The café girl–her entire posture shifted. She walked over to the speaker where the music came from and turned down the volume. Her head snapped toward him, her expression tight. “Took you long enough. Didn’t I tell you to get here earlier because of traffic in the area?”

Simon barely looked fazed. “Turns out you were right after all. There was traffic. Duly noted for next time.”

My stomach twisted, and I wasn’t sure why. Simon has a wife, I knew that, but it did put me on edge to see her and Simon talk to one another. They spoke casually, so effortlessly, like they had known each other forever. Not that I was jealous or anything.

It seemed like I was invisible and there was a wall between myself and the two of them. 

I cleared my throat and interrupted their conversation. “Do you guys know each other?”

Simon shot me a look, one of those ‘are you the dumbest person on earth?’ expressions he was always good at–towards me specifically.

“No shit, Hughes,” he deadpanned. Then he jerked his chin toward her. “She’s my sister.”

all rights reserved © 2025 hellvst. please do not copy, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

[hollyhomburg]

I’m kinda curious how everyone handles Jin or mc’s pregnancy in bily (if we were to get to that point). Like would be like a human pregnancy or because they’re werewolves, would it be different? Like do they get mood swings and morning sickness? Does their scent change just during pregnancy or permanently? Which alpha ends up the most stressed or which of the eight ends up being the most stressed throughout? How do they come up with names or do they make plans to expand or move houses? That sort of thing.

oh they are never ever moving the house! the bily house is like- so so so important to me! and its important that you know that they like- live there until it's just tae, m/c, and hobi left like well into their late 70's/early 80's.

i do think that like- the house does undergo some more renovation once they start to have pups- but also they'd totally be able to all room togeather with the size of the house- also wouldn't it be cute if pup nests where like- standard? like all siblings kinda sharing one space + a packmate when they're young? like a nest downstairs that the omega's make for the pups when they're from ages like 3-10 or whenever they start wanting to sleep alone. usually acompinied by at last one alpha to gaurd them all heaped there.

but then like also- remember there are three rooms that could serve as a bedroom downstairs in the bily house- in my mind jin's oldest (girl, alpha, named magnolia or maggie) probably gets the m/c's old bedroom and the two middle alpha boys share the packs old bedroom (boys are stinky, i cant remember what i named them although im sure its somewhere in an ask somewhere)

the m/c's youngest gets the room at the end of the hall with all the windows, mostly because she's the only omega and needs her own space to nest and be away from the alpha noise. i bet the m/c gives her her old nesting nook.

there's also the option of the pack renovating the basement into something of an acessory apartment- because in my mind at least one of the packs kids stays home through college and needs a bit more privacy while still being there you know? there's like- more than enough space for everyone there- it's a fairly big house for the amount of people- even though the pack would be 12-15 depending on if the pack adopt like i wrote in that one little ask.

side tangent but- when i was growing up my grandparents house had almost 6-7 bedrooms? because they had 7 children, and there was a time where like 3-4 family units lived in the house all at once like- my siblings and i and my cousins and my mom, and my moms siblings and their kids, and it never felt cramped even if each family basically got just one room. i think we had like 20 people living there all at once? i was really really little at the time so i don't really remember it (beyond the spiral staircase and the windows and the smell of the attic bedroom)

as for the m/c's pregnancy! i think that her smell changes once she's pupped and then goes away after she stops breastfeeding like- in my mind thats where her scent change ends. people's scents don't change unless their hormones change like they get sick or they're pregnant, or they're on medication (like with tae and her estrogen).

i think that the rest of the pregnancy symptoms remain mainly the same, the m/c and jin both go through pretty bad morning sickness with their pregnancies- the m/c's is a little worse than jin's and the pack go a little bit crazy because she actually loses weight during her pregnancy and has to go on a special diet for maintaining weight and nutrients.

i think jk gets really in on it and really intense with it. i think he develops a habit of talking to the m/c's little bump like "you have to eat okay? and don't get grumpy with me! you have to like what i make you because i'm gonna be your hyung." and then when the pup is actually born its the same kind of situation. "mushed bananas and peas are so good pup! come on, be nice to hyung and eat all of it" and jk gets a handful of mushy peas to the face and a very very endearing giggle.

ive said it before but jk out of all of them wants to be like a fun older brother to the pups and he's a really really great pseudo parental figure- but he doesn't want to have pups on his own or be the default parent. it's just not something that he can handle with his sickness, but i think tbh he ends up being kinda a very important part of the pups lives like- on his 40th birthday the pups make him a cake that say "happy birthday dad uncle jk" and the m/c's little one mistakenly calls him dad and he tears up a little. he's in the intermediary between hyung/dad/uncle in a way that the others aren't.

as for what alpha gets the most stressed! that is namjoon- with yoongi being a close second (not an alpha i know i know) but for both jin and the m/c's pregnancy all of the alphas suffer with insomnia. it's pretty normal for alphas to sleep fitfully or develop heightened instincts when one of their omega's is pupped because they need to protect them and they're most vulnerable when asleep. i think the pack put a stop to it once namjoon almost falls asleep while driving but until then- none of them really notice so