#The Back Door Thrift Shop

[tonionthrifting]

The Back Door Thrift Shop - Bargains Galore!

[scented-morker]

Wearing Enhypen’s clothes

Enha x implied fem reader, established relationship, 945 words (AGAIN), fluffff, jungwons is longer than everyone else’s😬

Heeseung

He is the perpetrator.

Like as soon as you walk in the door he shoves his hoodie onto you

It’s not cute either— your arms get stuck and your hair is messed up and staticky everywhere

But as soon as it’s on he pulls the hood down and looks at you with such a lovesick look even though you look like a gremlin

Every time you stay over he makes you wear his clothes because he just thinks you look so cute

And since his shirts/hoodies are too big on you it makes it easier to sneak his hands up them to hold your bare waist which is his favorite way to cuddle 😔

Jay

At first you were just so impressed with his style that you wanted to be like him 🥺

He though it was so cute when you walked out in one of the outfits he had posted a picture in one day and been like “how do you manage to make this look good 😭”

“Well for starters, the clothes actually fit me” he laughs and ruffles your hair

He likes to get matching outfits so you don’t always have to steal much of his stuff since you probably have a match

But you always end up stealing his accessories

The amount of times he’s complimented your necklace only to realize it was his 😐

You’re lucky he loves you

Likes when you slide his rings onto your fingers while you’re playing with his hands 🥰

Jake

THE KING OF SHARING CLOTHES

He will give you anything that you want from his closet, no questions asked

He loves trying to sneakily add articles of his clothing to your outfits

Like “hey what if you added- I don’t know- a flannel around your waist? Actually look, I’ve already go one right here. Let me put it on you.”

He loves coming home and seeing you in his hoodies or flannels (especially when they’re so long it looks like you aren’t wearing pants 😭)

Refers to his new purchases as “our new jacket” or will text you and ask “do you like this?”

And when you tell him it’s a mens shirt so you wouldn’t wear it he goes “actually, it’s a jake shirt, which means it’s a yn shirt.”

Sunghoon

He’s one to act like he doesn’t like it

But one time when you told him you were cold and he said “sounds like a you problem” you threatened to go get one of the other boys’ hoodie and he got so pouty and mad 😭

Now he always brings an extra one of HIS hoodies whenever you hang out because he doesn’t want you to get it from someone else

Also the type to show up at your house, see your collection of his clothes and tease you about it but then not take them back

And if you EVER tell him you need another one bc the ones you have don’t smell like him anymore—

He’s gonna need three to four business days to recover from that

Sunoo

Another one to refer to his closet as “our closet”

He always asks you to wear his stuff

Like you text him to ask what you should wear for your date and he tells you to just wear anything over and he’d give you something of his to wear

Sharing sweaters 🥺

Like little grandpa sweaters that you thrift somewhere and you guys share them like it’s the sisterhood of the traveling pants or something and send each other little pictures of where you were wearing it

“Today I wore our sweater to the ice cream shop! The guy in front of me in line ordered mint choco and it made me think of you” 🫶

Jungwon

Listen, he’s seen the romcoms— you’ve made him watch enough of them during movie nights to know that people like wearing their boyfriends clothes

He just had no idea how to offer it

Does he just walk up to you one day and say “here, wear this”? Does he take you to the cold section of the grocery store until you shiver and then give it to you?

HE DOESNT KNOW!!!

But one day you two come home from one of your dates and decide to just chill in his bed

Which is cool, except you had dressed a little nicer for the date and your outfit wasn’t exactly made for comfort

“Hey won, do you think I could borrow something to change into? My outfit isn’t very comfy.”

He scolds you at first for not wearing something you’re comfortable in because he’s gonna think you look beautiful no matter what you wear, but eventually gives you a tshirt and pair of shorts to change into

Laughs because you look like Adam Sandler

“I thought this was going to be cute but you look really funny”

Riki

Listen, he loves napping

And napping on you is one of his favorite places

So when your stupid pretty shirt was scratching against his face, Riki was very upset

He lets out a big dramatic groan, grabbing one of his hoodies from the floor next to his bed and shoving it onto you so that he can sleep in peace

You’re still wearing it when he wakes up, and earlier he was too tired to be embarassed but now he realizes what he did and gets a little red

“Thanks for the hoodie ki,” you tease him, but still refuse to give it back when he asks

“Well if you hate it that much you can take it off.”

“Never!! This is mine now!”

Cue him chasing you around to try and get it back

[sleeplessdreamer14]

𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓅𝒾𝑒𝒸𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊

fandom: my hero academia

relationship: tenya iida x reader

summary: you left your jacket in iida’s room.

contains: mutual pining, unresolved romantic tension, fluff, opposites attract, thrifted clothes, like two lines of dialogue

a/n: @thecutestgrotto divider credit goes to

Study sessions hadn’t always been a thing between you and Iida, not until after moving into the dorms. You just lived too far apart to meet up every week like you did now, every Friday to be exact.

Iida had offered to tutor you earlier in the school year, but you always turned him down, wanting to at least try and figure things out on your own. But after you began to live in the same building, you finally accepted his offer and worked out a schedule for the two of you to meet up in the afternoon and go over any material either of you had trouble with.

Eventually, those study sessions began to evolve into hang outs with studying sprinkled in, switching between his room and yours every week. Despite you two having very different tastes in room decor, it look little time for you to grow comfortable in each other’s environments. You quickly learned his organization system and he gradually learned to just leave your clutter be… mostly.

This week’s study meeting was held in Iida’s dorm room, and when you had first walked through the door, you were sporting your iconic letterman jacket which you had gotten from a thrift shop not too long ago. It had become routine for you and your mom to stop by the thrift store when you would spend her days off work together.

Anyway, it wasn’t until about an hour after you had left to start turning in for the night that Iida realized you had left your jacket behind, in a small bundle on the floor near the foot of his bed. He was surprised that it took him this long to notice, considering he had actually watched you walk- or more rush out the door after you realized how late it had gotten. You had taken it off in the middle of studying since the fabric retained heat and you were getting a little warmer than you would have preferred, so he supposed that you must have been so eager to go shower and get to sleep at a somewhat decent hour that you simply forgot.

Iida’s initial idea was to stop by your dorm room to give it back to you, but it was already pretty late and he knew that you tended to lock your door at night. Though he supposed he could simply text you, but you were probably already asleep, or at least drifting off, so he didn’t want to disturb you. It had been a long week and you needed the rest.

So he decided that he would simply return it to you tomorrow morning when he saw you again. And it definitely wasn’t because over the past few weeks, the more time that Tenya spent with you, the more it felt as though your study sessions ended too early and he just wanted to hold onto this piece of you for as long as he could. Of course not.

And that’s why he was lying on his back in the dark, holding the piece of clothing to his chest while staring up and the ceiling with nothing but the low hum of the air conditioner and muffled outside noises to fill the silence.

If he were being honest, Iida loved this jacket. Because despite it being previously owned, it was so uniquely yours. He could still remember the day you returned to the dorms with a skip in your step as you showed off your new duds, talking about how lucky you were to find it right at the front of the shop and have it fit you just right. Coincidentally, it even had the first letter of your surname on the front. There were a lot of things that Tenya had grown to appreciate thanks to you.

Like your piercings. While Tenya previously found them impractical and even a bit unprofessional, he eventually grew to like how they looked on you, especially after you had invited him to go with you to get your most recent one.

And the rings you wore every day, two on your left and one on your right. Honestly, he kind of just liked your hands. Iida had briefly held your hand a couple times before, to help you stand up or when one of you was leading the other somewhere. He wished he could do that more.

Turning over on his side, Iida closed his eyes and lightly tightened his hold on your jacket as his heart drummed in his ears.

No. Don’t do it. Don’t do it, don’t you dare do it.

But he did. Tenya brought the jacket closer to his face and inhaled slowly. Yep, there it was; your natural scent with hints of your shampoo around the back of the collar. It was nice, comforting. Sometimes when he went to bed after your study sessions, he could find faint traces of your smell on his pillow or covers of you had been resting there while working.

Tenya wished he could have more than this. More of you, and for longer. But if this was all he could have, then he could be content with that.

The following morning, Iida folded up your jacket before going to return it to you. While part of him felt a little disappointed at first about having to give it back to you, that feeling was overpowered by the smile on your face when he did. You slipped your jacket on and tucked your hands into the pockets, thanking Iida.

“Don’t worry, it’s no trouble at all.” he replied, hoping that the blush in his face wasn’t too obvious. It really did look perfect on you.

As you went your separate ways, you gently rubbed your arms and took a deep breath in, your face flushing a subtle pink as you picked up faint traces of Tenya’s scent. Looking back over your shoulder in his direction, you chuckled softly as you stared at him as he engaged in conversation with some of your other classmates, blissfully unaware of that fact that-

“You totally left it in his room on purpose, didn’t you?” Mina whispered as she approached you, a Cheshire Cat grin spread across her face as she quirked an eyebrow at you. You said nothing, only rolling your eyes and lightly shoving her by the shoulder, earning a giggle. You knew that she could see the answer in your face.

Maybe you did, but he didn’t need to know that.

[jelly-an0n]

A Sweet Treat

Jason Todd x Reader

Jason had caught you, quite literally, with your hand in the cookie jar.

In your defence, you hadn't thought he would return for a few more hours.

You see- Jason had helped you make a batch of cookies a few days before, one of your many kitchen dates where you typically ended up covered in more flour than not. The finished product wasn't your best work- but they had tasted better than anything you had made on your own.

So, once that batch had cooled enough to eat, the more burnt ones were set aside to start with while the rest went into a wonky jar, one you had found at a thrift shop and deemed too adorable to let slip away.

The cookies hadn't lasted long, either you or Jason sneaking one away when either of you could, thinking the other was completely unaware. And the amount in the jar had quickly dwindled down to the last one- the one you were just about to claim as your own before bed while Jason was out on patrol.

"Is that the last cookie?" Jason's amused voice is what causes you to realise he's there, leaning against the kitchen door, staring at you with a raised eyebrow.

You glance between the cookie now secured in your hand and him, before suddenly darting pass him with laughter echoing where you once were.

Jason instantly gives chase, it's a sudden game of tag. The winning prize? The last cookie.

Thinking back on the night, you can't really remember who won, the chase turning into a tickle fight the dissolved into soft kisses and a shared baked treat- but it's a memory that causes you to smile every time you get the chance to purchase a cookie along with your morning coffee.

[luminiamore]

soul

basketball player ony x spiritual reader headcanons

୨୧ he absolutely has to keep one of the crystals you gave him with him. at all times. if he ever realizes he’s forgotten it—whether it’s on the way to practice or heading out for a big game—he’ll drop everything. no matter how tight the schedule is, he’ll make his entire team wait while he runs back to get it.

୨୧ he knows how sensitive and drained you get when you're surrounded by so many energies at once, and he could never put you in that position. so, even though he would love to have you at every game, he never allows you to come. instead, he’s making sure you're waiting for him in the locker room after.

୨୧ he takes the time to lock the door, ensuring that no one can hear anything, especially the sweetest cries you make when he's celebrating a big win. and when the rivalry match doesn't end in his favor-he's just as committed to making you feel his frustration. he’d end up carrying you to his car when he feels like he’s thoroughly dumped his anger past your warm sticky walls, your legs becoming jello.

୨୧ he was never the type to open up about his feelings, let alone imagine a future with anyone. seeing how dedicated you are to growing and evolving as a person, something shifted in him. he respected you deeply, more than he ever thought possible. for you, he started putting in the work—learning how to be more vulnerable, more present, and more open.

୨୧ you both became teachers to each other. he’d never admit it out loud, but you were slowly unraveling parts of him he didn’t even know were there. and just as much, he pushed you to continue evolving, helping you through your own challenges with the same dedication he put into his training.

୨୧ you two rarely argue. or ever really stay upset at each other. if he does something to make you upset you let him know rather than playing mind games, vice versa. ony would rather die than let you go to sleep upset at him. you will always talk it out. and get your pussy sucked clean after.

୨୧ he said “i love you” first, and while he tried to keep his cool and act like it was no big deal— on the inside, he was terrified. what if she don’t say it back? the simple thought almost made him second guess his decision. you did, of course.

୨୧ call him toxic, but unfortunately for you—breaking up is not an option. deep down, he knows you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him. he might make mistakes but he’s quick to learn from them, careful not to make them again. if you ever hinted at leaving, he’d beg on his knees, desperate to change your mind. his pride would be forgotten in a second.

୨୧ he’s the kind of man who starts taking care of himself because he knows that if he wants to be the best partner, he has to be the best version of himself too. he hits the gym regularly to clear his head, makes sure he’s eating right to stay energized, and starts working on his mental health—because you deserve someone who is just as mentally strong as you are.

୨୧ safe to say, you’re spoiled��but in the best way possible. he takes you to the crystal shop, and it’s like your personal shopping spree every time. he knows exactly what you need, picking out the most beautiful, rare crystals for your collection.

୨୧ he’s all in when it comes to your little quirks, even if it means spending hours at a thrift store. he’ll go with you, sifting through racks, helping you find those one-of-a-kind items you’re obsessed with. and when you find something perfect, he doesn’t hesitate. he’s dropping a bag, not because he has to, but because he wants you to feel special, like you deserve the best.

୨୧ all in all, he loves you. and it’s more than just the surface-level affection—it’s deep, real, and unwavering. he’s in love with you. every part of you. from the way you laugh to the way you challenge him to grow. you’re his lifeline, the one person who makes everything make sense.

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹｡ don't let go, okay? | gojo satoru

wc: 2.1k

summary: it has to be some sort of fate that you happen to be stuck with gojo on valentine's day.

contains: f!reader, slowburn, fluff, reader and gojo are 21, reader and gojo are ‘guardians’ to megumi and tsumiki but they are not romantically together, japanese valentine’s chocolate tradition, reader’s cursed technique (vaguely), kind of pining

a/n: in the 'conversations on love' universe but takes place before the main series (would be nice to read but not necessary to understand this). theme song for this is what love is by zimmer90.

part of 'do you know what love is like?', a mini-series of almost's within 'conversations on love'. also included in how to be your lover boy (a valentine's collab by augustinewrites & seiwas)

The night is crisp when you step into it, the clean cut of a cool breeze tickling your cheek; it sweeps past you in the edge of winter and spring. 

You walk along the street. 

A sort of faded, vintage hue paints Shimokitazawa, wooden boards with worn down signages holding names of antique shops in every corner. The night feels older here, retro lights tinging bars and pubs more maturely than those nearby in Shibuya. At the street across, the sign of a cafe is flipped the other way to formally open the speakeasy it transforms into. 

You’ve only been here twice before: once with Nanami and Utahime years ago, while searching for old vinyl records the three of you had gotten into, and another with Tsumiki, some time last month because she’d mentioned wanting to check the thrift shops. 

Who would have thought you’d be back so soon? With—

“Satoru,” you call out, half-giggling, “why are you sniffing?” 

Gojo trails just a few inches behind you, body bent over closely to catch a whiff but not near enough to touch. Each inhale he takes is punctuated with the sound of whizzing air, condensing to fit through his nostrils. 

“You smell like chocolate.”

Out of all the plans you’d anticipated on Valentine’s Day, being roped into a mission with Gojo at the last minute was definitely not one of them. 

You shake your head knowingly, the corners of your lips curling; Gojo can smell sweets miles away, you could honestly mistake it for his cursed technique. 

He pulls back, falling into step with you. 

“Tsumiki asked me to help make some earlier.” 

Heavy jazz floats through the air as you pass by a bar entrance, the music muffling as the doors fall shut a few seconds later. Your boots clack against the pavement. 

“Oh?” Gojo perks up, voice turning an all-too-familiar hint of nosy as he teases, “What kind?” 

You snort as you dig your hands further into your pockets. For someone who claims to be all-seeing and all-knowing, Gojo is a lot more inquisitive than he seems; his nonchalance is but an added security much like his infinity is, dissipating only in company he’s comfortable sharing that side of him with. 

It’s been a while since Gojo’s been ‘home’ in the past week, so you don’t blame him for wondering. 

“Tomo mostly,” your gaze shifts to the side, waiting for his reaction, “though I did notice her sneaking a few honmei ones when I wasn’t looking.” 

There’s a slight stagger to his step as his shoulders tense up, his sunglasses shifting higher as his ears push back. You bite down your laugh. 

For as clueless as both you and Gojo are when it comes to being guardians to Megumi and Tsumiki, you think Gojo’s grown an odd mix of semi-brotherly-kind of-fatherly-mostly-guardianly protectiveness over the both of them—to Tsumiki especially. You can tell because his reminders to Megumi are always sealed with some form of ensuring Tsumiki makes it home safely. 

‘Home’, which is where the kids stay, but it’s neither yours nor his—just a place nearby that keeps them protected and comfortable. You’re with them most days, Gojo staying when he can, but with the higher-ups assigning him on missions left and right, there’s hardly any time for him to drop by. Hell, you haven’t seen much of him either, besides the rare instances of bumping into him along the halls of Jujutsu Tech, a whine almost always drawn from his throat. 

You see his curiosity as an effort to check in.

He only hums, hollower than his usual responses. The sound of his footsteps fill the gaps of what would typically be a seamless back-and-forth with you; you try not to comment on it. 

Indinstinct chatter brings the street to life, smooth beats cascading warmth against the chilly breeze. Despite the noise, Gojo’s silence feels unsettling—as if there are words forming at the tip of his tongue, withheld for reasons you can’t quite get a read on just yet. 

So, you wait, learning more and more that he usually comes around when—

“Did you?” 

The question is half-murmured, part of it lost to the night. 

Did you what? Notice Tsumiki?

“Hm?” you tilt your head towards him, tucking strands of hair behind your ear in an attempt to hear him better. 

He doesn’t answer. 

You stop walking. 

“Did I what?” you adjust your coat before turning towards him, catching the slightest of his gaze before he looks away quickly.

(“Did you make honmei chocolate?” he means.) 

Still, no answer. 

The tips of Gojo’s ears dust pink, and you try not to comment on that too.

His bottom lip is pulled between his teeth, slipping free before his Adam’s apple bobs, swallowing. 

“Wanna see something cool?” he changes the subject, removing his sunglasses and turning back to you as if none of it happened. As if he didn’t ask you anything, as if you didn’t ask what he meant—as if you didn’t just catch him at the tail end of a wistful stare. 

The shift in his tone happens so suddenly, it feels disjointed. Unnatural. But you’ve gotten used to moments like this from knowing him for so long; Gojo always says less of what he truly means. 

You focus on his face, yellow and red retro lights dancing on clear blue. He looks almost freakish this way, otherworldly—a crazed look you’ve gotten familiar with. His hands are stuffed inside his pockets when he stops, gangly long legs outstretched by the shadow beneath him. 

There’s really no time to be doing this right now, the both of you just 10 minutes away from the mission’s location—an abandoned building housing a special grade curse that lures people in with fabricated memories. Around you, the neighborhood’s nightlife has dwindled, your walk thus far having brought you farther from the heart of the place and closer to somewhere quieter, more secluded. 

Gojo looks too excited, eyes beaming wonder and mischief along with something else you can’t quite figure out yet. You purse your lips in thought. 

“C’mon, it’ll be quick.” he smirks, the dimple on his cheek deepening as he shrugs, “I’ve finally perfected it.”

A beat—skipped before your heart races. 

You wonder if he knows, if he’s using this to his advantage, because—

—when have you ever denied him when he looks at you this way? 

The higher-ups should have known better than to pair you together for a mission. Your instructions were merely ‘to assist’, but you hardly believe it considering Gojo almost always handles these things on his own. It’s more babysitting, you know, to keep the damages of his technique to a minimum. 

They shouldn’t have called on you, of all people—you’re on Gojo’s side. Always. 

A smile threatens to escape your lips, warmth spreading within your cheeks; you roll your eyes jokingly, stifling a giggle before relenting.

“Fine.” 

He guides you forward, chest bumping against your shoulder blade as he picks up pace. It’s a clear road ahead of you, the streets emptying out to more greenery; your senses are filled with the smell of the earth mixed in with the faint cotton of Gojo’s cologne. 

This is bad for your feelings. 

(Being this close to you feels like the ticklish drag of fingernails just right before it creates indents in his chest.) 

There’s something brewing between you and Gojo, neither of you have just addressed it yet. He pulls away when the moment is too close but still looks for you first after missions, an almost automatic question to either Shoko or Ijichi about your whereabouts.

You’ve been catching his stares too, almost always at the split-second before he turns away—a reaction on impulse. The silence between you feels fuller lately, as if there are words he wants to say but is choosing to withhold. 

When the space is vacant enough, he steps a few inches to your right, left hand stuffed inside his pocket as he shakes his arm hesitantly, almost awkwardly. 

“You have to hold on to me,” he instructs you. 

Your eyes widen, equally surprised and shy as you slowly take your hand out of your coat and slip it into the empty space, resting it on the crook of his elbow. Gojo freezes very slightly. 

He shakes it off just as quickly, “You might be sensitive to my domain because of your technique, so stay close just to be safe.” 

Then, his head tilts towards you, a little closer than you’re both used to. This near, his eyes hold a perfect morning sky, eyelashes hanging like wispy clouds on a clear day. 

Your gazes meet and you blink twice, goosebumps littering your skin. 

“Don’t let go, okay?”

Another beat—followed by another, and another, the sound of it growing louder. 

You almost miss the way he says it gentler than normal, how sincere it feels with his breath tickling your cheek. 

“Okay,” your fingers curl around his arm tighter. 

He lifts his other hand up, crossing his fingers as he recites the mantra to his domain. In an instant, the greenery around you disappears, stark white taking its place. 

“What do you think?” Gojo asks almost immediately, crossing his arms over his chest. Your fingers stay curled onto the crook of his elbow, sandwiched between his forearm and bicep; his other hand rests a few centimeters away from yours, nearly touching. 

You scan the space, examining its vastness. Minimalist. A blank sheet—

“It’s…” you try to find the right words, “... empty?” 

He gasps exaggeratedly, “Hey!” then pouts in fake offense, “I made it porcelain white at least. This isn’t pure white you know.” 

You eye him from the side.

He chuckles, breaking his act, “You should be honored.”

A pause—his tone shifting to something softer, more vulnerable. 

“You’re the first person I’m bringing in here.” 

His admission is unexpected, but it feels relevant, makes you feel like it, too. 

You’re touched, knowing how secretive he’s been on perfecting his domain since Toji and Geto; he only ever tells you and Ijichi about it. No one ever pressured him into achieving his perfect domain, but he feels like his existence necessitates it. 

“It’s clean,” you finally say, playing along, “I like it.” 

He eyes you this time, dimples deepening the more he attempts to poorly push down his smile. 

“Shame I can’t really do much with it, would have wanted to spice up the interiors a bit.” 

You snort, knowing full well that Gojo’s very much the type to pick one piece of furniture and anchor the entire place’s aesthetic off of that. 

“Someday,” you catch his eyes again. 

(It echoes in his ears, the quickening thump of his heartbeat—pink noise that can’t possibly be a product of your technique. 

In the silence of his domain, all he hears is that sound and you.) 

He hums before looking back to the empty space, “Acoustics would be good by then, we can try your technique in here.” 

You nod, the corners of your lips curling; his pinky presses against yours so faintly you wonder if you just imagined it—if he had meant it or not. 

. 

The special grade is dealt with within a quarter of the time it took you to travel to here, but Gojo seems to bear the consequences with another one of his migraines—a mixture of fatigue from activating his domain earlier along with sensitivity from the increased bustle in Shimokitazawa’s night life as you exit the neighborhood. 

You make a mental note to get him something that covers his eyes a little bit more than those circle frames he uses—an imbued blindfold maybe? You’ll have to think about it some more. 

(When you both get ‘home’, you set up the couch, offering him the spare bedroom so he can sleep off the headache. It’s a quick trip to the kitchen for a glass of water when he catches a glimpse of it—a fully decorated box of honmei chocolate partially hidden at the corner of the counter. 

The card has half of his name written in your handwriting.

You don’t end up giving it, but he does receive some chocolates from you, still. It’s a belated gift the next day, along with the ones you gift to Shoko, Yaga, and Ijichi—a tradition you’ve kept up since you were 16. 

But, his box has an extra piece, and you even tailored each one to all his favorite flavors: sakura, strawberry, zunda, and anko; his card is the same one you left half-written, just now fully spelling ‘Satoru’. 

So, he thinks his might be a bit more special, and he’s realizing that he likes it that way—he might prefer it much more, actually.)

a/n: haven't written col in a while but this is the official launch of 'do you know what love is like?', a mini-series of almost's within the 'conversations of love' universe! there are lots of details that connect to some of the col works but this happens before all of the ones released so far (so you don't need to read the main series to understand this, but it would add to the full experience if you do!).

thank you notes: @augustinewrites love u my valentine, this fic wouldn't exist without you 🥹 + @stellamancer col couple is here!! with chocolates!! thank you for going over this for the first read 🥹 ily niku + @mididoodles @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat my cheerleaders!! thank you for the support always 🥹

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[ilium-ilia]

Everything You Touch

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | previously known as "soft spot" | masterlist

Chapter Nine: good will hunting

tw: smut, fully dressed male/half dressed girl, oral (f receiving), fingering

Good Will Hunting drones on the television, but you can hardly see the images through your tears. 

Through the briney mess that obscures your vision, you’re able to make out a folder. It slaps against a desk with a thud that crackles through the speakers in the way movies always do. Soft, and humming like a lullaby. The only sound louder than the dialogue is Simon’s heart thudding against your ear as you nestle against his side. 

“Hey, Will… I don’t know a lot. But you see this? All this shit. It’s not your fault.” 

“Yeah, I know that.” 

“Look at me, son. It’s not your fault.” 

Dragging the throw blanket you found thrift shopping up over your chest, you use the frayed edges of it to dry the corners of your eyes. It’s an unforgiving fabric. Unkind, and less than soft. Still, it’s enough to keep your sniffling at bay. 

“Don’t fuck with me.” 

“It’s not your fault.” 

“Don’t fuck with me, alright? Don’t fuck with me, Sean. Not you!” 

It’s a scene you can see with your eyes closed. There on the blank canvas of your eyelids, you can see Will and Sean squabbling. You can see the way the tears glisten on his cheeks as this want-to-be-man suddenly crumbles into the little boy he was never allowed to be—scared, and confused. The scars on his body haunt him in the photograph on the desk—something that will never fade, no matter how terribly he wishes it would. 

Simon’s hand grounds you. His thumb brushes over the curve of your shoulder as he pulls you closer to his side. 

“Okay, sweetheart?” he hums. 

Nodding, you wipe away another fat tear. “Yeah, this scene always gets me.” 

Distracting you, Simon fumbles with the oversized bowl of extra-butter popcorn you bestowed upon him at the beginning of the movie. Pinching a piece between his forefinger and thumb, he blindly raises it to your lips where you open up and allow him to press it to your mouth. The popped kernel dissolves on your tongue, brackish and moist. Content, you curl further into his side. 

The rest of the movie goes by in a blur. Colors morph on the screen, swirling until you’re able to make out the classic image of Will driving freely down the road in his car—headed home. To his true home. With Skylar. 

In an odd sort of way, you’re reminded of yourself. You might not hold the same suave, brash intelligence that Will Hunting does, but you’ve always felt disconnected like he has. Always running at the worst times. Leaving before you can be left. Though you cling harder than he does, when you look at him driving away in that car, you think of the plane you boarded when you were fresh out of secondary school. 

Off to America where the streets are paved in gold. The land of opportunity you were so flippantly promised. Traveling to be—what was it again? A nurse? A doctor? Does it even matter? You fled the country to make something of yourself only to be back in London, where there’s still that scar next to your front door that Eric left before he gave a matching one to you. 

Simon gently pulls you out of your anamneses when his legs stretch out before him on the couch. His joggers pull up, exposing the thick patches of hair on his ankles as his calves flex and tremble with the expansion. Mirroring his actions, you straighten yourself out as your arms extend in front of you, lips hardly able to hold back a groan at the effort. 

Night has long since fallen on your insomniac city, but the urge to sleep has yet to poke at the depths of your mind. Simon is leaving tomorrow—again. It’s nothing new, yet it’s all your thoughts have been able to focus on these last few days leading up to his deployment. Being alone again. Missing him. 

Again. 

You allow your eyes to wander over to him just as he checks his phone. The dull screen casts his face in quiet illumination. The soft curve of his nose, the tight line of his lips—you soak it all in as if you’re stuck in a dream. His eyes sparkle with the glow as if he’s caught the stars in the depths of his irises, and your fingers twitch as if you’re ready to dive into them. 

“It’s gettin’ late,” he suddenly mentions as he turns his phone off. “Reckon I should be headed out soon.” 

“Already?” you pout. 

Simon shoves his phone into his pocket before leaning back against the couch. Somehow, his eyes only darken when he looks at you. “Gotta get up bright and early, sweetheart.” 

You groan. “Don’t remind me. I’ve been dreading it all week.” 

Grunting, you collapse against Simon’s side, refusing to allow him to budge. His chuckle grumbles deep and low in his lungs as you wrap your arms around his torso—a leash meant to bind him. A cage meant to keep him. 

“They’re always sending you away,” you sigh. Curling up, you hook your legs over his lap as if you could hope to pin him down with your body weight alone. “I feel like they do it on purpose.” 

“Gotta make a livin’ somehow,” he deadpans. 

Your only response comes out as a disgruntled hum as you keep yourself cemented to his side. Simon shows no urgency in leaving as he rests a heavy hand on your knee. His thumb rubs. Presses along your joint with gentle force as he allows you to melt into him. Eyes still glued to the television, you watch as the credits roll while Will Hunting continues to drive. 

Continues to flee. 

“You should stay the night.” 

It slips from your lips half formed—trips on your tongue and falls flat into your lap like a mangled bird who couldn’t quite stretch out its wings. Your mouth makes an embarrassment out of you on even the best of days, and you feel the way your skin shrivels around your body as if you yearn to collapse inward on yourself. Simon placates you with a hum. As if he sincerely contemplates your suggestion. 

While the two of you have been together for countless months, it only feels like weeks. Off on deployment, saving the world and returning home with new wounds and scars for you to attempt to kiss as if your touch is some emollient—it’s a strange relationship. An odd bond that you’re not sure if it runs all that deep or not. Perhaps it pierces your skin deeper than it does his—it roots in you while it wades in him. 

It should not surprise you. You’ve proven to be unlovable. 

And those who do love you always abandon you. 

“Alright.” 

And still—he leaves you bewildered. 

Head ripping free from his side, he huffs as you shrug his arm from your shoulder and looks at you with narrowed eyes. Your lips part. Your heart races with a confusion you don’t know how to name—if there even is a name for a sensation like this. Death and resurrection bundled with twine and shoved behind your sternum. 

“Really?” you ask. 

The ghost of a smirk pulls at his lips. “I said I would.” 

“That’s not going to mess up anything for you?” 

“Not as long as you don’t mind me being noisy and up early,” he shrugs. 

“You could make all the noise in the world and I wouldn’t mind.” 

“You might regret saying that, sweetheart.” 

Simon leaves you for only a short while to retrieve his pack and a change of clothes. When you ask him again if he’s certain he wants to stay, he assures you and says that your flat is technically closer to the base than his is. You nod. You realize you don’t know where exactly he lives, or where exactly he works, but you push the thought from your mind as you put your efforts into straightening out your room. 

Stray socks and shirts are quickly swallowed by your wide-mouthed hamper, and you strip your day clothes off for something more comfortable. Pillows fluffed, sheets changed, duvet smoothed over and pressed free of creases—you try not to think about how the last man who lied in this bed was Eric. You’ve long since washed the stench of him free from every fiber within that mattress. 

You only wish you could do the same with the grey matter in your brain. 

Simon’s pack drops to the floor by the foot of the bed with a thud. It’s smaller than you expected it to be. Something simple, as if he were taking a trip to a friend’s house rather than traveling to some undisclosed country you doubt you’ll ever set eyes on. 

You sit on the edge of the bed with your feet wiggling as you watch him remove his jumper. He does it in a swift motion, pulling it from the back of his neck and over his head until it pops free of his broad shoulders. His shirt bunches up. It pulls along his spine and slides over his stomach, flashing you with his pallid skin. Still, you stare. At the scar that dots along the side of his ribs, at the softness that swells just below a thin patch of hair on his stomach—it’s hard not to. 

Your feet no longer swing. 

“Enjoyin’ the show?” he smirks. 

Blood pricks every capillary that lines your throat, then constricts. It isn’t until your knuckles crack that you realize how firmly you’re holding the bed. “You put on a good performance,” you say with poorly attempted confidence. 

He tosses his jumper onto the foot of the bed where it crumbles into a small heap before he stalks closer. You’ve learned to stop flinching from hands when they reach for your face—learned to lean into the soft warmth instead. Simon’s thumb lavishes over your cheek. He holds you with the carefulness someone would exercise when holding fine art. Blinking, you stare up at him with muscles so tense you swear you’ll rip yourself to shreds with your own longing. 

“Ready for bed, sweetheart?” His voice is low. So deep that it hardly registers in the fuzziness of your brain. 

“Not yet.” You swallow. “Kiss me.” 

Your thoughts bleed out of you like a gaping wound, and Simon is not at all discouraged by the gore. His mouth quirks as his thumb presses against your bottom lip. Then, he’s dipping forward. Spine curling, his nose prods against your cheek as he embraces you in a gentle, chaste kiss. 

Before he can pull away, you trap him. Arms snake up around his neck, and you keep him in the crooks of your elbows, holding him still lest he attempt to escape. But as Simon breaks the union of your mouths to look at you, you quickly realize the thought of running from you does not flicker through his gaze for even a moment. 

“Simon…” 

For once, you’re at a loss for words. It dies and rots on your tongue, leaving you to stare up at him and pray your touch alone is enough. Your brain buzzes. It writhes in your skull, unable to contain every thought and desire that pulses through each vein, and Simon is able to read every transmission. 

Re-forming that union, his mouth is on yours before you have the time to deliberate how to speak your wants out loud. Palms pressing to your cheeks, your back collides with the mattress before you can even make sense of it. Simon’s weight presses into you, broad chest falling over your body as his lips move in tandem with yours. 

You taste him. The popcorn and soda the two of you indulged in for movie night. The brine of the butter that still stains his tongue as it slips between your teeth. Hands planted on either side of your head, Simon tries to keep himself from crushing you but you find you rather enjoy the way his hips pin yours to the bed. You like the mass. You like the heft that seeps into you. 

His knee slots between your legs, spreading them apart, and your mind goes blissfully blank. Void of all thoughts and worries, your body moves on its own, head falling to the side as Simon’s lips wander from your mouth to your jaw. Your breath is shaky. It catches in your throat. Vocal cords too tight to speak. 

“Would stay ‘ere forever with ya if I could,” he murmurs against your skin. 

You whine. Legs pressing together, you’re stopped by Simon’s knee, and you groan as your hips rise upwards. “I hate when you leave. I just want you here all to myself.” 

“I know, sweetheart,” he croons, “but you can have me for tonight.” 

Simon’s kisses wander lower. Dull teeth nip at your neck before he’s planting kisses down your clothed sternum, your shuddering diaphragm, your stomach. Before you know it, he’s hooking his fingers into the waistband of your pyjama pants and tugging. Without hesitation, you lift your hips off of the bed, allowing him to slide your bottoms off unobstructed. 

You don’t realize that he’s taken your panties off too until the cold air of your bedroom hits your bare cunt. Shivering, you lift your head up just in time to watch Simon slip off of the bed and onto the floor, kneeling before you. Hooking his arms beneath your knees, he drags you closer to him with a simple tug that leaves you nervously giggling. 

The weight of your want doesn’t fully register in your mushy brain until Simon places a light kiss on the inside of your thigh. Something tightens in your core—a spring compressing and waiting to break free. All the heat of the sun builds between your legs, and you fear you may immolate before his very eyes. 

“Simon,” you breathe. 

Humming, he moves to your other thigh where his lips begin to suck at the tender skin. “Tell me what you want. Out loud. C’mon.” 

“You!” 

The answer erupts from your mouth, unbridled and without shame. Your desire gnaws on you like you’re fresh meat and smoked bone—marrow leaking from your pores, waiting to be licked up by a well behaved dog. 

Simon grins against your skin. “Atta girl.” 

His tongue slides flat against your cunt, and every muscle holding your torso up off the bed gives way, forcing you to crash into the mattress. Throwing your calves onto his shoulders, his hands press on your thighs, forcing your legs open so he can further devour you. 

It takes him a moment to find what makes you tick. Tongue prodding along your hole, he works up, and up. He doesn’t stop until he feels your legs twitch beneath his palms—quads quietly quivering—he latches on, and refuses to let go. 

“Oh, fuck,” you babble. 

Stiff fingers find purchase in Simon’s cropped hair as your hips begin to buck at the stimulation. The wet muscle laps over your clit, sending pleasure rippling through every cell in your body. Neurons sparkle and fizz in your brain. Synapses sing—it’s loud enough for him to hear. He pulls that melody out of you as his thumbs press into the crest of your hips. 

Your thoughts begin to wander just as your fingers curl around Simon’s skull. Eric never loved you like this. He would never be caught dead being on his knees for your pleasure—for anything other than his own enjoyment. He never gave you anything this soft or kind, something so saccharine that you can feel your teeth ache at the cavities that burrow into your enamel. 

Simon doesn’t allow you to stray far before he’s tethering you to the present again. Hands wandering up over your waist, his fingertips dig into your stomach. Groaning, your hips begin to writhe beneath his mouth, but he only huffs and chases you down as if he doesn’t mind working for his meal. That pressure only builds. Every muscle in your core tightens around nothing, threatening to shred itself apart in the pursuit of ecstasy. 

“That’s so- I-I’m gonna- I…” 

Disjointed thoughts leave your mouth half formed, and you feel Simon chuckle against you as he rolls your clit between his lips, suckling like he can’t get enough. And he can’t. Hands raking down your flank, he presses a finger against the tightness of your entrance. Then, it slips in. Aided by your arousal and the spit that dribbles away from your clit, he quickly works you open on one finger before giving you another. 

The stretch burns—already unaccustomed to the sensation after such a long dry spell, your legs attempt to clamp shut around him as you slap a hand over your mouth to stifle your moans. Simon refuses to remove his mouth from your cunt as he begins to work you open, fingers lovingly pumping into you, curling upwards as if to rub your clit from the inside. 

You’re trembling. Teeth biting into your knuckles, you can’t hold back the way you writhe beneath him. A simple touch. A little pressure. The stimulation is so intense it sears through you like hot iron fresh from a blacksmith’s furnace. 

Simon offers you little reprieve by releasing his mouth from you, but his fingers continue to poke and prod in all the right places. He chuckles as you moan, hips grinding toward his hand, and he begins to pepper your thighs with kisses once again, leaving trails of spit and moisture in their wake. 

“Talk to me, sweetheart,” he prompts. 

Talk? You don’t think you can—not when he’s unraveling you like this. Winding you tight just to feel how quickly you come undone. 

“I-I’m gonna- you feel so good, baby,” you stutter, attempting your best at giving him a coherent answer only to fall flat on your face. 

“Yeah?” he goads. It’s almost cruel the way his fingers curl even further. He moves so deep and relentlessly that you swear you can feel him below your navel, but it’s divine. Simon is exuberant in his devotion to you. “You’re so pretty like this.” 

Eyes rolling into the back of your head, your fingers claw into the duvet below you. “Oh, f-fuck, Simon, I’m gonna come.” 

He doesn’t change anything. He doesn’t stop his fingers or quicken their pace, he keeps everything the exact same—those deep, firm thrusts. 

“Tell me what you need,” he says. His susurrus dies against your skin as he places a kiss on your mons. 

You can’t. Every muscle inside you constricts all at once, jaw latching tight until your teeth chatter together. Instead, a single brave hand snakes around the back of his head, yanking him forward. 

Simon Riley obeys. His head falls back between your legs where his tongue laps at your cunt, sliding over your clit as his fingers continue their assault. Then, you fracture. Crystalline shards, dispersing in the air like fine prismatic mist—he holds you gently like broken china he doesn’t want to cut himself on. Your mind is blissfully blank as he slows his efforts—fingers gently halting until they slide out of you, tongue ceasing so that his mouth can press kisses into your skin. 

Tinnitus plagues your ears as you pant. Perspiration glues you to the blankets, and you feel like annealing metal ready to crack as it quenches. Simon carefully removes your legs from his shoulders as he climbs back on top of you, legs on either side of your hips. 

You mutter something incoherent as you wrap your arms around his neck and allow him to kiss you. Your own sapor bleeds onto your lips—thick and hot. It’s difficult for you to recall the last time a man forced you to crumble to pieces and it didn’t hurt. 

“Ready for bed now, sweetheart?” he asks again. 

“Bed?” you repeat with a throaty chuckle. Playful hands trot down his chest, and you press your fingers into the swell of his pectorals and sternum until you reach the softness of his tense stomach. “Isn’t it your turn?” 

Before you can dip low enough to reach his joggers, he leans back and captures your hands in his. His gaze is heavy—eyes dark and deep enough to swallow you whole. His thumb brushes over your knuckles. “Think I’ll have to take a raincheck on that, love.” 

He kisses you before you have the time to protest or question. It is a strange revelation for you—for this man to give and give and want nothing in return. To not have his mouth watering at the idea of you on your knees for him. Instead, he helps you dress, pulling fresh panties over the swell of your hips and tucking you into bed before smothering the lights and crawling next to you. 

Everything falls quiet. You deliquesce into the mattress just as Simon wraps his arms around you, keeping you close as if he fears you may slip through his fingers. Nose pressed against his sternum, you breathe him in. Every gentle redolence. You hold it in your mind—attempt to savor it as if you might never smell it again. 

“How long will you be gone?” It’s the first thing either of you have said for the better part of half an hour, and it’s the same question you always plague him with each time before he’s deployed. He hasn’t even left and you’re already anticipating his return. 

“Dunno. Always hard to know,” Simon mumbles against the crown of your head. “Couple of weeks, probably.” 

Huffing, you burrow your face further into his chest before pausing. 

“I… get so anxious when you leave.” 

He hums. “Why’s that?”

“I’m worried something’s gonna happen to you,” you admit. 

It’s embarrassing to share such a fear, but it’s one that’s been gnawing on you ever since you patched up Simon’s knuckles after he punched your pathetic ex-boyfriend at the pub. Simon Riley is a large man—a dangerous one—yet still you worry. 

That he might come home in a pine box. 

Or might not come home at all. 

“Nothing’s gonna happen to me,” he assures. 

“You don’t know that,” you retort. 

“Course I do. Someone’s gotta be ‘ere to take care of you.” 

Aggravating tears begin to poke at the corners of your eyes, and you curse them as they begin to wet Simon’s shirt. He doesn’t mention the moisture on his skin, but he feels your trepidation through your skin alone. Cradling the back of your head, he settles further into the mattress. 

“I’m always comin’ home to you. Even if I have to crawl,” he whispers. 

You swallow the thick contractions in your throat before you sniff. “Promise?” 

Simon kisses your forehead. His lips don’t move from your skin when he replies.

“Promise.”

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[zeppelinlvr]

Dating Dean Winchester

Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Notes: I just wanted to post some head cannons since I don’t have any fic ideas rn. Also thank you guys for all the support, i can’t even begin to express my gratitude, i’m so glad you guys like my work! 💗💗

Warnings: Fluffy, some cursing

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

- Protective like no other, if you join him on a hunt he makes sure you stay close and is throwing punches the second anything gets near you

- Dean has trouble saying he loves you but he shows it through his actions and taking care of you.

- Takes him a while to let you get close but when he does you’re his whole world, there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for you or to protect you.

- Loves loves loves taking you out to eat, he always wants to try new foods and restaurants with you, both of you overeating and cuddling while watching a movie until the stomach ache goes away.

- Sam helps you plan surprises for Dean on your anniversary or his birthday

- Opens up to you about wanting a family (Dean is such a girl dad ugh)

- Lots of teasing and playful banter, if you mix words up or say something dumb he’s sure to let you know he heard it.

- Petty arguments over things that definitely don’t need to be argued about

“Dean where are my shoes”

“probably by the door” he said without looking up at you

“i’m standing by the door dumbass” you told him

“i didn’t take them” he responded flatly

“yes you did” you shot back

“why would i take your shoes?”

- Arguments end when one of you finally laughs or you just kiss and make up.

- Both of you asking Sam to take your side in an argument

- Going to bars and laughing at everything after too many drinks

- He LOVES kissing the back and top of your head.

- Def holds the back of your head when you hug him.

- Tries his hardest to make you feel better when you’re upset, he lets you talk through it and tries to make you laugh. He’s not good at helping people with their emotions but he tries his hardest for you.

- Getting a cat with him and he acts like he hates it but you catch him cuddling it and letting it sit on his lap.

- Says he hates the cat even though he babies it big time.

- Calls you a dork but he loves how smart and educated you are in certain areas.

- Singing together in the car and making dumb faces at each other.

- Talking with him about music and gifting him cassettes that you pick up at thrift stores and music shops on the road.

- He let you drive the impala one time and was sweating and twitching the whole time. (no hate to you he just loves his car), he prefers to drive you around.

- Defends you in public, corrects you in private!!

- Telling him everything that comes to your mind and he lets you yap because he’s secretly interested in your leg pain, the people you saw at the gas station and what new perfume you want to buy.

- Will laugh at something for an hour with you even though it’s definitely not funny anymore.

- Feel like he likes Johnny Cash and old country so you make him a mixtape of old country songs.

- He rolls his eyes at your complements but you see the smile playing at his face.

- Calls you sweetheart, sweet cheeks, doll, sweet girl, pretty much anything he can add sweet in front of.

- Both of you eat up the themed motels, trying to find the most ridiculous ones you can.

- Even though you guys bicker and you get on his nerves Dean would do anything for you, he’d literally go to hell and back to keep you safe.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

[gothghostiie]

being friends with someone from a different wealth class is so weird because. why are you genuinely shocked and amazed as you tell me that your weekly grocery cost is just a third of what it used to be now that you're shopping at a discounter without brand names - and why do you expect me to be as shocked and amazed??

anyways this makes me think of graves so much. that fucker grew up wealthy - not even necessarily rich, but very comfortable. upper middle class and above. it has been this way all his life and still is, he earns good money. house is decently big (far too big for one person), he drives a nice, new car, has a new phone, goes on vacations, shops brand names; whether it be clothes or food or god knows what. he doesn't think twice when he needs something, things that break or need replacement out of nowhere wont leave him with no food for the rest of the month. this is normal, his normal. the people around him are the same, so he doesn't know anything else.

that is until he meets you. you didn't grow up nearly as wealthy as he did. you wouldn't necessarily call yourself poor either, but money was always an issue, you never really went on vacations, never had the newest phone, the newest car, trendy clothes or furniture. brand names are out of question unless they're at the thrift shop for cheap, sudden expenses meant a lot of stress, money almost never went into savings and if it did it got taken out rather quick out of necessity. shopping at the thrift, at discounters, couponing, shopping for specials, planning meals after what's on sale this week. you barely got to get treats or anything out of the regular budget really, no matter how little or big it was.

now imagine graves surprised when you start dating and he sees the cracked phone screen on the rather old model, the old car that's not even second hand anymore, more like 4th hand at this point. the small apartment you live in, the furniture you mostly thrifted or took from your childhood room, the very loud washing machine that seems to be at the risk of falling apart if you look at it wrong. the clothes that are thrifted, hand me downs or even handmade, the shoes that have seen better days. he's shocked and genuinely a bit concerned, because what is this? why and how do you live like this? fridge stocked with a bit more than the necessities, panty full of generic food brands. When he goes shopping with you he's surprised by you not pulling into the same stores he frequents, surprised at how you compare prices, how you seem to only get what you wrote on your list, nothing more. his baffled when your total comes out to be not even a third of what he usually pays - and even more when you take off around 25% more by coupons.

it also breaks his heart when you call him crying about how your fridge broke, sobbing into the phone as he's just stunned - what do you mean you can't afford a new fridge? something you need? he's shocked when you tell him that you found a cheap one on Craig's List but that it's still so much, but you need it and it frustrates you badly - he can barely even comfort you because he's so genuinely shocked. it's only then when it sinks in just how differently you live. how wealthy and well off he actually is. and how you didn't even think to ask him to lend you money for a new fridge, almost cussing him out for even suggesting it because there's no way you can ever pay that back.

the delivery men still knock at your door the same afternoon and graves is getting another equally tearful call, being cussed out and thanked over and over again.

[yanderedrabbles]

How about if the reader (that's us) were Samara Morgan (from the movie The Ring)?

Y'know what, I can see it. Chronically online loser boy with a fixation on horror manages to obtain an old VCR tape that's supposedly cursed. When it comes, he's practically bouncing on his heels with excitement. He went to the thrift shop all on his own to get a VCR to watch it on and everything!

When he pops the tape in, all that excitement drains away. He was expecting something spectacularly creepy, something he could brag to his buddies on r/GenuinelyHauntedGoodies about. Instead it's just a low quality tape with shitty b-roll and bad sound.

When the phone rings the second the tape ends, he assumes it's the pizza guy getting lost again.

"I told you, it's Elm Street. Not Eve-"

"Seven days..." Your voice is scratchy with static and his heart jumps in his chest.

"Yo, I think you've got the wrong numb-"

Click.

For someone so into horror, he's real slow to pick up on the signs in his own life. Nightmares about a well and a dead girl? He just had too much Mountain Dew before bed. Doors creaking in the middle of the night? Must be the humidity messing with the hinges. The guy who sold him the tape calling him in a panic two days before his obituary shows up in the paper? Weird, but definitely a coincidence.

It's only when the tape starts playing on its own that he starts to get a little sketched out. It's probably just the VCR being old and stuff, right? He forces the tape out of the slot and the screen goes black. See? Just the side effects of old, obsolete technology. He's halfway out the door before he hears it.

Click.

He freezes. He can hear the static again, the sound of leaves crunching under your feet. He turns and there you are, getting closer and closer to the screen, your dress soaked and sticking to your skin.

Holy shit. Holy. SHIT. Haunted dead girl and she's a total babe.

When you put your palms on the glass and start pushing your way into the real world, he almost can't believe his luck. It's finally happening! A genuine haunting! He's been waiting for years.

You expect him to scream, to run away, to start praying to a God he only half believes in. Instead he squats down so you're on eye level and asks...

"Can you do the back bend thing from the Exorcist? 'Cause I think that would be like so hot."

You growl, throat still waterlogged. He tuts and waves the tape in front of your face.

"Full words babe. You want to keep haunting people right? Want to get back to your cozy little well?"

He looks you over and can barely believe you're real. A hot girl on her knees is his living room? Hell fucking yeah!

"Listen up hot stuff. You do what I say and I won't crush your little tape into dust, 'kay? I'll even let you keep killing people in your spare time, if it's that important to you."

You blink. What is wrong with this guy? You've seen plenty of coping mechanisms, but this is just taking the piss.

He gets impatient waiting for you to answer. "Fine. If you want to do things the hard way..."

He stands and brings the tape down on the edge of the coffee table. Hard. The plastic cracks right along the centre and small black chips scatter across the room.

You flinch and pull backwards. He follows you, opposite edges of the tape in each hand like he wants to snap it straight in half.

"What do you say gorgeous? We got a deal?"

There are some things not even a ghost is equipped to deal with.

"Fine," you rasp, "Deal."

"Sweet!" He shoves the tape in his back pocket. "Now about the back bend thing..."

The world is full of freaks and horrors. And you make the mistake of thinking you're the only one.

[What popped into my head when I read the ask]

[clockwayswrites]

Minx- Dinner Start

cw: implied and lightly referenced sexual acts and favors

“Well, you look like something the cat threw up.”

Jason pried one eye open just to glare at Danny as he flicked him off. It didn’t matter if Danny couldn’t see the glare, it was the principle of it all. Jason didn’t need to be told how badly he looked, not when he knew how badly he felt. He especially didn’t need to be told that by Danny who looked liked a million bucks. The black dress hugged Danny on all the right places to give him all the right curves and, impressively, the appearance of small but shapely breasts.

Danny just shrugged at the gesture. “You do.”

“And you’re lucky most people here know not to fuck with you,” Jason growled. “What are you doing walking around here looking like that?”

“There were some creeps around the lockers I keep my change of clothes in,” Danny said as he sashayed forward. The way he walked in those heels over the beat up sidewalks of the Alley was frankly impressive. “It seemed safer to come home like this than deal with those fucks. Don’t worry, I’ve got the gun you gave me.”

Jason ran his gaze down the form fitting dress again. “Where?”

Danny laughed, the sound bright and musical. It was at odds with the shit hole of a night that Jason had been through. It was nice.

“Come on, up off the wall. My place should be close enough to limp over to,” Danny said. He reached out and placed what Jason had to imagine was a gentle hand on the side of the helmet. “Unless you need the better stock of your place?”

Jason bit back a groan as he leaned up off the wall. “Not that badly hurt. It’s a lot of surface shit and bruising.”

“I can take care of that. Come on. I even have dinner waiting for us.”

“Yeah, how’d you manage that magic?” Jason asked. He followed just a step behind Danny and to his left, automatically falling in to guard him in a way that Jason tried not to think about too hard.

“With the magic of a crockpot and a rice cooker,” Danny said with a dramatic spread of his hands like he was making a rainbow. “Seriously, best two purchases that I’ve ever made. Like, I can come home to warm food and it’s good! I never thought that I could cook but this shit I can do.”

Jason hummed in acknowledgment. He couldn’t exactly do a crockpot when he didn’t know what safe hosue he might end up at, but maybe he could look into a rice cooker that he could start remotely. If he threw some precooked meat or an egg on top of the rice, that would still be better than what he at some nights when he was coming home after a long patrol.

“This one is mine,” Danny said as they got to a small, nondescript door. It was next to the entrance for a fix-it sort of shop and lead up to the second story of the battered, brick building.

Jason had already known that this one was Danny’s. He chose to not say anything about that as Danny unlocked the door and led them up the tight stairs to another door (which was to Jason’s approval also locked) and into the apartment.

Thrift store might be a better word for the place. There was a lot of stuff with no clear sense of style or theme. Hell, Jason wasn’t even completely sure what room they were standing in right then.

“Go sit on the couch,” Danny said.

“I would if I could see the damn thing,” Jason replied.

Danny rolled his eyes as he brought a foot up to start to undo the dangerous footwear. “Behind the potted plants. It’s yellow, you can hardly miss it.”

“You say that, but,” Jason said, mostly to be an ass, as he headed that way. He stopped short of the very yellow couch to stare at the wall and the large, neon skull that adorned it. “Didn’t that used to be up Vic’s bar?”

Danny smirked at him as he passed by. “You can’t prove it’s the same one.”

“I can. I mean, you know that, right?” Jason called after Danny as he disappeared through a door that he didn’t bother closing. “I could, in fact, prove it is the same one.”

“But you won’t!”

Jason sighed. But he wouldn’t. “How did you even get it here in one piece?”

“Carefully and with a few blow job IOUs,” Danny said casually. After a beat he added, “You know, I don’t think Leo ever cashed in on his? Oh well, he’s happily married now.”

Not really knowing what to say back to that, Jason sat down on the edge of the couch and started to undo his boots. He set the second one aside just in time to look up as Danny finished pulling on some black leggings up over strawberry patterned underwear. Jason glanced aside quickly.

He hardly had an issue with nudity— not after years of fighting crime with family or training with assassins— but there was something so much more intimate about it in the soft neon light of Danny’s apartment. Focusing on taking of the bulkiest parts of his own armor seemed safer than looking up again.

--- AN: Words are... not my friend today, so not sure if I'll get anything for Trauma Tuesday done. So have this it of Minx I wrote more of last night! Stay delightful, darlings.

[simgraze]

I am so excited to be releasing my first sims 4 save-file!

This is version 1.0 which is a redo of Newcrest! There are also lots completed for Willow Creek, but that world is incomplete and will be updated in a future version.

Disclaimer: I own all of the DLC, and have used them throughout the builds and households. You can still download this without all of the DLC, but some items may be missing and need to be replaced. (I went back and forth on this, but ultimately my community said to just go for it).

No Mods/CC Required

There are 9 households living in Newcrest, with other households in Willow Creek and Not in World to populate the world. 

For console players, all of the lots and households are available on the sims 4 gallery. My id: simgraze

The downtown area of Newcrest is very sims 3 inspired, with many of the buildings taking influence from Sunset Valley. You can find the Doo Peas Corporate building for all of your freelance sims to visit. Check out the Sunset Plaza shops, including a gym, grocery store, bookstore, and thrift store. Get political at Town Hall and meet Mayor Avanche, who may be engaged in a lively debate. Have drinks at Waylon's Sports Bar, or grab dinner at the Sims 3 Bistro, or the run-down diner next door.

With plenty of drama, and 3 lots ready for your sims to move into, Newcrest is a great place for sims of all ages who are looking for a fresh start.

Thank you to everyone who has supported my channel during this process, your love and comments on my update videos definitely encouraged me to keep going!

Also a big thank you to everyone who has submitted sims for me to use on the gallery <3

In terms of future updates, Willow Creek and San Myshuno are both in the works. I have no idea when they will be released, but I definitely want to release those updates at some point.

(Not Required, but what I use). The only mods that I recommend in terms of keeping sims in your neighborhood is Home Regions by Kuttoe. I like messing with my settings so that only sims from Willow Creek and Newcrest will populate my world.

The map override I am using by dershayan.

YouTube video showing more about the save-file.

If you end up playing in this save, I would love to see your screenshots, gameplay, etc. with #simgrazesavefile

save-file download | lots and households guide

[livwritesstuff]

Eddie is holed up in the office of his and Steve’s home working on some writing when he notices an odd kind of commotion coming from upstairs.

Now, he and Steve have three daughters under the age of ten, so commotion is pretty much a baseline for them, but it’s odd because it sounds like Steve might actually be involved this time, and that makes it especially weird because Eddie was pretty sure that Steve was taking the kids to see a movie to give Eddie a few hours to maybe hit that word count goal (he probably won't, but whatever).

It's just about odd enough for Eddie to go investigate further and, indeed, he finds a very much ticked-off Steve standing outside of their middle daughter Robbie’s closed bedroom door.

“What the hell is going on?” Eddie asks.

Steve rounds on him. 

“She’s driving me insane,” Steve says, “That kid is you in a seven-year-old’s body, and I’m going insane.”

“Wait, can you…” Ed shook his head, “What’s happening?”

“I thought it would be fun to take the girls to that new Nanny McPhee movie because they liked the first one, right?” he starts

“Sure.”

“The second – the second – I suggested it, Robbie starts ranting and raving. Ed, do you know what she said to me? 

“Oh god,” Eddie said warily, “What’d she say?”

“She said sequels aren’t passion projects, Papa. They’re just for money. Who the fuck do you think she learned that one from, Ed?”

And yeah, shit, that might be Eddie’s bad.

“Whatever,” Steve says before Eddie has a chance to respond, “So she doesn’t wanna go – that’s fine – but, shocker, the other two still want to go, and just as we’re walking out the door, Robbie demands that we wait for her because she actually does want to come and now,” Steve pauses to hold in a laugh as Robbie scutters out of her room in the direction of the bathroom, one shoe on and an earring half-in, “Now we’re gonna be so fuckin’ late because this one can’t just throw on a sweatshirt and get in the car.”

Eddie knows for a fact that Robbie had spent the entire weekend in the same pajamas she’d worn to bed on Friday night, but now she’s donned a denim dress with a red t-shirt and black tights underneath. She’s got black combat boots on her feet (just one at the moment, actually), and she’s wearing the leather jacket Eddie had found at a thrift shop in New York to complete the ensemble.

“Look at this kid,” Steve says, following Robbie into the bathroom and watching as she tried to fix her earring with one hand and her hair with the other, “Robbie, it’s August. It’s almost ninety degrees outside. Maybe think about ditching the leather.”

“I don’t care,” she fires back, “It’s about the look, Papa.”

“We’re going to a movie theater. It’ll be pitch black. Nobody will be looking at anything other than the movie. Let’s go.”

But Robbie is already pushing past him with a belligerent, “Outta my way. I gotta get another necklace.”

Steve manages to snag Robbie by the back of her jacket and swing her up into his arms.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” he says as Robbie furiously tries to squirm out of his grip to no avail, “Oh, I’m Robbie and I’m four feet tall and I get up-in-arms about everything and I’m gonna wear a leather jacket in August even though I once got heat exhaustion at the mall and gave my dad a fuckin’ heart attack.”

Robbie is in giggling hysterics by the time Steve ends his onslaught of mockery and puts her down.

“What do you think?” Steve asks, “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” she says, and then she asks, “Can you help me find my other shoe?”

“And now she’s asking me for shit,” Steve comments in disbelief as Robbie ducks back into her room. He looks at Eddie, “Seriously, you need to call Wayne and apologize for everything you must have put him through.”

“Alright.”

[oaksgrove]

A Place to Call Home

pairing: Keegan Russ x Reader

synopsis: After months of deployment, Keegan finally returns to the apartment you’d both barely settled into before he left. What was once an empty, impersonal space is now a warm, inviting home filled with your touch. As the two of you reconnect over dinner, the love and comfort you’ve created together remind him of what he’s been fighting for.

warnings: None, just tender, heartwarming fluff.

word count: 1805

a/n: is all about love in the little things. Hope you enjoy this cozy slice of domestic bliss!

The apartment was empty, save for a few boxes stacked haphazardly in the corner. The walls were bare, the hardwood floors scuffed, and the faint scent of paint still lingered in the air. You stood in the middle of the room, hands on your hips, surveying the space that would soon become your home.

“It’s a bit… sad, isn’t it?” you said, glancing over your shoulder at Keegan.

He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, his sharp blue eyes scanning the room. “It’s a blank slate,” he said simply, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “We’ll make it ours.”

You grinned at his optimism, turning back to the room. “Ours,” you repeated softly, the word wrapping around you like a warm hug.

The two of you spent the next few hours unpacking, your voices mingling with the sound of tape ripping and boxes being shuffled around. Keegan insisted on doing the heavy lifting, even though you playfully argued that you were just as capable.

By the end of the day, the apartment still looked sparse, but there were signs of life—a cozy blanket draped over the couch, your favorite mugs lined up on the kitchen counter, a Polaroid of the two of you pinned to the fridge.

Keegan pulled you into his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “It’s a start,” he murmured.

“It’s perfect,” you replied, leaning into him.

But perfection was fleeting. Just weeks later, Keegan was called back to duty.

The morning he left was quiet. Too quiet.

You stood at the door, your arms wrapped around yourself as you watched him lace up his boots. His duffel bag sat by the door, a stark reminder of the goodbye you were about to say.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” he said, his voice steady, though you could hear the tension beneath it.

“You better be,” you replied, forcing a smile. “I’m not finishing decorating this place without you.”

He stood, pulling you into his arms. His embrace was firm, grounding, and for a moment, you let yourself believe that time would fly by.

“Take care of yourself,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper.

“You too,” you replied, your fingers clutching the fabric of his jacket.

When he pulled away, his lips brushed against your forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you said, your voice trembling.

And then he was gone.

The days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months. The apartment felt cold without him, the silence oppressive. You threw yourself into work, into little projects to pass the time, but it was never quite enough.

Until one day, you decided to change things.

You started small—string lights hung above the windows, a tapestry on the wall to add some color. You printed out photos, memories of the two of you, and pinned them up in the hallway. You found an old record player at a thrift shop, and soon the soft crackle of vinyl filled the apartment, chasing away the silence.

Piece by piece, the space transformed. It wasn’t just an apartment anymore. It was a home.

The apartment smelled like garlic and rosemary, the faint crackle of something sizzling on the stovetop breaking the silence. Keegan stepped inside, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his boots heavy against the polished wood floor. He froze just past the threshold, his breath catching at the sight in front of him.

You stood at the counter, your back to him, swaying slightly to the soft hum of music playing from the kitchen speaker. The oversized sweater you wore hung loosely off one shoulder, and your hair was messily tied back, strands framing your face.

It wasn’t just the sight of you that rooted him to the spot—it was the warmth of the apartment itself.

The last time he’d been here, the walls had been bare, the furniture sparse and impersonal. The place had felt like a waiting room, a temporary stop in the chaos of life. But now, it was something else entirely.

String lights curled along the edges of the ceiling, casting a soft, golden glow. Polaroids covered one wall—pictures of the two of you smiling, laughing, caught in quiet moments of joy. A tapestry hung behind the couch, its rich, earthy tones adding depth to the room. On the side tables, lamps with warm light bathed the corners, pushing away any lingering shadows.

It looked like home.

Keegan couldn’t stop watching you. The way your hands moved so naturally as you stirred the sauce, the way you hummed a tune softly under your breath—it all felt like a dream. Every movement, every little detail, reminded him of how much he’d missed you, of the pieces of himself that had been scattered while he was away.

He let his gaze wander again, taking in the transformation of the apartment. On the coffee table, he noticed a candle, its flame flickering gently, filling the air with the comforting scent of vanilla. A knit blanket was draped over the back of the couch, the kind you’d pull over yourself while reading or watching a movie. Small details like these made the space feel alive, vibrant in a way it hadn’t been before.

And you—his heart ached just looking at you. It had been months since he’d last seen you, months since he’d felt your arms around him or heard the way you whispered his name like it was the only word that mattered.

Keegan cleared his throat, his voice hoarse. "Hey."

You startled, spinning around with wide eyes, but the moment you saw him, the surprise melted into something radiant.

"Keegan!" you gasped, abandoning the knife on the cutting board as you rushed toward him.

He dropped his duffel just in time to catch you, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist as you leapt into his embrace. The familiar scent of you—lavender and something sweet—filled his senses, grounding him in a way nothing else could.

"You’re home," you murmured, your voice muffled against his chest.

He buried his face in your hair, inhaling deeply. "I’m home," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands framing his face. "You didn’t tell me you were coming. I would’ve—"

"Didn’t want you to wait on me," he interrupted, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "Wanted to surprise you."

You smiled, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "You’re a good kind of surprise, Keegan."

His gaze drifted around the apartment, taking in every detail—the photos, the lights, the small touches of you everywhere. "You did all this?" he asked, his voice soft with wonder.

You followed his gaze, a hint of shyness creeping into your smile. "Yeah. I wanted it to feel like… like us."

Keegan shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "It’s perfect," he said, pulling you close again. "You made it perfect."

The timer on the stove beeped, and you pulled back with a laugh. "Dinner’s going to burn if I don’t get back to it."

"Let it," he said, his hands refusing to let you go.

You rolled your eyes but kissed him gently. "I missed you too, but you’re not starving on my watch."

Reluctantly, he let you slip out of his arms, watching as you returned to the kitchen. He followed, leaning against the counter as you fussed over the meal.

"Can I help?" he asked, though the thought of doing anything other than watching you felt impossible.

"Just sit there and look pretty," you teased, glancing at him over your shoulder.

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, before grabbing a chair to sit by the kitchen island. His eyes never left you as you moved around, his chest full of a peace he hadn’t felt in months.

Your smile softened, and you stepped closer, holding out the spoon. “Taste this for me?”

He leaned down, letting you guide the spoon to his lips. The flavor was rich and comforting, a warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with the food.

“Perfect,” he said, his voice rasping slightly.

You grinned, pleased, and turned back to the stove.

Keegan stepped closer, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. You stilled for a moment, but then relaxed into his embrace, leaning back against him.

“I missed this,” he murmured into your hair.

“Me too,” you whispered. “I kept trying to imagine what it’d feel like when you finally came home. I don’t think I imagined it being this good.”

He tightened his arms around you, resting his chin on your shoulder. “This is better than I ever could’ve imagined. You’ve made this place… you’ve made it feel alive.”

You turned in his arms, your hands sliding up to cup his face. “It didn’t feel alive without you, Keegan. It didn’t feel like home.”

The weight of your words settled over him, his chest tightening. He pressed his forehead against yours, his hands cradling your back. “I’m sorry it took so long to come back,” he said, his voice heavy with regret.

“You’re here now,” you said softly, your thumb brushing against his cheek. “That’s all that matters.”

The oven timer went off, breaking the moment, and you laughed lightly as you pulled away. “Go sit down. Dinner’s ready.”

Keegan watched as you plated the food, every movement so familiar, so effortlessly you. The table was already set—another small detail that tugged at his heart. Candles flickered in the center, their warm glow adding to the cozy atmosphere.

“Do you like it?” you asked, breaking him from his thoughts.

“Like it?” he echoed, his voice quiet. He gestured to the room around him. “I love it, sweetheart. I love everything you’ve done here. It’s… it’s us.”

As you both sat down, Keegan reached across the table, taking your hand in his.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice low.

“For what?” you asked, tilting your head.

“For all of this,” he said, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “For waiting for me. For turning this place into something I want to come back to. For being you.”

Your eyes shimmered, and you squeezed his hand. “You don’t have to thank me, Keegan. This is what we do. We’re a team.”

He nodded, his throat too tight to speak. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt at peace. Sitting there with you, in the home you’d created together, he knew—this was where he belonged. This was everything he’d been fighting for. For the first time in a long time, Keegan felt like he could breathe. The apartment, the food, the warmth—it wasn’t just a place to return to.

It was home. And so were you

[natalievoncatte]

31. Spookycorp

(Yes I know it’s late. I have a permit. I can do what I want.)

Lena adjusted her cheap plastic tiara, which she’d had chosen herself at a Spirit Halloween. Though she would never admit it, Lena felt giddy when she went shopping now. She used to just send Jess or use a high end shopping service; Lena Luthor had neither the time nor the patience to fumble with checkout lines and coupons, but post-L-Corp Lena, private citizen Lena, head of a charity org and retired from corporate sharkery Lena delighted in it. In a sweater and leggings with her hair in a simple ponytail and glasses not contacts, she felt human. Normal.

Her costume was simple, the tiara and a goofy floofy mini dress she’d picked up at a thrift store, and a wand to top it all off. Kara recognized her immediately.

“Let me guess, a good witch?”

Lena stood in the door and beamed, nudging her glasses. She was still getting used to them every day but her therapist had insisted she stick with the changes she made.

(The penthouse was going on the market and she was selling her Louboutins. Most of her Louboutins. She was finally telling that little voice in her head that sounded like Lillian to SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU’RE NOT MY MOTHER whenever it admonished her about not being perfect enough)

Kara was dressed in an all-green ensemble with a pointed hat resting on her head and a cheesy plastic bow on her back.

“Robin Hood?”

“Of Locksley,” Kara bowed.

(If I’d know, I’d have dressed as Maid Marian.)

She beckoned Lena to enter in an expensive gesture and watched her step inside, her gaze lingering in a way that made Lena tingle all over, goose flesh rising on her arms. She hopped up onto a stool and smiled when Kara handed her a beer.

“They make pumpkin spice beer now?”

“Mmmm,” Kara said, nursing her own. Lena’s eyes widened when Kara tipped a flask into it; a sticker on the side read Not For Humans.

“Just a little to loosen me up,” said Kara. “It’s a party.”

Kara sat down on the other side of the table and just… looked at her. She looked at Lena with her chin resting on her fist and a soft distant look on her face, and Lena stared back just as intently, entranced by the way her sunny curls escaped her sloppy ponytail and framed her face.

The spell, as it were, was broken by a knock at the door. The snacks were coming, an absurdly huge order that Lena had placed while she was on her way. As the bewildered delivery boy accepted her excessive tip, Kara carried the bags into the apartment, and together they began laying it all out on the kitchen island.

Brainy and Nia were the first to arrive. They wore matching silver body suits and Nia had put on a gloss of green makeup: Querl simply disabled his image inducer.

“We’re aliens!” Nia chirped. “Lena I love your outfit! Wait is Kara Robin Hood? Lena, why aren’t you Maid Marian?”

Lena froze, suddenly aware of Kara’s tense presence beside her. She didn’t dare turn her head and gauge Kara’s reaction.

“Did you purchase every potsticker in National City?” Brainy asked, almost pointedly snapping the tension.

Kara laughed. “I think Lena just wants to keep me from eating everything else.”

Alex and Kelly also showed up in marching costumes, making the moment even more awkward. They were married, of course, so they were supposed to coordinate.

Alex strutted into the apartment, grinning, and threw back the cowl of her Batman costume, as Kelly rolled her eyes behind the mask of her Catwoman outfit.

“That’s cute,” said Kara. “Did you guys like flip a coin to decide who was who?”

Alex poked the gray fabric over her stomach. “You know what, Kara? Sometimes I want people to know I have abs too. And unlike some people I have to work for mine.”

Kara poked out her tongue and shoved a beer in her hand as Kelly pulled Lena into a hug.

After a toast to James, and J’onn, and Winn, and absent friends, Kara started the first movie of their marathon. Each couple had selected one film, and Alex’s selection went first: a really weird movie called The Keep.

“This was originally three hours long before the studio butchered it, but it’s still a classic,” Alex explained. “It’s Michael Mann’s only horror movie.”

Lena found it largely incomprehensible and not very scary, and there were some scenes, especially the nonsensical sex scene, that made the experience a tad awkward.

“If I was in an ancient castle in Carpathia and the crosses in the wall started glowing, I would not mess with them.” said Kara.

“Yes you would,” Alex snorted. “Your approach to danger is to shove you arm in it.”

Kara drained her beer and rolled her eyes. Lena glanced over at her and giggled, nursing the last of hers.

“Want another one?”

Lena nodded, and Kara got up to get them more drinks. Lena lost interest in the movie as she watched Kara cross the apartment and bend low to grab two more bottles from the bottom shelf of the fridge, bending at the hips. The bottom of her tunic pulled up over her muscular backside and the buns of steel strained her green leggings.

(She would annihilate me with a strap)

When Kara stood up, Lena snapped her gaze around and found everyone staring at her, Nia suppressing a giggle. They all looked endlessly amused, except Brainy, who had a self-satisfied smirk, as if he’d beaten her at chess.

Kara sat down and passed the cold beer to Lena, saying, “these movies would be scarier if they didn’t all have a bad guy I could just toss into space.”

She looked at Lena and raised her arm to curl her bicep.

Lena felt her soul almost leave her body and took a drink from her beer to hide the shivers.

The movie ended and Nia jumped up to put on her selection, which she proudly announced to the group. “ARMY OF DARKNESSSSS!” she shouted, clapping her hands.

Lena hasn’t seen this before and even though there was a ten minute prologue explaining what the hell it was about, Lena finally just decided to stop caring about the plot and just go along for the ride.

Kara had apparently seen it and she and Nia went back and forth quoting the dialogue back and forth at each other and gobbling snacks. Alex and Kelly seemed more interested in each other and had gone fairly quiet.

Lena was more interested in Kara. Her joy was infectious, especially after a third beer.

It was getting cool in the apartment by the time they were ready for the final movie, and Lena’s outfit was hardly warm. Kara felt her shiver and got up, coming back with a stack of blankets, which the others accepted.

Kara then took her cape and spread it over Lena. The fabric was stout and heavy and lay warmly about her as she tucked it under her chin.

“Uh oh,” said Alex. “Lena gets the Superblankie.”

“Oh, shut up,” Kara said.

“Lena always gets the Superblankie,” Nia agreed.

“Guys!” Kara said, sounding a little panicked.

“Start the movie already,” Kelly yawned, breaking the tension.

Kara put on the final movie, her choice: Bram Stoker’s Dracula.

No one remarked that for movie choosing purposes, Lena and Kara had been expected to act as a couple. Kara sat down on the sofa with Lena and pulled the cape around them both, tucking them tightly together and sharing her blessed, glorious body heat. Kara ran about three or four degrees hotter than a baseline human and it made her a living space heater. Lena adored it.

She adored a lot of things about Kara, like her laugh and her smile and that funny little scar, the only imperfection on her invulnerable body. She adored the way her blue eyes glittered like sapphires in the dark apartment, and the soft pillow of her bottom lip and her big strong hands and the way she was always laying a protective arm across Lena’s shoulders, making her feel so safe and…

Lena turned her attention to the movie. It was a comfort choice of hers and she knew it by heart, so it was easy to relax into Kara and not worry too hard about how much she was utterly, irrevocably, cruelly in love with her unattainable best friend.

The apartment was quiet. Lena was fairly sure that Alex was asleep and Kelly was mellow, too entranced with her new wife to care about anything else, and the way that Brainy and Nia were tucked under their blanket and whispering to each other made Lena hot with jealousy.

Kara’s chest hitched and Lena turned to her sharply.

“What is it, darling?” she murmured.

“Nothing,” Kara lied, then whispered. “This is so sad.”

She took Lena’s hand and Lena almost died on the spot, and it got worse when Kara nuzzled her chin into the crook of Lena’s shoulder.

Out of nowhere, half an hour later, Kara murmured, “if I lost you I think I’d become a monster too.”

Lena flinched, then turned to her. Kara was looking at her with big puppy dog eyes and that crooked little smile of hers, at once an honest smile and a smile for the keeping of secrets.

Everyone else was asleep, and would probably stay that way until morning.

“Kara,” Lena whispered.

Kara took it as an invitation, gently shifting so that Lena was now in her lap, and tucked Lena under her chin. She wrapped her arms around her and just breathed, chest gently rising and falling against her.

“I want you to know how sorry I am for all the things I’ve done,” Kara whispered into the top of her head. “I’ve never told you, I was gone before I could and after I got back I was scared.”

“Kara,” Lena murmured back, “darling, it’s alright.”

“I was so scared when I was there,” Kara said, not daring to name the Phantom Zone. “That place messes with time. I was terrified that if I ever got back you’d all be gone. You would be gone. I was so afraid it hurt.”

Lena went still, just listening.

“I’m so sorry, baby. You deserve better than me.”

“No I don’t,” Lena insisted, almost too loud. “No I don’t. There is no one better. God, Kara,” she softened her voice, “I think I fell a little in love with you the day we even met. I never used to believe in love at first sight or soulmates but… I am a witch after all.”

Kara let out a slow sigh. “Lena, are you saying…”

“Even when I was trying to tell you I hated you, I was telling you how much I love you. It’s you, Kara. It’s always been you.”

“I love you so much,” Kara said whispered, “I’ll love you forever.”

“Kara, everyone else is asleep,” she forced out, her jaw trembling from excitement. “Take me to the bedroom. Please.”

Kara said nothing but stood up in a single motion, lifting Lena with ease and curling her up in the cape. Lena didn’t think her feet ever touched the ground as they slipped into the bedroom and Kara laid her down on the bed, quickly and quietly closing the door before lunging into the bed, pressing Lena into the mattress with a barrage of hot, aggressively desperate kisses.

They were both quiet, Kara pausing only briefly to implore Lena with her eyes and wait for a murmured yes. There was something thrilling about the quiet, they way they swallowed their gasps and passed their moans softly through one another’s lips, and Lena would never forget the way Kara delighted in her, virtually worshipping her.

Lena returned the favor with with enthusiasm.

By morning, Lena was exhausted in every sense of the term and was curled up in a tangle of blankets and a snoozing Kryptonian.

There was a knock at the door.

“Well lock up on our way out,” Alex called. “By the way, you guys forgot about the whole keeping quiet thing about halfway through. Thanks for etching Lena yelling “daddy” into my brain.”

Kara snorted.

“Alex, I love you, but get out.”

[whitehotwild]

took a peek at amazon music’s The Boys character playlists (really just Butcher’s and Hughie’s… womp womp)… ohhhh old man Butcher my beloved.

all i can imagine is being at Butcher’s apartment for one reason or another.

☆ maybe the team went out to a bar together, and as everyone turned in for the night, saying their goodbyes, you and butcher were the last ones there. For whatever reason, he refuses to send you off by yourself to your own apartment this late at night and tells you to just come over and spend the night at his, that it’s closer anyway.

you try to ignore the zip up your spine when he leads you into his apartment with a hand on the small of your back. you try to ignore the soft flush of your cheeks when he teases you about snooping while you look through his one (barely filled) bookcase.

“what? you scared I’m gonna find your fuzzy pink handcuffs?” you tease right back, squatting down to flip through the vinyl records he has sitting in a milk crate next to the bookcase.

butcher rolls his eyes with a smirk, “mine ain’t fuzzy… d’you even know what those things are?”

you don’t react, but you do store that in the folder labeled ‘Useful Butcher Information’ that lives in your brain. ignoring his teasing, you let out a soft huff of laughter when you see a record you’ve only seen at your grandparent's house and in the back of a shitty thrift shop uptown.

“exactly how old are you?” you ask, pulling it out and showing him the record in question: Roy Orbison Sings Lonely and Blue (1961).

butcher walks over and takes the record from your hand, switching it for his beer. he had asked you if you wanted one when you two walked through his door, you had declined before, but have taken to stealing sips of his. it’s probably the closest you’ll get to kissing him tonight.

“old enough to know this is real music… not that Taylor Swift shite you force me to listen to in the car.” he snarks, slipping the record out of the sleeve, setting it on his cheap turntable.

you stand back up straight with a scoff, “you can make fun of my ‘brat summer’, but Miss Swift is where I draw the line.” the beginning of the record starts to ring softly through the room…

‘Only the lonely… (dum-dum-dum-dumby-doo-wah)’

“oh… you can’t be serious,” you smile softly and he holds a hand up as if telling you to ‘wait for it’. “…so corny,” you mutter shaking your head, still with that same smile.

butcher takes the beer bottle out of your hand, taking a sip before setting it on one of the shelves, “nope… classic.”

he lets himself be a bit softer around you, even if only for a moment. it’s only when you two are alone, usually late at night, usually after a few drinks that he lets the walls drop… only just a bit.

like now, when he pulls you into the empty space of his living room, placing your hand, the one that isn’t wrapped in his, on his shoulder, his free hand goes to the small of your back.

“so now you wanna dance?” you ask with a bit of snark.

butcher lets out a soft huff of amusement as you two start swaying, “what you lot was doin’ at the bar wasn’t dancin’… you was flailing about.”

“hm… whatever. least we were having fun, i mean… even M.M. got up!”

“‘cause he’s a sucker for ‘Earth, Wind & Fire’.”

“well yeah… who isn’t?”

“me.”

you roll your eyes with a soft sigh, “suuure… stick in the mud.”

you’re both quiet after that, only the sound of old music coming through shitty speakers and gentle steps against his floor fill the room. he dances you through the whole a-side of the album, the hand on your back has snaked around your waist, your head rests against his shoulder, and he holds your intertwined hands closer to his chest.

you take as much of this as you can get from him, knowing these moments are fleeting. there are so many unspoken words between the two of you, you’re too stubborn to make a move, and well… butcher’s too… butcher. he thinks he’s much too undeserving of something as precious as you.

and maybe he’s right. maybe he doesn’t deserve you, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting you, it doesn’t stop you wanting him. so for now… the soft, fleeting, moments are enough.

it’s always strange when those moments end, though. the way you can see his demeanor shift in an instant.

like now, the music stops and he looks away from you when you look up at him. you can see the way his face changes, like he’s snapping out of a trance or he’s caught himself doing something he knows shouldn’t.

butcher pulls away from you, wiping his hands on his pants as if the feeling of you lingering on his skin has to go. he turns to put the record away and turn off the turntable.

the silence lingers for a minute before he speaks up, “think we should turn in. you take my bed.”

you try to protest, “the couch-“

“don’t fight me on it.” the command isn’t harsh, it’s not mean, it’s only a bit stern, but he just wants you to listen to him.

he just wants to do something nice for you.

you nod with a quiet sigh and thank him with a soft smile. you both retire for the night and you both know you’ll be gone in the morning before he wakes up. you both know you won’t make any mention of it when you're both in the office tomorrow.

but you both know that for now, the fact that it happened at all is enough.

(divider by @/plutism)