#him and hearing him and playing the game with him there makes me feel so happy

[ohagiyo]

I'm gonna try this out with Kaori ^^

How does (pre-wc) Kunigami feel about Kaori?

• I feel like he'd respect her for her abilities but he wouldn't like how her playing style is basically luring people into the penalty box by feigning being bad at something (dribbling, man-marking, ect.) only to either then pick apart their weaknesses before making a shot or a clean pass. • He thinks it's unfair how she lures people & tears their weaknesses apart for a simple goal or game-changing pass. • Since he's dense, he probably wouldn't realize she even likes him since how she treats him seems to be the same way she does everyone just with a bit more excitement.

How does Kaori feel about Kunigami?

• To put it simply, she's enamored. By the bare minimum, too. She's completely head over heels in love & probably has the most heavily tinted rose glasses out of EVERYONE because she still feels the same way about him after Wild Card (elaboration later.) • The main reasons she fell in love was because he literally treated her like she was someone with feelings instead of tossing her aside the moment she wasn't useful or interesting to him. (Even though they weren't even on the same teams up until the NEL.) • This is quite possibly the barest minimum there ever could be but it's Kaori and the bare minimum was never something she could even dream of so for her, to even say she wants someone to treat her humanely is like a big task.

Has Kaori ever made Kunigami laugh? / What about cry?

• For the laugh ask :: Absolutely, it was when Kaori looked like a kicked puppy after she accidently dropped her food on the ground and it was really the funniest sight ever. • On crying however, she hasn't made him cry at all. Shoot me an ask or comment on this if you want to see about other characters. ^^

Do Kaori and (cannon character) ever cross paths?

• This one I'll leave blank since there are so, so many characters in BLLK so just feel free to come in my inbox and ask about it (or really ask about any question with any other character) ^^

Which canon character(s) annoy Kaori?

• Kenyu Yukimiya :: she thinks his smile is fake and that he's too polite. Though, she does like how he doesn't really seem to be mean or anything to her and that he at least doesn't treat her like shit. • Wataru Kuon :: she dislikes how he betrayed his team so easily because 1. she's a loyal person, and 2. Kunigami, Bachira & Naruhaya were members of Team Z and could've gotten kicked out of the program— all of whom she is very fond of. • Ryusei Shidou :: she finds his sexual comments very gross & his violence annoying to deal with but finds his play style intriguing. She also likes how he's really just playing for the love of the game and doesn't really cuss her out unlike certain people (cough Kaiser cough.) • Eita Otoya :: the first time they met, he tried hitting on her and Kaori was too dense to realize. She also didn't get flustered by the close contact at all (since she's a physical person), though she did give him a smack on the back of his head when he tried his “ninja techniques.” • Aiki Himizu :: she finds him weird and generally uncomfortable to be around, when asked why she said: “ He's always looking too deep and picking apart my expressions, the way I talk, and stuff.. it just weirds me out y'know? Also! It's really annoying when he pretends like I have some ulterior motive or that I'm lying.. ” • Michael Kaiser :: honestly? she dislikes him at most. Not hate because she can't find it in her to hate him but she does dislike him. • Jingo Raichi :: well, annoy is a strong word but she's definitely scared shitless whenever she hears him yelling or screaming. Though, after spending more time in BM and stuff, she got used to it so it's no longer a problem. She finds his quick temper a bit annoying to deal with despite having one too. Noel Noa :: Finds his general demeanor a pain to deal with, that and him making Kaiser the best so he could beat him & use him to further develop his football skills. She dislikes how selfish he is.

What canon character(s) gets annoyed by Kaori?

• Aiki Himizu :: he can't for the life of him figure her & her supposed “lies” out and that ticks him off to no end. (Kaori has told him multiple times that she doesn't lie and actually is very open about everything but she doesn't think he's listening.) • Shoei Barou :: because of her hyper-activity & tendency to forget, Kaori always ends up making a bit of a mess during whatever task she's on, be it eating, training, you name it and it annoys Barou to no end. (even though they're on completely different teams.) • Michael Kaiser :: He just honestly hates her & just everything about her. • Alexis Ness :: He finds her not bowing down to Kaiser an annoyance and the way she treats him with such indelicacy and rudeness an offense against Kaiser. I can't think of anymore tbh, if you have any idea who else would find her annoying, feel free to shoot me an ask of it! ^^

Which canon character respects Kaori most? What gained that respect?

TBA

Which canon character doesn’t respect Kaori whatsoever?

• Michael Kaiser. • Aiki Himizu.

Which canon character(s) does Kaori respect a lot?

• (Pre- & Post-WC) Rensuke Kunigami :: Looked up to him and saw his good-nature as something totally alluring and for some reason, she couldn't stay away after that fateful night. • Meguru Bachira :: Trauma bonding exercises do wonders and the two ended up as the bestest of friends after Kaori accidently kicked a ball at him while practicing. • Nijiro Nanase :: Pretty self-explanatory, girl was stressed when she didn't see him in the first ten rankings. • Yoichi Isagi :: Although she respects him, Kaori disagrees on everything with Yoichi and the two end up bickering sometimes but remain somewhat good acquaintances. • Gin Gagamaru :: She thinks getting hit by balls all the time must be stressful so whenever she lets one slip through she always ends up profusely apologizing to him after the match. More TBA if I don't forget.

Which canon character does Kaori not respect at all? Why?

• Michael Kaiser :: She dislikes the way he treats Ness & everyone as if they were some disposable tool at his use whenever he pleases.

Which canon character is pissed off by the general presence of Kaori? (we all have those people)

• Shoei Barou :: He can't stand her messiness & the way she once lured him into a weak area so she could score for herself once. • Alexis Ness :: As stated before, her attitude towards Kaiser despite anything is supposedly a severe offense against Kaiser. •

Does Kaori have a crush on anyone?

• Rensuke Kunigami :: Most prevalent crush for her right now. • Meguru Bachira :: Very, very small and insignificant, she used to have a crush on him when they first met but she outgrew it. • Nijiro Nanase :: Same situation with Bachira. • Tabito Karasu :: Lasted a really short time after she saw his plays in the U-20 match.

Who would probably have a crush on Kaori?

• Yoichi Isagi :: Mainly because his type is someone who laughs a lot and has a wonderful smile. • Nijiro Nanase :: They're just sillies, your honor.

Who would Kaori most likely to get a puppy-crush on? (but it can’t be the cc they’re actually shipped with!)

• Meguru Bachira :: Both match each others energy and I think their shared struggle with making loneliness would get them to trauma bond and get along. • Nijiro Nanase :: If I wanted her to be happy, I'd have made Kaori get with him or Bachira because they'd be a power couple but I don't like seeing her happy so no Nanase or Bachira/Kaori. • Tabito Karasu :: He's intelligent, intuitive, aware and so much more, truly the perfect man.

Who would Kaori say is her best friend?

• Meguru Bachira.

Who would call Kaori their best friend?

• Nijiro Nanase. • Meguru Bachira. • Pre-WC Rensuke Kunigami.

Who has brought Kaori to tears before?

• Rensuke Kunigami, it was right after his return from Wild Card.

Who has Kaori made cry?

• No one, no one she knows of at least.

Is there someone Kaori didn’t like at first, but then got along with later?

• Jingo Raichi :: Used to find his screaming, yelling & short temper scary to deal with but eventually warmed up to him after they had to spend time together in BM. • • Ryusei Shidou :: Like is a strong word, she tolerates him at best after she saw how more.. normal? he was off the field.

Is there someone Kaori liked at first, but then grew to dislike?

• Rensuke Kunigami :: After Wild Card, she slowly began to dislike him and she doesn't realize it from the heavy rose tinted glasses she has on. The dislike or distaste for him hasn't reached severe levels though, it's just gnawing at her and it has yet to take course. • Hyoma Chigiri :: She thought he was cool, until she found out about how self-important he is, then he began to annoy her with his constant talk about his right leg. She understands that it must've been traumatizing but god does it still annoy her.

Who does Kaori hate?

• Hate is a strong word for Kaori, she's not a hateful person. . . . • HOWEVER !! That just might change in the near future.

Who does Kaori love? (platonic)

• Yo Hiori :: They get along well, not enough to deem the two best friends but they both link up quite easily and with Hiori's passing and Kaori's positioning, the two are bound to pave a way for a goal. • Gin Gagamaru :: Kaori finds his personality cute, though his eyes did use to freak her out a lot. • Ranze Kurona :: Also finds his personality cute. His teeth being crooked like hers made her even happier and find him more cute. I don't know what's up with her liking shy/introverted people. More TBA if I remember

Who does Kaori love? (familial)

• Meguru Bachira :: The two clicked immediately after meeting each-other and quickly became friends after they both realized that they were both shun out as kids. Kaori sees him as a little brother now & they're frequently seen eating & causing ruckus together. • Nijiro Nanase :: She sees him as the little brother she never had & she often helps him with training whenever he's struggling.

Does Kaori love anyone? (romantic)

• She falls in love easily and at some point, it was anyone who showed her a bit of decency. • BUT!! When she had met Kunigami that one fateful night she snuck into the cafeteria and saw him there, inviting her to eat with him and all— he became her first real friend & longest lasting crush.

Has Kaori ever had to let a canon character down easy?

• Eita fucking Otoya, she didn't really do it gently since she hit him on the back of the head for hitting on her but it's the thought that counts y'know.

Has Kaori ever been rejected by a canon character?

• Absolutely, more specifically Kunigami. • It wasn't really a rejection though, no words were said but Kaori had this dreadful feeling that Kunigami would abandon her based off his change despite the two interacting often after Wild Card (mostly just her talking his ear off while he eats and listens silently.) • At least, not unless she can do something to stop him from abandoning or leaving her.

Did Kaori bear witness to anyone’s full character arc?

Unsure.

What is the worst thing Kaori does in their story?

• Fall in love with Kunigami & remain in love with him even after Wild Card. • •

What is Kaori's ‘‘darkness moment’’ in the plot?

In cannon there are 3 times :: 1. When everyone had thought Kunigami was eliminated. 2. When Kunigami emerged back from Wild Card and was completely different from the man she once fell in love with (unknowingly.) 3. When she made the realization that she'd be left behind by Kunigami like everyone else if she doesn't evolve right then and there after seeing Ness' get abandoned by Kaiser in the PXG match. In her lore there are 3 times :: 1. When she had the moment of believing that no one would like her because she's misfortune. 2. When her caretaker abandoned her as did everyone else. 3. When she had to endure people treating her as sub-human due to her appearance & unique color of hair.

What is Kaori's redemption moment?

answer

Is there a canon character that Kaori needs to ask forgiveness towards?

answer

Is there a canon character Kaori needs to forgive?

• Alexis Ness :: For stealing the ball from her right before the moment she awakened in the last PXG VS. Bastard München match just to (from her perspective) pass to Isagi, the man he's despised since the beginning, just to keep her from winning. • Hyoma Chigiri :: For accidently messing up her perfectly braided hair once & spilling sauce all over her during meal time. •

Is there anyone who Kaori would die for?

• (Mostly Pre-WC but also Post-WC) Rensuke Kunigami :: He's the first & only person who taught her about all kinds of love and the first to be her friend so she naturally holds a soft spot for him regardless of his Wild card personality now. • Meguru Bachira :: One of her first ever friends, she and bachira get along quite well and often have lunch together after Kunigami was gone in the duration leading up & afterwards the U-20 match. • Aoishi Tokimitsu :: She seems him as a little brother that she never had despite him being older than her. She also generally looks out for him and uses her positivity/optimism to combat his negative nature. • Gin Gagamaru :: He used to freak her out but she warmed up quickly to him after spending more time together. When questioned why she's fond of him she said: “ His personality is cute! ” • Ranze Kurona :: He made her realize that even with crooked teeth, one can still look cute and she generally finds his quiet personality endearing as well.

Is there a canon character who would die for Kaori?

• (Pre-wc) Rensuke Kunigami through and through. • Reluctantly, Wild Card Kunigami, he'd deny it but he'd actually die for her. • Meguru Bachira.

okay woaht that took a long while, if you have any questions, follow it up with an ask with what other chars ur curious about ^^ Fun fact :: Kaori would have been so much happier if she didn't encounter Kunigami & was in Barcha, she'd have benefited so much from Lavinho & his free-thinking, creative environment and it would've made her embrace who she is & leave the ideals that people only want her around when she's useful but I hate seeing her happy so BM it is !!

Fandom OC Ask Meme

⟢⋱⟡☾ a collection of asks for OCs belonging to specific fandoms

How does (canon character) feel about your OC?

How does your OC feel about (canon character)?

Has your OC ever made (canon character) laugh? / What about cry?

Do your OC and (canon character) ever cross paths?

Which canon character annoys your OC?

What canon character gets annoyed by your OC?

Which canon character respects your OC most? What gained that respect?

Which canon character doesn’t respect your OC whatsoever?

Which canon character does your OC respect a lot?

Which canon character does your OC not respect at all? Why?

Which canon character is pissed off by the general presence of OC? (we all have those people)

Does your OC have a crush on anyone?

Who would probably have a crush on your OC?

Who would your OC most likely to get a puppy-crush on? (but it can’t be the cc they’re actually shipped with!)

Who would your OC say is their best friend?

Who would call your OC their best friend?

Who has brought your OC to tears before?

Who has your OC made cry?

Is there someone your OC didn’t like at first, but then got along with later?

Is there someone your OC liked at first, but then grew to dislike?

Who does your OC hate?

Who does your OC love? (platonic)

Who does your OC love? (familial)

Does your OC love anyone? (romantic)

Has your OC ever had to let a canon character down easy?

Has your OC ever been rejected by a canon character?

Did your OC bear witness to anyone’s full character arc?

What is the worst thing your OC does in their story?

What is your OC’s ‘‘darkness moment’’ in the plot?

What is your OC’s redemption moment?

Is there a canon character that your OC needs to ask forgiveness towards?

Is there a canon character your OC needs to forgive?

Is there anyone who your OC would die for?

Is there a canon character who would die for your OC?

[sknyuz]

hello!! I want to make a request ; is it alright if you can write about how seong je would be with a mute!reader? i just think it’d be an interesting dynamic ..! hmm other details i’d add is the reader often giving affection in a form of gifting (letters mayb?), cooking him a meal or quality time :) you may write this in whatever format you want!! thank youu and have a nice week (ps love your writing)

synopsis — seongje is a whirlwind of noise and chaos, but he finds unexpected peace in your silence.

now playing — sweet - cigarettes after sex pairing — geum seongje x gn!reader (hard of hearing, selectively mute) genre — hurt/comfort, slowburn, angst with soft moments, unconventional romance (nothing is conventional with seongje) cw — ableism/mocking of hearing disability, bullying, violence (including implied offscreen physical assault), power imbalance, toxic behavior, minor blood/bruising, strong language wc — ~2.1k

note: this was a pleasure to write <3 i hope i did ur request justice, anon. and please do not hesitate to tell me if i wrote something wrong or inaccurate to the experiences of hoh individuals.

masterlist | join the taglist | 400 follower event

seongje doesn’t do “quiet.” he doesn’t do subtlety, either. his entire existence is loud—his presence is a storm that makes everything feel tense and unpredictable. that’s how he’s known: the unpredictable, impulsive force, the mad dog. so, when he sees you for the first time, it’s almost like a challenge.

you’re sitting there, silently, in the bowling alley, a forced audience to the bullying happening around you. the union’s delinquents have gathered, sneering as they taunt you. they wave your hearing aids in front of you like a sick joke, expecting you to react. but you don’t. you’re quiet, your face unreadable, eyes glued to the floor, trying to stay as small as possible, like you’ve done countless times before. it’s a game for them, nothing more than a way to make you feel like an outsider.

“hey, freak, what’s wrong? can’t hear us?” one of them mocks, swinging your hearing aids back and forth with a smirk.

the noise is deafening to you in a different way—a slow, rising pressure in your chest. you want to speak, to make them stop. but your voice won’t come, and the words you want to say die in your throat, replaced by that quiet ache of helplessness.

that’s when seongje steps in.

he’s not supposed to be there. he’s supposed to be in baekjin’s office, probably arguing or being a general pain in the ass—but the noise coming from the alleyway catches his attention. he comes striding out, a curse on his lips as he surveys the scene, his eyes lighting up with the familiar flash of anger.

“what’s with all the fucking noise, fuckers?!,” seongje shouts, his voice dripping with disdain as he eyes the delinquents, but his gaze lands on the one holding your hearing aids, who freezes up as soon as he realizes who’s standing in front of him.

“aww, you guys are really fucking pathetic,” seongje steps forward, his mood shifting from bored to dangerous in an instant. he slaps the delinquent’s face, knocking the hearing aids out of his grip, and catches them before they hit the floor.

the delinquent stumbles back, startled, and seongje doesn’t miss the way his bravado slips. “hey, if you want to get your ass kicked, i’ll be happy to oblige. otherwise, get the fuck out of here,” seongje growls, and his voice carries an unmistakable warning.

the delinquents scatter quickly, realizing they’re not really looking forward to get beat up by the wolf himself. seongje watches them leave with a bored smirk, but his eyes return to you, where you’re still sitting silently, your gaze downcast. his anger bubbles under the surface, but it doesn’t seem to be directed at you—it’s more frustration at how they treated you. and, maybe… it’s confusion. because why would he be frustrated?

he despises those who put on a front, acting all tough and dominant when they're around someone they know is weaker, but turn into cowards the moment they face someone like seongje. the hypocrisy makes him sick—they don’t even have the balls to face him.

you look up at him then, your lips parting as if to say something, but the words stay locked inside. seongje stares back, a little too long, before he gestures to the now-empty bowling alley with a roll of his eyes.

“shit, it’s way too quiet in here now,” seongje mutters, half to himself. “i need a fucking drink. you coming?” his fist reaching out to you, making you flinch, but he simply turns and opens his palm to reveal your hearings aids, offering it back to you, his gaze not even meeting yours.

you hesitate, a flicker of uncertainty crossing your face. seongje doesn’t wait for a reply. he knows how this works—he doesn’t need words from you to tell if you’re okay. you’ve already said more than enough with that silence of yours.

it’s a few weeks later when seongje starts to notice something he wasn’t expecting—something soft. you’re not the type to speak, but you show him things. you leave him little letters. they’re simple at first, just words on paper—carefully written, neat and soft. but each one has meaning. you might leave him a note after a chaotic day, telling him, thank you for helping me today—a gesture he’s not used to.

seongje can’t stop himself from reading them over and over, even if he pretends they don’t matter. he tosses the first one aside in an exaggerated motion, but later, when he’s alone, he pulls it out again, trying to make sense of it. there’s something oddly comforting in your words. something real. his usual sharpness dulls just a little when he reads them.

it’s a typical night, and you don’t expect anything to go wrong. seongje has always been unpredictable, but you can’t stop yourself from trusting him. there’s a strange sort of understanding between the two of you now. he doesn’t need you to speak, and you don’t need him to be anything but… himself. still, you don’t expect what happens when he calls you to meet him in a parking lot late one evening.

the dim light from the streetlamps makes the whole place feel cold and detached. you spot him standing there, leaning against the hood of a car, his eyes narrowing slightly when he sees you approach. but there’s something different tonight—something unsettling in his stance.

"come here," seongje says, his voice almost too casual for the tense atmosphere.

your breath catches in your throat as the boy on his knees comes into focus. you've seen him around before—he’s one of the delinquents from the union. the same one who’d been taunting you in the bowling alley, waving your hearing aids like some cruel joke. that memory hits you sharply, and your stomach churns with discomfort as you recognize him now, his face bruised and bloodied, a lip split open, looking like he’s been through hell.

but why is he here? why is he on his knees, shaking in front of seongje? what happened to him?

seongje stands over him, his posture casual, his grin wide and wicked as he watches the boy with almost bored amusement. he kicks the delinquent’s side lightly, like it’s a game, and the boy flinches.

"come on, kid," seongje says, his voice teasing but edged with something darker, something almost amused by the kid’s fear. "just like we practiced."

the delinquent on his knees doesn’t speak, his eyes downcast, probably too terrified to even look up at seongje, but his shaky hand lifts. you watch as he tries to make the "a" handshape, his fingers clumsy as he attempts to sign. seongje looks down at the boy, his grin stretching wider as he watches him fumble.

the delinquent hurriedly completes the sign, his hands shaking, his breath coming in short bursts as he struggles to perform it correctly. he spins his hand in a half-hearted clockwise motion, and you can tell how hard it is for him to even try. he looks humiliated, and maybe that’s what seongje wants—to make him feel small, to show that he’s the one in control now. like how the boy probably felt back in the bowling alley with you.

“sorry.” he signed.

as the boy finishes, seongje pats his shoulder with an almost affectionate thud, a grin still plastered on his face. “good job,” he mutters, voice dripping with mock praise. but his eyes flick to you, then back to the delinquent, as if waiting for some kind of reaction.

the delinquent scrambles to his feet, not daring to say a word, but you can see the fear still fresh in his eyes. without another glance, he stumbles off into the shadows of the parking lot, and seongje doesn’t follow him, not bothering with any more theatrics. “now that’s how you apologize,” he sighs contentedly, glancing at you from the corner of his eye as he walks back to where you two came from.

you don’t respond, but you follow him. because, despite everything—despite how messed up all of this is—he’s still the one who, somehow, happened to feel like the safest person to be around. despite his… unique antics.

despite the way he does things no one else would dare to. because even if he’s rough around the edges, unpredictable and loud, seongje never made you feel small. and that, weirdly enough, was enough.

seongje’s desk at the bowling alley becomes a quiet sort of shrine to you—littered with your letters and notes, half-crumpled from him rereading them over and over. he never bothers to clean it up. they’re scattered across the surface like leaves in a storm, but he knows exactly where each one is. it’s an organized mess, chaotic in the same way he is. but if anyone even looks at them too long—tries to pick one up, makes a joke about the handwriting, even breathes too close to the edge of his desk—they’re basically asking for a death wish.

“touch it and you die,” he’ll mutter without even looking up, one foot kicked up on the desk, cigarette dangling from his lips. it’s not even a threat—it’s a promise.

somewhere in between the late night meetups—where the world is quiet and it’s just the two of you—and the stolen moments in back rooms lit by vending machine glow, seongje softens. not in a way that’s obvious to most, but in ways you catch. like when he plays bowling with you late at night at the union headquarters, just the sound of pins crashing echoing through the empty lanes. he’s terrible at it, but he doesn’t care. he would fair better hitting someone at the back of the head with these bowling balls. he only really lights up when it’s your turn.

you roll the ball, knock down every pin, and before you can even react, he’s throwing his hands in the air, exaggeratedly signing applause, a wide grin stretching across his face.

“that’s what i’m fucking talking about!” he shouts, clapping loudly on top of the sign for applause he just made, just because he’s still him—loud, obnoxious, impossible—but now he’s loud for you.

yeah… to seongje, you’re like a stray puppy at first. small, quiet, following him around without saying a word, eyes always wide and watching. at first, he thinks it’s kinda funny—endearing, even. you don’t talk back, don’t flinch when he’s loud, and you’ve got this habit of showing up with little notes or food like some soft, strange ritual he doesn’t understand. he starts calling you “puppy” just to mess with you, ruffling your hair whenever you come around.

but somewhere along the way, that fondness stops being just a game. no, you’re not a pet to seongje. but maybe, you became an equal.

he starts waiting for your notes. starts leaving his office door slightly cracked, just in case you come by. he catches himself watching you instead of his phone. gets weirdly pissed off when other people so much as look at you wrong.

and the night he realizes it’s different—that it’s not just him babysitting some quiet kid—it’s when you sign “stay” with soft hands after a long night, and he does. no grumbling, no jokes, just settles next to you and doesn’t leave.

after that, it’s not a question. you’re not a puppy. you’re his person.

and yeah, maybe he never said you were dating. but everyone knows. you leave your food in the union’s fridge, your letters in his desk, your comfort in the chaos of his life. and he protects you, respects you, listens to your silence more than he’s ever listened to anyone’s voice. and no one in the union dares to bring it up or even question your soft presence in the nitty gritty bowling alley.

seongje is loud. like, really fucking loud. he talks with his whole body, yells when he's annoyed, laughs like he owns the air around him, and never knows when to shut up. he's noise and motion and chaos wrapped in one, dangerously sharp-edged boy. but you—you're quiet. not just in voice, but in presence. you move gently, offer kindness without demanding attention, speak in ways that don’t need sound.

and somehow, in all the noise of his world, your silence is the only thing that ever made sense. he used to think silence was empty, but now it’s where he finds comfort. he’s still loud, still volatile, still the type to throw a punch first and maybe ask questions never. but now there’s this... softness around the edges. a space he carves out just for you. like you’re the eye of the storm, and he’s always, always circling back to you.

in your quiet, he feels understood. and maybe that's the wildest thing about this whole mess—that a boy made of sound found peace in someone who never had to say a word.

note: aaa i feel like this so short >><< i wanted to give them more of a backstory but for now this is what i’m going with. if you’d like to see more of them that’d be nice 🫶 this is such a different take from collarless tho, and it’s nice to also write a softer character to contrast our tough collarless!reader to explore more dynamics with seongje.

i don’t aim to reform or soften seongje, but have the peaceful presence of the reader be incorporated into his life without changing his ideals and personality.

𐔌 . ⋮ taglist .ᐟ weak hero class ֹ ₊ ꒱ @kstrucknet | @loserlvrss @nanamiswifesatorusgf @hateateez @slytherinshua @winnie-bunnie @rexxiiia @mrgzzarella @ilyhachii @youmeshii @actuallynarii @midnight--raine @d4ily-s-nsh1ne @trasshy-artist @crowneve @juicyjam @xh01bri @onyourlisa345 @triciawritesstuff @prettywhenicry4 @dripoftheseus @rosieparkk @gacktsa @sopitadearvejas @satorustorm @d4ily-s-nsh1ne @mirwors @sqacewalkr @l5byrinth @vovoloyo @keumbaku @sarcastic-cookie @v3n0m35 @vitaminbtob @armani78 (ask to be tagged or removed)

[aventurineswife]

Ratio, Sampo, Aventurine and Boothill overhead or find out that reader has feelings for them

Basically reader secretly has a crush on them

Some Truths Refuse to Stay Hidden

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sampo x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Boothill x Reader, Fluff, Light Angst (Aventurine & Boothill’s parts (?)), Teasing & Banter, Eavesdropping/Overheard Confession, Crush Confession, Mild Suggestiveness (Aventurine’s part), Playful Flirting.

Warnings: Slight Manipulation (Aventurine's & Sampo's part), Mild Language, Gambling References (Aventurine’s part), Implied Drinking (Boothill’s part), Cocky & Overconfident (All of them, honestly).

Taglist: @themiddletenmasibling

Ratio had always prided himself on his sharp intellect, his ability to solve even the most complex of problems with a mere glance. But as he stood just outside the library’s archway, listening to the whispered confession escaping your lips, he found himself at a loss.

“I know he’s arrogant,” you murmured to a friend, a book clutched tightly to your chest, “and he talks like he has all the answers. But… I can’t help it. There’s something about him. The way he sees things, the way he challenges everything… I admire him.”

His name was never spoken, but there was no doubt who you were talking about.

Ratio stepped into the library, his usual composed expression giving away nothing. “It’s a shame,” he said, making you stiffen. “For someone so observant, you fail to recognize the most obvious of truths.”

You turned sharply, eyes wide. “What—”

He stepped closer, voice dropping into something softer, something edged with amusement. “You assume admiration is one-sided?” His piercing gaze met yours. “Perhaps, if you were to look at the variables again, you would see the solution has always been within reach.”

You blinked, heartbeat racing. “Are you saying…?”

Ratio smirked. “I’m saying, if you were to confess again—this time to my face—I might just be inclined to give you the answer you’re hoping for.”

Sampo had an uncanny ability to be exactly where he wasn’t supposed to be.

Which is how he found himself eavesdropping outside a supply room, arms crossed as he listened to you, of all people, admitting something rather interesting to Natasha.

“I don’t know why I like him,” you groaned. “He’s frustrating, sneaky, and probably lying half the time—but somehow, I just… do.”

Sampo’s grin widened. Oh?

He waited a beat before dramatically pushing the door open, wearing the most innocent expression he could muster. “Well, well, well! What’s all this, huh? Talking about little old me behind my back? I’m flattered!”

You spun around, color draining from your face before returning in full force. “How long have you—?”

“Long enough!” He waggled his eyebrows. “Gotta say, sunshine, I had no idea you felt that way.”

Natasha sighed, unimpressed. “Sampo, get out.”

“Ah-ah, not before I get a proper answer!” He leaned closer, voice teasing but eyes searching. “So? You like me, huh? Care to make that official, or should I start wooing you properly?”

You groaned, covering your face. “I take it back.”

“Ah, too late! No refunds, no returns,” he chuckled. “Guess that means you’re stuck with me now.”

Aventurine always knew when people were lying. It was a skill he had honed to perfection, a survival instinct as much as a talent.

But what fascinated him more was when people told the truth without realizing it.

And tonight, as he leaned casually against the grand casino balcony, he had just stumbled upon a rather delightful little secret.

“I know he’s dangerous,” you admitted to someone, your voice lost in the buzz of music and chatter below. “But that’s what makes him so compelling. It’s like every conversation is a game, and I… I can’t help but want to play.”

His lips curled into a knowing smirk. Oh, darling, you’re more than just playing—you’re already all in.

Slipping out of the shadows, he chuckled as you jolted at his sudden presence. “Now, now. What’s this I hear? Someone’s got a little crush?”

You gasped. “You—!?”

Aventurine tilted his head, eyes gleaming with amusement. “You wound me, dearest. How could you not tell me sooner?” He tapped his chin, pretending to consider. “Should I make this interesting? A gamble, perhaps?”

Your breath caught. “What kind of gamble?”

He leaned in, voice dropping to a murmur. “A kiss, if you win.” A pause, then a smirk. “And if I win? Well, I suppose I’ll just have to take that kiss myself.”

Boothill had been called many things—reckless, ruthless, a dead man walking. But blind wasn’t one of them.

Which was why, when he overheard your conversation with an old friend in a dimly lit saloon, he wasn’t exactly surprised.

“You ever tell him?” your friend asked, swirling their drink.

You scoffed. “Tell Boothill? Please. He’d probably laugh in my face.”

At that moment, the infamous cyborg cowboy made his entrance, heavy boots clicking against the floor. “Now, sweetheart,” he drawled, teeth flashing in a shark-like grin, “what makes you think I’d do a thing like that?”

Your eyes widened in horror. “You—!? How long—!?”

Boothill tipped his hat, sliding into the seat beside you. “Long enough to hear somethin’ real interestin’.” He leaned closer, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Now, tell me true—was that just some whiskey talk, or do you really got a thing for me?”

You glared at your friend, who was conveniently looking the other way. “I hate you.”

Boothill just chuckled. “That ain’t an answer, sugar.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “And if I did?”

He smirked. “Then I reckon you just made my day a whole lot more interesting.”

[jaehyunmirae]

fuck around and find out | l.hc

you brought up the topic to your best friend, haechan, so flippantly that he wanted to know if you were really serious.

because if you were, he wanted to know if you want to try it now.

"you're a fucking liar."

haechan threw his pillow at you from across the bed, laughing awkwardly. he only laughs like that when he's nervous.

"is that a challenge?" a glint of mischief flashed across your eyes.

you started crawling towards haechan, then took his phone out of his hand and placed it on the nightstand. positioning your knees in between his, you gently placed your hands on his thighs.

it was obvious you were slowly testing the waters, afraid to ask why he hasn't stopped you yet.

sure, you've thought about what it would be like to hear those pretty moans and string of curses out of his perfect pink lips. those were harmless fantasies, buried deep inside your dreams. but right now, your actions moved faster than your mind did, and the excitement only tells you to keep going.

there's no coming back from what you're suggesting. not when you can feel his hand creeping up your inner thigh, his thumb swiping dangerously closer and closer-

"don't start something you're gonna regret," he stops his hand from moving further up.

you lowered your torso, the heat of your core made contact with his thigh, "shut up- you're just scared you're gonna lose the bet."

"this is a bet?"

"i'm telling you. i'm gonna win-"

"-my god, you're so confident- it's almost absurd."

haechan adjusts his position to pull you closer to him, his hands firmly placed on your waist. he takes his finger and places it under your chin to lift your face.

"it doesn't hurt to try," you looked straight ahead, falling deeper into his darkened gaze.

"you can't make me cum just by grinding," he shook his head, laughing.

this time you knew it was genuine. a part of you took an offense for his disbelief, but you were far too competitive to pass up the opportunity. a few more buttons to push and you've got him.

haechan lets go of you and ran his hand over his hair. he's a few weeks overdue for his usual haircut but frankly, you like it a little long like this. the other night you dreamt of grabbing a fistful while he's eating you out, giving you that extra edge—only possible when he kept his hair long.

"give me a chance, babe."

without warning, you took your hands off haechan's legs and dragged them up his back. your fingers interlocked around the back of his neck, keeping your smile sickeningly sweet as you sensed his breathing quicken.

"no penetration?" he pouted.

"no," you kissed his neck, barely whispering as your lips met that sensitive spot under his ear, "but if you're a good boy for me, you can put it in later."

"-fucking tease."

"you started it."

haechan responds to your kisses by groping your ass, each squeeze increases in intensity. his fingers inched closer to your clothed pussy, gradually getting wetter every second. unsure if he was holding himself back or enjoying the slow pace, you grew frustrated.

you were supposed to rile him up, not the other way around.

haechan can hear the desperation in your voice. the moans you were holding back, the soft little sighs barely escaping your lips that immediately rushed to his cock. he knows the game you're playing and soon you'll realize, you picked the wrong one to mess with.

you never intended to let out an embarrassing yelp when he lifted you up from riding his thigh onto his dick. without giving you a chance to react from the sudden contact, haechan sneaks his hand under your shirt, overhwhelming you skin to skin.

"shit-" you groaned, grinding on his cock mindlessly.

each movement your body made automatically followed one after the other, paying no attention to your initial goal. it's amazing how his hips blurred every thought in your brain into oblivion.

you can feel his smirk against your skin, he's kissing you in the same places you were teasing him earlier. if he felt this good without even entering your aching hole, you don't even want to start thinking about how good his cock would feel pumping in and out of you.

"you're still down to find out?" you asked, a little out of breath.

"i can't believe it," haechan chuckled.

he's absolutely amused at how you still found the time to be so cheeky while you were rocking back and forth on his cock, succumbing into a writhing mess, falling apart.

"come on, uh-"

when he picked up his speed, you knew you were fucked.

"all this fucking time- suppressing how much you wanted me, you little slut. let's see who's gonna cum first."

[orellazalonia]

In Every Form, You Still Saw Me

Summary: As a shapeshifter, you often shift into someone else for missions, laughs, or what others want. However, you start shifting to make one man who sees you for you, smile. You learn how he yearns for the true you no matter how scary it feels to be yourself. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)

Disclaimer: Reader has the power to shapeshift. Sort of pining for each other.

Word Count: 3.8k+

A/N: It’s so fun writing for Readers with different abilities. I wonder which power I could try next. Also, I think this is the longest work I’ve done yet. If you liked “The Way He Notices”, you might like this!

You weren’t born with your powers. You woke up with them after a freak accident during your childhood. It had left you comatose for three days and with no control over your own face when you came to.

You could shapeshift, but it wasn’t pretty at first. Reflexive transformations, triggered by emotion or proximity. Someone made you laugh? You morphed into them. Someone yelled at you? You wore their angry face. It was chaos until you finally got a hold of them.

When you first joined the team, Tony Stark dubbed you "Copycat" until you threatened to turn into Pepper and start signing contracts in her name. The nickname didn’t stick after that.

But Bucky? He always called you by your name. Even when you shifted. Even when your skin wasn’t yours and your voice belonged to someone else. He never flinched, never made a joke, never looked away in discomfort like the others sometimes did.

Maybe that’s what started it.

That quiet, steady way he treated you like you were solid. Real. Like you weren’t just some flickering mirage of other people’s identities.

Over time, you and Bucky fell into a rhythm. He was blunt; you were sarcastic. He grunted; you rolled your eyes. He brooded in corners; you shapeshifted into Steve just to annoy him. At some point, it stopped being just teasing. Or maybe it didn’t, but the way he started looking at you changed.

Or maybe you changed. Maybe you stopped shifting just to play around. You were careful though, of course. Always careful. He didn’t like surprises, didn’t like people messing with his head, and you knew how close your powers came to crossing that line. But you started shifting because you wanted to know what might make him smile.

There was something different about Bucky’s smile. It wasn’t the wide, toothy grin you saw from Sam or the sarcastic half-smirk you got from Tony. No, Bucky’s smile was the kind that crept up on you. A slight tug of his lips, something quiet, almost like a secret. It was the smile of a man who didn’t trust easily, who didn’t share his joy unless he was sure it was real. But when it came, when you made him laugh, genuinely, there was something almost intoxicating about it.

You didn’t understand why at first. Maybe it was the way he’d become so guarded, so emotionally distant after all that had happened to him. You saw him in ways the others didn’t: the small furrows in his brow when his mind wandered to the past, the way his eyes would harden when people mentioned Hydra, or how his posture would stiffen when someone still called him "The Winter Soldier" behind his back. Because, he’d become more than just a soldier, more than the guy with the metal arm. He was a man who was constantly carrying the weight of the past on his shoulders.

But when you made him smile… it was like the weight lifted, even just for a second. It was a flicker of hope, an acknowledgment that underneath it all, Bucky Barnes still had the ability to feel something real.

And you didn’t mind being the one who brought that out.

It started as harmless fun. A playful game. You’d shift into Sam, mock his attempts at being a "serious" soldier, exaggerating his speech, his hand gestures. You’d throw in the occasional “You good, Buck?” just to hear Bucky’s exasperated sigh. The first time it worked, Bucky had grunted, shaking his head in mock annoyance, but then that little smile crept across his face.

“Alright, alright, I get it. You think you’re funny,” He had muttered, crossing his arms over his chest, but the tension in his shoulders had loosened.

It was enough. It was always enough for you to want to do it again, to see that smile once more, to know that maybe, just maybe, you were the one who could make him feel light, even if it was for just a moment.

Then there was another day you shifted into Natasha, just to show off a little during sparring. You were better than you gave yourself credit for, and Bucky never failed to push you to improve. But this time, you took it up a notch. You copied her form, her speed, the way she moved with deadly precision, and you could see it in Bucky’s eyes as he watched. It was a sense of admiration mixed with surprise. And if you were being honest with yourself, a hint of something deeper.

"You're really trying to piss her off, huh?" He had joked as you took a jab at him, mirroring Natasha’s infamous fighting style.

You paused, lowering your stance, your eyes shifting back to yourself for a just second. The rush of power you felt from the change, the way you could tap into anyone’s skill, anyone’s identity, it was like you were borrowing their strengths. But when Bucky’s eyes softened, when he gave that little chuckle, you felt something else, something that wasn’t about power at all.

Quite frankly, you never really thought about your powers in the same way the others did. To most of the team, shapeshifting was just another tool in the arsenal. It was useful for infiltration, misdirection, and the occasional prank. But to you, it was something far more personal. More fragile. Every time you morphed into someone, deep down, you felt a part of yourself slip away. A mask over your real face, a shield to hide behind, a way to slip through the cracks unnoticed. You'd never been sure of who you were without the transformation, until you realized how real it felt to see Bucky’s reactions when you did.

You realized over time there was something in his eyes when you morphed back to your own face briefly, something that you couldn’t quite place. You were used to being invisible or someone else, used to people ignoring you or pretending you weren’t there when you didn’t fit their expectations. But Bucky didn’t do that. He just… watched. Like he was studying you, trying to figure out the hidden parts of you that you kept locked away.

It felt almost safe in a strange way. Some would say creepy, but you knew him better than that. It was an odd realization. With Bucky, you didn’t feel like you were performing. Because truly, when you shapeshifted into someone else, it was no longer about escaping yourself or following orders. It was about finding a way to connect with him.

You didn’t mind looking silly in front of him. Actually, you kind of liked it. There was something about making him laugh that made your chest flutter, like you were finally being seen for something more than your powers, more than a stranger in someone else’s skin. You weren’t playing a role, you were just… you. And Bucky smiled.

But there were times when it hit you hard. When you realized you were holding on to those smiles like they were the only thing that kept you grounded. And it terrified you. Because making Bucky smile felt like your own fragile version of normal. But what if you lost that? What if one day, he saw through you? Would you be able to stand, knowing you weren’t just the shapeshifter who made him laugh, but the person behind the masks?

You tried to focus on the feelings, the lightness you got when you saw Bucky react. You used your powers to make him smile, forget about his troubles, because in those moments, you could forget about hiding. And maybe that was enough for now.

The trouble was, you knew it couldn’t stay like this. Sooner or later, you'd have to show him the real you, all of you, without a mask, without someone else’s form to hide behind. And when that day came, you weren’t sure whether he’d still smile.

But for now, you'd keep shifting. Keep playing the game. Because as long as Bucky looked at you with those eyes so curious, attentive, and just a little bit warmer than usual; it felt like you were finally getting a glimpse of the real you too.

Until then, he’ll continue to think this is just a game. And you will continue to pretend that it didn’t hurt to hide behind other people’s faces.

—

The lounge was quiet, the way it always became after midnight. Most of the team had long gone to their quarters, the lights dimmed to a soft amber. Outside the tower windows, New York glittered in silence. Alive, but far away.

Bucky sat on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest, the other cradling a glass of water. He looked tired, in that way he always did after missions where too many things exploded and too many people screamed. He wasn’t injured, at least not on the outside, but he hadn’t said much since coming back.

You had a habit of finding him during moments like these. You padded in barefoot, wearing the appearance of someone else. You’d slipped into it earlier out of habit, mostly to annoy Sam in the elevator. But when Bucky’s tired eyes met yours across the room, the faint lift of his brow said he wasn’t in the mood.

“You gonna sit, or keep pretending to be someone else?” He asked, voice low and dry.

You sighed, letting whoever’s frame, it didn’t matter, melt away. Muscles shifted, bones cracked softly beneath your skin as you returned to your natural form. One you rarely wore when anyone else was around. You always thought of it as your “in-between” face. Not as striking as Wanda, not as symmetrical as Steve. Just… you.

Bucky’s eyes stayed on you for a moment longer than usual.

You walked over, dropping onto the cushion beside him and pulling your legs up beneath you.

He didn’t say anything. Just handed you an extra water bottle from the coffee table. You took it, your fingers brushing his metal ones briefly.

“Rough mission?” You asked, softly.

He gave a faint nod. “Yeah. But I’m used to it.”

You looked at him sidelong. “Still. I get it. I had to shift into some sleazy arms dealer in front of a bunch of actual criminals. I swear one of them winked at me.”

He huffed a short laugh, the sound sharp and unexpected. “Bet he regretted that.”

“I may have broken his nose with a champagne bottle. In heels.”

He gave you a look. “You’re way too comfortable wearing other people’s faces.”

“Comes with the job.” You gave a weak smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Besides… nobody wants to see mine anyway.”

The words slipped out too fast, too quiet. You hadn’t meant to say them.

Bucky went still.

You immediately tried to cover it up. To deflect, twist, joke, anything at all. So, you shifted again.

But this time… it wasn’t Natasha, Steve, Sam, or anyone else on the team.

It was you. The true you.

The version of yourself that was curled up in bed at 2 a.m. The version that existed without expectation. The one who watched Bucky when he wasn’t looking and imagined what it would feel like to hold his hand, just once.

And with that form came your voice, your real voice.

“You know…I care for you, Bucky,” It said, trembling, unsure. “More than I should. I like you.”

There was a pause. Too long. Too exposed. You started to shift again, panic rising, ready to bury the moment beneath another borrowed face, another safe joke.

But his hand caught yours.

“You always do that,” He said quietly.

Your breath caught. “Do what?”

“Hide when it’s really you.”

The world slowed. Your skin flickered, unstable for a second, but he squeezed your hand gently, grounding you.

“I don’t want Natasha. Or Steve. Or anybody else,” He said. “I want you. The real you. Even if you’re scared, because I like you too.”

Your breath hitched, you couldn’t look at him at first. Could barely breathe. But when you did, really looked, you didn’t see pity. Or regret. Or fear.

You saw recognition. Love. Unexpected and unconditional warmth as he smiled.

“Besides,” Bucky added, softer now, “If I have to keep watching you flirt with me using Sam’s face, I might actually throw myself off the roof.”

You laughed, startled, and leaned into him without thinking.

This time, you didn’t shift. The room was quieter now, save for the soft hum of the city below. You sat close to Bucky on the couch, the space between you barely noticeable. His warmth radiated against your side, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a grounding presence in the stillness of the night. You hadn’t noticed how tense you’d been until the tension was gone.

His hand was still wrapped around yours, loosely, like he was afraid you’d vanish if he held on too tightly. You couldn’t blame him; you’d spent so long hiding behind someone else, never fully revealing all of yourself to anyone.

“I’ve been waiting for you to do that for a while you know,” Bucky said, his voice low and casual, as if he was talking about the weather. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, and the simple gesture made your heart stutter in your chest.

You raised an eyebrow, trying to play it cool despite the warmth flooding your face. “Waiting for me to… what?”

“To stop pretending. To stop hiding behind someone else’s face.”

A small, uncomfortable laugh slipped from you, but you didn’t pull away. “Guess I’m not good at being me.”

Bucky’s eyes softened as he turned to face you more fully. There was no teasing in his gaze now, no sharp edge to his words. “You’re not the only one, you know,” He said quietly, as if sharing a secret. “I’ve spent more than half my life pretending to be something I’m not. Something I hate. But I’m not that guy anymore.” His voice dropped an octave, almost a whisper. “And you don’t have to be anyone else around me, either.”

You blinked at him, your breath catching in your throat. There was something so raw, so real in his voice. The same kind of vulnerability you had been hiding for so long. You found yourself leaning a little closer, drawn in by the strength of his words, the sincerity of his presence.

“Then… why’d you wait for me?” You had to ask, voice barely above a whisper. “I mean, I—" You hesitated, unsure how to express what had been swirling in your chest for so long. "I’ve never exactly made it easy for you to see the real me.”

Bucky’s lips quirked into a faint smile, though his eyes remained serious. “Maybe I’m stubborn, maybe I looked forward to your jokes,” He said, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate path over your hand. “Or maybe I saw the real you long before you did.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling a surge of warmth in your chest. “I…” You stop yourself, swallowing the lump in your throat. You didn’t know how to say the words you’d been bottling up for so long. How do you tell someone that, for the first time in your life, you were willing to be seen? That you weren’t afraid of him looking too closely?

Bucky squeezed your hand gently, as if he understood the inner turmoil you were going through. He could probably see it on your expression, your face. “You don’t have to explain. Not to me.”

He leaned forward just slightly, his face a little too close for comfort, but you didn’t pull back. Instead, you held your breath, waiting for the next moment. Wondering if you were about to fall into some quiet oblivion or if you’d be able to navigate this fragile space between you and him.

His gaze dropped to your lips for a split second, then back to your eyes. “Can I kiss you?” He asked with a sense of nervousness that could be seen as cute; his voice barely more than a murmur.

You nodded, heart pounding in your chest. “Please.”

And then, for the first time in your life, you accepted the idea of letting yourself be seen. Not as anyone else nor what others want of you, but as you. Just you.

Bucky’s lips brushed against yours softly, hesitantly, as if testing the waters. But the kiss deepened almost immediately, the tension between you melting away. His hand cupped the back of your head, pulling you in closer, and you didn’t fight it. You didn’t want to fight it.

It was just the two of you now. The past, the masks, the fears—all of it felt so far away. It was just Bucky, and it was just you.

When the kiss finally broke, your foreheads rested together, both of you breathless, sharing the same space in a way that felt simple and true.

“I’ve been waiting for you too,” You admitted, your voice shaky with the emotions flooding you.

Bucky’s chuckle was low and soft. “I figured as much.” He gave your hand another gentle squeeze before pulling you into his side, his arm wrapped around you like he’d been doing it for years.

“You know,” He said after a beat, voice muffled as his chin rested on your head, “I think you’ll get used to being yourself more often. It just takes time.”

You nodded, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart against yours. For the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel the need to hide.

And in that quiet, peaceful moment, you realized that maybe being seen wasn’t so scary after all.

Bonus:

It was a typical debriefing in the common area, probably weeks later. You and Bucky were sitting side by side on one of the couches, trying to maintain the illusion of a professional team meeting. The problem? You couldn’t stop smiling.

You were sitting closer than usual, your legs brushing under the table. A soft, knowing look passed between you and Bucky whenever your eyes met. Neither of you were saying anything out loud, but there was a certain… tension in the air.

Steve, who was in the middle of explaining the next mission’s details, glanced over at you and Bucky. Something was off, and Steve had a knack for noticing subtle changes.

“You two okay?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’re acting… weird.”

Bucky looked up, his usual serious expression never faltering. “What do you mean ‘weird’?” He replied, though his tone was a little too defensive.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Steve’s eyes narrowed, a mischievous glint appearing. “You two seem… a little too comfortable.” He leaned forward. “You’re not…” he motioned vaguely with his hands, “…you know, getting close or anything?”

You felt a flush creeping up your neck and quickly busied yourself with your water bottle. But Bucky, ever the stoic, didn’t flinch.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Cap,” Bucky said, shrugging nonchalantly. “We’re just here for the mission.”

You, however, were a little less composed. You cleared your throat. “Yeah, we’re just… listening.” You floundered for words.

Steve raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, and then his eyes flicked to Clint, who had been watching the exchange with far too much interest.

Clint, ever the instigator, grinned widely. “Uh-huh. Sure. Whatever you say.” He turned to Sam, who was pretending to be absorbed in his phone but was clearly eavesdropping. “Hey, Sam, did you notice how Bucky's been looking at her lately?” He clearly gestured to you.

Sam smirked, lowering his phone just enough to catch your eye. “Oh, I’ve noticed. Definitely noticed.”

"Whoa, whoa," You said quickly, leaning back in your seat, but Clint wasn’t letting up.

“Nope, nope. I definitely saw that look. The one where he actually smiles when no one else is looking. Bucky smiling. We’re all witnesses to this. He’s gone soft,” Clint teased, turning to Steve with an exaggerated gasp. “This wasn't what I expected from the brooding sergeant. A romantic at heart? Who knew?”

You buried your face in your hands, trying not to laugh despite the embarrassment spreading across your face.

“Clint, shut up,” Bucky muttered, but he couldn’t help the faintest hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Does that mean we should start calling you ‘Casanova’ from now on?” Sam quipped, leaning back with a satisfied smirk.

“Guys, stop,” You blurted, though your voice cracked, betraying the calm act. “We’re not-“

“Well, it sounds like you two are,” Clint interrupted. “You’re over there being all cute and whispering to each other like you’re plotting to steal all of Tony’s suits.” He turned to Bucky with a grin. “Bucky, are you sure she’s not just in it for the tech? You know, she could get into the suits and—”

“Clint,” Bucky growled, his face flushed. You could see the gears turning in his head, trying to keep his cool. You knew this was far from over, and you weren’t sure whether to laugh or hide in a closet.

“Well, this is awkward,” Tony’s voice rang out suddenly, cutting through the banter. He had appeared in the doorway, completely unaware of what had been happening. “What did I miss?”

“We were just talking about Bucky’s secret love life,” Clint said with a gleam in his eye. “I have all the details, Tony. Want the rundown?”

Tony raised an eyebrow, eyes flicking to you and Bucky, then back to Clint. “Oh, so this is happening now, huh?”

You groaned and stood up quickly, holding your hands out in surrender. “Okay, okay. You got us. We’re together. Happy?”

Bucky just leaned back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest, trying to look unfazed but failing miserably as the team erupted in teasing applause.

“Finally,” Steve said with a relieved sigh. “I was starting to think I’d have to play matchmaker.”

Sam slapped Bucky on the back. “About time you stopped brooding and did something about it.”

You shot Bucky a look, and he smirked, shrugging helplessly. “I guess I couldn’t keep it a secret forever.”

Tony clapped his hands together, a playful glint in his eye. “Alright, now that we’ve got the romantic drama out of the way, anyone want to help me with this new project? I need someone who doesn't spend their time making out in the common room.”

You felt your face heat up, but Bucky just chuckled, leaning back against the couch, looking much more at ease than he had in weeks.

And you? You might have been embarrassed, but you couldn’t help but smile. There was something oddly comforting or satisfying about the team finding out. Maybe it was because you knew you didn’t have to hide anymore. You didn’t have to hide your love for the man who loves you more than anything or anyone you could become. And that, in itself, was worth all the teasing.

[hermesserpent-stuff]

decided to do writing instead of art for today's mer may prompt.

companion!!

Remy twists around in the tide pool, balancing a diving toy on his forehead. He grabs it with his hand and throws it upwards. He clicks his tongue and then dives down after it, pounding his tail against the water to push himself to go faster. Snatching the toy off of the bottom, Remy curves his body and surges right back up to the surface. He lets out an excited chirp at the sight of Lance pulling himself back over the rocks. Remy greatly enjoys Lance's visits, fascinated by anything that the wild mer brings to show him. Remy flicks his tail and swims a circle around his friend, who chitters at him warmly.

"Hey Rems, brought you some kelp. It has fish eggs on it."

Remy grins at the food being presented and is quick to accept it into his own hands. He takes a bite, blinking a little at the flavor. The wild stuff tastes different from how the stuff his papa gives him tastes. Remy presses the kelp against the back of his fangs and hums thoughtfully.

"Thanks, Lance. I have some chocolate for you to try!"

Remy takes another bite before flicking his tail and moving over to where he had left a few things on the rocks. Lance follows and accepts the unwrapped bar of chocolate with a half-scrunched nose.

"It doesn't smell like food."

"Well, it's not made of sea stuff. No fish or anything. It's a land-based food. Papa kept me from having it at first cause he thought I might get really sick. But I love the taste of it."

Remy lets out a sing-songy croon and Lance snorts before taking a bite. The other mer pauses, sniffs the chocolate again, and then takes another bite. Lance makes a trumpet-like noise that has Remy flinching back and pressing into the rocks. What? Lance looks at him and then shifts back slightly.

"That noise means I really like it.”

Lance says, looking at Remy with sad, sad eyes. Remy flushes uncomfortably. Just another reminder that he had been dumped by the wild mers that birthed him. Another language barrier. But! He has so many other things he knows that Lance doesn't. He takes a settling breath.

“Oh. Okay. I'm glad you do. I don't get to have it very often. It's good, non?!”

Lance meets his grin with one of his own. 

“What's that?”

Lance asks, pointing at the diving toy. Remy lights up. 

“It's for playing games! My brother and I sometimes race to see who can swim to it first. And sometimes we take a few and see who can either collect the most or who can do it the fastest. Maybe we race? Or pass it back and forth?”

Lance’s eyes glitter, and a competitive look comes to his face.

“Race! Toss it!”

Remy throws the toy up, and then both dive after it. Lance gets it first, but mostly because Remy is not using all of his usual tricks. He doesn't want to irritate his friend just to win. He throws it again, and they dive. His companion laughs and chitters as the two wrestle for it, and then they dive again, and again. Hours pass, stirring up the water and flicking tails. 

The setting sun shimmers against the surface of the tide pool as the two lay on the rocks. Lance shifts over to Remy and runs his claws against the part of Remy’s tail not covered by his prosthetic’s sleeve. Remy tenses but makes no movements, trusting his companion.

“I'm cleaning your scales. We do this in the pod for… well, to clean up but also to show that we care.”

Lance says, and Remy can admit that it feels nice. He yawns and hears the bell. He groans, not wanting to leave his friend. But he needs his medicine, especially with all the hard swimming he has done today. Lance looks at him, concerned.

“I gotta go. Bell means medicine and food time.”

Remy says, and Lance glances back to the facility with a heavy frown. 

“I- You feel safe there?”

“It's my pod, Lance. They keep me safe.”

Remy states softly. Lance chitters a little and swings his tail.

“I know. I- It's just that Logan and Creed… well, all the adults really… they always warn us about humans. A lot of us have lost people and gotten hurt because of them. But if you're alright… Alright. I'll see you tomorrow?”

Lance asks, and Remy pats his arm.

“Oui. Yes. Tomorrow. Unless it's storming.”

“Unless it's storming.”

Lance easily agrees, bumping Remy’s head with his own. 

“I'll find some more stuff to show you.”

“Or just bring me stories. I love stories.”

Remy says hopefully, and Lance grins brightly.

“Oh yeah. I'll tell you about a fight I got into with a whale shark. I'll see you tomorrow, Remy!”

Lance clambers over the rocks and dives into the waves. Remy watches him vanish beneath the frothing waves. He breathes deep and turns, heading back to his tank.

[lsunstreakerl]

Now I know you've mentioned fmf!rico not wanting to kiss max while he has blood on his face.. But what about max/rico vampire blood play for the kink prompt ? 🫣

see when I wrote this I thought it was short and then boom. 1.7k. idk where it all came from. anyways! rico POV, explicit.

pairings: rico verhoeven/max verstappen

relevant heads up: vampires, bloodplay, tiniest allusions to cumplay and also a singular daddy in passing. not even the kink, max is actually making fun of it.

Max is sprawled on the lounge in the living room, playing FIFA. Rico drops his keys near the door, briefly looking out the window. Their penthouse has been home for a few years now, and he enjoys watching the city sparkle below them, neon lights flickering on as the sun sets and the nightlife starts.

He makes his way into the living room, resting his hand in Max's hair. His mate twists up to look at him, perfectly innocent in appearance— he's wearing one of Rico's sweatshirts and a tiny pair of shorts, long legs on display, and Rico can see the gold chain of his necklace dipping low across his collarbones.

His lips are ruby red, and there's a flush to his cheeks, lashes fluttering sweetly up at Rico as he smiles.

"You took too long."

Rico rolls his eyes fondly, tipping Max's head up as he kisses him, feels the warmth of him against his mouth, the beat of fresh life running through his veins. Max goes easy— he always does when he's well fed, and Rico wouldn't want him any other way.

They'd had enough hardship when they were freshly turned, struggling to survive. He's much happier like this, coming home to his beautiful mate freshly sated, copper still sweet in his lips.

He licks into Max's mouth, tongue tracing the outline of his sharp fangs. It's easy enough to get a hand down and cup at Max through the shorts, and the gasp he gets against his mouth is well worth it.

He grins, thumbing over the head of his cock, precum already soaking through the thin material of Max's shorts.

Rico leans back slightly, smug as Max tries to follow him, watching his mate pout.

"You want to get to the bedroom? Or can I feed right here?"

Max tips his head back as he looks up at Rico, frowning.

"Here. You were too busy to feed with me earlier, so no sex for you."

Rico slowly drops to his knees next to the couch, carefully positioned between Max's legs. His grip is firm on his thighs when he tugs him closer, smirking up at him.

"You'll be begging for it here in a minute."

Max scowls at him, adorably annoyed— even if it's justified. Rico had missed their normal feeding, and Max takes it just as personally now as he did when they'd first gotten together.

"I won't even have to pause my FIFA match."

Rico doesn't respond, but he doesn't need to. Max is bluffing, bitchy as he is, and Rico knows his mate both inside and out, and he knows the signs.

Max is still horny, because he doesn't like getting off without Rico anymore, even when he's riding the high of a feed.

Max also gets gorgeously desperate whenever Rico gets his mouth on him.

He pulls off Max's shorts, rolling his eyes at his attempt to pretend he's unaffected. His video game is still playing on the screen, but Rico leans forward, lightly stroking at his cock.

Max shivers, a small blurt of precum leaving the tip, and Rico knows he has him. His mate has a cute handful in comparison to his own— enough for Rico to easily fit in his mouth in one go.

His hips buck up as Rico takes him to the back of his throat, ankles flying to lock together behind his neck, and Rico grins, hearing the TV go suspiciously silent behind him.

A hand digs into his hair a moment later, and Max yanks him further onto his dick, legs flexing.

"Oh— do that again baby, c'mon—"

Rico moans around his cock, teeth scraping lightly as he draws back, lips brushing against the head of it as he looks up through his lashes. Max has his free hand shoved under the sweatshirt, playing with his nipples as his fingers curl tighter into his hair, tugging at his scalp.

He smirks.

"What, you don't want to call me anything else?"

Max scowls at him, pout prominent.

"I am not fucking calling you daddy, now get back on my—"

Rico cuts him off with a quick pinch to his thigh. He squirms under his hands and mouth, flush traveling across his body. He's fever hot, a result of overfeeding so that Rico can feed from him, but first...

There's a few advantages to having too much blood in the system.

Rico swirls his tongue around the head of his cock, taking it all the way to the base as he sucks. Max's moaning gets louder, fingers yanking uselessly at his hair, hips rocking into his mouth.

"Fuck— please, please, I'm so close—"

He brings his head back up and off, eyes locked with Max's as he lets a string of saliva drip onto the tip of his cock. His mate is bright pink, lips twisted into a pout as he tugs his hair again, legs pulling him closer.

"Rico, I'm so—"

"Pretty? Yes, I know."

There's a light smack to the side of his head, but he finds it difficult to take Max's glare seriously.

"Tell me how bad you want it, darling."

Max's pout deepens, legs frustratedly squeezing at Rico's head.

"I always want it, you feel so good when you're fucking me, and I'm so full baby, I drank so much of that blood just for you, it hurts—"

His eyes are wet with tears, although Rico knows better than to immediately assume they're genuine. He gets a weird fuzzy feeling at the edge of his senses, dulling his thoughts briefly. He just wants to listen to Max, to do what the beautiful man in front of him wants.

"I just want your dick in me, please—"

He laughs, shaking off the feeling as his hand moves to circle the base of Max's cock, pressing his thumb lightly into the head of it as Max's head drops back, long lines of his throat on display.

"The seduction trick is cute. I should edge you for that."

Max's lip curls, fangs on display as he snarls.

"Don't even think about it, put your fucking mouth back on me."

Rico dutifully takes him down to the base, because he loves his bratty mate, especially when he gets to tease him. Max gets riled up when he's overfed, a callback to the hot temper he'd had as a human.

It only takes a few more twists of his tongue before there's bitter cum in his mouth. He doesn't swallow, instead keeps it there as Max shivers against him, fingers finally relaxing in his hair.

It's easy enough to pull Max further down onto the couch, smirking at the startled yelp he gets as he climbs up, straddling his waist and prying his jaw open.

Max's eyes blow wide as he realizes, hips jerking pathetically when Rico kisses him, forcing the mess into his mouth.

He's whining underneath him, fingers clawing at Rico's sides as he breaks the kiss, scraping his fangs along the bottom of Max's plush bottom lip. The skin breaks easily, and he laps his tongue over the split, absentmindedly grinding his hips down.

Max makes a strangled noise, eyes dark when Rico looks at him.

"Just for you."

There's something tender in his voice, a peek at the vulnerability Rico doesn't usually see from him. An overfed vampire is a vulnerable one— Max is far more human like this than he is normally, and could be viewed as easy prey by any others.

That he feels safe enough if their home to allow it is a testament to the security of their space. That he does it at all is a testament to his love for Rico.

"Thank you darling."

He presses his mouth to the side of Max's throat, fangs teasing at the skin. His mate presses up against him, fingers snaking under his shirt to get a grip at his sides.

Rico slides one hand under Max's sweatshirt, tweaking a nipple as the other cups the back of his head, nails scratching lightly into the short hair.

Max shivers when his fangs break skin, tongue immediately lapping at the blood. His eyes drift shut, lost in the push-pull of drinking from him, cock heavy as he leisurely grinds into his hip.

He's toying with Max's chest as he takes long, slow drinks, and he can feel clever fingers worming their way past his waistband, Max's thumb brushing through the sticky mess of precum he's been steadily leaking since he got on his knees.

He moans into his skin, tongue lapping messily at his neck. There's blood dripping down his chin, and he's rocking his hips into Max's hand. His mate is squirming underneath him into a more comfortable position, but Rico doesn't realize until he hears his soft gasp what he's doing.

He's too blood drunk, unable to peel away from Max's neck, but he'd know that gasp anywhere— Max is fingering himself. His hips snap forward and he hears a soft laugh from above him.

"You're such a brute, baby. Just want to drink blood and get your cock in something... What would you do without me?"

The hand playing at his chest slides to his waist, and Rico effortlessly lifts his hips with one hand as Max scrabbles at his back.

The first press of Rico's cock against him has him rutting forward mindlessly, catching at the edge of his rim before sliding between his thighs. Max huffs impatiently at him, one hand gripping tight around his back.

"Don't fucking drop me."

Rico grunts, hitching Max's hips higher as his mate guides his cock inside of him. The wet clutch of heat has him moaning, breaking off from the drinking to simply pant against Max's neck, blood dripping past his collarbone.

Max whines, hips shifting as he takes Rico deeper inside of him before finally settling, full seated on his cock. Rico manages to pull back, pressing their lips together, copper tang bright in his mouth. He doesn't have words, too lost in the feeding and the tight heat around him, but he tries to convey his gratefulness in his messy press to Max's lips, licking into his mouth.

There's a quiet huff from Max before he's guiding Rico's head back to his neck.

"You can thank me after, baby. Finish feeding first— but I want to watch a movie when you're done, and get take out from the place around the corner I like, and oh—"

He breaks off as Rico makes a new incision, fresh blood spilling past his lips while he fucks into Max, clutching him tightly.

It becomes a hit of a haze, after that.

[bettystonewell]

As long as it flowed well - that’s all I worry ‘bout. Past to present tense could’ve been jarring 🤔 but I’m so glad you enjoyed my teen Dean 😂 ❤️ I don’t know who I had more fun with, him, Bobby or Rufus.

And dear God, teenage Dean surely needed his own goddamn warning! Here's the amount of times I wanted to spray him with water 😂👇

Hahaha - he really is a bit gross. I mightn’t have portrayed it well enough 😂 he could be dirtier, but this is supposed to be a wholesome romance. I also had him paying someone to write him an essay in the first draft, but I took it out because I like to think Dean is smart, but also lazy. But I couldn’t make him lazy and dirty - too much?

The "Nobody puts Baby in a crusher" line also had me dead 🤣

Yaaaaasss! Searching for Dirty Dancing in the gifs did not come up with the results I wanted… you’re the first person to mention that line I think! So happy you spotted it. I almost titled this chapter after Footloose, but we’ve ended up sticking with Pretty in Pink on top of the mood-board, and

Whyyyyyy?????

lol - so much upset over a gaming console. But really? There’s no way John would let them keep one, but I also know Dean has a reference for Zelda somewhere in the show so you know he’s played it at least once.

And I can't believe this whole thing went on for a week lmao

In Dean’s defence. Teacher called his name out in front of the class. She might not have actually recognised him at first - though I’m picturing a small school (I googled one in the real Sioux Falls and everything)- but I’d say hearing the name Winchester would’ve done it. I’m also thinking of tying her to Bobby. Not related, but in a neighbour gossip kind of way. Some nosy neighbour spreads the word Bobby has a couple of teens living with him and voila, everyone knows (we’ll pretend Sioux Falls isn’t a city for that). It might or make the cut, but that’s my headcanon ✌️

My heart keeps warning me of something, and it may be the feeling that reader got a little hurt when she watched him fool around with all these cheerleaders during the week.

Ahhhh, yes - trust your nose gut. There will be some angst, but I’m tight lipped on how she’s feeling. I’m going to play into the high school movie trope, so expect something along the lines of what happens to the nice girls in all those movies 😘

They will find a way eventually though, it’s just going to take Dean some time to not be an idiot. Question is, will it be too late?

IF YOU LEAVE

Chapter 2: Left of Center

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester x Reader

In the spring of 1988, Dean meets the girl of his dreams. He just doesn't know it yet. 3.5k words

Tags: Dean as a teenager (he’s a bit of a dirtbag), Bobby trying to parent, language, flirting, 80s & 90s pop culture references

Mood-board by @chevroletdean for #chevroletdean’s 500 😘

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

March, 1997

Being back at Bobby’s is exactly as Dean remembers it. Either the Sioux Falls house is stuck in some time loop or the objects and dust littered throughout the rooms are stuck with glue or something else. Anything’s plausible.

Even the liquor bottles and trash don’t appear to have moved over the last nine years, though he knows that’s not true. He was here two weeks ago when John arranged all this. He saw both men drink from the bottle of Jack still on the kitchen table as they discussed his life and future.

The whole situation bites. Sucks. He should be out there helping find whatever killed his mom, but they say they know better. That he needs an education. And if he doesn’t play house with Sam and Bobby? Then he loses the car, and he’s not losing the car.

It’s extortion. The threat, insulting. Nobody puts Baby in a crusher. 

Besides, John already handed over the keys on his birthday. She’s been in his name ever since. That’s two whole months, give or take, and there’s just gotta be some hoodoo superstition against giving someone something, then taking it back, right?

He pulls her into the carpark, furthest as he can away from all the Civics and Bugs taking up the asphalt. Shifts her into P. Cuts the engine, and that’s when he first hears the trills, grunts and hoots from his soon-to-be peers. 

Just great. This place is a zoo. No wait, zoo animals are better behaved. Hell, he’d prefer a haunted, crazy-house 

There’s the jocks with their green and gold sports-team jackets. The cheerleaders, matching them, but with hot, perky tits, and gloss, not so bad. The dweebs, Sammy’s crowd, and the loner kids paving their own way at the back of the pack, heads down in books and Game Boys. They make the stoners look alive, and, no; you know what, they might actually be alright. He’d rather be playing a bit of Zelda right about now, too. 

Still, he can’t. John threw the last ‘64 he rented in the trash. Luckily, they skipped that town soon after and he didn’t have to pay for the late fees. Like he would’ve. 

With a heavy sigh, his fingers grip the lip of his backpack, dragging it out of the car with him, flinging the weight of his text-books over his shoulder, pulling the muscle.

“Dude, that your ride?” someone asks, but he ignores them, and elbows tucked in at his side, pushes through the horde or hormones and sweat to the office, well away from whoever that was.

It’s best to just get this over with.

“Name?” the admin assistant, Mrs Heady, asks down her rectangle glasses. 

Her name tag says her first name’s Beverly, but they just met and it’s too soon for a first-name basis, and a grin tugs at Dean’s mouth. “Whatever you want it to be, sweetheart,” he says.

He can’t help himself. Not when a group of pretty cheerleaders stand right behind him, giggling and shaking their pom-poms. It’s a crime they’re allowed to wear such short skirts to school, but at least them being up close makes his day somewhat better. 

Luckily, this time, he’s learned something from John. How to conceal his…gun, because the girls giggle louder and it goes straight there.

He turns around and winks at the blonde closest to him. 

She blushes. Turns in turn to her friends and shakes with laughter. Lips glossy and pursed and eyes fixed on him as she whispers something to the girl with the ringlets. He wags his brows at her.

“Hi,” he mouths, but the third girl pushes them to the corner next to some trophies covered in dust, and—

“Son. I need your name.” Mrs Heady snaps him out of his trance with a poke from something he only feels on instinct from his jacket, shifting ‘round his ribs. 

His reflexes are too sharp, though, and now more eyes are on him and the way he holds the ruler she had hidden behind her desk in his hands. Vice-like grip, looking like a prayer over the self defence it’s meant to be.

“Winchester,” he gives, and lets go of the damned thing to hold his arms by his sides. He shrinks into his jacket. Shoulders droop, chin dips. “Dean.” He clears his throat. 

More giggles in the background retrieve his smirk. 

“Dean,” she says, then repeats, again, and again as she flicks through her files only to find his name on top in the end, anyway. “Here we are. Mrs Truman’s homeroom. B - twelve. You’ve got music up first.”

She hands him a timetable. He glances over it. Math, biology, English. Just great. Two months of this. 

He scrunches the paper and shoves it into his backpack so he can round up the ladies. “So,” he takes a couple of steps closer and loops his arm over the girl with the ringlets’ shoulders. “Care to show a guy around the school?”

Dean’s cheek still rings where cheerleader two slapped him. He nurses it in his left hand as he opens the door with his right, stepping into his homeroom with a little more apprehension than he cares to admit. 

It’s musky here. As dusty as the trophies in the office, only full of more kids, all staring at him as he walks over to the teacher, also looking him up and down. 

Okay, it’s not so different. He definitely shrinks a few more inches, and gives himself a once over, checking he’s still wearing his clothes. 

He is. So is the same blonde cheerleader sitting in the front row. Her smile, much sweeter than it was before. Her lashes batting against freckle dusted cheeks as quick as she had to have been to beat him here.

“You must be Winchester,” Mrs Truman says, and Dean brings his attention back to her with a click of his jaw. 

“Yeah.” 

“Transferred from Colorado?”

“That’s what it says.” He wrote it yesterday morning after a sharp smack from Bobby’s hand to his shoulder.  

He knows he deserved it. Sammy was only asking about John, who pissed off the second he dropped them off, leaving him to deal with the paperwork. Both of theirs.

Just as Mrs Heady had done, Truman sees him through her glasses, only she’s looking further up on account of the height difference, even without a desk. Her greying curls shake as she points to the back of the class. “Take your seat Dean.”

He winks at blondie and proceeds down the canyon of desks and the backpacks at their owners’ feet to the sole remaining seat. It creaks as he slings his weight into it. Groans as he stretches his legs out. His sneaker taps the chair in front. Peachy. 

Most eyes revert to the blackboard at the front, but one girl’s gaze lingers longer than the rest. Her brows furrowed in concentration before he raises his at her. 

It’s not flirtatious. More of a ‘what’re you looking at,’ kind of vibe, and really, what is she looking at? He’s got nothing on his face, though he wipes it just to make sure. Palm covering the smirk from her attention, scratching over the stubble on his chin that’s already regrown. His nose tingles under the weight of it, but it means little. 

She would too if she had an audience, yet her stares continue throughout the day like she has none. Done when she thinks he’s not watching. 

He is. He’s just better at hiding it.

She does it during music. Third and fourth period, too. He’d say she’s following him, but of course, she has a schedule of her own. She has to. It’s just a small high school. Doesn’t make it any less constricting. 

His nose tingles constantly. The grape jelly at lunch lingers in his gut along with his gun from the cheerleaders, and still she stares every so often with that same crinkle of her brows. It’s like she’s never seen a dude in a leather jacket before. Never seen a car as cool as his. 

As the week rolls on, though, she blends into the crowd. At least, he doesn’t notice her stares any longer, too busy with his own on cheerleader two. 

Her name is Melinda. Her ringlets, natural. Rack is too. Dean cops a feel when she helps him catch up on his biology between fifth and sixth in the janitor’s closet on the second Wednesday. He pays her back with a hickey on her right shoulder. 

“Mark’s having a party Friday,” she whispers into his ear. Hand grips his arm when he swirls his tongue to soothe the reddened skin.

“Good for him.” His fingers squeeze her, storing away the feel of the muscle bouncing back for future use. 

She scoffs and nudges him off. Said something, too, but Dean’s fixed on the way her lip shines under what little light the bulb overhead is giving. He leans closer in and pulls the bottom one between his own to taste more cherry. Feels the warmth bubble in his gut.

“Dean.” She smacks him this time. It would pinch, but the leather of his jacket softens the blow.

“What?”

“I’m asking if you wanna go with me. It could be fun.”

He wants to roll his eyes, and he almost does, but he knows doing so will stop him from getting any further with this girl, and he’s worked so hard to get her here. Listening to her talk about Leo and some song about Barbies. He forced himself to tune in to the local radio station and all he learned was that some guy, with a voice that sounded like a chain smoker, wanted Barbie to party.

Not him. Nope. The music they all listen to is trash, and he is not going to surround himself with it on a Friday night just to get some action. His hand’ll do just fine with the memories of her tit.

“Or we could hang out. Just me and you.” His lips nip at her again. “Brady Point.”

“Braden,” she says with a whine. and that click girls do when they’re trying to be angry. It’s cute. 

“Yeah.” He swoops back in. 

“But my friends will be there.” 

And this is going nowhere.

Her eyes are as still as the rest of her, holding him as if she’d physically reached in and grabbed them. Neither blinks, but Dean tries to convince her he’s more interesting than a party at Marks. 

Turns out he’s not, and he’s left to his own devices Friday night, lounging ‘round Bobby’s, cleaning his colt.

“Did John give ya a curfew I should know about?” his ‘uncle’ says across from him. Bottle of beer in his hand. 

Just as he did in the janitor’s closet with Melinda, Dean doesn’t blink when he looks back at him. He places the barrel down, reaches for the oil and busies his hands once again. 

It’s not like he wants to be here. He’d still rather be out on the road with John, even though he threatened to take the car. At least he’d be doing something useful with his time. Algebra ain’t going to help him gank no ghost. Don’t get him started on music theory or the essay due Tuesday morning.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” Bobby takes a swig and stands with a loud scrape of his chair over the floor. The floorboards continue to protest as he pads his way to the fridge for another. The creak of the door and the rattle of glass is obvious enough, but what Dean doesn’t expect is to be handed one, too, when he returns. 

“Even Sam’s out with the friends he made.” Bobby glares at him over the bottle, twists the cap and flings it on the table. 

Dean does the same. 

He’s mid sip when Bobby sits back down and asks, “Weren’t you seeing that cheerleader? Melissa?” 

The cold brew goes down the wrong pipe, and his fist whacks the top of his sternum. The thump drowned out by his splutter and wheeze. How the hell does he know that? Unless…Sammy. That’s the last time he picks him up from school. Kid can ride his bike, rain or shine.

He looks up at Bobby, still waiting for him to be done. His beady eyes under his cap and the specks of grey in his beard continue to point at him. 

“What do you want me to say?” Dean dares before another mouthful. Slower this time. Letting the bubbles slide down his throat, keeping his mouth and hands occupied. 

“Nothing. Not my place to give ya advice, either.” He sighs, and Dean just knows there’s a ‘but,’ coming. “You got the chance to have a normal life for a minute. Why not enjoy it?” Bobby leans into the table. There’s a split second of grouch as his face changes and his jaw tightens, humbling his pride. “I hear that Sutton kid’s throwing a party.”

And Dean chokes again. Fucking Sam. He scowls. “You want me to go get drunk with a bunch of other kids? That what you’re saying?” 

“You telling me you’re straight-laced now? Only difference between them kids and me is they’ve got smaller prostates, and don’t need to whiz every—”

“Okay. Fine,” Dean says and gulps some more beer down. Thunks it on the table with finality and stands. He pulls his jacket on and steps over to pick up Baby’s keys from where he left them. 

But, “The hell you’re driving,” stops him in his tracks and he’s heading out the door, keyless and without another word, raising his collar up to protect his neck from the night air. The screen door slams behind him.

Now what? He doesn’t even know where the party is, let alone how he’s going to bust it to this guy’s house without his car. School’s a ten-minute drive from here, and chances are, Mark’s place is further still, and there’s no way he’s walking that far. 

He digs his boots in the dirt. Smushes the grass tufts, scattering the powder, blackened by the sky, and looks around. Cars, whole ones, shells of them, and stars as far as the eye can see surround him. But also under the shed, poking out behind the pole closest to him, the rim of a thin tire catches his eye. 

It’s the same place they used to keep their bike, not Sam’s new one - he stole that - but the one Bobby fixed up all those years ago. 

Of course, he’s grown, but the thing looks tiny. Creaks under his hands when he tugs it out. The bars are rusty and he can feel the coarse, flaky metal against his fingertips. Even the rubber handles have disintegrated. 

Out of its confines, he lifts his leg over and straddles the middle bar. Wheels it back and forth under him. He places his ass on the seat, and, yeah, there’s no way he can ride this thing like this, but if he stands, it’s possible. 

Shaky.

Rickety.

Yet before he knows it, he’s peddling down the path just the same. Gravel flicks up against his jeans, but it’s freeing. That wind in his hair. Breeze on his cheeks. The way his jacket swings behind him like a cape as he leans over the handlebars. The same ones Sammy used to ride on. 

Laughter. Fun. Bat signals. Ninja turtles. His mind goes back to a time when he shared it all with you that one spring. What was he, nine?

Huh. It’s been a while. He wonders what happened to you? Did you skip town? Do you go to school with him now, and he just hasn’t run into you yet? 

Maybe you’re at the party? One of Melinda’s friends, though you would’ve said something if he knew them, and none of their names match yours. Not even the middle name Mary, like your mom. You sure were long winded. Could blow the biggest bubbles in your shakes. 

God, he’s a dweeb. His nostalgia, pulling at his heart strings, buzzing his nose, and steering the bike to the old arcade ‘cause why not. 

Whirs. Dings. Whistles. Like Bobby’s, it hasn’t changed one bit. The jingles made by synthesisers are as familiar as Baby’s rumble. The soundtrack trying to overcome it all hasn’t let up its 80s tunes either, and Dean strides through the tinted doors to the riff of Kenny Loggins’ Danger Zone. He’s pumped.

Nope. Nothing’s changed, alright. 

There’s a musk to the place that he’s never been able to put his finger on, but one that’s popped up throughout his life. It’s a taste. A burn in his nostrils from dust and mould, sweaty palms, and old money that’s spent most of its life being jammed into the pockets of little boys.

Speaking of, he reaches deep into his and pulls out his leather wallet. Flips it open. Stops the just-in-case condom he keeps in there from falling out. He’s prepared, and he’s got plenty of dollar bills ready to change over.

He smooths one out, chuckles at the joke he’s made about rubbing that something else instead, and feeds the edge into the slot. Only has him grinning more. The thrill and rattle of money coming out is alright, too, and the closest to the feel of Vegas he’s gonna get without a fake ID and a broken razor.

Coin laden, he heads for Donkey Kong, the first thing he recognises - if only the sucker knew he wasn’t the main attraction any more. He bites his tongue with his newest coin-slot joke, is relieved for a moment that these things don’t spit out white tickets, and hits start.

It’s like riding the bicycle. All floods back. He even gets to the second level on the first go, but then Mario drops the hammer on himself and then is hit by a barrel. Totally not his fault. Totally, he tries again.

It mightn’t be as advanced as modern, 3D Mario or Zelda, but there’s an addiction for sure. He plays another, and a few more than he’s willing to admit before moving on to the next one. Has a go at all his favourites. Loses to some punk-ass junior on Time Crisis. 

“Real guns don’t work like that,” he spits over Bon Jovi’s ‘Shot Through the Heart’, and heads to the snack bar. Another piece of nostalgia, Red Vines, call his name.

By now it’s getting close to nine. Not late for a guy with no curfew, but late enough that the younger kids are calling it quits, and sweet, zero lines. 

He steps up to the counter, pulls out his wallet again and looks straight into the eyes of the girl with the goofy hat. She’s not wearing it now, though. Hair pulled up off her face and neck. He just recognises the furrowed brow, and his raise in unison. 

Great. “Hey,” he says. Mutters, more like. 

He avoids her stare and concentrates on the candy before him, picking up two packets of the red licorice and a box of Milk Duds. “Can I get a root beer, too?” He smiles out of politeness, but it’s reserved, and lacks its usual charm. He straightens when she continues to stare and startles as much as she does when she realises.

“Ah, sure.” She turns on the soundtrack’s newest changeover, a slow synthetic drumbeat that’s as almost familiar as the way her hairline pulls at her neck below her pink blouse. 

It can’t be. It’s too coincidental. He finds that bike only to think of the girl he once knew, and there she is, just like that? All this talk of hoodoo, but it is the same town, the same arcade?

Nah. Coincidence. That’s all this is. Pure coincidence. These thoughts and memories about the girl he once knew messing with his brain more and more…until she turns around again and he really looks at her. At you.

He looks at you. 

And if this all hasn’t wigged him out already, the guy, swooning over the stereo says something about always being friends someday.

His finger points in your direction and it’s not just for telling you what else he wants to buy. 

You blink. Those eyes. Those brows. 

“You’re—”

“Hi Dean,” you say with a thin smile, and then, as if his recognition fuels you, that confident tone he’s just remembered, the one that once took his juice box, has you adding, “Took you long enough.”

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

Am I running with that one random line Dean made about Zelda, somewhere in the show? You bet I am ✌️

I know I put five chapters down in the Masterlist, but I ended this chapter earlier than intended because it seemed like a better spot than I’d planned, so there might be another yet, time will tell.

Did you know a Dean in high school? Did you date someone like him? I had way too much fun writing him as a horny teenager 😂 let’s see how they get along now 😘

@globetrotter28 @ambiguous-avery @arcannaa @jollyhunter @zepskies

@reluctanthalfwayoptimism @supernotnatural2005 @jackles010378 @kaz-2y5-spn @applelovesposts

@jaydensluv @foxyjwls007 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373 @waynes-multiverse

@kazchester-fanfiction @maddie0101 @ladykitana90 @luvr4miya @amyjam78

@stoneyggirl2 @winchesterwild78 @missywinchester15 @deansbbyx @kr804573

@lyarr24 @salemslostwitch @mostlymarvelgirl @ladysparkles78 @multiversefanfics

@31miw-inkpsycho @yoursrosie @Theantisoci-alone @roseamie13 @krazykelly

@my-stories-vault @amberlthomas @levine-23 @ultimatecin73 @district447

@hobby27 @aylacavebear @stellawritesstories @middleearthlife @yeehawgiddyup13

@redwinexsupernova @artemys-ackles @kimxwinchester @bejeweledinterludes @impala67rollingthroughtown

If you’d like to be added, you can add yourself HERE, or if you’d like to be removed, please let me know ☺️

[nxll-n4m3]

More Gabv1el large V1 appreciation, because The Brainworms™ have me. Two playful ones, one slightly angsty one with a soft end.

Tw under the cut; Self-harm (brief mention, not with bad intention), near death, descriptions of panic.

Side note; I've only played part of the game.. I don't know much about the fish. I don't know what I'm talking about. I swear it makes sense though.

-

After getting more used to V1 being bigger than expected, Gabriel was almost bitter about it. Not really in a genuine way, but playfully salty about the fact. Gabriel decided to start kicking the machine in the shins to see if it'd get shorter. (It didn't, and typically just puffed air out of its fans in a laugh-like sound whenever Gabriel hurt himself by kicking its metal.)

X

When Gabriel decided to be less bitter, it was because of a bad day. V1 had nearly died. He had found it, optic flashing and getting dimmer, blood seeping from its chassis. Parts of it were torn open, wires split and tangled in ways they shouldn't have been. Whatever had managed that wasn't around anymore, but the attack had to have been recent.

Gabriel had sliced his entire arm open, flooding the machine's exposed internal systems with blood. He didn't understand how it repaired itself, but he understood that it could -- and that it needed blood to do so. He nearly despaired when its optic went black, even despite the fresh blood. An empty eternity filled his mind; the thought of endless, dull, numb days.. His heart rate spiked, and he only realized he'd been lost in panic and hyperventilating when he felt the gentle touch of the feedbacker against his upper arm to snap him out of it.

V1 was still in the process of self-mending, but it was sitting up now, head tilted as it made a low whirr though its fans. Gabriel felt relief (it hadn't died.), then anger (it nearly died, and it's worried about him?), but finally it settled into a tired sense of comfort. He couldn't be mad at it for worrying about him, so instead he accepted the ease of knowing he wouldn't be alone again.

They decided to find somewhere quiet for a while, and V1 held Gabriel close enough to feel the warm air from its fans, close enough for him to hear its mechanical heartbeat through its plating. Gabriel was thankful that V1 was larger than him, now. He could be held like this comfortably, and it was much nicer than Gabriel had thought it'd be.

X

In Wrath, Gabriel watched as V1 floundered about in the shallow waters; trying to catch the small fish that darted about. Eventually, he called out to it, explaining that the fish couldn't be taken out of the water.

He laughed when the machine played a loud incorrect buzzer through its speakers, watching it grab a fish. He laughed harder when the fish disappeared into a fine cloud of blood mist once it was pulled from the water.

In response, V1 walked over -- grabbing Gabriel and hauling him onto its shoulder, moving back to the water and throwing him in. Gabriel had a few seconds to be indignant about being lifted that way before he was submerged, sitting up quickly to yell at V1 for its antics. The machine rhythmically moved air through its fans and vents, making that laugh-like sound that Gabriel had come to enjoy so much.

He looked up at it, its bottom optic shutter raised partway, the glowing yellow glass (Gabriel wasn't really sure what they were made of, but they felt like glass.) of its wings casting a glow over it. It was a sight that stirred up feelings for Gabriel, distracting him from pretending to be mad. He had to appreciate how easily it moved him, anyway.

[reijisteacup]

hello 🥺💚 may i request a sfw laito alphabet? (and no rush, ofc!)

OFC LOVE I got chu <3333 I love me some Laito.

================================================================================================

Laito Sakamaki Head canon Alphabet

SFW Head canon Alphabet

A – Affection

Laito shows affection in playful, teasing gestures—but beneath the flirtation is real warmth. He’ll rest his head in your lap, trace lazy circles on your skin, or drape himself over you with all the weight of someone who wants to stay tethered. He loves pet names, especially ones that make you flustered, but he also pays attention to your moods and touches your face when you’re upset. With Laito, affection is both a game and a gift—a constant invitation to lean in and laugh, even when the world gets too heavy. “Fufu~ Don’t look so tense, Little Bitch-chan. I’m here, aren’t I?”

B – Bonding

Bonding with Laito means letting him see all your layers—because he’s used to people who only want his surface. He wants to hear about your dreams, your fears, even your embarrassments. He listens more deeply than people assume, remembering the tiniest details you mention in passing. He’s most himself during quiet hours: lying beside you while music plays softly, sharing stories he swears he’s never told anyone else. The bond grows through laughter, emotional intimacy, and the mutual choice to trust—even when it’s terrifying.

C – Cuddles

Laito is a clingy cuddler, plain and simple. He loves draping himself over you like a cat, arms around your waist, head buried in your neck, breath tickling your skin. He hums softly when content and sometimes presses kisses to your collarbone just to feel your shivers. He doesn’t mind if you’re reading or working—he’ll just latch on anyway. The more affection you give, the softer he becomes. The world might treat him like a joke or a predator, but in your arms, he just wants to melt.

D – Dates

Laito’s ideal dates range from candlelit rooftops with stolen wine to walking under the stars while humming old songs. He enjoys experiences that blur the line between romance and mischief—sneaking into art exhibits after hours or pretending you’re strangers meeting for the first time. He’s charming, spontaneous, and surprisingly thoughtful, even if he hides it behind grins. Sometimes, the most romantic “dates” are just him wrapping you in a blanket, playing piano for you while the night stretches on.

E – Emotions

Laito hides pain behind jokes, masks vulnerability with seduction. But when he opens up? It’s devastatingly honest. He’s spent so long pretending not to care that feeling deeply terrifies him. If you’re patient, you’ll see it: the way his eyes dim when he’s afraid you’ll leave, or how he goes quiet after a nightmare. His emotions run deep, even if he downplays them. And once he trusts you with them, he clings hard—because love, to Laito, is something both sacred and dangerous.

F – Flirting

Flirting is Laito’s second language. He’ll tease, touch, and whisper innuendos without missing a beat. But with someone he truly cares about, his flirtation becomes more personalized, more emotionally charged. He studies how you react and tailors his words not just to fluster you—but to make you feel wanted. If you manage to flirt back and catch him off guard, expect a low whistle and a dangerous gleam in his eye. “Ara~ You’re getting bold, Little Bitch-chan. I like it.”

G – Gifts

Laito’s gifts are unpredictable but meaningful. He might give you a charm bracelet that matches his, an old record of your favorite band, or a bottle of vintage perfume that “smells just like you.” He doesn’t care about cost—he cares about impact. He wants to make you feel seen, adored, even a little spoiled. And sometimes, he’ll surprise you with something homemade—like a song, or a sketch. He may play the fool, but his heart knows exactly what you treasure.

H – Honesty

He’s a trickster, yes—but with you, Laito tries to be more transparent. It’s hard for him to unlearn years of hiding behind seduction, but he’ll do it if you show him it’s safe. He’ll tell you when he’s scared, when he’s hurting—though sometimes it comes out in riddles. He appreciates honesty from you, too, even when it stings. Laito is tired of lies wrapped in lace. If you’re truthful with him, he’ll learn to be honest with himself.

I – Intimacy

For Laito, true intimacy isn’t just physical—it’s emotional surrender. Letting you see him without the smirk, without the hat, without the performance. He’s a sensual being, yes, but what undoes him is tenderness. Fingers through his hair. Your voice saying his name like it matters. He’ll test the waters at first, unsure if it’s real—but when you hold him like he’s worth something, he starts to believe he is.

J – Jealousy

Jealousy with Laito is quiet but insistent. He won’t throw tantrums or growl at rivals—instead, he slides next to you with a sly smile and marks his territory through soft, pointed touches and whispered remarks. He’ll pull you close and remind you, in the most suggestive ways, just who you belong to. But if he truly feels threatened? That smile fades. And the look in his eyes? It’s not one people survive.

K – Kisses

Laito kisses like it’s a promise and a game. He’ll steal them without warning—pressing his lips to your shoulder, neck, or cheek with a grin—but when it’s serious? He kisses you like he’s starving. His favorite kind is slow and lingering, with your hands tangled in his hair. He kisses to make you breathless, dizzy, and utterly his. And after, he whispers your name like a prayer.

L – Love Language

Physical touch and words of affirmation are Laito’s strongest love languages. He thrives on closeness, on knowing you want to touch him, hold him, stay nearby. And he gives praise easily—calling you beautiful, clever, strong—because he wants you to know your worth. He also responds strongly to being appreciated in return; even a simple “thank you” or “I missed you” can wreck him for hours.

M – Mornings

Laito is not a morning person, unless he’s waking up beside you. He tends to be clingy, groggy, and resistant to leaving bed. Expect a lot of sleepy kisses, soft murmurs, and attempts to pull you back under the covers. He stretches like a cat and refuses to let you go until you give him a proper “good morning.” Honestly, mornings with him are slow, lazy, and filled with affection.

N – Nicknames

Laito is notorious for his pet name “Little Bitch-chan”, but when he’s truly close to you, he begins to offer more intimate ones. “Koneko-chan” (little kitten), or even just your first name, spoken gently and without mockery—it all depends on his mood and your connection. When he uses your real name softly, it's a rare moment of sincerity. The teasing will never stop, of course, but listen closely and you’ll hear the affection hidden in every syllable.

O – Obsession

Laito loves intensely. If you become his, he thinks about you constantly—what you’re doing, who you’re talking to, whether you’re safe, whether you’re thinking of him too. He’s subtle about it at first, hiding obsession under charm. But the deeper he falls, the more possessive he becomes. He wants to be in every part of your life, to leave his mark so deeply that no one else compares. It’s not always healthy, but it’s honest. You’re his obsession in the most beautiful, terrible way.

P – Protection

Though Laito often appears carefree, he’s deeply protective of those he loves—especially emotionally. He knows what it’s like to be used, discarded, misunderstood. So, if someone hurts you, belittles you, or even makes you cry, Laito’s smile vanishes—and something cruel replaces it. He’ll use words first, twisting a knife into someone’s pride with wicked precision. But if that fails, his fangs come out. He doesn’t get loud. He gets lethal. No one touches what’s his and walks away whole.

Q – Quirks

Laito has the strange habit of twirling his hat when he’s deep in thought or anxious. He also hums to himself when bored—usually old piano melodies. He loves to lie in unexpected places (like draped across furniture) and always sits too close. His scent of choice is something vintage and woodsy, and he absolutely has a stash of velvet gloves hidden away for aesthetic purposes. He adores classical literature but dog-ears the pages like a brat. And don’t touch his hat unless you really mean something to him.

R – Romance

Romance, for Laito, is intoxicating and overwhelming. He wants candlelight, whispered confessions, dramatic kisses in the rain. He lives for passion and intimacy, but only when it’s real. Empty gestures bore him. He’ll write you letters scented in his cologne, press a kiss to your wrist, and ask if he can keep a lock of your hair—half as a joke, half completely serious. He makes everyday moments feel like a novel. And if you ever say “I love you” first, he’ll go quiet, then smile like he’s been waiting all his life.

S – Support

If you’re struggling, Laito becomes surprisingly grounded. He may tease at first—out of habit—but once he realizes you’re truly hurting, he drops the act. He’ll listen, hold you close, stroke your hair while whispering that everything will be okay. He’s especially good at reminding you of your worth, pointing out every beautiful, brilliant thing about you. He doesn’t always know how to fix things, but he’ll make damn sure you don’t face them alone.

T – Trust

Trust is delicate for Laito. He’s been manipulated, used, abandoned, and scorned. So, when he lets you in, it’s a monumental gesture. At first, he’ll test you—push boundaries, check your reactions, see if you’ll stay. If you pass, he’ll slowly offer pieces of himself: old memories, fears, moments of silence. Earn his trust, and he’s loyal to the end. Break it, and it may never recover. Laito doesn’t trust lightly—but when he does, it’s absolute.

U – Understanding

Laito may act aloof, but he’s frighteningly perceptive. He notices when your laugh sounds off, when you’re lying through a smile, when you’re pretending to be okay. He won’t always confront you directly—but he’ll shift his approach, offer comfort in subtler ways. He understands pain because he’s lived it. And if you ever open up to him, he won’t judge. In fact, it makes him feel even closer to you—because now, you’re both walking the same unspoken path.

V – Vulnerability

True vulnerability from Laito is rare, precious, and often silent. You’ll see it when he curls against you after a long night, not saying a word. When he flinches at certain touches, then breathes easier when you don’t push. When he lets you take off his hat and doesn’t smile afterward. If he ever cries in front of you, it means he trusts you more than anyone else in the world. Vulnerability scares him—but with the right person, he embraces it slowly, beautifully.

W – Wild Card

Laito is unpredictable in both charming and chaotic ways. He might whisk you away on a nighttime adventure just because the stars look pretty. He might serenade you out of nowhere, hand you a mysterious key, or demand a dance in the middle of the street. But every wild gesture has meaning. Laito is trying to make you feel alive—to remind you that even in a cruel world, there’s beauty worth chasing. And with him, it’s never boring.

X – Xtra

What sets Laito apart is his duality. He’s seductive yet soulful, playful yet wounded, light-hearted yet profoundly deep. Most people only see one side—the flirt, the troublemaker—but you? You get both. You see the boy who masks pain with charm, who wants to be loved not for his tricks, but for his truth. That complexity is what makes him unforgettable. He’s not perfect, but he’s real—and when he loves, he does so with every broken piece of himself.

Y – Yearning

Laito yearns more deeply than he admits. Beneath every flirtation is a quiet ache: for connection, for safety, for someone to choose him without expectations. He longs for a partner who sees past his masks and doesn’t flinch. When you’re apart, he aches in silence, restless and fidgety. When you’re close, he drinks in your presence like oxygen. Yearning, to him, is as natural as breathing—and he feels it with every fiber of his undead heart.

Z – Zzz (Sleep)

Sleep is complicated for Laito. He often avoids it, haunted by memories he refuses to share. But when you’re with him, it’s different. He falls asleep faster, curled around you with a faint sigh. He sleeps like a cat: clinging, warm, possessive. If he wakes from a nightmare, he won’t say much—just bury himself in your embrace, as if your heartbeat is the only thing that can ground him. In sleep, he’s vulnerable, tender, and a little boy again—just wanting to be held.

[bebop-haiiiiii]

Hold Me Like This Forever

Karasu Tabito x fem!reader

- slight nsfw, soft!karasu, touchstaved!karasu, soft dom, make out, after-practice comfort

The door closed with a dull thud behind him. Tabito barely said anything at first — just grunted and tried to smiles as he kicked off his sneakers and threw his bag to the side, it hitting the ground with a thud.

You were quietly watching tv on the couch, wearing your favourite sweater of his and playing games on your phone. He looked exhausted. His hair all messed up, pieces of the front of it stuck to his forehead, his jaw clenched and the cocky look that he usually had in his eyes was replaced by something a little more somber. You could tell something was off right away. His shoulders hung low. No smirk — just quiet. He didn’t even try to tease you about wearing his sweater, he just slowly made his was over to the couch where you were sitting. Your heart ached for him.

You put down your phone and opened your arms to him. He didn’t hesitate — collapsing into you like he needed you to hold the weight of everything he couldn’t manage to say out loud. His face pressed into your shoulder, his arm came up to wrap around your waist. His grip on you tight, almost to tight, yet you didn’t make any effort to try and stop him.

Minutes pass as the two of you sat like this. The room quiet except for the low hum of the tv and the sound of his slow breathing. You slowly ran your fingers through his hair as he looked up at you, a soft look in his eyes. “Wanna talk about it?” You whisper. He shook his head against you, his voice low as he speaks, “it’s nothing… just stupid stuff.”

You pull back slightly so that your faces were level, your hands coming up to cup his face. “If it’s making you feel like this Tabito, it’s not stupid.” He looked away, his eyes focusing on something behind you. “I don’t know. Sometimes I just feel like maybe I’m not enough. They are all amazing. It doesn’t matter how well I do, one day they will all pass me. I just want to be good enough. For them and mostly for you.” his eyes shut as the words came out of his mouth.

You had never seen him like this. He was so vulnerable, so emotionally available. He was always so confident and honestly a little arrogant, but his character was different now. You never expected that behind all that cockiness, he was scared. You kissed the corner of his mouth before he could spiral farther. “You are more than enough, Tabito,” you whispered.

That did it. He pushed forward, kissing you like he’d been holding it in for his whole life. He kissed you like your mouth was the only place that gave him comfort. He was so soft, so delicate. You were the only place he could fully fall apart without being seen as weak. His hand slowly trailed up your side —trembling a little, like he didn’t know how to hold onto something he didn’t know if he truly deserved.

You whisper between kisses, “You’re good. You’re brilliant. You’re mine.” Karasu’s breath hitched at your words, and something inside him cracked open. His lips found yours again—slower this time, deeper. There was no urgency in the way he kissed you, just a desperate need to feel close, to feel wanted. Each kiss that he placed on your lips lingered. You could feel the emotion behind every movement—raw and quiet.

His tongue teased at the seam of your mouth, and when you opened for him, he groaned—quiet, needy. His kisses tasted like frustration and longing. Your hands were tangled in his hair. “I love you.” He whispered “I didn’t know how much I needed to hear those things, thank you.” He pressed his forehead against yourself, thumb brushing your cheek. “I love you too don’t ever forget that.”

And in that moment, wrapped up in each other, everything else faded.

[oensible]

Article transcript below the cut.

CODY CECI

OTTAWA SENATORS DEFENCEMAN AND OTTAWA NATIVE

October 2014

Born and raised in Ottawa, Cody Ceci has accomplished what most people in Ottawa can only dream of doing- playing for his hometowns NHL team he grew up cheering for, The Ottawa Senators. This 20 year old defenseman plays an intensive, hard-on-the-puck style of hockey. At 6’2” and 207lbs, the Ottawa defenseman has an ideal hockey figure that allows him to have plenty of high-end offensive ability. He is one of the faster skaters on the Ottawa Senators and has an amazing point-shot, making him a perfect asset, especially for power-plays.

Drafted in the 1st round, 15th overall, Ceci has proven himself as a promising addition to the Ottawa Senators as well as the fans, as his game is only going to improve from here. He played for Binghamton Senators for 2 years prior to playing for the Senators. In early 2014, The Ottawa Senators GM Bryan Murray told Ceci he should look for an apartment in Ottawa, as he is here to stay- something that Ceci as well as many Ottawa Senators fans were hoping to hear!

We caught up with the Ottawa Native Cody Ceci to discuss his passion for the game, what it was like growing up in Ottawa and to discuss many of his accomplishments in the world of hockey, all before his 21st birthday.

[Faces:] In the 2011-2012 hockey season you had the second most points out of all defensemen in the OHL, scoring a total of 60 points. You were also invited to tryout camp for Canada’s U20 team in just your third season. How did it feel to accomplish all of this at such a young age?

[Ceci:] It’s an awesome feeling looking back. Played with a lot of talented guys and had a lot of fun in Junior hockey.

[Faces:] You were drafted 15th overall in the 2012 draft by the Ottawa Senators and signed to a 3-year entry level contract. What did it feel like being drafted by the NHL hockey team located in the same city you grew up in?

[Ceci:] Being drafted by your home team is every kids dream growing up, and I was fortunate enough to have that happen to me. Couldn't have been happier with the outcome that day.

[Faces:] What was your favourite hockey team to watch when you were growing up?

[Ceci:] Growing up in Ottawa I was always a Senators fan. My bedroom at my parents place is still decorated in Sens stuff.

[Faces:] Growing up in Ottawa, when did you first start playing hockey? When did you realize that hockey was something you wanted to do for the rest of your life?

[Ceci:] I started around 5 years old and fell in love with the game. The more I came to realize it was possible to play in the NHL and make a job out of it, the more time I dedicated.

[Faces:] Your first NHL game was an emergency call up (because of Jared Cowen's suspension) against the Buffalo Sabres. What was it like walking into the dressing room with all of the other Senators for the first time?

[Ceci:] The feeling was unbelievable all the coaches, trainers, and players made me feel right at home, right away. It was cool to see my stall set up come game time with all my gear and name bar on the jersey. I went from really excited to really nervous pretty quickly.

[Faces:] You scored your first goal on December 16th, 2013 at 3:59 minutes of overtime against the St. Louis Blues, helping your team take the 3-2 win. What emotions ran through your head when you scored the goal? How long did these emotions last for and who was the first person you talked to on the phone right after the game?

[Ceci:] That was a moment I'll remember for a long time. It was a big game and St. Louis was hot coming in so the significance made it that much more amazing for me. My whole family was at the game, as well as some friends, so I was lucky enough to see them all in person after the game.

[Faces:] You were advised in mid-January of 2014 by Bryan Murray that you should look at getting an apartment here in Ottawa, as management told you that you're here with the Senators for good. How much of a relief was it to be told you're becoming a full-time NHLer? How long did you spend looking for a place to live?

[Ceci:] It gave me a little bit of peace of mind hearing that news. For a long time I was living in the hotel day to day. When I got the news I was really happy but went into a bit of a panic cause I had no idea where to begin.

[Faces:] Who is your closest friend on your hockey team?

[Ceci:] Mark Stone lived with me all summer and trained at the rink so we saw a lot of each other, grew pretty close.

[Faces:] What kind of music do you listen to before your games?

[Ceci:] I listen to all sorts of music outside of the rink depending on the mood, but before a game I like to listen to rap or EDM.

[Faces:] What are your hobbies throughout summer in the off-season?

[Ceci:] I got a speed bike this summer and took up cycling but other than that I do quite a bit of wake boarding and wake surfing.

[Faces:] Where is your favourite city to travel to and play hockey in? Where is your least favourite city to travel to and play hockey in?

[Ceci:] I got to travel to a lot of cities I've never been to before this past year. As far as favourites go Nashville or New York City land pretty high on the list. Least favourite would have to be Toronto for obvious "rival" reasons.

[Faces:] Who was your favourite coach growing up and how did he contribute to your success?

[Ceci:] Favourite coach would have to be my dad, although he got fairly intense at times he pushed me to become the player I am today.

[Faces:] During the off-season, where is your favourite place to travel to? Who do you usually travel with?

[Ceci:] I spend most of the off-season up at the cottage with family and friends. I love to get away from it all and just hangout on the water, whether were boating or not theres always something to do up there.

@/Cecer_83

Block quote: “Being drafted by your home team is every kids dream growing up, and I was fortunate enough to have that happen to me. Couldn't have been happier with the outcome that day.”

why did they put cody ceci in pyjama pants in the oct 2014 edition of faces magazine

every day my anons come into my inbox and do psychological warfare that every military on earth could learn something from.

this is how I know straight men ain't shit because no serious person is looking at Cody Ceci's play on ice and letting it distract them from their cozy boyfriend imagines. like??? Steve Dangle should be forced to do restorative justice for the crime of how the entire hockey world's narrative around Cody Ceci is: He Plays Bad Hockey and He Sucks At Everything. And not: He Plays Bad Hockey And Sucks But Brother So Do I And I'm On My Knees. god!!!!!!!!!

[doodledrawsthings]

dude it literally means so much to see you drawing seb art and using the ref me and zerum made, i’ve been a huge, huge fan of yours for a long time and the AHIT aus you did still mean so much to me!!! I sometimes come back here and read through them now and then LOL

please continue the seb brainrot it’s literally amazing and we love to see it

[bbnibini]

I find it so painfully heartbreaking that Solomon just...laughs off all the derision, the name-calling, and possibly even did "evil" things on purpose because it's expected of him at this point. (He had not always been like this as Thirteen pointed out before). There was a time when he was "innocent". When his soul sparkled. When it resembled the kind of soul everyone in these god forsaken (pun intended with spite) three realms seemed to associate with the ever loved MC. He's just...worryingly carefree. And because he's like that, he feels even more of a tragic character to me.

Sometimes it even seems that he himself would seemingly make up excuses on why he's hated. Oh, it's because I'm a sorcerer this. I might have won a war against Devildom single-handedly this. I have forgotten. But maybe, I did something bad, that. Hon, you were doing that to SURVIVE. You don't have to be a faultless person to deserve compassion. You don't have to be MC to deserve to be loved.

[dykedvonte]

I was rewatching mouthwashing, and I ended up thinking of the different reactions that Curly and Jimmy had in doing their tasks. How during the scene of Anya evaluating Jimmy and showing dread towards the idea of doing his evaluation, Curly was the one that offered to take it off her hands. He had no issue with adding more to his plate, because he knew - or well, thought, he knew that Jimmy wasn't going to "bullshit" with him since he's known him for a long time. When Anya hands Curly a note from Swansea, Curly goes to check out what the issue is and he takes care of it without a complaint, the only "complaint" he has is how this incident could have damaged the pods. Which is reasonable, those pods are their only way to be saved if anything tragic happens on the ship. However, in comparison to Jimmy being asked to do things, he's passive-aggressive about it. When Anya asks Jimmy if he could help her out with Curly's painkillers, he tells her that people should be worth their titles, specifically using her title as a nurse when she asked him for help and then when she says forget it, since he made her feel insecure, he still goes "Oh no, I'LL take care of it" as if he was doing a chore, a favor for her. Then, there's that part where he blows up at her for things that she didn't even ask him to do - more so the others asked him about it, like the code scanner, him deciding he needed to find the axe for the foam, and then, there's the medicine part (which when she does ask, and she reconsiders - going to do it herself, he takes that away from her). Jimmy complains about the tasks he has to do and he treats it like a big issue, a "woes me" that he has to do this and that - wanting the praise of the capital without actually doing any work. While Curly doesn't complain about it, in fact, he even mentions that he's aware of how well he is doing at his job as a Captain during that cockpit scene with him and Jimmy. If Jimmy only had to do a small amount of tasks to get irritated and annoyed at being captain, while Curly didn't which I feel like encapsulates their personalities. Curly understands what he's doing is a job, it's a responsibility, why would he complain at any point for doing what he's suppose too? Why would he be upset at people asking him to do tasks? While Jimmy on the other hand, isn't used to it at all and it's different to what he's had before and he's realizing that he doesn't actually like doing the work he has too. I just wanted to ramble about it even if it seemed kind of obvious xd

It’s obvious but it is a thing people miss or understate when trying to find parallels in Curly’s and Jimmy’s relationship/personalities.

Like the way people portray it as neither taking responsibility when it is almost split down the middle of Curly taking responsibilities and faults that shouldn’t be his and making himself unequipped to handle the ones that are while Jimmy refuses to handle the responsibilities he has because he wasn’t expecting the work that comes with them.

Not a lot to say but people forget that another thing the game comments on is prioritization of issues and responsibilities and how the guys fail at it in one way or another in the situation.

[oceandiagonale]

Actually, Guzman is his spanish name.

OH YEAH some other folks pointed that out too, makes sense since it's an irl Spanish name (probably why I see it around a lot!) 😳

(normally it's a surname, I've only seen it used as a first name once in a blue moon -- but also in the pokemon world it's pretty clear that naming conventions aren't the same lol)