#i love how expressive he is with his look

[rcmclachlan]

The Least Vulnerable Spot 8x16 spec fic

In which I ask the ultimate questions: under what circumstances would Tommy not attend the memorial procession for Bobby? Also, how silly can I make this?

+

Buck has never considered himself to be that guy, but when a man hands you the viral antidote he stole for you, kisses you on a rooftop backlit by the sunset while a couple of Sikorsky UH-60s hover threateningly, and whispers "Here's looking at you, kid" before ushering you through the rooftop door so you can save your family while a bunch of stone-faced Army guys advance, you tend to have an expectation or two. Like, that he'll pick up his fucking phone when you call. 

He's left so many voicemails and sent so many texts to Tommy's phone over the last four days that he's pretty sure Verizon has his account flagged, but he thinks Petrea, his account rep, would understand if he explained that his ex-but-maybe-not-ex-boyfriend flew in like a superhero and then ghosted him when Buck needed him the most. She might even dig up a Jilted Before Your Father Figure's Funeral discount for his troubles. 

It's been a week since they held the procession for Bobby, and not even Buck showing up at Tommy's house the night before and pounding on the door for an hour while shouting that he was yellow-bellied (partly true), a traitor to the 118 name (mostly true), and a lousy lay (bold-faced lie) could make the little coward show his face. 

So he's done. He is finished with Tommy Kinard and his massive amounts of baggage that would make even Briggs & Riley close up shop, and he's proving it by leaving one final voicemail that isn't influenced by his sadness over Bobby's death, the stress of the last couple of weeks, or by how much Tommy's abandonment has hurt him. He's going to be a rational adult about this. He's going to be the bigger person.

".... This is all to say that I hope you have an amazing life, Tommy," he says into his phone speaker. "I hope it's filled with love and support, and it's meaningful and fulfills your soul. And I hope you fall in love with a beautiful, kind man who treats you right, and I hope you get married and stay together for fifty blissful years, and then I hope you wake up from the coma to realize it was all a dream and you're all alone, because apparently that's what you really want! And I know you were quoting a movie on the rooftop, and you know what? I'm not going to even look up which movie it was! Look at me, kid, or whatever it was you said!"

Buck misses the days when he could snap his phone shut to hang up, because stabbing end call twenty times until his finger actually taps the button just doesn't give him the same kind of satisfaction. 

Panting for a moment, he pushes all his anger and pain into a little lockbox in the back of his mind, shuts the lid, and takes a breath. Then he pockets his phone and looks up to find everyone in the station frozen, staring at him like he just performed a magic trick or saw a bug on the wall and didn't identify it out loud.

"What?!" he snaps at all of their slack-jawed faces. "Never seen a rational adult before?"

Out of nowhere, a hand lands on his shoulder like a jump scare, and he startles back so hard he almost throws an elbow into Acting Captain Henrietta Wilson's wrinkled nose.

"Hey, Buckaroo," Hen coos. The expression on her face would be more at home on someone who's been tasked with single handedly cleaning up a nuclear meltdown. "Maybe we should put our phones in our lockers so we're not distracted by our very confusing situationships. At least until lunch time when I can escape to Rosetti's to get a break from it."

Buck doesn't whine and he definitely doesn't stamp his feet. "Yeah, but what if he calls?" 

"You know, he probably would just to tell you the quote is actually Here's looking at you, kid," Hen admits. 

"I don't get it. Who's looking at me?" Buck mutters, giving his phone the stink eye before looking up. "What are you doing out here? I thought you were doing paperwork."

Hen shrugs with her entire face. "Well, I was, but when you started wailing I thought another raccoon got caught in the vent fan again, so."

For someone who got the job under the worst set of circumstances imaginable, she looks completely at home in the role, the way she always does. Buck's trying like hell to be happy for her, and he is, deep deep deep down, but he'll be the first to admit he hasn't been handling it well. Yesterday she'd brought in a tiny potted succulent and put it in the upper left corner of what was now her desk where a framed photo of Athena, May, and Harry once sat, and Buck accidentally knocked it onto the floor. And accidentally stepped on it. Twice. Accidentally.

She'd stared at him until he started to sweat, then said flatly, "You're buying me two more."

"Yep," he'd agreed. There's now a bigger succulent on the desk and a bushy lemon lime maranta on the windowsill. 

Whatever she sees on his face makes her roll her eyes, but she puts her hand on his shoulder again and says, "Okay. You get thirty seconds. Lay it on me."

Buck blinks. "Really?"

"Twenty-nine now," Hen says.

Damn, that's generous. Eddie only gave him ten before he tapped out. 

Squaring his shoulders, Buck lets it all come tumbling out: "I thought this meant something! He threw in with us again and kissed me on the roof and said whatever he said and it was supposed to mean something! You don't just bail after that! He was supposed to be here! He was supposed to support me at the funeral! He was supposed to be there for me at the procession and then fuck the sadness out of me afterward! I had a plug in and everything!"

"Time's up," Hen breaks in, a look of abject horror on her face. 

Buck throws his hands up. "That had to only be twenty seconds at most."

Hen's eyes dart down to his hips, then back up to his face. Her glasses magnify them, so they look bigger and wider than usual. She looks like one of those Precious Moments figurines his mom used to collect. "You had a—Buck, that procession went for a full mile."

"Believe me," Buck grumbles, shifting to try and escape the chafed ache that refuses to go away. "I'm well aware. Serves me right for going with the biggest one I own, but, like, I thought Tommy was gonna—"

"Aaaand we're done." Hen executes a perfect about-face and marches in the direction of the admin offices. 

Buck calls after her, "Bobby would've heard me out!"

"Bobby would've jammed pencils in his ears!" Hen shouts over her shoulder. "Which is exactly what I'm about to do!"

This is exactly what he means when he tells Dr. Copeland that no one ever listens to him. 

He's about to go see if he can corner Chimney somewhere with limited escape routes when his phone starts buzzing in his pocket. His heart gets caught up in a dizzying storm of excitement, dread, and grim satisfaction, because he knew Tommy wouldn't be able to deal with the idea of Buck not looking the quote up.

But when he takes his phone out of his pocket, the incoming call isn't from Jaw of Gibraltar ❤️, but Lucy Donato.

Sighing, he takes the call. "Uh, h-hey Lucy—"

She cuts him off immediately with a curt, "Look, don't think I'm not grateful or anything. We all are. Not being forced to listen to sad James Ingram songs day in and day out has been wonderful, but it's been two weeks already and we need our lead pilot back."

"I—what? Lucy, I hate to tell you, but—"

"Tell me precisely zero details about how dick drunk you are, Buckley," Lucy says flatly. "Just tell me when you're letting him go. Cap's getting antsy and Baxter's been on call for so long that his wife is ready to kill him and turn his body into mulch."

Buck stares at Engine 2 until it blurs. "You... are talking about Tommy, right?"

"No, I'm talking about the other dipshit I work with who committed domestic terrorism because your asshole is a Disneyland attraction." Buck makes a face but doesn't correct her. Tommy once likened sex with Buck to riding Big Thunder Mountain for the first time. "He's missed like four shifts. Any more and Cap is gonna have to, like, make some calls. Where the fuck's our pilot, Buckley?"

"He hasn't been in at all?" He echoes faintly, a sinkhole opening in his gut. 

Lucy makes a sound of disgust. "Frankly, I can't believe they dropped your charges. You're way too dangerous to be allowed among the general populace."

The Army colonel who swanned into Chim's hospital room like he expected them to scatter like roaches had taken one look at all of them and scoffed. "Every fiber of my being hates what I'm about to say, but I can't handle another phone call from Sergeant Grant, so: on behalf of the United States government, we're dropping all federal charges for everyone in this room. If I see any of you ever again, I will throw you into a hole so deep it'll make the Kola Borehole look like something a kid dug at the beach."

Except not everyone was in the hospital room that day.

Buck squeezes his eyes shut. "Hey, so I need to call you back."

"Wait, Dana wants to talk to you."

With a yelp of pure terror, Buck stabs his phone until the call ends, then immediately calls Jaw of Gibraltar ❤️. It goes right to voicemail, like it's been doing, and now Buck is pretty sure he knows why.

"Heeeeeeeey," he says through a grimace. "So, uh, I need you to ignore all the other voicemails and texts I sent you. Um, it's entirely possible the reason you haven't been picking up my calls might be, uh, sort of my fault, but just think: someday when we've been married for fifty years, we'll probably still be laughing about this whole thing."

Inbox full, the automated voice cheerfully tells him.

Cringing, he calls Athena.

+

Buck has never actually seen a federal prison—Jamestown was a regular prison, and he didn't have enough time to stop and take it all in—so he's not sure what to expect, but when they fly over Victorville Medium-Security Federal Correctional Institute, he's surprised to see it looks more like an army base than anything. 

The pilot who picked him, Athena, and LAFD union lawyer Bernadette Kaine up from Harbor One—and that had sucked, because the entire Harbor crew was standing on the tarmac giving him the evil eye as he boarded, and while Dana didn't physically drag her thumb across her throat he could see the same sentiment in her blank expression—didn't actually introduce himself, but his name was embroidered on the arm of his flight suit. 

"Your last name is 'Goodenough'?" Buck had asked, grinning. "'Pilot Goodenough'? Hopefully your flying is a lot better than your name suggests!"

Pilot Goodenough stared stone-faced out the windshield and said, "We might hit turbulence during the flight."

And they did, but oddly only whenever Buck unbuckled his belt. The last time Buck went to get up, Athena threatened to shoot him.

When they land, Colonel Whatshisname is there to greet them, and he looks both exhausted and furious to see him and Athena again. 

"Sergeant Grant," the colonel acknowledges through gritted teeth, ignoring Buck entirely. "It's such a pleasure to see you again."  

Athena simply crosses her arms and stares him down, which is impressive to watch, considering the guy's like 6'7". He's shriveling under her scrutiny before Buck's very eyes. 

"Colonel, it appears you forgot something," Athena says, lightly and terrifyingly.

"Someone," Buck interjects, with nowhere near the same impact.

Colonel Whatshisname sighs, looks heavenward at the departing helicopter as though he'd like nothing more than to flag Pilot Goodenough back down to take him away, then beckons them all inside.

When they get to whoever's office the colonel commandeered, Buck is almost completely distracted from why they're there by the sheer amount of rubber ducks that clutter up every flat surface in the room. No two are the same. There's even a little viking duck, complete with a mace. 

"Can I—" Buck starts slowly, inching his hand toward a duck that looks like a firefighter.

Colonel Whatshisname sits down at the desk, hard. "No."

"That's fair."

"Colonel Spade," Bernadette begins, opening her worryingly bulging briefcase. "I'd like to begin by thanking you for your ti—"

"Colonel, you know why we're here," Athena cuts in, taking the seat on the other side of the colonel's desk. She has to clear a path through all the ducks lined up at the edge so she can rest her clasped hands there. "When the charges were dropped for the members of the 118 involved in the incident, LAFD pilot Thomas Kinard's charges should have been included."

At that, Buck moves to stand menacingly at her shoulder like an attack dog, although the colonel doesn't look all that impressed at the display. If anything, he gets a look on his face like he'd just swallowed an assassin bug. Specifically a North American wheel bug. 

"Normally, I would agree with you, but Thomas Kinard abused his military rank and previous clearance to gain access to a secure government building, steal proprietary assets from a lab that could have caused great harm to the population of Los Angeles, and physically assaulted personnel on his way out," Colonel Spade snaps at her. "There was no way we were letting any of that go."

"Assaulted?" Athena lifts a brow. 

"That's awful," Buck rasps, pressing his thighs together. "Like, how many people and what did he do to them? Like, were there concussions? Broken bones? You can go into detail, I'm not squeamish."

The thought of Tommy fighting his way to get to Buck is so disgustingly hot that he might pop a woody in front of Athena, their lawyer lady, a visibly upset military man, and three thousand ducks. Still not the worst place he's ever been turned on.

"Without Kinard, we never would've gotten the antidote in time to save all those people," Athena says, and yanks her chair forward a little, away from Buck. "The people you deemed collateral damage in the fallout of the release of the CCHF virus."

"No one could have predicted Dr. Blake would go rogue," Colonel Spade says easily, with hate in his eyes. "This is hardly the fault of the—"

Suddenly, Bernadette sits up, and it feels like someone's put a spotlight on her. Buck kind of expects her to break into song or something, but what happens is actually so much better.

"The day Dr. Blake stole the virus, her employment was terminated, effective immediately, and yet security didn't walk her out of the building, which goes against all federal mandated safety protocols," Bernadette says, all smiles, practically glowing. "The lab—property of the U.S. government, if I remember correctly—was entirely unsupervised, which gave Dr. Blake the unfettered opportunity to tamper with the virus, speeding up its incubation period without authorization. Or, perhaps she did have authorization and the government failed to disclose this. Tell me, what else is going on under our noses that the government isn't telling us?"

"Try to disappear the brave people who risk their lives to do the right thing, apparently," Athena answers pointedly. 

"I thought you were a union lawyer," Colonel Spade says through a visibly clenched jaw. "What do you know about federal pharmaceutical law?"

Bernadette's smile goes sharp. "I dabble."

Colonel Spade looks, for lack of a better word, murderous. He's probably one smarmy comment from grabbing the nearest rubber duck and bludgeoning Bernadette to death with it.

But Buck has never been able to help himself. "Is this a bad time to mention my ex-girlfriend is an investigative reporter?"

Athena drops her head into her hand. "Buck."

"I'm just saying!" He crosses his arms, trying to puff himself up the way some animals do when they're faced with a predator. "It sure would be a shame if an anonymous tip about all this landed in her lap."

Colonel Spade squints at him. "Are you threatening me, Firefighter Buckley?"

"You're trying to bury Tommy to save your own ass," Buck growls. "Yes, I'm threatening you."

Wordlessly, Bernadette reaches into her briefcase, which looks like it's seriously ready to bust open at the seams, and slides over a packet of paper to Colonel Spade. The colonel snatches it up and starts reading, and the longer he does, the paler he gets.

Finally, he lowers the packet and stabs Bernadette with his eyes. "Where did you get this?"

"I play mahjong with your ex-wife every Sunday," Bernadette says, like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. "She sends her regards. Well, she actually sent the tip of her blackmail iceberg. How is your new wife, by the way? She graduate from college yet?"

Eyes wide, Buck looks at the colonel, who's got the swallowing wheel bugs look on his face again.

After the most awkward ten seconds that Buck's had to endure since Eddie crashed his and Tommy's pizza date, the colonel folds like a bad row of mahjong tiles.

"Fine," he says with a sigh, then glares at Bernadette. "And no, she's a junior."

Buck picks up a rubber duck with sharp teeth like a vampire. "Gross."

+

The colonel washes his hands of them by pushing them onto two enormous guards named Weekes and Kluger, who are basically human trees. 

When Kluger gets his orders to take them to cell 58, he droops like a wilting plant. "Hey, you're not here to, like, take Kinard to Gitmo, right? It's just—he's really cool. He's got the wildest stories."

"Dude figured out what was wrong with my car just from listening to a video on my phone." Weekes grins, then leans in to whisper conspiratorially to Buck, "it was the alternator."

"I offered to introduce him to my sister," Kluger says as they board the elevator, and he's either oblivious to Buck's glare searing a hole in his head or is just flat-out ignoring it, because he continues blithely, "but he said he doesn't like girls. Which is cool. I'm down with the rainbow, you know? So I told him about my cousin, Martin."

Buck makes a politely interested noise, but it mostly sounds like he's biting straight through his tongue. Athena elbows him hard enough to bruise his spleen.

"And what did he have to say about Martin?" Buck asks. Meanwhile, every bone in his body is vibrating at a frequency only dogs can hear.

Kluger doesn't seem to be aware that the head is going to burst into flames any second now. "He said he was flattered and that Martin was hot, but he's already got his heart pinned on someone on the outside."

Buck relaxes with a pleased smile.

"Yeah, except whoever it is left him in here to rot," Weekes adds.

"T-That's unnecessary and completely untrue," Buck lies, trying to sink into the floor so he won't drown in shame right in front of them. 

Thankfully, the elevator comes to a stop at the 5th floor, and Buck pushes his way out to gulp some fresh air. 

He's not sure if being on the 5th floor is a good or bad thing. Tommy was charged with domestic terrorism; what if this is the domestic terrorism floor? What if he's neighbors with neo-nazis? What if he'd been jumped by a faction in the shower and took a beating and has spent the last few days pissing blood and breathing through broken ribs and cursing the day he ever picked up Chimney's call about needing a pilot for an unauthorized rescue? 

What if he regrets ever meeting Buck?

But before Buck can ask Kluger for a bucket to throw up in, they come to a stop in front of a cell marked with the number 58, and Buck forces himself to look inside.

Apparently the question Buck should've been asking was what if Tommy's lying on his bed playing paddle ball while he mouths along to whatever 80s hip-hop song is playing on a little radio? Because that's exactly what Tommy's doing.

"I gave him the radio," Weekes says proudly, reaching out to knock on the glass door. Tommy looks up without pausing his game. The ball keeps thwacking against the wood.

"He's so good at that," Kluger says, starry-eyed. "He beat Officer Amino last week and that guy's won tournaments."

"Is it Girl Scout cookie season already?" Tommy asks cheerfully, then effortlessly twists the paddle so the cord wraps around it. He tucks the ball in. "Sorry, I don't have my wallet on me."

Buck shoves Kluger aside to practically press his nose to the glass. "We take IOUs."

As soon as he sees Buck, Tommy brightens, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He stands, stretching with a groan, and then walks over to the door. Even in the bland blue jumpsuit, he's stupid hot. Helplessly, Buck puts his palm against the glass.

"Nice of you to stop by," Tommy says with a teasing lilt, pressing his own palm to Buck's, and Buck swears he can feel the heat of it through the pane. 

"I was in the neighborhood," Buck teases back. "Figured I'd pop in."

"I won't lie, I've been dreaming about you showing up for a conjugal visit." Tommy looks away from Buck's face to squint at everyone else. "Although you guys weren't there."

At that, Athena cracks a smile and says in an odd voice, almost twangy, "You stupid mullet head, he beat you with nothin'."

Tommy perks up and doesn't miss a bit, drawling, "Yeah, well, sometimes nothin' can be a real cool hand."

Before Buck can ask what the hell they're talking about, someone shoves him aside with surprising strength. He's a little surprised to see it's Bernadette, who he kind of forgot about, but she's clearly the only one who remembers why they're here because she raps on the glass and says, "Mr. Kinard, my name is Bernadette Kaine and I'm here to take you home."

"We're here to take you home," Buck amends. 

Tommy looks at Bernadette for a long moment, head tilting like a puppy hearing a noise for the first time and gaze narrowed, and then snaps his fingers. "Hey, I know you! I sent my paperwork to you the last time I stole a helicopter."

Sighing, Bernadette nods. "If you do it a third time, I get a free sundae."

"What do I get?" Tommy asks.

"Permanent incarceration and possibly the death penalty."

Pursing his lips thoughtfully, Tommy mulls that one over, then gives a decisive nod. "Sounds about right."

+

The helicopter ride home is spent mostly with Buck plastered to Tommy's side while he fills him in on everything he missed. Tommy's devastated to hear about Bobby. He offers Athena his condolences over the open mic, then curls his hand around his headset speaker to murmur apologies into Buck's ear. 

"I wish I'd been there for you," Tommy says, and the words ease some kinked cable inside Buck he hadn't known was there. "I'm sorry I wasn't."

"I'm sorry I forgot there were consequences to your actions and left you to the mercy of the Army," Buck says, pressing his forehead to the jut of Tommy's jaw. "I just assumed everything was taken care of, and I… kind of thought you were ghosting me."

At that, Tommy snorts, wrapping an arm around Buck to hold him impossibly closer. "Evan, come on. You don't kiss a man like that and quote Humphrey Bogart and then ghost him. I'm an asshole and a coward, but I'm not a monster."

Buck winces. "Uh, yeah, when you have a second, can I see your phone?"

"What for?"

"It's better if you don't know," Buck says. "Completely unrelated, but you don't have a code for your voicemail, do you, and if so, can I have it?"

Tommy snickers and presses a kiss to Buck's temple. "How bad did it get?"

"Well, I taught Chim the word 'motherfuckface', so you tell me," Buck admits, cracking a grin when Tommy laughs out loud, but he has a hell of a time trying to keep it up. Finally, he gives up the ghost and tucks his face against Tommy's, eyes prickling hot with guilt. "I'm so sorry. I should've known. I should've known. Never in a million years would you have bailed on the funeral. It should've been my first clue that something was wrong."

Tommy snugs him in close and says quietly, barely audible over the rotors, "To quote an incredible man who drives me up the wall: 'it seems there's a lot we don't know about each other.' I'm glad you know I wouldn't have left you in the lurch like that, but there's a lot more… there's a lot more about me that you should know. That I… well, not exactly want you to know, but that I will tell you. Willingly. Well, not exactly willingly, but—"

"Y-Yeah?" Sniffling a little, Buck pulls away just enough to be able to look up at him. "What are you doing Saturday?"

It wins him a smile. "Vivisecting myself for you, apparently. And maybe burgers afterwards?"

Grinning, Buck snuggles shamelessly back in. "Actually, I wanted to make Bobby's famous lasagna for you. I think I've finally nailed it down. Then you can nail me down."

But before Tommy can respond, Athena breaks in over the line and takes a baseball bat to the moment. "Change the subject. Now."

Swallowing hard, Buck nods and pastes on a smile that doesn't scream 'I'm chubbed up a little in my jeans and I'm trying not to make it everyone's problem.' He coughs a little. "So, uh, who's Humphrey Bogart? Does he have a podcast or something?"

Tommy turns to Athena. "Actually, thanks, but no thanks. Take me back to prison."

[gf2bellamy]

hi!! so, i was watching the office and pam and jim were reading each others palm lines and i couldn’t help but imagine reader and spencer in a similar scenario; successfully flirting with each other while thinking they’re being discreet about it. of course, spencer doesn’t believe in that sort of thing but humors reader anyway. could you write something based off that episode, something to that effect? i think this could be a cute idea😅 thank you thank you!! xx

palm reading — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: fluff a/n: hi hi !! i love this idea more than anything ( biggest jimpam fan here !!!! )

“Oh, come on, Spencer,” you teased, the corners of your mouth tugging into a grin. “You don’t have to believe in it for it to be fun.”

The bullpen was quiet for once—no urgent cases, no ringing phones.

The perfect time for a little distraction.

Your eyes sparkled with mischief as you gave him your best set of puppy dog eyes—an expression you knew he found impossible to resist. You were trying to convince him to let you read his palm, but, true to form, Spencer—ever the scientist, ever the skeptic—wasn’t exactly jumping at the opportunity.

He blinked at you, momentarily thrown off. He didn’t believe in palmistry, not even a little bit.

But your eyes were wide and full of playful determination, and your smile… God, your smile made something flutter unexpectedly in his chest. He tried not to stare too long at your lips, tried to ground himself in logic, but when you looked at him like that?

Well, logic didn’t stand a chance.

He sighed, more for dramatic effect than anything else.

“Fine,” he said, voice laced with exaggerated reluctance.

You grinned, triumphant. “Bring your chair over here.”

He rolled his chair across the floor until he was beside you. Close—but not quite close enough. So you reached out, grabbed the edge of his seat, and tugged him forward.

He let you, of course. Always would.

Now, your knees were brushing—his slotted between yours, yours nudged between his. The space between you all but vanished, and suddenly the air felt warmer. Neither of you mentioned it.

You simply extended your hand, palm up, expectant. “C’mon, give me your hand.”

Spencer hesitated for only a second, then placed his hand in yours. Warm. Solid. His fingers twitched slightly as your fingertips ghosted over his palm, tracing faint lines he had never bothered to study.

Germs? They didn’t exist when it came to you. At least, not in the way they usually haunted his mind.

You focused intently, brows furrowed like a fortune teller, the tip of your finger dragging lightly over his heart line. He watched your face—your expression, your lips, your eyes—anything but his hand.

But eventually, reluctantly, his gaze dropped back to his own hand—though it twitched slightly beneath yours as if reacting on instinct.

“Hmm,” you murmured thoughtfully, still dragging your finger across his skin. “This line right here? It means you’re secretly a hopeless romantic.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow, skeptical but amused. “That’s not what it means.”

“You sure?” You leaned in, your knee nudging his under the desk. “Because it’s very deep. Very intense. Very… emotional.” You punctuated each word with a slow stroke of your finger, watching with delight as his throat bobbed.

He chuckled softly, his head tilting as his eyes followed the curve of your smile. “You’re making that up.”

“Maybe,” you said, voice dropping into something softer, more teasing. You winked. “But it doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

Spencer didn’t answer right away. He was too busy watching how your hand fit so naturally in his, how easily your fingers curled around his own.

His heart beat a little too fast for comfort.

You cleared your throat and returned your attention to his palm, biting your lip in thought as you continued your "analysis." Spencer noticed the way your teeth tugged at your lower lip and had to look away—back to his hand, back to the lines that suddenly felt like more than just skin.

“And this one,” you began again, voice dramatic. “This one means that you’re—” You gasped suddenly, sharply, like you'd discovered something scandalous.

Spencer’s eyes widened, startled. “What? What is it?”

You looked up slowly, lips pressed together in mock seriousness. Your eyes locked with his, unreadable for just a second before you leaned in closer.

“A nerd,” you said flatly, and promptly bopped him on the nose with one finger.

The look on his face—pure, deadpan confusion—was too much. You burst into laughter, the sound bubbling up from your chest as you leaned back slightly, shaking your head.

Spencer blinked, caught somewhere between offended and endeared. “Seriously?”

“I mean,” you shrugged with an impish grin, “the lines don’t lie.”

He rolled his eyes, but the smile pulling at his lips gave him away. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you,” you said, still laughing as you held his hand a little tighter, “are stuck with me for at least one full palm reading.”

He let you keep tracing the lines on his palm, your touch slower now, more deliberate.

“Okay, so this line here,” you began, your tone shifting into something warmer, more sincere, “means you’re incredibly smart.”

Spencer quirked an eyebrow. “Shocking revelation.”

“Shh,” you grinned, “let the professional work.”

He chuckled under his breath, but didn’t interrupt again.

He just kept watching you, his eyes impossibly soft, like he was memorizing the way your expression shifted as you spoke.

“And this one,” you continued, your touch lingering a little longer over the curve of his palm, “shows that you’re thoughtful. You care more than you let people see. About everyone. About the team. About…” You hesitated, eyes flicking up to meet his. “Well. Everything.”

Spencer didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

Because to him, it didn’t matter whether you believed in palmistry or not. What mattered was the way your voice softened when you described him, like you saw something in him that he sometimes forgot was there. This wasn’t just pretend anymore. This was you, telling him who he was through your eyes.

And God, he loved hearing those things.

Not because he needed validation.

But because it was you saying them.

Your thumb brushed lightly over his skin as you looked at his palm like it held all the answers you already knew by heart.

“I think your hands have very flattering opinions about me,” he said quietly, the hint of a smile on his lips, though there was something softer behind his eyes now.

“They’re just the messengers,” you replied, matching his quiet tone, your thumb absentmindedly brushing across his knuckles. “You’re the one who makes them true.”

A beat of silence. Spencer could hear his own heartbeat drumming in his ears.

Then, he let out a quiet breath. “You know palmistry is a pseudoscience, right?” he murmured, his voice quieter now.

You smiled, meeting his gaze. “Maybe. But sometimes the truth hides in things we don’t believe in.”

And then you added, softer, “Or maybe I just wanted an excuse to hold your hand.”

There was a pause—brief, breathless.

So, Spencer gently turned your hand over in his, his fingers now tracing your palm.

“Then maybe,” he said, voice low and warm, “you should let me read yours next.”

You raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Okay, sure.” You held out your hand, now resting in his.

His fingers were warm as they wrapped around yours, a contrast to the coolness of the room.

“So,” you tilted your head, giving him a playful glance, “are you just going to make things up now? Considering you don’t believe in this?”

Spencer’s gaze flickered to your hand before he began tracing the lines on your palm, his touch light. “Oh, you mean make things up like you just did?” His voice was teasing, but his eyes met yours with a slight glimmer of amusement.

You bit your lip, pretending to think for a moment. “I didn’t make anything up,” you said with a shrug and a sly grin, your eyes locking with his. “I was being insightful.”

He chuckled, a soft, warm sound. “Yeah, okay,” he said with a playful roll of his eyes, though his fingers never stopped their slow, careful movement across your palm.

You leaned back slightly, watching him as he studied your hand with more attention than you’d expected.

"You're kind," Spencer murmured, his fingertip following the gentle curve of your heart line.

The bullpen's fluorescent lights caught the gold flecks in his eyes as he glanced up through his lashes, that familiar half-smile playing at his lips.

You shook your head, but couldn't suppress your grin. "Wow," you teased, "look who's starting to become a believer."

His responding chuckle was warm, vibrating through where your palms pressed together. "Empirical observation," he countered, but his thumb brushed your skin with deliberate tenderness that contradicted his scientific detachment. "This crease here? Textbook definition of compassion."

The way he said it - so matter-of-fact yet impossibly soft - made your breath catch.

Spencer Reid might claim he didn't believe in palmistry, but in this moment, he was reading you with terrifying accuracy.

His fingers lingered where your life line curved, tracing the path like he was committing it to memory.

"And this one," he continued, voice dropping to that quiet, intimate register that made your pulse stutter, "indicates someone who's far too patient with skeptical geniuses."

You giggled, your heart fluttering at the way his words, though playful, held a deeper meaning.

“I agree,” you said softly, your smile widening. But the weight of the moment wasn’t lost on either of you.

Spencer smiled back at you, and for a fleeting moment, he seemed to pause, his gaze lingering. He thought for a second about making more things up—just to keep his fingers wrapped around yours.

Honestly, there was a part of him that could have kept talking forever, spinning stories about palm lines, just to have an excuse to hold your hand forever.

Instead, he grinned, that familiar half-smile tugging at his lips. “Seems like I’m a believer after all.”

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words. “Who knew?” you teased, squeezing his hand slightly. “You’ve got more of an open mind than you let on.”

Spencer chuckled. “Guess I’ve been misjudging things,” he replied, the playful edge in his voice softening, his thumb now moving in slow circles over the back of your hand.

You were both still, caught in a small, quiet world that only existed between the two of you.

He didn’t pull away. Neither did you.

For the first time, Spencer doubted his doubt in palm reading.

Because he was a hopeless romantic. Even if it was just with you.

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗜𝗧'𝗦 𝗢𝗡 𝗠𝗘 lando norris x girlfriend! reader ( fluff ) fic summary . . . Lando usually pays for food, take out or groceries. today you decide to pay yourself since it was easier and Lando did not like that (486 words)

( my master list | more of lando norris ) ( requests )

You were curled into Lando’s side like you belonged there, limbs tangled, the TV playing some show neither of you were really watching. It was all warmth and lazy affection—his fingers drawing patterns on your arm, your cheek pressed to his chest, his heart beating slow and steady beneath your ear.

"I'm gonna change the order," you murmured, scrolling through the food app.

"Again?" he chuckled, head tilting to peek over your phone. “Didn’t you already pick, like, five different things?”

“I had a vision,” you said dramatically, tapping at the screen like it held secrets only you could decode. “I want dumplings instead of sushi. It’s a craving emergency.”

Lando grinned, nudging his nose into your hair. “Whatever you want, love.”

A few minutes passed, the air syrupy with comfort, until you hit place order and let out a satisfied sigh.

“Alright,” he said, untangling himself from your hold. “Let me grab my wallet—”

“No need.” You were already settling back into his side. “It’s done. It’ll be here in twenty.”

Lando blinked. “Wait—what?”

You turned your face up toward him, blinking back just as innocently. “It’s already on its way. I used my card.”

“…Excuse me?”

He looked personally offended, hand still frozen mid-reach. The drama in his expression was Oscar-worthy.

“I had Apple Pay ready, and it was faster,” you explained with a little shrug.

He stared at you, betrayal written in every line of his face. “You paid?”

“I did.”

“With your money?”

“…That’s how paying works, yeah.”

Lando gasped, flopping back onto the couch like you'd broken his heart. “Why would you do that? I always pay for food.”

“Oh my god, you’re so dramatic,” you laughed, shifting to face him fully. His bottom lip was sticking out, puppy-like and tragic.

“I always pay,” he repeated, grabbing his phone. “I’ll transfer it right now.”

“Lando,” you scolded, stealing his phone from his hand and dropping it onto the coffee table.

“I’m paying you back.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I can’t let you spend your money on me!”

“Too late,” you Hhum, pressing a kiss to the corner of his pouty mouth. “I did.”

He tried not to smile, tried to hold onto the sadness like a martyr. “You’re evil.”

You kissed him again. “You love it.”

“I do,” he mumbled, kissing you this time, once, then again, softer. “But I’m still gonna feel bad about it.”

“Guess I’ll have to kiss the guilt away.”

“Might take a lot of kisses,” he said, nuzzling into you like a big sulky bear.

“Then lucky for you, I’m rich in affection.”

“You’re rich because I’m not letting you pay again.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You’re too good to me.”

You just kissed him again, warm and giggly as he tried to snatch back his phone like a man on a mission. But even with all the fuss, he never pulled away from you. Not even a little.

[formulaonecrumbs]

we miss you 😕

dad!Lando Norris x mom!reader

summary: charlie, their 5yo son, didn’t want lando to leave for race week. though, he manages to sneakily message him from your phone

warnings: possibility of getting baby fever (i did)

A/N: i have such bad baby fever it’s crazy. i’ve literally wanted a kid since i was 12 so this fic is just feeding my delusions (when r they not) anyways i hope u enjoy! love u, sweethearts ❤️

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

the night before he left, charlie wouldn’t let go of his leg.

lando was standing in the hallway with his suitcase, trying to zip it up while charlie clung to him like a koala, arms tight around his thigh and face squished into the side of his leg.

“mate,” lando laughed, running a hand through his hair, “i need that leg. i kinda use it for walking.”

charlie didn’t budge. he mumbled something that sounded like don’t go into the fabric of lando’s sweatpants.

you were standing nearby with your arms crossed, trying not to melt at the sight. “he’s been like this all day,” you said softly. “he even asked if we could hide your passport.”

lando looked down at the little bundle of clinginess stuck to him and sighed. “charlie,” he said gently, crouching down. “come here, buddy.”

charlie let go just enough for lando to scoop him up and hold him close. he wrapped his arms around lando’s neck immediately, sniffing into his hoodie.

“i don’t want you to leave,” he mumbled. “i missed you all the christmas time and now you’re gonna be gone again.”

lando pressed a kiss into his curls. “i know. i missed you too. but i’m only going for a few days. i’ll call every night. and guess what?”

charlie blinked at him, lip wobbling.

“i’m gonna bring you back something super cool from the paddock. like… something very secret and race-car-ish.”

charlie considered this. “like a tire?”

lando grinned. “okay, maybe not that big. but something cooler.”

they stayed like that for a while. you were the one who eventually had to say, “lando, the car’s outside.”

he hugged you tightly at the door, whispered something about texting when he landed and to kiss charlie for him if he’s asleep by the time you get back inside.

but charlie wasn’t asleep. not really. you found him sitting on your bed with your phone in his lap and the most innocent expression ever.

“baby,” you said. “what are you doing?”

“nothing,” he said way too fast, quickly locking the screen and holding the phone out to you.

suspicious. but you didn’t think much of it.

it wasn’t until later, after you were in the kitchen and finally checking your phone, that you saw it.

today at 7:41 pm

hi dady

i miss u r u in the plane yet

how meny sleeps til u come home

can u tel the car go fast so u win n come bak

do u have snak

i am waring ur hoody mummie

said its to big but i like it

i put ur hat on my bear

read at 7:45 pm ✔︎✔︎

hey buddy

i’m on the plane now

i miss you so much already

you’re wearing my hoodie??

you’re the coolest kid ever. make sure mummy takes a picture, ok?

ok but she dosnt no i took her fone

pls dont tel her

your secret’s safe with me

but maybe give it back before she finds out

ok

also can we hav pankakes when u come home

pancakes and a race car story. deal?

read at 7:56 pm ✔︎✔︎

later that night (before you’d checked your phone), when you went to tuck charlie into bed, he was already curled up in lando’s hoodie with your phone under his pillow.

you sighed, smiling, and gently took it out.

you texted lando yourself before heading to bed.

today at 10:34 pm

charlie hijacked my phone

obviously

but he misses you. a lot.

we both do.

i miss you guys more than anything

already counting the sleeps

kiss him goodnight for me ♥︎ liked by you

and save me a spot in bed for when i’m back

♥︎ liked by you

read at 10:41 pm ✔︎✔︎

you held the phone to your chest for a second before turning off the light.

three more sleeps.

THE END :>

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

you'd never let me fall ・b.c

—Bangchan who carries you home while your a little drunk and your feet a lot a bit hurt

paring・bangchan x gn!reader // geners・fluff, established relationships // words・900 // warnings・drunkenness, if you don't like rambles or tooth-rotting fluff than you won't like this

a/n・i needed something soft and fluffy after a pretty big fight with my dad and i found this also @sunnysdiary istg i dont know what i would do without you ilysm. p.s. lowkey proud of myself for finally just writing (i only edited once for like an hour :))

You were exactly two blocks away from your apartment when the handful of shots you had thrown back earlier really started to hit you. The sun had died hours ago, the sky now sparkling with stars that seemed to dance and tangle with the streetlights in your vision.

Wow.

You were really fucked up.

You sigh, leaning deeper into the crook of Chan's neck, his hand pressed protectively against your back as he holds you up. His breathing is soft and calming when the world begins to shift again, sharp pain shooting up your legs thanks to the stupidest decision you made all night—wearing high-heels.

The only thing that could be heard over the harsh click of your foot-shaped-death-traps is your pained groan as you loll your head against Chan's shoulder and stumble over the sidewalk mindlessly.

"I'm tired, carry me home," you slur, a slight whine in your voice. He simply smiles, looking down at your dizzy gaze with tender eyes before effortlessly scooping you up bridal style.

The moon grins with you.

Your heartbeats intertwine as you squeal, lovesick giggles pouring from your lips as you hide your face in his sweat-coated neck.

There was no way he was real.

You pull away, blinking up at his sharp jaw and shiny lips, and you swore if you looked just long enough you could find the stars hung on his lashes. There was something about him, something that spread warmth underneath your ribs. You could never quite place it—the feeling bursting within you before settling down like sweet rose perfume fading off your shirt as your nose acclimates to the scent.

Perhaps it was the alcohol that made you so sentimental, or how in a rush of emotion you remember days when you used to assess others by their expressions, the tone of their voice, and the heaviness of their footsteps. You had gotten so used to living on the edge of disaster the thought of certainty deemed to be an impossible feat—that was until you met Chan. He was something special, he loved you softly, with gentle fingers and adoring gazes. He wasn't loud, not with his words or his actions, and sometimes from the outside, society might have deemed he didn't love you at all, but you knew better than that.

Just because it was subtle didn't mean it wasn't there—it just meant it was safe.

The notion alone is enough to bring tears to your eyes, drunkenly choking out: "Thank you for always carrying me."

His gaze softens before he faintly tilts his lips, muttering, "Thank you for letting me carry you."

You were almost to the house when, mindlessly, half-asleep, you mumble, "You'd never let me fall," before going limp in the comfort of Chan's strong arms.

If you weren't so drunk, you might have noticed the shift in his stride, how a shy blush falls over his cheeks and he fights the urge to spread a smile so bright across his face it would put the sun to shame.

But you were far too gone to notice. And he was so focused on keeping you safe that he didn't sense how deeply in love with him you were right then.

You were correct; down to his very last days, he would never let you fall.

You hadn't realized how close you were to the apartment before he steps through the unlocked door, your vision blurring into the darkness of your shared home. It was the silky sheets you felt first, the warmth of his hand leaving you only before he gently pulled the covers over your body and right underneath your chin.

He kisses your forehead, lips lingering there before, hesitantly, he whispers, "I don't know what I'd do if I didn't get to carry you."

He brushes a stray lock of hair from your eyes as you crack them open only to smile, lopsided and silly. "I guess we'll never know."

Bangchan stares at you for hours after that, admiring you in all your tranquility. He knows he should stop, but he also knows he can’t. It had bottled inside him for so long, and it felt as though the rug had been ripped out from under him, and suddenly his feelings flooded out of him all at once. This wasn't what average love felt like—it was pure, gentle, and, best of all, entirely absolute.

In the novels, love is described as something maddening, profound, and disorienting. And while there are moments where it felt as though the galaxy had been sewn into your fingertips, it was more than that. Chan quickly came to find that love lived in silence—the intimate moments where words didn't matter. There was no pressure or unrealistic expectations when he was with you, no anxiety about being perfect all the time. Being with you made the world feel... lighter.

He breathes, brushing a lock of hair out of your face. You shift, instinctively leaning into his touch. A small smile tugs at his lips when the moonlight catches your face just right; you were peaceful, angelic like spring flowers fluttering in the breeze.

There are very few things in this world that are truly poetic. Some may say the stars, the sea, humanity, and the very depth of our emotions. And while Chan could agree with all of those, his love for you outweighed them all.

please don't forget to reblog with tags or comment what you think your feedback makes my day 😁

[bogleech]

"The question was posed, "Why do people continue supporting Trump no matter what he does?" A lady named Bev answered it this way: “You all don't get it. I live in Trump country, in the Ozarks in southern Missouri, one of the last places where the KKK still has a relatively strong established presence. They don't give a shit what he does. He's just something to rally around and hate liberals, that's it, period. He absolutely realizes that and plays it up. They love it. He knows they love it. The fact that people act like it's anything other than that proves to them that liberals are idiots, all the more reason for high fives all around. If you keep getting caught up in "why do they not realize this problem" and "how can they still back Trump after this scandal," then you do not understand what the underlying motivating factor of his support is. It's fuck liberals, that's pretty much it. Have you noticed he can do pretty much anything imaginable, and they'll explain some way that rationalizes it that makes zero logical sense? Because they're not even keeping track of any coherent narrative, it's irrelevant. Fuck liberals is the only relevant thing. Trust me; I know firsthand what I'm talking about. That's why they just laugh at it all because you all don't even realize they truly don't give a fuck about whatever the conversation is about. It's just a side mission story that doesn't matter anyway. That's all just trivial details - the economy, health care, whatever. Fuck liberals. Look at the issue with not wearing the masks. I can tell you what that's about. It's about exposing fear. They're playing chicken with nature, and whoever flinches just moved down their internal pecking order, one step closer to being a liberal. You've got to understand the one core value that they hold above all others is hatred for what they consider weakness because that's what they believe strength is, hatred of weakness. And I mean passionate, sadistic hatred. And I'm not exaggerating. Believe me. Sadistic, passionate hatred, and that's what proves they're strong, their passionate hatred for weakness. Sometimes they will lump vulnerability in with weakness. They do that because people tend to start humbling themselves when they're in some compromising or overwhelming circumstance, and to them, that's an obvious sign of weakness. Kindness = weakness. Honesty = weakness. Compromise = weakness. They consider their very existence to be superior in every way to anyone who doesn't hate weakness as much as they do. They consider liberals to be weak people that are inferior, almost a different species, and the fact that liberals are so weak is why they have to unite in large numbers, which they find disgusting, but it's that disgust that is a true expression of their natural superiority. Go ahead and try to have a logical, rational conversation with them. Just keep in mind what I said here and be forewarned.”

From a facebook post, with a lot of comments from people who actually didn't realize it was like this. Yeah, I grew up knowing these kinds of people too and that's exactly how it is.

[luvvixu]

lipstick experiment / k. bakugo

trying new shades of lipsticks on your boyfriend! (spoiler: he loves it so much)

last week, you received a package from a known lipstick brand that you once saved from their company's headquarters against the villains. so as their thank you gift to you, they sent you a box containing about fifteen different shades of lipsticks.

and right now, the lipsticks were scattered across your vanity as you gleefully unpacked your new treasures. meanwhile. katsuki bakugo sat on the bed behind you, arms crossed, pretending not to care—but his eyes kept flicking toward you in the mirror.

an idea popped in your head as you turned at him with a grin. “katsuki…”

he glanced up with suspicion. “what now?”

since you already prepared your lips with your moisturizer, you popped open a rosy pink lipstick and carefully applied it on your lips. “since they sent me so many shades and i really want to test them all out…i was hoping if i could test these out…on you.”

his brows furrowed. “the hell does that mean?”

instead of answering, you lay all of the lipsticks on the bed as you marched over and climbed onto his lap, straddling him with a smile that was wayyyy too sweet to be innocent.

then—mwah—you kissed his cheek, leaving a perfect pink print.

“what the hell—” he started, but froze as you pulled back to admire your work.

you beamed as you wiped your lips. “hmm…too pinkish for me. let's try another shade.”

“don’t you da—”

pop. new lipstick. a bold red this time.

“katsuki,” you said sweetly, cupping his face, “look at me, baby.”

he tried to look anywhere but you, but you gently turned his face back. now, his half-lidded eyes are now looking at you quietly. then, you smiled at him and kissed his nose.

a red mark. right on the tip.

his eyes twitched.

“you’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” he muttered, his hands going on your waist to support you as you're literally straddling his lap.

you giggled softly, already reaching for another shade. “yes. but you’re letting me do it, so you’re enjoying it too.”

“tch.”

still, he didn’t stop you.

not when you kissed his forehead in coral. not when you pressed three peony-pink kisses across his jaw. not even when you left a nude kiss mark on his neck.

by the end of it, his entire face was covered in different lip prints—each one messier than the last, because you were laughing so hard and he was definitely holding back a smile.

“you look adorable, kat.” you teased, wiping a tear from your eye.

“shut up,” he muttered, eyes flicking to your lips.

as you were still sitting in his lap again, lipstick in one hand, amusement in your smile, and katsuki…well, he looked like he was trying to stay annoyed. keyword: trying.

you kissed his cheek for the fifth time, the soft press of your lips leaving another mark—this one a warm rose shade that looked kind of perfect against his skin. you leaned back to admire it, grinning.

he didn’t say a word. he didn’t flinch. he didn’t pull away.

you caught it then—a flicker. the smallest twitch at the corner of his lips, like he was fighting off a smile and losing.

your heart fluttered.

“katsuki…” you whispered teasingly, “you sure you're not enjoying this?”

he scoffed. “you’re makin’ a mess.”

but his hands were still on your waist—gentle, possessive, like he didn’t want you to move. his red eyes darted to your lips every time you reached for a new shade, and when you kissed the tip of his nose?

that’s when you saw it.

the softness in his face.

his whole expression cracked for just a second—no scowl, no sarcasm. just him. completely vulnerable, eyes warm, like he forgot the rest of the world existed and could only see you.

your breath caught.

you weren’t even sure if he knew how he was looking at you. like every kiss was a promise. like he was trying to memorize the shape of your smile. like you were the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

and still—he let you keep kissing him.

cheeks, jaw, forehead, nose, lips

you were leaving prints everywhere, and he didn’t stop you once.

when you kissed his jaw again, he muttered under his breath, “you’re such a damn menace…”

but his voice was rough. soft around the edges. like maybe he didn’t want you to stop.

you pulled back and whispered, “you look even more pretty with my kisses.”

he didn’t answer.

but his hands held you tighter.

and that look in his eyes? yeah. that was all the answer you needed.

fast forward, you are now finished testing out all of the shades and his face was literally colorful and full of your kiss marks. surprisingly, katsuki stayed quiet as he just kept on looking at you and his eyes would close whenever you land a kiss on his face.

you reached for a makeup wipe, giggling softly as you hovered near his cheek. “okay, let me clean you up before the color stains your skin.”

but before you could touch him, katsuki grabbed your wrist—gently, but firmly.

“don’t.”

you blinked. “huh?”

he looked away, ears tinged red. “leave it. just for a while.” he mumbled softly.

you stared at him in disbelief. “you wanna walk around looking like you got attacked by a lipstick-loving ghost?”

he gave you a half-hearted glare. “i like it, alright? it’s…proof.”

“proof of what?”

he tightened his grip on your waist, pulling you flush against him. “that you’re mine. and that i let you get away with this kinda shit.”

your heart skipped, and suddenly the urge to tease him vanished into something softer, warmer.

“…you’re such a sap when you try to hide it,” you whispered, pressing your forehead against his.

he grumbled under his breath but didn’t deny it.

you pulled back just a little—just enough to grab your phone from the nightstand. bakugo immediately narrowed his eyes but didn't question you.

you opened the camera and set it on selfie mode as you fit your faces on the screen. you hugged him close, making your cheeks smashed to each other.

“look at the camera, kat.” you said as you smiled, then clicked the button. katsuki just looked at the camera but didn't smile. he saw his face all covered with your kisses, and if he would be honest, that made him feel oddly giddy in his chest.

“okay, one more.” this time, you placed a kiss on his cheek and snapped the picture.

you took more photos and when you're finally done, you set your phone down and formally looked at your boyfriend. you cupped his cheek as your thumb grazed over his lower lip.

“thanks for letting me test these shades.”

“even though i looked like a damn lipstick experiment, have you finally picked out your shade yet?”

you nodded and showed him your top three lipstick shades. “these suit me better.”

“how about you? what do you think is the best shade for me?”

“anything as long as it's your lips.” he said.

you couldn't help but to crackle a laugh. “is that a flirting attempt or what?”

he glared at you but there's no hostility in those eyes. “shut up.” he mumbled as you continued to laugh.

his arms wrapped around you tighter.

and for once, bakugo katsuki didn’t feel like he had to be explosive or loud or strong to be loved.

he just had to be here—with you.

lipstick stains and all, he's glad to do this lipstick experiment with you.

masterlist

©luvvixu2025

a/n: AHHH I LIED GUYS, THIS HAS TO BE MY MOST FAVORITE BAKUGO KATSUKI FF I HAD WRITTEN CUZ HUHUHU CAN U GUYS IMAGINE HOW GIGGLY I AM WHILE WRITING THIS???

no mind over matter update today, but here's your daily dose of katsuki once again hahah i think i have serious hyperfixation about writing this dude...

[kxsagi]

Hi!!!

I’ve literally been binge reading all your works for a few days and I just have to say your writing is really good. I love the way you write Sae and Isagi (my favs) i’m not one to request things but I wanted to try it for once

Would you be able to write the bllk boys (Sae and Isagi + whoever else you want) having an s/o who smokes/vapes. Whether it’s a habit that the reader had before the relationship or picked it up at some point. I saw something similar a long time ago and I’ve been thinking about it ever since.

That’s all and I’ll say it again. I LOVE your works so much

"𝐠𝐨𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤"

a/n: hi hi! thank you so much for your kind words and your request, i can’t express my gratitude enough! 

i wasn't exactly comfortable with the idea of writing about reader who vapes/smokes because i really don’t condone that for personal/health reasons, and it’s totally not your fault because i didn’t say anything about that in my request rules. 

if it’s okay, i did change the plot a little to headcanons about how you take out flavored chapstick and the boys think it’s a vape instead. thank you for your understanding 🥹🫶

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, shidou ryusei, itoshi sae, kaiser michael, ness alexis

isagi yoichi

you pull something out of your pocket and bring it to your lips. 

he does a double take. 

“wait, are you vaping?” 

you blink at him, confused, then turn the chapstick around to show the label: cotton candy swirl. 

“it’s lip balm, yoichi.” 

he turns bright red. 

“… oh.” 

two minutes later he’s looking it up online like “is secondhand chapstick a thing?” 

itoshi rin

you apply your peach-flavored lip balm while walking next to him. 

he stares. hard. 

“are you seriously vaping right now?” 

you pause mid-swipe. 

“rin. it’s chapstick.” 

“… oh. it smells fake.” 

he walks faster, annoyed for no reason, like your lips having moisture is a personal attack. 

later, when you kiss him, he mumbles, “still tastes like chemicals.” 

but doesn't pull away. 

nagi seishiro

he sees you reapplying your cherry lip balm and just stares. 

“… yo. can i try it?” 

“my chapstick?” 

“oh, i thought it was a vape... can i still try it?” 

you kiss his cheek. 

“… that works,” he shrugs, leaning on your shoulder half-asleep. 

the next day you catch him putting it on himself. when you ask why, he just says, “too lazy to buy my own. plus yours tastes like candy.”

mikage reo

reo catches you applying your lip balm during a water break. 

“hey, wait a sec. you vape now?” 

you stare at him. 

“reo. babe. it’s lip balm.” 

he squints, takes it, reads the label: birthday cake blast. 

“… why is this so dramatic?” 

he puts it on to prove a point and instantly grimaces. 

“why do your lips taste like a party store???” 

shidou ryusei

he sees you apply it and immediately goes: “damn. you hitting that cotton candy cloud-9000 or what?” 

you: “it’s chapstick?” 

shidou: “hell yeah it is. that’s your vape now. you’re one of us.” 

he starts calling you “vape queen” ironically. tries to put stickers on your lip balm. 

you catch him mimicking you in the mirror later, dramatically applying your watermelon twist like it’s a ritual. 

itoshi sae

you pull out your lip balm, swipe it across your lips, and keep walking. 

he catches a glimpse and immediately frowns. 

“are you really vaping now?” 

you blink, confused. 

“what? no, it’s chapstick.” 

he raises an eyebrow, skeptical. 

“mmm, sure.” 

later, he catches you applying it again, this time on the couch. 

you watch his eyes narrow, and before you know it, he’s grabbed the chapstick, inspecting the label like it’s evidence in a crime scene. 

“watermelon sugar rush?” he smirks, “yeah, that’s definitely a vape.” 

you sigh, shaking your head. 

“you’re ridiculous.” 

“i’m just trying to keep you out of trouble, love,” he grins. "but hey, if it makes you happy..." 

he gives it back and casually walks off. 

you swear he’s the most suspicious about it out of anyone. 

kaiser michael

you pull out your vanilla shimmer gloss stick and swipe it across your lips. 

he raises an eyebrow. “seriously? in public?” 

“liebe, it’s lip balm.” 

“sure it is,” he smirks. “next thing you’ll tell me is you don’t run an underground vape ring.” 

you smack his arm. he just laughs. 

later steals it and puts it on just to annoy you. 

“what? if you're gonna taste like cupcakes, i might as well match.” 

ness alexis

gasps like you just committed a crime. 

“you’re vaping? now?? in front of me???” 

you: “alexis baby, it’s literally called ‘jellybean kiss balm.’” 

ness: “... oh.” 

immediately goes, “can i try it?” like he didn’t just accuse you of corrupting the youth. 

starts using it so often you have to buy a second one. 

calls it “our shared little secret” every time and winks. you consider throwing it out. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[cnnabon]

ㅤㅤ( SJY. )ㅤㅤ✶ㅤㅤWINTER BLANKETS

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋'𝗌 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗇, 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗅𝗅 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽

SOMAR𝒊O ─── winter cuddles and confessionsㅤ엔하이픈 제이크 𝐱 𝑓. readerㅤ✉️ㅤwc. 678ㅤ✶ㅤcareful ! ㅤskinship, kissing, petnames/ nicknames

ㅤ💭 . dressing cute in cold weather is so difficult 😖

downbadbsf!jake who can't get enough of your cuddles in winter and uses your frame melted against his to his advantage to confess his feelings to you.

Switching off the last of the lights on in the house, you sauntered into his bedroom, finding him already in bed meeting you with a grin. “Did you find a show yet?” Entering into the thick blankets, you quickly warmed yourself up against his body, feeling his arms close up around your waist. 

Pressing his head into the crook of your neck, you giggled from the sensation of his hair tickling your collarbone. Satisfied to hear laughter vibrate from your throat, he moved his chin to rest where his forehead was, breathing heavily. Still recovering from your fits of giggles, you felt his hand ascend into your shirt, drawing circles on your bare skin.

“Let me warm you up first.” He replied, tangling his legs in yours, continuing his soft motion on your stomach. Feeling comfortable, you breathed heavily and heard him do the same. “What are you thinking about?” You asked, breaking the pause of silence. 

“You.” His hot breath warmed your ear as he spoke, lips brushing the shell of your ear. Letting a light breath escape your mouth, you unconsciously shivered against him from the sensation. “About what?” Hoping that he wouldn’t notice your unusual reaction to his action, you responded, making a mental note to stop Jake from giving you back hugs in the future. 

“About how to tell you how much I like you.” Trying to regulate your emotions, you bit back your smile. “Now’s a good time.” Sounding as nonchalant as possible, you answered, knowing without even looking at him that his lips pulled into a grin. 

“For starters, I’ve liked you since middle school with your crazy pigtails and bad spelling mistakes.” He began, noticing you try to hold back your grin as much as possible. “I especially liked the way you spied on the music room to wait for me to finish practice and acted like you weren’t waiting for an hour.” 

Humming to show that you were still awake, he continued. “I love how pretty you look when putting on your lip gloss, puckering your lips to the mirror.” Shifting in the blanket, he hummed thoughtfully. “I’ve never wanted to kiss something off that much.” 

Feeling your cheeks heat up, you squirmed a little, doing your best to remain unbothered. “I love falling asleep next to you and knowing that you’re going to be right in my arms when I wake up.” Biting his lips to stop them from pressing against your neck, he added. “Even though you snore a lot at night.” 

Finally breaking into a smile, you elbowed him lightly. “Shut up.” Laughing at your defence, he moved you onto your back, raising himself unto his elbows to see your face properly. “Are you done now?” You asked, meeting his smiling eyes. 

Grinning down at you, he replied. “Not unless you don’t want to sleep tonight.” Moving his hand to your hair, he gently brushed away the hair on your forehead. “Then as my girlfriend, do you give me permission to kiss you?” 

Humming thoughtfully, you feigned a confused expression. “I don’t remember you asking me to be your girlfriend.” Watching his expression turn thoughtful as well, he looked down at you, meeting you with a teasing grin. 

In a swift movement, he moved his hands against your stomach, causing you to burst out into fits of giggles. Tapping his hand, you repeated between laughter. “I give up. You win.” Laughing in his victory, he watched you recover, panting excessively from the lack of air. 

After patiently watching your breathing patterns regulate, he flashed you his perfect grin. “Will you be my girlfriend?” 

Reaching your arms up to wrap around the back of his neck, you pulled him closer to you. “Absolutely.” Leaning in and pressing your lips onto his, you felt him smile into the kiss, feeling warmer than ever with his lips on yours under the heavy blankets. 

LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE HIGHLY APPRECIATED , CLICK TO JOIN TAGLIST

© ANGELQIE 2025.

[whore4wroetoshaw]

pillowtalk (w2s x reader)

warnings: smut smut smut

the video.

you loved your boyfriend. he was it for you. and not in the fleeting, butterfly way. not a crush that faded when things got difficult. no—he was the one you could scream at and argue with and then fall asleep tangled in the same sheet an hour later. the one who knew exactly how you liked your tea, exactly how to get under your skin, and exactly how to worship every inch of your body like it was the only language he spoke.

and oh, my god. he was the best sex you'd ever had. hands down. absolutely zero contest. you’d look at him and think he was very vanilla, but the way he fucked you? slow, deep, possesive—like he was trying to carve his name into your bones and remind you exactly who you belonged to. it made you feral. 

so when he asked you—on camera, during a truth or drink sidemen video, the prick—“have you ever faked an orgasm with me?” and you didn’t say no like he expected you to… you picked up your shot of tequila, knocked it back, and put the glass down like you were putting a final nail in a coffin.

trust, he was good at pleasing you. the things he could do with his tongue... jesus. the man was skilled. it was just that one time. to be honest, it wasn't even his fault. you were just tired, your head wasn't in it, and you just didn't want him to feel bad. so, you faked a few shaky breaths, moaned out his name, and smiled through the guilt. and that was it. one time. forgotten.

"it was just that one time—i wasn't in the mood, y'know? stop laughing, jj." you tried to surpress your giggles because of the look on harry's face.

you thought that was the end of it. one shot. one simple, honest answer. the boys were already laughing and moving on—ethan reading the next question with a shit-eating grin, jj still laughing like he usually did.

but harry?

harry was staring. he didn't laugh. didn't even crack a smile. he sat back, eyebrows slightly raised, lips twitching like he was trying to solve a maths problem. his whole expression unreadable. way too quiet for harry.

the rest of the video felt long. every time he laughed, every time he smiled or chimed in, you could feel the weight of his attention still hanging off you. he didn’t say much after that, just finished the game with a casual shrug, fingers drumming on the table.

the car ride.

it was so fucking quiet. not in an awkward way. no tension between you as people—you were fine. it was fine.

but it was so quiet.

harry's eyes were on the road, hand steady on the wheel. the only sounds were the low hum of the engine, and the occasional turn signal.

but you could feel him.

feel his gaze flicker over to you at red lights. feel the way his fingers tapped restlessly against the steering wheel. feel the heat simmering between you, hotter by the second.

so, you broke the silence. "what's going on in that pretty head of yours, hm? you're awfully quiet."

his knuckles tightened on the wheel. "hm? nothing. just... thinking."

"about what?" you turned your knees slightly towards him, now looking at his absolutely flawless side profile.

"you know what." his jaw clenched, a small smirk on his face.

you rolled your eyes. "haz, you're still on that? it was just a game. i don't even remember when it happ—"

he didn't look at you. "i'm just trying to figure out how i missed it."

"babe, come on. it was years ago, harry. you didn't do anything wrong. it wasn't about you. i swear." you laughed, reaching over to rub his knee as reassurement.

he looked down, and then up again. after a few moments of silence, he spoke, his voice lower. "i don't want you to feel like you have to perform with me."

"baby. it was one time. it's so insignificant that i don't even remember when it happened." you leaned over and brushed a soft kiss on his cheek.

after you reached home.

the front door clicked shut behind you with a soft thud, and that was it. the match dropped.

he didn’t speak. just watched as you kicked off your shoes and turned toward him, still trying to act normal—casual—like your heart wasn’t hammering in your chest.

you opened your mouth to say something—

but he was on you.

mouth crashing to yours, hands gripping your waist hard enough to bruise. you stumbled back into the wall with a thud, gasping against his lips, his body crowding yours, warm and solid and desperate.

"fuckin' hell, y/n," he muttered against your mouth, kissing you like he was trying to devour your soul. "i'm losing my fucking mind."

“didn’t think you’d spiral this hard,” you breathed.

his hand curled around your jaw, thumb dragging across your bottom lip. "i’ve been replaying every sound you’ve made with me in my head. every fucking moan. every breath. trying to figure out which one was a lie.” his voice dropped. “you realise how mental that is?”

you swallowed, chest rising and falling fast.

he tilted your chin up. “so now i’m gonna make sure there’s no confusion.”

before you could even react, his hands reached the back of your thighs, and he picked you up in a go. a gasp slipped from your lips as your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, the pressure of his hard-on pressing firmly against your core through the thin barrier of your clothes. the contact drew a soft whimper from your throat—needy and unfiltered.

harry smirked against your skin. "that all for me, love?" he murmured, his voice rough as his mouth found your neck for the millionth time.

you just whined in response and grabbed his hair, latching your lips onto his again. he chuckled lowly, and carried you to the bedroom door, throwing it open.

he kicked the door shut behind him with a thud that echoed, not that either of you noticed—too lost in the haze of each other, barely making it two steps before tossing you onto the mattress like you weighed nothing. you bounced once, breath catching as you pushed yourself up on your elbows.

he climbed on top of you, hovering for a moment as he tried to take in your presence, his fingers trailing under the hem of your top.

that's it. you couldn't take it anymore.

"goddamn it, harry." you surged up and yanked his shirt over his head in one go, fingers fumbling in your haste, lips catching his halfway through. it was teeth and tongue and heat, and all of it tinged with frustration.

"a little bit impatient there, huh?" he laughed as he tugged your top over your head and tossed it somewhere behind him, already reaching for your jeans.

“can you blame me?” you huffed, breath shaky as you wriggled out of them, your hands everywhere—his neck, his shoulders, everywhere. "you've been staring at me with bedroom eyes all day long, bruv."

harry laughed under his breath—low and rough—as he popped the button of your jeans and slid them down—along with your underwear— in one swift movement, eyes trailing down the length of you like he hadn’t seen you naked a thousand times before.

you bit your lip, cheeks flushed, eyes flickering down for a moment before dragging back up to meet his. your hands moved slowly to his belt, fingers slipping beneath the leather and tugging with careful urgency—like you couldn’t bear another second but also wanted to savour it.

you pulled it free in one smooth motion, letting it drop off the side of the bed with a soft thud. your fingers didn’t falter—next came the button of his jeans, the slow drag of the zip. you felt him twitch beneath your touch, felt the tension ripple through his abdomen.

“you���re killing me, babe,” he muttered, voice low, reverent, as he watched your hands work.

“good,” you whispered, slipping your fingers into the waistband of his boxers and sliding everything down in one go. he kicked them off without looking, never taking his eyes off you.

there he was: all of him, exposed to you, his cock thick and flushed, already dripping with need. your breath hitched in your throat, eyes tracing over every inch of him. the way his muscles tightened under his skin, the deep v of his hips leading to his hard length. It was almost too much.

you reached out, wrapping your fingers around his cock, feeling the heat of him in your hand. you could feel the veins throbbing beneath your touch, his length heavy and solid in your palm. "please fuck me," you whimpered.

he let out a ragged breath, his hands immediately grabbing at your legs, pulling you to him as he knelt between your thighs. and just like that, he leaned forward, pushing your legs apart as he aligned himself with your entrance. his eyes flickered to yours, a silent question. you nodded, breathless, barely able to form a sentence.

harry didn’t need another word. he sank into you in one deliberate thrust, his cock filling you, stretching you in the best possible way. you gasped at the sensation, your back arching off the bed, and he groaned in response, his hand sliding to your hip to hold you in place.

jesus, even after years of being together, you were still caught off guard by his size every single time. “god,” he muttered, his voice hoarse, as he stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust to him. “you feel fucking perfect.”

harry didn’t waste another moment. he withdrew slightly, then slammed back into you with force, making you gasp as your body jolted from the impact. his pace was immediate, fast, relentless—he wasn’t holding back. every thrust sent waves of pleasure through you, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

you moaned out his name as your hands scrambled for purchase on his back, digging your nails into his skin. you gasped as you tried to meet each of his thrusts, your body working in perfect sync with his. there was no gentleness in this; there didn’t need to be. after all these years, neither of you held back anymore.

he gripped your legs tighter, pushing them up and apart to get even deeper, his hips snapping against yours with brutal force. every thrust hit you at the perfect angle, his cock filling you so completely that you could barely breathe. "oh my god, harry!"

you gasped, hips bucking as the familiar pressure started to build again in your core. the pace didn’t slow—if anything, harry pushed harder, faster, making sure you didn’t have time to catch your breath. his hands were everywhere—on your hips, your chest, your throat—as he fucked you like he owned you.

you felt your orgasm rise up, sudden and overwhelming. the sensation spread through every inch of you, every nerve firing at once as you came hard around him, screaming his name as you tightened around his cock. your whole body trembled, the force of it making your vision blur for a moment.

but harry didn’t stop. he was relentless, chasing his own high now, his pace never wavering as he fucked you through your orgasm. the tension was unbearable, and just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, he thrust into you with a final, deep stroke, groaning your name as he came hard inside you, his release spilling deep, filling you completely.

you both collapsed in the aftershocks of your highs, your body limp and trembling beneath him, as he kissed your neck, his breath ragged.

"oh my god," you heaved, recovering from your orgasm. "oh love, we're not done."

[spiteful-opossum]

I’m gonna go with dead tired just cause that’s my favorite.

Tim was having a stressful day. He’d had a rough patrol the night before. He then woke up later than he should’ve, which was still really early for him because he had a virtual meeting with a team in a different time zone. The espresso machine at the only coffee shop that would give him 10 shots of espresso was broken. And to top it all off he had to deal with a new board member who was trying to convince him get rid of the company’s robust maternity/paternity leave program to increase “shareholder value”.

So to sum it up Tim’s day had been stressful but not unbearable. But that was all over now. He was finally done with work for the day and wasn’t scheduled to patrol for the night. He was gonna go home and have a nice, relaxing, entirely average evening where nothing big or important or unexpected was going to happen. The idea of spending the night relaxing with his boyfriend, Danny, was the main reason Tim didn’t try to kill the new board member.

When he finally got home and opened the door he was greeted by the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen, Danny. Danny was currently doing homework for one of his classes on the couch. Tim went to go take a quick shower and get changed into something more comfortable before making Danny take a break. He’d learned the hard way just how much Danny can get consumed by his astronomy homework. His passion for astronomy was something Tim loved about the guy, but sometimes he could lose track of time.

When he came back he was not expecting Danny to have finished whatever he was doing and moved to the kitchen table. He must’ve taken longer in the shower than he thought. But when he went over to his boyfriend to say hi he got concerned by the expression on his face. His usual relaxed and unserious expression that he even maintained while being kidnapped was gone and replaced by a very serious one. Tim was officially alarmed because in several years of dating he’d never seen him like that.

“Danny? What’s wrong? Is everything okay?” Tim couldn’t help but asking. Every worst case scenario in the world and how to deal with them was running through his head right now. It only got worse when Danny looked at him a bit concerned and had to take a deep breath. He was also fiddling with something that he couldn’t quite see as it was covered in a paper towel.

“Tim we need to talk.” Danny said “i have some big news, you should probably sit down for this.” And Tim did as he was told taking a seat next to Danny at the table.

When Tim sat down he put his hand on Danny’s arm and said “Whatever it is I can handle it.”

“I really hope you mean that,” Danny responded before taking another deep breath and continuing, “I know we’ve only been together for a couple years, but they’ve been the best years of my life. But I don’t know how you feel about this and I’m worried how you might take it.” Then he pushed whatever he was fidgeting with towards Tim. When he unwrapped the paper towel he was shocked. He didn’t know what he was expecting but it certainly wasn’t this. It was a pregnancy test, a positive pregnancy test. He picked it up and just stared at it for a few seconds, then back up to Danny wanting to confirm he was seeing this right.

“You’re pregnant?” He asked not bothering to hide the hope in his voice.

“Yeah,” Danny started, “And I get it if you’re not quite ready for this, I know I’m not, but I want to keep-”

Tim didn’t let him finish that thought before pulling him into a tight hug. “I love you, and I agree. I’m definitely not prepared to be a dad but I’m going to try to do my best to try anyway. This is great news and no matter what I’ll always be right beside you.”

Accidental Parenthood

DP x DC Prompt

Danny's life is pretty good right now. His parents have accepted him as Phantom. Vlad remains a Thorn in his side that won't go away. The Justice League had tried to put him on one of their young hero teams after his parents flagged them down about the GIW and the Anti Ecto Acts. He refused them because he's petty that they ignored the calls he and his friends made whenever they thought they needed help on something that looked out of their control. He's accepted to just being a person that they call on for help whenever they need it.

He's only in Gotham now, after he graduated high school and the whole business of the Justice League trying to get him to be part of their little group, because it has the only university that's crazy enough to enroll a Fenton.

He's found a balance between his university life, his Ghost King duties, and the Justice League needing his aid on a few occasions. He had to deal with a few unexpected instances where he was mistaken for a Wayne, but those were handled when he was, reluctantly, saved by the Batfam (he's still got the pettiness in him from being ignored for most of his high school years).

That might have been where his life started to change, as he soon found himself in a secret relationship with one of the Wayne boys, who even accepted him when he told them that he's Trans.

Near the end of his scholarship at Gotham University is when he learns of something that will definitely be a turning point in his life.

He's in the Far Frozen, having Frostbite check up on him because he's been feeling pretty weird the past couple of days. And it's here where he's told that he is pregnant.

[lila-lou]

✨All over again - 2/4✨

Summary: After a crash leaves Dean with permanent memory loss, you’re nothing but a stranger to him now. Years of love, gone in an instant. But the hardest part isn’t that he forgot you, it’s that he doesn’t want to remember.

-requested-

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Language, Angst

Word Count: 4132

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💙

As the evening rolled in, the bunker was eerily quiet.

You were still in your room—your own room now. The hours had passed in a blur, but you hadn't moved much. The weight of everything sat heavy on your chest, exhaustion pressing down on you, but sleep never came. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw him. The way he had pulled off his ring, the way he had looked at you like you were nothing more than a stranger.

The love of your life—your husband—was gone. And he wasn’t coming back.

Meanwhile, Dean had buried himself in the garage, his hands occupied with Baby’s engine, like fixing something would make this easier. He hadn’t come back inside since he left the library, and Sam knew exactly why.

Dean was running.

Not that it surprised him. Dean had always run from things he couldn’t fix.

Sam sighed as he set the table, a familiar routine after years of traveling, of making whatever meal they could pull together feel like something normal. But tonight, it wasn’t normal. Nothing was.

He grabbed his phone, scrolling through the contacts, considering calling Cas, maybe even Jody, but he knew the truth: no one could fix this. Not even an angel.

With a deep breath, he stepped into the hall and called out, “Dinner’s ready”.

He didn’t expect you to respond. And you didn’t. You probably hadn’t eaten all day, but he doubted you cared.

Dean, though—Dean had to show up eventually. Sam knew his brother too well. He could avoid emotions, but he wouldn’t avoid food.

Sure enough, after a few minutes, he heard the heavy footsteps from the garage. Dean appeared in the doorway, wiping grease from his hands onto an old rag, his expression unreadable.

Sam leaned against the table, arms crossed. “She’s not coming out”.

Dean didn’t react right away, just tossed the rag onto the counter. “Figured”.

Sam narrowed his eyes. “You’re really not gonna talk to her?”.

Dean huffed out a breath, shaking his head. “Talk to her about what, Sam?”.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe about how she’s been locked in her room all day after you broke her damn heart?”.

Dean’s jaw tightened, his shoulders going rigid. “What do you want me to do?”, he muttered, voice quieter now. “I already told her the truth”.

Sam let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, you sure did”. He reached into his pocket and pulled out Dean’s wedding ring, holding it up between them.

Dean’s eyes flickered to the small piece of silver, and for a moment—just a second—something passed over his face. But then it was gone.

“Thought you’d wanna keep this”, Sam said, voice sharp.

Dean didn’t take it. Instead, he just shook his head. “It doesn’t mean anything anymore”.

Sam clenched his jaw, his fingers curling around the ring. “Bullshit”, he snapped. “It meant everything to you”.

Dean met his gaze, something flickering in his expression—guilt, frustration, something else even Sam couldn’t read. But then he just exhaled. “It’s over, Sam”. His voice was quieter this time, but it still cut deep.

Sam swallowed back the anger bubbling in his chest, before he slipped the ring into his pocket. “Fine”, he muttered. “But at least pretend you give a damn and sit down for dinner”.

Dean hesitated for a second, but then—like clockwork—he sat down, grabbing a plate like this was just another night. Like everything hadn’t just fallen apart.

The next morning came too soon, dragging in the dull ache of reality with it.

You barely slept. When you did, it was restless—filled with fleeting memories that felt more like ghosts, teasing you with what once was. The warmth of Dean’s body beside you, the sound of his laugh, the way he used to nudge you awake with a kiss to your shoulder.

Now, the only thing that greeted you was an empty room, a cold bed, and the harsh truth of being alone.

A soft knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. Sam.

“Come on”, he called through the door, voice softer than usual. “Breakfast. Then we’re heading to a case”.

A case.

For the past few days, everything had been about Dean. His memory loss, his detachment, the way he had slowly pushed you away until he finally put the last nail in the coffin. But now, things were moving forward—just like that. As if nothing had happened.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and pushed yourself upright, feeling the weight of exhaustion in your limbs. You could hear Sam’s footsteps fading down the hall, giving you space, but the message was clear.

The world wasn’t going to stop for this. So, neither could you.

With a deep breath, you pulled on a hoodie and ran a hand through your hair, barely glancing at your reflection before stepping out into the hallway. The bunker felt colder than usual—though maybe that was just in your head.

When you reached the kitchen, Sam was already at the table, nursing a cup of coffee, scanning something on his laptop. Dean sat across from him, shoveling food into his mouth like nothing was wrong. Like he hadn’t shattered everything between you the day before.

You hesitated in the doorway, your stomach twisting. Dean didn’t even look up when you entered. Didn’t acknowledge you at all. And that fucking hurt. More than it should have.

Sam glanced at you, offering a small nod before sliding a plate toward the empty seat beside him.

You sat down, keeping your eyes on your food, even though you weren’t hungry.

The silence stretched on.

“So”, Sam finally said, filling the dead air. “Looks like we got a case up in Nebraska. Couple of disappearances near some abandoned farmland. Sounds like a possible wraith or maybe a revenant”.

You nodded numbly, barely listening.

Dean swallowed his last bite and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “How soon can we head out?”.

Sam eyed him, then flicked his gaze to you. “Soon as we’re ready”.

It wasn’t an invitation. It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a reminder. You were still a hunter. You still had a job to do.

Dean finally glanced at you then—just for a second. But there was no warmth, no hesitation. Just a silent, unreadable look before he pushed back from the table and stood. “I’ll get my stuff”. And just like that, he was gone again.

You stared at the empty space where he had been, fingers tightening around the edge of your plate.

You weren’t sure what hurt worse—losing him completely, or having him right in front of you, but feeling like he was already gone.

The drive to Nebraska was long, and the air inside the Impala was thick with silence.

Dean drove, eyes locked on the road, his expression unreadable. Sam sat in the passenger seat, occasionally glancing back at you, as if checking to make sure you were still breathing.

You were in the back. Where you hadn’t sat in years. It felt unnatural, wrong. This was the seat you used to claim only when you were teasing Dean, stealing his cassette tapes, kicking your feet up on the upholstery just to get a rise out of him.

Now, you sat there because it was the only place left for you.

The space between you and Dean wasn’t just physical. It was something deeper, something that felt impossible to close. And the worst part? He seemed fine with it. Like he didn’t even notice.

Sam cleared his throat, shifting slightly in his seat. “So, uh, I checked out the reports again before we left. Witnesses say they saw a figure near the last house that got hit. Human-shaped, but… off”.

Dean hummed in acknowledgment, keeping his eyes on the road. “Off how?”.

Sam clicked on his phone, pulling up his notes. “One guy said it moved too fast. Another said the eyes looked weird—like they reflected light, kind of like an animal”.

Dean nodded. “Wraith or skinwalker, then”.

“Yeah, maybe”.

Silence fell again.

You rested your head against the cool window, watching the scenery blur by. Normally, on these long drives, Dean would reach over and squeeze your knee. You used to play games—counting how many crappy motels you passed, arguing over which diner in which town had the best pie.

Now, you were just there. Existing. Nothing more.

“(Y/N)”, Sam’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. You blinked, glancing up to see him looking at you in the mirror. “What do you think?”.

You realized then that you hadn’t been listening. “Uh… yeah. Sounds like a wraith”, you said quickly, pretending to know what they had just been talking about.

Dean didn’t react.

Sam, of course, noticed. His brow furrowed slightly, but he let it go. “Alright. We’ll check the victim’s houses first, see if we can track where it’s hiding”.

You nodded, then went back to staring out the window.

The rest of the drive continued in that suffocating quiet, the only sound being the hum of the engine and the occasional flip of Dean’s turn signal.

When you finally pulled into town, Dean parked outside a small diner—classic, predictable. “Food first”, he muttered, killing the engine.

Sam got out without question, stretching his legs, but you hesitated for a second before following. Sam fell into step beside you, keeping his voice low. “You don’t have to do this, you know”.

You swallowed hard. “Do what?”.

“Pretend like this is normal”.

You let out a quiet breath, forcing a tight smile. “Isn’t it?”.

Sam didn’t answer. Because you both knew the truth. Nothing about this was normal. Nothing about this was okay. But you weren’t going to fall apart. Not now.

Inside the diner, the three of you slid into a booth—Sam on one side, you and Dean on the other. The old leather creaked beneath you, and the scent of cheap coffee and sizzling bacon filled the air. It should have felt familiar, comforting. But it didn’t.

Dean barely glanced at you as he picked up the menu, flipping through it like nothing was wrong. Like this was just another morning.

And then—he did it. Right in front of you. He glanced up, eyes tracking the waitress as she walked past, his gaze lingering on her ass before he smirked to himself and went back to his menu.

Your stomach twisted violently.

Sam saw it, too. You knew because his jaw tightened slightly, his eyes flickering from you to Dean with something like disbelief.

Dean didn’t even notice. He just sat there, cool as ever, completely unaware that his casual, thoughtless action had just gutted you.

Because that was the thing—he had never done that around you. Not since the day he fell for you. Sure, before you, Dean had always been a flirt, always had a wandering eye, always made some dumb joke about a “solid ten” when you passed a pretty girl. But when he had you? You had been it for him.

There had been no wandering, no second glances, no careless flirting. He had made it clear, over and over again, that you were the only woman in the damn world as far as he was concerned.

Now, he was looking at another woman like you weren’t even sitting right there. Like you were nothing.

You clenched your jaw, staring hard at the menu in front of you, willing yourself not to react. Not to let him see how much it hurt.

The waitress—young, blonde, pretty—sauntered over with a bright smile, notepad in hand. “What can I get you boys?”. She barely glanced at you.

Dean grinned up at her, easy and charming, like this was the most natural thing in the world. “Coffee. And whatever’s got the most bacon”.

The waitress giggled—actually giggled—and nodded. “Got it. And for you?”, she asked, looking at Sam.

Sam cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “Uh, Coffee and Eggs”.

The waitress scribbled it down, then finally turned to you. “And you, sweetheart?”.

Sweetheart. You almost laughed at the irony. “Just coffee”, you muttered, not trusting yourself to say more.

The waitress nodded, giving Dean one last look before walking away.

Dean leaned back in the booth, stretching his arm over the backrest, exhaling like he had not a single care in the world.

Sam, on the other hand, looked pissed. His eyes flicked between you and Dean, his patience clearly wearing thin. But he didn’t say anything—not yet.

You? You just sat there, staring down in front of you, stomach churning.

When the food arrived, the waitress made sure to linger, setting Dean’s plate down with a little too much enthusiasm, her fingers just barely brushing against his arm. “Careful, handsome”, she teased, a playful smirk on her lips. “Wouldn’t want you to burn that pretty mouth of yours”.

Dean grinned, easy and effortless, the kind of smirk that used to be reserved just for you. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I can handle a little heat”.

Your grip on your coffee cup tightened.

Sam visibly tensed beside you, his eyes darting between the two of you, but he stayed quiet.

You just sat there, taking a slow sip of your coffee, staring at the swirling black liquid as if it could drown out the scene in front of you. Under the table, your fingers found the band of your wedding ring, twisting it absently with your thumb—a nervous habit, one you had picked up years ago.

You had done this on hunts, when things got tense. When Dean had been out too long, when a case went south, when you were afraid of losing him. And now, you were doing it because you had already lost him.

The waitress giggled, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she gave Dean one last look before walking away. Dean—your husband—watched her go.

The sting behind your eyes burned, but you blinked hard, forcing it down. You weren’t going to cry. Not here. Not in front of him.

Dean picked up his fork, completely unfazed, as if he hadn’t just flirted with another woman in front of the wife he had apparently erased from his life. “Damn, this smells good”.

Sam snapped. “You’ve gotta be kidding me”.

Dean looked up, brow raised. “What?”.

You took another slow sip of your coffee, the warmth doing nothing to ease the numbness settling deep in your bones. Your fingers twitched against the ceramic, a silent battle raging inside you. Then, without a word, you set the cup down, pushed back your chair, and stood.

Before Dean could react, your hand dipped into the pocket of his jeans—the same move you had pulled a hundred times before when you wanted to drive Baby, when you wanted to tease him, when you wanted his attention.

But this time, it wasn’t playful. This time, it was just survival.

You snatched the keys and muttered, “I’ll wait in the car”.

Dean blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, what?”.

You didn’t respond. Didn’t give him the satisfaction. Didn’t give yourself the chance to break right there in the middle of the damn diner. You just walked away.

Sam sighed and leaned back in his seat, rubbing a hand down his face as he watched you push through the door and disappear into the parking lot.

Dean, meanwhile, sat there, stunned for a second. Then he scoffed, shaking his head. “What the hell was that?”.

Sam shot him a look that could’ve burned through steel. “You’re an idiot”, he muttered, voice low but sharp.

Dean frowned, shifting in his seat. “Oh, come on, man—”.

“No”. Sam cut him off, leaning forward now, his anger barely contained. “You don’t get to do this, Dean. You don’t get to act like this is normal”.

Dean rolled his eyes. “I was eating, Sam. I was having a damn meal”.

“No, you were rubbing it in her face”, Sam snapped. “Flirting with some random waitress like she wasn’t even sitting right there”.

Dean clenched his jaw, his fingers tapping against the edge of his plate. “I didn’t mean—”.

“Didn’t mean to?”, Sam let out a humorless laugh. “Jesus, Dean. You chased her. You spent months convincing her to give you a shot. And now you’re treating her like she doesn’t exist”.

Dean’s grip on his fork tightened, his gaze flickering toward the window. He could just barely see the outline of Baby in the parking lot.

Sam exhaled, shaking his head. “She left everything for you. And you just let her walk away”.

Dean didn’t answer. Because he didn’t have one. And for the first time in days, something about that bothered him.

Steam curled in the small motel bathroom, clinging to the mirror and fogging up the glass. You had just stepped out of the shower, towel discarded as you reached for your underwear, exhausted from the long day of interviews and forced conversations. Your skin was still damp, beads of water rolling down your shoulders.

Just then, the door flew open.

Dean strode in without thinking, muttering something under his breath, fully intent on just using the damn bathroom before eating. His mind was still on the case, on the food in the bag he had dropped on the motel table—he hadn’t even remembered that you were in here.

Until now. Until he saw you.

Standing there, bare skin glistening under the dim motel light, hair wet and clinging to your shoulders, curves on full display—fuck.

Dean stopped in his tracks. His breath hitched, something deep in his chest clenching before he could even process what was happening. Damn it. He wasn’t supposed to react like this.

But hell, you were beautiful. No, not just beautiful. You were the hottest damn thing he’d ever seen. And it hit him like a punch to the gut.

You barely reacted. You simply sighed, pulling your underwear up with practiced ease, then reached for your shirt.

Dean had seen you naked a million times before. Even if he didn’t remember, you did. This wasn’t new. Wasn’t shocking. And honestly? You just didn’t have the energy to care. Your heart was too broken for something as trivial as embarrassment.

Dean, on the other hand was fucking hard in an instant.

It was like his body had short-circuited, completely ignoring whatever logical part of his brain had convinced him there was nothing left between you. Because right now, there was something. And it was undeniable.

Dean felt heat rush through him, pulse pounding in his ears as his jeans suddenly felt way too tight. He was still frozen in place, fingers twitching at his sides, brain struggling to catch up with what the fuck was happening.

You didn’t even spare him a second glance. Didn’t react. Didn’t blush. Didn’t tease him like you probably would have, back when things were good.

You just pulled your shirt over your head, moving around him like he wasn’t even there. And for some reason, that made it worse. Made it so much worse.

Dean swallowed hard, willing himself to look away, to breathe, but his gaze kept getting dragged back—dragged to the way your damp skin glowed under the shitty motel light, the way your muscles tensed ever so slightly as you moved.

His body remembered. Even if his mind didn’t. And that scared the shit out of him.

He exhaled sharply, finally forcing himself to turn around. “Fucking shit", he muttered under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut for a second.

You shot him a look in the mirror, completely unbothered. “What’s your problem?”.

Dean let out a humorless laugh, still not looking at you. “Oh, I dunno. Maybe the fact that you’re walking around naked like it’s nothing?”.

You raised a brow, pulling your jeans up, your expression unreadable. “It is nothing”.

He huffed, rubbing a hand over his jaw, trying to will his body to calm the fuck down. “Right. Yeah. Of course. No big deal”.

You let out a soft, almost bitter laugh as you grabbed your brush from the counter, dragging it through your wet hair. “Don’t worry, Dean”, you muttered. “I’m not expecting anything from you. Not anymore”.

That? That stung. More than it should have.

Dean finally glanced at you, something unreadable in his expression, but you were already walking past him, heading out the bathroom door like this conversation didn’t even matter. Like he didn’t matter.

And for the first time since this whole mess started… Dean wasn’t so sure he liked that feeling.

Dean followed you out of the bathroom, his steps quick, urgent. His dick wouldn’t stop throbbing. It was like his body had a mind of its own, like every nerve was on high alert, and fuck—he wasn’t used to this. Wasn’t used to being out of control when it came to himself.

And you just walked across the room like nothing had happened, completely unbothered, running a towel through your damp hair as you sat on the edge of the motel bed.

Dean exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You can’t do this”, he muttered, voice tight.

You didn’t even look up. “Do what?”.

He scoffed, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “This. Making me—”. He cut himself off, jaw clenching. “Making me horny just to get me to feel something”.

That made you pause. Slowly, you turned to him, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “Excuse me?”.

Dean stared at you, like he expected you to admit it, to own up to it. Like this was your fault. But you just blinked, tilting your head slightly.

Then, after a beat, you let out a small, bitter laugh. “You walked in on me naked, Dean”.

His mouth opened, then shut. You had a point.

You crossed your arms, watching him, your expression unreadable. “I didn’t try to seduce you. I wasn’t parading around in lingerie, I wasn’t touching you, I wasn’t doing anything”. You let out a sharp exhale. “You came in, you looked, and now your body is reacting”.

Dean swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably, because shit—you were right. But that didn’t change the fact that his body was reacting. And it pissed him off. Because he shouldn’t be feeling like this. Shouldn’t be this fucking desperate to touch you, to feel you, when he didn’t even remember why. His hands curled into fists at his sides. “Then why the hell didn’t you care?”.

Your brows furrowed slightly. “What?”.

He took a step closer, jaw clenched. “You were naked. I walked in, and you didn’t even flinch”. His voice was rough, edged with something he didn’t quite understand.

You let out another quiet, humorless laugh, shaking your head as you ran the towel through your damp hair one last time before tossing it onto the bed beside you. “Shit, Dean”, you muttered, rubbing a hand over your face. “You’ve seen me naked a million times”.

Dean’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything.

“You used to wake me up in the middle of the night just because you needed me”, you continued, voice sharp but laced with something vulnerable. “You used to pin me against walls, drag me into the backseat of the Impala, couldn’t keep your hands off me for more than a damn second”.

Dean swallowed thickly. His body reacted again, a deep, primal pull in his gut at the images your words conjured, but his mind—his mind was still struggling. Still fighting against whatever this was.

You scoffed, shaking your head. “But now? You see me naked and act like it’s some huge deal?”.

Dean clenched his jaw, frustration rolling off him in waves. “It is a huge deal”, he shot back.

“No, it´s not".

He stared at you, mouth parting like he wanted to say something—anything—but nothing came.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

-

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373 @shanimallina87 @ascarriel @deanwinchesters67impala @thebiggerbear @quietgirll75 @barnes70stark @kellyls04 @spxideyver @ralilda @americanvenom13 @ozwriterchick @lmg14

[charliespoorasshole]

as much as i enjoy the idea of jitka finding out about hansry and helping them hide it and hans and jitka having a friendly platonic marriage while the three of them de facto raise heinrich together, i personally cannot wait to see hans being the worst husband ever

jitka, despite being nervous and scared out of her mind still being hopeful, and immediately losing that hope when she sees the dead and empty look in hans's eyes at the altar.

any excuses she had thought up fleeing her mind like a gut punch as she pretends not to notice hans slipping out of the bed on their wedding night and not coming back.

pretending how it doesn't feel like she's being strangled that hans couldn't be happier whenever he's being called away from her company, that he never stays in her bed chamber longer than he has to and that he never slept through a whole night with her.

eventually coming to terms with the fact that let alone hans's love, she will never even have his affection or a scrap of his attention. eventually not caring, and growing just as distant when she bears him his son, and trying not feel stung when hans doesn't even seem to notice.

but when she stops caring, she starts letting herself notice. starts to notice how whenever she sees him around, it's beside kobyla's bastard. how he can't seem to ever run out of reasons to summon him, how he never runs out of jobs for him to do, to keep him around, keep him close. how he always has a reason for him to accompany him on hunting trips, on political talks, on 'just needing to get away for a while'. away from her, away from their son.

how he always insists he's the only entourage he needs.

and how eventually she decides, fine. if this is how you want to play it, so can i.

[demonic0angel]

Lex Luthor, through various shenanigans, captures Desiree the genie ghost. Lex, naturally thinking he's smarter than a genie, starts making wishes. Chaos ensues.

(Some of y'all have a strange obsession with that bald billionaire lmaooo)

Kon stared at the chaos around him. He squinted as he looked around, trying to find the source.

"So... what's happening?" He asked, giving up and turning to the side.

Dani sighed. "One of the ghosts from the Ghost Zone left the portal and started looking around."

".... okay. Did your brother not bring them back?"

She sighed again. "No. He decided to watch the fun." She grinned then, smirking as she said, "It is kinda funny though."

Kon raised an eyebrow. "Okay, let me in on the joke too."

"The ghost that left the Ghost Zone is Desiree, and she grants wishes but twists them, like a monkey's paw. Luthor is the one who found her and she granted his wishes."

Kon would've panicked, but the expression on Dani's face told him that she wasn't done. She continued, "So far, he's wished for a lot of things. From what we know, he first wished for Superman to be dead."

Kon looked out at the city again, eyes wide.

"Superman is still there though? I can see him chasing down a robot."

"Yeah, a Superman clone from a random tech company died." Kon snorted and Dani continued speaking. "Then he wanted to be the most powerful being in the world, so Desiree gave him a perfect credit score so he could get more money, and thus, power. So then he wished to have the most money in the world."

"How did that backfire?"

"The IRS could detect the money leaving various accounts and then entering his account, as well as the credit fraud. So then they hired several government organizations to hunt him down since he started resisting."

Kon's lips twitched into a growing smile. "And next?"

"He wanted to not be bald anymore, but all of him is covered in hair now. He literally looks like Principal Brown," Dani said with a giggle.

Kon started laughing. "And then?"

"He wished for Superboy to love him most of all."

Kon looked at the city again. Now that he was looking closer, he could see that Superman wasn't chasing a robot. He was chasing something that was chasing the robot...

"Oh my god," Kon said with a wide smile. "Jon is the one who loves him now."

Dani returned his Cheshire grin. "Yep. And Superman got so pissed that he started hunting him down, so Luther's been too distracted to take back his wishes."

Kon laughed again, full on cackling now.

"This is the best day ever! I have to get Desiree a thank you card and a fruit basket after this!"

[llama-bird]

A collected list of things I learned this weekend by watching the streams:

1. Grian's strongest love language is touch. (Love-language as in how he shows that he likes someone or is comfortable with them, consciously or not.) To me, it's fair to assume that, judging by the way he reacts with those people that are obviously dear to him: he hugs Jimmy when celebrating, he puts his head on Gem's shoulder in exasperation and he constantly got a hand on Scar's chair. (Which imo is the sole reason Scar accidentally elbowed him in his bits, because that happens if you stand that close and people are not used to it. The second reason is Grian's height.)

2. Ren and Skizz are an amazing duo with lots of chemistry that only works irl. Now, I'm not 100% sure it wouldn't work in game but most of their interactions stem from facial expression and movement - their silent Games Part was easily the funniest part of the stream. I was choking on laughter and my face hurt from grinning so much.

3. Jimmy and Grian are actually a deadly team. They bicker a lot and they always try to annoy each other (or, Grian likes to annoy Jimmy) but when it matters they can not only be civil they are also incredibly smart. They just know each other. And seeing them do a task involving a blindfolt and a stick without trying to trip each other and instead be that swift and careful was scary.

4. Grian likes to strike a pose. During the nerf-war, whenever he had a gun, he was not only shooting he was also holding himself like he was in some kind of movie and honestly I'm not surprised by the theater kid vibes.

5. Impulse and Skizz have the same favourite colors. Purple and yellow and black and yellow, apparently. Noone is surprised. Fork found in kitchen.

6. Ren does a little shoulder-shuffle when he's happy or excited. Like, he shakes them a little? We saw it when he made that bracelet with Gem and was proud of it. It reminds me of a dog and its adorable. I love him for it. He also seems to have a lot of anxious energy and I think hes sensitive to sound?

7. Gem and Grian both can't sit still and that only adds to their sibling dynamic imo.

8. Jimmy and False look like a genderbent version of each other, we could witness that during Guess The Build.

Edit:

9. Joel things magpies are the worst kind of bird and I'll never forget that.

[elysianstarfall]

blue lock boys w/ a super expressive reader (hcs)

summary: your emotions are always written all over your face, and your actions are also a dead giveaway. what does your boyfriend think?

characters: isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, itoshi rin

a/n: god i hope this makes sense

i. yoichi

LOVES IT. SO MUCH.

he's always using so much brainpower trying to figure out what his teammates/opponents are thinking

so when he can tell how you're feeling with one look at your face, he's genuinely so happy

his brain is fried, he deserves a break

doesn't mean he doesn't care about you though!!

still has to figure some stuff out, but most of the time he notices your mood and adjusts to match it

you're really excited about something? he tries his best to get into it too

you're lowkey depressed? he softens his voice and listens to you intently

gets you whatever you need

the second he sees you're uncomfortable or something he tries his best to get you out of the situation even at his own expense

will embarrass himself to make you feel better

you always tell him he's the best bf ever but you seriously make it so easy for him to be

b. meguru

"you're just like me fr..."

yeah he's basically the same

you guys literally just sync up by accident

like if one of you is happy, the other one's mood just instantly gets better too??

bluetooth ahh relationship

also, miscommunication? what's that?

you know each other's feelings so well that misunderstandings are pretty much nonexistent

if something's wrong, it's so obvious

like if you're moping he'll make you talk things out with him or tell him what's wrong

same if he's feeling sad

thinks it's adorable when you're excited and your eyes just straight up light up

he just gets a stupid smile on his face which makes you even happier

cue the never-ending cycle of emotions

you guys are so soulmates

n. seishiro

he's so, so grateful

he doesn't have to put in any work deciphering your emotions? sign him up

consider yourself not a hassle!

it's actually perfect for a lazy guy like him

finds your facial expressions really cute

even when you're just voice calling, he can hear everything you're feeling

like when you laugh or when he can hear your smile when you're talking, he can relax

happy gf = he's doing something right

oh but when you're mad...

save him, he has no clue how to fix it

actually scared to talk to you because you look like you're gonna beat him up

and when you don't even look mad, when you act nonchalant and distant and he can't tell how you're feeling?

yeah, he's cooked and he knows it

will give you an apology with tears

he'd rather avoid that so he tries to keep you happy

m. reo

ok idk why they're all grateful but yeah. he is too.

he's been dealing with nagi's unemotional ass for forever, so he's pleased that someone actually shows their emotions and lets him know how they're feeling

finds it really helpful when he gets you stuff since he knows whether or not you actually liked it

like if your reaction is clearly fake as hell he knows not to get you something like that again

he doesn't take it personally ofc, just uses it to refine his gift-giving abilities

really likes it when you're genuinely happy because of something he gave you

you cannot stop him from blowing insane amounts of money on you

in his eyes you deserve it

just let it happen bro

also he's kind of a romantic and he loves seeing your reactions when he does something cliché or stupid

tells you horrible pick up lines out of nowhere and thinks it's so funny when you actually get flustered

i. rin

he couldn't care less.

JK he's secretly very happy

there's only room for one emotionally unavailable partner in the relationship (him)

so at least one of you can tell how the other's feeling!

thinks it's nice that he can tell when you're mad at him

because let's be real he's lowkey insecure

abandonment issues are not for the weak

so when you reassure him and your expressions and actions are backing it up?

he just fell for you even harder

but when you are mad? ouch

he's a "my gf is mad at me i hope i die" kinda bf but he keeps it very lowkey

will just sulk until he gets so sick of you ignoring him or being mean to him that he awkwardly breaks down and gives you a very sincere apology

hopes you never change because he loves you the way you are