#he has very little to do until what he has set up has been disrupted and there is a direct threat right in front of him

[iniziare]

Tag drop: Guizhong (don't mind me re-dropping this with the fixed ones, shh)

[luveline]

I love Bombshell reader x Spencer so much !! But I wanna take it back to wayyy early days and see how they’d interact in season 1 or 2? Or maybe even how the Lila Archer situation would play out if she was around? Much love to you and you’re page and I understand if you don’t want to write this ask :)

tysm ♡ fem

Hotch, for the record, liked you for the open BAU position more than Elle. It's Gideon who's not fond of you. Your flirtatious attitude isn't conducive to teamwork, or something, as though you aren't a professional. Gideon just doesn't like sharing his genius protégé with you.

"I don't have to tell you to be on best behaviour?" Hotch asks.

"No!" you say, really, really meaning it. "When Greenaway gives up, I'll be waiting. Until then, I'm your faithful servant, I won't do anything to disrupt you." 

You're not sure that Hotch totally believes you, but he ushers you off with a street cop to meet Reid and Morgan at the set of your stalkee's upcoming production. You're wide-eyed but eager —seeing the boys again never fails to make you happy, even if the setting is completely unfamiliar to you. 

"Morgan!" you call lightly. He's easily recognisable, and he's been hitting the gym, a wall of tight muscle in his charcoal suit. "Hey!" 

Morgan grins at you but raises a finger to his lips. You accept his pat on the shoulder and follow his line of sight. Spencer stands with a coke bottle in hand, talking to your stalkee, the gorgeous and illustrious Lila Archer. She's the new belle of Hollywood, and she's smiling at Spencer like he has a real chance. He should have a real chance. You know he's a priceless sweetheart, you just didn't realise other people could tell. 

"What's he doing?" you ask, laying your shock on thick to hide the real insecurity. He doesn't even know you're here but he's breaking your heart. "I thought he had a little more loyalty." 

"You don't mind sharing with me, do you?" Lila asks, taking Spencer's coke for a quick swig.

"No," he says immediately. 

She passes him back his drink and unrobes, exposing the long, perfect lengths of her arms and legs before she walks a circle around him. He has stars in his eyes.

Morgan waits for her to take her place in the sand, swinging his arms over the desk. "Are you sharing with us, too?" 

"Shut up," Spencer says, stopping short when he notices you at Morgan's heel. "Y/N. What are you– when did you get here?" 

"I couldn't let you guys have all the fun." You cover Morgan's arm with a perfectly kept hand. "Hotch asked me to come. Didn't even have to beg! And now I get to spend time with my two favourite heavyweights." 

"Funny," Spencer says. 

"He's defensive today," Morgan assures you, his smile smug and catching. 

You test the waters. "Not too defensive, I hope," you say, opening your arms. 

Spencer tucks his coke bottle against his chest and hugs you obligingly. He's warm and he smells like coffee grounds, his hand wide as he pats your back. 

"It's nice to see you," you say. Then, with less good intent, "I missed you, Dr. Reid. Did you miss me?" 

"Don't," he says. 

"I'm serious." You pull away from him, checking over his face. "You've been taking care of yourself, I can see. Where are your glasses?" 

"I got contacts." 

"And you look so good," you croon, rubbing your hand briefly down the front of his chest. You'll miss the glasses dearly. 

Spencer laughs and grabs your wrist. You have to be careful with Spencer, because the very last thing you want to do is give him attention he doesn't want; the point of your affections isn't to make him uncomfortable, the opposite. He needs confidence. "You have the bone structure of a male model," you continue. 

He rolls his eyes and moves you bodily out of the way by the hips, wandering off to who knows where. Morgan gives you a knowing look as he leaves, shaking his head at your flustering. 

"What?" you mutter, pretending to watch the goings on of the director rather than meet his eyes, "I'm not made of stone." 

[couldyouimagine-that]

Take a Moment

Genre; hurt/comfort, fluff

Word count; 1.8k

Warnings; description of reader feeling overwhelmed, reader having a little doubt as to why Gabriel is helping them so much.

Pairing; Gabriel (Supernatural) x Reader

Gabriel who is absolutely smitten with the reader sees they are feeling overwhelmed whilst researching a case and offers to take them somewhere quiet – comfort and cuddling ensues.

I’m back! I really enjoyed writing this one (I'm rewatching Supernatural at the moment and my love of Gabriel has been rekindled) and I’m considering doing something similar with Lucifer – let me know if that’s something you would want to read. Enjoy!

Masterlist

-

You didn’t even have to say anything for Gabriel to know something was wrong. Castiel was never likely to notice, but the archangel had to forgive him that. His brother wasn’t the most perceptive when it came to emotion. The Winchesters were very perceptive, but they were only human and you were covering your discomfort well. Your breathing was regular and steady, there were no signs of a tapping foot or a repetitive hand movement, or anything that would signal how you felt.

But Gabriel could actually feel how you felt, one of the perks of his true form being an enormous series of celestial wavelengths. It was incomprehensible to you, he was sure, but you understood enough about angels to get the gist. He watched as you sat at the end of the table in the bunker’s library, having put yourself there so that no one would sit down next to you. You had your legs crossed tight at the knee, your arms crossed where you leaned forward on the table. Your posture looked closed off, but there was a mug of coffee by your side and you had been reading lore for hours. The others would assume you had slept poorly or were bored senseless. What that posture really meant was that you were protecting yourself, consciously or not.

Nothing had happened to trigger it, but it was clear to Gabriel that you felt incredibly overwhelmed. He stayed were he had set himself up by one of the bookshelves, one hip cocked against it. He had seen you leave situations like this in the past, when things finally did get too much and you needed some space to yourself. Equally, he had seen you try to tough it out and pretend everything was fine more times than he wanted to count. He truly wishes you knew you didn’t have to, regardless of if that meant you wanted his help or not.

Sam and Dean were sitting far enough down the table that it didn’t seem to be affecting your clear need – or clear to Gabriel, at least – for personal space. Castiel was browsing books along the shelves on the other side of the room, so whilst Gabriel wanted desperately to intervene and help you, he was glad for a moment to think that he wouldn’t need to.

That was until the idiot brothers decided to open their mouths.

“Hey Y/N, did you find anything on that weapon?”

Gabriel would have liked to snap Dean’s mouth shut. You told him that you hadn’t with a small smile, short but not unkind. Gabriel could see the effort it took for you to regain your focus on your reading. Just a few minutes later and Sam was the one to interrupt you, asking for the title of a book you had mentioned to him the previous day. This time it was harder for you to concentrate on your task again. It was when Dean disrupted your work for a third time, asking if you wanted more coffee as he stood and made his way to the kitchen, that you couldn’t take it a second longer.

Your refusal was decisive and your chair legs scraped against the floor as you pushed back from the table. You left the room quickly with a muttered excuse about going to look for a different book. Gabriel took his chance and flew ahead of you, leaving the library without anyone noticing. He was leaning against the wall outside your room when you arrived in a flurry from the speed at which you had been walking. You jumped in surprise when you rounded the corner to see him standing there and promptly tried to push straight past him in an effort to get a moment by yourself.

“Sorry Gabriel, I just need a minute.” Your words were quiet and your breathing had turned heavy. He knew that he would be making things worse for you in the moment, but he also knew he could help in the long run.

“Hey, sugar…” he murmured, voice even softer than it normally was when he spoke to you. “You wanna go somewhere quiet?”

You paused, hand on the door to your little closed in space in the bunker. No windows, not much by way of fresh air, and a whole group of people in the library just waiting to interrupt your alone time. You trusted Gabriel, knew he would never do anything to hurt you. And you desperately needed a break from it all.

He could have jumped for joy when you nodded, but he kept his reaction contained. He offered you a hand, palm up, which you took hold of immediately. The bunker was gone in the time it took you to blink. Instead, you stood in the main room of a sunny villa-like house, all open plan and large windows. Orange sunlight streamed in from a setting sun and to your right, double glass doors led out onto a sprawling patio. Bright blue pool water glimmered from its centre.

Gabriel let your hand slip from his as you took a few steps into the room, looking around with a beautiful if not tired smile.

“Is this yours?” You asked, a hint of wonder in your words that made Gabriel’s chest swell.

“Just a bit of real estate I have over in Cali.” He gave you his classic playful smirk as you looked back at him, amused by his dismissal of such a nice place. “Make yourself at home, sugar. You want a drink?” You seemed to consider something for a moment, rolling the sentence around in your mouth.

“Actually, I – this is probably silly, but can we just sit down for a minute?”

We.

You wanted to sit down with him until you felt better. That was how much you trusted him, how safe you felt with him. Outwardly, he just gave you a smile and sauntered over to one of the couches arranged artfully around the room.

“Course we can! And don’t ever worry about sounding silly with me.”

He held an intense moment of eye contact with you to make sure his message sank in. You took a seat on the other side of the couch and Gabriel couldn’t resist stretching an arm out along the back of it, behind your head. Not touching, but the invitation was there. You smiled to yourself at his less than subtle antics. He grinned like a cheshire cat when you shifted further towards him and rested your head on his shoulder. He slid his arm around your shoulders and pulled you in close, resting his cheek atop your head. You in turn curled into him fully and wound an arm around his neck.

Gabriel didn’t bother to fight the warm feeling in his chest. He felt no need to deny to himself how fond he was of you, instead just enjoying the moment. He felt you relaxing against him physically, but he also felt your mind becoming calmer. His breath shifted your hair as he took in the scent of your shampoo. He had years of experience passing time in the company of humans, but this little display of trust you were putting on meant more to him than a lot of that put together.

His other hand alighted on your hip as you moved closer still, mindlessly seeking comfort. You tucked your legs up onto the couch and the movement allowed you to put more of your weight against the archangel. He wrapped an arm around your waist and you reached your own up over his shoulders. He smiled at you ever so warmly as you tucked your face into his neck, watching your eyes close as you let out a contented sigh. He began to card his fingers through your hair, lightly scraping his nails over the back of your head, and all but basked in the way your head tilted further forwards onto his shoulder.

“You know you can talk to me when you feel like that, right? Or any time. I’m always here if you need me to be.” You tightened your hold on him for a brief moment. “And you can come here whenever you want, just give me the word.”

You leaned back a little at that, catching his eye.

“Gabriel, thank you. Really, thank you, but… why are you doing all this for me?” He rolled his eyes playfully without missing a beat.

“Oh no, the big bad archangel Gabriel looks like he might actually give a crap about some human.” He waved his hands around for dramatic affect before placing them back on you. He then tilted his head forward, narrowing his eyes and raising a brow. “Seriously?” The half shrug you offered had him muttering heatedly to himself in Enochian. “Seriously? Is it really that shocking that I give a damn about you? Why is this coming as such a surprise?” You were planning on not answering that verbally but he refused to let you look away. “Come on, sugar. You must know I care about you by now.” Gabriel’s hand started on a steady path up and down your back, waiting for your answer. You stumbled around your words for a lot longer than you would have liked, still unhappy with what you settled for in the end.

“I – didn’t really realise.”

“You think I bring anyone else here when I can see they need some space to breathe?” He wasn’t mocking, or even upset, he was just being direct.

“I’m surprised you brought me here,” you muttered, very quiet. He didn’t deign to answer that in words, but the look he gave you said come on. You gave a soft sigh of your own. “Gabriel, look. I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t realise you cared about me so much, I really didn’t.” He went to hit back, likely with something disparaging, so you tapped his nose to get his attention. The self-righteous expression of how dare you had a grin pulling at your lips. “You can complain about me not realising later, alright? You were a much more calming influence when you weren’t saying anything.” He repeated that back to you, absolutely exasperated by your nerve, but you tucked your face back into his shoulder instead of replying. You felt him shake his head, even as his arms wound back around you.

You knew you wouldn’t have much time left before you needed to return to the bunker, but for the time being, you simply enjoyed your moment of peace.

[slytherinboysappreciation]

Mattheo/Theodore x m reader

Straight boy mattheo who's getting with the prettiest girl in his house but he doesn't wanna be a total loser at kissing yk? So what's better than making you, his best bro, practice with him?

Obviously, with some trepidation, you do it and he loves it so much he chases after your lips even after you move away to critique him (imagine sitting on a couch w him and you move away from his lips to talk about what he does wrong but all he does is push you shoulders back until your back is flush with the couch just so he could keep kissing you)

Anyway, this slowly escalates into him getting a boner and rubbing it on your groin, begging you to "help me out bro"

Then after a week of practicing he gets with his dream girl and the kissing was a success, so was the blowjob she gave him! But he accidentally said your name while doing it and he blew it!

(Op you can choose how this ends)

Kissing - M.R. x male!Reader

A/N: Hehe this was fun to write. Difficult, but so much fun. I really really hope the smut is good 😬 The fix is unedited with no use of Y/N. If the ending seems a little weird, I’m sorry. I was really tired when I wrote it

This is the start of Mattheo’s bi awakening. Why? Because I said so

Fic does contain smut so NO MINORS!!

CW: Smut!!!; begging; Mattheo’s puppy eyes; Reader is in love with Mattheo; mentions of kissing; female oc; kissing; lots of kissing; making out; explicit sexual content; swearing; public sex; grinding; more begging; handjobs; cum; brief sweet moment; somewhat interrupted sex, I guess?; sex jokes; vague descriptions of blowjobs; several uses of the word ‘gay’; Mattheo doesn’t understand his feelings; Matty is a horny boy; mildly ambiguous ending; this takes place in Mattheo and Reader’s seventh year of school, so they’re both of age!!

1853 words

“C’mon, mate,” Mattheo begs, pulling you yet again from your homework. “It’s for a good cause!”

You look up, mildly annoyed.

The two of you are in the empty Slytherin common room, the last students there for the night. Everyone else is either sleeping or out partying.

It’s just the two of you, and Mattheo is set on annoying you.

He’s your best friend; your other half, so to speak. It’s been this way for almost seven years. He’s the yin to your yang, the fire to your calm.

Which he’s disrupting pretty majorly right now.

You exhale slowly, putting down your quill. “Just ask Pansy. Or Daphne. They’re good kissers, right?”

Mattheo groans and leans into you, giving you his best puppy eyes. The ones you can never say no to. “Please? I don’t trust them like I trust you. You won’t make fun of me or hold it over me like they will.”

He’s getting vulnerable, which means he’s being serious. Damn him.

You sigh and force yourself to look away. “Matty…”

“I’ll make it up to you, I swear! Besides, it’s not like, you know, we’re in love or anything. It’s just a kiss or two.”

And that is the entire problem. Because you are very much in love with him.

You’ve been pining after him since second year. Practically ever since you became friends. You’ve been head over heels for him, utterly and truly in love.

And he has no idea.

Which is why to him, asking you for kissing practice isn’t a big deal.

It’s all Seraphina Selwyn’s fault. She’s undeniably the prettiest Slytherin in your year, if not the whole school.

And out of all the boys she decided she wanted to have, she had to pick yours.

Her and Mattheo have been flirting for months. And she’s finally started to show signs that she’s ready for him to make a move.

He’s been giddy about it since it happened, gushing about it every time he’s alone with you. It just makes you feel sick.

But you can’t let him down, especially not when he’s giving you those oh so sad puppy eyes you can’t resist.

With a sigh, you nod. “Fine. But only a few kisses. Wouldn’t want anyone spreading any rumors about us.”

It hurts to say. But you can’t let him know.

Mattheo grins and scoots closer. “Alright! Teach me how to kiss, oh wise one.”

You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. He’s so dorky sometimes. “Just… come here.”

You reach out and gently guide his head to yours. You pause for a moment, mouth right above his.

Are you really going to do this?

To your surprise, it’s Mattheo who leans the rest of the way in. He presses his mouth to yours in a clumsy kiss.

It feels like sparks go down your spine. You shiver, eyes closing.

Mattheo kisses you like he’s hungry, like your mouth is a feast and he’s ravenous for it. He’s clumsy and eager, but has enough common sense to not try and shove his tongue down your throat.

You try to slow the kiss down. To show him how to move his mouth and such. It works… sort of.

After several kisses, you try and pull back. Not far, but just enough so you can give him some advice.

He chases after you. Leaning further into you in order to press his lips to yours again.

“Matty—“

He pushes your shoulders back, pressing you back against the arm of the couch. And you?

Your entire body lights up with sparks as he slides partway onto your lap. You can feel your dick twitch underneath him and for a moment you panic. He’s gonna feel you!

But Mattheo only moans softly and continues kissing you. He shifts his position on your lap, resting his hands on your chest for support.

You melt into the kiss, letting your lips part and your body relax. You can’t help it. This could be your only chance ever to kiss Mattheo; and if he’s into it, you’re not gonna complain.

Mattheo’s tongue slips into your mouth and you forget why you ever wanted to pull away in the first place.

The two of you make out for what feels like hours. Just mouth pressed to mouth, tongues gliding together. You pull back a couple times to breathe, and Mattheo always chases your mouth with his.

It’s hot. Painfully so. You’re made aware of your hard-on every time Mattheo shifts in your lap.

You know he can feel it. You brace yourself, preparing for the moment he mentions it. But he seems too caught up in kissing you to care.

He shifts again and makes a small noise. An almost groaning sound. You feel yourself throb when you realize he’s just as hard as you.

His cock, pressed right alongside yours.

He groans again and grinds his dick against yours. “Fuck, you feel so good…!”

You moan, giving a little thrust up against his hips. “Matty…”

He captures your mouth with his, taking the chance to lick against your tongue again. You melt into the kiss once more, unable to help yourself.

The two of you make out with more passion now, grinding against each other.

Mattheo’s movements start to get more desperate. More hungry. He’s practically humping your dick, panting and moaning into your mouth.

“Please,” he finally begs. “I need you.”

You bite down a groan, struggling to think straight. You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t.

“Please? Just this once, I swear!” He’s giving you his puppy eyes again. “Help me out, just this once?”

You can’t help it. He’s so hot and you’re so weak to his puppy eyes.

“Alright. But only this once.”

You fumble with his belt, clumsily working with one hand to undo it. When you finally manage to slip your hand into his pants, Mattheo whines.

You close your hand around his dick, giving him as good of a stroke as you can within the confines of his clothes. He groans and presses into your touch, his dick twitching and throbbing under your hand.

You shift and squirm a bit until you manage to free him, finally able to stroke him like you’re wanting.

Mattheo moans like a porn star, thrusting into your hand eagerly. Greedily. He’s practically jerking himself off with your hand.

And you love it.

You match his pace, shifting your grip every now and then until you find what makes his hips stutter.

“I can’t—“ He sounds absolutely wrecked. “I’m gonna—“

“Come on,” you groan, your dick a weeping mess at the sight. “Cum for me, Matty.”

Mattheo thrusts into your hand once, twice, and cums. Hot sticky ropes of white paint your shirt and pants.

It’s too hot for you to even be upset.

“Merlin, Matty,” you breathe. “That was hot.”

He drops his forehead against your shoulder and pants out a laugh. For a moment, he just basks in your presence. Nuzzling against your neck like he’s gonna say something soft.

Then the sound of faint laughter breaks the spell. People are coming.

You hastily mutter a cleaning charm while Mattheo frantically tucks himself away. You both know you can’t deal with any rumors about the two of you being together.

By the time the drunken partygoers spill into the common room, the two of you are sitting up on the couch again. No evidence of what transpired at all.

Except for maybe your still hard dick, which you use your notebook to hide. You’ll take care of it later.

As people slowly head off to bed, you start to gather your things. Mattheo grabs your arm before you can leave.

“Can—“ He falters for a moment. “Same time tomorrow? I need more practice still.”

You hesitate. But only for a moment. “Sure. We can meet up in my dorm. It’ll be empty then.”

Mattheo nods, acting for all the world like you two are talking about a homework study session. You can see the gleam in his eyes though. He’s just as excited as you.

You head off to bed with your heart pounding. You and Mattheo. Kissing practice tomorrow.

You have no doubts what it’ll turn into again. And oh Merlin, are you looking forward to it.

One week later

“I blew it!” Mattheo barges into your room without knocking, startling you.

“Blew what? Who did you blow?” You sit up, curious and confused.

“Not who.” He rolls his eyes, unable to help a tiny smirk, even in his distress. “It. My relationship.”

“Oh.” That makes more sense. “With Selwyn? What did you do?”

He groans and slumps to the floor, sitting at the base of your bed. “So everything’s going great, right? The mood is there, the kissing’s fantastic; we’re getting it on, you know?”

You nod, listening intently.

“And then she goes to blow me, which is, you know, pretty awesome.”

Mattheo covers his face, clearly embarrassed by the next words he says. “And I fuckin’ say your name!”

You blink. Once. Twice. “What?”

“I say your fucking name in the middle of getting a blowjob!” He groans and lowers his head in shame. “It just slipped out. You know, coz of all our practice.”

Ah, yes. You’d given him several enthusiastic blowjobs during your week of ‘kissing practice’.

“Huh.” You lean back on your hands a bit, thinking. “So, did she break up with you?”

“No,” he groans. “But now she’s convinced I’m gay, and I don’t know what to do.”

You try really hard not to laugh. Of course she’d think that. Even when it was obviously not true. Mattheo was whipped for her. You were just an afterthought. Kissing practice.

“Well, is she still willing to date you?”

“Yes,” he grumbles. “But she’s as big of a gossip queen as anyone else. The whole school will soon think I’m in love with you. Which I’m not.”

You pat his shoulder consolingly. It hurts to hear him deny it, but you both know it’s true. Mattheo’s not in love with you, and will never be in love with—

“At least,” He suddenly looks doubtful. “I’m pretty sure I’m not.”

You blink. He’s… only pretty sure…?

“Saying your name during sex doesn’t mean I’m in love with you, right?”

You stare at him. “I think our kissing practice would sooner qualify.”

“Oh.” He relaxes. “Well, that doesn’t count at all. That’s just you helping me out, you know?”

“Yeah.” You nod slowly. “Right.”

“So that settles it then.” Mattheo nods. “I’m not gay. It was just an accident.”

You’re suddenly no longer sure. But you don’t say anything. He has a girlfriend now, for Merlin’s sake. You can’t crush their relationship off of doubt.

“Whatever you say.”

The two of you sit in silence for a while. Then Mattheo gets up. He stretches a bit, and glances down at you.

You can already see the gleam in his eye.

“Just out of curiosity, though…”

You sigh and pat the bed next to you.

Looks like your kissing practice isn’t over yet.

[cinnamonest]

ohman ohman- listen-

I've been reading the kazu/scara/albedo/xiao posts (modern au or not) and it just got me thinking about how much stronger men are compared to women-

It's totally accurate how they end up dominating reader with their strength. Like I'm not weak at all irl, but god help if I can ever beat the skinniest dude in an arm wrestling match and these shorter and slim boys got me feeling all type of ways. Like OKAY, maybe darling still has a decent fighting chance with them vs with boys like childe etc but the formers' arms, hands, legs, fingers are still bigger and longer than yours dhdjsksj. For the incel ones (because they don't have that supernatural strength and all as in the canon AU) it might just be one of the few things that boosts their ego, lol!

So real omg I remember there was a point in time where like, I thought that guys were only stronger because they were bigger/worked out more and that if a guy and a girl were the same size and worked out the same then they'd be equally strong, and that scrawny guys were weak… as you can imagine I got humbled so fast lmao

(also thank you anon after the e-girl post I’ve been eager to make a post with all the modern AU boys :3)

-

Deeply in love with the thought of both parties having the gradual realization of just how drastic the male-female gap in strength is — a devastating slap in the face from reality for darling, and a euphoric power trip for him.

Especially with the modern AU for those boys, like… sure, you both know deep down that guys are naturally somewhat stronger, but neither of you realized just how much.

Society’s tendency to shy away from acknowledging the topic has perhaps left darling a bit naive…. dangerously so. Like, playing-with-fire levels of naive, cocky and bratty towards boys like them even after they’ve kidnapped you, thinking that well, they’re short, lean boys, so surely they can’t hurt you, and if they try you can just fight him off, right? It’s not like he’s a broad bulky guy, whom you’d actually have reason to fear…

You may get the chance to notice it more subtly at first — you watch as he picks up something rather heavy around the apartment and think to yourself how odd it is that there’s no strain on his expression, no grunting as one would do when performing physically strenuous tasks, in fact he picks it up and carries it over with a perfectly neutral expression, like it’s not even difficult… maybe it's just not as heavy as you thought…?

But it quickly proves to be what you fear — the reality is you have severely underestimated this aspect of sex difference.

Xiao actually has the most wholesome, tolerable version of this. He has a tendency for not verbalizing his thoughts, he just sort of… does things. One of the more common manifestations of this is that he just. Picks you up.

You’ve been sitting over there doing your own thing for a while like you requested, but now he’s lonely and sad and he wants you over there with him so he just walks over, locks his arms around you and suddenly your feet are off the ground.

He just sorta disrupts you from whatever you're doing and carries you like you're a limp sack of flour on a regular basis, setting (or throwing) you down wherever he wants you to be instead. It's easier than asking you to move. It doesn't even really occur to him that this surpasses your assumption of his strength capacity until you mention it… and at first he thinks nothing of it, but gradually, hearing you grunt in surprise each time you're hoisted upward and the way your feet kick outward actually starts to feel quite nice. A little ego boost, even if he's quieter about it than the others. He didn't realize he was so strong compared to you.

And then you start coming to him to get him to open jars and pick up things you can't, and while he does it all with the same fairly melancholy demeanor as always, internally it actually makes him very happy and prideful each time, makes him feel needed and important and all. He focuses less on the aspect of your weakness and using it against you (unless he’s mad), and more focuses on being strong and hoping that you like it, carefully coordinating efforts to show off in ways that he thinks are subtle enough to seem unintentional (spoiler: they’re not). Unfortunately, mixing protein powder into energy drinks does significantly impact their taste, but he views it as worth it. In the fantasies that play out in his head, maybe one day you’ll even outright tell him he’s sooooo strong in that cute voice like the girls in visual novels do.

Thankfully he's not too outwardly obnoxious about it, and he doesn't degrade you for it (again, except maybe a bit passive-aggressively, but only if you're being mean and hurt his secretly very sensitive feelings first, OR unintentionally due to his dense nature and consequent tendencies to make very blunt statements without thinking them through). He may or may not be deliberately tightening the jars each time he closes them to ensure you need him for it next time, though.

Scara is the inverse because he doesn't really see or emphasize it as himself being strong, more like you being weak.

But no, maybe he's wrong. At least in that case, he has his whole body weight to rely on keeping you down, so that's probably why it felt so easy…? Until then you're being whiny and bratty and he pins you to the wall instead, wondering why you're acting so upset yet not actually fighting him for real… then he realizes you are actually trying. You’re not just half-heartedly tugging in a whiny way, you’re like, actually trying to pull yourself out of his grasp, and giving it your all.

He's also caught off guard by it, early on. Here he had all these backup plans to subdue you if you managed to writhe your way out of his grasp or fight him off, but then in your initial struggle, he quickly realizes how incredibly easy it is to keep you pinned down, and no such plans are necessary.

…And that’s the best you can manage? Seriously? That’s how much weaker you are? It's almost astounding. The shock quickly transitions to pure amusement and satisfaction, and once this difference is discovered, he's going to use it to make your life hell.

He loves the newfound discovery, and actively exercises it at every opportunity. It scratches the itch of those sadistic impulses just perfectly and soothes any bruises to his ego, especially with how apparent it is that it upsets you, how you struggle harder and harder and your eyes prick with humiliated tears and you groan in frustration. So he just ensures he utilizes his superior strength constantly, always holding you down or grabbing you by the arm and keeping you in place, always holding you into uncomfortable positions in bed, and the more you struggle to no avail, the more he seems to enjoy it.

It's actually kind of hilarious too, how you can just be running your mouth and snarling at him one second and pleading and teary-eyed the next, forcibly bent over and held down with your face smushed against the countertop, begging to be let back up, trying with all your might to push your palms onto the surface and push yourself back up to no avail. Him mocking you the entire time doesn't exactly help you keep the tears in, either, but when you start crying it just makes things worse, since that's just used against you to tell you how emotional you are. Emotional and dumb and weak, girls are really such a handful to deal with, sigh…

You can tell how much he enjoys constantly reinforcing your awareness, reminding you of the difference, and it infuriates you — and the more it infuriates you, the funnier and more satisfying it is for him, and the more he does it, and the miserable cycle continues. The only way you were able to actually get some leverage was by insinuating that he only enjoys it because he needs the ego boost as psychological compensation for being so small for a guy��� and while you know you're right, the resulting soreness was ultimately not worth the momentary satisfaction of saying so.

Albedo is the most obnoxious about it because one, he's the most acutely aware of it from the start and will make sure you are as well, and two, he finds the whole thing amusing. The man is whipping out the studies and Science™ to explain exactly why he has nothing to fear from you and why you'll never be able to overpower him. Blah blah skeletal muscles this, sexual dimorphism that, fiber size anaerobic muscular metabolic capacity something something… it's too confusing for you to understand, the only thing you know is how infuriating the smugness is.

It's cute to him that you initially have no concept of your inferiority. You still try and fight him and push him and take things from him, only to end up pinned down or hoisted up. Like a… dumb little animal of some kind, that walks right into an obvious trap or attacks its own reflection, is how he sees you. He has no issue telling you this either, he likes seeing how furious it makes you, knowing you can't do anything about it.

He's the worst about constantly applying this as much as he can specifically in bed, too. Keeping your hands pinned above your head, making a point to inform you that restraints aren't really necessary due to your physical inferiority. Telling you with that infuriating dry tone that if you hate it so much, surely you can summon the strength to break free… saying that always ensures you put on a funny little display of struggling.

He’s selective, though, about how he torments you, so the severity of how unbearable he makes the matter depends on how you react to it. His form of sadism is a quiet one, but still quite obvious with how he picks at your weaknesses — so if it’s something that doesn’t bother you that much, he’ll go for something else, but the more it upsets you to be reminded of how much stronger he is and why, the more outright insufferable he’ll be, ensuring you’re constantly reminded that it’s only natural — a smug gesture of faux comfort, disguised as reassurance of normality, but deep down you know it’s really intended to rub salt into the wound by reminding you that it’s essentially immutable, making you feel powerless. He’s a little bastard like that.

Although out of the four, it's by far the most amusing (or vaguely terrifying, for you) with Kazuha.

It's all so… subtle. He’s so sweet, so gentle in his voice and demeanor and mannerisms, and then you find yourself bristling as you watch him snap something in half, lift something, bend something, whatever, that you definitely would not have thought he should be able to. Something that makes you do a double take and sit there slack-jawed and wide-eyed while he continues to go about whatever he’s doing, talking about this or that in that soft voice.

And then when you watch movies laying in bed and try to wiggle away from his hold, the way you feel it tighten so hard you fear your ribs will snap, and he wraps his fingers around your wrist so hard your hand goes numb, you realize it’s not taking any effort on his end at all, he's doing it practically half-asleep.

Even though those incidents make you uneasy, he’s just so gentle-natured that it’s easy to forget and end up acting out at him yet again, getting mad and being a brat, you even go so far as to try and hit him — but he catches you by the wrist, holding your arm firmly in place.

Very firmly. So much so that, when you reflexively jerk backwards, you would have thought you were pulling against an iron chain. He doesn't budge. It makes your heart skip a beat, especially when you see the slight twitch to his smile.

And then you see his eyes widen just a bit. Perhaps surprised at how light your pulling feels, how little strain it causes him.

He never really addresses it out loud, but you can tell that he's increasingly aware from that point forward of just how big the strength gap between you is.

It's actually a bit insulting once you start noticing the shifts and changes — he doesn't tie you to the bed anymore when you sleep. Why would he? It'll be so easy to just pull you back down when he feels you move. You can easily tell that he's noticeably more at ease, he goes from having just the slightest detectable panic when you start to defy him or struggle to being completely unbothered, now that he's realized your defiance holds no weight. He starts a habit of giving you a little warning squeeze if you're making him too upset and being very very bad, just a light little tightening of the grip on your wrist or waist as if to remind you that you both know how much stronger he is than you, that your being very unwise to upset him… and you always notice how his smile grows when it shuts you up instantly.

It's honestly almost more infuriating that he does it all so quietly — you almost wish he would acknowledge it, but instead you get this quiet, unspoken realization and mutual understanding, a ‘you know he knows you know’ sort of situation, and with that mutual understanding comes your gradually increasing lack of defiance, a slow despairing acceptance… and you can tell it makes him very, very happy.

[pyan-ero]

what lingerie the TF2 mercs would buy you for valentines day! w/ scenarios+ headcanons. NSFW ahead ~

Scout!

- bought it the instant he saw it! he imagined you in it and couldn’t control himself, got hard instantly.

- isn’t too into pet-play, but calls you kitty, and pets you when you’re like this. likes it if you’re flustered, really enjoys seeing how you blush all over.

- it isn’t on you long, though, he prefers to see you completely naked, in nothing but a little collar beneath him. it makes him nervous, presented with someone so hot and submissive beneath him.

Soldier!

-what did you expect? it was fitted to your exact size, and he was adamant to the store to NOT use a real flag. the store charged him a lil’ extra for ‘not real flag’ material. he happily paid it.

- he becomes flustered and cannot move whenever he sees you in it. might pull at his collar and say you’re ravishing. will ask if he can touch you (usually treats you like property(with consent of course))

- is very, very gentle when he touches you. he kind of stares, trying to commit this sight perfectly to memory. the night will be very romantic, loving, in a way it hasn’t been before.

Pyro!

- was told that lacy, fitting lingerie was best for valentines day— by Spy, of course. He decided, no, and found this cute, adorable garment and decided that it would look best on you. He loves the pink, and the fabric, and bows!

- he would immediately start complimenting you, telling you that you’re so beautiful, and he’s so lucky to have you, and would just praise you. probably forgets he’s supposed to have sex, until you remind him.

- he is entirely focused on you, and your pleasure alone. you try and redirect him, but he’s so deadset on making you feel good that he won’t do anything else. mumbles praises in your neck the entire time.

Demoman!

- didn’t really plan, but bought it last-minute. It worked out, because he found this beautiful little garment and knew it would look magnificent on you. He knew it was the one!

- is immediately really grope-y, but in a really soft and nice way. he loves the thin, flowing material, and keeps it on the entire time. He can’t get enough of you.

- will eat you out, pushing the skirt up your hips and holding your thighs. you know he is a GOD when it comes to head. you will not get any rest.

Heavy!

- he was very ashamed to be shopping for lingerie, was flustered the entire time. He saw this, and imagined it on you, and immediately had to buy it.

- is silent whenever he sees you in this, but you can tell how he’s feeling through his eyes. total adoration, total love, total devotion. he realizes that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you, but obviously doesn’t say that then.

- He would gently touch you, and kiss you, and tell you how wonderful, sexy, amazing, intelligent etc you are…and hollllyyyy fuck are you about to be stretched!

Engineer!

- as a gentleman, he wants something very classic. something that you would love, but still feel comfortable both in and out of. might fashion it with a little white collar, or necklace with his insignia on it.

- he wants to dress you in it, so he takes his time. pulling your stockings, fastening them to the garter without and wrinkles. smooths the lace, the material. makes sure to get everything perfect. he steps back and looks at the completed ensemble, and my lord, do you look perfect.

- is hesitant to even have sex with you because of how amazing the set is. you’re like a doll, dressed to perfection and beauty, and to disrupt that? who would he be? but, he is still a man, and he has his needs. might want you to ride him so he can look at you the whole time.

Medic!

- even i, dear reader, am unaware of where Medic got the garment. even with my divine power, this is a mystery. Maybe, he just had it. and somehow it perfectly fit you. who knows…

- but holy fuck. the king for foreplay, he legitimately goes two hours without even touching you. he loves watching you bumble, all flustered, pretending to be a nurse with your ass hanging out. that latex, how it clings to your skin, and he can see how much you’re blushing?

- after those two hours, though… the examination table isn’t even broken, it just doesn’t exist anymore. it existed at the beginning of the night and now, it’s just gone. who knows what happened, other then that Medic sucked, fucked, and creampied you so hard that you know German dirty-talk more than your own name. Hope you’re on birth control!

Sniper!

- doesn’t really care for lingerie. he’s a simple man, with a simple plan, underwear and clothes get in the way of fucking you into next Sunday. This, however, taunted him. Easy to cut, isn’t it?

- Sniper loves the hunt, you love being hunted. it’s perfect :) running into the desert in this, and nothing but this? you’re a reward, and the way to get to the reward is to get you.

- it’s a really easy hunt, tbh. he gets you on the ground, and cuts through the garment like it’s nothing, and takes you, right there, in the wilderness. multiple rounds, too!

Spy!

- the most expensive lingerie out of the mercs, and he gets it months in advance, too. he’s a man who knows what he wants, and what he wants? to spoil you rotten. the only thing he expects in return is submission, and of course, you give it.

- he can play coy, act unamused when he sees you, but his mind is racing. thinking of every position, every sound you’ll make. everyone involving you, and he’ll abruptly stand, walk to you…

- and the night is a wonderful, pleasure filled blur. orgasms within the double-digits, soft music playing the entire time, the little jewels of your lingerie clanking…ah. Spy <3 he might even stay til morning just to ravish you again.

[littlemisshyperfixation]

Namjoon Fic Recommendations

a - angst f - fluff s - smut

One Shots

Good To Me (a f s) by @httpjeon ⊹₊⋆ club ardor holds a special raffle for a free night with a man who will supposedly be the boyfriend of your dreams. you definitely don’t expect to win.

a word from our sponsors (a s f) by @ugh-yoongi ⊹₊⋆ you’ve co-hosted a podcast with namjoon for three years; have known him even longer. the two of you have always been the picture of platonic, but that hasn’t stopped the internet from doing what the internet does. the shipping? a little weird at first, but you can understand it: two attractive twenty-somethings always in close proximity to one another, obvious (platonic!) chemistry—people have created ships for less. the fanfiction, though? also pretty funny… until you can’t stop thinking about it.

baby fever (f) by @95rkives ⊹₊⋆ what was supposedly a peaceful morning stroll in the park, an unexpected encounter triggers namjoon’s intense desire for a baby, turning him into an adorable, baby fever-filled mess.

Dom Daddy Joon (s) (ft. Jungkook) by @joonsmagicshop ⊹₊⋆ When Namjoon catches you doing something you aren't supposed to be doing he decides to punish you, and lets his maknae join in on the fun

new guy (s) by @kithtaehyung ⊹₊⋆ all you want to do is have a successful meeting after experiencing dwindling attendance. but the new guy is completely disrupting things... or is he?

all night (s) (ft. yoongi) by @axigailxo ⊹₊⋆ in which listening to music during a smoke sesh with your best friends namjoon and yoongi in the studio turns into much more

Pheromones (s) by @rmnamjoons ⊹₊⋆ As the botanist on a deep-space exploration vessel, you’ve seen your fair share of weird and unexplainable. This large pink alien flower you and your crew picked up on one of the outer terraformed mining planets, however, might just take the cake. You’re pretty sure it’s fine, but you’ve been ordered to study the plant and determine whether or not it’s safe for humans to be around, and you’re having trouble discerning what exactly is inside the alien flower’s bulb that just refuses to bloom. Namjoon — the captain of your ship and the man you’ve been secretly in love with since first joining the Galactic Academy — is eager to help you any way he can, but just as love begins to bloom, so does the alien flower.

love.fm (a f) by @ugh-yoongi ⊹₊⋆ you know three things for certain: jeon jeongguk will do anything to inconvenience you, kim seokjin is an absolute bastard for putting you in charge of the station’s holiday show, and you’ve got a lot of regrets about the way your relationship ended. however, you also know spending the last two years on your own has done you some good. you’ve got a new haircut, an apartment with a bay window, and a rescue dog.

there’s also the stranger who keeps writing into the station about regrets of their own. the stranger whose prose feels so familiar. the stranger who leaves you wondering if things with your ex are quite as resolved as you think.

Embrace (s f) by @rmnamjoons ⊹₊⋆ You and Namjoon have been best friends for years, and you’ve been secretly in love with him basically the entire time. You both love cuddling and being close, much to the amusement of your friends, but to you, being with Namjoon like this means everything. You’ve always believed that Namjoon didn’t feel the same way as you, no matter how much you wanted him to, but maybe there is actually something else behind Namjoon’s cuddles, other than just innocent friendship.

Love Language (s f) by @rmnamjoons ⊹₊⋆ Exactly one year before one meets their soulmate, their love’s first words spoken to them appear as a tattoo on their wrist. When Namjoon’s tattoo appears, however, it’s not of words, but of the most beautiful set of eyes he’s ever seen.

Merry Kissmass (s f) by @taleasnewastime ⊹₊⋆ Thunder and Lightning, very, very frightening, well, that statement has never been truer than now. Sat in a cabin in the middle of the woods, in the middle of a storm, alone. It’s the worst decision you’ve ever made, why didn’t you just go to that spa as a Christmas treat? Why did you come here? And just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse there’s a banging at the door. Pretty sure it’s a murderer, you stupidly see who’s there only to be met with a dimple filled smile, and a very large, very damp man. Well, maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea.

Castaways (a f s) by @rmnamjoons ⊹₊⋆ You’ve always hated the ocean. Open water terrifies you, and you stay as far away from it as possible for self-preservation and peace of mind. Despite this, your friend somehow convinces you to go on a luxury cruise with her, her boyfriend Hoseok, and Hoseok’s nerdy friend Namjoon, who’s almost cute enough to distract you from your debilitating fears. When a sudden storm hits, however, you and Namjoon are swept overboard and find yourselves castaway on a desert island somewhere in the vast South Pacific.

[writefightandflightclub]

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter Two (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but can you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running? 

Series genre: a LOT of tasty angst, tasty smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see series warnings, here. Please note this series is 18+ / NSFW / MDNI. Minors or ageless blocks interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. Posting schedule and series masterlist are here. 

Author’s note: Thank you SO much for the response to Chapter One! And if you're still with it, I hope you enjoy chapter 2! It has been a LOOONNNNGGG time coming! 😆 This one is slightly shorter, with a bit of exposition to bridge between the OG instalment and the meat of our newly embarked upon continuation! The next chapters are where things really kick-off, but I do hope you enjoy this stoking of some tension, and, of course, finally seeing Santiago again - for the first time since the jarring conclusion to chapter one!!!!!! 

Word count: 4.8k for this part 

“It’s okay,” Frankie rumbles, looking at you levelly. “You can ask me about him.” 

You sigh, squirming in place - on the rear porch steps of your sister’s home - as your game is finally unmasked. Your pretense dashed. 

The hubbub of the lazy, Sunday BBQ is nothing but background to you now as Frankie zones in on your true wants, rendering you as an observer - rather than a participant - in the annual gathering you usually draw an abundance of joy from. 

Not so today, despite your best efforts at going through the motions. At pretending like everything is fine. 

Up to now, chatting idly with your bud in this safe little bubble, you’ve cycled through a gazillion conversation starters; each to emphasise just how interested you are in Frankie, and Whatever He Has Going On. Clearly though, you have failed to convince. Your friend simply knows you too well. Knows your weaknesses. 

Your one true weakness. Santiago “Pope” Garcia. 

You look at kind-eyed Frankie apologetically from beneath your lashes, sorry that your flimsy chat has failed to mask your disinterest in... um, whatever it was he was saying. 

“Shit, I’m sorry, Cat.” Then, so help you, you ask the question you’ve actually been burning to ask all day. “How’s he doing, Frankie? Really?” 

Confirming the shift in tone, Frankie sets his plate of food aside and nestles his bottle of beer on the corner of the lowest porch step. Now you’re having a conversation. The pilot tents his fingers together in his lap, giving your question the full merit it deserves. “Pope?” 

Who else? 

“He’s… fine,” Frankie nods, studying your face as he says the words. Noticing -no doubt- the way you chew on your lip as your gaze wanders, fixing on the man in question. As you watch him mingle comfortably, effortlessly, amongst the throng of people on the lawn. Making connections, as per usual. 

Your stomach drops. An unease jostles in the pit of you. The niggle of regret. 

You shouldn’t have invited the guys here today. Shouldn’t have agreed to have them be present at your family gathering. Shouldn’t have agreed to follow-up it up with a squad weekend at the beach house - no matter that it’s tradition. But, then again, who were you to disrupt the usual way of things? And, more so, who were you to pretend that you didn’t want to see him again? After all this time? 

In truth, you had wanted nothing else but to see him again. That is, until you had laid eyes on him, and then, very quickly, you had pivoted. Wanted nothing more than to keep your distance. 

Why? 

Because by all accounts it’s true. 

Santiago is fine. 

Santiago certainly looks fine. He looks fine in all senses of the fucking word. He looks as though he’s thriving, in fact. 

Your face falls at the implication: that he’s thriving without you. 

With effort, you hum, schooling your expression into something neutral; however, Frankie’s already on to you. “Is that what you wanted to hear, chiquita?”

You turn your head towards your friend and exhale a small, pitiful laugh. Pondering Frankie’s question, you set your own plate and beer down too – a signal that shit’s getting real. 

Is it? 

Is that what you wanted to hear? 

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I wanted to hear, Cat.” With a dejected sigh, you lean your head on Frankie’s shoulder, hooking your arm into the crook of his elbow. “Does that make me cruel? If I don’t wanna hear that he’s happy?” 

Your buddy doesn’t answer rightaway, but he does rest a reassuring hand on your thigh in response, his plush bottom-lip protruding as he pouts – apparently mulling over whether or not to throw you a bone. “Okay. Look,” he begins  - always a soft-touch for you - and you instantly perk-up just a little. “He had a rough spell when you left and-” Frankie huffs out air, shaking his head as though he might have gone too far in divulging already “-fuck, actually, you don’t wanna know.” 

You head snaps up from Frankie’s shoulder as it begins to shake with mirth, your curiosity piqued. 

“What?” you probe, as Frankie turns his head to look at you, a smile cracking his sharp features. Apparently, Frankie has a small part of him which is cruel too. “We stumbled upon his heartbreak playlist. And it was not pretty.” 

“Come on now,” you protest, a little too defensively, your mouth suddenly dry.  “I hardly broke the fucker’s heart.” 

Frankie pumps his eyebrows. Shrugs his shoulders. Then, his bark-brown eyes mist over, just a little. “More likely than you think, chiquita.” 

With that, your eyes flick right back to Santiago’s figure on the other side of the yard, as if trying to reconcile Frankie’s assertion with the reality you see before you. After all, Santiago “Pope” Garcia looks fine. In all senses of the word. 

Right this second, for example, he’s engaged in a highly tactical water fight with your kid nephews. About to enter the killbox any moment, you wager, given that 5 and 7-year-olds don’t seem bound by those pesky rules of engagement. His cargo shorts are – naturally - far too tight, and he’s wearing his crisp blue shirt as though he forgot what buttons did half-way through getting dressed, the fabric split in a deep, plunging “V” across his tan chest. 

Despite all that, however, the thing which captures your attention most, is the beaming, wide-open grin he has painted on his face. 

He looks... 

...Happy.  

Genuinely happy. The bastard. 

This is the first time he’s seen you since he stormed out of your apartment all those months ago. The first chance he’s had to make things right - and he hasn’t spoken a word to you all day. Despite being in your family’s yard. Eating your sister’s food. Playing with your goddamn nephews. You broke his heart, apparently. So Frankie tells you. And yet this fucker dares to looks happy. 

So… Is that what you wanted? 

For him to be happy? 

Without you? 

Or… is a small part of you cruel? 

You’re not sure about the answer to that question, but you do know that your eyes turn mildly devilish as they flick back towards your buddy, your voice hushed and downright conspiratorial. All of a sudden, you’re not concerned with being the bigger person. 

You decide you’ll willingly catch that bone Frankie is throwing. “Tell me more about this playlist, Francisco.” 

You need this, you justify internally. You need something. Some sign that Santiago is hurting too. 

You’ve needed this for months, in fact; but, goddamn - you especially need this before you and the squad spends a whole weekend together up at the beach house. 

You need it badly.

Why? 

Because you’re not fine. 

Not fine at all. 

Not fine without him. 

This is your family's yard, and it’s your family’s  party, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him since he stormed out of your apartment all those months ago… and you’re emphatically not happy about it. Have found that, despite what you had hoped for, your reunion hasn’t solved a damn thing. Hasn’t eased the knot in your chest. Hasn’t allowed you to feel any sense of resolution.

“Fuck.” Your eyes brim over with the realisation, wet and glassy, and a tight lump balls in your throat. 

“Come on,” Frankie mutters - softly but urgently - as your eyes begin to swim with emotion. He nods up towards the interior of the house, and you are endlessly grateful when, with minimal spectacle, your buddy bundles you inside, his arm slung casually around your shoulder for comfort. 

You’re not the retreating type. At all. You have always been comfortable running headlong into things that scare you. Even so, it is a marked relief when you do slink inside. A relief that you were able to save face. Keep your pain hidden. But, most of all, it is a relief that you no longer need to suffer Santiago’s abject joy. 

It is a relief in the same way it is to retreat from the blazing sun, and you immediately find sanctuary in the cool, shaded interior of the house. 

Still, given the tumult of emotions inspired by his general proximity today, you are less and less sure that you can handle this trip. 

The only thing pushing you to go through with it, in fact, is the knowledge that there’s one thing harder than being close to Santiago… and that’s being apart from him. 

Perhaps Frankie’s wrong. Perhaps you didn’t break Santiago’s heart when you left. But, one thing’s for sure. Leaving him had certainly broken yours.

Truth be told, even after all this time, you’ve barely begun to put yourself back together. 

You’re in pieces; which - to be fair - is always how Santiago liked to see you, isn’t it? 

A friend. A soldier. A lover.  

That’s the only way you can stand to view him now. In mere fragments. In the shrapnel of stolen glances; because trying to see him all at once? That’s like trying to stare directly at the sun. 

He is too bright for you and it burns. Even with all this distance. 

***

You’re surrounded by laughter and chatter, yet you feel an unease. An unrest in the pit of you. 

Will’s ballcap is tugged down over your eyes under the guise of staying warm - a flimsy excuse, considering the raging fire pit in the centre of you all, acting as the warm sun to your orbits of beer, passed amiably around from hand to hand via the cooler at Will’s side. 

Naturally, the conversation has veered sharply towards the crude - it reliably does when you are and the boys are all together. 

“For real, Pope. Since we’re, uh, sharing,” Tom interjects, already looking far too pleased with himself. “Do you ever play up the knee thing to… encourage women to go on top?” Tom’s question earns shocked titters from Will and Frankie and, despite yourself, a softly exhaled laugh from you. 

“Why are you so obsessed with me?” Santiago asks Tom with an assured grin, and, upon being subject to the group’s attention, he leans forward in his camp chair. He drains the dregs of his beer and tosses the emptied bottle into the gathering pile in the sand, the label already peeled off by his nimble fingers.

Tom presses him for an answer, and you see Santiago’s pearly flash of teeth glinting in the firelight. “Play it up, buddy?” Santiago emits a deep, throaty chuckle which bobs in his corded neck. The sound is echoed by the other boys too, the threshold for laughter pleasantly lowered by the alcohol. 

Their movements are growing increasingly pack-like - a little less measured and a little more instinctual. Less individual and more unified. Moving as a team even as they sit still, with their spread legs and dropped shoulders and dipped chins. Alert eyes glinting in the dark with each lick of flame. Their energy would intimidate you, you think, if you didn’t know them. If you didn’t feel safer here than anywhere else in the world.

Still wearing that grin, Santiago scoops his hand over his stubble, his finger and thumb tracing around his mouth. “It’s practically a pick-up strategy.” His voice is warm sand and it scrapes you. Leaves a mark. 

Frankie titters off to Santiago’s side - a chaotic, beer-addled laugh. To his other side, Will grins too, his laughter striking a robust and deep note, even whilst shaking his head as though he’s somehow above it all. Together, their sounds form a cacophony you can feel deep in your chest - like the rumble of bass from a speaker, or the subdued roar of the ocean. 

If they are a pack, you - for once - are at odds. You feel it now more than ever, and it jars you. You are hyper-conscious that no display of mirth falls from you; and, in fact, the corners of your mouth turn down. 

Instead, you dwell on this roar - this rumble and hum under your skin. If you feel like the tide, like you are being swept up, Santiago is your shore. Everything about him draws you in, and you feel you could wash him away with the force of your need for him. 

Regardless of that, you continue to do precisely what you’ve been doing all night. You try to bury everything. To subdue your feelings. To calm this frenzy deep in the pit of you. In this moment, thinking about Santiago pursuing people other than you - listening to the damn stories - you take that urge quite literally, digging your bare toes deeply and intently into the sand as though you could disappear wholly into it. 

But; even that reminds you. 

Everything reminds you. 

Santiago. 

You’ve thought of nothing else all night. 

How could you? 

And, you feel the lack of him. 

The roughness of the sand against your smooth skin is a poor substitute for the rasp of his stubble. For the grit of his voice against your throat. The warmth of the curling, licking flame is a poor substitute for his body heat. His curling tongue. His fingers. The way you bury your feelings has nothing on how he buried himself in you. 

You fall into memories, tacky and hot, tumbling, and yet Will’s voice rips you abruptly back to the present. 

“How in the hell do you spin that one, man?” he asks Santiago with a genuine curiosity, his ice blue eyes dancing with amusement.  

Santiago risks a sheepish glance at you then, as though sensitive that his prowess with women might offend you in some way; but your eyes simply glance off of his like a flung spark from the fire pit, desperate to turn towards the dark and rid yourself of any heat which he may ignite. Desperate not to linger on the way the shadows and the light pool across the harsh planes of his face. The way his dark eyes are flickering and alive, and entirely capable of burning. 

And so, Santiago continues, relishing his moment. “Come on. It’s easy,” he breezes. He clears his throat, fully readying to inhabit his role. He shuffles in his chair and changes his demeanour, his body language, his voice. Shifting and contorting himself until he is layered with seduction. His frame even grows bigger, bolder, his legs spread. Chin raised and eyes hooded with a slow, sultry blink of those long lashes. 

Even this performance of heat hurts you; burns. Burns brightly enough that you have to look away from him before your skin is singed by it. “Hermosa,” he rasps, voice pleasantly scuffed by beer and smoke, the sound so rough and gritty you swear you can feel it scrape your skin. Your core clenches around the full, deep, dark tones of him, as though they alone could fill you.

The fire throws out careless sparks like cracked whips, and, like them, you cling to a dying heat. This vestige of the way he spoke to you in the dead, dark night at one time, your bodies all salt-slick skin. “You’re right,” he purrs, and you see that his body has shifted - angled towards Tom. 

You feel embarrassed. You feel alight, as though somehow, they could all find you out in this moment. Could sense the wet slick pooling between your legs. Smell it somehow. Like all of a sudden their eyes will converge on you and they will know - hear the flutter of your pulse in your throat. Sense the throb building in your core. Feel you barrelling from dull ache to desperation. 

“About what?” Tom asks, playing along as Santiago sneaks a hand up his thigh. 

Santiago’s smile is lopsided. Charming, but full of challenge. “Thinking that I’m a bad idea.” He’s hamming it up, for sure, but the syrup and grit in his voice is taking you right back there all the same. Right back to between those sheets, and a disobedient heat snakes down your back. 

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” 

“Well,” Santiago offers with faux regret, voice husky, and you can’t help but lift your eyes back to him. Can’t possibly look anywhere else now. Can’t help but observe the smirk twitching his appealing mouth and the way his thick brow arcs up. “‘Cause my knees are shot from years in the military, so I’m afraid you’ll have to get on top and ride me senseless.” 

God in heaven.  

Looking at him was a mistake, even like this. Even as he feigns seducing Tom, of all people. There’s just something about the rough edge layered into his voice right now. Something about the firelight painting his sharply-angled face with shadow. The flickers causing his smouldering eyes to glint with an echo of that formidable, latent heat. 

You feel this vestige of warmth in you ignite. Feel it begin to blaze and catch. You feel memories of him, his skin, his touch, amassing grain by grain. Ever so suddenly you are the shore now. Parched. A hot, baking expanse seeking its relieving tide. 

God, you want him. 

You feel your core shiver around the memory of him slipped into you, deep and dirty, teeth on your throat, and it’s almost too much to take. 

You need him, even though you’re still so damn angry with him. 

Or… no. No, that’s not it. Yes - you want him because of it. 

You need to fuck the residual anger from beneath your skin, for it has festered there for months now. Months, and you need it to move. Need it to give. Need it slaked and sated and gone. 

It’s not a healthy desire, you think, and you feel a little shame at that. You are grateful then - as Santiago effortlessly drags you back into the inescapable pit of him - that the boys’ laughter tears you abruptly from this impossible yearning. Gives you a lifeline. Reminds you where you are. How far you’ve come. 

You got out. And that meant leaving him behind too, didn’t it? 

“You’re such a fucking dog, man,” Will snickers. 

The chair over, Frankie’s shoulders are shaking with laughter too, his head tipped up to the sky and his eyes disappeared with it. You wish that you could laugh like that. That you could feel light, but instead you feel heavy and sick. 

“That works?” Tom asks incredulously, and you take another hasty swig of your beer, the froth hissing against your lips and a hoppy taste flooding your tongue. You briefly wish it was something stronger.

“Don’t go getting ideas, Tom,” Santiago says smugly, slapping his buddy emphatically on the thigh. “Works when I do it.” 

Oh, you bet it does. You bet it works. 

Tom throws Santiago a stink-eye then, before sitting slightly taller in his chair, his face contorting in a clear attempt to smoulder. “My knees are shot from years in the military...” Tom echoes, trying to inject a similar level of grit into his voice... and, the contrast? The failure? It is… an instant relief. 

Tom’s attempt is laughable, in fact. And so, when your favourite pilot’s dense, throaty chuckle sounds out to your side once more – this time, you can’t help but crack a smile too. Indeed, the laughter which spills out of you is a welcome vent, and so you reach for it wholeheartedly. 

There is an eruption of good-natured, teasing banter from the boys now - and Tom looks miffed that his attempt to tease Santiago has almost entirely backfired. Then, grasping for this welcome escape route a tad too eagerly, perhaps, you submit your own dig. “You might wanna run that script again. Give us a little less of that insurance infomercial vibe next time, buddy.” 

Frankie can barely breathe from laughing now, his hand coming to clutch his belly, and it’s pleasantly infectious. The atmosphere is safe and cocooning and familiar, and for the first time tonight you almost forget. You almost forget the thing that you haven’t been able to forget for months. That Santi isn’t touching you, and that, God; you need him to. 

But then, your relief is snatched from you all too suddenly. “Well sure,” Tom aims, his shot primed to land. “You would know how it goes, right? First hand? Did Pope use that line on you too, right before he and that guy from the bar practically double-dipped you?” 

The group fucking brace. 

You can feel it. 

It’s the exact same energy as when you’ve all grabbed for purchase in the helo or the humvee, right before a collision. The world seeming to flow in slow motion, your stomach being tossed up in the air and rolling as you lurch and sink.  

Most of the time, sure. You pride yourself for being able to take the boys’ banter on the chin. For having a thick skin. For being able to muster a scathing comeback, rolling off your tongue without a thought. 

But this? This has you beat for a second. This has a sinkhole opening up in your middle.

You meet Will’s eyes for a split second in desperation, but he looks at you helplessly, and you know. You know you need to say something. You know you need to, before they witness -before he witnesses- you falling apart. Before you let your silence reveal that you’re not over Santiago. That this hang isn’t ‘just like old times’. Not like ‘before’. That maybe, it can never be how it was again. 

Finally, something comes to you, and you grab for it; once again, a little too eagerly. “At least I got some, Tom. I doubt you could even seal the deal these days.” You push the words out and hope they sound light, even as you feel a tremor in your body. In your throat. Even as you feel Santiago’s eyes on you without looking. Can imagine them, dark and knowing, and worst of all… apologetic. Maybe even pitying. “Oh hey! Just like your ‘career’ in real estate!”

“Ohhhhh shiiittt,” is the prevailing sentiment from the group, hands flung up into the air as Tom realises he’s just been owned by your spectacular throwdown. 

Good, you think. Good. You’re glad the asshole’s getting his comeuppance but, even so, your petty victory does little to fill the hole in your chest, your heart still hammering and your fingers still trembling subtly against the cool, wet neck of your beer. 

To your surprise though, Tom doesn’t even bite back. Not this time, and that makes you feel even more annoyed, somehow. It makes you feel as though your anger is misdirected. As though Tom’s not the asshole here. As though he’s not the dude you’re fuming at after all. 

Still, your comment served its purpose well enough, you think, as steady, safe banter erupts again. You are pleased that you avoided the full impact of this collision, brakes slammed on as you still teeter on the cliff edge; but your heart feels bruised and rattled in the roll cage of your chest all the same. 

Mainly though, you are pleased that you are no longer the focus of everyone’s attention. However, your skin warms when you notice one man’s eyes remain on you, his gaze fixated and hooded and intense, and a shiver of heat dips down each notch of your spine. 

You look away. You tug Will’s cap a little further down over your eyes and you wait. You wait for the topic to shift so that you can excuse yourself without the cause being quite so obvious. You wait, until you can’t take the heat from this fire a second longer. Then, and only then, you make your excuses and dip out, retreating into the empty, quiet shell of the house. 

You pad into the kitchen, the cool interior immediately relieving against your hot skin, gooseflesh snaking down your arms and making your hairs stand on end. The dim light is certainly a respite from the searing brightness of the fire and the sting of the smoke in your eyes. But most of all, of course, it is relief from him. 

Santiago. 

It’s rough. Rougher than you expected. You simply can’t take this distance from him. You’d thought, before, that the miles between you - between here and Colombia - had been hard to reckon with. But this distance? The vanishingly small distance where he’s right here yet has never felt further out of your reach? That’s a thousand times harder. This petty distance – this rupture, this wound – hurts far more, because it feels far harder to heal. Far more festering than a clean break, and seeing him has already torn out every self-applied suture. 

You don’t like that things seem to have been irrevocably changed. You don’t like that your two bodies - which used to be so in sync - are now so awkward around one another. Purposefully aloof, rather than tactile. Remaining so separate, rather than together. 

It has been slowly amassing all day, the weight of this pain. Of this lack. And now, after feeling the absence of his touch so intensely - of that blessed togetherness- ironically, you finally need a moment alone. 

You cross the room and fold yourself over the kitchen counter, hinging at the hips. You rest your head in your hands, laying your forearms flat along the cool, marbled surface. 

For a brief moment, it is even a relief. You breathe deeply. Put him out of your head. But, after only one moment more you find yourself missing the pain. You’ve become fond of it, in a way. You haven’t been able to let go because, in truth, you’ve wanted to feel the continued burn of this loss - like a scar.

It is the only proof you have left that he touched you at all. 

That you came close to having something with him. Within touching distance of it. 

But now… 

You sigh deeply. You hate this torment. You hate not knowing how to be around him. The way the familiar is recast as unfamiliar. Your certainty now uncertainty. Your home now a hotel. 

You’ve spent the whole day so far keeping your distance. Talking only to the group, always some buffer of Tom or Will or Frankie in between you. Always leaving one seat between your bodies. Avoiding prolonged eye contact. Going out of your way to make sure the two of you were never left alone.

Being left alone with him is the last thing you want; and the first, of course. 

And, as if on cue, a low whistle sounds from behind you. You know the sound without looking, and your body stiffens. “An ocean view and now this?” Santiago jokes cautiously as he approaches behind you, clearly faced with a perfect view of your ass as you fold over the counter. “Pretty sweet deal. You should get Tom in on this real estate action. He might actually sell something.” 

Despite everything, all of it, you can’t help but laugh at that. You appreciate the dig at Tom a hell of a lot more than you should, actually. 

“Listen. Are you… alright?” Santiago asks next, much more softly. You hate the way his voice prickles the hairs on the back of your neck; but also, you don’t hate it at all, of course. 

You inhale and stand, pushing your torso up from the counter. You look up to the top of the cabinets, not blinking until the would-be tears have dried, and only then do you turn towards him. 

Santiago. 

Only then do you face your sun, praying that you will not be singed.  

All day, you have had a buffer in between the two of you. Clouds, to dim his brightness. But now, it is just you and him, alone in the kitchen of the beach house. 

This bland domesticity sure is a far cry from the field, yes. From your original shared domain. But, it also serves as an all too painful reminder of the last time you saw him. Of the last time his lips moved against yours. Of the last time, in that kitchen, that he’d had you. Taken you, bunched up naked against the fridge as he filled your slick heat with his fingers. As he kissed you and tongued you and claimed you back, as if he ever intended to keep you. 

It is a reminder of the time he had told you he loved you, and with finality, you had both realised that it still might not be enough.

You turn towards him, finally, and you brace. 

Brace like you’re about to collide. 

Like there will be an impact when your eyes meet.

Your brace like you’re expecting hot tempers, hot feelings, hot words. Wounds splitting and salt being rubbed in. 

Still, that’s not at all what you get. 

Instead, Santiago’s eyes are as wet as your own. All of his boldness and bluster is gone, and he’s standing on the very perimeter of the room as though he is the one who dares to venture no further. As though you might burn him if he gets too close. 

“I missed you,” he rasps, and despite the softness and the sincerity of the words, they feel like a rough struck match against your skin. 

You try desperately. Try desperately to fling this offered spark away before it catches, but it is futile. 

He missed you, and his admission already has you blazing for him. 

He’s standing mere feet from you.

And, despite everything, all you can think about is closing this oh so petty distance. 

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Things Learned and Unlearned Ch. 1

Series Summary: Y/N has spent her life trying to outrun her mother's reputation. When she meets the rich and successful playboy, Dean Winchester, how quickly can he get her to stop running?

Pairings/Characters: Dean Winchester x Y/N, Sam Winchester, Jessica Winchester, Lucy Winchester (OC)

Warnings: Each chapter will have it's own warnings, but there will be smut, seduction, virgin!reader, playboy!dean, Edwardian era BS attitudes surrounding sex and women. (Technically it's set in 1900 and the Edwardian era started in 1901, but you get it.) Angst, Fluff, all the good stuff that regularly pops up in my series. 😁

Chapter Warnings: None really in this first chapter.

Word Count: 2,656

A/N: Okay, so this is the series that I orphaned over on fanfiction.net and I conducted a poll on what people wanted me to do with it if I brought it over to Tumblr. Converting it into a Dean x Reader AU won quite handily. So, that's what I'm doing. I hope you enjoy.

Just so everyone knows, this is a historical AU set in 1900, and there is no hunting involved. (Though there is a family business. 😄)

Series Master List | Main Master List | Tag List

Dean Winchester was bored; he admitted it. He was bored of the balls, the soirees, the empty conversations, the glittering jewels and the painted smiles. He needed a break. So he'd left New York City and all its glamor and come to Newburgh to spend time with his brother, Sam, Sam's wife Jessica and their little girl, Lucy.

However, now that he was standing in the quiet train station, waiting for Sam to pick him up, he had to wonder what he'd been thinking. With the sleepy ticket agent sitting behind the counter, gently dozing, and an old man sitting on a bench, lazily browsing through a local newspaper, this no longer seemed like a solution to his restlessness and boredom. This place actually seemed like the town that boredom was born and raised in!

But what could it hurt to stay for a week or two? He'd visit with Sam and Jessica, see how much Lucy had grown in the last year and maybe it would wash away the taste of sweaty, over-crowded ballrooms and smoky parlors with too much lemon furniture polish.

He shook his head. He didn't know what had gotten into him lately. That life was all he'd ever been interested in. Certainly, he'd never wanted his brother's life. Slaving away at his private law firm, saddled with a wife and child, and living in the middle of nowhere, a six hour train ride away from civilization; it had always horrified him.

In the last few months, however, the idea of breathing fresh air, of laughing with and even arguing with his brother, of bouncing his niece on his knee, and even the idea of listening to Jessica's bouncy chatter, had been growing in his mind until it was a constant disruption in his thoughts. So, he'd left the reins of his family's shipping and trade business in the hands of his very capable manager and sent a telegram to Sam that he was coming to stay, and to pick him up at the station.

But Sam was late. Dean had been waiting nearly an hour. Tired of standing around, Dean decided to wander a little. He woke up the ticket agent briefly to ask if he could leave his suitcase behind the desk with a message for his brother. The agent yawned and gave him a pen and paper, reaching over to take his suitcase.

Sam,

Got tired of waiting for you. Went exploring. Be back in an hour - two o'clock.

D.

"Thanks." He said to the agent, and set off on his quest to cure his boredom. There had to be something in this town to interest him.

***

Y/N breathed in deeply, and let out a long sigh. The air was crisp, fall air that smelled faintly of damp leaves, spice, and wood smoke. It was a warm and inviting smell and it made the lonely chasm inside her heart widen.

"Miss Y/N, watch!"

Y/N gave her attention back to the little girl who was running down the hill, scattering the birds, and laughing loudly. She couldn't help but smile at the little hellion. It might not be very ladylike behavior, but she wasn't even four years old yet. Y/N decided to save the admonishment and let her be a carefree little girl while she could. These years of innocence and abandon were fleeting. The little one should enjoy them.

"Hello."

Y/N jumped abruptly at a man's deep voice. With a hand over her thumping heart, Y/N turned to scowl at the stranger who'd startled her. As she looked up into his face however, her scowl melted and her heart started beating hard enough to jump out of her chest.

The man was smiling at her, a smile that hitched up one side of his mouth and made Y/N's breath catch in her throat. He was very tall, towering above her where she sat on the park bench. The perfectly tailored, brown traveling coat he wore stretched across broad shoulders and narrowed in a V shape over his flat stomach. His wool pants were of very fine quality and accentuated the strength and muscle of the legs beneath them.

He was beautiful, there was no doubt, but his eyes were something more than beautiful. They were a bright emerald green, long-lashed and penetrating. They stared into Y/N, like he could see through to her back collar button. His eyes alone caused Y/N to blush and she realized she was blushing because there were promises in his eyes, promises of something dark and sensual and all consuming.

He was speaking. She tried to clear the buzzing in her brain so she could hear him.

…"Dean."

She shook her head. "What?" she asked quietly.

He chuckled softly and Y/N's stomach clenched at the sound.

"Dean. I said my name is Dean Winchester and I asked you for yours."

"Y/N!"

At the sound of her name, Y/N turned, thinking wildly for a moment that someone had simply been telling this man her name, but then she realized it was Mr. Winchester, her boss. And as she realized this, the name the man had just given her penetrated through the haze in her mind.

She looked back at the stranger. "Winchester?"

But he wasn't looking at her anymore; he was looking at her boss who was jogging slightly towards them. "Dean!" he called out. "You weren't at the station, so I thought I'd track you down. Sorry I'm late." Mr. Winchester threw his arms around the man and pulled him into what looked like a bone crushing hug. But the man simply pounded Mr. Winchester on the back before her boss turned to face her.

“You’ve met my brother?”

***

Dean closed the door of his wardrobe and leaned against it, closing his eyes so he could bring that perfect face into his mind's eye. Beautiful (y/c) eyes, soft features, and an incredibly succulent mouth. He'd immediately had plans for those perfect lips and he'd already begun imagining them beneath his own, or moving down his body, slowly…

Then suddenly, he'd heard his brother's voice and was crushed in an embrace. When he pulled away, he could see the woman (Y/N?) was blushing profusely and trying to stare a hole into the ground.

He had quickly learned this woman was governess to his niece, his brother making the formal introductions. Lucy came running over and launched herself into Dean's arms.

"Uncle Dean! What did you bring me?"

"Lucy, manners." Sam had scolded. 

But Dean chuckled, and pulled gently on one of her braids. "I have lots for you, kiddo, but it's back at the station."

So, Sam had herded them all back towards the station. He'd told Lucy and her governess that they should get into the carriage as well and ride home with them, but Y/N had refused quickly, blushing again.

"No. Thank you, Sir. You're very kind, but Lucy needs to stretch her legs and wear off her energy. We'll walk back. I'll have her ready for supper at six o'clock." With that she took off with Lucy's hand in hers, walking fast enough that the little girl had to jog a bit to keep up.

"What did you do?" Sam had asked immediately, cuffing Dean none too softly in the back of the head.

"What?" Dean asked innocently. "I barely said two words to the woman."

"Really?" Sam asked, disbelievingly. "Well, two words from you and my level-headed, almost stoic, governess has turned into a blushing school girl."

Dean had just grinned. Sam rolled his eyes and cuffed him again.

Now Dean was changed out of his traveling clothes and into a fresh suit having bathed and rested. And he was bored once again. Sam had returned to his office in town to see his last client of the day and Jessica was out paying calls. He wandered around their modest, but beautiful home, reacquainting himself with the warm wood floors, expensive oriental rugs, and the smell of freshly cut flowers that Jessica grew in a hothouse in the back.

After a half hour, he was officially restless and all the signs of his brother's apparent domestic bliss had him desperate to find a distraction.

He wandered into the library hoping to find a book that might do the trick. Instead he found the beautiful governess he'd met so briefly. She was sitting on a green chair in the corner. She had her legs tucked up on the seat and one stocking clad ankle was showing as it peaked out from beneath her skirts. Lucy was nowhere to be seen, and he assumed she was taking an afternoon nap.

His body thrummed with desire immediately and he had to give his head a shake. He wasn't some green boy about to lift his first skirts. He needed to get control of himself.

Then she looked up from her book, sensing him, and her look of surprise mixed with the innocent desire that flooded her gaze took that control away in an instant. He pictured pulling her into his arms, and ravishing her sweet, lush mouth, which was now open slightly in surprise.

He swallowed and cleared his throat. "I apologize, Miss Y/L/N. I seem to startle you each time I see you."

She closed her mouth and shook her head. "Not at all, Mr. Winchester. I'll leave you to your reading." She stood to go, but Dean leaned against the closed library door and crossed his arms.

"No, I'd like you to stay, please. Can you recommend a book? What are you reading?"

She took a moment before answering, swallowing several times. She held up the small book. "It's a book about biblical poetry."

"Oh?" Dean couldn't think of anything less interesting, but he moved to her side, and took the book from her hand as an excuse to get closer.

The scent of something sweet, but spicy hit him as he stood near her, making his head foggy, so it took him a moment to register what he was reading as he looked down at the page she'd been on, it was marked with a piece of ribbon.

Taking the ribbon out, he read the words again and then looked back at Y/N with an incredulous expression. "You were reading…this?" He turned the book back to her and pointed his finger at one passage in particular.

"Yes, that's right." Y/N confirmed. "I must confess, I'm not much of a poet, it all sounds fairly confusing to me. This poem talks about a man and woman who are gardening. What a mundane subject to write poetry about." She shrugged delicately. "But it is biblical, so I thought it could only enrich my mind."

Dean couldn't help the wicked grin that spread across his face. "This is the Song of Songs. It's love poetry."

Y/N looked puzzled. "Love? Of what, gardening?"

Dean's smile deepened. "It's written in metaphor. You know what a metaphor is, don't you?"

Y/N's expression became slightly annoyed. "Of course I know what a metaphor is, I'm a governess."

"Of course." Dean said and suddenly he had a wonderful idea. "Let me see if I can help you see the metaphor here. Sit back down, and allow me to read this section to you and see if you understand."

***

Y/N was trying hard to pull air into her lungs without appearing to pant. There must be something truly wrong with her that made these kind of thoughts run through her mind. She couldn't focus her gaze on anything. When she looked into his eyes, thoughts fled completely and her mind was just a rolling mass of red haze.

So, she tried to focus on his neck. But the column of his throat and square corner of his jaw, with it's slight shadow of stubble made her breath catch again. She looked lower to where his hands held the book. But his hands were large and his fingers were long and thick, with blunt squared tips. They made visions pop into her mind's eye, visions that no respectable lady would be having. She pictured those fingers taking hold of her hand, wrapping around it, she imagined the warmth of his skin on hers, and soon she was nothing but a mass of nerves again.

She was very proud of herself for getting words past her lips. But then he'd suggested he read to her and she heard herself agreeing. A part of her mind was telling her to simply leave, but she thought it might seem rude, he was the brother of her employer after all. So she sat.

He opened to her page and began:

Awake, north wind, and come, south wind! Blow on my garden, that its fragrance may spread everywhere. Let my beloved come into his garden and taste its choice fruits. I have come into my garden, my sister, my bride; I have gathered my myrrh with my spice. I have eaten my honeycomb and my honey; I have drunk my wine and my milk. I slept but my heart was awake. Listen! My beloved is knocking: "Open to me, my sister, my darling, my dove, my flawless one. My head is drenched with dew, my hair with the dampness of the night."

Y/N listened and the words themselves held no new meaning, she could find no metaphors in them. But she heard the husky timbre of his voice, heard the low rumble as his tongue and lips formed the words, and she suddenly knew that what he was saying was scandalous. She could hear the impropriety in his voice, knew it from the way it made her shiver. Quoting the bible shouldn't create such a hedonistic reaction!

She jumped to her feet, unsure of what her next move would be, but she knew she couldn't stay in this room alone with this man another minute.

Dean stood slowly, putting the book down.

"Did you like it?" He asked and his voice was rough and low, slow and drawling.

She shook her head. She definitely didn't like this feeling. Her head felt stuffed full of cotton and her body tingled. He stepped closer to her and reached out to take her hand.

It felt exactly as she had imagined. It was warm where his fingertips held hers.

"I just realized that when we were introduced earlier I was very rude. I didn't even offer a kiss for your hand."

He tugged gently on her hand and she shuffled forward until only a few inches separated them. Her breathing was rough and her mind screamed at her to pull away. But she didn't. Instead she watched as he brought the back of her hand up to meet his plump lips. They were smooth and warm, and his breath just heated her skin there.

He moved his lips slowly, turning her hand in his so he could kiss the inside pulse point of her wrist. She had to tell him to stop. He was behaving with unbelievable impropriety. But his lips…they moved again, grazing her skin as they did, up to the tip of her thumb. Then he kissed the tip of each finger, before grasping her hand more firmly and pulling her the last inch toward him, so that now she could feel the heat radiating off of him. He dipped his head and she felt his lips in the center of her palm. Suddenly she felt his tongue flick out briefly to taste her.

It was the jolt of fire that shot up her arm that brought her to her senses. She gasped loudly and wrenched her hand out of his. She stood frozen for a moment, staring at the mouth that had brought on such a feeling. Then, desperately, she bolted from the room, trying to outrun the image of the heat burning in those stunning green eyes and of the wide, sensual mouth she suddenly longed to feel against her own.

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters:

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Dean Fics Only:

@roonthelittlespoon920

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Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom:

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Everything Incl. Fan Edits:

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@deangirl96

[specialagentlokitty]

Booth x Teen!reader - a little hyper

is it possible that you can write a Booth! X ADHD teenage reader? I don’t exactly have a plot in mind but the reader is either stimming or just very fidgety - @alexandriathewolfyt 💜

Sitting in the interrogation room, you kicked your feet up on the table, using them to push yourself back so you could sing in your chair.

You were tossing a stress ball up and down in your head, trying to hit it off the ceiling.

After a few minutes and the ball rolling across the room, you got up, walking around the table a few times you walked over to the mirror.

You stood there, then leant back, throwing your head forehead to headbutt the glass, grinning a little.

“Come on, I’m bored, stop watching me that’s creepy.”

You pushed yourself away, and you made your way to the door, opening it to peak outside, finding a few agents watching you.

Frowning, you slowly closed the door again and picked up your ball, climbing on the table as you began throwing to upwards again.

Booth stood on the other side of the glass just watching you.

“Seriously, I spent have the morning having to chase them around the hallways of the school, and they still have energy?”

“It’s ADHD booth, (Y/N) has an excessive amount of energy and a difficulty concentrating. It can also present in outbursts of anger or disruptive behaviour, loss of concentration, impulsive thoughts.” Brennan said.

“Right well I need to go in there and stop this before somebody gets hurt, can you find sweets, maybe he can crack the hyper code.”

With that booth left, and when he walked into the room he was hit in the face with a ball.

A silence fell over the room.

“Sorry…?” You grinned a little.

He picked up the ball and walked in, gesturing for you to jump down from the table so you did and he handed it back.

“Trying to make your great escape?” Booth asked.

“Not yet, but maybe soon this is boring. Do you have snacks? Or soda?”

“Yes to both, but only if you answer my questions.”

“That’s bribery you’re not allowed to do that.”

“I’m not allowed to accept them, there’s a difference kid. Sit.”

“Wouldn’t that like be morally wrong?”

Booth sat down, looking up at you.

“Isn’t running from a federal agent morally wrong?”

“Nah man that’s just wrong.” You beamed.

He gestured to the seat and you sat down, tapping your hands on the table.

“Are you taking your medication?” He asked.

“How’d you know?”

“Bones found your prescription bottle in the reception, you got it a few months ago but it’s still closed.”

“I’ve been busy, I forget. I forgot my lunch all this week.”

He nodded his head, setting a photo down in front of you.

“Do you know him?”

“Yeah, science teacher I think, he hated me. A lot of teachers do, but I’m cool with that, when can I get my sweater back?”

“Right now it’s evidence.”

You groaned loudly and leant back in your chair again.

“If you fall that’s not my issue.” Booth said, “I just need you to answer a few more questions.”

You leant forward, resting your hands on the table, drumming them a little bit.

He asked a few questions which you answered and he stood up, opening the door and blocked the doorway.

“You’re not gonna run off?”

“Not yet.”

He sighed, gesturing for you to follow him and you did.

Booth took you to his office and he gestured to the man and woman sitting inside.

“You know Bones, that’s sweets. Stay here.”

With that he left and you looked at Sweets as he held out a bottle to you.

“These belong to you.”

“Eh keep em, I don’t need them. What’s this?”

You picked something up and then set it down.

“You have a lot of energy, is there anything you do to burn your excess energy?” Brennan asked.

You shrugged a little bit, exploring more of the office until you grew bored and began throwing your ball again.

“Here.”

Booth handed you a can of soda and some snacks, pointing to the chair.

You sat down, opening the chips and watched as he took the other two out of the room so he could talk to them.

After a few minutes Booth walked back in.

“Good news, you’re now in my care until after the case.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so, so grab your stuff and let’s go.”

“Where?”

“I’m taking you back to school, and you’re not going to run away because I’ll have agents placed around the school to keep an eye on you.”

You grumbled a little, slouching more into the chair.

Booth crossed his arms, looking at you.

“Are we really going to have troubles this early?”

“Come on man! Let me stay! I’ll behave!”

Booth narrowed his eyes a little bit, and he sat down on his desk, taking some of the chips from the bag you were eating.

“I hear you like to run.”

“Yeah, on track team.”

“Alright, let’s go down to the gym then.”

“Really?!”

Booth grabbed your bag.

“Yeah, let’s see if you’re really as fast as they say you are.”

You ran straight towards the elevator.

You had a lot of energy you needed to burn, and Booth needed you to burn as much as you possible could.

He was also hoping that in doing something you liked he could learn a little more about you and maybe you could offer more useful information about the case.

You were a good kid, just hyper and misunderstood by everybody else but booth could see that you just really wanted to be seen as an ordinary teenager

[stillness-in-green]

First of all, thank you for Bring It All Back. Gave me chills. Second, what do you think about the newest chapters? It seems like Izuku took Gran Torino's 'killing to save' ideology to heart. Personally, I gave up somewhere around the Nagant arc.

Belatedly, thank you very much, @kermitthekrog-blog!  I’m glad you enjoyed it, and I’m particularly always happy to hear people say it was chilling, upsetting, enraging, or other such disruptive adjectives.  It’s a rabble-rouser of an art project, to be sure, quite intentionally so.

As to the rest, I’ve made a few posts here and there since I got this ask which probably make my opinions pretty clear, and I’ve got a new ask in the queue which wants to know my thoughts on the epilogue material thus far, so I’ll have more to say there!  But in the meantime, yeah, it’s pretty appalling to think back to all Deku’s talk about “saving” Shigaraki and realize that all of it predates the Gran Torino scene?

Like, he thinks he wants to save Shigaraki when they part ways at the end of the first war arc, sure!  And he tells the vestiges he wants to save Shigaraki!  But does that specific word choice endure once he wakes up?  Well, @codenamesazanka did some hunting recently (you can find two posts about her rereads here and here) and, it turns out, no; it doesn't.

After Deku wakes up and talks to Gran Torino, the focus switches to Deku understanding Shigaraki, choosing not to ignore him, finding out the nature of the Crying Child, all that stuff.  That word completely stops coming out of Deku's mouth, and very shortly after stops coming from any of the OFA vestiges as well.

It really does read, in retrospect, like, yeah, he sincerely took Gran Torino’s words at face value and to heart. “Killing can be a way of saving, so I can save him by killing him.”

Heck, if anything, given how little he focuses after that on saving, it almost feels like that’s the moment he resolves to kill Shigaraki—rather conveniently, it allows him a way to make peace with extrajudicial murder and avenge himself for all the people Shigaraki’s hurt that Deku can’t forgive him for.

The only thing that’s different from just killing him outright is that Deku wants to understand him first, as if he has to verify for himself that Shigaraki is secretly unhappy and why so he can justify that save-by-killing—putting Shigaraki out of whatever misery Deku can make himself believe Shigaraki is in—with a clean conscience.  But he absolutely does not make any further promises about not killing him afterward.

Grim fucking stuff, but it lines up.  One wonders what he would have done if the Shigaraki in the mindscape had changed to Sweet Innocent Tenko and never reverted back to Shigaraki Tomura at any point.  Would Deku have tried not to punch him to death?  Tried to call for Eri or Recovery Girl after AFO’s vestige faded out?  Felt like more of a failure because the “person” VFO devoured would have been that cute kid, meaning Deku failed to save the “child”?

As it is, he mostly just seems vaguely discouraged and unhappy about Shigaraki staying “the leader of the League” until the end—would he have preferred that his hands were ashen and flaking with the powdered remains of the crying child instead?

As to me giving up, the Nagant fight is one of two places I'd put that pin.  I was discouraged by the first war arc, when so many of the advantages Shigaraki had gained over the course of MVA were stripped away from him again.  I was dissatisfied with the second encounter with Muscular, when Deku's "victory" was framed in such a heroic, triumphant light despite being a categorical failure based on the standard Deku seemed to have set for himself.  But Deku’s fight with Lady Nagant was so bad for so many reasons that it served as the first true hammer blow to my belief that Horikoshi would be willing or able to seriously grapple with the societal problems the manga had been building up to at that point.

My patience with the manga, and the enjoyment I derived from it, continued to deteriorate throughout the rest of that arc and the following war arc, but the hospital attack is the other place I would point to as the sequence that completely destroyed my engagement with the series.

Just—the naked contrivances of it, the excruciating treatment of Spinner, the howling tone-deafness, the monumental unfairness of the demands it laid at the feet of its oppressed minority. The series presents a backstory like Shouji’s alongside current story elements like heteromorphs being turned away from shelters in the supposedly accepting and quirk-blind big cities and still somehow comes out valorizing passive endurance so hard it starts to look like willful self-subjugation.

It is the most comprehensively noxious moral in the entire endgame, rivaled only by Deku’s murder of Shigaraki under the guise of “saving” him, and frankly? I would still put that one in second place. At least you can point to Shouto (and possibly Ochaco, though that remains to be seen) as an indication that save-by-killing is not a story-wide moral about villains who have “gone too far.”

Conversely, pretty much everything the hospital attack mini-arc winds up preaching can be read outward onto the rest of the story's antagonists as well, including Lady Nagant. What else to make of her exchange with Hawks The Optimist, after all, than that the conclusion is that she should have just kept murdering whoever the government told her to until some outside player solved her problem for her?

A Hero is someone who is willing to suffer in silence. A Villain, then, must be someone who refuses to.

Truly, the hospital attack is the poisoned well that wipes out the entire village.

[heleentje]

So there's a take that crops up every so often in the Breath of the Wild fandom, and it goes something like this:

Windblight Ganon is such a piece of cake! If Revali were as talented as he claimed to be, he wouldn't have been defeated by it, so clearly he's just an arrogant blowhard.

I disagree. Because while Windblight might have been relatively easy for the player to defeat, circumstances conspired against Revali in every possible way.

Strike 1: The Blight Ganons were tailor-made to defeat the Champions

While it's not stated outright, the Blights seem to be custom-made to put their respective opponents at the worst possible disadvantage. So while Link can avoid the whirlwinds on the ground, they would be very disruptive to Revali's Gale (something he's only been able to do consistently for a short while). Arrows, too, can easily get blown off course by the wind even when using a heavy bow (so can a Rito, who is presumably lighter than a Hylian).

If, on top of that, it was raining (implied by memories #16 and #17), then Revali's favoured bomb arrows would have been useless. Not a great recipe for a fight.

Strike 2: Rito don't see well in the dark

Botw is a game that doesn't tell you a lot upfront, but you can find a wealth of information in every little corner. Case in point, in Gerudo Town there's a Rito named Frita. And she has a very interesting tidbit to share if you talk to her at night.

[Image ID: A Rito named Frita in Gerudo Town says: "Us Rito... We haven't got the best night vision, to be honest."]

When the Calamity emerged, an unnatural darkness blanketed the land. A darkness that persists from its appearance all the way through Link and Zelda fleeing and their final stand at Fort Hateno, up until Zelda temporarily sealed the Calamity (memories #15, #16 and #17).

That’s without even mentioning the laser show Windblight Ganon puts on. Ever encountered a car with LED lights on a dark road? Now imagine how Revali felt.

Strike 3: Revali had to fly non-stop for hours to get to Medoh

After sinking some hours into playing botw, you probably get used to warping all across the map via the shrines. Going from Lurelin to Rito Village is a matter of seconds. And if the Sheikah had been able to unlock the Sheikah Slate fully in the past, that would have been a massive boon to the war effort.

Unfortunately, they didn't. Which means that, when Calamity Ganon emerged, all the Champions had to take the long road to their Divine Beasts.

Now what does that mean for Revali? We can hazard a pretty good guess, but we don't have to, because the art book tells us: Revali flew straight from Lanayru East Gate to Rito Village. It's hard to tell exactly how long that would have taken him, but I'm estimating that would be about 8-10 hours flying non-stop.

[Image ID: A map of Hyrule showing the presumed routes the Champions took to get to their Divine Beasts. Revali's is a straight line across Hyrule.]

Which means Revali (like the other Champions) was probably already exhausted by the time he got to Medoh.

Aaaaaand that's three strikes, he's out!

But if that's not enough for you yet, here's one more thing. Admittedly, this is less solidly canon than the previous parts, but it's conjecture that, in my opinion, is backed up by the Champions' Ballad DLC.

Strike 4: Revali lacked his best weapon and may have been injured

The artbook shows us another salient tidbit. Revali could have detoured if he wanted to, but he didn't: he flew in the straightest possible line across Hyrule Field.

Hyrule Field, better known as the center of the chaos at the time.

Can we really expect a Champion, especially a Champion who's so eager to prove himself, to not stop and at least try to help? And while trying to help, what might have happened to him?

When you fight the Blights in the illusory realm, you gain a set amount of equipment, implied to be what the Champions carried with them at the time. And with Revali, something's missing.

[Image ID: The bow inventory during the DLC fight against Windblight Ganon. It includes a Falcon Bow, Duplex Bow and Phrenic Bow.]

Where's the Great Eagle Bow?

Would Rito Champion Revali, greatest archer in known Rito history, really not be carrying his signature bow, when every other Champion carried their favoured weapon?

This, combined with his route straight across Hyrule Field, makes me suspect that he did engage the Guardians, lost his bow, and may even have gotten injured in the process.

So there you have it. Just about everything was against Revali in that fight. And while Link, and by extension the player, may have had an easy time of it, they went into it at full health and with all the advantages of the Sheikah Slate.

Meanwhile, Revali arrived at Vah Medoh after a frantic hours-long flight only to be thrown into a fight he didn't expect against an opponent tailor-made to counter his every move, while he was unable to see properly and lacked his best weapon. And he still managed to put up one hell of a fight.

[sinvilles]

Gathering my thoughts: Danielle Stopframe analysis

also like. I'm not concerned with whether any character in the series was "redeemed" or not. the show was cut in half, and so was every character arc. hence we end up with a show that got cancelled when all the main characters were at their lowest point of development in the narrative, and all the surrounding characters getting half developed to a point of mild satisfaction.

Danielle seems to get the least amount of interest when it comes to what makes him tick. He's a favorite of mine because of all the characters in Moralton, he's one of the few who is very unashamed of who he is and wears it on his sleeve. And I like that his weird presence is built up from the very start of the series. He's over the assumptions of others, and chooses to be himself, which in a show where the major theme is repression juxtaposes him as a foil to the rest of the town.

I wanted to make a mental inventory of this character, starting with some of his personality traits:

The Coach

Danielle is a body builder, and athletic coach to both adults and children. He's coached tennis, track, plays golf, figure skates- he understands discipline, long-term goal setting and is patient enough to work with others to achieve what they're trying to get. Being good with kids has nothing to do with it- its all about being consistent and doing it every day. He seems to approach everything like this- more of that obsession quality. Though he's not beyond trying to perform witchcraft to speed thing up a bit when he gets impatient.

He doubles as your typical gym bunny gay man. Self eroticized, willing to do anything to achieve that romanticized ideal. This brings us to the next bit.

Narcissistic qualities (classic + clinical)

Stopframe is obsessed with appearances. Good appearances means discipline to him, which might be what attracted him to Clay in the first place. But its all very surface level of course. When he sees people without discipline- like the hedonistic satanists, many of whom were overweight- their indulgence, both sexual and gluttonous, turned him off so hard he called it a night and went home. Which is funny coming from the guy with a piss kink.

"Sorry Clay, its just not worth it."

It echoes back later, when he throws out Clay's picture the moment he calls him up for a nightcap at midday. It seems he was either unaware of the extent of Clay's alcoholism or that it had never been that bad up until that point. I think the latter is more likely, since Clay's drinking isn't as pathological throughout the series until we get to Nature. Also suggests to me that Clay, while already having drinking problems prior, started drinking more after he met Danielle. We do see Stopframe say he's "better when he drinks" at least once, and Clay can only really go out and see him at Forghetty's. But this is a tangent for a Clay alcoholism analysis.

He cares very little for his family- Shapey is little more than a long distance trophy to him. I guess. I think. Shapey hugged him that time so I wonder if he ever gives him presents or comes to his birthdays (he was at Orel's). He only spends time with Joe when he's foisted upon him, otherwise ignoring him. He assumes he isn't any good with children, I think because he dislikes Joe's attitude.

A big reason I think his development is unfinished- and this is under the lens of character arcs as want vs need, where getting something they needed makes the character whole- is that we don't see him own up to the fact that he's as flawed as anybody else. He admits he has a problem, but he didn't find the root of it- namely that real love involves accepting the flaws of others and choosing to be there for them anyway. He didn't even own up to disrupting the Puppington home, which he had done intentionally and calculatingly for years. All interesting paths for his character.

Person Addiction

Danielle, much like Clay, has an addiction. It's a lesser known thing called Limerence, or "Person Addiction". Not everyone is aware it's even a thing- some people go through it once in their life, some people cycle through it over and over. There are people who mistake it for love. Scott Adsit once mentioned in a promo that Stopframe is "obsessed with Clay because he hasn't slept with him"- it's one way to describe it, specifically the way a lot of men tend to experience it. Having been through it once I can say with full clarity that it makes you feel temporarily insane and can mirror both anxious attachment and OCD. Realistically, it only feels much creepier than it actually is, because very few who go through it in real life ever want to indulge it the way Stopframe does- pictures everywhere, seducing the guy's wife, fathering a child with her just to insert his DNA into their family, so that Clay raises HIS son alongside his own... absolutely cuckoo bird. Even the part where he says Bloberta is only sexy by her association to Clay- that is the logic that person addiction runs on. Because Clay is literally a hit to him, he gets an oxytocin high from being near him or thinking about him. When he's away from Clay he goes through a withdrawal, sitting alone in the shower and holding himself. Clay is his worst habit.

So, walk with me… his plan to sleep with Clay involves sleeping with his wife first. Because if she commits infidelity, what's to stop Clay from doing it? and then he just has to wait years for the ball to drop and for Clay to eventually walk out. He has no problem fixating on this for almost a decade, but actively puts off ever interacting with Clay until the first episode of the series- even then its just to watch him piss on the wall, and then walk away. He avoids knowing Clay, because I think for a long time he's afraid of ruining the idea he has of him in his head- the idealized Clay that doesn't exist, the built up image. This is not to say that Limerence doesn't happen if you know the person well (its worse somehow), but he's able to easily quit him the moment that Orel tells him what Clay is really like.

Loneliness

It's not easy being queer in a place like Moralton. For one, the gay dating pool must be tiny since so many would be in the closet, or move out altogether. The culture is so 50s adjacent he might have to limit himself to cruising public bathrooms or exchanging letters long distance- its no wonder he fixated on Clay. Something about it might feel "safe" to him, compared to actively getting to know somebody. I don't think he has a problem getting laid so much as a problem connecting to others, which was why it was so sweet to see him make an effort to have a fun day with Orel in the finale.

Family

I might be in the minority on this but I don't think Stopframe is related to Bendy. If the Secondopinionsons wanted to keep Joe's mother a secret they needed to fully cut ties with anyone in her family- and she was a child at the time, so some hush money was definitely involved, maybe enough to send her to nursing school. For Stopframe to be babysitting Joe, he'd have to be in the immediate family of his father- the fact that he has a different name is of interest to me, and the fact that he's so much younger than Dr. Secondopinionson. He could very well have been a bastard child who either changed his name later or was raised primarily by and named after an unwed mother- perpetuating the cycle with Shapey so to speak.

The Romantic Agnostic

He's a big fan of Gothic Erotica, and vampires. Big on fantasizing. Open to trying anything. He is wishy washy on the topic of religion, switching from worshipping God to Satan on a whim. Makes sense, if God loves all his children, but hates homosexuality, and Satan hates all humanity, and loves homosexuality- you've got a 50% chance of pleasing either. I think he probably loves Halloween.

andddd thats all I got

[valentine-writes]

Hello hello! Been downright dying over how much I love your AtSV work!! So I thought I would feed into it >:) If you're feeling up to it, whats been brewing in your mind about The Spot x reader? Take it platonic or romantic, either has so much potential for fun in my opinion and I guess I'm just interested in what ideas you might have?? Not a lot to work off of from what I'm asking but I hope you're able to have fun with it anyways ^^; Whether youre able to get to this request or not, thanks for reading! Love what you do :)

collision.

「 tws + notes: possibly ooc, unedited, he's kind of pathetic little meow meowified im sorry, first bit inspired by @//submurged-into-clouds !! <3 」

↳ ft. the spot

「 gn!reader, can be platonic or romantic <3 」

author's note: first, AUWJHEJSBS thank u so much!!!! im glad u like what i've written so far– and i am SUPER excited to write for the spot becuz im gon b real,,, there was a momentary lapse of insanity where i was scouring for any content of him at all. SO TY 4 UR REQ!!!! ( /)u(\ ) i hope this is ok!!! i got carried away and stuff so,, i hope this is at the Very Least coherent! leaned for platonic stuff with romantic undertones that intensify throughout so,, read it how u like ^_^

▸ we're going to start this by establishing that bro has literally No Friends anymore. you met him after the collider incident and by some miracle, some sort of mercy from a higher power in the multiverse– you ended up becoming friends with him

really, meeting him was an accident. wasn't supposed to be anything more– just him messing around with his new abilities and slipping into a random universe with no idea where he was.

and there was you.

just you. out, alone at night. just taking a walk– disrupted by someone falling out of a weird portal from the sky.

this is the day your paths crossed, the day your fates intertwined, the moment that your world collided into his.

to put more literally: the day he crashed into you very unceremoniously.

im now re-reading the title and remembering his backstory and giggling at my unintentional joke. he is not catching a break. even from me.

▸ after recovering from a random stranger from another universe tumbling into your own, you began to talk.

now– you don't remember how the conversation started, but you were glad to listen. the way which he rambled to you, words tumbling out of his mouth like they'd been on his mind for a while– you felt like he needed someone to hear him.

he's surprised. you're not bothered. not frightened. not even weirded out. but you're not indifferent. you nod along, you comment on things here and there– but you listen. you actually listen to him.

eventually, when he leaves, you're sat there for a moment. just frozen– processing whether that had really happened or not. you see the indent his body left in the grass where the two of you sat. it's evidence enough for you.

a few weeks pass and you're certain that you were just fated to meet once and never again. you were fine with this.

▸ until he randomly popped up in your living room one day.

yes, he had been actively trying to find your universe again– and as casually as he can be, is now peeking from out the portal he created, head leaning in to get a better look at you.

you're not sure how you can tell considering he has no face,,, but he's definitely smiling.

he waves to you, awkwardly, (noticing that you're just staring at him while not saying a word), "thought i would say hi, so– ...hi."

you blink at him tiredly. "dude, it's 6:30 in the morning–"

he's treating this like it's normal for people to just show up in your house. he missed you– and it's very evident.

▸ no matter what type of relationship you're in with him: you GOTTA set boundaries. being one of the only people who cares to hang around him anymore means that you're gonna be seeing a lot of him.

while he certainly hasn't completely lost grasp on the concept of privacy, it's definitely been altered by the fact he's got powers that allow him to pop up wherever he wants. he's just a teeny bit invasive.

"hello!" he'll greet, randomly poking his head through a portal he made to your bedroom.

on instinct, you throw the closest thing to you. he's just glad you reached for the pillow and not the alarm clock also at your arms reach on the bedside table.

definitely a good idea to remind him that if he wants to hang out, he should probably message you, and if he wants to show up at your house for whatever reason, he should give you a heads up.

he has nearly walked in on you changing. and has apologized a million times every time it's brought up. it fr keeps him up at night.

▸ everyone in his life leaving him def messed him up a bit. he can deny it all he wants, but he's terribly anxious that you're gonna grow tired of him and leave.

constantly like "oh my god what if they leave for someone who has a face" and itz like,,, boy,,,, stfu itz 3am

he needs reassurance, even if he never explicitly says. but you're kind to him. patient. you're pretty much an angel in his eyes.

which is why he feels comfortable texting u in the dead of night like:

(im gonna b real i dont even know why i have this image)

▸ he's dismissed by most people around him– but you've given him your time. you've shown him that you care. he's doing everything he can to be certain you'll still care for him.

the random waves of "oh no but what if they hate me" hit him HARD. especially if he hasn't seen you in a while, if you take longer to respond to his messages, if you haven't been answering his calls– bro will jump to a conclusion

"hypothesis: they dont love me anymore :("

☝️🤓 SORRY HAKJWOENDOEND he would NOT say that. im just clowning on him itz a part of my luv 4 him </3

needs to be needed. wants to be wanted.

eventually you have a long talk about this. he's got a bit of an ego after realizing how much power he truly possessed– but you gently encourage him to let it down. a simple heart to heart. and while you're certain these things aren't going to dissipate with a single conversation, you've let him know he doesn't have to deal with it alone.

▸ physical contact is a need for him. bro's touch starved. he likes linking his pinky with yours or just intertwining your fingers together. if you ever let him rest his head on your shoulder or hugged him he'd actually have to fight tears. he hasn't been given affection in a while :(

▸ he doesn't really feel like he has to hide anything around you. he really doesn't have much of a filter when you're talking to him which makes for some amusing conversation. he finds your laughter the sweetest sound in the world– he likes making you laugh :] it makes him feel like he's accomplished something

▸ the alterations to his body have caused some weird little changes that most people don't notice. one of them most noticeably to you– he'd cold. not frigid or like icy, but a lot colder than normal people tend to be.

you first notice this when you're hanging out in your bedroom. you're sitting on your bed, while he paces back and forth, rambling about another failed villainous act

(you haven't questioned his whole obsession with villainy considering that he seems pretty harmless with what he's been attempting– no matter how much he tries)

"and then– ohh, and tHEN THEY JUST—" you notice how he's gesturing frantically, exasperated, annoyed– and out of instinct to provide some sort of comfort (or at least calm him down) your hand grasps his wrist

there's a moment of silence.

his voice dwindles into a more soft, subdued tone, watching as your fingers wrap around his wrist. "wh– if you wanted me to stop talking, you could've just... just said or...."

his mind is going blank, trailing off at your touch. he doesn't remember the last time someone has held his hand or even brushed up against him without freaking out.

"you're cold." you comment, now taking his hand between both of yours, as if you were trying to heat him back up. you don't meet his eyes, simply staring at his hand.

"oh– yeah, yeah, it's just– a thing with now. came with the holes–"

the sensation of your hands gently squeezing his shuts him up. you raise his hand to your lips and gently blow hot air onto it.

your brow furrows, nose scrunching up. "you're still cold..." you mutter, more to yourself than to him. quietly, your gaze returns to his face.

"does that bother you?" you ask him, after a beat of silence.

he shakes his head. your hands let go of his– but he quietly reaches back to hold it again.

"hold on a second. why don't you try again?" he suggests. you laugh softly, knowing it's obviously just an excuse. still, you humor him.

[sexy-opium-ravioli]

Photo Booth

Universe: Resident Evil

wc: 1,791

Pairing: Stepbro!Leon S. Kennedy x Reader

Warnings: Not many, just the fact that Leon is your stepbrother and he is .5 of a little shit. Otherwise, this is a good, old fashioned fluff piece.

a/n: Hihi hello hello :) I've been trying to claw my way out of depression for a while, but here's some cute Leon content in the meantime!

@lipglossanon !! thank you for being such a wonderful writer, honestly reading you has been really inspiring as of late! and your characterization of the Leons you have are among my very favorite.

It not my best work by any means, but I hope anyone reading this enjoys <3

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The liminal space of a mall was the place where you could see through a person, like light through glass. You'd get to see what stores they prefer to go to, what mall food they like to eat (or if they can't), what they buy vs what they don't. 

Or sometimes, as is the case with you and your weird, pseudo-freudian stepbrother-boyfriend Leon, you just get boba and mess around. 

There were other things you'd like to do with him, sure. Sometimes you two would catch a movie- or fuck each other until you're both sensitive and whimpering (as young lovers often do). Really depended on the day. 

But it was earlier in the morning and it was a free, clear Saturday, in the haze of a temperate spring. And, the last couple of days were kind of stressful. Keeping up separate social lives, exams, dealing with your shared parents- sometimes just being apart from each other was okay.

You were starting to suspect something in Leon. You didn't know what it was, really. Everything was in a haze with him- truer emotions he always hid behind something snarky and barbed. And since you could never really get an accurate read on him, you could only try to squint in the dark and decipher the signs in front of you. 

Still, something foundational was shifting. And there was a strange feeling in your stomach that had been there all morning, and it wasn't bad, per se; but it was constant and unusual. You sipped on your boba and started chewing. 

You and Leon were both sitting on public benches. The time was before most of the retail shops started setting up, only the food court was open. You laid your head on Leon's shoulder and closed your eyes while you both soaked in the sun's warmth. 

The mall was bright and quiet, not many were there yet. You still felt a bit sleepy, but it didn't seem like Leon minded resting either. There was a difference in the emotions you feel someone going through when you rest your head on their shoulder- and the way Leon's was giving into the weight of your head spelled relaxation. The both of you spent a bit of your morning like this. You lifted your head and glanced at how the sunlight reflected off of Leon's golden hair. How it also cut a shadow at the curve of his jaw. 

"You wanna walk around?" You asked with your voice low, not wanting to disrupt the quiet, alive whirring of the building. Leon looked at you, smiled a bit and nodded his head before getting up. 

When you caught up to pace with him, you decided to annoy him and cross pinkies. He retaliated by taking hold of your entire hand, and you tried not to make a big deal about it. Your heart was starting to beat really fast, though. 

You thought he would let go after a couple of seconds. He didn't. 

Exiting the first floor common area to the escalators surrounding it, you both enjoyed the warmth of a second floor perch. Leon hasn't let go of your hand yet, but you were joking around about other people you were seeing at the mall, or the vaguely strange sale ads you'd see posted on windows. 

It was light, conversation felt easy for once.

And then Leon saw something, and you watched the way his eyes captured a glint of absolute mischief. 

Your eyes followed the laser point focus of his- and oh. 

Oh. 

A photo booth. 

And before you knew it, the distance between you and the box was already halved from Leon practically yanking your arm off. It didn't hurt, so all you could do was laugh. 

Walking up to it, Leon already got his wallet out and was feeding the machine bills. You decided to slip in and look around inside. All photo booths look different- this one was pretty new and sparkly. 

Not long after, Leon swept the curtains and stepped in with a mean smirk. You got yourself ready, trying to make yourself look alright while Leon selected to start through the menu. 

You always felt a weird sort of anxiety in photo booths. They never gave anybody enough time to actually prepare for a photo, but Leon was already doing someth- "Hey-!"

He quickly stepped behind you, caged you in his arms, gave two hand horns, and made such a twisted face he actually did kind of resemble the devil, because in his heart of hearts, Leon S. Kennedy was a dork. 

You decided that if he was going to suffocate you with all the muscle he was trying to show off, you were going to get a picture of biting it. 

The bite wasn't too hard, but the quick noise that Leon gave was mostly out of being startled anyways. He quickly retaliated by flicking your arm before posing for the next- 

"Let's do a nicer one," you interject, quietly and quickly. You both prepare and in time, you're smiling together while Leon has his arm draped over your shoulders. It all happened so quickly and concisely that the warm feeling you got in your stomach from all the affectionate, silly, friendly contact was delayed. 

The countdown started again. Leon almost shoved you in front of him, but instead of putting his arms over your chest and neck and face, (being annoying about it), he placed them gently over your waist. And then when the camera flashed, he was kissing your cheek. 

You turned around in his arms, not really caring about the photos anymore. But he was the one that leaned down and kissed you gingerly, and with meaning. His lips were always so soft and smooth against yours-

The camera flashed. You two were together a little longer, and then you both separated. It was a few long seconds where time just stopped, and you could swear that if you opened the curtain and tried to find one of the rare morning pedestrians of the mall, they would be left unmoving. 

But all you could do was look at Leon. It didn't help that he was so pretty. But there was this weird flash of emotion in his eyes, that same one you couldn't read and he wasn't looking away-

The camera flash made you both jump a little, and then Leon gave a quiet, nervous laugh to himself that sparked yours. He looked at you again, an upward pull of his lips that didn't seem too mean anymore. "Better get those photos," 

"Yeah," you offer back, already leaving the booth. He followed you, and not long after, the booth started to give out a noise before producing two copies of the same strip. Leon quickly snatched them before you could even hope to grab them, and he held them out of your view after that. 

"Leon," He was snickering. That pretty smile he hasn't dropped for 5 minutes now has had its teasing quality reapplied. Irritation quickly bubbles back up in your throat. 

"Ugh, Leon, you-" He does that little shit older brother thing where he lets the strip creep just into your reach before yanking it away a couple of times, but he doesn't do it too much. He gives you one of the copies after starting to giggle at you. 

You shake your head, ready to be embarrassed at your own face or maybe even his, and- well, the first photo has you laughing. Your head is tilted backward and your eyes are closed, and the laughs pour out of your throat like smooth wine. 

"Leon you're such a dork,-"

"Oh ok! And we're not gonna talk about the absolutely feral thing latching itself to my arm-," 

"Noo~, we're not," You interrupt teasingly, and you take a look back at the pictures. The air swiftly changes from playful, easy and teasing to meaningful, endearing- kind of tense in a way. Leon looked beautiful, and you looked nice too, and now you just noticed that Leon is right behind you actively gauging your reaction. 

The third photo was almost too sweet and intimate to look at publicly, and you could feel the tips of your ears start to heat up. Leon's face is mostly obscured, sure, but the way you react to why it's obscured is so sweet and genuine it kind of embarrasses you. Your lips try to hide a smile and your eyes are cast downward and away from Leon- low, but not closed. One of your arms rests on the lean coils of muscle wrapped around your center, while the other reaches up for your hand to rest on his head. 

The fourth makes you inhale a little sharper, and you can now feel the high part of your cheekbones heat with your ears. Leon's chin is resting on your shoulder now, and you can't even imagine the shit-eating grin he must be wearing on his face. Well, both of your faces can't be seen by the camera, if that's any consolation to your poor, heated skin- you might melt ice at this point. 

You don't know why it has you so weirdly dizzy, but maybe it's the way Leon looks so boyish, almost soft kissing you. His head is so slightly tilted, and the way his body curls around yours is just so engaged-

The fifth one is sweet in a different way. It makes your heart instantly crackle and spark for hope, which any sort of tired rationality your dopamine abused brain has left is probably screaming at. 

There's that fear in your chest, but there's no denying the fact that there's a light glimmering in Leon's sea glass eyes that you haven't seen from him too many times. 

It's a look that makes your entire body feel warm, like your skin is being pricked by needles. At this point, you've stopped looking at the photos altogether and buried your face in your hands. It makes Leon's chin lift off your shoulder, and you hear a chuckle come from him, but nothing sarcastic. 

"C'mon, stores are opening soon, weirdo," And when he says that you realize that there's warmth behind his words. You lift your head and look at him, and he's scratching his nose but- is he blushing too? Oh. 

Oh. 

He is. 

Probably not as scorching hot as you, but still. He starts walking, you start walking with him. And then, he takes your hand like that entire thing just didn't happen, and you find that you can't really stop smiling. Even if you reduce it to the smallest pull of your lips, it's still on your face for a while longer. 

--

[leclerced]

maybe some of the drivers think certain drivers aren’t in on it and one night there is some miscommunication about who is coming over what night and oscar is there and george shows up and is like “OSCAR?! sweet little baby faced innocent OSCAR PASTRY?!!” and it is the first time reader has 2 people , without one of them being lando…… (lando is still watching of course) just some silly little thoughts tho

i just typed out like a 1k blurb to this and it vanished. so im trying to recreate it but its not the same.

george is new to the party, but oscar’s one of the first ones and he’s been fucking her for the entire season pretty much. after max and carlos, he’s next in line. since they’ve been going at it so long and since lando’s not always available, he’s been given the green flag to take care of her if lando’s not around and he is. they’re a little closer than the rest of the grid and george assumed they’re just friends and teammates, doesn’t even think baby faced oscar would be included in this little secret. but he’s very very wrong.

she’d wake up from a wet dream and hear voices coming from the suite’s living room and seek them out, pleasantly surprised when she finds oscar, the subject of her dream, spread across the couch, lando’s on one end and oscar’s laying on the chaise lounge portion, looking just as dreamy with the setting sun streaming through the windows and she’s happy to take a seat on his lap. the movie they’d been watching would immediately be forgotten when she walks into the room in nothing but one of lando’s tees and straddles oscar, hands cupping his cheeks as she leans down for a kiss and rocks her hips against his. lando’s eyes shift focus from the tv to his girlfriend and teammate next to him as they make out and dry hump until she’s coming apart on his sweats, then he’s fingering her until she’s cum again and is begging to ride him.

oscar’s slipping inside of her as the credits roll and she’s slowly riding him as she tells him about her dream, fingers tangled in the hair on the nape of his neck to hold his head back as she kisses and nips at his neck, refraining from leaving any marks despite how bad she wants to. they’d both completely forget about the keycard lando had given george that morning, both of them too lost in her riding oscar until george is unlocking the door. her and oscar wouldn’t even notice the disruption, she’s on her way to a fourth orgasm and he’s already came in her once, and she’s begging for it a second time. lando does though, he hears the lock clicking and the door handle opening and jumps up to block his girlfriend in the compromising position, but relaxes when he sees it’s just george.

george would hear the moans as the door opened and think lando and his girl got started without him, but then he steps inside and sees- wait, is that oscar? sweet little pastry boy? what is he doing? george is frozen in place as he takes in the sight in front of him; lando’s girl riding oscar as they moan into each other’s mouths, filthy words falling from both their lips. he’s got one hand around her throat and the other between her legs as he tells her how good she is for him, how good she makes him feel, tells her he loves her cunt, with a groan and that word makes george’s ears burn. she’s moaning back the same thing, one hand braced on his shoulder for support and the other tangled in his hair as she begs him to make her cum, begs him to cum for her again, says she needs to feel it. again.

george would realize then that they’re not using a condom, that she’s begging another man to cum inside of her, and he feels a little faint. he’d watch in shock and awe as they cum together when she drops her hips down one final time before her orgasm hits her and then she’s shaking and moaning on top of him as he pulls his hand from her throat and drops it to her hip and the starts lifting her up and down on top of him until he’s spilling inside of her and she’s thanking him for it before she kisses him hotly.

he’s struck by how comfortable they are, how comfortable lando is with how intimate they’re being as her hand on his shoulder drifts down to her lower stomach and his joins her, both of them laughing in a post orgasm haze until lando whistles behind them and they both jerk away from their kiss to look for him. that’s when they finally notice george is in the room, and she grins stupidly at him as oscar pulls her closer possessively and presses his lips to her skin as he stares george in the eyes, clearly happy to be seen buried inside of her. she at least looks like she feels a little bad as she mumbles, “sorry, i forgot you were coming.”

oscar snickers, “i didn’t know you were coming.” then he pats the spot next to him with one hand and grabs her jaw with the other to pull her back for another kiss. “wanna make georgie feel good now, baby?” he asks when he pulls away and she nods eagerly. george’s face twitches in annoyance at the almost mocking tone and at the new petname the younger driver’s just given him and moves to sit on the couch. lando slaps a condom on his chest as he passes and he resists rolling his eyes as he takes the rubber packet. he’s clearly got a lot to learn, and wonders if anyone else is allowed to do what oscar does, he doesn’t know who else is fucking her, he’s talked to one or two other drivers but he thought it was a rarity, not a regular thing. but the comfortability between the trio makes jealousy bubble in his stomach as the realization that they’ve clearly been involved much longer than he’s been included hits him.

oscar passes her over to him, his cum dripping onto george’s thighs as he rolls on the condom and she slides on top of him with a whimper. he’s got something to prove as he fucks oscar’s cum into her while the younger man watches with a wicked grin, patiently waiting for his next turn.