#but i love doing it because i get to research

[sparrows4bats]

Dick Grayson sets Jon and Damian up, Completely accidentally.

So, years from now, Damian has finished his degree, med school, and is starting his residentancy. Jon is Superman, and his career as a science researcher is in full swing.

Both grew apart after Jon took up his fathers mantel, and Damian left crimefighting to pursue medicine. They are still friends, but nowhere near as close as they once were. ( Jon still listens to Damians' heartbeat every day, and Jon is one of the few people outside his family that Damian puts on the cape for now.)

Dick has been Jon's mentor for years, and he and Damian have only gotten closer as brothers (father and son) over the years. One day, after seeing Damian and Jon meet by chance, when Dick is injured and he makes Jon fly him to Damian to be patched up, Dick decides to get them to be best friends again.

Dick doesn't know why they grew apart, but they still seem fond of each other if the friendly greeting he witnessed is anything to go by. And both of them need more friends, each having been isolated by their responsibilities over the last few years.

So, he hatches a plan.

If they are going to be Best Friends again, they need to spend time together one on one. The few times he hung out with both of them at the same time, Jon and Damian tended to focus on him or a larger group activity.

So, Dick starts asking Jon to drop Damian over food or coffee after long shifts. Tells Superman how worried he is that Damian will overwork himself because he is doing so many extra hours in Peadatrics and the NICU. Jon happily agrees, armed by Damians' favourite vegan meals and a smile. Damian is confused at first but is so tired that he doesn't question why his childhood friend is suddenly feeding him a few times a week.

Next, Dick tells Damian about all the humanitarian work Jon is doing, and wouldn't it be so nice to go with him? The next time he heads off to refugee camp, Damian can come to provide free health care. Damian likes that idea immensely and asks Jon when he next shows up with food.

Jon and Damian start spending more time together, but only during times when they are too busy or exhausted to actually talk to one another. Neither have mentioned anything other than how tired and busy the other seemed.

So Dick enacts stage three and attempts to get them to actually hang out and relax together. Since they both desperately need it. So Dick asks them both to come over for pizza and movies at his place, and then just doesn't show up. Damian is always early and has a key to his apartment so he can let Jon in. The plan is foolproof.

He sends them a text 30 minutes after they were supposed to meet and tells them Barbara needs him for something, but go ahead and order the pizzas he will be there in a few hours.

After about four hours of celebrating his success and annoying Babs. Dick finally goes home to check on the besties.

What he did not expect was to find Jonathan Kent defiling his baby on his couch.

Some of their clothes are off and strewn around the space, and thank God all Dick sees is Jons naked back and Damian kissing him before he runs out of the room.

Only after he calls Babs in horror and she laughs in his face, does he gather the courage to confront them again.

When he enters the house this time, Jon and Damian are waiting for him, thankfully fully dressed.

Dick doesn't get a chance to speak before Damian is apologising for impropriety and looking like he did at ten when he didn't know how Dick was going to react to his mistakes. Jon takes his hand to settle his nerves, and it works.

Dicks feels like he fell down the rabbit hole.

"So, you two are a thing?"

"Yes."

"Since when?"

"Since I saw Damian save 10 children in Sudan a few weeks ago."

"Oh."

"Jon was good with them, comforting and gentle." Damian sounds dreamy in a way Dick has never heard before.

"Is it serious?"

"I love Damian, and I plan to marry him as soon as he will let me." Jon is so confident and serious when he says this, Dick almost doesn't believe the words coming out of his mouth.

"WHAT?!" The pair ignore him choking on his own spit. Rude.

"You do?"

"If you want?"

Damian nods and smiles. "We could go to vegas tomorrow?"

Jon smiles back so wide Dick is sure his face is going to split in two."Or we elope tonight?"

Damian kisses him before whispering yes against his lips

He then turns to his brother.

"Richard will be our witness!"

Dick doesn't know how he ends up in a chapel in Las Vegas at 3am,on a Tuesday, giving his baby brother away. But they look so happy Dick decides he doesn't care at the moment.

Damian had rings already, for some reason, and Jon and Damian get married in jeans and hastily thrown on shirts. All three of them cry at sappy spontaneous vows.

Afterwards, Jon thanks him for helping him realise he already knew the love of his life. Damian just hugs him tightly and says something in a language Dick doesn't know.

It occurred to Dick in that moment that Bruce was going to kill him. Probably after he killed Jon.

He can't even stage a shovel talk because this is all his own damn fault.

Barbara and Stephanie never let him live it down. (But they can suck it, Jon and Damian name their first kid after him and make him godfather.)

[pegging-satan]

a/n: Drabble. Not proofread. Forgive any spelling/grammar errors I wrote this… as research I promise I’m not horny hahahahahahahahaha I just needed to get this out of my system. I’m going to go to sleep now.

No tags we fuck around and find out like MEN

You never thought you were that kind of person, but ever since you got with him, you just constantly felt like a cat in heat. Can’t stop nuzzling him, can’t stop grinding on him, can’t stop being so damn horny around him,,,, and it pleases him to no end.

On days where you’re both either working from home or have a day off, you’re clinging to that man like a koala, good thing he’s so strong that you just feel like a breeze to him. He’s working or gaming at his desk and you’re on his lap face nuzzled into his neck as you desperately, pathetically hump his thigh, gasping and mewling at the sensation, or sitting under his desk, lazily sucking him off like you’re sucking on your favourite lollipop, as he pays no heed to you, but doesn’t stop you from getting off on him, or getting him off. He’s going to focus on finishing his work or his video game, and then he will fuck your nice and good like you deserve.

Your adorable cat-like mannerisms don’t get unnoticed by him. He thinks it’s oh, so precious, he thinks that if you could you’d be purring in his arms. So he does the only logical thing a cat-loving man would do: he gets you a cat ear headband, a collar with a leash, and a cat tail plug. They’re high-tech and expensive too, they can read your mood and react accordingly. He thinks it’s so adorable when you walk around the house like that.

The fluffy tail, those cute little ears that flatten against your head even he pats it, or hits that spot deep inside. The tail swishing side to side, which he grips gently as he thrusts languidly into you, while your eyes roll back, and your tongue hangs from your mouth, as he tugs at the leash pulling you back.

He then pushes your head into the pillows and begins thrusting harder, his self control crumbling, how can he hold back, when his little kitty is presenting herself to him so well, face down, ass up, beckoning him, begging for him…

Yes, good kitty he coos. He lets go of the leash, and fists your hair, pulling your head back, making those cat ears flutter and flatten against your head in ecstasy… he can never get enough of how your body reacts to him, and the sounds that you make… the sounds that you make drive him completely insane.

So insane that he doesn’t think twice before dumping his entire load into your warm, wet, gushy insides, as they flutter around his cock too, squeezing him for all he’s worth, and more. You want him to stay like that forever, it feels so good; so warm and so full, you’d never tire of this sensation.

And then he’d pull out, slowly, as he softens inside you, and sees his seed dripping from you so deliciously, he can’t help but collect some and smear it on you, so shiny, so juicy and plump. You look so tempting he can’t even help himself and before either of you can register what’s happening he’s between your legs lapping up both your release, because you taste so good and he takes care of himself he knows damn well he tastes good too. And together, between your legs, it tastes absolutely divine.

He doesn’t even care that you’re shaking and trembling like a leaf in a storm, he holds you down with his strong hands and keeps at it, it’s for his own pleasure at this point, his tongue licking and prodding, savouring your taste as it gushes out again and again, drenching the sheets, as well as his face. And he revels in it. He loves it so fucking much.

Zayne, Sylus, Caleb, Xavier, Keishin Ukai, Shidou, Sae, Karasu, Kaiser, Nanami, Higuruma, Toji, Satoru, Choso, Suna, Kuroo, Terushima, Erwin, Jean, Reiner

[resident-gay-bitch]

Steve’s always a little insecure in his relationships, always worries that they’re only in it for a short while, that all their promises are just words, no truth behind them.

He’s two months into his relationship with Eddie, and Steve’s already very in love with him, and it’s terrifying. This is the most in love Steve has ever been.

They said it for the first time the other day, during a super romantic and cosy night of Chinese takeout and nostalgic kids movies, snuggled up on the couch with never ending kisses. They had sex that night too, for the first time.

They had fooled around only a couple of times before that, nothing too serious, and only twice, since Eddie’s Demisexual. Steve didn’t know that waiting was exactly what he needed, assurance that Eddie wasn’t just there for his body.

After that night he feels even more connected to Eddie, feels the love radiating from his goofy smile and his puppy dog eyes. And the way Eddie kissed him, the way Eddie touched him, it was unforgettable. Genuine electricity. Steve had never felt so special and precious in his life, never felt so loved.

He’s still got his insecurities though, now that they’ve stepped up their relationship, Steve’s gotten a lot more comfortable, shown the secret side of him, the side that only Robin knows about really. He’s worried, like all the rest of them, that Eddie won’t like him anymore, that he’ll leave.

Robin tells him he’s being negative and stupid, Eddie’s totally the one, she can feel it!!

Steve wants to feel it, thinks the tips of his fingers are buzzing from it, but he just won’t let himself. Not yet. Not until he knows for sure.

They’re on FaceTime, having dinner together because Eddie’s gone away for a few nights with his band for a gig, and they miss eachother. Eddie called him, no prompting needed, and when Steve answered he said: “Stevie, baby, oh my god I missed you— hey fuckin, Jeff!! Look at my boyfriend, how hot is he? I got a cute ass boyfriend, wow, I feel so much better now I get to talk to you again. How are you, sweetheart? I hope you’re okay.”

Steve’s heart fucking bloomed. He feels nauseous he’s so fucking in love.

“What are you doing, Ed’s? You keep looking away from me.”

“I know, a total crime, don’t hate me. I’d much rather look at you, baby— hey shut up, Jeff, let me be in love!” Eddie yelled, tossing a pen at his bandmate across the room, “Sorry, Stevie. Uh, I’m doing some research for some songs I’m writing, making sure I’m not gonna fucking accidentally steal someone’s copyrighted track. Boring stuff, legal stuff, what are you doing?”

“Not much, missing you.”

Eddie chuckles, “God, I miss you too. Want me to come over when I get home? I’d invite you to mine, but these guys always get grouchy after a long drive home and our unit would probably just depress you.”

“Yeah, please.” Steve smiled sweetly, picking at his dinner. They fall into silence for a while, Eddie deep in concentration, his eyebrows furrowed and his tongue poking out over his top lip as he types away on his laptop.

Steve’s got this question gnawing at him. One of those dumb fucking questions that he shouldn’t ask, because it’s stupid. The kind of question that if he asks too many of them, his parter will get pissed off and leave, or yell at him to stop. He’s already asked Eddie one weird question, but it wasn’t even that weird, it still got a strange reaction from Eddie though. Steve didn’t take it as a good one.

Fuck, he can’t help it though, it just starts coming out of his mouth before he can really stop it, “Hey, uh, Eddie…?”

“Yah, light of my life?” He laughs to himself, isn’t looking at the camera so he can’t see Steve begin to blush, thankfully.

“If you became a rich and famous rockstar, would you leave me behind? Be honest.” Steve nodded, “I can take it-“

“Of course not, Stevie.” Eddie said, still looking at his laptop screen, it seems like he barely even thinks about the answer, “Why would I do that?”

“If you were famous, you’d have other options.”

“Yeah, but I have you. Would you leave me, if you got famous?”

“No.” Steve snickers, like it’s obvious. Because it is, because Steve’s attached to Eddie, obviously, Steve loves Eddie more than Eddie loves Steve, probably.

“See, so why would I?” Eddie says simply, a small smile on his face as he looks at Steve like he’s being goofy and weird.

Steve should just shut his mouth before Eddie starts to hate him, but he just can’t, “Well, there are better options for famous people.”

“Not for me.” Eddie says simply, and it kills Steve, genuinely, a fucking stake through the heart in the best kind of way.

“What if you were on a red carpet, and… uh… oh, what if Hugh Jackman hit on you? Would you chose him over me?”

Eddie laughed, “Look, Hugh is hot, but he’s not as hot as you. Have you seen your ass, Stevie?”

Steve flustered, “We- Uh, what about like, Dave from Foo Fighters? He’s really hot.”

“Not my type at all, besides he’s a cheater so ew.”

“Okay…” Steve wonders, “Megan Fox?”

“Gorgeous! But I don’t swing that way.”

“Right, yeah, of course.” Steve sighed, “Oh, you really like Robert Irwin, right?”

Eddie laughed, looked over at Steve on his phone and smiled sweetly, rubbed a hand over his mouth, “Yeah, I like him, he’s cute. Wanna know why?”

Suddenly, Steve feels very jealous. It must show on his face too because Eddie snickers at him, “Uh, why?”

“Because he reminds me of you, dork.”

“What? How?” Steve is baffled.

“He’s cute, I like your little blonde highlights and he’s blonde. And he’s fit like you I guess. But mostly because he’s like, just a good looking chill out dude until you hear him talk, then you realise he’s a huge massive super ultra dork and you can’t help but want to know more about him.” Eddie smiled, turned back to his laptop and Steve watched him scroll through a document through the reflection of his glasses, “If Robert Irwin ever hit on me I’d be flattered as fuck. But I’d kindly reject him, and tell him I’ve got my own dork at home who prepared me for such a moment, by asking stupid questions like would you ever leave me— no Steve. I wouldn’t. Duh. You’re too good of a kisser.”

Steve laughed, let himself feel flustered for a while. Satisfied that he let himself be just the right amount of clingy to let Eddie know that he’s kinda like that, but not too clingy that he scared Eddie away.

“Would you take me with you then? When you’re rich and famous?”

“Oh, you know it baby.” Eddie grinned, “When I’m making millions, you’re quitting your goddamned job and travelling the world with me, and I’ll buy you whatever the fuck you want. I’ll be your full time sugar daddy no doubts about it, gorgeous.”

Steve loves this guy so much. “Yeah, sure, you can be my sugar daddy the day you figure out how to ask me how to touch your dick without stuttering and blushing and hiding in my neck about it.”

Eddie stuttered, clearly caught off guard as he began to choke on air. Steve could hear his friends in the room around Eddie begin to laugh and make fun of him. Steve laughed with him, because Eddie knows how Steve feels about that, he knows that Steve likes how shy Eddie got in bed.

Steve thinks it’s incredibly hot, a guy so confident and out there reduced to a stuttering mess the second he gets a “hot” guy in bed, as Eddie said.

Eddie’s friends begin to heckle and tease him for a bit, and Steve listens in silence as his boyfriend fights with the lot of them.

“Hey, Eddie?” Steve asks, once they’re calmed down and quiet again.

Eddie sighs, rolls his head away from his laptop and over to look at Steve, Steve hates this. Eddie smiles anyway, even though Steve is sure he’s faking it now, and says, “Yes, my love?”

He wants to take it back. He wants to shut his mouth.

“Never mind.” Steve shakes his head.

“No, my love. Ask me, go on. It was a follow up question to the whole fame thing, right?” Eddie shrugged, “I only sighed because you should know that how I feel isn’t something so easily raptured by a mere celebrity.”

“Oh…” Steve nodded, thought about that for a moment. Wondered if anyone else in his situation would have known that, maybe he’s just insecure, too insecure, Eddie’s bound to get annoyed by it. It seems like he already is. “I was just going to ask if you’d ever write a song about me?”

Eddie smiles, blushes, and it’s so sweet, “I already have, Stevie. Three.” He looks back at his laptop, groans and Steve sees in his glasses reflection that Eddie closes all the tabs he’s looking at in anger, “Yah, you’re so easy to write love songs about to be completely honest. But no, I’m not telling you anything about them. You’ll hear when they’re ready.”

Steve is over the moon, “Okay.”

Silence again. He watches Eddie open up a new application, Steve recognises as his music app thing. He makes demos and back tracks with it, which is cool. Eddie begins to play around with if a bit, and Steve listens to the noise and wonders what song Eddie’s trying to create.

He’s got that urge again. God, he’s so clingy. Steve can’t stand how clingy he is, no one can. It’s only a matter of time before Eddie’s telling him he’s too clingy and walking out the door.

He really can’t help himself. Maybe he’s just self destructive.

“Eddie, would you tell the world I was your boyfriend, if you get famous?”

“Yup.” Eddie nodded, “But they’d only know your name, and your face, and how much I love you. Don’t want you getting stalked by weirdos— you know, if I get famous enough that people want to stalk my boyfriend.”

Steve thinks that’s really sweet of him, especially since he had that rolling off the top of his tongue, no thinking time needed.

“Well… would you take me to all your A lister parties and events?”

“If there’s no plus one option, I’m not going sweetheart. Wouldn’t want you sitting at home, worried.”

“What would you do if a celebrity like… hmm, Eddie Van Halen hit on me?”

Eddie grinned, “Then I’d say you’re seeing ghosts, sunshine.”

“If he were alive, though?”

“Then… I’d think it’s awesome that we have something in common, you’re our type— oh! And then you’d get to say you were hit on by two guys named Eddie who played guitar super good.”

Steve laughed, “Would you introduce me to Sabrina Carpenter?”

“It would be the first thing I’d do.”

“Would you get jealous if she hit on me?”

“Oh yeah.” Eddie nodded, “I’m gay as fuck and I’d still take her out on a date, you know, she’s pretty. She’s like, the girl version of you. Anyway I’d be super jealous and heartbroken but I’d tell you to take your chance.”

“Seriously?”

“Yup.” He assured, “You will be hearing from me, I’ll be that crazy ex just waiting for you two to break up. I’d sabotage so bad, but I’d just want you to be happy. But I would hate if that was without me.”

Steve smiled, “Imagine if we were animals? Would you still fall in love with me if we were both little otters or something?”

“Yup, I’d be head otter heals for you.”

Steve laughed, “Dude, you’re so lame.”

“Don’t call me dude whist asking these clingy ass questions.” Eddie snickered out, and Steve shut up.

He swallowed. Stared hard at the camera and tried to surpress his sudden urge to cry.

“You get so fucking clingy sometimes.” Eddie muttered, quiet enough that his friends couldn’t hear him, “I genuinely didn’t think someone could get this clingy.”

Steve hates him.

He’s about to shut off the call when he sees something flash in Eddie’s glasses, squints to get a better look at whatever is on Eddie’s screen.

“Hey, uh, forgot to mention my uncle had this watch he thought you might like— cause I got one, but you don’t wear silver do you?”

“Nope, never.” Steve shook his head, bile rising in his throat, he can’t figure out what’s taken up all of Eddie’s attention, “Tell him thanks though.”

“Got it.” Eddie muttered to himself, pressed enter on his keyboard, and a webpage popped up with large images of golden band rings.

“What are you doing?” Steve wonders quietly.

“Huh? Oh, just mixing some music still, like I was before. Just trying to think up what I should do next.”

Steve is not that stupid. He knows Eddie’s lying. He’s lying so hard right now.

Eddie grabs his phone, pulls it close to his face so Steve can only see from his nose up, and he begins tapping away at his screen.

“Sorry, I’ll put you down in a sec, cutie, just checking something.”

With this closer angle, Steve can see very clearly what Eddie’s checking on his phone. He’s checking his bank account.

He’s checking his bank account, looking back at the web page of rings on his laptop, then pondering something in his head.

“Everything okay, Eddie?”

“Yup, just thinking up some lyric changes. Got them all written in my phone, I’ll put you down now.”

He’s such a liar, Steve’s just confused. And hurt.

“Why are you so quiet?” Eddie wondered, his phone back down on the table like it was before, eyes back on his laptop as he scrolls through rings, “Are you okay?”

“Yep.” Steve nodded.

Eddie sighed, “Hey, would you still love me if we were animals? You never answered back.” Eddie said, “What if I was an otter and you were a little fishy?”

Steve hesitates, “You’d probably eat me.”

“I’d eat you right now, Steve.” Eddie said flatly, then he ducked his head and whispered, “I miss the taste of you. I love kissing you- Hey, can I suck your dick sometime? Been thinkin’ about it.”

“Oh, now you’re brave enough to ask whilst you’re a million miles away and not even looking at me?”

“Yup.” Eddie snickered, froze for a moment with his brows furrowed, clicked on a ring and zoomed in on it, glanced between his laptop and Steve a few times. “Uh, sorry, what were we talking about?”

Steve can see the description of the ring he’s looking at. He can see, clear as day, the description reads (backwards): “Solar - Gold embossed engagement ring.”

Steve can’t believe this. Eddies looking at engagement rings. Is he looking at engagement rings?

“How much do you love me?” Steve asked, a vomit of words.

Eddie smiled, hung his head like he’s all embarrassed about it, “A lot, Stevie baby. A lot.” Eddie chuckled, “I can’t believe I get you all to myself. Not to be poetic or anything, but my life was a dark, empty night sky before I met you, and then suddenly my life was summer sun, gorgeous. You’re my sunshine, right?”

“Right.” Steve nodded, “I love when you call me that.” He squints at the reflection in Eddie’s glasses and can make out the pattern of the sun embossed on the ring.

“God, I miss you.” Eddie sighs, adds the ring to his shopping cart and keeps scrolling.

Jeff walks behind Eddie on his way out of the kitchen and stops in his tracks, walks over.

“Just working on that song, look good?” Eddie asks, and Jeff leans down on his shoulder, “I think if I add this in, this take could be the one. What do you think? Or do you think I’m being too stupid? Is it too soon for that big moment?”

Oh, fuck, he’s really looking at engagement rings.

Jeff smiles, squeezes Eddie’s shoulder encouragingly, “I mean, yeah, in theory. But you’ve never done anything by the book, and all your best choices have been a little crazy like that. If you feel it’s the right choice, and will work well with the music, then yeah, by all means.”

Eddie gins, looks back at Steve, “Yeah, it’s definitely the right choice.”

Jeff snickers, wonders off shaking his head, and Eddie looks so giddy as he takes one last look at the ring.

Eddie’s thinking about proposing to Steve.

“Don’t you think I’m clingy?” Steve blurted out, catching Eddie completely off guard.

Eddie glanced at him, sighed, carefully shut his laptop and set his attention on Steve, “Well, yeah? You are clingy.” Eddie shrugged, “Dude, you don’t understand how lucky I feel, I think. I like that. I mean, you love me so much that you wanna cling to me like a fucking koala. I’m surprised you haven’t gotten bored of me yet.”

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, Steve feels so warm and fuzzy inside.

“I love you so much.” He mumbles, brings the phone close to his face to virtually kiss Eddie, “Do you want to move in with me?”

“What?” Eddie stuttered out, “Uh, are you serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious in this conversation and also about this relationship. About you.”

“Fuck.” Eddie sighed, laughed a little delirious, “Yeah, yes, I do. I’d love that, sunshine.”

“When you get back then. Just… just come over and don’t leave.” Steve nodded, “We can talk more then, about us, and everything. I just want you around me always.”

“God, Stevie, you don’t know how much I feel that in my heart.” Eddie said, two hands pressed over his heart to swoon a little.

Steve doesn’t tell him that he knows of Eddie’s plans, and five months later, when the special day comes, Steve doesn’t tell him that he’s already seen the ring. Though, he does mention it in his vowels, tells everyone watching just how much harder that evening made Steve fall in love with Eddie. That he couldn’t believe someone was falling so hard, so fast, just as he was.

Steve never doubted another relationship again, purely because his only relationship from then on was with Eddie.

He’d never felt as secure as he does with Eddie, since that night, never second guessed his intentions, never doubted their love.

They’re mutually head otter heals for each other. Robin was right, Eddie is the one.

[lightseoul]

WARD OFF (THIS LONELINESS) (23.3k)

pairing. k. bakugou x reader

synopsis. love comes when you least expect it. or, in bakugou’s case, when he’s unceremoniously dumped into the psychiatric ward. (or: in which bakugou finds himself haunted by his war-torn past, rancid nightmares, and the pretty face of this girl he meets inside)

c.w. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (21 yrs old), minor manga spoilers (read at your own risk), lots of cussing (bkg-typical), graphic depictions of the ward setting, discussions of ptsd & insomnia, mentions of depression, anxiety, & suicidality, nsfw/mature themes, just a whole lotta emotions :,)

a/n. before anything else, i would like to thank my lovely therapist for saying the right words to me a little over a week ago that spurred me to finally get started on this fic idea, which, funnily enough, i ended up working on around the 2nd anniversary of my ward admission. this fic is—quite obviously—very personal to me, as i had to dig through the deep recesses of my mind and pluck out memories i didn’t even know still existed to conjure this into fruition. i worked very hard on this, mainly because i felt like it was important for me to write about this particular experience that not many have to go through, so that those who don’t somehow get an accurate glimpse of what actually happens behind the locked doors. and, perhaps—maybe—even feel empathy for those who do get admitted, you know? but also because i think this was a great opportunity for me to process the experience, which, as you’ll later find out by reading the fic, is exceptionally multi-layered and complex, and absolutely not emotionally charged :,) just a few disclaimers, though: firstly, i am /not/ a mental health professional. i am simply a psych major on an indefinite leave from college because of my severe depression, which also happened to put me in the psychiatric ward, equipping me with the lived experiences and thereby allowing me to write this fic. moreover, the ward experience depicted in this fic was purely based on my experience, and it is highly likely that many do not share my experience or my sentiments. lastly, i do not have war-induced ptsd nor do i have insomnia, but i did as much research as i could to portray it properly. still, if i missed anything, or if i made a mistake, i’d appreciate feedback, as long as you give it kindly and constructively. that’s about it. i sincerely, truly hope you enjoy this one. all the love <3

link. ao3 (you can only read it here. apparently this fic is too long for tumblr rip)

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

tagging. @bunnysaursushii @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @elarakive @touyas-moon @napbatata @k0z3me @h0ngh0ngh0ng @honeyoru @yoongiwithglasses @hellokitty-doll @lilsebnem @tetsuukuroo @crangrapel0ver @syrhra @qyuin @lotusstarr @akiii143 @eternallyshifting

[monstersflashlight]

Heyyyyy I want to say I love you orc stories they are so cute, and I was wondering if you could write this idea were orc oc and the reader just had their bid wedding with ceremonial traditions and parties, and the reader is so new to everything, the clothing while the orc helps the reader out especially when they have to get their ears pierced. Because I feel like that would be a tradition in orc society lol.

A/N: Thank you so much! Means the world, truly. Hope you enjoy this tiny dabble, I think it’s hella cute.

Put a (ear)ring on it

Orc x fem!reader || sfw

You are sure you are squeezing his hand so hard it must be painful. You know he’s definitely not going to complain, but you can feel the tension in his body and see the way the muscle in his jaw twitches when you do it again. But it’s not your fault, okay? Well, kind of is…

You marrying an orc was completely out of the question when you were little, but since you ran away from your home and he found you in the forest, you have been living among them. He courted you in his orc ways, and got as far as to research how to court you in the human ways. So the least you could do was to honor him following his traditions to… even if you were scared of needles.

“You can do this, little thing. I’ll be right here with you,” he tries to reassure again. You squeeze his hand again, closing your eyes so strongly you start seeing spots.

“Okay, human, take a deep breath and…” You feel a pinprick on your ear and your now husband squeezes your hand softly. “Okay, that one is done, now the other ear,” the piercer announces.

“Wait! Is done already?” You ask, opening your eyes and looking around really fast. Your hold on his hand relaxes and he smiles down at you, his beautiful green eyes illuminating when he looks at you.

“You were so brave, just one more and you’ll be done,” he tells you with the biggest grin possible, framed by his beautiful tusks that soon would have earrings matching the ones in your ears.

You nod vigorously and focus on him as the orc piercer moves around. “And we’ll be married for real.”

“We are married for real,” he reminds you with an amused huff.

“But everyone will have proof,” you remind him. He smiles proudly, leaning down to kiss your lips softly. “No more orcs trying to flirt with you.” You try not to sound possessive, but by the way he grunts in pleasure, you fail.

“I like when you get possessive,” he grunts again, his dick twitching visibly inside his pants.

“Ugh, I hate newlyweds,” the piercer complains, rapidly perforating the other ear. “It’s done, go fuck to your own house.” You laugh as your husband grabs you. “And keep it clean!” He yells behind you as your husband runs with you over his shoulder.

[fahye]

book recs: may 2025

first recs post in nearly a year! I plead: having a baby. turns out they surgically remove all your free time, who knew?? but I've been reading in tiny doses and now am able to read in LARGER doses so let's do this. highlights from the past year.

*means not yet released; read as an ARC.

FLOWERS FROM THE STORM by laura kinsale - I only discovered kinsale recently but I was electrified. halfway between georgette heyer and dorothy dunnett. this book in particular is bonkers intense and absolutely wonderful. the hero has had an aphasic stroke and the heroine is a quaker. yes I know. read it anyway. life-changing.

THE SENTENCE by louise erdrich - literary fiction about a year in the life of a native american ex-felon bookseller haunted by a dead customer. I fucking adored this. it's like taking a big bite of a perfectly cooked steak: rich, meaty, satisfying, self-indulgent. a perfect treat for book nerds.

SOMETHING EXTRAORDINARY by alexis hall - this is kind of a comedic romance novel about an aromantic woman who semi-kidnaps and marries her gay friend for Regency Reasons, and kind of a cross-country romp in which they collect sex partners, and very full of long grown-up discussions about feelings and family and priorities. it shouldn't work and yet I was HOOKED. the third in a series; I do recommend reading the other two for context.

*AN ACADEMIC AFFAIR by jodi mcalister - marriage of convenience for the extremely valid reason of academic partner employment clauses. I am obsessed with jodi's romances and this one is very sharp about how fucked up academia is while also being blissfully swoony and bantery. can't wait for the others in this series, too.

YOU ARE HERE: NINE MORE STORIES by iona datt sharma - I will sing iona's praises with my dying breath. deft, devastating, delicious. every one of these stories is a jewel. I will also throw in a rec for BLOOD SWEAT GLITTER, their recent romance novella about roller derby and trauma recovery.

WOOING THE WITCH QUEEN by stephanie burgis - romantasy girlies, assemble! this is a fun & satisfying story about a powerful woman trying to hold her kingdom together and the hot archduke she accidentally hires to be her magical librarian. found family! secret identities! a heartwarming banger.

*LADIES IN HATING by alexandra vasti - what if we were rival gothic novelists with a secret shared past and we got stuck in a Haunted Manor and had to have a lot of feelings about it while in surprising amounts of peril? sapphic histrom doesn't get better than this.

I SHALL NEVER FALL IN LOVE by hari conner - a graphic novel queer retelling of emma, which is one of my favourite austens. this is thoughtfully researched and grounded in history, has lovely and very funny art, and was a shot of pure joy.

*THE EVERLASTING by alix harrow - can't believe alix is out here grinding my heart into little pieces YET AGAIN. a tired lady knight and the historian trying to chronicle her life and control her ending get stuck in a time loop. this is about the violence of history and empire and narrative. it's brutal. it's romantic. it's so so so so SO good.

THUS WAS ADONIS MURDERED by sarah caudwell - I almost don't want to give too much away about this, because I went in with zero knowledge and had a blast. it's a murder mystery. it's extremely funny. go forth, enjoy.

EUPHORIA by lily king - not funny at all but a perfectly crafted, fairly short gem of a historical litfic novel. it's about the relationships between three anthropologists. it's very hard to describe. but I can't stop thinking about this book.

THE SAFEKEEP by yael van der wouden. also historical litfic and even shorter! even less funny! even more amazing! a bitter, repressed woman plays reluctant host to her brother's girlfriend; history, yearning, secrets and denial create a crucible of emotion and lust.

*THE DUKE by anna cowan - what if the rich, rakish, unrepentant duke of every regency romance was a woman? what if her love interest was a french courtesan who's blackmailing her? anna cowan's first book was WAY ahead of its time when it comes to fucky delicious gender stuff, and this one is equally great.

[cripplecharacters]

Thank you so much for this blog. Can I take a moment to ask the rest of your followers to please stop using it to ask for *permission* to write whatever they're trying to write? On every ask that starts with "can I write XYZ?", I just wanna grab the asker by the shoulders and ask back "what do you think is going to happen if you do?"

Since there's no ableism police going around inspecting amateur creative projects, this is really a poorly worded version of "is this bad/ableist/problematic/gonna get me cancelled/punished?", with an undercurrent of "am I bad? Am I a bad person? Please reassure me that I'm not a bad person", which is a hell of a lot to drop on a handful of strangers online who can only ever give you a bit of information and their own biased personal opinions.

I swear I'm not trying to be a jerk about this. It's good that so many people want to depict disability in fiction beyond flat stereotypes. But it's incredibly hard to create *anything* with this level of anxiety and craving for approval. It's sooo much better to be driven by playful curiosity. Learn to love research! Don't underestimate your capacity for critical thinking! Dare to form your own opinions! The worst that can (and will) happen is that you'll be wrong and make mistakes. Big deal.

I also invite everyone to get further along in the writing process before running to consult here. Writing is rewriting, and it's easier to rewrite what's already on the page than toy with hypothetical ideas forever. Tumblr jokes a lot about the mere existence of bad pieces of writing being "a hate crime", but let's get real. Your accidentally ableist first draft is not an act of violence, and treating it that way is not disability advocacy or activism or helpful to anyone.

Sorry if this ended up too long or verbose. What do you mods think? Agree/disagree?

I can't speak for the other mods but I mostly agree TBH.

There's much more to writing disabled characters than just getting a "stamp of approval" that what you're doing "is OK". And it's not that it's bad to consult others to make sure you're not being ableist (it isn't), but a good disabled character can't just be a character that's Not Offensive.

They should be well researched, they should be interesting, and they shouldn't just be there to be "good disabled rep". They should be a character, not a diversity quota to fill.

I've addressed the whole "no one is actually going to Cancel You if you write something ableist" in one of my older posts about writing characters with facial differences because it's true. One billion movies and series and comics come out every year and a ton of them are ableist, and I promise you no one is getting "cancelled" over having a villain with a scar.

I stopped answering those "is it ok if my villain is deformed and scarred?!??" asks because they don't really add anything, they're usually not looking to change anything or learn anything, they just want a Cripple's Stamp of Approval. And that's not going to result in a good character, ever, it's just like showing a thumbs up to a writer that it's OK for them to write this offensive thing. What's the point? If you want to write it so bad, just do it... There is no Council of Disfigured People that will cancel you and take your house. You don't need my permission to write a generic evil disfigured guy and I'm not going to grant it. If you don't want to actually learn or change anything, there's no point in asking.

As I said, that's my opinion and not necessarily representative of the other mods on the blog.

mod Sasza

As to my opinion I largely agree. You (the general you, not you specifically asker, which is what I will mean in this whole ask when I say 'you') can write whatever you want and no one will send you a certified letter by mail that says you are Cancelled or a Bad Person or whatever.

We just want people to do research and put thought behind what they're writing. To think about why things are considered ableist, by us or by anyone else. And we want people to make disabled characters be characters and not just a Trope.

We as a mod team, but also as just regular people, can't or control what anyone does or doesn't write/draw/do. No one can. If you want to write something we hate, then do it. We won't stop you. We can't. We just won't like it, but if you're that committed to writing what you're writing, you can live with that, or at least you should. Someone's specific piece of art/writing/etc won't change our minds on what we've previously stated. No, not even yours. But you can do it if you really want to because that's how being an individual person works.

mod sparrow

[silens-oro]

Well Enough Alone: Baby Blurb #2

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Andrew "Pope" Cody x f!Reader (nicknamed Hawk) Animal Kingdom Masterlist Pope x Hawk Playlist Well Enough Alone Baby AU Masterlist

General Synopsis: Pope takes his new role very seriously Word Count: .3k Content Warning: mentions of miscarriage risk but NONE present AN: I'm having so much fun with these. Thank you for reading! please comment & reblog :)

Pope was a saint, plain and simple. Hawk was embarrassed to admit it, but she cried sometimes when he was out of the house because she thought about how good of a dad he was going to be -that he already was proving to be. 

She was just about to pass her first trimester and neither of them told a soul, for good reason. To be perfectly honest, Hawk didn’t think she wanted anyone to know other than a select few people, but her ideal world and the world she was currently living in were very different universes. Hawk was beginning to show and her clothes were starting to become just a little too tight to wear. Pope offered to take her shopping for some maternity wear, but Hawk was stubborn and didn’t want to make that jump yet. 

Hawk had to stop Pope from buying anything for the nursery even though he was itching to build and paint and nest. Pope was a big nester, as Hawk was learning (the irony did not miss her for a single second). Pope wanted her comfortable, stress-free (as much as she could be), and as well taken care of as she allowed herself to be. 

Hawk wanted to get through the anxiety of the first trimester before anything came into the house, or before making any kind of physical changes to the house itself, because if the baby didn’t make it, they would both be more devastated with the physical reminders haunting the house. Hawk tried not to think about -to not manifest it- but it was a very realistic worry that lived in the back of her mind. 

Since the very day Hawk told Pope they were having a baby, he was researching everything there was to know about pregnancy and infant care. The nights he couldn’t sleep, he was up in the kitchen reading at the island or googling the best foods for pregnancy so he could make sure he got the right things the next time they did a grocery run. 

If Hawk wasn’t as lovesick as she was (she blamed the pregnancy hormones), she’d consider Pope an absolute menace in the household, but the pregnancy worm deemed him endearing and a suitable mate. She felt like the most primitive cave woman when she felt her baser instincts take over, but took the pampering from him nonetheless. 

“I got spinach, kale, Swisschard-”

“Do you even know how to cook Swisschard?” Hawk questioned as she eyed the ingredients that Pope laid out on the island. 

“I’ll figure it out.” He said, completely deadpanned. She lifted her hands up. 

“Fair enough, chef.” She peered over to see what else was in the bag other than green, leafy vegetables. "You don't happen to have a bag of fun-sized payday bars in your sack of nutritional tricks, do you?"

"What do you think?" He challenged her with a straight face, then cracked a grin and pulled the bag out of the bottom of the reusable grocery tote, sliding it over to Hawk. "Gotta keep the balance in order."

"That's why I love you." Hawk said sweetly, biting into the little bar of peanuts and caramel.

I'm going to live and die by this au

[torlibram]

Let me tell you something. You know, while I have your attention, what with the chains and everything. And before you start planning your escape: yes, I have a tendency to monologue, and yes, I am still very much alive and well, and yes, those are the desiccated bones of the previous set of heroes to try what you did. So hush a minute and listen.

Have you ever thought about why I set myself up like this? About what my eventual goal is? I'm not Evil with a capital E, I'm just painted that way by those with a vested interest in the status quo. Seriously. The big wigs at the Ministry want me gone because I am a challenge to their rigid thinking and blinkered mindset.

It was all my parents fault, really. They had it in their heads that I was going to be the greatest wizard ever, head of the Ministry by the age of twenty-five, all that nonsense. So they had me reading runes before I could read ordinary Westling. I could conjure air spirits at the age of five, if you can believe it. Oh, mock all you like, I could do it.

They tucked bits and pieces of regular education in around the magic stuff wherever I had a spare minute. Nine, sometimes ten hours a day, six days a week from the moment I was old enough to hold a wand.

I never knew any different, of course. I never had time to go out and meet kids my age. I never knew what it was like to be normal. It was memorising spells and learning techniques and practicing gestures and fifteen uses for newt livers in everything from poisons to phantasmal conjurations. It got to me, I won't lie. All I ever wanted back then was to make them proud.

It ended when they wanted to do the grand unveiling. Revealing their protégé to the unsuspecting world. Sending me off to the Invisible College to wow the staff there and start my ascent to greatness.

It all backfired when I met my fellow students. They were just starting out. They couldn't have summoned a wet fart after a big curry. I didn't believe it at first. How could they have gotten a place at IC without the merest cantrip to their name?

Some time in the library showed me what my parents had done to me. To my life. The rage that gripped me when I realised that everything had just been for their benefit: so they could be the gracious, smiling, loving parents who had helped their darling boy achieve the greatness for which he was so clearly destined.

I stuck it out for one semester. Used that time to get everything I could from the library, every advanced technique and spell that the undergrads aren't supposed to know even exists. I picked the brains of my tutors, too. Oh, don't look at me like that, I don't mean literally. I asked some leading questions and learned where to focus my research is all.

Then I left. My parents got all upset about their son disappearing and there were searches by the King's men, but I was well away to the north.

I got my start with a troll. One of the old fashioned lads from up in the mountains. He jumped out from under his bridge and demanded a toll. I offered him a few castings of a sculpting spell I knew, help repair the bridge a bit, and before I knew it, I had an actual friend. First one in my life and it was a troll! Talking to old Belag, I saw the rough deal that he and his people got and I thought "I could really stick it to dear old mum and dad if I start championing the little guys, the underdogs."

So that's what I did. After Belag and his bridge, there was an orc tribe going through a constitutional crisis that I happened across at the right time to get myself installed as the new chief's adviser. From there it was straightforward to nudge the tribe into better trade relations with neighbouring tribes, better treatment for the slaves that did the agriculture (which meant better crop yields and less lashing-to-deaths) and so on.

King Knob-Cheese, excuse me, King Nhobesh, the orcish turn of phrase does tend to rub off on you, was against all this, of course and so sent out adventurers to end the "orcish threat". My magic saw them off before they had their swords out. The next lot managed to get half a sentence of self-righteous declamation in before the acid storm took them, but I saw the way things were going. I advised the chief to pack up and move north of the mountains to make it harder for the King's men to find us. Took a lot of arguing, but I got him to agree in the end. He finally admitted he didn't want to end up with his head on a pike and rallied the tribe to move out.

Setting up this side of the mountains was tricky. The local tribes didn't fancy a bunch of southerners moving in, so I had to crack a few heads by levitating damn great boulders over them before their deputies saw sense.

After that, it was plain sailing. The northern tribes got the hang of things quite quickly and evolved into socialist communes inside a decade. Belag had a word with his cousins, who talked to their friends the stone giants and we had this place blocking the major pass to the north practically before the King knew there was anything going on. I was kind of specific in the design of this fortress. Yes, we want to keep the men of the south out, I said, but we should keep the option to open the way wide to them if they ever grow up. And so grew the tower of Broad Door.

Look, is all this history boring you? Because we can go back to the injecting molten lead into the marrow of your bones if you like? That's more the Ministry's sort of speed, isn't it? No? Ok, tell you what: you seem to have a halfway sensible head on your shoulders, unlike some of your erstwhile comrades. The northern collectives can always use a sensible head with a good sword arm. I'll turn you over to our recruiting department and they can show how much better life is this side of the mountains, what do you say?

Why? Because there is no better revenge, nothing, than knowing that my dearest mummsy and daddikins have to disavow all knowledge of their son, that my every act will shame them in the eyes of their peers, that I have subverted so many alleged heroes to my cause by just common sense and social justice. When I think of the ulcers I must be causing them because they can't bring themselves to admit the Dark Lord of the North is their fault, why it warms my heart on the coldest of nights.

Learning magic is an arduous journey, requiring sacrifice and dedication. Your parents made you give up your childhood to study magic—only after completing your studies do you learn that most other mages actually choose to start in adulthood.

[wendichester]

Sam x deaf reader please please pleeease pretty please !!

⊹₊⋆｡˚ sign it,

summary. sam wants to communicate better with you.

pairing. sam winchester x deaf!reader genre. fluff

wordcount. 617

notes / warnings. frustration with communication, mutual pining, sam learning sign language.

It starts the way it always does—with you sitting across from Sam at the library table in the bunker, pretending to read and failing miserably. His hair’s too fluffy. The light from his laptop screen is hitting his face in the most annoying golden-boy way. And he keeps glancing up at you like you’re some kind of answer he can’t puzzle out.

You bite the inside of your cheek and look down again, flipping a page you didn’t actually read. Not that you have to. Research isn’t the point tonight. Not really. Sam offered to help, you said yes, and now here you are. Sitting together in your little bubble of soft lamp light and shared glances.

He taps his knuckles on the table to get your attention.

You glance up and he’s already smiling—that soft, boyish one that crinkles the corners of his eyes.

He signs, You okay?

You nod. It’s not a lie. You’re okay in the bunker. With him.

He signs again, slower this time, like he’s practicing: You want a break? Coffee?

You grin and give him a thumbs up, then motion toward your cup. Refill?

Sam rises to his feet immediately. He always does that—like your needs are more urgent than anyone else’s. Like he was waiting for an excuse to be good to you.

While he makes the coffee, you watch the way his shoulders shift, the way he mouths something to himself when he thinks no one’s looking. You wonder what it would be like to kiss that mouth. If his hands would be gentle on your face. If he’d sign beautiful to you with his eyes as much as his fingers.

You’re still wondering when he sets your cup back in front of you, careful not to startle you with soundless movement.

You mouth a thank you, and he signs back, Anytime.

Something heavy hangs between you after that. Not awkward, but thick. Like a thread tightening.

You stare at him too long. He stares right back.

And then—slow, careful, soft—Sam signs: I think about you a lot.

Your breath catches. You blink, like maybe you misread it. But his hands are still in the shape of it, lingering in the air like something holy.

I think about you a lot.

He adds, When I’m not with you.

You sit frozen, your heart kicking against your ribs. Your hands shake a little as you sign, Why?

Sam breathes in deep. It’s almost like he’s nervous. You don’t think you’ve ever seen that on him before. Not like this. Not this soft.

He signs: Because I care about you. And I wish I didn’t have to work so hard to say that right.

You lean forward, your chest aching in the good kind of way. You’re saying it right.

He smiles—slow, radiant.

Then, like it’s nothing, like it’s everything, he lifts his hand and signs the word that sends your whole body still:

Love.

Just that.

One word.

One breathless, beautiful thing.

You don’t cry. Not really. But something in your chest melts so completely, it’s like you’re being rewritten.

You reach for his hand and guide it to your chest.

Then you sign it back.

Love.

His eyes close for half a second, like the moment hits him too hard to bear.

When he opens them, his voice is quiet, husky. “Say it again.”

You smile, and you do. With your hands. With your whole heart.

And he says it back, every time. Until the coffee goes cold. Until your hands fall still. Until you’re both sitting there in the hush of the bunker, knowing nothing will ever be the same.

And for once, that’s not scary.

It’s perfect.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[musubi05]

╰┈➤ Sammy's Birthday Surprise

Sam Winchester x sister!reader

Dean Winchester x sister!reader

Team Free Will 2.0 x reader

Summary: A little birthday fun with the family!

You should’ve known Dean was getting soft.

Not “settle-down-and-get-a-dog” soft. More like “fine-I’ll-frost-a-cake-with-my-sister-and-not-make-a-sarcastic-comment-every-ten-seconds” soft. The moment you brought up surprising Sam for his birthday, he groaned, called it dumb, and then five minutes later asked what kind of cake you were thinking.

It was your idea, but Dean jumped in fast once Jack and Cas were looped in. Jack, of course, was so happy that he was apart of this.

“I’ve never done a surprise party before,” he’d said smiling so innocently. “Do we wear costumes?”

Dean had stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “What? No. This isn’t Halloween.”

“I think it’s a lovely idea,” Castiel had added dryly, glancing between you and Dean. “Although... Jack, if you want to wear a hat, I’m sure Sam wouldn’t object.”

And that’s how Jack ended up wearing a blue party hat with little stars on it while Dean grilled burgers, you tried not to light the kitchen on fire baking, and Castiel wrapped Sam’s present like it was a mission from Heaven itself.

Sam had left in the morning, off to check out a ghost sighting in Iowa that you and Dean had completely made up. The EMF reader you gave him was rigged to ping randomly so it’d seem legit.

“I don’t know, Dean,” you whispered, watching Sam pull away in the Impala. “I feel kinda bad.”

Dean shrugged. “Don’t. He’s gonna come back to burgers, cake, and a damn vinyl of Celine Dion's album. He’ll live.”

By early evening, the war room looked like a chaotic mix of party and post-hunt fatigue.

There were red and black streamers (Dean insisted they had to look “manly”), the cake was tilting dangerously (again), and Jack had arranged the presents on the map table like a sacred offering.

“Do you think Sam likes journals?” Jack asked, glancing at your wrapped gift. “He writes a lot."

“He’ll love it,” you said.

“We got him a rare stone from the Grand Canyon,” Castiel said calmly, as if that was something people just did. Jack held up a little Christmas bag that had paper coming out of it.

“Where did you even get that?” Dean asked, poking the cake. “Is that legal?”

“Everything we do isn't legal.”

Dean paused. “Right. Okay.”

When Sam finally walked in, you were all waiting behind the war room’s archway. The lights were dimmed, the candles on the cake were lit, and Jack was humming the theme to Star Wars for some reason.

Sam’s boots echoed into the silence.

“Hello?” he called. “Guys?”

Dean grinned at you. “Now.”

You all jumped out.

“Surprise!”

Sam nearly dropped his laptop bag. “What the hell?!”

Jack clapped enthusiastically. “Happy birthday, Sam!”

Sam blinked, mouth falling open. “Wait... You guys planned this?”

“You sound so shocked,” Dean said, walking over and slinging an arm around his shoulders. “C’mon, man. You’re the best researcher-slash-hunter-slash-weird-little-brother we’ve got.”

You pulled him into a hug next. “And I baked. Like, actual baking. This is historic.”

“You did this for me?” Sam asked, voice quieter. He looked around - at the decorations, the wonky cake, the people who were his real family. “Seriously?”

“I did most of the cake,” Dean said. “But yeah.”

"You helped frost it," you corrected which made Sam chuckle a little.

Jack bounced on the balls of his feet. “And I helped!”

Sam gave a small, awed smile. “You guys are... unbelievable.”

“I think he means that in a good way,” Castiel added solemnly.

You all laughed and settled in for dinner—burgers, potato chips, soda (because Sam hated beer on an empty stomach), and a cake so sweet it nearly knocked Jack out.

Sam opened presents last.

He stared at the vinyl like it was the Holy Grail. “Dean. Where did you find this?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Sam looked at your journal and ran his hand over the soft cover. “This is perfect. Thank you.”

Jack handed him the stone, still in the bag. “It’s from the Grand Canyon. Castiel flew me there.”

Sam opened it gently, as if it might be fragile. “I love it.”

He looked up, a little misty-eyed now, and said, “I don’t know what to say.”

Dean leaned back in his chair, burger in hand. “Say ‘thank you’ and eat your cake before Jack tries to astral project again from the sugar rush.”

You nudged Sam. “Happy birthday, Sammy.”

“Thanks,” he said, voice warm, quiet.

After the cake had been demolished and presents were opened, Dean leaned back in his chair, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“So,” he said, wiping frosting from his mouth, “anybody feel like making fools of themselves?”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Dean, what did you do?”

Dean stood and walked over to a big black duffel bag he’d stashed under the map table. He pulled out a dusty portable karaoke machine and two wireless microphones.

“Oh no,” you said, laughing. “You didn’t.”

“Oh yes, I did,” he grinned. “I give you: Winchester Family Karaoke Night.”

Jack practically exploded with excitement. “Do we get to sing? I’ve been practicing Queen!”

“You’ve... what?” Sam said, looking at him with a half proud yet surprised smile.

“I like ‘Don’t Stop Me Now.’ It’s motivating.”

Dean gave him a mock salute. “You’re up after me, kid.”

You crossed your arms. “You’re seriously going first?”

Dean raised the mic like he was He-Man. “Damn right I am. It’s not a party until someone sings ‘Eye of the Tiger.’”

Sam groaned. “Please don’t strip on the table again.”

Dean winked. “No promises.”

The first few songs were an unholy mix of classic rock, Jack’s off-key enthusiasm, and Castiel reading lyrics like they were Enochian scrolls. He sang very seriously.

Jack chose Queen, as promised, and sang it with so much heart and dramatic finger-pointing that Dean had to wipe away a tear from laughter.

You got dragged in next - Dean threw the second mic at you mid-verse and refused to keep singing unless you did a duet with him. You picked "I Love Rock 'n' Roll" and belted it out like you were at a dive bar on a dare. Dean played the air guitar.

Sam, of course, resisted the longest.

But after everyone kept chanting “Sam! Sam! Sam!” (Jack was the loudest), he sighed, grabbed the mic, and said flatly, “Fine. One song.”

He picked Bon Jovi’s Wanted Dead or Alive.

You weren’t sure when Sam got cool enough to pull that off, but halfway through, Castiel leaned over to you and said, “He’s surprisingly talented.”

By the end of the song, Dean was howling, Jack was clapping like a kid at a talent show, and Sam - flushed and grinning - actually bowed.

“Alright,” he said, sitting back down. “Now that was worth the birthday surprise.”

Dean pointed a mic at him. “See? Told you.”

Jack raised his root beer. “Best. Party. Ever.”

That night, you all crashed in the bunker’s lounge, half-asleep on the couches, the karaoke machine still glowing faintly.

Sam glanced at you from across the room. “Thanks for planning this. All of it.”

You smiled. “Anytime, Sammy.”

[thewritetofreespeech]

hello🌸 i loved the thing you did for jinwoo x scientist reader! it was so cute! but I was wondering if you could do hcs with just a plant/horticultural reader?? like they grow dungeon plants as a hobby or profession?

Just Jinwoo and his plant bae fighting for their lives on this very hard Home Depot journey.

Dungeon plant horticultural is actually quite hard.

The conditions for which some (not all) plants in the dungeons manifest, stabilize, and grow is linked to the magical properties of the area. They can also be very precise.

Because of this [Y/N] has created a special greenhouse. One constructed of barrier magic and an actual large greenhouse Jinwoo had custom built for them.

Most are just because they like them, however there are several that have been requested for research study or medical teams for pharmaceuticals. They have parted with some; for a price.

Jinwoo doesn’t really care what they do with the plants. They make [Y/N] happy and that’s all that matters.

His mother helps in the garden as well, and it’s nice to see her enjoy taking care of something again and the two of them bond.

Jinah is terrible at it and has been tasked with the less exotic, more Earth based plants in the garden for her care.

As a hunter, [Y/N] can get their own plants, but Jinwoo also brings back several from his own raids in higher dungeons.

More than once they have put their lives in danger to get a plant or save it from some attack.

‘Plants are people too!’

Thankfully no one has been seriously hurt. So it’s not an issue but he always scolds them.

Jinwoo does have to admit that the space they have created is nice, and he likes spending time out there. But mostly it’s to be close to [Y/N].

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

Hey hey, 😳 I just read your writing about sakura hakura as a dad will you do with suo too?

yes ofc! ty for the request!🫶

slipping through my fingers all the time - s. hayato

cw ; fem!reader, mentions of violence, reader and suo are 23

now playing ; slipping through my fingers by abba

༯ suo is a complete “your body your choice” kind of person, but at the same time, he really does adore the thought of having a child or two with you. he thinks about it much more often that he really should, especially back when you were both in high school. now that you’re married though, he has way more of an excuse to.

༯ he’s absolutely glowing when you hand him a positive pregnancy test when he comes back from patrol one day. he only shows a calm smile on his face—as usual—but he feels the rapid beating of his heart and the warm tingling in his cheeks.

༯ he makes you a lot of warm tea, but he’s careful not to give you too much; otherwise, you’d get caffeine overdose. he gets a bit fascinated with your growing abdomen though. of course, he knows how a pregnancy works. he’s done enough research on that. he’s more curious to see how much your child has grown.

༯ nearly everyone in makochi knows about your pregnancy. it’s a small town, and rumors spread fast. but suo just loves talking about it; in every conversation he has, he always manages to slip in a “my pregnant wife” sentence starter. the kind store owners give him double the amount of free food they usually give him now because of how you’re pregnant.

༯ kotoha comes over to take care of you a lot. suo usually isn’t too busy, but he teaches people how to fight and he’s still a part of bofurin. because of this, whenever he does leave your side, he comes back after four or five hours or so. he dreads it, so kotoha always takes his place to take care of you whenever he’s gone. she cooks for you, and she also helps you with the chores in the house.

༯ suo thinks it’s adorable that you’re eating way more than you usually do. your cheeks are chubbier—and cuter—and have a healthy red tint to them, and suo’s convinced that pregnancy glow is real. suo has seen you practically shove down four bowls of rice down your throat and thought you were the cutest person to ever exist.

༯ when you were in labor, suo stayed right next to you the entire time. you squeezed his hand so hard that his knuckles were practically white, but he couldn’t feel any pain. the concern had drowned it all out. but the moment your daughter was born and you were safe, all of his worries melted away.

༯ he was tempted to name your child after a type of tea, but you cut him off with a sharp “no.” because no way in hell was your child going to be bullied in the future for having the name of a type of tea. you both ended up naming her “hanako”, because sometimes tea was made of flowers.

[destielembarker]

Metal Arm MECHANICS: 🦾🖤

some headcanons about Bucky Barnes and the relationship he has with his metal arm.

18+ please comment your thoughts!!!

—————————————————————

-it has a cooling mechanism that makes it sound like computer fans running

-along with that it also makes quiet robotic noises when he moves

-sentry proved it’s able to be heated up therefore him putting it on straight out the dishwasher had to be physically HOT

-he knows how to remove his arm (now) so he does from time to time

-he also had to protect that hole in his shoulder when he takes it off so no dust/dirt/water can get in and possibly harm him or the mechanics of the arm.

-do you think he sleeps with it on or off? u ever slept with your laptop in bed with you? that shit is hard and cold.

-It definitely vibrates

-he has a tracking device in it that he can ping when he loses it.

-it can move independently once he removes it.

-he gets phantom pain all. the. time.

-it’s waterproof, duh (showers, washing hands)

-he’s very good at doing things one handed now. (u ever watched Soul Surfer. he struggled at first. steve helped.)

-u think it’s able to heat up if it gets frozen? (i gotta do more research on vibranium)

-fingers are detachable (mainly for repairs) but the first time it happened it clanked on the floor and the room went silent as he quietly picked it up and reattached it.

-he cleans out the cracks and crevices with a q tip

-u think he texts Shuri whenever it starts bugging out bc he’s an old man that still gets confused with technology

-talking about texting, he can only type with his right hand bc the metal doesn’t work on the phone screen.

-he’s right handed !! 🥰

-my mind says he doesn’t need to charge it but like, what if it did.

-he wears watches/bracelets on it!!

-kids are enamored by it. adults are petrified of it.

-u ever seen toy story? Sam shakes Bucky’s hand with it. it turns into an argument about touching his things.

-Sam also knows how to remove his arm and does from time to time to piss him off.

-Steve asks a lot of questions about the mechanics and physics of his arm. in which Bucky responds with “idk they just kinda gave it to me.”

-Shuri made multiple prototypes that are able to connect to the new hole they placed in his torso. theres so many mods like guns/cannons/laser blasters that they’ve yet to give to him.

-he named it.

-Alpine bites his metal fingers then snuggles up with it when hes not home and returns to find her curled up on it with her chin resting on the open palm.

-She prefers to be pet with the metal arm too which makes him so happy that this precious creature is able to see it as a source of love and not a weapon of destruction.

-how heavy do we think the new vibranium is in comparison to the HYDRA one and do you think that’s why in civil war he was so bulky in the shoulders/chest is because he was having to carry around this heavy ass shit.

-it glares real bad in the sunlight, making road trips hard when he is driving.

-metal detectors????? mfer works in congress so going into government buildings is HARD. (putting his arm into the bin for security and they all stand there shocked 👀)

-WD-40 IS HIS BEST FRIEND AFTER STEVE DIED LMAOOOO

ADD MOREEEEE

[zepskies]

Ahhhhh I'm so happy that you liked this one, Liane! It's my first time diving into this kind of AU lol, but it felt like the perfect chance to do that with the beautiful moodboard you created! 🥰❤️💛

I love Professor!Dean, his classes sound like something I would love to listen to for hours on end. Folklore and mythology? Sign me UP!

omg yes! I took a mythology class in college and it was so much fun! 🥰 I really enjoyed those bits of research for this lil' one-shot.

The ass was in fact hilarious, LMAOAOA!

*snorts* that part tickled me too when I wrote it--in the nerdiest way imaginable 🤣

Now, even though I also study English literature & language, I'm not the biggest Shakespeare fan (don't kill me). But I very much relate to Reader's passion either way and I love how contagious her love for theater and literature is. And Dean being open to it and finding joy in her spark, haaaaah... so dreamy & romantic!!

Blasphemy!! How could you besmirk the Bard??!

lmfao. It's ok, I totally get it. Not only do I just happen to love Shakespeare and studied his poetry and plays in depth in college, but I just taught Midsummer to one of my classes. (I'm currently an English teacher and part-time professor. Super ironic. 🤣) Plus it was featured in the moodboard with the other Shakespeare plays/classic lit., so again, it was perfect inspo! 💖💖

Also yesssss thank you! I love the trope of him enjoying her spark about something she's passionate about, even if he's not as into it lol

As is him catching her twice. I know I'd trip over my own two feet constantly with him around, lolol.

Ahahaha that clumsiness was a blatant rom-com trope in action, wasn't it? 😂 But honestly I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I had that man's undivided attention, let alone as my professor 🫠🫠🫠

Oh, please, Alex! You know this screams for more. I have to know what happens next!!!

ehehehe can confirm I'm already working on it! 😘 I even have a working title and story header created in Canva and everything, because I'm ✨extra✨ like that. 😂😂

But again I'm so happy you enjoyed this! Thanks again for creating this fun challenge and being so supportive 💞

10 'Til Midnight

Pairing: Professor!Dean Winchester x Student!Reader

Summary: A chance encounter outside of the classroom shifts the way you see your professor. Forever.

AN: Here’s a one-shot for @chevroletdean's 500 follower celebration! This also fulfills a request for one of my lovely Patreon members, @redhoodieone, who wanted to see AU Professor!Dean with a plus-sized student!reader. The reader is a graduate student (mid-20s) and Dean is in his 30s in this, so not really a wide age gap, but we’re still flirting with a gray area here lol.

Word Count: 4K

Tags/Warnings: graduate student!reader, plus-sized!reader, Shakespeare geekery, mythology and other nerdy classic lit. references, AU Brady sighting, sexual tension, mutual pining(?)

The ash cloud of exhaust rose up from the sidewalk steam grates. It infiltrated your nose as you hurried down a few well-worn concrete steps and into the bowels of the subway, a transition into deeper darkness.

To you, that acrid, mini plume of pollution was the smell of New York City; old cigarette buds and weed hash, fresh tequeños and hot dogs wafting from the open door of the bodega on the corner, mixed with a whiff of piss.

This was the city of broke creatives clinging to their fragile dreams with both hands, usually while the natives rolled their eyes. You were one of those shiny happy people with a dream and the battle-tested will to make it happen, especially tonight. You finally got to see a play on Broadway, an excellent production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

You replayed your favorite scenes in your mind like 1940s movie reel, except it was live in technicolor. An unconscious smile spread across your lips, but you had to hurry. Your train was about to leave in…

You checked the time on your phone—ten minutes to midnight—and compared it to the digital sign up ahead. Your eyes widened.

Shit! One minute?!

You had no choice but to try and run in your heels. That had you skidding to the open doors as they began to close, but you just managed to slip inside, albeit literally slipping with a yelp.

A man saved you by grabbing hold of your arm and waist before you fell, bunching the fabric of your coat beneath his hand. You gasped when you stared up at a familiar face. A sharp jawline covered with stubble, just neat enough to be respectable; dark brows shaded over green eyes, trained on you; bowed lips pursed with confusion.

“Professor?” you said, breathless and shocked.

He was just as baffled, but he finished helping you up as your name fell from his lips.

“You okay?” he asked.

You nodded and thanked him for the save, still catching your breath.

“Here, sit down,” he said, gesturing to a couple of empty seats on the subway. You joined him in sitting, though you ignored the stare of the guy standing closest to you who was holding onto a rail. He wore jeans and dirty hipster Vans, a brown bomber jacket and a gray beanie. The stench of weed and cheap cologne clung to him.

And his gaze followed you until you sat down. Slightly unsettled, you were subtle in the way you angled yourself toward the man beside you.

Professor Dean Winchester.

He really was the last person you expected to see on your way home tonight. You still couldn’t believe you ran right into him!

But then, you noticed the playbill sticking out of his coat pocket (his coat looked more expensive, a dark charcoal gray with a high collar, and it suited him).

“Oh, you…you saw the play too?” you said in excitement, showing him your own playbill that you fished out of your purse. You’d told him about it a month ago, after his lecture on fairy lore. You thought he might enjoy a play that was all about the convergence between the fairy realm and the human realm.

He’d admitted that he’d never seen a Shakespeare play live, but he said he’d look into it. You didn’t think he was actually taking you seriously though.

“Uh, yeah, I did. I’ve never been a big Shakespeare guy, truth be told, but you hooked me,” he said. When he smiled, it made the corner of his eyes crinkle a little.

You couldn’t help but smile too every time you noticed that…even though it made your cheeks warm in a blush. He really had no business being this handsome. And the suit? All crisp and black, paired with a classic, off-white dress shirt and a black pinstripe tie.

Clearly he’d dressed for the occasion of going to the theater, because usually he was one of the chillest professors you knew. He showed up to class in jeans, boots, plain henleys and jackets, though never without his watch, a classic leather time piece with a silver watch face and bold black numbers. It was so vintage, you’d asked about it once when you met with him to talk about one of your essays on Native American burial practices. He’d told you that the watch belonged to his father, who passed away a few years ago now.

“So what’d you think?” you asked. “Weren’t the sets beautiful? It was so ominous and creepy in the ‘forest,’ and ethereal too, like the fairy realm part of it.”

He nodded, smiling slightly wider at your enthusiasm. “Yeah, was a good production. The actors were top-notch.”

“Oh, incredible. That was the best Bottom I’ve ever seen.” You paused, realizing what you said, and a nervous giggle tumbled out of your mouth. “Well, the character. Not the ass—donkey—whatever. You know what I mean.”

The man laughed, rich and deep and washing over you pleasantly, even though you half covered your face in embarrassment.

“Can’t argue with you there. The ass was hilarious,” he smirked.

Another giggle, and you flipped through the playbill again to distract yourself from looking at his ruggedly chiseled face. Why, oh why did he have to be so fucking attractive? And somehow he was still single. You’d heard some of the girls in your class whispering about it after class one day—a full-on engagement that fell apart two years ago.

“But really, the actors who played the couples in the love quadrangle were awesome,” you said. “Helena was my favorite.”

He raised his dark brows. “Really? The girl who gets shit on the most in the play?”

That was another thing. He didn’t really talk like any professor you’d met in your life. You let out a snort of laughter.

“I don’t want to be her, I just think she did so well at showing that vulnerability,” you explained. “There’s nothing worse than being in love with someone who doesn’t even see you, you know?”

He tilted his head, his amusement fading as he listened. You felt emboldened to continue your thought.

“In her mind, she’s probably thinking, ‘Well, even if he’s yelling at me, at least he’s acknowledging I exist,’” you said, “which is incredibly sad and isn’t giving Shakespeare many brownie points for feminism, but it’s a reality that some women go through.”

After a moment, he seemed to see your point with a nod of his head.

“That’s fair,” he said, arching a brow. “Though I gotta hope you don’t let any guy talk to you like that.”

You shook your head with a smile, but before you could answer him, your phone slipped off your lap and tumbled to the dirty subway floor. You twisted away so you could reach down and grab it, but you caught that whiff of cheap cologne again. Gray beanie guy let go of the rail and bent down to scoop up your phone before you could. You offered a polite thank you and went to take it back, but he held it out of reach at the last second, giving you a teasing smile.

“How about I put my number in first, so you can call me when you get home,” he said. “I’m Brady, by the way.”

That oh-so-gracious offer was followed by a glance down your dress. You sat up straighter, adjusting the collar of your coat back over your neckline with a weary huff.

“Ah, you know what, I’m good with just my phone…please.”

This was why you kind of hated the subway. You didn’t know when you were going to have to interact with a creep trying to steal your phone, shoot his shot, or look down your dress as a consolation prize.

You held out your hand expectantly, but still, “Brady” didn’t take the hint.

“Aw, what, you have a boyfriend or something?” he asked.

“Oh my God. Are you fucking serious?” You sighed and decided a white lie was best here. “Yes, I have a boyfriend. Now give me my phone, please.”

“Hmm. Is it like beginning stages, or...?”

“Jesus Christ, dude.”

“Hey, I’m just saying, maybe we can grab a bite to eat, theeen you know. If things are going well, we could take things back to your place,” he said, his brows popping with sleazy suggestion. He still held the phone away from your grasping hand in frustration.

“Hey,” a deep voice cut in. 

You hesitated, glancing back at Professor Winchester. He glared up at Brady with a stony look that you’d never seen on him before.

“Give her the damn phone,” said the professor. His tone boded no argument.

Still, Brady pushed his luck.

“What, you her boyfriend or something?”

The professor didn’t bother to answer the question, but he stood from his seat, his long coat draped down all six feet and change of him, broad shoulders and calm confidence. He stared down at the lankier, scruffier pothead. Then he held out his hand.

Brady shifted back on his heels, seeming to realize that he didn’t want this version of Midnight on the Orient Express—the kind that ended up on the 6 o’clock news the next morning. With a roll of his eyes, Brady dropped the phone into your professor’s hand, complete with a dickish quirk of his lips. Professor Winchester gestured at him to fuck off.

“Walk away,” he said.

To your astonishment, the Brady just tossed him a “fuck you, bro,” and went to the other end of the car. You stood up too, just as the subway pulled to a stop. Professor Winchester handed you the phone.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

“Is this your stop?” he asked, still glancing back with a suspicious eye at the asshole still glaring at your backs.

You nodded, biting your lip.

“Okay, come on,” the professor said. He laid a guiding hand on the small of your back and joined you in stepping out of the subway car. To your relief, Brady stayed on the train.

“Thank you,” you said again. “Really, you didn’t have to miss your exit for me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean said, with a shake of his head. His frown was still in place just thinking of that fucking loser. “I’ll have better peace of mind knowing you got home safe.”  

Once you told him that your apartment was another few blocks away, he knew he was going to be walking you home. You told him you weren’t that new to the city, but in his mind, it still wasn’t a safe neighborhood for a young woman to be walking around by herself at this time of night.

He had no other motive than that, however…

He’d been pleasantly surprised to see you tonight. You were a flash of scarlet that tumbled into his arms, the scent of your floral perfume teasing his nose before he caught sight of that little dress clinging to your curvy form, ending just a couple inches above the knee. But you drew your wool coat closer to your body, hiding the tantalizing flash of red from view.

It was for the best, he thought, as he cleared his throat and tried to find something else to focus his eyes on while you two walked together. He couldn’t help but land on your face again, on your pretty painted lips.

A deep, full-bodied red.

It was a familiar shade. You’d worn it before, while chewing the end of a pen absently in concentration during one of his lectures on the difference between skinwalkers and shapeshifters—those long, pointed nails tapping a quiet rhythm against the plastic. It was one of your many quirks, but only now did he realize how much he’d actually noticed about you. If nothing else, he always knew he had your attention.

He also knew you were getting a master’s degree in English, and you were taking his class as an elective. You’d actually sought him out before the semester started to make sure you got a spot in his class.

“Sorry, sir, I know it’s early. I’ve just been trying since last year to get into this class, and I really wanted the chance to take it before I graduate this year.”

He’d shifted in his swivel chair with his jean-clad legs casually crossed. He bounced a tennis ball against the wall, as was his habit. (Mostly because it bothered Benny, who had the office next to his.)

The repetitive bounce really helped him to think sometimes; it was basically his version of a fidget spinner.

“You like mythology that much, huh?” Dean asked.

“Oh, yeah!” you said, as your eyes lit up. “I find it so fascinating how every culture in the world has their own stories that have still survived for thousands of years. Some of them even overlap. Like, maybe it’s technically a different creature, but they have the same name, just in another language. Or it’s the same creature, different backstory. It’s like any novel I’ve ever read—similar tropes, but the style, the packaging. That’s what becomes new and creative.”

Amusement tugged at Dean’s lips.

“Same candy, different wrapper, right?” he offered. His reward was your bright smile.

“Yeah, exactly.”

He’d approved your request without a second thought. Unlike 95% of the students who came and went through his classes, you weren’t just smart. You cared. You had a passion for this stuff…and it mirrored his own.

“So, uh, you liked that play, huh?” he asked. Wanted to rub his hand over his face right after. Smooth, Winchester.

But it succeeded in brightening your eyes again.

“Oh yeah. People tend to think of it as one of Shakespeare’s sillier plays, but it drops some interesting ideas about love, for example.” All while you spoke, you spun vivid gestures with your hands.

Dean’s remained in his coat pockets, but watching you made his smile deepen. He liked when you got like this, so animated and alive with your thoughts. It threatened to draw him out of his somewhat jaded shell.

“Oh, yeah? Like what?” he asked. Not because he really wanted to talk about what some sixteenth-century ye olde-y English douche thought about love, but because he wanted to hear you explain it.

You didn’t disappoint.

“Well, there’s the famous Lysander line, ‘The course of true love never did run smooth,’” you said, “but that’s not even my favorite. That’s boring. That’s every rom-com ever, from Harry Met Sally to While You Were Sleeping, all the way to He’s Just Not that Into You, and Crazy, Stupid Love.”

Dean had to interject. “You watch a lot of chick-flicks, don’t you?”

Your lips puckered, but the amusement in your eyes answered his question.

“Like I said, I think Helena is the most underrated tragic figure in the whole story. Yeah, she’s pretty much a doormat, following Demetrius around even though he claims he’s in love with her best friend. Even though he curses at her, threatens to kill her if she keeps annoying him, following him around like an abused puppy. We can agree, he’s like, the biggest asshole in existence, right?” you said.

“Oh, very much agree. You want some coffee?” Dean asked, pointing to a guy selling warm pretzels and drinks from his vendor cart on the side of the road. It had stopped snowing a few days ago, but the February air was still sharp and bitterly cold at this time of night. If only it were midsummer.

“Uh, you know what, I could go for some tea. Thank you,” you said. But you didn’t let that derail you from your thoughts on Shakespearean love. You were still waxing literary analysis while you dug into your purse to find your wallet, but by the time you got it out, Dean had already paid for both drinks and a large soft-baked pretzel.

Your brows furrowed. “Oh! I meant to pay for my part—”

“Don’t worry about it. Here, take half,” Dean said, and he shot you a smile while handing over your hot tea and half of his pretzel. He got your eyes to light up for a different reason as you took the treat. You thanked him with a sweeter smile.

Then you took a bite, and you kept talking.

“But then she says, ‘Love can transpose to form and dignity.’ It can make us act like idiots, right? I mean, back in high school I wrote my boyfriend’s essays for a whole year because I didn’t want him to fail English, and let’s face it, he could barely spell his own last name.”

“Yikes,” Dean chuckled. Sounded like a GED and a gas station job in that guy’s future.

“Right? And what did he do? He dumped me the week before prom because he knew Ruby Summers would put out.” You rolled your eyes, accepting Dean’s sympathies with a gracious nod and a dismissive hand wave. Still, he hoped all you’d given to that guy was your time.

"Well, the guy you're seeing now better be treating you better," he said.

You blinked, your brows furrowing a bit in confusion, until realization dawned on you.

"Oh, I don't have a boyfriend," you said with a small chuckle. "That's just what I tell pushy weirdos on subways."

Dean was tripped up for a second, but he eventually quirked a smile.

“So anyway, my favorite bar of the whole play is what Helena says in Act 1,” you said. “‘Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind.’”

In that moment, Dean’s eyes were a little too captivated.

But you broke the spell.

You glanced ahead to continue along the crosswalk with him, taking another warm, soft bite of pretzel.

“And that’s why Cupid’s always painted like a blind baby…or something like that,” you said. You laughed a little, and you seemed to realize just how long you’d been yapping his ear off. You came to a stop at what he assumed was your apartment building, but you suddenly got quiet. Embarrassed.

“Sorry, once I open my mouth on this stuff, I can’t really stop unless someone stops me and tells me I’m literally killing them with words that don’t make sense.”

“You’re making a whole lotta sense to me,” Dean replied. And he realized that he meant it. He rubbed his chin in thought. “Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind. I like that.”

Your mind seemed to be a hamster wheel on steroids, but he kind of liked that too.

“Well, did you like the play?” you asked, smiling in embarrassment. “Sorry, can’t remember if I even asked you that yet.”

He chuckled. Even if you had, he didn’t mind answering again.

“I like it more now, hearing you talk about it,” he said. But maybe that was too honest. He padded it with something more appropriate, as your instructor. “It makes sense, since you’re an English major, but your passion always comes through in your essays. I’m really glad you decided to take my class this semester.”

You demured further at the praise. “Oh, thank you. It really is my favorite class so far this year, but…that’s because you’re the one teaching it. You're really good at telling stories. You make them simple and easy to understand, even when we're talking about hell hounds and old ghost stories, or the uh, Oedipus complex, or something.”

Dean chuckled, but it was his turn to be touched, even if it surprised him too. You were just so honest and free enough to speak your mind. It was refreshing.

“Well, thank you. Glad to hear at least one person’s getting something out of it,” he said, his smile warming for once.

You smiled too, looking at him through your lashes. “All right well, thanks again for walking me home. I’ll, um…see you on Monday-ayy!”

You stepped up onto the first stair leading up to your apartment and caught an icy patch with your red-bottomed heels. A gasp fell from your lips as your arms spun out to catch yourself on anything that could keep you from falling, and that happened to be Dean—specifically his coat, and then his biceps when he moved in fast to keep you upright.

He ended up gathering you into his arms while you clung to his coat. Your red nails bit into the dark fabric. In his mind’s eye, he could imagine them popping the buttons of his dress shirt, carving shaky lines of heat and pleasure across his skin.

Fuck. He bit the inside of his cheek hard to rid himself of that image, his jaw ticking in response. But another one just replaced it when his gaze met yours, half-lidded and shocked, but…contemplating.

Hot breaths mingled in between, puffing visibly on the cold air.

“God, I’m sorry!” you breathed.

“Don’t worry about it.” He cleared his throat past the slight roughness in his voice. “You all right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, um…Take Two,” you said, laughing weakly.

You aimed to let him go and continue on up the stairs by yourself, but Dean couldn’t stop himself from trying to help you. He held your elbow at least, with a hovering hand by your waist in case you slipped again. When you finally made it to the door, you paused and turned to look at him over your shoulder. Again, that look in your eyes said you were debating something in your mind.

“You okay?” he asked again.

You nodded. “Yeah, I just, um…you know what? Never mind. Uh, good night!”

Dean nodded, giving you a casual salute. He didn’t leave until you got in the building safely, but for his entire long walk home, your face wouldn’t leave his mind. That look of internal conflict, like you’d been weighing some kind of pros and cons. He had to wonder…

Had you been about to invite him up to your apartment?

But no. Fucking no. He dismissed that thought as soon as it came. He was almost ten years older than you.

Didn’t stop Catherine Zeta-Jones from hooking up with Michael Douglas. She’s barely pushing fifty while he’s halfway into Senior Depends.

Second problem. Career ending and reputation ruining and his own clock punch at the local 7/11—kind of a problem.

You were a student.

Grad student, came a whisper from the back of his mind.

In Greek mythology, the golden apples of Hesperides in Hera’s garden were guarded by a dragon. The Norse gods also believed in their own version of immortal golden apples, harvested by the goddess Idunn. Sounded a bit like Eden, right? As in, the Judeo-Christian Garden.

As in, forbidden fruit.

What did they all have in common? There was always a consequence for the taking and sampling part. The question was, is the price worth how good it tastes?

Remembering the feeling of your soft curves under his hands, Dean had a feeling it would be more than fucking worth it.

But he shook the thought from his head, his fingertips digging into the soft insides of his coat pockets.

He was your professor. That was where those thoughts should end.

You didn’t even see him that way…did you?

You shucked your heels off as soon as you got inside your apartment. You heaved a deep sigh and shed your purse, your coat, your earrings and necklace, which you set down on the nightstand in your bedroom. You sat on the edge of the bed and fell back onto the creaky mattress.

Your hands came to rest lightly over your stomach, a safe place, while you thought back to how Professor Winchester held you so tight. Secure. Gentlemanly.

How he looked at you, his green-eyed gaze falling to your lips, like he was contemplating the best way to close that distance, bowing his head those last few inches and…

You forcibly shook your head. He was your goddamn teacher.

It didn’t matter that he was probably the youngest faculty member on campus, and you were a twenty-five-year-old graduate student. Whether or not the man was “age appropriate,” he was still your professor. You couldn’t think about him like that.

And he absolutely didn’t look at you like that…

Did he?

AN: Sorry again for all the nerdy lit. tidbits, but I had fun. 😂 I'm thinking about expanding this into an actual little series, so let me know what you think! ❤️

⋆˙⟡ Follow @zepskieswrites (with notifications on) to get notified every time I drop a new chapter. ❤️

Join My Patreon��⟡ Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories; send me requests, and more!

Dean Winchester One-Shots List

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester Tag List (Part 1):

@luci-in-trenchcoats @lamentationsofalonelypotato @winchestergirl2 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl @kaleldobrev

@globetrotter28 @midnightmadwoman @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78

@waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse @twinkleinadiamondsky @my-stories-vault @0ccvltism

@rizlowwritessortof @k-slla @jackles010378 @alwaystiredandconfused @nancymcl

@this-is-me19 @spnwoman @illicithallways @pieandmonsters @deansbbyx

@mimaria420 @stoneyggirl2 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @cheynovak @jollyhunter

@deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @leigh70 @aylacavebear @jessjad

@kmc1989 @siampie @rubyvhs @masked-lost-girl @spnbabe67

@deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused @supernotnatural2005 @impala-dreamer @spnaquakindgdom

[recoveringsoulsposts]

UNHINGED INCEL MRA ACTIVIST RANTS TO YOUNG GIRL!

I found this on the TWOXCHROMOSOMES subreddit. I wanted to debunk common MRA MYTHS, with ACTUAL FACTS and EVIDENCE. I’ll be probably doing a few parts to this, because I keep hearing stupid ass MRA talking points that need to be debunked for it’s dangerous rhetoric, dumb ass Incels spreading their alpha bro facts, they’ve learnt watching an red pill podcast and labelling it as the truth need to be DEBUNKED.

So Let me DEBUNK every point this INCEL made⬇️

Let’s debunk every point he made:

POINT 1: “Women accuse men of SA”

- It’s honestly pathetic how many men cry about being falsely accused of rape—something that’s extremely rare and statistically almost guaranteed to never happen to them. False accusations make up 2% or less of cases, yet they act like they’re under attack simply because the world is finally holding them accountable. They’re more outraged by a hypothetical lie than by the reality that women are raped, assaulted, stalked, and silenced every single day.

- Evidence: The U.S. Department of Justice and research by academic expert David Lisak found that only around less than 2% of rape accusations are false.

_______________________________________________

POINT 2: “How all girls are a bunch of selfish people who can just accuse a man of SA and everyone will believe them and arrest the man.”

- That’s completely false. In reality, when women report rape or SA, the first thing people ask is:

• “What were you wearing?”

• “Why were you out late?”

• “Were you drunk?”

Women are often blamed for the violence done to them. They’re not automatically believed—they’re judged.

Evidence:

A 2021 UNICEF report found that 1 in 5 girls globally experience sexual violence, and many never report it.Laws may exist, but justice isn’t automatic. Survivors—especially girls—often face shame, victim-blaming, and disbelief

Cultural stigmas around rape lead to shame and silence. For example, East Asian women in the UK have reported fears of dishonoring their families or being disbelieved, discouraging them from seeking justice. - The Guardian

_______________________________________________

POINT 3: “Men get SA’d just as often, and when women get SA’d, people pity them and treat them like goddesses. When a man gets SA’d, nobody cares.” -

This is completely fucking false, Women are far more likely to be sexually assaulted.

EVIDENCE: In the U.S., according to the National Intimate Partner and Sexual Violence Survey (CDC):

1 in 5 women (20%) have been raped in their lifetime.

For men, it’s about 1 in 38. Men do get sexually assaulted —but it’s mostly done by other men, not women.

- Also, the reason male victims don’t speak up isn’t because of women—it’s because of patriarchal shame culture. Which is largely done by OTHER MEN shaming MEN.

Evidence: The CDC reports that 87% of male victims of completed or attempted rape said their perpetrators were men.

1. United States (CDC – National Intimate Partner and Sexual Violence Survey): Nearly 99% of rapes of women are committed by men. Among male victims of rape, 87% reported male perpetrators.

2. UK (Office for National Statistics): In 2021, 98.5% of rape suspects were male.

3. Global Research (UN Women, WHO): Worldwide, sexual violence is overwhelmingly perpetrated by men, regardless of the victim’s gender. This includes intimate partner rape, child abuse, conflict-related rape, and institutional abuse.

_______________________________________________

POINT 4: “But he always goes on about how nowadays girls face no problems whatsoever, that everyone loves them, pampers them, and favors them over boys.”

This is completely false and rooted in delusion. First of all, the love and emotional support women receive is almost always from other women—not men, not society. Women support each other because we understand the pain, judgment, and fear we go through daily. That emotional safety Women do get isn’t handed to us—it’s something we built in response to constant dehumanization.

If men want that same kind of love and care, they should start giving it to each other, instead of expecting it from women or resenting us for it. You want a brotherhood? Build it. Stop FUCKING blaming women for the emotional emptiness of being around males and what patriarchy created DIPSHIT.

Evidence:

- A 2021 American Psychological Association study found that women report having deeper emotional conversations with friends and more emotional closeness, whereas men’s friendships tend to be more activity-based and emotionally limited.

- A 2022 Harvard study on social connection showed that men are less likely to seek emotional help, and when they do, they often turn to female partners or family, not male friends.

_______________________________________________

POINT 5: “Boys don’t receive any love or care from anyone.” & “But he always goes on about how nowadays girls face no problems whatsoever”

- If boys are raised without affection or emotional support, that’s the fault of a patriarchal system, not girls. How the fuck are women loved or cared for?

Meanwhile, girls are dealing with:

• preference of having sons over daughters

• Honour killings

• Femicide

• Street harassment

• Rape culture

• And fear for our safety just existing

How the FUCK are we “pampered or cared about by society”?

Evidence:

- In 2022, 48,800 women and girls were killed by intimate partners or family members — that’s 1 every 11 minutes. – UNODC

- The UN estimates 5,000+ women are killed in honour killings annually (likely underreported).

- In India, the 2011 census showed 914 girls per 1,000 boys, showing deep gender bias.

- In China, the one-child policy led to millions of missing girls due to sex-selective abortion or neglect.

_______________________________________________

POINT 6: “Now in his family, he is always expected to carry stuff and work as he is a ‘man’.”

Women are expected to work jobs, contribute financially, and STILL do most of the housework.

Women live under gendered expectations at home and in society even TODAY—all whilst working a full time job, paying the bills and providing financially for their families.

Evidence:

According to the OECD, women do more than twice the unpaid housework compared to men in most developed countries. Even in dual-income households, women still carry the “second shift” of cooking, cleaning, and caregiving.

_______________________________________________

POINT 7: “Higher expectations for beauty. Straight up not true. Men have to deal with that. In order to get a girl, they basically have to be a modern Hercules.”

The fact that he had the GULL to say this, when Women have been judged on looks for centuries.

We are:

• Sexualised from young ages

• Pressured to be thin, flawless, and youthful

• Criticised for how we dress, age and to just basically fucking exist

Also, how many ugly or unattractive men do you see with beautiful women? Tons. Meanwhile, women are judged relentlessly. Even after giving birth, women told to “snap back” instantly and their disgusting husbands shame their girlfriends or wives who just gave birth to their child, that they’re not “attracted to them” anymore, after literally having human being come out of her. Again tell me how Men are expected to “have higher beauty standards”

Evidence:

- A 2012 Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin study found men prioritize appearance more than women. and overestimate how much women care about their looks.

- American women spend an average of $3,756 per year on beauty; men spend $2,928.

- The global beauty industry is worth over $500 billion and growing—driven mainly by female consumers pressured to meet impossible standards.

_______________________________________________

POINT 8: “Being treated as bitchy when taking the role of a leader: Not the case either, there are countless characters in films in where a woman is a ‘strong leader female’ and everybody ‘loves’ it. People love it when a woman is empowering and in charge”

False. In real life, women in leadership are regularly judged more harshly than men for the same traits.

- Women are often called “bossy,” “cold,” “aggressive,” or “unlikable” when they show authority.

- Men showing the same behaviors are called “strong,” “assertive,” or “leaders.”

Evidence:

- A 2022 Harvard Business Review study found that women in leadership are held to higher standards and judged more on personal characteristics than performance. Women receive more negative performance reviews and are penalized for being direct or assertive.

_______________________________________________

POINT 9: “If a woman is sexualized young, the person gets arrested. If it’s a boy, nothing happens.”

False

- Women and girls are sexualized far more constantly, in media, schools, and public spaces—starting at young ages. Arrests do not usually follow unless there is overwhelming evidence and a legal process. When it does happen to Males, it’s often other Males who MOCK them telling them to “man up” & “you’re lucky if it was a female abuser”

Evidence:

- A 2021 UNICEF report found that 1 in 5 girls globally experience sexual violence, and many never report it.Laws may exist, but justice isn’t automatic. Survivors—especially girls—often face shame, victim-blaming, and disbelief

- A 2020 study by the Geena Davis Institute found that in global ads: Women were 6x more likely to be shown in revealing clothing. Women were 4x more likely to be visually or verbally objectified than men

- Sociological research highlights that male peer groups often enforce traditional masculine norms through mockery and ridicule. For instance, C.J. Pascoe’s ethnographic study in Dude, You’re a Fag reveals that adolescent boys use homophobic slurs to police each other’s masculinity, discouraging behaviors deemed non-conforming

_______________________________________________

TO CONCLUDE: Let’s be clear—women face far more brutal, violent, and dehumanizing issues in society than men, and pretending otherwise is fucking diabolical and just pure ignorance. Women are raped, abused, murdered, and silenced and GASLIT at rates men will never experience. We’re sexualized from childhood, blamed for our own assaults, and judged relentlessly on how we look, dress, speak, and behave. And how exactly are we “Pampered”? No. We’re harassed in public, terrorised online, killed for saying no. The love and care we receive as women is provided by other Women. Men whining about not being “loved” or “worshipped” when women are fighting just to live a normal life is not only pathetic—it’s insulting. There’s no comparison. If men are struggling it’s 9 times out of 10 IT IS SELF INFLICTED. If Ya’ll want solutions to your problems, idk talk to each-other and leave Women out of it. Its not our problem.

Women owe you MALES FUCKING nothing.