#have never liked being a girl. but that's not really out of like. any kind of desperation to be anything else.

[cherrygirlfriend]

✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ polaroids

pairing: stepbro!rafe x reader synopsis: stepbro!rafe blackmails reader into letting him use a vibrator on her warnings/tags: smut, STEPCEST, DUBCON, blackmail, MDNI! wc: 1.5K a/n; i’m not sure if this would be classified as dubcon or noncon but please read the synopsis before reading! originally posted 10/19/2024

rafe cameron masterlist ♡

"rafeee, can you get my charger? it's in the top drawer of my nightstand!" you called up from downstairs, making your stepbrother roll his eyes.

"fucking get it yourself!"

"the food's gonna burn!"

despite you being on the first floor, rafe could hear the whiney tone in your voice, and almost picture the way your lip bottom lip would be pulled in with that despicable pout that managed to get you everything from both his father and your mother, and so, begrudgingly he opened the door to your bedroom.

he rounded the corner of your four-poster bed, bending to open the top drawer of your nightstand, spotting your charger on top of a bunch of your other shit, and letting out a small scoff as he threw the charger onto the bed.

but when rafe spotted a small key peeking out from underneath some stupid fashion magazine, his interest was piqued; he didn't even need to pick it up to know what it went to. it was the bottom drawer of your nightstand, him having an identical nightstand in his own bedroom, and knowing the almost scandalous contents of his own bottom drawer made him curious as to what you could be hiding in yours.

he picked it up, observing it for a moment before slamming the top drawer closed, swiftly putting the key in the lock and twisting it open. when he pulled it open, at first it appeared as if nothing was in it, but he knew better. he pulled the false bottom off, throwing it onto the bed, and when rafe's eyes fell onto what was in your nightstand, he couldn't help the grin on his face.

some of the contents were pretty tame; a pile of notebooks that he assumed were your old diaries, some weed, and some adderall that he knew you used to pop like fucking skittles back when you were in high school and had a big test coming up.

but his eyes widened slightly when he spotted the bottle of lube and the small, pale pink bullet-shaped vibrator; sure, he knew you had your vices and you weren't an innocent girl like you led your mother to believe, but you'd always been kind of a prude; you'd never let any of your old boyfriends mark you up even back when you'd been in high school like most girls that were too horny to even realize, and even now, he saw your face flush whenever there was a fucking sex scene on television and you conveniently looked down at your phone for the duration of it.

what really struck his eye was the stack of polaroids he knew you'd taken with the instax mini camera ward had gotten you for christmas, and when he picked up the stack and turned them around, only the first image was enough to cause his jaw to slack slightly.

it was taken on a timer, and you were kneeling on your bed, your hand splayed on your neck, wearing a sheer pink lingerie dress, lacy pink panties covering your pussy while your nipples were covered by red, heart-shaped pasties.

he went through the polaroids, his eyes widening and his shorts tightening with each picture, shots of you wearing different lingerie sets, ones of you looking over your shoulder seductively while you were kneeling on the bed, showing off your ass in a pair of thongs, pictures taken where your tits were soaped up and just covered by your arms, ones-

"rafeee! did you find it?!"

he chuckled at your called-out question, so unaware of the things he had found, putting the polaroids back in the bottom drawer, "yeah yeah!" he called back out, but as he was starting to put the false bottom back in, he got an idea.

and so, before he put the false bottom back in the drawer, he slipped the bullet-shaped vibrator into his pocket.

you could feel your heartbeat in your throat; you had no idea where it could've gone, having used it literally that morning. even though you remembered putting it in its usual spot in the bottom drawer of your nightstand, it was nowhere to be seen.

you thought that maybe you'd accidentally left it on your bed; your bedding, now on the floor. maybe it was on your top drawer instead, the contents dumped on the floor next to it. now you were going through your bookshelf, your teeth biting into your bottom lip so harshly you could taste blood in your mouth.

it wasn't only that you didn't want anyone to find it; it was also that you were so fucking sexually frustrated. you'd already gotten yourself off in the morning, but still, everything even slightly sexual had caused you to press your legs firmly together to seek some relief.

you nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard someone clear their throat, and when you turned to look at who it was, you were faced with your stepbrother, a smug smile on his face.

"looking for something?" rafe said, holding up the pink device you'd been looking for, your eyes widening when they landed on it

"did you go through my stuff you psycho?!" you stomped to him, rafe holding the vibrator over his head and out of your reach when you tried grabbing it. "give it to me!"

"i don't think that's how you speak to someone when you want something from them." rafe tsked, his jaw clenched as he pressed you against your bedroom wall, his hand on your chin, making you look up at him, "see, you're supposed to ask nicely. didn't mommy teach you that?"

"what do you want, rafe?"

"you know, when i found this little thing," rafe tapped the small vibrator against your cheek, "i found some really interesting pictures." he grinned, your eyes widening, your heartbeat picking up, immediately knowing the pictures he was talking about.

rafe turned on the vibrator, letting it travel down your chest, until coming in contact with your clothed nipple, slowly, involuntarily pebbling under the vibrations, your stepbrother's breath hot on your face, an obvious tent in his sweatpants. "it would be such a shame if your mom saw them, you know?"

"they don't show my face..." you said with a small sniffle, your eyes starting to sting with tears, meanwhile you felt your cunt starting to get slick with arousal from the stimulation to your nipple.

"aw, she might be stupid but she's not an idiot. you really think she won't recognize that pretty little body? all those pretty marks and dots on your body. are you willing to risk it?"

rafe's hand started traveling lower, the vibrations trailing down your ribs and abdomen, causing you to tense up your muscles as you spoke, your teeth gritting together, "what do you want?"

"to own you."

rafe had you pinned down on your bed, your hands gripping onto your already crumpled sheets; your lacy panties clinging to your pussy, thoroughly soaked in your arousal, and you knew they were beyond saving.

your flimsy top had been pushed up to reveal your breasts, and he'd been using the vibrator on your poor pussy for an hour now, and somehow it had been the most excruciating yet exhilarating hour of your life.

"i can't..." you whined as rafe brought the vibrator to your clit, and even though it was covered by the soaking fabric, it felt as if there wasn't any barrier at all, the stimulation bringing you closer and closer to your third orgasm. "'s too much... feels too good…"

rafe let out a cruel laugh at that, only bringing up the volume of the vibrator, pressing it even firmly against your clit, causing you to let out a yelp that turned into a moan, roughly grabbing at the fat of your breast as he brought his face closer to your face.

"you're gonna take it." he smiled, pressing a small kiss between your breasts, before standing up. "keep it in place." rafe commanded, and you brought your hand to weakly hold the vibrator at your clit while he walked around your room, in search for something.

"what... what are you doing?" you mumbled, your mind hazy from the pleasure coursing through your body, your eyes widening when rafe turned around, holding your polaroid camera. "r-rafe?"

rafe walked towards the bed, turning on the camera as he kneeled over you, swatting your hand away from the vibrator, replacing it with his own. "this is gonna be your best picture yet."

before you could protest, you were blinded by the flash, trying to use your arm to cover up your eyes, the picture slowly coming out of the camera, and rafe set it down next to you on the bed while it slowly changed from black to a picture of your body, showing your bared tits and the soaked panties that had molded to the shape of your pussy, rafe's large, ringed hand holding the vibrator against your clit.

rafe turned off the vibrator, throwing it onto the bed, grabbing the photo, and shoving it into the pocket of his sweatpants, before leaning closer to your ear.

"i own you." he whispered roughly, tapping your cheek before standing up and leaving your room.

[spentgladiator]

I love Valentine's Day. I'm a server, and have been for many years, so I get a peep into many different relationships and the thing about Valentine's Day in particular is.

Couples that dont go out together anymore, don't spend time together anymore and don't really like each other any more still go out on Vday because of the obligation (she needs to be able to tell the girls he took her to a nice dinner to keep up the facade of a happy marriage, he needs to say he did something or else the cute girl at the office who asks what he and his wife did might think he's an asshole) and those are the couple's you can spot a mile away.

They're usually in the 40-60 range but not always, when the kids are young they can feasibly get away with not doing something because they can't find a babysitter or equal excuse, so the kids are grown enough to have one stay home and mind the others. The body language will be stiff, rigid and deeply uncomfortable, as though they are sat across from some kind of creature or perhaps a beast. One or both will likely be looking at their phone a lot more than you would expect a couple at a romantic dinner. The conversation will be sparse, unemotional, very logistics based rather than anything intimate or emotional. They'll be "dressed up" like a business meeting, nothing sexy or fun and the vibes within fifteen feet of that table will be RANCID.

Any other night of the year and these people would be holed up on opposite ends of the house keeping themselves occupied, maybe she's out with some friends and he's practicing his golf swing on a simulation somewhere idk what straight men do honestly. They are strangers to each other, worse yet, strangers with BAGGAGE. they will both be totally impervious to your charm and attempts at being friendly and warm to lighten the mood, (alternatively, she will cling to you like a life vest as a source of any positive interaction, her eyes screaming 'please can I just hang out with you instead')

You wonder if you even need to put ice in their drinks cause with how cold they both are it's likely the drink would freeze in their hand anyway.

As for how these two make it through other special occasions - other people. Think about it.... Christmas brings children and relatives and friends, birthdays, Holidays, they never have to spend that time alone together. Valentine's Day stands out as a time when just the two of them HAVE to do something, lest they admit to themselves and each other that the love between them had died long ago.

This couple is not special. I see a few of them every Vday, you just have to try your luck if you wanna spot them. I recommend hopping, drinks and appys at one spot, main course at one spot, dessert at another to maximize your chances at spotting one. Just make sure you call ahead and book your tables!

[godmadeaterribleerror]

No More

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, so much angst, hurt/comfort, small fluff at the end, pre-established relationship, past abusive/toxic relationship, soft Dean

Summary/Warnings: Some scars don't really fade. They just fester and rot, remaining unattended in your body because you can't really remember how to heal them.

And Dean can't fix this for you. But he can give you somewhere safe to fix yourself.

Author's Note: Request from an anon! This one's heavy guys. If you think that past abusive relationships might be a no go for you, make the right choice for yourself <3. If not, enjoy (?) the story.

Word Count: 4k

It had been a good hunt. An objectively good hunt. Done in two days, no bodies to burn or bury, an alright bar in the town, and Sam managing to get his own room because he’s sick of you trying to bang Dean in front of him.

“Hey, don’t blame my girl for how you’re always sticking your ass in our business-“

“We share a room, Dean!” Sam had said, half-throwing his hands in the air. “Where else am I supposed to stick my ass if not in our communal living space-“

Dean had snorted. “Communal living space? Dude, you sound like such a jackass-“

“Why, because I can use big words like space?”

“I- Watch it, Sammy-“

“I’ll watch it if you stop trying to fuck on my bed!”

They’d kept arguing. You’d remained silent, picking at the wood of the table and wondering if—should you actually attempt to—you could sink into Dean’s chest and just stay there for a while. It would be warm and solid, and probably not all that safe—that man got himself stabbed and shot a lot—but safer than being in you. Then your traitorous and useless body, made only to be snapped in half. It must have something written on it or in it, emit some kind of blacklight or stench that said weak. Dumb, weak little bitch, lucky to have this because you don’t deserve it. Couldn’t deserve it.

Better, you could turn to stone, right here in the booth. If you could do that, you’d never get another bruise on your throat or hear venomous words spat in your ear. Sam and Dean could leave you behind and never have to feel any guilt. Dean could stop having to pretend he likes you as more than a body, and pull away without beating himself up about abandoning you like a used and worn couch. 

Moth-eaten and stained, only still in the house because it feels wrong to throw it out. Because you have a little sentimentality for the couch when it was nice, before it had been beaten and abused and reduced to just a lumpen sack of feathers and cloth.

You don’t think that comparison is fair to the couch. 

At least the couch was once useful.

Because it had been a good hunt.

You were the problem.

You’d slipped and wavered and fallen. But the whole place had smelled like lavender soap, and it had carried you back to where that same smell had suffocated you. He had loved that smell, and said it made you seem prettier and softer than you were. 

This whole case had reeked of him. And you’d told yourself you’d be fine. That it was in the past, and he wasn’t supposed to have that kind of control over you anymore. That the world seems gray in that vamp nest, but it was winter, so that was to be expected. And when you’d been knocked flat on your back, you’d seen a crack in the ceiling—identical to the one that had been over his bed—but had been a coincidence. Ceilings cracked, and there were only so many patterns in the world.

And when a Vamp had wrapped its hand around your throat, that was just something that happened to hunters. You all got hurt and beaten and had close calls. That was the job. You’d faced worse than this. You’d faced blood coating your fingers and splattered on your face, guts pooling at your feet and long moments where you’d been sure no one would come and save you.

Dean had always saved you. Even before you’d started doing more—and then more and more and more, until it seemed pretty obvious you were dating and it was more exhausting to fight it than accept it—Dean had always been saving you. He’d had to do it today, yanking the Mare off your chest and cradling your head against his chest until you were breathing easily. 

Yet again, you’d been the problem. The hunt had been easy and simple, and you’d still fucked it because you sucked. You were dead-weight. You couldn’t stop feeling the hand around your throat—imprinted like a tattoo that made your words small and body smaller—and you couldn’t stop the weighed down feeling of hopelessness. Your brain stuck on a scratching loop around the Vamp’s hiss of dumb, annoying, weak little bitch, until you couldn’t manage to smile at anything at all.

It just made you feel worse, because Dean might be worried you don’t think he’s being funny. That whenever he makes truly horrible joke and you don’t giggle like a lovesick schoolgirl, it’s because he’s gone wrong.

He’s done nothing. You really hope he just gives up and tosses you aside, because he shouldn’t have to put up with worry about something so valueless. He’d find someone else. Someone better and more deserving. You’re just lucky he ever even looked at you, let alone bothered to try and stay. To try and be the hero that keeps rescuing the princess, even when the princess is just a peasant who can put on a show.

You’d tricked him into thinking you’re better than you are. Lied to him until you’d trapped him, and now he had to stay with you, because he’s a good man and you’re simply the fucking worst thing in the world to darken his path, and he’ll leave if he really saw you-

That’s not fair to Dean. He is a good man. Better than he was, by miles and stretches and eons, but that really just made it hurt more. Because Dean’s not him, but you’re still you. The same you who was weak, and stupid, and undeserving. That doesn’t change. It only grows now that you have someone you really don’t deserve. Someone who glows in the low light of the night, laughs in a way that fills the bar with life, and always touches you like he’d like to keep you.

You aren’t something that should be kept. But he’s doing it anyway.

And there’s some bile in your throat at the thought. And that’s just another way in which this—in which you—are horrible.

But the worst part was that things like this happened all the time, and you still weren’t strong enough to build an immunity. To just move on, like a big girl. To actually teach yourself that he was in the past, and this you—now, in the present, sitting with your smoking hot boyfriend’s arm around your shoulders—didn’t have any right to be afraid anymore.

“Are you feeling okay?” 

You blink at Dean as he guides you out of the bar, Sam walking a few feet ahead and the wind of the night is so cold-

Dean says your name, his brow furrowing in the way it does when he’s worried, and you give him your best, softest, most docile smile.

“Everything’s fine.” You say, and you can almost believe yourself. Your voice is gentle and small and doesn’t sound like you, but it’s the best way to end the questions. You’ll fold over. You’ll bend until you snap. And nobody needs to push you for that to happen. 

But Dean’s still frowning. “Are you sure? ‘Cause if you’re feeling well we can head back to the bunker tonight, and Sam won’t have to get his own room-“

“No, Dean, I’m-“

“Yeah, no, Dean.” Sam turns, shooting his brother a glare. “How would I get home?”

“You’re smart, Sammy, you’d figure it out-“

You tune out the rest of their fake-argument. You’re mostly listening to the wind. It’s loud, and strong, and cold. So cold, biting at your skin and making your joints stiff, but at least you can feel it. It’s not numbing, and it’s indifferent, and Sam and Dean don’t seem half as affected by it as you are, but they’re also not weak-

“C’mon,” Dean says your name, and you realize you’re moving again. That he’s guiding you into the shotgun seat, and a grumpy looking Sam is clambering into the back.

“Wait, why-“

“We’re dropping Sam off, then heading back.” Dean turns the engine on, his voice barely raising to match the rumble, and you’re not sure you heard him right.

“Why- I don’t-“

“I wanna go home.” Dean shrugs, and it’s too casual. “And Sammy’s a big boy, he’ll be fine without Mommy and Daddy watching him.”

A small smile tugs at your lips, built by Sam’s groan from behind you, and you can’t stop the words from slipping out. “I told you to stop calling us that.”

“Yeah, but you also told me that you were-“ Dean cuts himself off, shaking his head slightly and clearing his throat. “That you weren’t into car sex, and that ain’t ever stopped us-“

You cover his mouth with a hand—his shit-eating grin just as blinding in only his eyes—and Sam makes a fake gagging sound.

And you think Dean knows. That he’s realized that you’re just so tired and weak and useless, and he’s trying to work out if it’s worth keeping you around. If you’ll listen to him and do what he asks—and you will, you always will, not because of the threat of being left but because he’s Dean and he couldn’t lead you astray if he tried—or if he needs to leave you on the pavement to scrape yourself back together.

So you don’t fight him, or insist that Sam can have his privacy and sanity without getting another room or you and Dean leaving, because you don’t really want to be touched like that right now. You just drop Sam off at the motel, grab your bags, and slump back into the Impala’s bench as Sam and Dean exchange low words outside.

By the time Dean joins you, you’re half asleep. And you try to stay awake—to entertain him half as much as he entertains you—but he pulls you right into his side, lets your head rest on his shoulder, and Dean doesn’t smell like lavender. He smells like evergreen and apples, he’s warm when your ears are still a little numb from the cold, and when he starts to hum along to the low music, you’re gone. Everything fades, and it’s just the deep sound of Dean’s voice like a lullaby and a big, firm hand on your thigh that isn’t going to leave a bruise.

Maybe you don’t deserve a bruise. 

Maybe you don’t deserve anything. Maybe you’re lucky to be stuck in this bed with stinging marks around your throat, and a voice like nails on your ears sneering that you’re a weak little bitch. If you were stronger you’d fight back, but you’ve been broken in and can’t be put back together. If you were stronger, you’d scream for help, but you’re also so horribly you that you know nobody will ever come and save you.

Who would try to save you? Who could possibly care about something like you enough to bother and patch up you up, to take string to your skin and heart and organs and tie them back together? You’re not strong enough to make anything stick. You’re made of glass and linen, and any attempt to put you back together would be futile, because you’d probably just break further. Someone would have to be patient enough to pull you back together when you spooled apart, and warm enough to fuse and meld you in a way that wouldn’t shatter with one touch.

You don’t think a person like that would be real. And if they are, they wouldn’t want you.

Because they’d be strong, and you really are weak.

If you were strong, you would’ve left. But you’re still here in this freezing cold bed, staring at the crack on the ceiling.

And you don’t think you’ll ever be more than that. Not as another hand wraps around your throat—you don’t remember what you said, but you must have said something—and there’s a heavy weight on your chest and you can’t breathe-

“Breathe.” A deep voice that sounds like it cares says your name, and you listen. “It’s okay, you’re okay, just breathe for me.”

For him. There’s a hand on your head that’s combing through your hair and pressing you into a place that warm and solid and safe. You’re held steady by an arm around your waist, and it fits so well there. You don’t think it could hurt you if it tried.

He’d sounds kind and caring, and he’d said your name like you mattered, so you’ll try to breathe.

And you don’t remember how to do it for yourself yet, so—just for now, until you can teach yourself to do anything for you—you’ll breathe for him.

“There you go, baby,” the voice mutters, and when you make a weak, choked sound his body tenses, but he doesn’t push you away. “I know, but I’ve got you. Swear I’ve got you.”

He says he’s got you. Dean says he’sgot you.

And you believe him.

So you start to cry.

He’d never liked it when you cried. He’d said it was useless, and that the sound was annoying.

Dean just keeps holding you, and muttering soothing words in your ear until the tears stop flowing. He only keeps rubbing a circle on your back until your breathing slows, and you can lean back to meet his gaze.

He’s not angry. Just worried. 

You’re going to start crying again.

“Are,” you sniff, trying to pull yourself back together by force, and look around the dark space. “Are we still in the car?”

“Pulled over earlier.” He mutters, tracing his thumb over your cheekbone with a care you don’t deserve. “You started doing that tossing shit when you’re about to have a nightmare. Wanted to get ahead of it.”

You swallow. You’d made him pull over, and you had enough nightmares that he knew what one looked like, and you were just a burden and problem and he should just shove you out of the Impala and leave you to rot like carrion on the highway-

“Stop doin’ that.” Dean grunts, and you tense.

“I- I’m not-“

“You’re freakin’ out. You’re freakin’ me out.” Dean scans over your face, pulling you close until you’re half on his lap. “If you’re hurt, you know you gotta tell me, sweetheart. I’m not looking to do a zombie bite thing, where we get home and you start bleeding all over the floor. So tell me.” He takes a deep breath, and his exhale is warm over your lips. “Please tell me.”

You can’t tell him. You’re not ready for him to leave yet.

You drop your brow to Dean’s, taking low, slow breaths and shaking your head. “It’s okay-“

“It’s fucking not.” He snaps your name, his grip tightening slightly, and you flinch. “I- shit- did I hurt you-“

“No.” You mumble. “I’m just tired-“

“You’ve been sleeping for five hours. You’ll get another seven once we get goin’ again. But,” Dean narrows his eyes, even as his grip loosens once more. “We’re not getting back on the road until you answer me. What’s wrong.”

“I-“ You cut yourself off with a choked sound. He’s angry. You’d made him angry, and he won’t hurt you but if he did you’d deserve it-

You start crying again, and Dean’s eyes widen. This is it. He’s going to push you out the window and you’ll have to wander through the marshes until the mud just swallows you whole-

Dean pulls you fully into his lap, holding you there carefully and muttering in your ear with a care and reverence you don’t deserve.

“Fuck, baby, I’m sorry, fuck, please don’t cry-“

“No, it’s- I’m-“ You take a long, strangled breath, wrapping your arms around his torso until you’re sure you’re going to suffocate him. “It’s not you, Dean, I- It’s not your problem-“

“Fucking hell it’s not my problem.”

You shake your head, burying your face in the crook of his neck. Maybe you really could move in there, and nothing would ever hurt you again. “It’s- You don’t have to-“

“I do.” He mutters, guiding your head back to meet his gaze. He brushes the tears from your eyes. You don’t deserve this. “You’re hurtin’.”

It’s not a question, but you nod anyways. Holding a lie too long has never done you a favor before.

“Tell me how to fix it.”

“You- you can’t fix this,” you mumble, staring at the bridge of his nose. You aren’t worthy of looking him in the eyes. “It’s, it’s just me, Dean. I’m just like this.”

He frowns. “Like what?”

“Weak.” You whisper. “I- I risked the hunt, I always risk the hunt, and I’m not strong like you and Sam are, and I just wanna go home-“

“We’re going home, babygirl.” Dean’s voice is soft, and low, and cautious, and you let out another sob that shakes your whole body. “And you’re not weak, you ganked like three vamps-“

“Could’ve done more.”

“There were seven of them. Three is pretty awesome numbers.” He gives you a nervous small smile. “You’re awesome. I don’t know who’s been telling you otherwise, but you are.”

That’s what breaks you. The floodgates don’t open—they’d barely held anything to begin with—but something snaps along your spine, and you can’t stop the horrible, rotten truth from falling out of your mouth. 

“But he was right.” You whisper. “I’m weak, Dean, and I don’t know why you can’t see it.”

“There’s nothing to see, and I- Who’s he?”

You wish that you’d slept better. If you had, your tongue wouldn’t be loosened with pure exhaustion, and you could lie.

But you’re so tired. Unbelievably tired. Mind-numbingly and persistently tired, all the time, and it’s grow so intolerable you just want to be anything else. And if what you are is weak and alone, at least you’ll know that’s where you're supposed to be. 

And you’d never wanted Dean to know. He was never supposed to learn from your own mouth how foul you are. He was supposed to find out himself, and then leave you like everyone always has the right to do.

But you’re telling him that you’re weak and fearful, that you’d never been able to fight tooth and spit and leave. You waited so, so long to leave and even then, it had only been because he’d been gone for a while, and you were so tired, and you needed to be anywhere but there. 

And you stepped out, and never gone back.

There’s not going back now either. It all spills out, from how you met him to the day you left. And Dean’s so quiet. Only watching you as you speak and squeezing his hold on your hips when you trail off or cry.

But he doesn’t kick you out. And when you finished, you’re still in his lap. You can’t read the expression on his face. The highway lights are dim, and there’s nothing obviously hateful or disgusted written over his features, but you might just be too stupid to see it-

“I’m-“ Dean clears his throat, his voice hoarse. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You blink at him, the tears still blurring your vision. “What.”

“That’s- I didn’t know, I never even fucking guessed- I should’ve guessed-“

“How would you have guessed?” You whisper, risking a drop of your brow back to his. He lets you stay. “I never told you-“

“But I know you. I should’ve seen it, you- I should’ve made you feel like you could tell me, I-“ His face hardens in his second, his grip tightening, but not to suffocated you. To protect you. To wrap his whole body around yours and keep it there safely. “I should fucking kill him. Cut off his arms and stuff them up his ass, get Cas to put the fear of god in him-“

“Dean, no-“

“He doesn’t just get to fucking do that to you and keep walking around-“

“He shouldn’t.” You mumble. “But he did. Men do all the time. And, I- I’m sorry I didn’t tell you-“

“Don’t apologize.” He grunts, dragging his thumb over your cheekbone. “You’ve never done anything wrong, baby, it’s just that son of a bitch, who’s gonna get a knock on his door soon-“

“No knocking on doors,” you wrap your arms around his neck, shaking your head against his brow. “Please, Dean, that’s- that’s not what I want-“

“What do you want?”

His question is immediate, and it crashes into you like a tidal wave. Numbing your whole body and kickstarting it in the same second, because you don’t know. You haven’t really known, haven’t had a direction, in years. You wandered and wandered and just tried to keep on breathing, to keep on your feet,  and never let yourself look back. 

You’d never been good at that last part. You kept on breathing because you didn’t have a choice. You’d kept on your feet because if you faltered, you’d fall over and it would be so painful to get back up. 

But you’d always looked back. On nights like this one, over and over and over until your eyes were sunken and your neck was craned to always make sure nothing was behind you. 

It might be nice to rest. To breathe not because it’s a labor, but because it feels nice to breathe the same air as Dean. 

It would be amazing to keep looking back—it’s a habit, and it will die a slow and withering death until it’s gone, and you never pinpoint the moment you lost it—but to also start looking forward. Looking for that place to rest, that you already seem to have found.

What do you want?

“I want some food.” You whisper, leaning back to scan over Dean’s face. “And a nap. Please.”

Dean gives you a small grin, and nods. “I think we can do that. And after, you’ll give me an address-“

“Please don’t kill him, Dean.” You drop your voice slightly, holding his gaze. “I just want to stay with you, and to never see him again. Please.”

Two more wants. You’re on a roll. 

“Just me?” Dean asks, and you don’t he believes you.

But it really is the truth.

“Just you.” You say, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his lips, and humming when he grins against them.

“Lucky you,” he mutters your name against your lips, squeezing his arms around you “I think I know a dude who can swing that.”

You let out a soft giggle—barely a breath, but there—Dean squeezes his arms again, and you really like how he does that. It’s not because he’s trying to remind you where you belong, it’s because he trying to check that you’re there. Like he’s just as afraid that you’ll flee as you are that he’ll shove you aside, and he’s trying to hold you together with everything he has before you slip away.

“You’re really cheesy,” you say, and he chuckles.

“You like it. We start drivin’ again, you think you’ll be able to get some sleep?”

“Yeah, but food-“

“We’re only a few hours out from home.” Dean shrugs, really making no attempt to move you from his lap. “I’ll order whatever you’re feeling when we get back.”

You pause, playing with the hairs on the back of his neck as you think. “How about pizza?”

“Who’s cheesy now-“

You lean back to give him a mock glower. “Dean Winchester.”

“What did you not like that one-“

“It was horrible-“

“That’s not a no-“ 

You cut him off with a long, soft kiss, and you like it here. Wherever Dean is, you’ll like it there.

“Can we please get pizza?” You mumble, and he nods. It’s such a small, normal movement. 

It makes you feel a little more found.

“We can get anything you want, princess.”

End Note: Oof that was a sad one. Sorry squad.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature @sthefferrete @lyarr24

@deansbbyx @bakugotypecrashout @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

@youdontknowe @nyrtopia @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco @elle14-blog1

@impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde @itsdearapril @apobangpo-0613 @alwaystiredandconfused

@arcticwisteria @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @jackles010378 @godhelpthisbtch

@ilovedeanwinchester4 @sleepykittycx @immastealurkneecaps @star-yawnznn @maddie0101

@chi-raz @lori19 @wynnthewynnderful @redwinexsupernova @tiana-kh

@woaheasytig3r @canibeyourghoulfriend @lovelywebber @salemslostwitch @winchester-whiskey

@and-i-wish

[juniperskye]

I’m Sorry…What?

Based on the following ask: Established relationship but it’s secret from the team. The team think they don’t like each other but in truth they are deeply in love with each other but the team don’t let them always be alone together out of worry so there have been a few close calls where they almost get caught until reader and Aaron room together and finally talk about maybe telling the team only the way they tell them is threw wedding invites and that’s shocks the team and they all have questions to which reader and Aaron only smile thinking how funny it is that a team of profilers never found them out. Love this idea! In this, Derek kind of looks out for the reader – very “big brother” behavior from him in this.

Aaron Hotchner x Fiance BAU! Fem Reader

Fluff

Word count: 1617

Not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, some explicit language, meddling profilers, canon typical violence, mention of stabbing and hospitals, mention of wedding related activities, let me know if I missed anything!

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

You stood from your desk, just about to head up to Hotch’s office with a file when Emily stopped you. Her hand resting on your forearm gently, her eyes meeting your own.

“I have to go drop this file off, let me take yours.”

“Oh, Emily it’s okay. I can take them.” You moved to grab her file.

“Girl, it’s okay…I know how hard he is on you.” Emily stood, patted your shoulder and took the files to Hotch’s office.

--

Things had been like this pretty much since the moment you’d joined the BAU. For whatever reason, everyone on the team had just assumed that you and Hotch hated each other…that you two couldn’t even be in the same room as one another without fighting. But that couldn’t be further from the truth.

See, what the team didn’t know was that Aaron and you were engaged. The two of you were dating even before you had joined the BAU. You had been working with a different team within the FBI, having a background in behavior analysis…moving to the BAU when a spot opened up, that just made sense.

Aaron and you had agreed to keep things strictly professional at work to avoid any discomfort within the workplace. Apparently that choice was now biting you in the ass.

Working with profilers, you’d think the secret of your relationship would have come out a long time ago, that being said, doesn’t mean there haven’t been some close calls.

--

This had started early on in you career with the BAU. Aaron had avoided pairing the two of you together, simply to avoid any suspicion of your relationship. The team, however, took this as him not warming up to your presence on the team.

Then it was him “benching” you. Aaron for a period of time had kept you in the local precincts on cases, you knew this was because he was worried about you getting hurt, but the team saw this as him questioning your abilities. They all reassured you that you were an asset to the team, more than capable in the field. Morgan had gone as far as confronting Aaron about the way he was mistreating you.

What really sealed this theory in your teammate’s heads was the way Aaron and you sparred. During debriefings the two of you would go back and forth through numerous theories, jabbing at one another for how “ridiculous” the other one was being. While to the team this looked argumentative…it really was how the two of you were, always pushing one another, wanting them to be the best they can be. Unafraid to challenge one another.

Everything was different after that. The team worked overtime to keep things light when the two of you were around one another. They would step into conversations, inserting themselves when it wasn’t necessary. They would jump in and offer to pair with one of you, so you’d never be stuck one-on-one.

At first you found it kind of funny, laughing internally at their crazy antics, but now that you were engaged, it was getting increasingly annoying. You’d just wanted some alone time with your fiancé and they were making it impossible.

--

You had gone to get a fresh cup of coffee to help you get through the remainder of your paperwork. Upon entering the kitchenette, you came face to face with your fiancé.

“Hey sweetheart.” He quietly greeted.

“Hi hon.” You smiled.

Aaron passed you a cup of coffee before moving to fill a second one for himself. He’d been this way since the beginning, always putting you first no matter what. You offered him thanks and stood with him for a moment, enjoying the proximity.

“I got a call earlier from the florist, she sent over the invoice. I also sent the deposit to the caterer this morning.” You informed.

“For the flowers, peonies right? Did you decide on pink or whi-”

“Everything okay in here?” Morgan bounded into the kitchenette. “You guys look tense…please tell me you weren’t fighting again.”

“Nope, everything is good! I was just heading back to my desk.” You said before making your exit.

--

The next slip up was while away on a case. You had been with Derek interviewing someone that happened to be the unsub, only you hadn’t been aware of that going in.

He had pulled a knife and moved quickly, leaving you with a nasty stab to the gut. You were lucky that it hadn’t hit anything major. You’d waved Derek off, telling him to go after the unsub.

After apprehending the guy, Derek made his way back to you to check in and make sure you were okay. He had called the team and for a medic, not leaving your side.

When Aaron showed up he was livid. The team took that as anger for your “mistake”, not realizing that his anger was directed toward himself – he was beating himself up for having sent you in there, putting you in this situation.

He rode with you in the ambulance to the hospital…giving the rest of the team time to talk about how he was probably reprimanding you. But once again, it couldn’t have been further from the truth. He had held you hand and reassured you the whole way to the hospital.

The team met him there and waited by his side as you were tended to. And when the doctor came out and called your name, asking for family, Aaron didn’t hesitate to rise to his feet, barely catching himself and mentally correcting fiancé to boss.

--

After that, the team did everything they could to keep the two of you separated or at least had someone with you to act as a buffer. It was becoming exhausting – you’d been trying to give Aaron an update about some stuff for the wedding and you just couldn’t get the chance.

The two of you would end up rapidly firing through topics once you arrived home for the evening, trying to catch one another up on wedding tasks, work tasks, and just everyday things.

 “Aaron…have you thought about how much easier things would be if we just told the team about us?”

“Yes I have. Why do you ask?” He admitted.

“Just, well…they’ve been annoying lately.” You huffed. “I don’t mean to sound rude, you know I love them. But they just won’t quit, I can’t get even a second alone with you at work and it is getting ridiculous.”

“You’re right. When you were in the hospital last month, I almost let it slip in front of them. If it’s what you want, let’s tell them.” Aaron agreed.

And thus began your planning of how you’d tell the most oblivious group of profilers that the two of you didn’t hate each other but were actually engaged to be married.

--

It took about a week and a half before you could officially tell the team your little secret. You had been waiting for your invitations to come in so you could hand deliver a few to your team…it would be the perfect announcement.

“Round table in five.” Aaron called out into the bullpen.

“Shit…he seems pissed.” Emily hissed.

You couldn’t help but giggle, knowing full well he was anything but pissed. Emily and you went and collected everyone, bringing them to the round table. There were hushed whispers about what this could be about, and when Penelope mentioned there wasn’t a new case, you could feel the anxiety filling the room.

--

Aaron made his way in, his hands holding a neat stack of pale pink envelopes. You couldn’t help but notice the way he commanded a room, his mere presence demanding the attention of those around him. This is what had initially drawn you to him all those years ago.

“I have something for each of you. I’d like you to wait to open them until everyone has one.” Aaron announced.

He passed them out one by one, the room remaining silent the entire time. It didn’t take long for everyone to notice that you were the only one who didn’t receive an envelope.

“Hotch man, if this is some kind of sick power move then I swear I will-” Derek began.

“Please, open them.” You spoke before standing up and making your way to Aaron’s side.

Confusion painted its way across everyone’s faces. Hands working quickly to open the envelopes they’d been handed. You were shaking with anticipation, and you couldn’t help the little smirk that made its way to your lips when the confusion was quickly replaced with shock.

“I’m sorry…what?” Penelope asked.

“What the hell is this?” Derek questioned.

Everyone began talking at once, talking about whether or not this was a joke. Asking if one another knew, and how long this had been going on.

“Guys!” You called. “Aaron and I have been together for a few years, well before I started with the BAU. We got engaged about seven months ago…and well, we’d love it if you all would be there for us.” You smiled.

“I KNEW IT!” Rossi laughed. “I told you all from the beginning that they didn’t hate one another, they love each other, and you all swore that they hated each other.”

--

Four months later, the BAU team stood by your sides as you said your vows and committed yourselves to one another.

And while the team dynamic shifted slightly with them knowing the two of you are together, and with there being two Agent Hotchners now, the one thing that didn’t change was that this team was family and you all were there for one another no matter what.

Taglist: @bernelflo@pastelpinkflowerlife@just-moondust

[kaisaerinlover]

kaiser x very tragic and isolated reader. and innocent. and idk how else to describe this but yeah just read ok

he’s a bit ooc here especially for my writing cause he’s being nice

you don’t feel like you have any purpose, you’re a girl in a world full of people with so many talents. so much beauty and so much of, well, everything. but you’ve never fit into that. never had anything of your own. you are you, isolated little you. every day you’ve lived has been to please others, you don’t ever recall actually living a life of your own volition at all. everything is for everyone else, or was, it’s for kaiser now.

he’s glad he found you, because he likes you a lot. you’re similar to him, after all. maybe not in the way you’d imagine. you’re isolated, because you have no one. you were used by everyone around you for whatever personal gain they had and discarded again after as if you were some sort of tool and not more than that. he’s isolated because he thrives in restriction, thrives in loneliness, thrives from the idea that nobody likes him and he’s a piece of shit; because that’s all he grew up knowing anyway.

he likes that you have no friends, likes that you’re the same as him. likes that he can have you to himself, in his own sick way. he knows it’s wrong but he can’t help it. he remembers when he first met you and you were nothing more than an empty shell counting down the days until you finally disappear. any outsider would consider it a curse that someone like kaiser entered your life at such a fragile and tender time; a time when you’re so clearly depressed and suffering, but you deem it a blessing. he remembers the dates you would go on, the love bombing and manipulating he did, that never seemed to work as intended on you. you were just so grateful for everything he did in general, so happy, so eager to please. it was endearing. you’re really his first love, he can promise you that. you’re the first person who really ever opened his heart up. and, he hates admitting it but, the first person he’s ever truly pitied.

he’s sorry for you, real sorry in fact. sorry that you feel the way you do, that you are the way you are. you don’t even allow him to give you as much affection as he’d sometimes like to. and it angers him a bit. he’s not one for these things, so the fact you deny him of them sometimes when it’s exceedingly rare of him to be so kind pisses him off. but it also makes him like you more. and pity you more. and loathe himself more. he likes taking you out for a stroll in the quaint little countryside town he moved you both to (he prefers the isolation he has with his huge mansion a bit further off the road from the village), he likes it. and you’re so in awe every time, without a doubt. big eyes looking around at everything curiously. he feels sorry for you, really really fucking sorry. so new to the world and everything to do with it. he has one memory in particular he’s fond of.

when he brought you out into the village for the first time and you excitedly ran and started picking flowers from someone’s garden. “you can’t pick those, those aren’t public property” he chastised you. and you didn’t listen, you just handed him the handful of tulips you just plucked from the ground of some poor old couple’s front garden and hopped over to the next one to pick some more. he mentally sighed but god your naïveté was so endearing, it still is. he’s always reminded that you’re living for the first time too, but maybe not just in terms of just existence. you’re experiencing life for the first time, he can tell you’ve never lived for yourself before. simply kept inside and made to abide by whatever it was everyone had you doing before. he hasn’t much context on your family, or whatever bunch of people it was that you lived with before him. but he knows they aren’t nice since the first time he met you you were preoccupied with obeying whatever orders they barked at you. you looked so empty, you were at a shopping centre carrying everything. he remembers seeing you so often around town with these people, looking so empty and doing their bidding, he just had to have you for himself. he likes pathetic things, but now he realises maybe he’s the pathetic one for you. he’s entranced by your innocence. he likes crushing beautiful things beneath his thumb; would gladly spit on a flower and stamp on it, so he’s not sure why his psyche is constantly making him be oh so fucking kind to you.

he remembers that same day you vandalised the poor village folks gardens, you sat on top of the roof of the church clocktower, in front of the huge ticking hands of time, doing nothing but eating rusk and ice creams. his hand over yours and your hair blowing in the wind. you were so fascinated by the sunset, how the sky changed colour into something so impossibly beautiful. you were just so enamoured by everything; such innocence is refreshing. his heart actually skipped a few beats. you stared at the sunset which was so astonishing and new to you after so many years of whatever the fuck it was you were doing (he doesn’t want to know, he can’t let himself feel even more pity for you, too many human emotions felt by him and he’s sure he’d explode) but all he could look at was the tragically beautiful girl next to him.

he tried to invite you out more after that, and he can’t forget what you told him. you looked up at him and smiled, a sad smile if he’s being honest, and all you said was “don’t worry, this was more than enough for someone like me”. someone like you, he hates the way it rolled off of your tongue so naturally. it sounds like a curse. someone like you. everyone deserves a break, you don’t even think you deserve it. god. he hates the fact it actually twists his insides and makes them churn so disgustingly. he remembers when he finally helped you escape whatever life it was you were living before too, how you insisted he didn’t have to, how the memories of your very very few escapades out were enough to tide you over for the rest of your life, hell, even all of eternity if you were to live that long. he wasn’t having it. maybe he saw himself in you, someone who needed help and just never received it. when he was living with his piece of shit dad still, he knows he would have loved some help. he remembers when he stopped merely existing and started living for himself. the feeling is liberating; maybe he wants to give you that liberation too. but you’ll never do that, it’s fine though, you live for him and it’s more than enough.

you’re really tragic. even kaiser admits that. you’re still as kind and sweet as the day he met you years ago. and it’s just sad, because sometimes he’s so mean with you. but he really cares about you, he does. that’s why he’s scratching your head now as you’re laid on him drawing something random on a notebook he bought for you. he bought you some colours from the village and a book and told you to go wild, and you did. he doesn’t even know why he did that, he likes hiding behind a facade of luxury. spoiling his girls rotten, giving them whatever expensive brand he saw first and showering them in gifts worth more than their entire family combined. but he doesn’t want to with you. it’s not that he doesn’t want to spoil you; the opposite actually. those gifts are just… not you. don’t get him wrong, you have a wardrobe of clothes that costed more than a pretty penny. but he’d rather get you items of sentiment. money also seems dirty to him, he’s not sure why that’s the association he holds with it. you’re pure; he doesn’t want to just turn you into some whore who’s obsessed with cash. a dirty slut. you’re too good for that. he thinks your childlike wonder of the world doesn’t suit this. and besides, your drawings are pretty cute. he likes watching you like this, watching you get so lost in something. seeing you have a bit of passion/a hobby. at first, he couldn’t quite get you to indulge yourself in anything at all, not even something as simple as doodling on paper. you always just gave him that mellow look and shook your head. he remembers when he first handed you the colours and book: “micha i don’t need it, don’t worry, i just wanna be useful to you” he hated that answer. he’s not even sure why.

he doesn’t know why he cares so much. he’s staring at your head so hard whilst in thought he’s surprised you haven’t noticed it yet. well, you have, you’re just pretending you don’t know. you don’t want to bother him.

he’s never cared so deeply about anything before other than football. he’s heartless. he’s not human so he shouldn’t have any feelings remotely similar to human emotions. this doesn’t align with the warmness in his heart he feels when he looks down at you drawing away to that sweet heart of yours’ content. and he just audibly growls in frustration. man, every fibre of his being is telling him he needs to take care of you and treat you right, and he agrees with it, that’s the worst part. you perk up at his growl and look up at him. and he just takes your notebook off of you along with the pens, puts them down on the table and grabs your hand. you know where you’re going, so you walk with him to the door to slip your shoes on too.

it’s evening now, and you’re sitting in front of the clock again. ticking away. watching the perfectly orange sky as the sun slowly descends ready to be replaced by the moon. licking away at a popsicle. both of you wrapped in one of kaiser’s coats. doing the same stupid routine as always. you looking in awe at the beauty of the world, the universe in general. and him looking in awe over the beauty of you. it’s like the sun only rises and falls to kiss your face with all of its light. you’re so pretty like this, hair falling down your face slightly and your face glowing in the radiant light. he likes the routine (though he hates admitting it). it’s comfy for him. the public thinks he’s some put together luxurious princeling, which is true he supposes. but with you he doesn’t have to. he feels… poor again. in a weirdly comforting way. sitting in front of the huge church’s clock, where you both definitely aren’t allowed to be sitting. licking at some cheap popsicle he bought from the small supermarket. holding your hand and admiring you. this feels like the most real version of him, and he’s glad he can show it around you.

as he snaps out of his thoughts, he notices you looking at him. big eyed with popsicle dripping a little down your mouth, so he reaches out with his thumb to wipe it away. god, he’s almost melting in his spot. he tries to conceal it, but he can’t be sure if he’s doing a good job or not. he hates how you’re the first person to make him feel like he’s in his puppy love phase all over again; he’s fucked countless women, had so many escapades you wouldn’t believe it, so much psychology books read and embedded into his brain, so much control over his stimuli, so good at pretending he doesn’t care. but with you he simply can’t. “thanks for this” you say. your voice is smooth as honey in his ears “for doing this for someone like me.” he hates when you say that. he just sighs and moves a little of your pretty hair behind your ear. “anything for you” it’s true. he would do anything for you. anything for someone like you, he knows it even more as you giggle at his simple action.

he’s more similar to you than either of you think, never quite believing you’re human and worth much. kaiser referring to himself as a subhuman, and you always dancing around the subject. “someone like me”. bullshit, kaiser thinks.

you shuffle a bit towards him and cup his cheek to kiss him, blushing the whole time as you do it. and he’s taken aback too, still kissing you back though. you’ve done this countless times but there isn’t a single kiss that doesn’t make him feel butterflies inside. not a single kiss for you either that doesn’t make your stomach fold in on itself. as he kisses your sweet lips he can’t help but to think about how he wants to take you out more. to see more places, more dates, more of the world. he wants to spoil you with life. he wants you to live, he wants you to feel as liberated as he felt the first time he discovered soccer. he wants to fix you.

and you are slowly fixing him too. it’s funny, you’re both so human and you both have trouble accepting that. both so human and both so deserving of love. both need to live for themselves, but there’s always going to be room for the other in this dynamic.

that’s something you can both agree on. both of you thinking of the other as your head rests on top of his that’s laid on your shoulder looking at the sky ahead. it’s comforting, two humans, breathing in sync, thoughts in sync, seeing the same thing, holding hands. a love so pure, purity michael kaiser didn’t even know he could welcome into his life. but he doesn’t mind, he likes it. you like it too, love you didn’t think you’d ever be able to accept before, here in your hands.

as mean as he tries to act, as evil as he might be, unfortunately he just can’t quite bring himself to fully commit to it when it comes to you. when he’s around you.

and you, albeit a little stupid at times, recognise this. and maybe, just maybe, it makes you feel happy inside. selfishly happy. maybe living for kaiser is like living for yourself, you’re like one soul divided into two bodies. he agrees.

[holyguardian]

Aerith regarded Somnus with an almost pained smile. He couldn't imagine that time in her life, he brought up how she had been at the forum, how that seemed to come naturally to her somehow. It hadn't. It didn't. "I learned how to act." she softly replied, and would have been content to leave it at that.

But he wouldn't accept it.

Somehow it was one of the kindest refusals to believe something, one that made her lower her gaze and exhale an amused kind of breath. His compliments almost flustered her for a moment there, and her gaze found the waterskin in her hands to focus on, her fingers fidgeting with the leather.

"I blew it." Aerith assured him. "I mean it. I didn't know how to approach kids my own age, I was very weird." In some ways, she still was. "I didn't know how to play any of the games. None. Nothing. When it's common knowledge for everyone else and you're standing there clueless, apparently that's a massive sin in childhood. No one warned me that kids would be so brutal." she reminisced with a shake of her head.

"Then I would ask the wrong things. Like, I didn't know you weren't supposed to invite other girls into the royal gardens to climb. Minerva's grace, I can still hear the laughter, I think I was laughed out of my own garden. Once these things happen they just become something that gets so out of control. Try to fix things with one kid, and there are five more whispers. But then it got really bad when I had my first vision from the Lifestream. I was already the weirdest kid among kids, the bottom of the pecking order, and then I did stuff that made me even more different."

Poor Somnus. He really hadn't asked for her childhood woes, and she was smothering him. "After a few years, mum and dad had Roran. Then I became a sassy little miss. At the time, a lot of nobles weren't accepting of my mother's choices, and the children of those nobles had a lot of opinions when Roran was born. I never stood up for myself but I started to stand up for him. It really wasn't until I was a teenager that I started to kill everyone with kindness. I don't know, I found a lot of happiness being an older sister. Things started to slowly change then."

She hummed and finally offered him his waterskin to take, glancing to him at her side. "You must feel cheated." she softly teased. "I act right for people who don't even know me, and you're stuck with the Aerith behind closed doors."

So that dragon had been Aerith’s only friend for a long time. Well… that explained that attachment. Somnus could not fully understand it. He had always had Ardyn around and they had a childhood full of play and laughter. Even when others had avoided him… Ardyn had always stood by his side and defended him fiercely.

Though there was a notable age gap between Aerith and Roran. But to imagine Aerith ever struggling with interactions…

Somnus looked at her and shook his head a little.

“I can not picture that. You blowing it with others your age as a child? Or young lady? No. I saw you interacting with all these people at the festive. You talk easy, you remember everyone’s name, they gravitate towards you. You mean to tell me that was ever different?”

That… would mean she had lived through similar as he had. But up till now she had always seemed like the opposite in that way. Somnus was curious. A careful kind of curious. But one that could understand this part of her possible life perfectly…

His voice lowered a little, as he sat down beside her.

“What do you mean, you ‘blew’ it? You are kind, you are smart and you have wit. You are very beautiful. And your powers are amazingly perfect and what everyone seeks. How could you ever 'blow' it?”

[l8ncestroll]

This is MY blog and I’m sick of pretending I don’t have a big fat crush on this man

He’s actually SO yum, SO boyfriend material and so criminally underrated, neither god nor satan can stop me from thirsting over this man!!! So anyway I’ve dumped all my insanity under the cut

- HIS HAIR!!! It’s so fluffy and it has so much volume that I’m JEALOUS

- And it still looks good when he’s all sweaty post race and it’s all messy and he looks all disheveled and skrunkly

- I would sell my left kidney to have him put his head in my lap and let me play with his hair

- I WANT TO PULL IT

- listen if he was hovering over you or had his face between your legs you can’t convince me you wouldn’t want to be pulling on his luscious locks while he ruined you and that is that.

- And you could look into his big chocolatey eyes all the time, like can you imagine standing chest to chest with that man and looking up and seeing those big hypnotic eyes? I think I’d melt

- he would give the best puppy eyes ever if he wanted something from you, eyes all wide and needy, just to switch up and look at you all smug and smirking when you do exactly what he asked of you

- I just KNOW when that man makes out with you it’s FILTHY, please tell me other people have noticed his big pouty lips and how goddamn long his tounge is??? Otherwise I might just sound insane but IVE SEEN PICTURES OKAY

- ANYWAYS, I’m talking holding you close for dear life, him taking your face in his big hands, starting with small gentle pecks all over your face but quickly turning into the most disgusting make out ever, biting each other lips and sucking each others tounges, licking each others faces, him fucking up your neck so bad you’ll be in turtlenecks for the next three weeks and you nibbling on his jaw, all rational thinking out the window and no concept of time.

- piggybacking off that last thought, he just knows that his facial hair makes you feel some kind of way

- “hey babe do you think I should shave?”

- JUST to tease you and have you panic, to watch you try and come up with any serious good reason that he shouldn’t, whilst he really knows you’re only worried about the beard burn on your thighs being a thing of the past.

- A while back I saw someone on here call him beefy and I think that altered my brain chemistry

- because YES

- He IS beefy, he’s tall and broad and muscular, you just know that he’s strong enough to snap your neck if he wanted to but he hasn’t!!! And you’re still alive!!! So obviously he likes you!!!

- He’s so sporty too, out of formula one he’s definitely the sportiest of all the drivers, always skiing, or playing padel, doing all of his little side quests

- The videos that float around of him playing ice hockey????

- So hot I wish Canada was real

- He looks so confident and aggressive and in his element when he’s playing. I feel like creating an ice hockey x figure skater AU may be in order because the potential of that is endless

- I have so many thoughts about him in the big scary hockey outfit, stood next to his girl in her figure skating dress

- Now he KNEW, about the contrast between him and his girlfriend’s looks, size, aesthetic, or whatever you want to call it. But he’d never seen it displayed so clearly, him looking all big and burly and ready to play ice hockey versus his sweet little girl, looking all cute and delicate ready to figure skate? Definitely fucked with his head, also definitely turned him on, which you definitely noticed and definitely poked fun at him for, while secretly being just as turned on if not more.

- He’s definitely the possessive protective type, he insists he doesn’t get jealous but it’s only because he doesn’t let himself be put in that position

- Why should you go up to the bar alone? What if a guy tried to hit on his girl and he got jealous? He wouldn’t be having that, so he walks you up to the bar himself and cages you in, hands either side of you while you order, and while you’re looking in your bag for your purse to pay, he’s already swiped his card.

- Even if he was too tired or drunk to keep getting up with you he’s not letting his girl go on her own, he’d rather spend a small fortune on bottle service than send his girl to the cesspit that is the bar in a club

- I see him as the type to love a bit of cliché flirting too, weather it’s the first time you’ve met or you’ve been married for 10 years? That man is GOING to flirt with you, countless little compliments, always pulling out your chair or opening doors for you.

- DEFINITELY the type of guy to do the hand thing, because yeah he wants you too see how much bigger his hands are, but mainly he does it for selfish reasons, it sets alight something carnal and animalistic inside of him to see your feminine little hand against his, it just does something to him when he gets to watch the surprise on your face at how big his hands are (because let’s be fr that man has BEAR PAWS), him looking at you, watching your thought process

- which would probably be something like: aww this is so cute and cliche, okay let’s do it, woah, his hands are huge, or are mine just small?, no I think it’s definitely him, maybe it’s a mix of both, DAMN his hands are huge, damn, hmnnn, he could fit both of my wrists in one hand, 🤭, his fingers are so big…, they’d feel so good on my…, shit he’s watching me😧

- and even though you never said a word he read every thought you had from your face.

- I don’t know if anyone other than me finds this super sexy but he’s so quick witted, in challenge videos he just seems to think for a few seconds and then have some weird solution, or when people ask and uncomfortable hard to answer question, he just takes a second and then comes out with the perfect response, weather it’s a joke or a distraction or a tactful answer, he’s good at using his words

- He seems to like talking a lot too, don’t get me wrong in press conferences and most media things he’s a brick wall (understandably tbh) but in other situations when he’s comfortable and happy he seems to have a lot too say

- do you guys see what I’m getting at?

- he definitely talks you through it.

- I mean just think of him sat up on his knees between your spread legs, “you look so pretty right now, wish you could see what I’m seeing”, and then leaning over you to slap his tip on your clit, “you gonna take it for me like a good girl darling?”, then running it up and down your slit, spreading you’re wetness all over himself, “you’re fucking soaked already, I’m flattered baby”. Him just repeating “fuck fuck fuck” over and over like a mantra when he finally presses into you, “fuck you take me so well”

- idk i just can’t see him being quiet at all, if he’s not running his mouth then he’s groaning breathily right in your ear, enjoying how he can feel you clench around him every time he makes a particularly desperate noise.

- Also he has a praise kink I don’t make the rules, this could definitely make a cute fic actually, reader not knowing about him having an absolutely desperate need for her praise, and rather than just asking for it (because then in his mind it doesn’t count) , he goes above and beyond all the time in every aspect of life desperately chasing after slivers of praise from you to get his fix, and maybe as a prank or a joke or a TikTok trend one time you call him a good boy and he just goes absolutely feral and then you put the puzzle pieces together

-okay I’ll stfu now but before I go I have pictures that relate to this to share to really prove my point that I’ll leave at the bottom of this, (in order, beard, hands, eyes, sexy asf, why he pulling that face? ,And hair)

- anywho I’m so deeply sorry for bringing my depraved obsession to the internet, BUT if you fuck with it at all or wanna talk to me or add anything my ask box is OPEN and my anons are ON

- also I’m considering starting to write again so if you have any tips or inspiration I’m totally open to that even if it’s criticism or whatever

[taelophone]

Oblivion ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝˚.⋆⋆˙⟡ — Luigi Mangione x Oblivious!Reader ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝ CWs: Reader is violently oblivious like so clueless . Corny Flirting . Neurodivergence in Luigi . Slight angst ? ── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ I played w the fourth wall a bit lol

What is she doing to me, man?

I mean, wait wait wait—! Before you switch, just listen to me for a second, okay? I’ve been trying to get with this girl I love for the past three years, and she hasn’t even acknowledged any of my attempts!

If she weren’t into me, I'd expect her to at least bring it up later, right? Ask me to clarify, say she doesn’t see me like that, or god forbid say it makes her feel uncomfortable.

But you haven’t! Every time I make a flirty comment, you just giggle and say I’m too kind! I’ve never once thought I was bad at flirting, but are my lines just not hitting like they used to?

Even now, as I’m walking you home, you’ve got your arm wrapped around mine while I talk about a robotics competition I did when I was fifteen that ultimately changed the course of my life and sparked a permanent interest in computer science. But all that seemed to travel through Luigi’s mind was whether or not you liked him back!

You nodded, hanging onto his every word as the hard rubber soles of your pink Jordan dunks step-step-stepped on the thick and heavy slabs of concrete. He seemed to really like telling you about his interests and achievements— not that you didn’t want to hear about them— but you just wondered why he seemed to love talking about academics so much around you.

But anyway, that’s beside the point. You and Luigi have been great friends for around four years now, and things were just amazing!

He bought you little candles, cute room decor, candy, new shoes, pretty rings, necklaces with your initials, and your favorite flowers all wrapped up in pink parchment! He was the best guy friend a girl could ask for, really, but that was a part of the problem.

He was so amazing in ways that other men in your life had never even come close to being before. From remembering little things about your interests to all the many dollars he had spent on spools of plastic for his 3D printer, gifting you elaborate custom-made plastic trinkets and “forever flowers,” as he liked to call them.

He was smart, funny, witty, and left your mind melting in his wake every time he graced your mornings with a random Starbucks order for you to try. Now perfect is high praise, because everyone has their flaws, but if you had to use the word for anybody it’d be him.

There was no way in the world Luigi had his eyes set on you when there were thousands, hell, millions of women out there that could perfectly complete his complex puzzle of a mind. You weren’t dumb or dull by any means, but there were just better options for your best friend.

It’s fine, really. Not sentimental at all, no no really.

“What are you doing this weekend, by the way?” Luigi asked, his voice cutting through the amalgamation of crazed screams in your mind.

You thought, your lips pursed together in a lopsided pout as you flipped through the mental pages of your planner, each page containing some sort of mental note or red ink until you reached this weekend. Free on Saturday, but only after ten in the morning.

“I’m free this Saturday, but I have to drop a friend from college off at the airport. She’s moving to Kansas, so I should be free any time after, like, ten to ten-thirty. Why?” You asked, your attention suddenly being grabbed by a community garden just up ahead full of pretty pink peonies and daffodils.

He watched as your eyes locked onto the garden and its floral inhabitants. He smiled his usual boyish grin, letting go of your arm momentarily to jog over to the garden before you got a chance to even process what he was doing.

“Luigi—? Luigi, what are you doing!?” You called, standing up on your tip-toes and calling out to him right in the middle of Twenty-fifth Street.

You saw him duck down, his cocoa brown curls disappearing amongst the plant life and greenery. You crossed your arms, waiting for him on the sidewalk like a puppy owner would wait for their eager little Maltese or Pomeranian to return from their burst of energy.

When that familiar face emerged again, he advanced towards you with a handful of freshly plucked flowers. He placed them in your hand with a particularly girly giggle, gently brushing his fingers across the general petals like he wanted to get a feel for their genetic material.

When he was done fluffing up each bloom, he gently placed a hand at the small of your back in a silent urge for you to keep walking.

“I’m not sure if that was illegal or not, we should probably start walking,” he beamed, a light pink dusting the apples of his cheeks as he felt you lace your arm around his firm one again. “But yeah, uh…what was I saying…Oh, right, I wanted to ask if you wanted to spend the day with me at my house. We’d have to go grocery shopping but it sounds fun…in theory.”

You nodded, an amused chuckle leaving your lips as you scurried down the street with Luigi. By now you neared your humble little home, sandwiched in between two other townhouses composed of bricks of vermilion.

“Yeah, sure! Why not. I’m not paying for groceries though,” you joked, reaching in your sweater pocket for your keys.

“You don’t pay for anything, girl…” he chuckled, his brows furrowing together with amusement.

“Well, you don’t let me!” You giggled, patting yourself down from head to toe before you sighed from the depths of your lungs. You left your keys on the kitchen counter.

“I done left my damn keys in the house,” you huffed, shaking your head as if you were disappointed with your laggy mind.

“That’s fine, I have mine,” Luigi added, reaching in his back pocket and pulling out a set of keys attached to a matte-black key fob, a LittleBigPlanet charm, a little heart charm you gave him two years back, and a Ben & Jerry’s discount pendant.

He plucked the only silver key from the jingly set, gently twisting your front door open with a flick of his wrist and a click of the bottom lock.

“Lock your top lock,” he reminded with no real bite in his tone. He raised his brow slightly, a look of feigned disapproval as you giggled back up at him.

“My hero!” You chirped, throwing your arms around his broad shoulders and pretending to swoon over his large muscles. “What would I ever do without you!”

“Stop it,” he chuckled, his sharp canines glimmering in the early afternoon sunlight as your feet hit the ground again. “Get in your house, go.”

You laughed, squishing his muscles one more time before he manually removed your hand from his bicep and turned you around, giving you a playful smack on the behind that sent you yelping into giggles in the doorframe.

“Bye, Luigi,” you mused, leaning against the white archway of your home with a satisfied and impish smile. He chuckled along with you, clipping his keys on his jeans belt loop as he leaned on the opposite side of the door frame.

“Goodbye, culona,” he chuckled, gently pulling your front door closed. “Lock your top lock!”

You smiled, locking both your top and bottom locks following Luigi’s gentle reminder to make sure you’re completely safe when home alone. Once you were sure your door was properly locked, you kicked off your shoes and raced upstairs to your warm and inviting bed.

You stared at the many Polaroids on your white walls; some of them from college or high school, most of them stemming from your solo trips or memories with Luigi. From jumping off of cliffs in Thailand to stuffing each other inside ridiculously small spaces to see how far the other's bones could bend before giving clear warnings of discomfort.

He was the best friend you’ve ever had in a long long time, and you didn’t want to be stupid and jeopardize that. So rather than perusing any sort of connection with Luigi— as tantalizing and coveted as he was.

You sighed, the air rushing in through your nostrils and drying up your mouth as you exhaled. As the tasteless carbon left your lungs, the bitter flavor of unrequited love bit your tongue, the iron taste of heartbreak bringing you back to your sad little senses.

But it’s fine…he’s still around, and after a while, the feelings will gradually fade into sparkles of humor that you’ll be able to sprinkle into daily conversations. A mere powder amongst the storm of dust you would ultimately face later in life— something to laugh about later, and nothing more.

But for now, that wasn’t the main concern. Your goal of the hour was to get your outside clothes off your bed, take a shower, and catch up on some new shows you had been meaning to watch for a while now.

You slipped out of your jeans and top, unclasping the sharp and satanic teeth of your bra and flinging it somewhere around your room before donning a nice soft sweater and shorts. The gentle fleece kissed your skin, bathing you in endless amounts of comfort compared to the cheap polyester-printed textile of some SHEIN shirt you had put on earlier.

You spent the rest of your afternoon through the late evening doing house chores. Folding laundry, doing dishes, sweeping the living room, cleaning yours, and finally getting around to organizing your dresser.

When the house radiated Pine Sol and the scent of Yankee Candle’s Soft Blanket, you took a deep sigh before deciding to take a scalding everything shower that would leave your vision impaired for the next hour. Shave, exfoliate, wash, deep condition, rinse, wash, rinse.

And just like you assumed you would, you stumbled out of the shower lightheaded and dehydrated after battling the demons of self-care. Your baby hairs clung to your forehead, a hot and humid reminder of the war you had won as you wobbled out of the bathroom to slather on some warm vanilla lotion.

You lathered the silky oils across your limbs and soft stomach, sliding on a matching set of blue and white pajamas before settling down at your vanity to do your skincare. No sooner than you sat down, your phone began to ring and chime with your set ringtone for Luigi.

You propped your phone up against the mirror, answering his slightly untimely call as you dabbed gentle amounts of your Curology on your face. “Hey, Lui!”

“Hi pretty,” he sighed, drowsiness evident in his tone. 

His face was partially buried in his plush-looking pillow, a singular eye fought to stay open so he could see you on FaceTime. He watched as you slathered your skin shiny with products, serums, eye patches, and deep-moisturizing creams as you smiled at his little comment.

“I literally look like raggedy-Ann and you’re still calling me pretty. You’re too kind,” you chuckled, placing two green brightening eye patches under your eyes. “What’s up?”

“You do…not look raggedy, trust me,” he murmured, a sound that bridged between a scoff and a short chuckle from the front of his tongue. “But I didn’t want anything, I just missed you.”

“Luigi, you just saw me like…five hours ago!” you giggled, checking the time on your metallic alarm clock. “You’re literally gonna see me again in, like, twelve hours.”

“Yeah but I miss you” he frowned, sitting up so his back rested against the black wooden frame of his headboard. “You’ve been gone way too long.”

“Luigi you’re being a baby” you chuckled, placing all your cosmetics, cleansers, and containers in their respective places before grabbing your phone off the vanity and crossing the short distance to your bed.

“See, why are you being mean to me? I call you to say how much I love and miss you and you kick me to the streets?” He joked, his words enunciated by a quirk of his bushy brow.

“I’m not kicking you to the streets, I’m pointing out that you’re being a clingy little pissrat,” you teased, widening your eyes at the camera in faux shock.

“Pissrat is crazy…” he chuckled, a low sigh that drawled from the back of his throat and left his mouth a little drier than before.

You chattered back and forth on FaceTime until about four in the morning, and soon, the daunting revelation that you’d have to be up and out of bed to drive over thirty minutes to the airport and back washed over your brain like cold rainfall. You groaned, throwing your head back in near-violent regret before you exhaled from your nose.

“Are you okay? Hello?” Luigi asked, his brows furrowing together as an expression of slight fear and confusion donned his face. In an effort to placate you, he waved a single hand up and down at the camera in a little “calm down” motion.

“I’m fine, I just didn’t realize it was like…four in the morning. I have to be up in like two hours,” you whined, your eyes screwing shut as you accepted the somnolent fate that awaited you in just a few hours.

“Then get some sleep! Cuz then I have to deal with you in the morning, and you’re gonna be all cranky and irritated, then I’m gonna have to leave you outside…” he sighed, running a hand over his face to mimic genuine distress.

“So charming,” you huffed, flipping him off as your face buried itself into your pillows.

“I charm you every day, you just don’t know it,” he smiled, rolling his eyes in the most disgustingly flamboyant way his muscles could muster. It almost made you gag, both literally and metaphorically.

“Ew, sassy sergeant…” you huffed, flipping him off before blowing air kisses at the camera. “Goodnight!! I’ll see you in like…a couple of hours”

“Goodnight, pretty” he yawned, waving at the camera as his head leaned back against his headboard, the tanned column of his neck on full display.

You chuckled, taking a very obvious FaceTime photo before hanging up and giggling into your pillow. His face was so gorgeous— deep dark cosmos and stardust swam through his eyes, swirling with adoration that could kill you if you got too close.

And when your eyes fluttered shut you dreamed about him and his gentle chivalry. If gallantry was dead, then Luigi would be the very spark of electricity that rose from the ashes.

Sculpted by the clay-sodden hands of a helpless god, desperate to create one last reminder of courtliness in the dawn of decadency. Luigi, the ever-iridescent emerald buried deep in the sediment that aged and preserved his quality, birthing the emerald of Venus— a manifestation of her saintly love.

The slow pattern of your gentle breathing filled the room and slumber soothed the lingering anxiety that sneered and taunted your conscious. In the land of dreams and painless drift, there was nothing that could disturb your mind.

Except for an alarm clock.

The noise was loud, piercing, and obnoxious as your eyes just barely rose, a slow and undead hand reached out for your phone to press the big orange stop button on your phone. With a heavy and half-dead sigh, you arose from your cozy little coffin of a bed and stalked your way to your bathroom to get ready for the morning.

Hot shower, toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush, edge brush, and a little bit of warm vanilla perfume were all it took to jumpstart your morning. You grabbed your keys and tossed on some pretty pale blue jeans and a brown zip-up hoodie over a white crop top before you wiggled out the door and headed to your car.

In just a couple of hours, your best friend would be pushing you around a cold supermarket while your limbs dangled out of a near-filthy shopping trolley as you mindlessly knocked things off the shelf that would come crashing on top of you.

The casual intimacy of it was almost domestic— it was like shopping with your life-long partner. The few times you had shopped with him before had usually ended up with you eating ingredients with him on his couch while he word vomited about the nutritional value of the different kinds of snacks you had bought.

But you focused on the now, helping your cousin load her bags into your trunk right after you pulled into her driveway. When you finished, you dusted your hands off on your thighs and shut the trunk with a heavy thud before checking your phone after ignoring it ever since you silenced your alarm.

mario💚

‘ Good morning <3 Have fun driving your cousin. Tell her I said hi! Btw I think we’re gonna go to Whole Foods. ‘

You giggled to yourself, hearting the message before shoving your phone into your back pocket to climb in the front seat. 

“Ooh, who got you smiling like that? Is it Luigi?” She asked, poking at your shoulder with a giddy grin.

“Chill, chill…Maybe,” you chuckled, pulling back out of the driveway a little messier than you would have liked to admit.

“Aw shit…we’re gonna crash and we ain’t even make it on the road yet. Lord take us, on her soul we ready,” She teased, throwing her hands halfway up in faux prayer.

“I should’ve left you in the house, on YOUR soul,” you fired back, a half-hidden smirk clawing its way to your face as you set your GPS.

“Didn’t you go to one of those fuck ass frat parties with him a couple years ago?” She asked, pulling out her mascara wand from her purse and touching up her lashes.

“Yeah, it was lowkey trash…like there was no personal space and music was shit. But I was really drunk so it got better,” you nodded, tossing on the radio to hopefully divert her attention from your best friend to something different.

“Man, if y'all don’t get married already,” she huffed, slamming the black mascara closed like the idea of your unattached state irritated her— skin-deep.

“He’s definitely not into me, but go off,” you chuckled, shaking your head at the childish fable she just proposed.

She stared at you, sharp from the corners of her eyes before a small scoff pushed past her lips. “A’ight, girl, whatever you say…”

The rest of the ride was spent jabbering about different topics before it was time to say your goodbyes, watching her disappear behind the glassy doors of the airport. After you confirmed that she had gotten situated inside, you took some time to text Luigi back.

“good morning ! :) omw rn just dropped her off. She says hey”

- Loved by Mario💚

You spent roughly forty-five minutes in your car, driving all the way from the airport over to Luigi’s with your music at a comfortable volume. You barely even had time to pull into a parking spot before the front door slowly came open to reveal your best friend twirling his keys around his pointer finger.

He waved, his sculpted arm flailing with excitement as you pulled up next to his house. You waved back, eagerly scrambling out of the car with a huge grin.

“Lu!” You beamed, jogging over to where he stood on his front porch and giving him a rather grand hug.

“Hi, pretty,” he squeaked, his strong arms wrapping around the small of your back and squeezing you into oblivion. Your sneakers dangled above the pavement, a shocked little chuckle rushing from your lips before he sat you back down on the ground.

“Alright, let’s go to Whole Foods, you can pick out some stuff too. I’ll pay” he smiled, making his way to his car with a very jolly pep in his step.

“I’ve never seen a man so excited about groceries,” you murmured, giggling at his little wiggly walk.

“No, I’m just really excited to see the most beautiful woman in the world,” he smiled, opening the passenger door for you with a boyish glint in his eye.

“Oh stop, I’m not paying for your groceries, Luigi,” you chuckled, giving him a shy smile before climbing into the passenger seat.

“No, that’s not what— oh you’re so…” he chuckled before closing your door oh so gently.

I mean, it wasn’t like his flirting was any type of concealed. He was trying everything! Italian nicknames, food, chivalry, casual compliments, everything!

But you just…didn’t notice. Sigh.

The ride to the grocery store was full of giggles, friendly flirting, and little side remarks about Luigi’s shitty driving skills— those for which he blamed your presence.

“I can’t help it! You keep laughing, and it’s making the car swerve. Siren song…all your fault,” he tutted, shaking his head in faux disapproval.

“I don’t know man…I think you just can’t drive. Might be because you’re Italian,” you joked.

“Okay racism, go off girl!” He beamed, snapping a very homosexual finger with a little face you could only categorize as flamboyant ferocity.

“Mamma Mia!” You sighed, shaking your head in feigned resignation.

“I will crash this car, don’t play with me,” he teased. 

“Shocked you haven’t already,” you sighed.

When you reached Whole Foods, you practically bolted out of the car as you charged to find a big shopping trolley that you’d make Luigi push you around in. You hopped over the thin metal bars, the cart clattering underneath you as you boarded it with near-lethal aggression.

“See, look. Crashing carts and all you did was sit down. Lord, take her, she’s ready,” he joked, his hands wrapping around the handle and pushing you into the store as you shifted your limbs to accommodate for the tiny space.

He pushed you through each aisle, letting you lean over and sweep things into the trolley with little regard for what you were even picking. Mango ice cream, tortilla chips, some fancy goat's cheese, pocky, and a bunch of cherry turnovers with golden brown puff pastry. 

The various snacks and ingredients began to pile on top of you, your midriff and bust while Luigi read off his little grocery list on his phone. He paused, looking down at you before giggling quietly, bonking your head with a blue box of fettuccine.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he giggled, pinching the bridge of your nose with his middle knuckles on his pointer and middle finger. “I think we got everything…I see you got yourself some snacks…” he mused, his eyes widening slightly.

“I had a moment,” you said, clutching a brown bag of lime tortilla chips that crinkled and crunched under the pressure from your arms.

“I see” he chuckled, pushing you over to check out and ringing everything up— freeing you from your crunchy cage of various kinds of sustenance.

He paid for your things, positioning the four reusable tote bags next to you in the cart as close as he could without squishing you to death. It was more of a task than it would seem, considering the cart was barely big enough to fit all of your being.

But for you, he made it work.

“Alright, let’s go do stupid shit at the house. I think we can try and make like…a vegan cake,” he murmured, rolling you out of the supermarket with an unserious smile.

“Vegan cake? Nah, you were right earlier. Lord, it’s my time, I’m ready,” you sighed, throwing your arms out in feigned disappointment.

“Stop it, vegan food is good for the body and brain,” he murmured, raising a brow at your innocent hatred for his idea of vegan baked goods.

“The only thing that goes into a cake that’s vegan is the flour…yeah nah. We can make vegan parfaits though. Or just eat carrots. Or just not eat?” You smiled.

“Actually, what did you eat today?” He asked, stopping the trolley in front of the car And unloading the bags into the trunk.

“Actually I didn’t eat anything yet,” you hummed, the realization just now setting in as you dangled your calves out of the little cart.

He paused, staring at you with a raised brow like you had just spewed a line of blasphemy. He closed the trunk with a heavy thunk and shook his head before scooping you out of the trolley.

“Yeah, no, that’s not an option…” he chuckled, placing you in front of the passenger seat and pulling open the door for you once again.

You giggled, getting as cozy as you wanted, even propping your heels up on the dashboard. When Luigi found his way to the driver's seat after shutting your door, he tossed a bag containing a cherry turnover at your head with one command.

“Eat. You’re hurting my goddess. You know what that’s called? Blasphemy. Shame on you, depriving a god like that…” he smirked, the engine of his lovely white Toyota Corolla. “How’s your cousin by the way?”

“Oh she’s doing great,” you said in between bites, being extra careful to not get crumbs in Luigi’s car— as eating was something he barely allowed inside of his precious vehicular baby.

“She was a little annoying today though. She said we should get married, but I thought that was weird because we obviously aren’t like that,” you chuckled. “I think she thinks you’re like…in love with me.”

He sighed, long and heavy from the depths of his lungs, his forehead resting on the black and slightly worn leather of the steering wheel as his hands gripped its top. You expected him to be annoyed for you, to pop his head back up and say something that would refute the claim with an uncomfortable chuckle.

“Alright, come on,” he groaned, his head now gently hitting against the steering wheel before he turned to look at you again with furrowed brows and a clenched jaw.

“Am I not your type? Am I too clingy? What is it, love,” he sighed. Wait what? Is he acting…? What is he talking about right now?

“Wait what…Luigi, what are you talking about?” You asked, slowly wrapping up your cherry-tasting pastry back in its plastic.

“Hi! Hello! Look at me, please,” he said, putting the car back in park and cupping your face in his hands. He looked like he was at his breaking point, the blows and slams you had taken to his fragile little heart unknowingly beginning to show on the map of his Sicilian features.

“I love you. So so much. Like, I’ve been trying to throw hints since like twenty-nineteen. I am VERY in love with you, stay with me, now,” he enunciated slowly, letting you mirror his body language as you nodded slowly.

“As we speak I’m letting you eat in my car, knowing it makes my skin crawl! I have a key to your house! You have a key to mine! My call log is literally just you…What is it, please just tell me. Are you not into me? Are you genuinely unaware…?” He whispered, his eyes dangerously close to crossing like he was in physical pain from saying this out loud.

“Oh my god, I had no idea…” You gasped, wrapping both of your hands over Luigi’s wrists, your thumbs flitting over his carpal bones with the gentleness of a newborn swan with their eyes freshly open to perceive the colors around them.

He sighed, a self-pitying chuckle tumbling from his lips before he began squishing and pinching your cheeks. You weren’t sure if it was to self-soothe, or if this was his alternative for shaking you senseless.

“Okay…This is me formally asking. May I have the honor of being your boyfriend?” He asked, a tired smile on his face as he gave you a half-nod.

“Of course, Lu,” you laughed, kissing the tip of his nose with a bright smile.

“Oh thank fuck, I was gonna cry,” he sighed, kissing your squished-up cheeks before settling back in the driver's seat.

And after he pulled out of the driveway of Whole Foods, his cheeks tinted cherry with a fine dusting at the tip of his nose, he could rest easy knowing that he was finally out of the friendzone.

Ignorance is bliss, and you were one blissful woman.

Taglist is coming <3

[juvinadelgreko]

adding to this as a Late To The Party queer person who also just reread TRC:

i second everything in this post. it took me nearly 2 decades to realize i wasn’t into men. looking back on my life, i attribute this largely to the fact that i was way too busy being a Gifted Kid ™️ who also played elite sports and barely had time to eat, let alone consider my own identity.

those things were always true about me: i just didn’t see them for what they were until i actually had time for myself, got out into the world and had experiences that showed me those things.

i was into women the entire time. but until i actually met another queer woman, it never occurred to me that there was any explanation for what i felt beyond “this girl is my friend. that’s why i like her so much.”

i was never into men. but until i actually tried to kiss one and hated it it never occurred to me that there might’ve been an explanation for my lack of interest in them besides “i’m very busy playing elite junior sports and carrying a full ap course load.”

so it doesn’t at all surprise me that in the midst of working 3 jobs, dealing with abusive father, striking a bargain with a magical sentient forest, hunting for a dead welsh king, AND going to school, adam parrish didn’t exactly have a minute to consider that maybe he liked ronan’s attention for other reasons.

adam tells us straight up that he enjoys ronan’s crush because it makes him feel worthy of admiration—and he’d never felt admired that way before. that’s a far more plausible explanation than “i am also queer.” and while it probably does account for some of his feelings, adam Does Not Have The Time to look at it any closer. he’s literally being possessed while he tries to finish his senior year of high school!

then ronan kisses him, and he likes it???? what?? i think many queer people have this moment, where we can pinpoint the exact moment that we realized we’d been in denial the whole time, or just hadn’t been able to see the whole truth. because before an actual kiss, there were reasonably plausible heterosexual explanations for everything we’d felt prior. it’s not until something happens for which there is no heterosexual explanation that we start to go hm. perhaps i missing something.

this happened to alex in rwrb. he could easily explain away his obsession with henry by telling himself and everyone else that he hated henry because he was snobby and british and had been annoying to him one time. why would alex look any closer at this scenario? his mother, the POTUS, is fighting for re-election against a very conservative candidate. she doesn’t need her son to be queer. then henry kisses him, he likes it, and there is no heterosexual explanation for that.

and of course, as we said, with adam. he was able to explain away enjoying ronan’s crush, had no desire to examine his feelings any further because of Life ™️, and then suddenly he’s making out with ronan and he likes it and oh wait there’s no heterosexual explanation for this!

so yeah. it makes a lot of sense. queer people under a great deal of outside pressure usually take a minute to realize they’re queer. something has to happen to trip the wires. it’s kind of sad but very true. re-reading trc, i’m actually really impressed with how maggie wrote adam and ronan’s arc. it’s very much authentic to what a lot of us experience.

there’s a very clear contrast between queer people who grew up in pressure cookers and queer people who grew up affirmed and supported like ronan did. whether he ever came out to his parents or not, ronan was always told he was loved and powerful. so facing his own queerness would’ve been a much easier pill for him to swallow than adam. i imagine he saw declan start flirting with girls, thought “girls? really? ew. no.” and that was that. ronan was gay, there was nothing that could be done to change that, so fuck you if you didn’t like it. but when niall dies and he loses his support system and he has to figure out his powers on his own, dating promptly goes to the bottom of his priority list. that is, until adam. until he has the gangsey as a support system.

TL;DR, it’s very hard to live an authentic an authentic life if all your energy is going towards survival. no shit adam parrish is unknowable. he doesn’t have time to learn.

I’ve been musing on adam’s sexuality and I know some folks feel like he’s been bi the whole time but having just done a deep pynch-focused dive through the books, I actually think adam hadn’t realized that he was into ronan Like That until they kissed. like he obviously knew ronan was into him (and actually, knew ronan was gay since like, the beginning of trb probably), but he had sort of convinced himself that the reason he enjoyed it was vanity/attention. and right before and after the kiss we get the line “adam didn’t understand anything” which feels to me like he hadn’t even comprehended this was a thing he wanted until he was doing it.

and that’s actually a very common queer experience, especially for folks who are interested in multiple genders, especially when they’re young.

so adam, despite wanting to know everything and being the perceptive one, has these increasingly big moments of “I feel like I’m missing some data here” but the data he needed was the actual experience of kissing ronan/making the conscious decision to kiss ronan again and THEN he has his eureka moment. And he can look back at the moments where he found his Latin teacher hot, or when he put a picture of an attractive man in his glove box and realize he was bi the whole time.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

“If Chloe caused Marinette’s trauma, then why they’ve United to humiliate Kagami in “Animaestro”?

To be fair, I’ve read a post which was written a long time ago where one user said that Marinette uniting with Chloe to do the same things to Kagami that Chloe was doing to Marinette for years was Out Of Character for her. And this was before the first draft of infamous “Derision” was ever written…

Two things can be true at once. You can criticize Animaestro in the context canon has put it in while also agreeing that it and Derision don't fit the narrative and basically have to be discarded to make any sense of canon. I take both of these stances and will happily explain them.

If Derision was "always the plan," then Animaestro's writing choices make the writers look extra terrible as it means that they had no issues making their lead put another person through the same kind of traumatizing humiliation that she'd gone through herself. Even worse, Marinette inflicts that trauma by willing joining up with the instigator of her own trauma, never once stopping to wonder if this is too far. She's too obsessed with her crush to care about another person's suffering. It's perfectly reasonable to look at these two moments and come away hating her. It's even reasonable to just hate her after Animaestro. That wasn't a good look.

Even if Derision wasn't always the plan, the writers still wrote it after writing Animaestro, not caring how that choice would effect people's view of Marinette's actions. It's not reasonable to expect your audience to disregard one episode in favor of another. People aren't being unfair for taking these two episodes at face value.

If you want to tell a good story, you have to own what you've already written and allow that to limit what ideas work for your story no matter how good they are in a vacuum. Animaestro and Derision are just generally a bad episodes, but they should never coexist unless Marinette is supposed to be seen as a bad person OR Marinette is getting a complex arc around overcoming her trauma and Adrien obsession. It is perfectly fair to ask why we're not getting either of those since the writers chose to make all of this mess canon.

However, I also agree that Marinette's actions in Animaestro are just generally not suited to her character. The show did a terrible job of writing Marinette and Kagami's cat fight over Adrien. Because every conflict had to be established and resolved in 20-minutes or less, Marinette was constantly coming up with random petty, unflattering, and downright insane takes on Kagami. It made Marinette come across like a total mean girl in several season three episodes which sucks when you consider the way the conflict was played in season two. Episodes like Frozer allowed Marinette to have a good balance of jealously and being a good person making her feel realistic, but not a petty mean girl.

In Frozer, Marinette sent Adrigami on a date to the ice rink and went along to help Adrien even though her girl friends told her to back out:

Alya: This is gonna be your worst mess up in history. You have got to get yourself out of this right now. Ideas girls! Quick! Alix: Tell him you'd already promised to hang with your GFs. Rose: Maybe you got lost on the way over? Juleka: Maybe you're gonna go to a concert? Mylène: You had to finish an essay on Periwinkle's migration. Marinette: Actually, girls... I don't think I want to cancel. All Girls: Huh? Marinette: Adrien really needs me and if he wants my advice then why not? After all, it's not an issue and I'm definitely not jealous because... Rose: Because you two love each other. Marinette: Because there's nothing between us. (looks down sadly) Alya: What do you mean nothing between you? Mylène: There's everything between you, actually. Marinette: I always jumble my words around him. So how could I even manage going out on a date? I think we're actually just meant to be friends. Whenever I talk to him as a friend, I hardly stammer at all. That's a sign right there. Right?

And when they were at the rink, Marinette gave Adrien actual good advice:

Adrien: I don't know what to do about Kagami. Should I offer to hold her hand? Marinette: You have to let her fall. Adrien: Huh? Marinette: No, what I actually meant was that you cannot let her fall in any way. I mean, do whatever you can so that she doesn't fall.

If you have to include a petty fight over a boy, this a decent way to do it. Show Marinette struggling, but ultimately doing the right thing. Acknowledge the temptation to sabotage the date, but let her be a good person in the end. Don't go the Animaestro route which makes Marinette come across as both awful and delusional:

Marinette: I'm not too sure about this. Chloé: Fine! Keep on not being sure about it and tomorrow, Adrien and Kagami will be on a plane headed for Japan! Marinette: Adrien? Japan? There's no way! Chloé: You think? They're already going to the movies together, their parents are signing papers together. (camera zooms in on Mrs. Tsurugi in the background, stamping a document with her signature) Marinette: (imagines Adrien and Kagami on a plane and dancing with kimonos on) We can't let her do that!

The fact that Marinette agrees to sabotage Kagami could be overlooked if she stopped herself before actually doing anything. We all have bad moments. But she doesn't stop. She spends a good chunk of the episode working with Chloé and there is no defense for that. Marinette is absolutely in the wrong here.

We can acknowledge that while also acknowledging that Marinette's actions also don't make any sense in the same timeline as Frozer which happened a full season before Animaestro. In both episodes, Adrien is on a date with Kagami. Why is Marinette willing to be the better person in one situation and not the other? What changed? Why was she better on an actual date than she was on what is arguably a friend-date where Adrien is just being Kagami's escort? Why was Marinette able to push aside her friends telling her to bail on date one - reasonable advice - while being totally susceptible to Chloé's insane advice that they should sabotage date two?

There is no in-universe answer and that's why I'm willing to agree that this episode just generally shouldn't exist. It adds nothing to the story and is a poor choice when you look at where this plot started and where it ends. We go from supportive Marinette in Frozer to sabotaging Marinette in Animaestro to supportive Marinette in Hearhunter, which has Marinette once again supporting Adrigami on a date:

André: Which flavors for these two? [Kagami and Adrien] Orange and peppermint, a perfect pairing that's always a success; nothing can turn it into a mess. And for you two [Adrien and Marinette] blackberry and peppermint, an explosive mix that's a fact but often times it's the opposites that attract. Orange and blackberry, quite unusual it's true not the most obvious but it works for you two. So what will it be? Kagami: You pick. I don't really get what he's saying anyway. Adrien: Yeah, you pick, Marinette. We trust you. Marinette: Can't you find a blend for the three of us? André: I can, but too many flavors mixed together may throw off the delicate balance. Marinette: I don't know. Blackberry and peppermint doesn't seem like a great pair. And what if the mint finds the blackberry lame and wants to be with the orange instead? And it's true that orange and peppermint are awesome together and well orange and blackberry just doesn't seem like they go together. (looks at Kagami and Adrien together, walks up to André) Look I think your first idea was the best. The orange and peppermint ice cream for.. for my friends here. André (concerned) Are you sure Marinette? (she nods, Adrien approaches cart) Marinette (walks away and speaks to Kagami) I'm gonna head back to the palace. I told my parents I'd bring them back those cocktail umbrellas.

And, yes, Marinette does mess up the date by getting Kagami to help in the day's akuma fight, but that's way more in line with her Frozer behavior than her Animaestro behavior because it's not petty jealousy. Marinette didn't come up with a way to mess up the date. She was going to let it happen until the akuma attack, which had already messed up the date anyway. That's a far more complex and nuanced way to play the conflict. It's not the actions of a mean girl. Where did Animaestro-Marinette go?

The only way to make Animaestro fit in a functional character arc is to have to come at the start. You don't put an episode like this or Ikari Gozen after Frozer. That's just bad writing. I'd even argue that Animaestro is a bad fit in general because you don't need to take Marinette that far to give her a solid arc around "sisters before misters."

While Ikari Gozen has its own issues, it has Marinette being more avoidant than mean, which is about as far as I'd take her. There is no reason to make her sink to Chloé's level. It just makes Marinette look bad for no good reason, especially when Chloé is right there, able to take the villain role on her own! It's glaringly obvious that this episode only plays the way it does because of the stupid "Marinette must always do something wrong" rule and not because of some greater story reason. Without that rule, Animaestro could have been a perfectly fine episode where Chloé acted on her own, leading Marinette to realize how bad it is to let jealousy drive your actions, which would have been a wonderful lesson!

The "Marinette's character has to be warped so she's always in the wrong" rule is why I can get pretty defensive of Marinette. It's not that I think her actions are okay, they're often 100% not, they're just also clearly writing issues and not intentional character beats. I'd feel very different if Marinette's worst moments were ongoing flaws or part of a character arc, but they're not. They're generally one-off moments that could be removed from the story and no one would notice. Marinette doesn't even learn anything in Animaestro!!! She never apologizes for what she did or anything like that. The best we get is:

Marinette: I promise I'll never take Chloé's advice again!

Which is not the right lesson here!!! Everything about this episode is so frustrating! Marinette should be able learn lessons without having to be the one to mess up, damn it!

[tricoloreddango]

Phainon with chubby reader headcanons

contents: female reader / fluff and smut / insecurity and comfort / possessiveness / protectiveness / clingy behavior / mentions of marriage / riding / oral fem receiving / 69 position / cockwarming / soft and rough sex / service dom / period sex / aftercare / not suitable for minors

[Mydei version] [back to m.list]

SFW

—You are constantly made to be flustered. No, he won’t spare you any compliments, making sure they’re as poetic and detailed as possible. He’ll go as far as telling you how much he’d worship a statue made in the image of your body, leaving offerings for his ‘goddess’. But even if he can’t sculpt, he’ll gladly paint you if you give him a permission.

—Phainon wasn’t afraid to be constantly touching you, enjoying the physicality of you under his palms; being in public never stopped him from touching you either—he was just more subtle about it. He didn’t mean anything naughty (unless in a right setting), he just liked the fact you were there with him. Having your hip stroked or your waist wrapped with his arm, or even sleeping with his hand under your clothes just to feel your warmth was an everyday thing.

—Whenever you feel insecure, he’s not the one to just say “nah, don’t worry” and some compliment. He much preferred to get to the bottom of your insecurity and talk you through it until you no longer feel as if it was that bad—no matter how many times it takes you to fully solidify the fact in your head.

—Let him buy pretty or flattering clothes for you. One on hand, he didn’t like others having a clear view of your body; on the other hand, he wanted your shape to be enhanced and decorated—especially for others to agree with him that he’s indeed a lucky man.

—Phainon loved to take you to swimming sessions, somewhere by more isolated pools. His favorite part was you lying next to him on the blanket, the sun warming your skin, your body in a swimsuit and him having an excuse to spread open kisses onto your uncovered skin. You’ll make his heart flutter a lot if you giggle happily.

—Please let him rest on your stomach. He really liked taking a nap with him between your thighs, wanting an occasion to feel your soft body under him. You probably will feel ticklish with his warm breath teasing your skin, but he’ll fall asleep into a nap very quickly.

—All kinds of bodies were worshipped on Amphoreus, but should anyone end up spilling unpleasantries for your ears to hear you’ll have nothing to worry about. He’ll make sure to call out this person, not afraid to embarrass them in public either.

—Did I mention how clingy he is? On top of that, you’ll hear “I love you” on every occasion possible.

—Phainon knew you two should get to know each other well first. However, the ideas of marriage will fill his head rather quickly just in the beginning of your relationship… simply because he had feelings for you a long time before, and probably chased you for just as long.

—Teasing was just a big part of his personality. That’s why he liked to act like he’s your husband already, with that being done in front of others (it’s beneficial to him anyway, as no other man will think you’re an option anymore). Other form tease came from his touch you in small amounts throughout the day, just to get bit breathy and thinking of him.

Not to mention asking things such as “and who’s this pretty girl, huh?” or “what would you do if I was to kiss you all of the sudden?”—all whispered right into your ear, leaving him with a satisfied flicker in his eyes at your provoked tremble.

NSFW:

—He’ll set any warm and fuzzy setting you wish to have. Candles, essential oils, massage oil? You’ve got it. Sex wasn’t some mindless or animalistic ritual to him. He wasn’t using you, he was making love to you.

—You’re being fondled everywhere and I mean everywhere. He’ll become a whiny creature if he has to separate his hands from your body for even a second. It’s like during the day where he can’t keep his hands away from you, with a difference that this time it’s done in a really desperate and erotic way.

—He loved when you get on top of him. Any weight was enough for him to handle; he loved to see your beautiful body being exposed when you were sitting on him. He’ll squeeze and knead your flesh, while spilling out praises and encouragements.

—Every part of you was sweet, that’s why your pussy was no different. Phainon couldn’t get enough of eating you out on everyday basis, sometimes even stopping you in the middle of something just to drop down on his knees to pleasure you. You’re cooking? Great, turn off the stove for a moment and turn around to face him, before you spread your legs for him to sit between. It will be a perfect argument for him to touch and feel your thick thighs.

—69 position was arguably one of the best in his humble opinion. He could feel the weight of your body, the flesh of your chub against him on the bed; while you both exchange the beautiful act of mouthy-pleasuring like two true lovers. He’d service you anyway, yet he adored you wanting to make him feel good as well. Really, you were growing more and more lovable to Phainon everyday.

—Another perfect position was you both on your sides, with him either behind you or in front of you. He’ll hold you regardless, wanting sex to be something more than just fucking. He craved the intimacy with you… which of course didn’t mean he didn’t get rough with you occasionally, especially if he stared at you throughout the day than usual and needed to release his tension.

—Romantic gestures didn’t have to be cliche. One of his idea was you cockwarming him to sleep, in case cuddling wasn’t enough.

—Forgive him if he sometimes sounds too loud (high pitched even) or if he squeezes your hand too tightly (an intimate gesture he couldn’t deny himself of). It’s just that every time you laid each other on your shared bed, he was becoming a man thirsty, desperate and weaker than ever…. you’ll kill him too if you choose to be same amount of loud or squeeze violently around his cock. Perhaps you’ll force loud vulgar words from his mouth as well.

—He didn’t care if you or someone else found it nasty, he wouldn’t mind sleeping with you during your bleeding. It’s just a matter of placing a towel under you for him. He’ll gladly help you with your cramps by pushing orgasms out of you, and the fact you’d let him trust with your body even on your vulnerable time of the month made him feel a step closer to you. It’s just another way of him fully accepting you.

—Aftercare was as intense as possible. You need water? He’s already on his way. A towel was ready next to the bed. If you feel cold, he’ll keep you warm or help you dress up. Any soreness you had, he’ll gladly massage (and feel your plumpness with that). Not to mention all the pretty praises you’ll hear, even through your ears ringing post-orgasm.

[stardustrebels]

More of You- Chapter 8

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

WC: 2.3k Rating: 18+ for eventual smut, MDNI Series Masterlist | Blog Masterlist Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Tags: No outbreak!AU. Coffee shop meet-cute with a slow-ish burn. Sickly sweet fluff, some angst and eventual smut. Joel is 42, reader is mid 30s. Sarah is 19. No use of Y/N, minimal descriptions of reader. She has hair long enough to tie back, wears skirts and dresses, blushes and wears makeup.

A/N: Soft, sweet, domesticated girl dad Joel is my favourite type of Joel. This chapter gave me the warm fuzzies, and was so much fun to write, despite life really getting in the way while I was trying to write it. I hope you enjoy!

You’d barely made it through the door that day when your phone had buzzed; Joel making sure you made it home okay. You texted on and off that first day, insides swooping whenever his name popped up on the screen, biting your lip to keep from grinning too hard. 

The smile that filled his face the next morning when he saw you waiting for him outside Harrison’s made your stomach flip. He greeted you with a low “hey, darlin’”, and a gentle touch to your arm before he opened the door for you to walk through. When you suggested taking your coffees to go for a walk, he agreed on the condition that you let him pay for them. 

You caught a glimpse of a photo of a little girl pasted inside his wallet. She looked no older than seven, little face grinning from the middle of a mass of wild curls, clutching the stick of a huge toffee apple between mittens shaped like cats. 

“Cute kid,” you said with a smile, pointing to the photo. Joel glanced down at his wallet and smiled back at you. 

“My daughter, Sarah,” he said. Your surprise must have shown on your face- a sheepish look crossed his features and he snapped his wallet shut and shoved it in to his pocket. 

“She’s nineteen now. Off at college, all grown up.” 

“Oh wow,” you countered, tilting your head and eyeing him curiously. It suddenly struck you that you had no idea how old he was. “You must have had her pretty young?” 

Joel nodded, plucking both coffees from the counter and handing you one. 

When you were back out on the street you both fell in to step together. You thought for a moment that he would change the subject. It would have been easy now that you were outside, but after a sip of coffee and a deep exhale he cleared his throat. 

“I was pretty young when Sarah was born,” he said, fingers tapping against the side of his cup. “Too young to really know what the hell I was doing. Her mom and I… We, um.” He glanced to the sky, as if asking for help from the almighty to explain. He paused and eventually settled on “it’s just been me and Sarah since she was eight.”

You made a ‘hm’ sound and nodded, waiting to see if he would offer up any further information, but he didn’t. You hadn’t expected him to share something so personal so soon, and it seemed like he hadn’t expected it either. 

Since she was eight. You let the words settle between you. Joel had been a single dad for eleven years. That meant eleven years of school runs, birthday parties, scraped knees and tantrums. It meant being the only one to check under the bed for monsters, being the only one she came to when she was sad or scared or angry, late nights when she was sick and there was no one else to take turns with to care for her. Eleven years of making every single decision, and being the one she relied on completely for everything. 

You tilted your head to study him, and fully understood the reason behind the underlying exhaustion on his face for the first time. It was the kind of tired that never really went away, the kind that came from years of putting someone else first. On top of all of that, he looked worried. Worried that now he’d admitted his past, you’d reject anything to do with him because of it. You were surprised, but it wasn’t in a bad way. Something deep in your chest ached for him, but he didn’t seem like the kind of man who would want your pity. 

“What’s she studying?” You said casually, before taking a sip of coffee. 

“Huh?” 

“Sarah,” you clarified, “at college. What’s she studying?”

Relief changed Joel’s whole demeanour in an instant; he lifted his head and straightened his shoulders. The way his face lit up was so endearing.

He told you all about Sarah’s sports scholarship in Dallas, that she wants to be a physiotherapist, has been dead-set on it since she was little, that she knew she couldn’t play soccer forever, but still wanted to be around it. How hard she worked to get in to college, how he’d made sure that she never missed a soccer game no matter how busy or tired they’d been over the years. You grinned while you watched him talk about her, about how proud he was of her, and how he’d supported her through the years. Your chest swelled at how simply he said it, like there wasn’t even an alternative in his mind. 

You beamed at him, “It sounds like you’re a great dad, Joel. Sarah’s really lucky.” 

He shrugged, trying to hide a blush. “I’m the lucky one, she’s a great kid.” He looked down at the lid of his cup, fingers dancing around the edge of the plastic. “I miss her.” He admitted after a beat. 

If this man got any sweeter, you were going to scream. 

Joel cleared his throat and changed the subject, asking how your work was going and whether you’d caught up after your time away. He didn’t offer up any more information about Sarah’s mom, and you didn’t ask.

You’d been talking about music as you wandered for the last half hour, and it turned out you had very similar tastes. Every time one of you mentioned a favourite artist or album, the other would light up in recognition, unearthing little snippets of common ground. Joel told you all about the guitars he planned to build when he had some free time, the kind of wood he liked to use, the care that went in to shaping the body just right, the satisfaction of stringing it for the first time and hearing it sing. It made you wish you’d stuck with music a little longer, if only to understand that feeling. You told him all about the failed music lessons you’d taken as a kid, and your trial-and-error approach to creative pursuits through the years until you’d found one that really spoke to you. 

The conversation kept flowing as naturally as it had from the start as you dipped between little stories from your lives, getting to know one another in the best way. You’d both agreed to do a loop of the park before heading back; your coffee was long gone but it seemed that neither of you were keen to part ways. 

By the time you walked through the park gates, you were walking so closely together that your fingers kept brushing against his. Each time it happened it felt as though sparks were jolting up your arm. 

You figured you could easily close the last little space between you and slip your hand into his. The thought crossed your mind more than once and your fingers twitched with the want to try. But you didn’t. Because that would mean acknowledging that you were drawn to this man whether you wanted to be or not. 

And then Joel’s pinky curled around yours. Hesitantly, like he was feeling the same pull and trying to meet you halfway. Your stomach swooped as you glanced down at where your fingers were joined and let out a tiny, surprised huff. 

Maybe, just this time, you could accept something sweet and not overthink it. So you did. 

Slowly, you turned your hand and laced your fingers properly with his. His skin was calloused but warm, and his hold was gentle, as though giving you the opportunity to pull away. You tightened your grip and glanced up at him, watching his expression shift from surprise to something soft, filled with fondness. He exhaled, a little shaky as you both fell in to step again. 

“I was wonderin’,” he started, his thumb tracing idle strokes over your knuckles. “Whether you’d want to go out sometime?” 

“Yeah, I’d like that,” you said, covering your sudden breathlessness with a laugh, “We could maybe even go somewhere that isn’t a coffee shop.” 

Joel looked down at you and chuckled. “I ‘spose we could,” he said, squeezing your hand playfully. “How about I take you out to dinner?” 

You grinned and squeezed his back. “Dinner sounds great.”

He nodded, looking relieved, although he hesitated for a beat, as if weighing his next words. 

“And, uh, I got these tickets,” he said, glancing over at you, “to a gallery openin’ down town. Wondered if you’d wanna go with me?” 

Your brows lifted in surprise. “A gallery opening?” 

Joel nodded, “Yeah. My firm worked on the place, so they sent me an invitation. Figured it might be somethin’ you’d like.” 

It was such a thoughtful gesture it made your knees weak. 

“I really would like that.” you said, trying to hold back your excitement. 

You used the fountain in the park as your turning point for heading back the way you’d come and you revelled in the fact that Joel seemed like he was letting himself relax a little into this - into you. 

“So, when is this big fancy gallery opening?” You asked, 

“Friday night,” he said, tilting his head and squinting over, “that work for you?” 

You hummed in the affirmative and he said he’d send you a photo of the invite once he got to the office, so you had all the details. 

“I should tell you, I don’t know a ton about art,” he said, nudging his shoulder gently against yours, “I just helped make sure the walls ain’t gonna fall down. You’ll have to help me pretend that I know what I’m talkin’ about.” 

“Oh that’s easy,” you said with a grin, “I learned this at college. All you have to do is stand in front of any painting and nod like you’re having a deep, intellectual experience.” 

Joel smirked. “Yeah? Show me.” 

You dropped his hand and turned dramatically toward an imaginary painting, narrowing your eyes at the hedge by the path, and tilted your head to the side. Then, forcing the smile from your face you nodded and gestured in to thin air before you turned back to him and murmured, “fascinating use of negative space.” 

Joel let out a laugh that made your chest tighten in the best way. 

“Damn,” he said, shooting you a crooked grin, “That’s real good. I’d believe you were an expert.” 

You smirked back at him. “Stick with me, Miller. By the end of the night, people will think you are too.”

Joel exhaled a chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Guess I picked the right date, then.” 

Your stomach did a giddy flip at the word date. 

“Guess you did,” you murmured, letting your fingers lace with his again. 

You finally reached the corner where your paths had to diverge. It was quiet now, the chaos of rush hour had long passed. Joel waved away your concern that he was going to be so late to the office and claimed that there had to be some perks to being the boss. 

When you reluctantly dropped your hand from his, his fingers lingered, ghosting over your palm. A small shiver ran up your spine, and Joel must have noticed because the corner of his mouth quirked up just slightly. He gently pulled you closer, and you let him.

“This okay?” He murmured. 

You barely heard the words over the thump of your heartbeat in your ears. “Yeah,” you breathed.

He hesitated a second longer, his thumb grazing the delicate skin of your wrist. And then, finally, he closed the last of the space between you. 

His lips brushed yours, featherlight at first, careful. Like he expected you to pull away. But the second you leaned in, pressing just the slightest bit closer, he melted in to you with a sigh. His hand left yours and moved to cup your cheek. Your fingers curled into the collar of his jacket, pulling him even closer as you kissed him back, a small moan escaping your throat before you could stop it. Joel moved his other hand to the small of your back, pressing you against him with splayed fingers in a way that made your head spin. A deep groan rumbled in his chest when you swiped your tongue experimentally over his, and you felt his fingers press in to your jaw, urging your mouth open to kiss you deeper. 

He pulled away suddenly, breath uneven and warm against your cheek, matching the rhythm of your own. His nose grazed down yours and he sighed deeply. 

“We should probably stop before I decide I ain’t actually goin’ to work today.” He murmured, eyes glinting as he smiled at you. 

You let out a small laugh, cheeks warm, smoothing his jacket down affectionately. He brushed his thumb against your back a couple of times before letting you go. The absence of his touch after the last hour felt foreign to you now. 

You let your hand linger on his chest and pecked a kiss to the top of the scruff on Joel’s jaw. He closed his eyes, and an almost pained expression flickered across his face when you stepped away from him. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” You asked, suddenly nervous. 

He cleared his throat and his fingers twitched at his sides, as if resisting the urge to pull you to him again. 

“I sure hope so.” He said, his voice low and rough. 

You nodded, knowing if you didn’t leave soon, you wouldn’t want to at all. “Have a good day, handsome,” you murmured, tilting your head with a smile. 

He took a breath and looked at you like you’d hung the moon. 

“You too, darlin’.” 

As you walked away from him, you decided that Joel Miller calling you ‘darlin’ was your new favourite sound in the whole world. 

Next Chapter

[all-pacas]

Okay but now i desperately want to know your non canon life story for chase pre canon

i have tricked you into doing exactly what i hoped -- a lot of this stuff works its way into fanfics i write lmao, so i guess spot the easter eggs? here's a couple:

when he was 4, maybe a bit older or younger, he fell out the upstairs window. that's what he tells people. it's mostly the truth. the whole truth: he was locked in his father's study, as ever. he needed to pee, or he was hungry, or something (he probably doesn't even really remember). so he tried to escape. he pushed a chair to the window and climbed onto the verandah roof. and then slipped and fell onto the ground below. and lay there screaming for a while before his mother, drunk, found him. he broke a number of bones, cut up his face, was rushed to his father's hospital. the nurses all doted on him, he was being so brave after such a scary accident! his father made it very clear that robbie was not to mention he was locked in the study, that he was not to mention his mother's state, that he did it to himself because he was disobedient and getting into mischief and that was all. he considers this an embarrassing and vaguely shameful memory. because it's the only time he ever tried to escape the study. because he failed. because he, naturally, did just as he was told.

his mother took him on a bunch of special outings and trips to the beach and amusement parks and zoos for weeks after. she stopped drinking for a while, too. when she was sober, she was very loving (very much overcompensating) and made it out like they were the best of friends. when she drank she was angry and sometimes violent, both with rowan and her son. chase, as a kid, sometimes tried to get rowan to intercede, to tell her to stop, to do something about it. no one did. it became easier to hate his father than his mother. mum couldn't help it, she was drunk. dad knew and just didn't care.

he went to a super posh private all-boy's catholic school. robbie was the "poor kid" in class: sure, his family was doctor rich, but his best friends's dads were politicians and land barons and oil/gold mine types. school was fairly unremarkable. he had friends, went to a lot of rich kid parties on private yachts, played soccer and AFL and never invited any of his friends over to his place.

first girlfriend was named melina ryan. she went to a sister school (literally) to his, an all-girl's catholic school. she was... fine. he was never that infatuated with her, but she was pretty and wanted to date him and he was 15 and very interested in sex lol. it lasted about a year, mostly due to inertia. she absolutely had an 80s perm and feathery bangs.

he also had a friend called dickie campbell, one of his super rich classmates. they'd skip school together. dickie's homelife was also really bad, and while they never talked about it they kind of... looked at one another and knew, you know? they'd fool around, experiment, never talked about it. dickie was probably gay and deeply closeted and working through some stuff; chase just wanted the attention/validation. they had a huge falling out at 16 and never spoke again.

a third friend: [some terrible nickname], the like. ur-typical 80s jock bully type. he and chase actually got along fine; this friend is yet another rich kid with daddy issues and would throw wild parties on his parent's dime, borrow their yacht, ridiculous shit like that. when chase's parents seperated and his sister was born and he started to see the writing on the parentification wall, he had something of a breakdown and "ran away" from home (his parents didn't care), stayed in this kid's guesthouse for a few weeks. his friend was like, you're too uptight, you need to relax, and they had their own little drug and hookers and alcohol bender... at age 14-15. this friend is like. now a sitting member of parliment or something. chase finds this very funny but can't explain why to anyone without getting into way too much ("no, it's just funny because i once saw him do a line of coke off a stripper's stomach when we were 14 lol"). by some miracle chase didn't develop a massive drug problem. the miracle being that party drugs just made him think of his mother and filled him with so much misery and guilt he couldn't commit to enjoying them.

when his sister (danielle) was born, chase was a very good parent to her. he got so much praise for it. he'd pick her up from daycare and pre-school, he took her out, they'd go grocery shopping together. everyone thought he was just the sweetest big brother; his sister absolutely worshipped him. he was a hair away from a total mental breakdown. he begged his father to sue for custody or take her in or something, and rowan totally ignored him of course. and chase was putting his mother in the shower and doing laundry and managing the household budget (they were living off a very small stipend from rowan) and just on the verge of total collapse.

his relationship with his sister sucks, because she feels (justifiably) abandoned and betrayed by him leaving and moving across the world when, to her, chase was her only real parental figure, but he just. he couldn't do it any longer. and then danielle became an addict and he hated her for it, and whenever they talk they revert to old patterns - he bosses her around and acts like her parent, they're both miserable, they do love one another but they just cannot. talk. they really do better at low contact.

he truly believed he and mrs. groundkeeper's wife were... maybe not in love, but had a real connection, were both lonely, bonded. she was in her 40s, he was 17. when their affair was exposed, she said he seduced her and cried and apologized and just blatantly abandoned him. nowadays chase is aware it was fucked up but... in a way where he doesn't really want to think about it. he doesn't think it was power imbalance/grooming/etc. or, he doesn't want to think about it that way.

he has not had a lot of Relationships in his life. short flings, for sure. one night stands, easy. he absolutely had a FWB arrangement in college that worked perfectly and satisfyingly for both parties with no feelings involved. he tends to average 4 dates with someone before getting bored and politely breaking up. cameron was 100% his first real Serious Relationship. and possibly his last, r i p

[regulationhottie7905]

When I first watched ST, Mike’s, “it’s not my fault you don’t like girls!” immediately struck me as him projecting. Like anyone, I’ve read a lot of analysis and I’ve seen a lot of takes, but let me explain mine.

In my opinion, until s4, there’s more evidence to support the idea that MIKE is the one who doesn’t like girls, rather than Will. He only has 3 close (guy) friends. He never remarks on girls he finds pretty, he shows zero interest in any girl but El (which I honestly think is just him trying to hold on to a veneer of heterosexuality). In s2, Will, Lucas, and Dustin wants to be friends with Max- it’s Mike who dislikes her.

I think Mike and Will have always had a different kind of friendship. Even if they don’t have the right words for it, it’s kind of like the codependent homoerotic teenage friendships people make memes about. I mean, honestly, Mike won’t properly apologize to his own girlfriend but he runs with his tail between his legs to apologize to his ‘best friend’. Mike has always known he was Different, but he didn’t have the support system Will has, or the time to try and figure it out.

In s3, Mike is going headfirst into his relationship with El. He’s copying everyone around him and doing what he thinks he should do, which (imo) is why he spends SO much time making out with El (living up to the red blooded American male fantasy) than establishing a genuine relationship with her. Something about it is Off, but I don’t know if he’s even admitted that to himself. And Will made him stop (with the “day without girls”). Will made him hang out with him, and Will made Something Happen.

They’ve always had Something between them, but verbalizing it is too dangerous in a town like Hawkins in the 80s. They just knew that they were… different. Best friends in a way Lucas and Dustin weren’t. But Mike crossed the line during the fight (“it’s not my fault you don’t like girls!”) and after he says it, you can see him pull back. He felt guilty and weird and he didn’t know why, and he felt defensive and felt like he was backed into a corner so he said it. Will was being earnest and honest in a way he wasn’t ready for- but he doesn’t know that. He just knows that he felt sick and needed Will to stop. So he blamed Will. Because it’s Will’s being weird, right? Will is the one who’s making him feel weird, because HE’S the one being weird about it.

“It’s not MY fault YOU don’t like girls!” As much as we like to joke about it (Mike accusing Will of being gay whenever they argue) a lot of byler fights make a lot of sense in this vein, and I think it’s a really interesting insight into his character imo. Will is being honest and genuine in a way Mike isn’t ready for. Pushing Will away and attacking him in such a vitriolic ways really ensures that Mike’s masculinity is protected while Will is shamed (in Mike’s mind, at least.) The Byers moved to Cali so soon that the events of the rain fight were never truly discussed.

Mike REALLY hurt Will and I think that’s why he didn’t reach out- because he didn’t know what to say. He avoided his feelings and thinking about Will as much as possible and wrote El letters. But seeing Will at the airport changed something. He’s taller. He’s grown. He’s confident now (I’ll get back to that later). And when he sees him, Mike’s stomach does something it’s never done before. And he doesn’t know why. But despite that, he goes to hug his girlfriend. He doesn’t hug Will.

I firmly believe that Mike is gay (again, imo. Bi Mike people, ily, I love ur analysis, ur cool asf, this is just my opinion). I don’t think he’s ever felt a genuine attraction to El. He’s mimicking his parents and his friends and comics and fairytales- he will be her knight in shining armor, her Superman. With El, it’s friendship and the anxiety of a facade, but he mistakes it for the butterflies of a crush. With Will, it’s the only time he feels something REAL. I just don’t think he’s used to feeling genuine feelings, especially powerful feelings (let’s not forget he’s a teenager, the hormones are RAGING) and while he likes it (even though he has trouble admitting it… I think he gets better as s4 goes on though) it’s overwhelming and scary. I think he interprets those feelings as some kind of threat (especially considering that he’s been bullied before) or at least, he subconsciously does.

[lukewhiterock]

Knowing Frottica is a market town gives me so much to work with for Galinda's character, because yes she is rich, but she was also quite literally raised in a small town in the mountains. I can't remember where her family's summer home is in the books, so I stuck it in Dixxi House, but just imagine this.

When she was younger- past forest rat this one- they went to Dixxi for the winters rather than the summers, so she would spend summer in The Great Gillikin Forest with her Pop (Father in the Gillin) hunting foxes (staying clear of Foxes obviously) and running amits the branches. Her dresses would get torn and really, she preferred running barefoot so mud splashed all up her legs.

As she got older her Pop, as Highmunster, began being needed in Frottica more in the winters so her time that would have been in the forest became cold, and she couldn't run there anymore. Her parents also began to worry about her image, and at seven they started teaching her to be more posh.

Dixxi House is higher class than Frottica, so her summers were spent at gala's and tea parties, and she lost that youthful shine. She went from dresses to gowns, and always wore shoes of course!

I also imagine that as she grew she kind of lost her native tongue. I have many different universes, but they all share Gillin as the native language to Gillikin. For this fic the language is not banned, just fading, and Frottica uses it more than the larger cities or the ones closer to Shiz do.

When she and Elphaba go to Frottica, which is what I'm currently writing, she wears some of the more small-town clothes she owns, and Elphaba just kinda glitches in 'hot but odd'-

'Attempting to hide her shame, Elphaba found herself focusing on Galinda’s outfit. With the hat, it was quite frankly over the top. Flowers were pinned to its rim, and the dress laced up in front, giving it a countryside look she would have believed, had the fabric not been so clearly fine silk. It seemed she would have been able to walk into a gardening party or a gala and fit in at both. '

Of course, she is no longer fully a small-town girl, so she dresses like a farm girl rolling in cash. Elphaba, who was raised in Munchkinland and Quadling Country has never seen summer dresses really, since in Quadling most people wear loose pants, and Munchkinland is known for knitted dresses or embroidered stuff, nothing flowy.

As the story progresses I will have her begin to learn a bit of Gillin, since I need an excuse to use the language I made a freaking grammar system for.

This is literally just my brain spitting out ideas and an excuse to rant about Frottica and the language I'm writing for Gillikin, so I hope it makes any sense.

[https-capri]

Do I Wanna Know?

caleb x reader angst

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cw: angst (hurt no comfort), name-calling (ONCE), caleb is a lil ooc bc ik he cray cray for mc but not today! lower case on purpose

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it had been years since you had seen him, years that you took to grieve him and heal. now, your (what seemed like) long forgotten childhood best friend was standing before you. a cold, unfamiliar gaze presented itself to you, and you couldn't help but feel uneasy, even unsure that this was truly caleb and surely not the same boy you'd remembered.

"caleb.. it can't be, is it really you?"

a slow, thoughtful nod is the only response you get, seeing his eyes filled with guilt and an unfamiliar emotion. you rush into his embrace eagerly, hugging him tightly as if he were to disappear again.

unsure if it was due to shock or the fleets training, you're only met with a hand being placed on the small of your back in return. it feels like a small piece of your heart shattered, despite having grieved someone who never died, the version of them you knew did.

your mind races, flooded with too many emotions to manage.

"what happened to you?" the question comes out angered, despite your voice having cracked whilst on the brink of sobbing.

he rubs the back of his neck, his eyes scanning yours. "i joined the fleet, i had nowhere else to go" he states simply, seemingly having skipped over the entire incident that left you shattered.

"you left me, caleb. i grieved you because i thought you were gone." you seethe, knowing the angry facade on your face was wearing thin, just happy that he was back.. despite being a different caleb than who you remembered.

"well i'm back now, aren't i? ...what good is it to still be upset" he retorts, almost uninterested in the both of you being reunited.

"besides, we'll have to go our separate ways again soon enough."

it feels like the breath is being pulled from out of your lungs, why is he not happy to see me? what did they do to him?

"do you just not care that we finally get to see eachother again?" a single tear rolls down your cheek, feeling the walls cracking.

he scoffs.

"hey- pipsqueak, i had to grieve you too, and grandma. i just.. learned to live a life without you"

he finally admits it. slowly, which didn't help the pain, but at least he confessed.

he had moved on

his nickname didn't comfort you the way it used to, instead feeling like someone had poured sand into your lungs.

"gege.."

you whisper, hardly audible as your brain racks the reasons he could've turned so cruel.

"don't you love me?"

a pained look grazes his face, only for a quarter of a second. taking its place is a look of pity, which doesn't make you feel better at all.

the words leave your lips like vomit, unable to stop them despite trying to bite your tongue for the better good.

"i.." his lips purse, looking for an answer.

daringly, you near closer to him, hoping to any godly being above that you could bring the old caleb back and- save him.

"i love you, caleb. can't you see that?" you admit, the confession being distorted through soft cries and sniffles.

he looks away, his face red. he looks uncomfortable.

"i have someone." he finally blurts out.

it feels like a gunshot. ever since you two were kids you had always planned a future with eachother in it. pinky promises late at night, warm breaths blowing dandelions into the summer breeze, wishes on eyelashes, all to be with him in the future.

you gritted your teeth, biting back any kind of pathetic response. you lower your head, a soft, almost hesitant nod because you didn't want to accept that.

you felt like one of his fan girls back in high school, wondering if this is how they felt when he'd politely reject them. and also wondering if the other girls he's with now is getting the same treatment you used to.

the air felt tense, and awkward. there was nothing you could've said in that moment to have the ending you'd always hoped for.

sucking in a stiff inhale through clenched teeth, your gaze meets his once more.

"well, i hope you both are happy" you lie, speaking with a weak, guilty tone.

you had hoped this would be the turning point, that part where caleb reaches out and changes his mind, knowing that you're the one he wants, the only one there's ever been.

you can see him shaking his head from your side view, slowly turning to leave this godforsaken room. it's like you're subconsciously giving him the time to make a decision you knew wasn't going to happen.

"goodbye" you say flatly, hand gripping the doorknob with more pressure than intended, knowing that when you leave this room, closing the door behind you- that you're not only leaving this place for good, but caleb along with it.

"bye" he calls out, no motive to stop you from leaving.

@erensfeed @sxlfcxst