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bookworrm1999 · 1 day ago

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How Far Away? Part 4

Caleb x Mc

Tags: unplanned pregnancy, presumed death, depression, miscommunication

Summary: Mc and Caleb fight right before he goes on a long mission into space. Caleb ends up MIA while Mc finds out she's pregnant. She struggles to deal with the grief while Caleb is fighting for his life to make it back home to her.

AO3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Gone.

The only word that ran through your mind as you lay in bed staring into space.

He was gone again and you thought the last time was bad. Now you’re here in his bed, his house, but he won’t be coming home.

You weren’t his wife let alone his girlfriend, but he designated you his beneficiary. All of his belongings, his money, but you would give it all just to have him back.

The Hunter’s Association had placed you on bereavement leave but you didn't want to stay in your cold, lonely house. At least here in his home, you could be close to him in some way.

You felt a small flutter in your stomach, placing a hand on it, you pressed back. You were 16 weeks now, the baby had just started moving to the pint that you could feel it just a bit.

It felt like a bubble expanding inside before popping. All that was left of Caleb in this world for you now.

When you had first learned that you were pregnant, it had been a happy surprise. But now it felt like the universe had given you this child knowing what would happen down the line.

You didn’t want a consolation prize, you wanted Caleb.

He deserved to be here. Feeling these first movements, oo and aahing over your burgeoning belly, fattening you up with good food.

Picking out furniture for the nursery, buying tiny baby socks, holding your hand as you groaned over round ligament pain.

You turned onto your back, dead eyes watching dust motes float across the ceiling.

Hunger was a stranger to you this past week. You set up a basket next to the bed full of crackers, dried fruit, protein bars and a bottle of electrolyte water.

You didn’t care much for yourself but this baby, Caleb’s baby deserved the world.

This baby deserved their daddy!

You thumped your fist into the duvet beside you. Tears leaked a bit from the sides of your eyes.

Emotions spilling over, gasping a bit, you had to get this out! Grabbing your phone, you opened your camera.

Caleb would never see these but you had to talk to him somehow.

Even with the camera on, all you could do was sob.

“Caleb…… Caleb….. why did you have to leave me again?”

Saying his name like a prayer, like it would bring him home if you said it enough.

“Losing you once was hard enough but now I know what you feel like. How it feels to be wrapped in you all night. Losing you again is like I’m half a person now.”

Your chest feels wet from all the fallen tears and wiping your face does nothing to staunch the flow.

“The only reason I feel like I’m going on now is because of this little bean.”

Placing your hand on your stomach, you feel a resounding flutter. Which makes you smile pathetically.

“They’re moving now. I can feel them and it’s the only thing that excites me now. I was so scared that I might lose them too actually.”

Your heart clenches at the thought of losing the last piece of Caleb that you have.

“I have your house, your clothes, everything you left behind. I wanted you but I still have this.”

You rub your hand over your stomach, showing your stomach to the camera

“Look,” you sniffle as you know he never will now “I’m finally popping out a bit. A real pregnancy belly.”

Turning the camera, you show off your basket of emergency baby food.

“Don’t come down from heaven, wait, if you can please do that. But don’t worry, I’m still eating as well as I can under the circumstances and drinking water.”

Shakily breathing, you look into the camera as if Caleb is on the other side.

“I miss you. I love you.”

Shutting the camera off, emotionally spent. You curled back up in Caleb’s duvet, it still had a little bit of his scent left behind but that would soon fade.

Just like he did.

Your phone buzzes, a text coming through. Grabbing it to see, you notice the missed calls and texts from Jenna, Tara, Xavier asking about you. You couldn’t deal with them right now.

The new text was a text reminder from your OB about your appointment in a few days. They only want to see you every four weeks at this point.

You had let them know about your circumstances and they let you know what to watch out for in case something did happen.

Well in case, you didn’t want to even think about it, but in case you started losing the baby.

“Please be safe little one.” Brushing over them with a gentle hand, they were all you had left to love in this world.

The morning of your OB appointment, you head back to Linkon to visit Akso Hospital.

It was a quiet but dreary morning. The middle of winter was upon the world so you were bundled up. Your small bump more pronounced under the winter coat.

Waiting in the lobby after checking in, you sit next to another pregnant woman.

She glances at you and smiles a bit before nodding in greeting.

“How far along are you?”

“Oh, I’m 16 weeks but almost 17 weeks.”

“Wow!” She claps her hands, she looks to be much farther along than you.

“So you’ll be going in for your anatomy scan soon. Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?”

“I actually haven’t given it much thought, I just hope they get here safely.”

“That’s my exact feeling! My husband wants a girl though. Does your partner have a preference?”

The question was innocently asked but it made your stomach twist.

“I don’t know if he did. He died before he found out that I was having a baby.”

The silence that followed was heavy. The other woman twists her hands and looks like she badly wants her name to be called next.

“I’m… I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to dump that on you. Not your fault, really.”

You smile a bit and then you hear your name called. Getting up a bit awkwardly, you trundle over to the nurse with the clipboard.

They weigh you before you bringing you into a small examination room. The OB comes in five minutes later, looking cheerful.

“How has your pregnancy been?”

“It’s been good, I started feeling them move a bit recently.”

“That’s great! Hopefully they’ll be cooperative in a few weeks when you come back in for your anatomy scan.”

“Ha, hopefully.” Your heart wasn’t really in this but it was necessary. Caleb would want you to have a good life with your baby.

“Everything good at home?” The OB asks this as she examines your belly while you lie down.

“It’s been rough. I’m worried that I’m going to do something wrong and I’ll lose the baby.”

“Yes I read in your chart about what happened. I’m sorry to hear about that. But, as long as you don’t overdo it and take care of yourself. There’s no reason to worry!”

She pulls her gloves off with a flourish

“After all! Your weight gain is back on track and everything else looks great. We do need you to do a gestational diabetes test but other than that. You are golden!”

This does bring some comfort to you, your efforts weren’t wasted after all.

You sit up and thank her with a small but genuine smile.

“If you need someone to talk to, I have a social worker and therapist you could contact.”

“Maybe.”

“Well I’ll put their information on your after visit paperwork, don’t forget to schedule your anatomy scan and you can come in anytime for your sugar test!”

Your OB leaves the room with a cheerful wave. At least that’s over now, you thought to yourself.

You exit the offices, going back into the lobby where thankfully the lady you had that awkward conversation with was gone.

“Are you here for an appointment?”

Turning around at the voice, it’s Zayne.

“Actually I just finished with my OB, I’m going to head home for the day.”

He reaches out and touches your shoulder, gently as if you’ll break from anything more.

“Why don’t you come get some lunch with me?”

“What you usually eat can’t be considered a proper lunch Zayne.”

“Really? Have your eating habits been exemplary as of late?”

“Well I do have an excuse but for your information, I am eating lots of basic things that I need. I won’t neglect my baby.”

“What about neglecting yourself?”

You look at that. That was a subject that was too difficult to talk about.

Zayne knew about the whole situation with you and Caleb now. You didn’t tell him before when your relationship had been all up in the air but it didn’t seem to matter now.

He sighed before motioning you to follow him.

“Come on, I’ll buy you something to eat.”

Well, you were due to eat anyway. So you followed him to the nearby cafe where you had ran into him before.

A basic sandwich was on the menu for you today.

Sitting down at the table with Zayne was a hint of normalcy that you hadn’t had in a while.

Picking at your sandwich listlessly, you stare out the window at the cloudy sky. All you did nowadays was think, letting your mind roam and thoughts were all you had to keep you company during lonely nights.

“Hey.” You turn your head head to meet Zayne’s eyes over your sad sandwich “Where you are you going off to?”

“My mind goes everywhere now.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, not really.”

He sips his drink, looking at you over the rim.

“You know, I knew Caleb too. We all grew up together. He got on my nerves but I missed him bugging me when I left when we were younger.”

Smiling at the thought of the two of them bantering when you guys were younger.

“Yeah, you guys always fought over my head. I was always stuck in the middle.”

He chuckles a bit before sobering.

“I’m worried about you, I want to help. I-“

Cutting himself off, he takes a deep breath as if preparing for something.

“I could marry you to help out.”

Your jaw drops

“You want to marry me?”

“I want to help you. I care about you and I’m offering this, you don’t have to but I just want you to know that I’m here for you however you need me.”

“Caleb left everything he had to me, I don’t need any money or a place to stay.”

“Just having someone there to rely on or to help with the baby even. Again, you don’t have to, it’s a no pressure offer. Okay?”

You had never heard Zayne talk like this, he must really be worried to express himself this much.

“I- well thank you Zayne, for the offer. But it’s not something I can even think about at this time.”

“I understand, it’s just an open offer.”

“It wouldn’t be fair to you, you deserve a marriage where someone actually loves you. Someone who isn’t coming with the baggage of a dead love and another man’s baby.”

You pack your half a sandwich left, up in the box it came in.

“Thank you for lunch, I’ll head home now.”

Leaving before he can say a word, you head over to the transit center to head back to Skyhaven.

Caleb’s house was now your only true personal haven.

Laying down in your bed after putting the sandwich in the fridge, you let out a loud groan.

Why was everything such a mess?

A small flutter brought a smile to your face.

“At least I still have you little one.”

Tags: @moonberry69 @supermyeon22 @tinnyrabbit @gavin3469 @marina27826 @crowleysthings @tabi-callico @midiplier

@his-ocean-emissary @rosalyne08 @dummiebunny

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totallybakedcake · 3 days ago

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"Of course!"

You saw your friends, your only family, die in front of you.

It repeated again and again. Their deaths, the blood, the pain, and the trauma.

Everything was too tough, every single thing reminded you of the incident.

How you all crashed out in your home and how they convinced you to become a hunter.

Going on trips, shopping, eating out, being each other's emotional support, and whatnot.

It was terrifying, the monsters coming endlessly and blood being shed every other second. Your mind stopped, your body couldn't move, and everything was in a haze. By the time you were back to your senses.

Everyone dead.

It was pitiful, no one to go to, no one to call, no one to comfort you or get you back up on your feet.

Stomach pain, headache, body ache. It was getting to you, but not an inch did you move from the bed. Just replaying the scene over and over again.

But someone was watching this.

"How is she?" Jinwoo asked as he sat on the couch, he knew you were in pain, after all, he was the one sent to complete the dungeon after things went wrong.

He vividly recalls the scene. You were sitting there, eyes practically dead as there was a sea of blood and lots of bodies scattered everywhere. Jinwoo, at first thought you were dead by how lifelessly you sat there, not blinking or moving an inch.

He had to touch you to see if you were alive.

Beru, Jinwoo's shadow soldier, quickly came out to check. "She is alive, my liege, just unconscious while sitting."

Jinwoo felt angry, mad, upset, and guilty for not arriving earlier. He even can see the image of you having a panic attack over and over again when you woke up and heard everyone was dead. It reminded him of when his mother experienced the same panic attack when his dad went missing.

He wanted to check up on you, but it was weird, you both never talked, and suddenly he pops up to see your condition. Perhaps it was not too odd, but Jinwoo had his shadows, and he would much rather use them instead.

----

"My liege, lady (name) has not done anything but just lie on the bed and look out the window. She does not eat well or drink enough water. Her phone keeps going off, but she never picks it up."

Damnit, the situation is so terrible, and Jinwoo needs to help you. Whatever you think or others think, he just wants to help you.

Huff, you can do this, he encourages himself as he rings the doorbell.

One time

Two times

Three times

Four times

No answer.

"(Name), I know you are in there and are not okay, just let me come home, and I will not be trouble." He yells from outside and continues to ring the doorbell.

A loud groan escapes your lips as you get up lazily to open the door.

"Hunter Sung, please, I am not okay and-"

He barges inside and starts to work, taking out the groceries he has bought to make you a good big meal, his shadow soldiers make you sit on the sofa as they clean the mess your house is in.

"Excuse me, you cannot—" Jinwoo swiftly shushes you up, not letting you say anything as he asks you to go take a nice shower and not argue a single bit with him.

How can you describe this? Being forced to bathe and let a man you've never had a conversation with take care of you like a mom.

Jinwoo made you sit on the couch as you came out, grabbing your chin and making you eat stew.

No words were exchanged between both of you for a good while. Well, words were not needed, so why talk?

Both of you knew that this was great, you liked it how Jinwoo took care of you, and Jinwoo enjoyed taking care of you.

After chewing, you both ask at the same time.

"Do you want to stay?" "Can I stay here for a while?"

"Of course!" Both of you replied energetically.

First of all I want to give credits to @kgymz for the adorable divider. Thank you, I love this.

I actually wanted to do a valentine series (which i mentioned in my other fic) but writer's block hit and i couldnt do it but i had another jinwoo fic planned which now might take a while to upload but anyways this makes me think if im going to do an event, should i start 2 months prior so that i can upload them even if i get a writer's block in between?

#solo leveling fanfic #solo leveling x reader #solo leveling #sung jinwoo x you #sung jinwoo headcanons #sung jinwoo x y/n #sung jin woo x reader #sung jinwoo x reader #sung jinwoo

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phoenixeclipse-lmkau · 3 days ago

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What if reader thought mates is like friends and after few weeks of sharing the nest she mentions how spirit is also her mate on the dinner table and everyone gets shocked

HAHAHA! You had me laughing my ass off when I read this! Seriously! This was hilarious!

This might actually happen… maybe.

Well anyways if Reader told the duo and Spirit that Spirit is her mate? Oh the fun that would be~

Wukong spit out his drink and froze at the words left your mouth, there was no way that he heard you right.

Macaque chocked on the food he was eating before slamming his hands on the table.

While Spirit stared at you with a look of shock and confusion. Not to mention that there seemed to be a look something akin to horror on her expression as well.

“THE FUCK DID YOU JUST SAY!?” Wukong roared, his tail slamming to the ground causing it to crack as he stood up in rage.

“…EEK! You said there wasn’t anything wrong with Spirit being my friend,” You barely whispered as you huddled into your chair at his sudden outburst.

Almost immediately Wukong’s angered expression calmed and he turned to look at you with confusion written all over his face. “Friend…”

“Reader… what the fuck do you think a mate is?” Spirit asked, blinking as she attempted to calm down.

“… A friend? What else would a mate be?”

“No… a mate is a lover, a life mate someone that you are romantically involved with,” Spirit immediately began to explain as she pinched the bridge of her nose, “And as much as I love you hun, you know that I don’t do romance.”

- Needless to say, but the duo would be absolutely shocked and not at all like the thought of Reader seeing anyone else as a mate!

#dead dove do not eat #sun wukong x macaque #yandere sun wukong #yandere macaque #shadowpeach x reader #sun wukong x reader #cursed warlords au #cursed warlords lmk au #macaque x reader #Chu Spirit #chu spirit oc #lmk oc #oc and reader #¿ — ask

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handlemehyuck · 1 day ago

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SINGLE DAD HAECHAN.

FUCK.

stressed single dad haechan.

stressed single dad haechan who’s your neighbor.

stressed single dad haechan who barely has time to get groceries.

stressed single dad haechan who can put his hair in a ponytail.

stressed single dad haechan who cries on his balcony while clutching the baby monitor.

stressed single dad haechan who can’t remember the last time he held someone who wasn’t his child.

stressed single dad haechan who runs into you on the elevator, and you can immediately tell he’s embarrassed and emotional, eyes red.

stressed single dad haechan who tries to take up the least amount of space he can but is fighting the desire to get closer to you, lean on you, breathe in your perfume, ask you to hum a little louder.

stressed single dad haechan who curses as he leaves, dropping packages and baby formula in the hallway, holding the back of his daughter’s head as he bends down.

single dad haechan who gets chills when you touch his waist, offering to help him in whatever way he needs.

single dad haechan who invites you into his apartment that he’s more than embarrassed by. boxes. so many fucking baby product boxes. clothes. little pink and yellow baby clothes everywhere, some clean, some dirty, some worthy of being burned. beer. just one bottle of beer that he gave into drinking a couple nights before. pamphlets from the hospital. notebook paper covered in scribbles during late night phone calls with his mother. a box of tissues that used to be helpful for an entirely different reason. close to zero signs of food. he needs to fucking eat something.

single dad haechan who apologies for the mess his vulnerability and asks you kindly to put everything on the table.

single dad haechan who mixes formula with his daughter strapped to his chest, and she’s so beautiful. you tell him so. all he does is smile and kiss the top of her head.

single dad haechan who asks you to wait while he finishes feeding her before putting her down and returns with his fingers attempting to knead one of many shoulder knots.

single dad haechan who just looks at you in his kitchen, cleaning things up and getting started on dinner.

single dad haechan who’s hit by a rush of memories, remembering all the months he tried pursuing you, but it never became anything. you have always been too good for him, especially now. he’s a mess. he needs a haircut. he’s been wearing the same shirt for three days. fuck, does he reek?

single dad haechan who asks if he can help and all you do is laugh before nodding to the living room. “take a breather, daddy.”

single dad haechan who rests his forehead against the closest cabinet door, exhaling deeply and dramatically. “please don’t call me that.”

single dad haechan who feels the air get knocked out of him when you turn away from the cutting board and walk closer, take his hand in yours. you search his eyes for something familiar, for that spark you fell in love with, for the first sign of his incoming teasing, for the warmth that calmed the rushing current in your mind so many more times than he could possibly know. “you’re doing amazing, donghyuck.”

single dad haechan whose lips part, and he has to look away, already shaking his head before he can fight the urge to do so. your touch finds his chin, finds his jaw and the apple of his cheek, pulling his gaze back to your face and honest eyes.

single dad haechan who’s already heard that from his friends, form his parents, from doctors and nurses, but hearing it from you? it might actually be true.

#haechan blurbs #haechan imagines #haechan drabbles #haechan angst #haechan headcanons #haechan #mail 🌙

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lovezbrownies · 2 days ago

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The Science of Love.

General Masterlist - Julie's Masterlist

Synopsis: Julie McCanister never thought of marriage before, until her nosy coworker kept mocking her and telling her that her dalring should break up with her for waiting so long. And now she's filled with fear of that actually happening.

PAIRING: Yandere!Mad Scientist x GN!Reader

Warnings: My tamest work so far, very fluffy.

Your girlfriend, Julie, had been acting… strange. You couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it started, but you’d been noticing it for weeks now. The once calm and collected Julie McCanister—always the picture of professionalism—had spiraled into something unrecognizable. The house had become a reflection of her state: a chaos of unfinished projects, half-drawn equations, and scattered papers. It was like everything in her world had turned upside down.

Her usually voluminous hair, the kind that always looked effortlessly messy but somehow perfect, was now a frizzy, unkempt tangle. The dark bags under her eyes had deepened by several shades, and the vibrant spark in her gaze had dulled to a weary exhaustion. She barely seemed to sleep, let alone eat.

For the past month, she’d been consumed by something. You weren’t sure what. You’d caught her muttering to herself, her mind locked in a frantic loop. The lab, once her sanctuary, had been abandoned in favor of the living room whiteboard, where she scribbled in a feverish frenzy—random buildings, nonsensical equations, half-solved problems.

The strangest part? She hadn’t gone into work for two whole weeks. Julie, the meticulous scientist who lived by her schedule, had thrown it all out the window. She was clearly struggling, and yet, she refused to tell you what was going on. The stress radiated off her, but when you tried to ask, she just shut you out.

“No, no, no. I must finish this on my own. No help. If I don’t, it’ll ruin everything,” she snapped one evening, her voice sharp and tight.

You were taken aback, the sting of her words lingering longer than it should have. Julie had never been rude to you. Blunt, yes. But never rude. She’d always appreciated your small contributions, those little comments that lightened her mood or gave her a fresh perspective. A quick kiss, a grin, and she’d be off again, solving the puzzle in her mind. But this time… this time was different.

Her refusal to let you in, her coldness, felt like an impenetrable wall slowly rising between the two of you, and it hurt more than you were willing to admit. But still, you remained steadfast in your desire to help her through whatever this was. You found yourself rushing after her, tidying up the chaos she’d left behind: collecting scattered papers, clearing away empty coffee mugs that once overflowed with caffeine-fueled desperation, and lining up a fresh batch of markers next to the whiteboard. You organized everything neatly, anticipating the moment her current marker would run dry, hoping it would keep her mind from snapping back to frustration.

You did all of this for her, not knowing that the very thing causing her to unravel was, in fact, you.

It wasn’t an insult, not at all. But the source of her stress was wrapped up in a decision she hadn’t yet found the courage to make. Julie McCanister, the logical, no-nonsense scientist who trusted only facts and cold calculations, was planning to propose to you.

For over a month now, she’d been stewing over it—over how you might react, over whether you’d even want it. You always told her the same thing: that you didn’t need a ring, that your love for each other didn’t require some grand symbol. And yet, Julie had seen you. She had caught those fleeting glances, the way you’d unconsciously eye the rings of friends and even her colleagues, the way your fingers would linger on your own hand as if imagining something more.

It all started when one of her colleagues—never one to filter their thoughts—had dropped a bombshell in the middle of the break room one afternoon.

“You’re telling me you two have been friends for over twenty years, lovers for another eight–almost nine– and you still haven’t proposed?! Jesus, McCanister, no offense, but even I would’ve broken up with you by now!”

That comment, as casual and offhand as it had been, had hit Julie like a freight train. Her colleague’s words had taken root in her mind, burrowing into her thoughts until they grew into a full-blown obsession. Could you really be content without that symbol of commitment? Or had she, in her logical, methodical mind, missed something crucial—something that you longed for, even if you didn’t say it out loud?

The thought—the mere possibility—of you breaking up with her sent a jolt of panic coursing through her veins. The idea of you telling her you’d waited long enough, that you couldn’t bear to spend another moment in a relationship without the symbol of commitment, the ring, gnawed at her insides.

The image of you walking away, seeking someone who would offer you the engagement you deserved, was almost too much to bear. It was as if the very foundation of her world had cracked, leaving her scrambling for something solid to hold onto.

The panic had hit her like a tidal wave, crashing down without warning, sweeping her up in its relentless pull. It came just hours after her colleague’s offhand comment, that careless remark that had burrowed deep into her mind, festering in her thoughts as she tried to work in her lab. Her heart had pounded erratically, and her breath had come in sharp, shallow gasps. The thought of losing you, of not being able to give you what you wanted, what you might secretly need, had thrown her into a complete spiral.

You’d never directly said anything about wanting to get married, right? So it was okay if she waited, delayed it just a little longer, wasn’t it? After all, you hadn’t complained. You were patient with her, understanding of her eccentricities and her logical nature.

But then again, maybe you had been communicating something to her, something she hadn’t picked up on. Maybe you’d been dropping subtle hints that you wanted more, that you were aching for that next step, but Julie had failed to notice. She’d never been good at deciphering emotional cues, not like she should be.

Her lack of empathy had caused its fair share of arguments when you first started dating. Back then, she’d been almost robotic in her understanding of emotions—practical, yes, but cold, distant even. She could analyze problems, but she struggled with people, with their feelings. She had hurt you once, unintentionally, because she hadn’t understood that sometimes, what you needed wasn’t a solution or a quick fix, but simply to be seen and heard.

But losing you had never been an option.

That was the moment she decided. Valentine’s Day. One month. That was how long she had to plan the perfect proposal, one so flawlessly executed that you’d fall in love with her all over again.

It had been years since the two of you had truly celebrated Valentine’s Day—there was no need anymore. You knew each other too well, had been together for so long that the usual romantic clichés had lost their luster. But even still, there was one tradition you never abandoned. Every year, without fail, you and Julie made sure to pick up a box of those limited-time Valentine’s cupcakes from your favorite bakery. They only came around once a year, and without even discussing it, you both always made time to get them.

And so, Julie decided: that was how she’d start the proposal.

That was two months ago. And now, Valentine’s Day was after tomorrow.

Everything was ready—perfectly orchestrated, down to the very last detail. She had planned every step of the day, every meal, every location, even the outfits you’d wear. The calculations had been finalized days ago. Every possible outcome had been accounted for.

She had even hired photographers. Fourteen of them, stationed at every location on her itinerary.

Most of them had tried to talk her down, to reason with her. “You only need one, maybe two at most. Fourteen is excessive.” But Julie wouldn’t hear it. She needed options. She had no way of predicting when the moment would strike—when she’d finally gather the courage to get down on one knee. Maybe it would happen in a spontaneous burst of emotion, or maybe she’d panic and delay it until the very last possible second.

She didn’t know.

But what she did know was that this needed to be perfect.

For the first time in what felt like forever, she looked put together. The frizzy, untamed waves that had practically become a permanent fixture of her appearance had been smoothed back to their usual controlled state. The dark, sleep-deprived circles beneath her eyes remained, but they no longer seemed to weigh her down.

Her pants—those meticulously ironed slacks she refused to let you touch out of fear you’d ruin the perfect crease—looked freshly pressed, as though she had actually taken the time to care for herself this morning. The sight alone was enough to make you stare, but it was the look on her face that truly stunned you.

A smile. Not her usual smug, self-satisfied smirk. Not the subtle twitch of her lips she gave when she found something mildly amusing. This was giddy. Breathless. Eyes-bright-with-excitement kind of giddy. The kind of smile you could count on one hand the number of times you had seen before. It was beautiful—so achingly rare that for a moment, you found yourself simply staring, wanting to commit every detail to memory before it inevitably faded.

And then, before you could even think to ask what had her in such a good mood, she leaned in, pressing a quick kiss against your lips, her words brushing warmly against your skin.

“I’m going to get the perfect outfit for tomorrow. I will be back in approximately one hour and forty-eight minutes.”

Then, just like that, she was gone, still pulling her coat on as she rushed out the door, leaving you sitting there, stunned and thoroughly perplexed.

True to her word, exactly an hour and forty-eight minutes later, the front door swung open with purpose. Julie stepped inside with the same air of confidence she carried after solving an equation no one else could, only this time, instead of a clipboard full of notes, she was carrying two long suit bags draped over her back. They hung from her fingers with a sense of reverence, as if she were handling something of great importance, and if you hadn’t already been confused before, the sight of her now only made your curiosity grow tenfold.

“I am home,” she announced, matter-of-factly, as though she hadn’t just spent the past month acting like a woman possessed. “Follow me, darling, I need to show you what I got us for Valentine’s celebration tomorrow.”

Your confusion only deepened, but you found yourself rising to your feet regardless, trailing after her down the hall, unable to shake the feeling that whatever she had planned, it was big. The last time she had put this much effort into a surprise had been your birthday four years ago, when she had spent weeks secretly building you a fully automated coffee station that catered to your every preference. The thought made something warm settle in your chest, and though you still had no idea what was going on, you knew one thing for certain.

Whenever Julie remembered—I have a darling waiting for me at home, waiting to be spoiled—it became an immutable fact, an unshakable priority that overrode all else. It wasn’t an obligation, nor was it something she did out of guilt or routine; it was simply what had to be done. And Julie McCanister never did anything halfway.

She went out of her way to spoil you, to dote on you in ways both grand and imperceptibly small, from gestures that defied what any average person could accomplish to the simplest, quietest acts of devotion. If something as insignificant as your favorite mug so much as chipped, she would already have a replacement ordered before you even had the chance to sigh over the damage. If you made an offhand comment about a book you wanted to read, she would somehow, somehow, acquire an early edition before it even hit the shelves.

No matter how many decades passed, no matter how many lifetimes she spent by your side, Julie McCanister would never, ever get used to your presence enough to forget to bring you something on the way home. It was a habit ingrained into her, a quiet ritual of devotion—one that never wavered, never dulled, no matter how many times she indulged in it.

And tonight was no different.

As she unzipped the first bag, your breath hitched at the sight inside. The fabric was pristine, luxurious, the kind of material that practically screamed money. Even without touching it, you could tell it was expensive—too expensive. Your first instinct was to protest, to ask her what in the world she was thinking spending this much on a simple Valentine’s date, but before you could even get a full sentence out, Julie did what Julie always did when she decided she didn’t want to hear your objections.

She kissed you.

It was brief, chaste, but effective all the same, successfully rendering you speechless as she pulled back, an infuriatingly pleased look on her face. “This, my dear,” she murmured, fingers ghosting over the fabric with quiet satisfaction, “is for our Valentine’s date tomorrow. This one is yours.” She gestured to the outfit in front of you before moving to the second bag. “And this one—” she unzipped it, revealing an equally extravagant ensemble, “—is mine.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, simply standing in mutual appreciation of the matching set. The colors, the detailing, the careful selection of fabric—it was all so deliberate, so well thought out that you almost didn’t notice at first. But then your gaze drifted, taking in the shades Julie had chosen for herself, and realization struck.

Julie hadn’t tailored the suit to be her usual dark tones. No navy blues, no deep greys or blacks—nothing that so much as hinted at her signature cool, muted aesthetic. Instead, every inch of her chosen outfit was composed of your favorite colors. Your favorite shade, your favorite tone, colors that weren’t hers but were undeniably you. And yet, strangely enough, the outfit didn’t look out of place in comparison to her usual style, small vest, neat button-up, long coat, and her beloved suit pants.

Then your eyes flickered back to your outfit, and the realization settled deeper. It was a perfect reversal—the colors, the undertones, the subtle details. It was Julie. She had chosen shades that reflected her own preferences, yet they weren’t imposed on you; instead, they complemented you flawlessly, as if she had studied every nuance of your features, your complexion, your hair, ensuring each choice enhanced rather than overwhelmed.

It was… intimate in a way you hadn’t expected. A quiet, unspoken devotion woven into fabric and color.

You turned to her, the weight of understanding pressing against your ribs, words forming but failing before they could leave your lips.

Before she could utter a word, you moved, closing the space between you in an instant. Your arms wrapped tightly around her neck as you buried yourself in her warmth, the force of your embrace making her stagger slightly. A quiet gasp slipped past her lips, her hands instinctively finding your waist, steadying both of you. Then, slowly, the tension melted away. Her fingers curled against you, her hold firm but gentle. The corners of her lips lifted into the softest smile—small, but genuine. Content.

Julie let out a slow breath, allowing herself to sink into the embrace, her arms tightening around you as she pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. A silent promise. A quiet I love you.

And yet, you still hadn’t noticed the small, unmistakable bulge in the pocket of the pants hanging nearby—the subtle outline of a box no bigger than her palm. A box too small to contain anything other than a ring.

Julie’s gaze flickered toward it, fingers twitching slightly at her side. The weight of the moment pressed down on her, gnawing at the edges of her control, threatening to unravel everything she had so carefully built. The urge to reach for it was unbearable, pressing against her restraint like an unchecked variable in an equation she hadn’t accounted for. It would be easy—too easy—to pull it out now, to let it unfold naturally, to drop to one knee before either of you had time to process it.

But no. She had to contain it—hold herself together, despite the undeniable urge to drop to her knees and slip that ring onto your finger right there. The weight of the moment, of the feelings that swelled up inside her, was pressing so hard against her restraint. The yearning to act on it, to do something grand, something that would make you look at her with wide eyes and glowing affection—it was almost unbearable.

And yet, she forced herself to stop. She couldn’t rush it. The day ahead, the moments she had painstakingly planned, would be perfect. Her mind was made up: this was going to be the epitome of romance. A grand gesture, something so profound and sweeping, that after it, you’d be overwhelmed—deliriously in love with her, swarming her with kisses and praises, calling her the most romantic soul alive. She was confident. At least 86% confident. Maybe 85.5%.

But the half-percent that lingered at the back of her mind didn’t matter. She had a plan, and she was going to see it through. She just had to hold on a little longer.

Eventually the two of you pulled away from the embrace and spent the rest of the day as domestically as possible. With the past month Julie had been so obsessive over this entire proposal she had ended up accidentally neglecting you and left you there to collect dust as she planned the perfect proposal. So today, the day before her big plan, she decided to completely pamper you with home-cooked meals, cuddling, and as much as you can handle with her lust.

The morning dawned slower than usual, but there was an unfamiliar softness to the air. The world outside seemed still, almost as if it, too, was waiting for what the day would bring. You woke to the sound of birds outside the window and the soft rustling of fabric from beside you. You didn’t recognize it at first, still heavy with the weight of sleep, but as your eyes cracked open, there she was. Julie McCanister, the apple of your eyes.

She kneeled beside the bed, her hands moving so carefully, so deliberately as she adjusted the blankets around you, making sure you were tucked in just right. Her fingers hovered over your face for a second, so hesitant before she laid her fingers upon the curve of your jaw.

The look in her eyes was… different. It wasn’t the usual confident gaze she held, the one that felt like she already knew the next step in everything. No, today, there was something softer. Something almost… tender. And when her eyes flicked to yours, she smiled so lightly, so gently, that it almost made your heart skip a beat.

God, this was strange—Julie smiling so early in the morning, looking down at you with a softness that felt almost foreign. Vulnerability wasn’t something she wore often, and yet here it was, clear in the way her lips curled just slightly, in the way her gaze lingered on you like you were something fragile, something precious. Julie never liked expressing emotions, never let them settle before she dissected them, rationalized them, and locked them away before they could take root. To her, emotions were unpredictable, inefficient—a problem to be solved rather than indulged.

But you were the exception. You always had been. Because when you smiled, when your laughter filled the air, it made something flutter deep in her chest, made the logic and calculations in her mind blur at the edges. And against all odds, she didn’t mind.

“Good morning,” she whispered, as if the words themselves had to be savored. She took her hand back, now laying her head on her arms, which were crossed over one another on the edge of the bed. Through the dim lighting of the room, the sun peeking through the blinds, you can see her entrancing green eyes gaze deeply into your face, studying every small crevice of your face like it her only purpose in life, “Did you sleep well?”

You could’nt help but be incredibly flustered, this is so incredibly intimate, inin ways you’ve never experienced before with Julie, this had so much love fueled behind it you almost wanted to punch yourself and make sure you weren’t dreaming. Although delayed by your day dreaming you nodded, still trying to shake off the remnants of sleep, rubbing furiously at your eyes.

But something in her gaze kept you rooted to the spot. There was something almost… tender about the way she looked at you. Julie wasn’t one to be sentimental, and yet her eyes held an intensity that made your breath hitch, like she was seeing you for the first time all over again.

Before you could question it, she moved—slow, deliberate, closing the space between you with the kind of confidence that sent a shiver down your spine. Her fingers ghosted along your jaw, tilting your chin ever so slightly, and for a moment, all you could hear was the quiet, measured cadence of her breathing.

The desperate look on your face was undeniable, and you knew it. You felt utterly vulnerable, biting at your lower lip, your legs pressed together as if that simple friction could ease the ache inside. Your eyes darted between her gaze and her lips, pleading without words, but every inch of you screamed for her touch, for her kiss. You couldn’t help it. You felt so exposed, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from her.

Julie, of course, knew you far too well. She saw through you—your every subtle shift, every hesitant movement, every unspoken need. And, as always, she loved you more for it. The way you were so unguarded, so unashamed in your longing for her, only made her want to indulge you.

Julie chuckled, her laughs always an airy laugh, she leaned in as close as she could and whispered into your ear, “You don’t have to say a word.”

Her breath was hot against your skin, her hands sliding back to rest against your neck, pushing herself even closer until her chest was flush against yours. The space between you no longer existed; only the heat of her touch, the magnetic pull that seemed to draw you to her without effort. Her lips brushed yours, slow and teasing, as if savoring the moment before finally, finally, she closed the gap.

Her kiss was everything you'd been craving—intense and consuming. Julie didn’t just kiss you; she enveloped you, devoured you, in a way that left your head spinning. Her hands traced the outline of your jaw, the back of your neck, grounding you in the dizzying sensation of being wanted, needed, by her. And you—desperate and greedy for her touch—let yourself melt into it, feeling the weight of her affection, her control, pressing against you.

Her kiss deepened, her fingers tangling in your hair, holding you in place as if to remind you just how much she loved having you like this. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a claim, a promise of all the things she was willing to give you... and the things she wanted in return.

Every kiss felt like an indulgence, a slow burn that wrapped around your heart, leaving you breathless, craving more.

Julie never touched you like this—not without some teasing remark to accompany it, not without rushing off immediately for a long trip for work, but today? Today was different. She was drinking you in, her touch featherlight but unrelenting, lingering longer than necessary in a way that made your heart stutter. And this time, it wasn’t without a single string attached, no tease, no sex, no rushing. Julie was taking her time, and she didn’t want to take too long at the same time.

Finally, she pulled away, but the connection between you lingered—between your parted lips, a thin strand of saliva stretched, evidence of just how deep you had fallen into her. The sight alone sent heat rushing to your face, and in your flustered panic, you slapped a hand over your mouth, cutting off the string before it could betray you further.

Julie chuckled, low and amused, and that only made it worse. How was she so composed? So utterly unshaken, when you felt like your heart was about to beat out of your chest? It was almost unfair. This was the same Julie who was a sexless virgin before the two of you got together, who acted like she’d never touched another person before intimately.

Julie’s chuckle had barely faded when she suddenly stopped, her body going still against yours. The warmth of her breath, still uneven from the kiss, fanned across your lips, but something in her expression had shifted. Her usual self-assured confidence, the sharp wit always dancing in her eyes, wavered—just for a second.

Her hands, still cradling your face, tensed slightly, fingers pressing into your skin as if grounding herself in the reality of you. Her pupils dilated, flickering between your lips and the flush that still painted your cheeks, before settling—hard, determined—on your eyes.

You looked so at peace, so beautifully messy, so… Perfect. Julie couldn’t stop staring, and she felt so incredibly ashamed to be so forward, but of course, she couldn’t help it. You were always cute, her dear darling, making the cutest noises, lips always parted for her, plump and red always from her ministrations, from her need to constantly have her own on yours.

Yet you never rejected her, you never looked at her strangely, even though her current behavior was strange, that you’d never seen her act like this, you embraced her. You let her do as she pleased because you loved her enough to trust her. And that fact alone had poor Julie’s heart jumping from joy and fear. Joy of how in love she is with you, and fear from what she’s about to say.

"Marry me."

What the fuck am I doing! This is supposed to be done after the orchestra! Not now!

Julie had never been the type to lose control—not in her work, not in her life, not in anything. Every action, every decision was calculated, planned, set in motion with a logic so airtight that nothing could shake her. And yet, here she was, staring at you, heart pounding so violently that she thought she might be sick, and for the first time in forever, she had no plan.

The words had slipped out before she could stop them, raw and unfiltered, bypassing the careful walls she always kept so firmly in place. Marry me. God, what was she thinking? Was she thinking at all? Her mind scrambled to justify it, to piece together the frayed edges of her self-control, but there was nothing—just you. You, looking at her with wide, startled eyes, lips still swollen from her kiss, breath coming in these soft little gasps that made her want to drown in you all over again.

Your breath hitched, your lips parting—but no sound came. For a second, you wondered if you'd misheard, if your mind was playing tricks on you, distorting reality in the haze of Julie’s touch. But she was still staring at you, still gripping you, and there was nothing uncertain about the way she’d said it.

Still, your voice barely came out above a whisper. "What...?"

Your mind barely had time to process the words before the weight of them came crashing down, sending your thoughts into a frantic, uncontrollable spiral. Marry me. No hesitation. No warning. No carefully planned moment. Just Julie, staring at you with an intensity that made your heart feel like it was about to shatter apart from how much you loved her.

It didn’t feel real. None of this did. Your chest was so tight with happiness it almost hurt, but it was tangled up in something else—something so overwhelming that it almost sent you reeling. This was Julie. Julie, who planned every move with cold, calculating precision. Julie, who had never been impulsive, who measured everything with logic, who didn’t let herself get carried away. And yet, she had just blurted out a proposal like it was the most natural thing in the world. It didn’t add up. It couldn’t.

Your hands trembled slightly as you stared at her, your lips parting, but no words came out. You wanted to say yes—god, you wanted to—but your brain kept screaming at you that this wasn’t real, that any second now, she was going to pull back, shake her head, tell you she misspoke, that she wasn’t thinking straight. That this was just the heat of the moment, that she wasn’t actually asking.

Julie blinked, like she had just startled herself. For once in her life, her mouth moved before her mind, before she could run through a thousand calculations and arrive at the most logical course of action. And now, the words hung between you—heavy, irreversible, so completely and utterly hers.

Her jaw clenched, her fingers twitching where they rested against your skin, and you could practically see the internal war she was fighting. The ever-pragmatic, ever-meticulous Julie, who analyzed every possible outcome before making a move, had just proposed to you without a second thought. And that realization made something wild and untamed flicker in her eyes—something dangerously close to panic.

“I—” Her voice wavered, a rare crack in her perfect composure. Her grip on the bed tightened like she was trying to anchor herself. Just then did you realize, I’m laying on my side in my bed getting proposed to. You for certain did not look like you were meant to be proposed to right now, and that much made you so insecure. "I was supposed to do this differently. Today."

She swallowed, unaware of your own inner turmoil, her throat bobbing, frustration flashing across her face—not at you, but at herself, at her lack of control over this moment that had spiraled out of her hands. "I had a plan. A proper one. Everything was set up—the perfect setting, the perfect speech, the perfect ring, because of course I needed it to be perfect for you."

Her voice softened, a stark contrast to the intensity blazing in her gaze. "But then I kissed you, and—" She exhaled sharply, shaking her head, like she couldn’t even begin to put it into words. "And now I can’t wait. I don’t want to wait."

Something tightened in your chest.

Julie’s eyes never left yours, burning with a conviction that sent your pulse into a frenzy. This wasn’t some careless, heat-of-the-moment confession she'd regret later. No, this was deeper, heavier. Like she had carried the weight of these words for so long that they had begun to carve themselves into her bones.

She reached for your hand, her fingers slipping between yours, threading together like they belonged there. And when she spoke again, her voice was steadier, quieter—but no less intense.

“I love you.”

It wasn’t a declaration. It was a fact. A truth so absolute that it left no room for doubt.

You jolted upright so fast it nearly gave you whiplash, your blanket falling off your shoulders in a heap as you stared at her, wide-eyed. "Now?" you blurted, voice pitching up in disbelief. "You’re proposing to me right now? When I—" Your hands flew to your face, to your hair, to the rumpled clothes hanging off your frame. "Julie, I look like I just rolled out of bed! I—why would you propose to me when I look like—like this?!"

Your heart was hammering, pounding so hard you could hear it in your ears, a dizzying mix of happiness and absolute panic surging through your veins. This wasn’t how you’d pictured it. Not that you’d given much thought to your own proposal, but surely it wasn’t supposed to happen when your hair was a mess and sleep was still clinging to your body like an afterthought. You should be dressed up! There should be candles, or a fancy dinner, or at least some kind of preparation! Not this!

Julie’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before her expression softened into something warm, something endearingly amused. She let out a soft breath—a quiet laugh, really—and reached for you, her hands finding your arms as she pulled you closer. "Hey," she murmured, squeezing gently. "Slow down."

"Julie," you whined, still horrified, still flustered beyond belief, but her thumbs were already stroking soothing circles into your skin, grounding you. "I—this isn’t—"

"Yes sure this isn’t how I picture it, but it’s no less perfect to me!" she interrupted, her voice firm but unbearably tender. "You think I care about how you look right now?" She gave a short, incredulous laugh and shook her head. "You always look perfect to me. But more than that? This moment—you—this is real. This isn’t some perfectly rehearsed, artificial scene. This is me, looking at you, and knowing with absolute certainty that I want to spend my life with you.*"

You swallowed, your throat tight, your chest aching with the sheer force of the love in her words. Your lips parted, but no sound came out, because what could you possibly say to that?

Julie took your silence as permission to continue, her hands drifting up to cradle your face. "I love you," she whispered, her forehead brushing against yours. "Messy hair, sleepy face, half-asleep grumbles and all. I love you like this. I love you always. And I don’t need anything grand or perfect to know that I want to marry you. I just need you."

Your breath hitched, something overwhelming swelling in your chest. Because this—this wasn’t a dream, wasn’t some surreal, too-good-to-be-true moment. It was real. It was her. And it was perfect.

Her words were gentle, but there was this quiet certainty behind them that sent a shiver down your spine. How could someone so perfect in their own way love you so completely? Julie’s gaze was unwavering, as if she was pouring all of her feelings into you with just her eyes. The kind of love she held for you was pure and untouchable, and that, in itself, felt like both a comfort and a weight.

But despite her calm composure, there was a trace of nervousness in her eyes too, almost imperceptible to anyone else. The way she fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, the way her fingers twitched as if she was afraid to touch you too much. You could see that she was just as overwhelmed as you—more than she’d ever let on. Julie was human, too.

Your heart beat faster as everything started to shift, as your own uncertainty began to melt away, replaced by something warmer, something all-consuming. There was something so real about the way she looked at you—how deeply she cared—and that was what made this whole situation feel right, no matter how unusual the moment seemed. She was never the kind of person to make a big show of things, and this quiet, intimate proposal, despite your disarray, felt entirely her.

A deep breath escaped you, and suddenly, without even realizing it, you found yourself back in front of her, your hands grasping onto her arms for support. You stared into her eyes, her face so close, and everything inside you just clicked. This was real. She was real.

You felt a surge of emotions course through you—love, joy, relief, and maybe a little bit of disbelief—and before you could second guess yourself, you surged forward. Your lips found hers in a kiss that was more desperate than you expected, more needy than you could’ve planned. It wasn’t planned at all, honestly, it was just instinct—raw and pure. You kissed her with all the confusion, the tenderness, the overwhelming feelings you couldn’t put into words.

Julie was caught off guard for a second, her breath hitching, before she leaned into it, her hands sliding up to your back, pulling you closer like she needed to make sure you were there, right there in her arms. And you were. You were so completely and utterly in love with her, your hands tangled in her hair, drawing her closer as if to make sure this wasn’t some dream. You kissed her again, deeper this time, a slow, tender moment that felt like the world had gone silent except for the two of you. No more doubts, no more second-guessing—just the simple truth of the moment.

When you finally pulled away, your breath mingled with hers, your heart hammering in your chest. "Yes," you said, the word leaving your lips with a breathless fervor. "Yes, yes, I’ll marry you, Julie."

Julie froze for a moment, as if the world had just come to a halt, and then a smile broke across her face—soft, relieved, and full of joy. Her fingers touched your face with tenderness, a slow, reverent caress, as if she were trying to memorize every inch of you. "I love you," she whispered, her voice shaky but filled with so much emotion that it made your heart flutter in your chest. "I love you so much."

"I love you, too," you whispered back, your voice thick with all the emotions you couldn’t even begin to describe.

And in that moment, you both knew—this was real. All of it was real. The love, the proposal, the kiss—everything. The overwhelming feeling of rightness, of finally being where you belonged.

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waynes-multiverse · 2 days ago

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They are crazy addicting lol! And I've seen so many start doing them like this after you, and it's cool to read everyone's different takes (and how much we all agree for some 😂). Comparing Jackles characters also reminds me of college and writing papers lmao

Oooh this is so true for Dean. He's only had like, what, two real relationships in his life? With Lisa, I feel like we got a sense that they were loving partners, but the show didn't dive all that deep into what their relationship actually looked like romantically. (One of my biggest gripes honestly. Outing myself here: I shipped Dean x Lisa hard back in the day and was heartbroken when they broke her and Dean up and wrote her and Ben out of the show the way they did. 😭)

Right lol?? I feel like he wouldn't know that all these sweet little things he does just because he's generally a kind, caring, good human are actually swoon-worthy 😍

And I loved Lisa and Dean, too! I just felt her entry and exit were both a bit surprising lol. I do think they had a loving relationship, but Dean mentioned he wasn't really there mentally because of Sam. But I hated how they wrote her out and portrayed it all. Makes me cringe during rewatches when I see them interact because I know how it'll all end 😂🙈

What a lovely turn in the ending though!! He decked out the Dean Cave, I love it!! 😍 That's a big gesture he could 100% pull off. 💕

One of the things all my fics have in common is that Dean always decks out the Cave for date night. But I think that's just totally something he'd do 🥰 (That, and taking you for a drive in the Impala, either to an outdoor movie theater or some viewpoint where teens make out lmao)

LOL "old school" is an understatement with this guy for sure, but it very much tracks that he'd go all out for V-Day. He's got money to burn, and I feel like he'd enjoy trying to impress his girl with all the fanfare of a beautiful night out. (I explored that idea in Lost on You for sure.)

Yup, exactly! It's like a staged event for him, he goes all out and uses every opportunity to brag lol (And I so can imagine SB in the 80s was 100% that guy. Just look at that fucking cocky smirk 😂)

💀💀 omfg you nailed him there. 💯 😂

I mean, the king can't eat with the peasants 😂😂 (Ben is just generally so fun to write because I usually go with the most extreme thing I can think of and it'll fit 🤣)

omfggg Ben. So accurate, and somehow it's still sexy 😅 (there might be something wrong with me. It's fine.)

Lmao girl, there's something wrong with all of us. I can't even spell the word feminism when I'm writing or reading him 😂💚

I also like the contrast between Dean's card and SB's card at the end -- Ben's not asking questions. He's more straightforward and demanding that you're his. 👌🏽🫠

Aww, glad you agree! I could definitely see Dean be more his insecure self in that regard, while Ben marks his territory with his dick 😂🤷‍♀️

It's the "Are you sure you want to date me?" vs. "How could you not date me?!" lmao

LMAO I loved this entire section for so many reasons -- Beau's southern charm and chivalry, the good dose of realism coming from the reader, plus that one at the end making me cackle. 🤣

For some reason, I figured Beau would totally overdo it, and my God, the pressure the poor reader is under 😂😂

But she did find a way that went beyond blow jobs luckily 😂 And I would absolutely love a cabin getaway with Beau. I did give them a lake cabin in Polaris. Couldn't even imagine him living somewhere else (except maybe a ranch lol).

Very on-brand indeed that he's the one you can't quite pin down (at first). 😅 His job really would make things difficult to make a relationship work, even with the reader soldiering through and trying to be unaffected that she thinks he won't be around for Valentine's Day.

Russ was actually based on a personal story when my husband (then 4 months boyfriend) was still in the military abroad and surprised me with a visit 🥰 But yeah, I had only gotten a quick text and then sulked all day till that moment 😂

I loved ALL of these HCs, Wayne, but I'm torn between Dean and Beau on this one. So very sweet for this hopeless romantic!~ 💞

So happy your hopeless romantic heart enjoyed them, Alex! And thank you for starting an awesome new tradition here! 🥰🫶

Headcanon: Valentine's Day 💕

(Dean Winchester // Soldier Boy // Beau Arlen // Russell Shaw – Edition)

Prompt: How would your favorite men surprise you for Valentine's Day?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader // Soldier Boy x reader // Beau Arlen x reader // Russell Shaw x reader

Warnings: +18 for some language and spice, tons of fluff, a smidge of angst

A/N: Something sweet to sweep you off your feet for the most romantic day of the year 😉 Happy early Valentine's from me, my loves 💖 (And big thanks to the lovely, amazing @zepskies 💜 for starting this trend in the first place. It's addicting 😂🫶)

Dean:

Dean isn’t big on Valentine’s Day and romance. Not because he thinks it’s an unnecessary holiday invented by greeting card companies, but because he genuinely doesn’t know how to be romantic.

You’re aware of this and don’t care if he surprises you with a big gesture. Because truth is, Dean’s romantic when it comes to the little things.

You don’t care if he brings you flowers because he brings you your favorite take-out order when you so much as mention that you’re hungry.

You don’t care if he gets you a card because he gets up in the middle of the night and saunters all the way to kitchen to bring you a glass of water when you tell him you’re thirsty.

You don’t care if he gets you chocolate because he creates personal mixtapes for you with songs you said you liked during random drives.

He listens to you. He holds open doors for you. He protects you. He keeps you calm. He takes care of you when you’re injured. And he loves you with every fiber of his being.

So, really, you don’t care if he makes a big deal out of one random calendar day a year or not. It doesn’t prove his love for you – the little things do.

However, you’re still sweetly surprised (and moved to tears) when you find the Dean Cave dipped in the warm glow of fairy lights and candles.

He’s picked out your favorite chick-flick and your favorite snacks.

He opens his arms with a big, cheeky grin and invites you into his snuggly embrace on the couch.

There’s a box of chocolates on the coffee table, a few of them half eaten, and a note that reads: I’m not a smart man, but I know what love is. Be mine?

You smile and kiss his scruffy cheek. “Always.”

Flustered, he smiles, cheeks tinged pink, and kisses your crown. “Happy unattached-drifter-Christmas, sweetheart.”

Soldier Boy:

To say Ben’s old-school when it comes to romance would be an understatement. While the rest of the year his bedside manners leave much to desire, he strangely shines on Valentine’s.

Mostly, because he knows sex is a given on this holiest of holy days. No sickness or period can stop him.

If you accidentally died, you’re even sure he’d pull a full Weekend at Bernie’s and have a night out with your corpse.

First, he surprises you with a delicately wrapped gift on your bed: a tight-fitting, beautiful emerald evening gown and the matching lacy lingerie set.

Of course he got you underwear, even though he won’t mind if you don’t wear anything at all under that dress.

He then takes you out to the fanciest restaurant in the city, where he reserved a private room away from all the other commoners.

His attention is only on you.

He praises you all night long and gives compliments as if he's never done anything else his entire (long) life.

He orders the most expensive bottle of wine and the best steak and makes sure you know that it is.

He encourages you to play footsie under the table with him before he slips the heel off your foot, and your toes massage the growing bulge in his slacks.

He holds your hand in public and protectively guides you goddamn everywhere with a palm on the small of your back, showing you off like arm candy – the trophy wife.

Sure, you could protest and critique his… traditional views.

You’re not a fucking award he’s won for bad acting!

But your cheeks flush furiously every single time he brags boisterously about you to anyone who will listen. And those who don’t listen are forced to listen.

But you can’t deny it feels good to be so wanted, so desired.

When you come home at the end of the night (with a fucking horse-drawn carriage no less), Ben can barely keep his large hands from roaming your curves. You know he expects his reward now for being the best possible lover ever.

On the kitchen island, you also find a huge bouquet of red roses waiting for you. You can barely appreciate its beauty before the zipper in the back of your dress slides open. Well… rips open.

Between the thorny stems, there’s a card attached, too. It doesn’t read “Be Mine,” however.

Nope, it says, “You are mine.”

And you know he fucking means it.

Beau Arlen:

Your favorite cowboy sheriff will pull out all the stops as soon as the calendar on his desk reads February.

He doesn’t wait for D-Day either. Every day for thirteen days straight, there’s a little surprise waiting for you when you get home.

Your favorite flowers, your favorite meal, your favorite movie, a framed picture of you and him from your first vacation together, a necklace you saw in an antique store you mentioned in passing…

Some might say he’s a little overcompensating.

But Beau has made mistakes in his past, especially on the relationship front, and will be damned if he hasn’t learned from them.

So, he will make sure you feel wanted and loved till the day he dies, even though you keep repeatedly telling him he doesn’t need to make a fuss about Valentine’s Day.

Really, you’re good with picked flowers from the garden.

But Beau’s stubborn and won’t be discouraged. The southern gentlemanliness is rooted deep within his heart and soul.

This day is all about his endless love for you.

Honestly, the sheer amount of everything makes you even slightly uncomfortable. It might sound dumb, but how could you ever compete with that level of commitment?

There ain’t enough blow jobs in this world to make up for his devotion to you.

But on the big day itself, you are actually the one who surprises him with a romantic weekend trip to a cabin in the mountains and excellent fishing spots close by.

You know the biggest gift you could give him is some peace and quiet, time for himself, and a listening ear because he will surely talk the entire time about God and the world while you’re stuck on a boat with him.

But on the night itself, when you give him your gift, he’s actually speechless. Tears brim in his green eyes because you thought of him.

He’s moved, and it moves you.

Because, after all, to you, there’s no bigger gift in this world than his smile.

Russell Shaw:

You don’t expect much when Valentine’s Day looms in the distance. In fact, you don’t expect anything at all.

You’ve only been dating Russell for a couple of months now, and you barely ever see him. Your time together mostly consists of text messages, late night phone calls, and the occasional video chats.

You know his job is complicated. You know he can’t be around as much, even though you direly wish he could.

On the morning of the dreaded day, you receive a simple text message:

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart! I’ll call you later!”

You hate to admit it, but you feel a little disappointed – disenchanted even. You don’t want to make a big deal out of it because it’s a stupid, unimportant almost-holiday.

All day long, you curse the greeting card companies and the poisonous claws of consumerism for making you care in the first place.

You’re a strong, independent woman. You shouldn’t need a man to give you flowers, gifts, or attention to feel appreciated.

Still…

As you park in the driveway after a long day at work where you watched your colleagues fawn over the bouquets they received from their partners, you feel disheartened when you still haven’t even gotten your promised phone call.

Russell always leaves you wanting more… That can both be a good thing and a very bad one.

But as you close the car door, your phone vibrates in your pocket. You all too keenly pull it out and pick up, almost dropping it because your hands are jittering with excitement at this point and your heart is pounding furiously.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Russell greets you on the other end, the deep timbres of his voice sending immediate shivers down your spine. “You home yet?”

All your worries and sorrows are instantly forgotten when you hear the big smile on his freckled face that he’s surely carrying.

He’s worth it, you remind yourself, even when it’s not easy. Life is not always rainbows and butterflies.

“Uh, almost. Unlocking the front door as we speak,” you tell him.

“Sorry I couldn’t call you sooner. Was stuck on a plane. Long flight,” he says mysteriously. You don’t even ask at this point. You know he can��t tell you.

“No worries. I was busy, anyways,” you lie and hope he buys your nonchalance. “Anywhere interesting you are now?”

“You could say that, yeah…”

“Well, if you hold on a second, I’ll slip out of those clothes and make your evening even more interesting with some pictures,” you tease flirtatiously and push the door open to your dark apartment.

The light switches on by itself, though. You blink in surprise before the phone falls out of your hand when Russell beams broadly at you.

“As much as I love getting your dirty little photos, I think I prefer the real thing tonight,” he says slyly.

“I can’t believe you’re here!” You surge forward into his strong arms so forcefully you almost tackle him to the ground, your hands slinging around his neck. If you could keep him caged there forever, you’d be fine with it.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart,” Russell says with a warm chuckle and claims your lips in a searingly passionate kiss that shows you just how much he’s certainly missed you too. “Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

Hope you enjoyed these little snippets, friends! Do you agree with these? 😉

I legit stole Dean's half-eaten box of chocolate and the Forrest Gump note from another fic of mine. I couldn't resist. I can totally see him doing something silly and cute like that 😂

Happy Valentine's 💕

☕️ Ko-Fi🩵 Tag List

TAGS:

Forevers: @alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@mxltifxnd0m @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444

@syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity @deans-baby-momma @yoobusgoobus @jessjad

@hunter-or-the-hunted @k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways

@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith

@nesnejwritings @samslvrgirl @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @fromcaintodean @barewithme02

@thebiggerbear @star-yawnznn @thej2report @spnaquakingdom

Other lists that apply: @snowayumi @deans-baby-momma @corruptedcruiser

#comment reblog #lovely readers 🤍#headcanons #valentine's day #dean winchester x reader #soldier boy x reader #beau arlen x reader #russell shaw x reader

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angelltheninth · 8 hours ago

Note

Could I request Neuvillette whimpering when his lover unlocks his praise kink? Man's was a soft Dom until she started softly praising his skills in bed.

I'm someone who thrives on praise too so I totally get wanting this. I would praise the hell out of Neuvillette.

Pairing: Neuvillette x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, doggie style, whimpering, praise kink, Neuvillette's powers

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: Honestly though, tell me I'm doing a good job and I'm yours. For a limited amount of time it takes me register that praise. But for those few seconds I'm yours.

Loves to fuck you from behind, not because he can be rough but because he really likes kissing across your back and your shoulders, where he then bites down with his teeth

Teases your clit a lot, and really a lot, to the point where you feel like you're gonna come if he so much as touches it

But then he stops suddenly because he can't let you finish before he's ready

He hasn't deemed it right for you to finish just yet, and what he says goes

Usually he holds onto you while you're having sex, one arm wrapped around you, or even his tail sneaking around your leg

More of a fan of praising you then degrading you

His movements are never sloppy when he's he's about to come, his composure perfect, his thrusts deep, his long cock never fully leaving your quivering pussy

But as soon as you tell him good good it feels that he's taking you from behind while also managing to be such a gentle lover you feel his tail coil tighter

He tells you thank you, his voice a little more higher pitched

As soon as he bottoms out and you moan his name while telling him how you want him to creampie you so he can use his tongue to eat it out afterwards he lets out another sound, a higher pitched whimper

Doesn't want you to hear him whimpering so he distracts you by reaching between your legs and rubbing your clit between his fingers

He needs you to make more noises than he is

That plan was doomed to fail the moment you heard that first whimper from him

Realizing that the normally stoic, well-composed, stern man fucking you can actually whimper like that wasn't something you were ready to let go of

Not easily

He knows he's in trouble when you look back at him, a grin on your face, a chuckle leaving your lips before you praise his talented fingers, praise the way he's constantly keeping your clit stimulated by quickly rubbing his index finger over it with its whole length

Or how he's making your cunt absolutely drool all over his cock, slick sticking to your thighs and his balls every time he pulls out

You're telling him how nice it feels when his huge cock bottoms out and you feel it twitch while still in your pussy

Neuvillette is a mess, and further spiraling with every word you tell him

At first you don't even notice that it began raining outside

Since it began raining faster and faster you guess that he's getting close, you don't even have to guess because at this point you know that when he wants to creampie you, it absolutely pours outside

The sound of rain does nothing to dampen the whimpers next to your ear

If you tell him you want his cum painting your pussy and he's done

But what happens in the bedroom has to stay in the bedroom, you can never tell a soul that he likes being praised to the degree he can't stop shaking and whimpering and clinging onto you because he can't stop coming inside of you

#genshin impact x reader #neuvillette x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact imagines #neuvillette imagine #genshin imagines #genshin impact headcanons #neuvillette headcanons #genshin headcanons #genshin impact smut #neuvillette smut #genshin smut #genshin impact x you #neuvillette x you #genshin x you #genshin impact x female reader #neuvillette x female reader #genshin x female reader #x female reader

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prettygirl-gabi · 8 hours ago

Text

My Heart Beats For You

Pairing: Jana El Alfy x Reader

Fandom: UConn’s women’s basketball

POV: First-person

Word Count: 1,400+

Summary: Your turn to do the planning

Valentine’s Day is supposed to be a day full of love, cute surprises, and quality time with your person.

But when your person is a D1 basketball player at UConn—who also happens to have a brutal practice schedule—it means adjusting expectations.

Jana and I had been dating for almost a year now, and this was our first Valentine’s Day together. I knew she wanted to do something special, but with practice running late and a game coming up, she hadn’t been able to plan much.

She had apologized at least five times over FaceTime last night.

“Habibti, I promise I’ll make it up to you,” she had said, her accent thick with sleep as she lay in bed, eyes barely open. “Next weekend, I’ll plan something perfect.”

I had laughed, shaking my head. “Babe, it’s fine. We can just spend time together.”

Jana had pouted. “But I want to do something special for you.”

She was adorable when she was frustrated, and I knew she was genuinely upset about it.

So, I decided to take matters into my own hands.

If Jana couldn’t plan something for Valentine’s Day, I would do it for her.

The plan was simple but thoughtful.

After checking her schedule, I realized she had a rare free evening after practice. So, I set up a small picnic in her dorm—candles (fake ones, because I wasn’t trying to get us kicked out), a blanket on the floor, her favorite takeout from the Mediterranean spot she loved, and a playlist of all the slow R&B songs we played when we cuddled.

I even got her a small gift—a silver chain with a basketball pendant, engraved with our initials on the back.

Now, all I had to do was wait.

By the time Jana finally walked through the door, she looked exhausted, her duffel bag slung over her shoulder, hair still damp from her post-practice shower.

The second she saw the setup, though, she froze.

Her eyes widened as she took in the candles, the food, the cozy setup on the floor.

“Y/N…” she breathed, dropping her bag.

I grinned. “Happy Valentine’s Day, habibti.”

She blinked a few times, as if making sure she wasn’t imagining it. “You did all this… for me?”

I laughed, standing up and walking over to her. “Of course, I did. You’ve been so stressed about not having time to plan anything, so I figured I’d handle it this year.”

Jana shook her head in disbelief, her arms wrapping tightly around my waist. “You’re amazing.”

I pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I know.”

She laughed, finally relaxing into my arms.

Once she changed into comfy clothes, we sat on the floor, eating and talking about our days.

“I swear, practice was a nightmare,” Jana groaned, taking a bite of her food. “Coach had us running full-court sprints for what felt like an hour straight.”

I winced. “That sounds awful.”

She nodded, rubbing her sore shoulders. “I was literally ready to collapse.”

I reached over, massaging her arm. “Poor baby.”

She hummed in approval. “Keep doing that, and I might propose right now.”

I smirked. “Oh? Is that all it takes?”

She grinned, leaning in closer. “That, and the fact that you’re literally the best girlfriend ever.”

I rolled my eyes but felt warmth spread through me. “I try.”

Jana’s gaze softened as she looked around the room again. “Seriously, Y/N. This is the best surprise ever. I don’t deserve you.”

I nudged her. “Don’t be ridiculous. You deserve everything and more.”

She exhaled, shaking her head. “How did I get so lucky?”

I smirked. “Must be my charm.”

Jana laughed, then suddenly perked up. “Wait. I actually have something for you, too.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

She got up, rushing over to her duffel bag. When she came back, she was holding a small, neatly wrapped box.

I blinked in surprise. “Jana… when did you—?”

“I’ve had this for weeks,” she admitted, rubbing the back of her neck. “I just didn’t plan anything big because I didn’t think I’d have time.”

I carefully unwrapped the box, revealing a delicate silver bracelet with a small charm in the shape of a heart. On the inside, there was an engraving:

“My heart beats for you.”

I stared at it, my throat tightening.

“Jana…”

She shifted nervously. “Do you like it?”

I didn’t answer. Instead, I lunged at her, wrapping my arms around her neck and kissing her deeply.

She made a surprised noise before melting into it, her hands finding my waist.

When we finally pulled back, I rested my forehead against hers, grinning. “I love it. And I love you.”

Jana smiled, her hands gently holding my face. “I love you too, habibti.”

---

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

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your-unfriendlyghost · 2 days ago

Note

Hey mate, how are ya? Wanted to ask if you had any stupid head canons for Dallas Winston, and I mean as stupid as possible (I run a character acc on here so I need stupid ideas lol (Only if your ok with people using your head canon ideas of course!)) Have a great day! :D

Sure, I’ve got a handful >:)

-Dally doesn’t know you’re supposed to change your sheets. He’s slept on the same ones since he was twelve

-He’s afraid of dogs but would never admit it

-His handwriting is illegible and he cannot spell. He isn’t dyslexic he’s legit just lazy

-There’s a horse at the stable he hangs at who straight up bullies him. Like that horse cannot and will not take him seriously no matter what he does. Dally will try to groom and tack it, and it’ll just walk away. He’ll try to clean its hooves, and it refuses to pick them up off the ground. He’ll try to kick it into a trot and it’ll either ignore him, or be so bouncy that Dally falls off. Dally loves this horse anyway, but knows full well it hates his guts. He still gives it apples and treats- horses are the only creatures he has a hard time being mad at

-Dally read Little Women because Sylvia told him to. He wasn’t gonna, but she told him he reminded her of one of the characters (Which one?? Idk I’ve never read it im sorry) and he got curious. He cried when Beth died, and then bullied himself for crying over a book called “Little Women” (in case ur curious Sylvia related to Amy- wish I could back that up but I’ve only seen the movie once like six years ago n all I know is Amy was an asshole and also my favorite one)

-He goes through phases of wearing and not wearing his rings because sometimes he’ll look at them and think “Woah this jewelry stuff is girly as hell I gotta quit wearin’ this shit”. Then other times he’ll look at them and think “Oh man this is so badass I can punch people like 10x more painfully AND they look tuff”. So yeah that’s not me projecting

-He’s nearsighted but has no clue. I’ve said this abt Steve before, but I feel like it also applies to Dally

-He has horrible dental health. There’s this scene in It’s Always Sunny where the character Charlie just straight up removes random teeth out of his mouth with barely any effort because his teeth are so fucked- that’s Dally right there. He thinks it’s normal to feel immense tooth pain when you eat food

-Dally knows nothing about girls. Sure he’s dated ‘em, but I don’t think he knows what periods are or any of that stuff. So he’ll talk big game, and then he’ll see Steve buying Evie pads or something and he’ll genuinely be so confused. Like “Wtf is that what are you buying Randle what’s goin’ on??”

-He’s got pointy ears, right? (I do too it’s very cool) Well at some point Pony reads Lord of the Rings and keeps accidentally picturing Legolas as Dally

-Johnny actually has way more game than he does and neither of them know it

#the outsiders #dally winston #dallas winston #the outsiders headcanons #the outsiders 1983 #the outsiders dally #rambling #my writing #<eh not really but kinda?? Ig??#I’m projecting on the horse one tbh #ask

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simpformoonkight · 3 days ago

Text

~Chapter 2 : open arms~

Author’s note : there are some implications per se to future events! Have fun lovely readers

—————————————————————————————

“Come on sunshine!” Polties called out to you while you were picking up the weapon that Ares gifted you. It was the first ever gift you received. It had.. special abilities

The two men were walking at the front while she was trailing behind them surveying their surroundings, tense and calculated. Trees and long bushes around them, it looks eery but that’s not what polties thought.

“You can relax, my friends” he stared “huh?” Odysseus looked at him confused same with y/n, polties swung his arms around their shoulders “I can tell you’re getting nervous, so do yourself a service and try to relax my friends!” Odysseus shrugged his arm off of him “I’m fine, polties” he replied and kept walking, polties grabbed your hand and went after him.

“Look at all we have been through! We will survive what we get into” he tried to ease their worries. He let go of your hand and went around Odysseus “I know your tired of the war and bloodshed” he continued with his attempt with concerned swimming in his eyes “tell me is this how we’re supposed to live?” He crossed his arms and sighed.

“Look at how you grip your sword,” he points at his hand- almost turning white from tight his grip is “why should we take when we could give ?” He continued looking at the both of you this time “you can show a person that you can trust them” he took Odysseus’ hand and jumped in a pond of water laughing while Odysseus yelped“give it a try it’s not that hard!” He turned to look at him excitedly like a puppy.

Y/n just sighed looking at them from afar grateful to not be thrown in the water with them “I’m telling you,” he pointed at the both of you as you neared the pond “this life is amazing when you greet it with open arms”he told them once again while you helped them get out of the water.

He continued to convince them all the way while Odysseus payed him attention you were listening half-heartedly the suddenly-!

“Welcome!” A bunch of.. fluffy things? were surrounding you three “stay back” Odysseus warned them pulling polties behind him and you got into stance beside your captain pulling your sword out “We’re only here for food” he continued carefully “Food” they repeated after him and got a bit close “stay back I’m warning you!” He warned them again while pointing his sword at them

But the fluffy things replied “food num num num” while some of them are squirming behind “if we don’t get back safely my men will turn this place into blazes” he had threatened in case they try something but “here you go!” .. they actually gave them fruit!

One of them approached you giving you some fruit, You lowered your sword but didn’t let your guard down. You took a look at the fruit examining it while polties was talking about this life and how to think positively.

You cut open the fruit and took a look inside it.

Huh.. the seeds are glowing and is if thinking the same thing “but look at the way this fruit is glowing and it’s filled with glowing seeds” Odysseus showed him “it took me a while to notice just what kind of fruit they eat” he looked at the fluff nuzzling you hands as you were petting it “it’s a lotus, it controls your mind and never lets you free” he handed back the fruit to the ‘lotus eaters’ now “that’s what we get with open arms…” he muttered

“Lotus eaters” polties started determined to prove his point “I would like to show my friends that kindness is brave,” he kneeled to get down to their level “could you tell me where there’s other food to eat?” He questioned “cave” “scary cave”

“A cave!” He said excited and got up “You're saying there's a cave where we could feast?” He asked to confirm and they nodded as you were still playing with the one in your hand before the others jumped in your arms..

“And where do we sail to find this food-filled cave?” He questioned “east” “that way” they told him “Thank you” he gave them a little pat.

“This life is amazing when you greet it with open arms..” he told him slowly turning his head to him just when the sunlight him in the right way.. it made him look ethereal

“I see in your face, there is so much guilt inside your hearts” he said as he had heard from the crew on what happened with the infant, Odysseus looked a bit upset? While you looked a bit uncomfortable

“So why not replace it and light up the world?”

“Greet the world with open arms” he told him and Odysseus repeated him with him “greet the world with open arms” you just looked at them with a small fond smile

“You can relax my friends”….

Aftermath :

“Can we keep some of them?” Polties asked while sitting and playing with the lotus eaters and you were nestled in them content and looked at him “N-no—— what-?” Odysseus looked at them confused “we were supposed to get food instead we learned when to get food. Now let’s go” he pulled the both of you up while the lotus eaters fell from over you “Awww come onnnn…” polties whined a bit “just look at how adorable they look” he looked at Odysseus pleading with him while you were still trying to grab one.

Odysseus just sighed and … picked the both of you and threw you over his shoulders?!

Polties yelled while you were freaking out internally “ODY!” Polties yelled at him while Odysseus just ignored him and continued to walk in the far distance you heard a soft laughter and your face reddened and just when you thought it couldn’t get worse you heard a deep laughter and you burned in your embarrassment hoping the ground would just split and swallow you whole…

Taglist :

@ariridley @zendoesstuff @galaxygurlll

#writing #scenarios #x reader #epic the musical #epic the musical x reader #greek mythology #polties #odysseus #reader #y/n #epic the musical x y/n #epicthemusical #epic odysseus #epic polites

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muttsupreme · 3 days ago

Text

wide awake, breathing hard

just started my period after a prolonged ovulation (no one cares mutt) and i decided i missed being horny. written for people with periods that use she/her pronouns.

TW: smut, just about straight from the get-go. typical roman hijinks. somno that seems soft but he has ulterior motives because he loooooves you and your poor period pussy. i can’t tell if this is misogynistic or just romantic being ironic, but believe me, he loves you. PERIOD STUFF! CRUDE LANGUAGE! DUBCON (well…maybe noncon)! praise and degradation but kinda fucked in a sweet way. he finds you cute-slash-as beautiful as a goddess. roman films you without your consent and whispers commentary. rimming, roman eats your ass. breeding at the end.

A/N: technically thus far, nothing on my blog is 100% canon to My Roman Storyline (oh shit gotta actually write that — forgot i had to write my own story). this is just for fun. self-indulgent as fuck; nothing more, nothing less. also no beta. no anything actually i wrote this on my phone mostly in the tumblr app and said yeah that’s good enough send it out. so don’t take this as some sort of literary pièce de résistance of fanfiction, it’s 5k words that i would compare to a tangled ball of yarn. ur welcum

Roman kind of cares that you’re struggling, but not really? Because like, you love him. That’s it. You’ve always been a giver, and yeah, he’s always taken advantage of that, because that makes you feel good — useful, nice, hard to abandon is what Roman thinks you consider yourself. Aren’t you already? He doesn’t think too much into it.

He brings painkillers, he knows exactly what combo to use: three ibuprofen, two tylenol. Makes you some warm blackcurrant tea his mom gave him a long time ago that he keeps stocked up, which to him tastes like warm Ribena. He nuzzles your noggin instead of kissing it, not because he’s weird about menstruation, just because you’re in a ‘no touchy’ mood. Until you’re not. And he thinks that’s all good, fun and games, puts on a movie, Only You from 1994. A nice romcom should — will most certainly — soothe a chick on her period, he takes it as a life hack: a romcom and a warm hand on your tummy.

You fall asleep with some time. It takes time, he’s okay with that. He’s still in his work clothes, his dark blue button-up with the sleeves rolled up to show his forearms and those kinda stubby, wide fingers. They’re so soft and warm that they almost match your heat. His belt holds up his black slacks and your hand rests on it, like he was the one shedding his uterine lining. Your palms are warmer than his.

Roman’s dick twitches. The vein in his forehead just pops out, his eyes just lock in on you like if he looks away you’ll disappear. You’re warm, and soft, and malleable; you always take good care of Roman, because he needs it, he knows he does. But right now, you’re in pain to the extent that you’re allowing him to take care of you. You’re asleep on his side, halfway lying on him, not even paying attention as the movie finishes up. Your toes twitch and you occasionally make a little “mmn” noise in your sleep. It isn’t sexy by any means, but it’s so you. He thinks he’s sort of addicted to seeing you so intimately, open, vulnerable. You can’t take care of him like this. It’s his turn to baby you and he’s already plotting what he can do now that you’re so pliant.

Fuck, he feels awful. Not that he should, though, right? You’re like, maybe his soulmate. He adores you. He pays for your existence and you love him. And he loves you, in a Beauty and the Beast, trap her in my tower-slash-penthouse sort of way.

His black socks scoot against the bedding and blanket as he reaches for his phone. He goes to his text messages and searches some familiar key words from one day, scrolls until he finds a message from that day and opens it. Yeah, that’s exactly it. Pictures of his own dick hanging out of his fucking Calvin Klein tighty-whities, soft, limp, his untrimmed pubes peeking out.

He doesn’t really get off on his own cock, but he’s enough of a freak to hope she would. To hope her little clit would get all puffy and irritated and fuck — maybe her hole would clench around nothing. Flutter and squeeze like trying to milk a load out of him.

A few minutes after he sent that text, after she just gave a quick heart reaction to the prior, he sent another pic. His balls, full fucking sack on display. His texts after are almost frantic at her lack of verbal response.

Have fun playing out your fascist fantasies and ignoring me. I’ll be waiting here like a good little cuck. Come home whenever you’re done.

Can you just come?

Yes I mean that as a double entendre

You’re a bitch of a wife. When I actually marry you I’m gonna put a shock collar on you because of this

He’s always been supportive of your career. He’d just really like it if you could get it all out of your system sooner or later and become a good girl for him. You know, sucking his dick every morning, getting knocked up and worshipping his nuts to thank him. It’s really not that difficult.

He almost jumps out of his hot, horny skin when you move in your sleep. Just a little adjustment, tightening your leg around his thigh, squeezing it tighter like a pillow. His phone immediately turned closer to him, but slowly, he turns it off and lays it down, still on the bed. He may have use for it. He likes documenting you, likes knowing he has it even if he can’t bear to hear himself on camera. Still feels proud he has it. Maybe he’ll show it to Kendall one day, the folder of pictures and videos of you that you’re scarcely aware of.

His dick is half hard when he gently scoots his hand beneath yours in his belt buckle to unbuckle it, flinching at the sound of his belt clanking. He moves on to unbutton his slacks, unzip them, and palm himself through his too-tight briefs.

You’re there, you’re asleep, your poor, puffy pussy is free bleeding in black shorts, and his dick feels like a bull at a rodeo. Fucking jerking and bobbing at every new thought, which really, is every new opportunity. You’d let him do anything as long as he slipped in some shit you liked, something about how you’re a goooooood girl, or something about him being a daddy, or if you’re really out of it, something about emptying his balls so deep into you that you’ll be waddling in a few months.

Gently, so gently, he moves your leg off of him by the underside your knee, rubbing his soft thumb against the even softer skin of the underside of your calf. He’s surprised it soothes you so easily.

Eyes glued to you and his breath huffy, kind of sharp, he eases his slacks and briefs down to his knees, tugging off his socks as well, tossing those to the floor. No room for anything getting in the way on the supposedly sacred space of your bed.

His dick is flushed, but flagging. You’re on your side as he lays down on his, facing you — his hips where his face should be. His fingers pet your hair, slowly bringing your lips flush with his balls, your nose nuzzling the base of his cock. Like instinct, you shift your face a little. Maybe it’s some evolutionary psychological theory of propagation or maybe it’s just because you’ve done it so much, but you pucker your lips to kiss his balls, nuzzling in closer.

Fucked? Sure. But beautiful? Like Christopher Doyle on steroids. Wong Kar-Wai couldn’t fucking visualize how he feels.

“Uhn-uhn. Open, open up honey,” he says as you try to move away. His voice is quiet and squeaky, and he hopes you think it’s all a dream. Your tongue lolls out on him and you breathe out a pitiful little whine. Sweet girl must be having a good little dream, huh?

“Okay, okay. I know. I’ll do it for you. You just rest,” he says, sticking his thumb in your mouth for you to suck on. You do, and it makes his dick jump against his tummy. Bringing it out, slick with your spit, he rubs it along his cock as best he can. He should use some more, some of his own spit. It’s not wet enough. But he’ll deal with it. He doesn’t want any spit but yours on his dick, and he doesn’t wanna disturb your sleep. Yet.

He pumps his cock a couple times, but by the time he’s hard, he isn’t even sliding his hand up and down his cock. His jaw is clenched and he’s fucking your pussy — his hand mimics your pussy squeezing, trying to milk him, and his thumb occasionally brushing against his tip is a shitty imitation of your cervix.

He likes bending you, feeling his sticky cocktip kiss your cervix as he kisses you, thinks it’s real sweet. He’s kissing you with his lips and his cock, how domestic. Maybe he’ll drool his spit into your mouth as his cock drools cum into your cervix. The memory makes him throb.

He gasps quietly and removes his hand from his cock. Hands push your face further into the pillow as you naturally roll on your belly, tits smushed against the bed through your stupid oversized tee that he’s stolen from you countless times. “Up, up,” he whispers, not expecting you to hear him, but he makes you obey.

Waddling behind you to sit on his knees, arms around your lower abdomen from behind, his chest at your back, he lifts you just a little to remove your shorts. He pulls them all the way down your legs and off your ankles to throw them the floor, the same treatment that his socks got. Situates you so your hips are up, one of your more limp pillows beneath you, barely noticeable.

Fuck. Holy fuck. He spreads your legs with a quick, quiet mumbled whisper of, “Spread ‘em,” and stares at your hole for a while. A while, meaning a solid minute, maybe more. It’s bloody and he knows it’s a little tighter than usual.

You’ve been really struggling, haven’t had much time to take care of your pretty little pussy. Haven’t told him what you need. Poor, pitiful thing. Not that he would’ve helped you.

A glob of his spit drips onto your pucker, down to your pussy and further down to your clit. He leans in close to smell, smell the blood, your pussy. He doesn’t have any particular affinity for your period, but he does have a special interest in your pussy. Not just pretty pussies, just — your pretty pussy. Like Venus de Milo of cunts. Maybe that’s why he took you to see it at the Louvre.

Spreading your pussy lips, he spits directly on your hole. One thick finger pushes the spit in, see-sawing it in and out of your hole until your hole sucks it in to the knuckle. He’s entranced. With your asshole still slick with his spit, he feels the urge to rim you. But oh, you get so embarrassed when he does that, and he wouldn’t wanna make you embarrassed while you’re cramping. A tongue outlining that ring of muscle wouldn’t be very soothing.

So he does it.

Leaning down, scruff tickling your cheeks, he drools on the hole as a second finger just barely presses into your pussy beside the first. He lap at it, swirling, before the tip of his tongue dips in. He sees you squirm.

“Just a li’l taste test,” he assures in a hot breath against the hole, getting the idea to blow cool air on it. He does, watching it clench spastically, making him absolutely fucking delighted. “Calm the fuck down, Jesus. Just my tongue.”

Leaning up from your holes, he slowly tugs his fingers out of your pussy. He sniffs them with a quiet, soft groan before he licks them, basically makes out with them, until they’re clean of you.

His tip is basically fucking purple, not a drop of blood in his brain anymore. He lets his dick lead the way, notching in your hole with accuracy rarely shown. He’s thankful for it; now’s not the time to slip it in the wrong hole. Probably.

Just the tip, and he’s leaning his head back. His eyes squeeze shut and his balls tighten, and he bites his lip but it does nothing to stop the whine from escaping through his closed mouth. “Ah-fuck,” he moans your name, or rather, whimpers it. He’s entranced by your hold the minute he moves. The tip pops in, and out, and in, and half way out until he sees your hips jerk away, and he can’t help but push his dick in a little farther down past the tip out of instinct.

“Ro — Roman, no, Rome,” you say in a shaky voice, the left side of your lower abdomen aching just a bit as the pain meds wear off. “Why the fuck — mmgh,” you squirm, feeling the wetness of his spit on your asshole and his dick a couple inches deep. “Please, out, take it out,” you whine, scared, trying in vain to pull him out by scooting away.

“No — no, no, fuck,” he scrambles to keep you still, pins you down by the back of your neck. “I’m not doing what you think. ‘Kay? I’m not — raping you. I’m making love to you. That’s what I do, remember? Feel that ache? I’m tryna make it go away. See?” He pops the tip of his cock out and rubs it on your clit. Takes it slow, rocks his dick from tip to down near the base, lets you feel the ridges and veins and how his blood pumps through it.

You let out a noise that can only be described as distorted. It’s broken and scared and still sleepy; your body is begging for him to just stick his dick back in and blow his load in you, cunt clenching at every bump, ridge, and vein as he rocks your clit back and forth on his dick.

“Shhhh-sh-sh-shh,” he soothes you. His left hand goes to warm your front again, like a heating pad, as his right goes back to your pussy. His cock is rubbing your clit as he humps, and one finger slips slowly back into your pussy.

“You don’t — y’don’ have to,” you slur out, your speech still sluggish and slow with sleep. It’s uncomfortable, just a little, but his hand on your lower abdomen is so warm, so soft, that it makes you lean into him against your better interests.

“If you — ah — if you want, I c’n just blow you, or,” you trail off, embarrassed by the blood seeping from your pussy. It’s messy, and Roman generally just isn’t the most giving kind. Or maybe you just don’t give him the chance. Yeah, that rings a bell. Wonder why.

Roman knows. Roman sees straight through you the same way you see right through him, but you’d never expect it. He uses it as leverage whereas you use it for — what, love, comfort? Maybe his leverage is sort of like that. Manipulating you into calming down.

“Awww, is someone feeling insecure about their little puss puss?” Roman coos mockingly. “Don’t you worry. She’s doing juuuust perfect. Though I can see why you’d need some reassurance. You have, what, a whole lotta hormones and shit surging through you right now, huh?” He says in a tone where you can practically hear his scrunched-up face, filled with mocking disgust.

He giggles drunkenly, “That’s okay. Isn’t it? I don’t mind if my fleshlight is a little, uhhh…” His left hand on your lower abdomen makes a stupid gesture that goes with this face, both unseen by you but easily predictable by his pause and tone. And if his fingers nudging into you mean anything, that stupid gesture is that typical curl, where he raises it in a sort of confused fashion. “Fucking — bloody? Kinda hot. Like you’re already lubed up.”

He does not fucking help. It’s almost a game, seeing how embarrassed you can get, and he’s impatient to win. Roman likes to think he dabbles in cruelty (whereas he may say you have a PhD in cruelty just for not letting him lay all over you while you work), but he makes sure never to break his favorite toy. Well, not to the extent to which it can’t be fixed, at least.

And you can be fixed. The tears start bubbling over as the pain from before starts subsiding. It’s the worst thing of all, that you’re suddenly liking it.

Your pussy makes squelching noises, literal squelching as he fingers you, cock still under your clit, letting you lube him up by just dripping on him. He sputters out a giggle after you grind on him a couple times.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, definitely not sorry. “It’s just — you’re fucking grinding your clit into a diamond on me and — squeezing me like I’m the King of Cooch. And you were just begging me to stop earlier. Isn’t that a little, I dunno. Ironic? Fuckin’ hilarious?”

You know this game. It isn’t fun.

“Oh — come the fuck on. Don’t gimme that crybaby bullshit,” he jokes with a mix between a chuckle and a scoff. His fingers push deeper and his tone takes on a certain clarity, that mock seriousness, as if he’s in a courtroom, swearing in. “I will not…leave you, like this. M’kay?”

It’s a double-edged sword. Will he not leave you like this, or will he not leave you like this? Is he saying he’s not gonna walk out of your life, or is he saying he’s not gonna leave your pussy full of cum and sore, denied any chance of cumming?

You whimper. Your cheek is smushed cutely against the pillow and he has just the perfect view of it. He presses down, pushes you into the pillow. His fingers are quick, they push deeper, spread out, wriggle around a little bit, enough to push more pained whines out of you.

"Yeaaaahhh, I know it hurts — but you're the one who went and got yourself all worked up, aren'cha?" Roman says with a teasing lilt in his tone, like a schoolboy tugging at his crush's pigtails and then gaslighting her into thinking it's her fault for wearing them. It’s cruel to blame you for your own business, for not fucking — playing with your pussy enough.

“It’s okay. Daddy’s got you, just fall asleep. You hear me?” Roman says, and it sounds like the words reverberate in the room, like you’re in a cave where only his voice echoes and your cries and whines, your tears falling onto the pillow, are all just background noise.

You nod. It’s like a code word, a trigger that he’d Pavlov’d into you to calm you down. When you’re scared, or can’t sleep, or freaking the fuck out, that ‘daddy’ comes right out. It’s not like he likes it, not like he cares that he’s your ‘daddy’. He just finds himself crooning the word softly. Sometimes feels some weird inverse reaction to the word that makes him feel all nice. His jagged edges being cushioned in real-time.

His fingers pump and curl, wiggle around like he’s taunting you. A (not so) silent ‘I’m in control, boo-hoo, cry me a river’. He adds a third, squeezes it in there to hear you wince and whimper. Sees your blood, dark red on his fingers. You’re creaming on him, he sees it at the base of his knuckles. God, he could cum from this alone.

“Mhm. I know it’s a stretch. Poor little girl,” his cock jumps up against your clit at your broken whine. It sounds like you’re already fucked out. You gush blood, and to some extent, he doesn’t wanna imagine this being ‘actual’ blood; on the other hand, he feels the vampiric urge to sink his teeth in and get as close as he can to you, digest you. Maybe cannibalistic in a non-sexual, ‘I eat you, you eat me’ way; like how he’ll steal and wear your panties to feel close to you.

“Daddy knows. You’re gonna be fine,” he promises with a teasing lilt. It’s a false promise that you can’t help but believe. He pulls his fingers out, nice and slow, as everything has been; it feels like a whirlwind, like your head just can’t keep up, too dizzy, but he’s been so patient, so sweet, so slow. He licks his fingers clean again, letting the bitter iron and sweetness marinate in his mouth, then wipes them off on the back of your shirt.

You don’t see, you’re too busy being caught up in that brain fog, that nice dizziness that makes you feel drunk. You’re too busy letting tears fall down ever so often, feeling your legs twitch, feeling that ache return with a vengeance. Why is he doing this? A sob bubbles up and you let it out before you can catch it.

“Why’d you—?” Roman cuts you off, quickly. His cock lines up, he takes special care with pushing his tip in just a little bit, just enough to give that testing stretch of the elasticity of your pussy. You let out a breath, one you didn’t know you had in you.

“You gotta calm the fuck down,” he leans down, kissing the nape of your neck, one hand going over your eyes. You close them, you obey, even once he removes his hand. “My dick’s gonna help your cramps, but you gotta let him in. Gonna…shit, holy shit, gonna help you sleep.”

It feels good, his dick pushing deeper as you ease up a little. He’s about halfway in, and fuck, he whimpers like he’s the one getting fucked. You’re nice and slick, and his dick is all too eager to cum in you, fuck you nice and raw how he always does. Your cunt is so fucking warm, it makes his balls clench. It’s fucking scalding hot, holy shit.

Unbeknownst to you, Roman’s hand reaches for his phone near where he was lying earlier. He swipes to the camera and leans up, pressing record. He gets a quick shot of your pussy, too tight around his dick, the hole trying to draw him in deeper with every thrust.

“Daddy’s feeling a little neglected,” he pushes all of her buttons, knows she’ll let him do what he wants if he plays the right cards — fuck, even if he doesn’t play the right cards. “Can I kiss you, hm? Kiss-kiss?”

You nod and let out a broken little noise, knowing just what that means. He quickens his pace, pushing deeper, and deeper, until his cocktip nudges your cervix. His tip is fat and sticky and leaking pre against your cervix as he kisses it with his dick. It’s vulgar, and he’s getting it all on video. But he’d just as well get it on an audio recording, knowing your fucking squealing is what makes it.

Roman feels you squirm on his cock, feels you trying to push back. “Oh, good girl, huh? You feel that?” he praises in return. He places the phone beneath your spread legs, getting a view from beneath of your clit pressed into the pillow, humping it as his cock pushes into your hole, the sway and plap of his balls against you, his taint. And you do sound like such a good girl.

Leaning down against your back again, he grinds into you. He’s deep, it feels almost like you’re a bitch in heat who’s been pinned down, a bitch being used. Your cramps feel entirely second to his dick in your hole, varying from gently nudging your cervix with soft kisses to slamming into it brutally. He has no rhythm, and as he was before — he’s letting his dick lead the way.

His hand reaches down to your clit pressed and grinding into the pillow, his other against your lower abdomen, efficiently both pressing down for you to feel his cock even better and acting as a human heating pad once again. His thumb and forefinger pinch your clit gently, your hips jolting as he giggles sluggishly.

“Awhhh, don’t wike dat? Okay, okay. I know. Sweet little fucking…thing, here you go, bitch,” he rubs your clit, feels your pussy flutter around him. “You close already?”

“Mmuh-huh,” you murmur out through the pillow. “Fuck — oh, fuck, mmfuck,” you sob pitifully as he fucks into you harder, initially knocking the breath out of you.

He moves his legs over your hips, slamming his dick deep, balls smacking against you with loud, wet noises, the dark red that has trickled down even onto the pillow beneath you transferring onto them as well. “Gotta catch up,” is his only excuse. He’s seemingly forgotten about the camera beneath them both and any semblance of attractiveness.

His hand warming your lower abdomen angles you up even more, coaxing you into fucking yourself back onto him again despite how hard it is. “Wow. Lazybones. Come on, c’mere, help yourself.” He stops, a complete and full stop, the fingers on your clit pausing their movement.

He chuckles proudly as you pitifully squirm beneath him, unable to really do much of anything with his thighs around your hips and him lying on top of you, but you tried. You think that’s all he wanted, just to watch you try, know you want it.

“Good job. Still lazy, but hey, shark week and all that — I get it. Still love you,” he means it, even if he says it sort of jokingly. And to prove it, he starts pumping his dick into you again, rubbing his fingers on your clit real nice, just how you like it. You squeeze.

“Felt that. Oh-ho-ho, you think I wouldn’t? I’m literally in you,” he taunts. He feels you shaking — too emotional, too on-edge, too fucking close. “Hey — ‘s okay. Remember? It’s aaaaall okay. You can cum. It’s okay if you cum before me. You’re the girl,” he says, the weird misogynistic statement not really registering, just comforting for now, telling you that you can cum.

“That’s it. You can cum — if, if. You lemme give you a creampie,” he says, suddenly making this a condition, creating a conditional offer that you can’t really fully comprehend right now. “…Or, cherry pie? Strawberry? Raspberry? Red and cum-colored. Whatever.”

“Uh-huh, yeah,” you agree, to whatever the fuck he’s saying. You aren’t sure if he’s saying all of this extra bullshit intentionally to confuse you or not, but it’s doing the job.

“Good. Good,” he reassures, close to cumming himself. “‘Cause, y’know, I’m gonna empty my balls in you anyway. It’s just, the difference between ‘the wonderful conception of our firstborn’ and ‘rape’,” he says in a flagrant voice, and it clicks: oh fuck. You aren’t on the pill, he isn’t wearing a condom, and you just told him to cum in you. You’re surprised Roman knew that the whole ‘can’t get pregnant on your period’ myth wasn’t real.

You cum. Fuck, you cream on his dick so hard you can barely breathe. And it takes him maybe one, two, three pumps of his hips to blow his load. Whole time, he’s breathlessly mumbling shit, “Fuck, gotta make sure it takes. Milk it, yeah, milk that shit, suck that load real deep, mama. Fuck you with your fertile fucking — shit.”

He doesn’t pull out. After you cum, and moments after he finishes, he moves his legs down to lay on the outside of yours, pushing his dick deeper in you one last time, plugging his load up. You still drip, leak just a few droplets of pink-ish cream, a mix of his thick load and your own cum, with the tint of your liquidy period blood. He wipes what’s already dribbled out and brings it to his lips as he lays his fully body weight on top of you like a smothering weighted blanket.

“Mmh, cherry cream pie for sure,” he finalizes. “All-American. Taste so good, bring a tear to your eye, right?” he quotes with a grin you can feel against your nape through his scruff, then a kiss to your back through your t-shirt.

“Ho-holy shit, no, nope,” he stutters when he feels you shift, your cunt clenching around his dick on instinct, like some biological imperative to keep his cum inside while his dick’s still there doing that job for you. “No moving for another, like…hour? Whore. I’m too sensitive to just. Fuck you like a fuck train. So wait. Let it…I dunno, seep into your uterus.” Another kiss to your back. “Go to sleep. We’re sleepy, sleepy time.”

Your cramps are subdued throughout the nap. His phone records the visual of his balls against your cunt and the sounds of him snoring softly, for hours.

#figuratively shitting this one out real quick #written in one day as i procrastinated on stuff that NEEDS to get done by the end of the work week #so don’t judge me this isn’t how i normally write i’m usually more creative and complex i PROMISE this ISNT MEEE *hides under covers*#roman roy #romulus roy #hbo succession #succession #roman roy x reader #succession fanfic #succession imagine #romulus roy x reader #roman roy x you #roman roy fanfic #roman roy imagine #roman x you #roman x reader #mutt is supreme

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rd0265667 · 12 hours ago

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Mina x Reader: Enough

“You know this is why IT hates you, right? Your keyboards have such a short lifespan it’s almost pitiful.”

I turned, blinking out of the fog of my own exhaustion, just in time to see that shit-eating grin aimed directly at me.

Darius. Of course.

I sighed, leaning back in my chair and rubbing my eyes. Everything ached—my wrists, my shoulders, my brain. My fingers were stiff from typing for… how long? Hours? Days? Time had blurred into a loop of emails, deadlines, and the relentless glow of my laptop screen.

“Did you come here just to critique my work habits, or do you actually need something?” I muttered.

Darius dropped into the chair across from me, stretching out like he had nowhere better to be. “I need you to not drop dead from exhaustion at your desk. So, yeah, I’d call this an intervention.”

“I’m fine,” I said, waving him off.

“You say that, but I just watched you mutter threats at your Wi-Fi like it personally wronged you.”

“It has. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Right. And how many hours of sleep have you gotten in the past forty-eight hours?”

I didn’t answer. Not because I was hiding anything, but because I honestly didn’t know.

Darius sighed, shaking his head. “Alright, Atlas. You brought this on yourself.”

I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean—”

He pulled out his phone. Started typing. Smirked.

My stomach dropped. “Darius, what are you doing?”

“Solving the problem,” he said, still typing.

“Darius.”

He raised a single finger, silencing me. A beat later, his phone lit up with an incoming call, and he grinned before answering.

“Hey, Mina,” he said, far too smug. “Yeah, they’re doing it again.”

I groaned. “You absolute traitor.”

Darius ignored me. “No, I’d say we’re at a solid nine out of ten on the workaholic scale. At least three empty coffee cups, significant eye strain, possible early-onset keyboard rage.” He paused, nodding like Mina could see him. “Yep. I’ll wait.”

I closed my eyes, debating my life choices.

“Before you complain,” Darius added, finally putting his phone down, “you do realize this is self-inflicted, right?”

I scoffed. “Excuse me for covering for people who have actual emergencies.”

“Y—”

“Emily’s out because her kid’s sick, Marcus has a family thing, and James is on leave,” I said, voice sharper than I intended. “Who else is supposed to handle their workload?”

Darius gave me a long, unimpressed look. “I don’t know, maybe their boss?”

I exhaled through my nose. “Their boss is drowning, too.”

“And you think you can single-handedly save everyone?”

“Someone has to.”

Darius pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something about self-sacrificing idiots before looking back at me. “Atlas, you are one person. And before you argue, I’d like to remind you that you’ve been running on caffeine and spite for at least two days. This is not a sustainable lifestyle.”

I wanted to argue. I really, really did. But I felt the weight of his words settle in my chest, heavy in a way I couldn’t shake.

And then my phone buzzed.

Mina.

Darius grinned. “And that would be your girlfriend, probably ready to stage a full-scale extraction.”

I swallowed. “I hate you.”

“Aw, love you too, you little diva.”

I shot him a look that was half-warning, half-annoyed, before reluctantly answering the call. “Hey, baby.”

There was a long, tense silence on the other end before Mina’s voice sliced through the quiet. It was sharp, tight, and dripping with the kind of displeasure I only heard when she was really angry. “Don’t ‘hey, baby’ me, Y/N. Darius says you haven’t slept.”

I winced, rubbing my face. “I’ve slept,” I said, my voice coming out far more defensive than I’d intended. “Just… not as much as I should have.”

“Not as much?” Mina’s voice was dangerously low now, as if the very thought of it was enough to make her blood boil. “How many hours?”

I hesitated, eyes darting to Darius, who was watching me like I was about to perform some kind of spectacular failure. “Uh… define ‘hours.’”

There was a long pause, and I could almost feel her eyes narrowing through the phone. “How many hours, Y/N?”

I cringed, then finally mumbled, “I don’t know, two, maybe three.”

There was a cold, almost hurt laugh from Mina. “Two hours,” she repeated, like the number itself was something obscene. “I’m coming back.”

I nearly choked. “What? No, Mina—Mina, no. You have a concert soon. You’re on tour! You can’t just leave because I didn’t sleep enough.”

“Mhm.” Her tone was flat, but I could feel the edges of frustration in the simple sound. “I’m coming back.”

“Mina, you can’t. You have obligations—the girls needs you there,” I insisted, trying to reason with her, but it felt futile. She wasn’t even listening to me anymore.

“I’m coming back,” she repeated, as if that was the only sentence she was willing to speak on the matter.

“Please, you can’t just drop everything for me. I’m fine, I just—”

“You’re fine?” Her voice was ice cold, cutting through me. “Darius told me you’ve been running on caffeine and spite for the last few days, and you’re fine? Don’t you dare lie to me, Y/N.”

I froze, the weight of her words sinking in.

“Fine doesn’t sound like this,” she continued, her voice growing colder, quieter. “I don’t know what’s worse—the fact that you’re running yourself into the ground like this, or that you think I’m just going to sit here and watch you do it.”

“I’m not—” I started, but she cut me off, her words coming faster now, more impatient.

“You think I don’t know you, Y/N?” She scoffed. She let out a bitter laugh, but there was no humor in it.

“Mina—”

“I’ll be back tomorrow, and if I find your dumbass even thinking of work, I swear you’ll regret it,” she snapped, and before I could argue further, she hung up.

I was left standing there with the dead silence of the call still buzzing in my ear. My chest felt hollow, the words she didn’t say sitting heavy in the pit of my stomach.

Darius, of course, was watching me with a look that said he was thoroughly enjoying this whole exchange. “Well, that was something.”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. Instead, I let my head fall onto my desk with a dull thud, my mind spinning.

“I will murder you.” I muttered into the wood.

Darius laughed softly, his voice teasing. “If you make it out alive, take your best shot.”

When Mina finally got home, I was lying on the couch, fingers absentmindedly worrying the frayed edge of the blanket draped over me. I had been waiting for what felt like hours, nerves coiled too tightly to focus on anything else. The apartment was quiet, the only light coming from the television screen, frozen on the selection menuIt had been so still, so empty, that when I heard the lock click, I almost startled.

She stepped inside softly, closing the door with a controlled, measured quiet. The faint rustling of fabric as she toed off her shoes, the muted clink of keys dropped onto the counter, the way she exhaled—like she was trying to keep it even. But she didn’t speak.

The silence stretched between us, heavy, expectant.

I stole a glance over my shoulder, catching the way she moved through the apartment with a careful kind of precision. No sharp looks, no frustrated sighs. No words, either.

A rustle of plastic. The quiet pop of the TV remote. The familiar hum of the screen shifting menus. And then, the opening notes of Pacific Rim.

My stomach twisted.

She sank onto the opposite end of the couch, close enough that I could feel the warmth of her presence but not close enough to touch. Her posture was relaxed, casual, but too deliberate to be real.

I watched her for a beat, waiting for her to look at me, to say something, to roll her eyes and finally break the tension. But she just reached into the bag she had brought, pulled out a pack of snacks, and set them on the coffee table without a word.

The movie played on, but I barely registered it.

“Mina.” My voice came out quieter than I expected.

She didn’t look at me.

The weight of unspoken things sat heavy between us, thick and unmoving, and I shifted, searching for the right words, the right way to explain. “I—” I hesitated, then sighed. “I’m sorry.”

Nothing. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” I tried again, voice threading into the spaces between the sounds of crashing Jaegers and roaring Kaiju. “I just thought I could handle it.”

She didn’t move. Didn’t turn.

But her fingers curled slightly against her thigh, just for a second.

The movie played on, the blue glow of the screen flickering against the walls, but I wasn’t really watching. Not really. I could recite half the lines from Pacific Rim by heart, but right now, they blurred together, the action sequences nothing more than background noise to the silence still hanging between us.

Mina sat next to me, but she might as well have been miles away. She wasn’t curled into my side like she usually would be, wasn’t making quiet, amused comments about my favorite scenes, wasn’t sneaking glances at me when she thought I wouldn’t notice. She just… sat there. Still. Unmoving.

I reached for the snack bag she had set on the table, something small, an excuse to fill the silence with the crinkle of plastic. The second my fingers brushed the bag, Mina moved.

Not much. Just enough.

Enough that I noticed the sharp, barely-there intake of breath. The subtle tension in her jaw as she exhaled through her nose.

I hesitated, fingers still curled around the bag. “Mina,” I said again, barely above a whisper.

She didn’t respond.

“Mina, please.”

Something in her expression shifted. A flicker of something raw before she turned away, reaching for the remote instead. The volume clicked up a few notches.

My stomach twisted.

I set the snack down and turned to her fully. “Talk to me,” I tried.

Nothing.

“I know you’re upset,” I pressed, softer now. “And I know it’s not just about—” I gestured vaguely to myself, to the exhaustion.

Her jaw tightened, but still, she said nothing.

I swallowed, letting the words settle before I spoke again. “It’s not just the work, is it?”

Mina’s fingers curled tighter around the edge of her sleeve, a slight tremor running through them before she stilled. The silence stretched thinner, sharper, until she finally exhaled, slow and measured, like she was fighting to keep herself steady.

When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, but edged with something that made my chest ache.

“Why didn’t you talk to me?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

She turned then, finally looking at me, and the weight of her gaze hit me like a punch to the gut. Her expression was still composed—controlled in the way she always was—but her eyes… Her eyes told a different story.

“You don’t tell me things,” she said, her voice still quiet but steadier now. “You always act like everything’s fine, like you’ve got it handled, like—” She exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair, fingers pressing hard against her temples for a second before she dropped them. “You put on a brave face, and you don’t—” Her breath hitched for the smallest moment before she caught it. “You don’t let me in. I need Darius to text me to even get an inkling of what you’re going through. What you’re really going through.”

I stared, feeling the words land like stones in my chest.

“Mina—”

“Do you not trust me?” she asked, and that’s what made my heart stop. Because she wasn’t asking it like an accusation. She was asking it like it was something that had been gnawing at her for a while.

I shook my head instantly. “Of course I trust you—”

“Then why don’t you ever let me help?”

Her voice wavered, just for a second, and it was the crack in the dam I hadn’t seen coming.

She wasn’t just angry.

She wasn’t just frustrated.

She was hurt.

I opened my mouth, then closed it, scrambling for the right thing to say, for something that would fix this.

“I thought…” I exhaled, shaking my head. “I didn’t want to burden you.”

Mina let out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh. “Burden me,” she echoed. “You think you could ever be a burden?”

“I just—” I ran a hand down my face, suddenly feeling like an idiot. “You have your own responsibilities, your own stress, and I didn’t want to add to it.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for the first time all night, something sharp flickered in her eyes.

“That’s not your decision to make.”

I froze.

She sat up a little straighter, gaze unwavering. “You don’t get to decide what’s too much for me. You don’t get to decide what I can or can’t handle.”

I opened my mouth, then shut it, guilt curling in my stomach. “Work has been a lot, but… I just wanted to be strong for you,” I admitted, the words barely above a whisper, my voice slowly cracking as I hung my head low.

Noticing the change in my posture, Mina couldn’t stop herself as she leaned forward, gently placing her hand on my back.

I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of her hand on my back, warm and grounding. It was gentle, not pushing, not demanding—just there. Just her.

Mina exhaled softly, fingers flexing ever so slightly, like she wanted to pull me closer but was holding back. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Mina, it’s just been a lot at work, and I’ve tried my best, but…” My voice wavered, trailing off into nothing.

Her thumb brushed slow, soothing circles against my spine. “You don’t have to carry it all alone,” she murmured. “I know you want to be strong, but strength isn’t just about holding everything in. Sometimes it’s about knowing when to lean on someone.”

I let out a shaky breath. “I just—I don’t want to let you down.”

She sighed, but there was no frustration in it this time, just quiet understanding. “You couldn’t, even if you tried.”

I swallowed again, something thick and knotted in my throat. “But what if my best isn’t enough?”

Mina didn’t hesitate. She squeezed my shoulder, firm and certain. “Well, it’s enough for me.”

The words hit me like a slow, spreading warmth, something deep inside loosening. I blinked, eyes stinging, and when I finally looked up, Mina was watching me, her gaze steady and unwavering.

She gave me a small, knowing smile. “You’re enough, okay? You always have been.”

My chest ached, but in a way that felt… lighter. Like some of the weight had finally lifted. I nodded, exhaling shakily. “Okay.”

Mina shifted closer, her presence a perfect warmth beside me. When she wrapped her arm around me, I didn’t hesitate. I leaned in, pressing my forehead softly against her shoulder, breathing in the calming scent of her hair. The world outside seemed to disappear, and for a moment, it was just the two of us, curled up on the couch in the soft glow of the TV. I let myself relax completely, sinking into the moment, allowing myself to just be here with her.

After a beat, Mina rested her chin gently against the top of my head, her breath warm against my skin. I could feel the soft rise and fall of her chest as she sighed contentedly. “Now, are we watching this movie, or do I need to fight Pacific Rim for your attention?” she teased, her voice light and full of playful affection.

A small, broken laugh bubbled out of me at her words, a smile tugging at my lips. Mina’s lips quirked in that satisfied way, and I felt her arm tighten slightly around me as if to claim me in the most gentle, affectionate way. It made my heart flutter. She wasn’t just holding me; she was there, with me, in the most comforting way.

“Okay, okay, you win,” I murmured, the warmth of her embrace making it impossible to pull away from the comfort she provided. I didn’t even care about the movie anymore. All that mattered was the feeling of her hand gently running up and down my arm, the steady rhythm calming me even further.

Mina pressed a soft kiss to the top of my head and gave me a playful squeeze. “Good,” she said, her voice softening. “But seriously, Y/N... you’ve been working way too hard. I’m glad to see you finally letting yourself rest.” She gave a little wink, but there was a softness in her tone that made her words feel more like a gentle nudge than a lecture. “Don’t make me start scheduling your breaks for you.”

I let out a small laugh, squeezing her a little tighter in response. “I know, I know,” I whispered, my voice muffled by her shoulder.

Mina hummed, her chin resting back against my hair. “Well, I will have to keep an eye on you,” she teased. “No more all-nighters, okay? If I catch you working late again, I’ll just show up and drag you away.”

I chuckled, the sound light and free. “I think I can handle that,” I said, snuggling closer to her.

Mina kissed the top of my head again, a gentle press of her lips that made my heart skip a beat. “Good,” she murmured. “Now, let’s actually watch the movie, yeah? I’ll even let you take a break from your overachieving self and enjoy this.”

I smiled, my heart full. Yeah. I’d be okay. With Mina by my side, everything was okay.

#rd0265667 #fluff #twice x reader #twice mina #mina x reader #myoui mina x reader #twice mina fanfic #mina fanfic #mina fluff

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