#much more fun if i get to have my cake and eat it too!

[srslylini]

hmmm I wish it was this easy but I fear we can know what the authors of media intended. That's half the fun of consuming media.

This point of yours reminds me an aweful lot of "art isn't political" (fyi I am not saying you think that, just that the point is awfully familiar). Yes we can know their intentions. Through media alone that becomes clear. Even clearer when we hear them talk about said media (and what they say is... something-)

When we consume media half of the fun IS theories. And while I agree with you that those theories don't mean that it has to be canon, to have a show mislead you is also not the way. Especially when a piece of media is already in motion, meaning they already set stuff up. The intentions of season 1 were clear, their message was shown to us and season 2 just didn't do anything with that.

Having expectations is not the same as wanting a piece of media to turn out exactly the way you want it to turn out, that is important to remember.

I just really dislike your "i haven't seen good criticism" what was that about "making assumptions"? You can't eat your cake and have it too.

Being angry with a piece of media doesn't mean anyone wanted it to turn it out exactly the way they wanted it to turn out, that is a gross misunderstanding. There are of course fans who think that, I am not saying there aren't but making a general assumption like this doesn't make you look any better.

to be fair my "get your take away from me" was more in a joke way I am sorry I didn't get it across this way. That is indeed on me.

Anyways I could also very much say "how could I still trust you after the points you make and made." In the end this is were we will land and I think that's not going to change.

"Caitlyns redemption arc isn't very good."

Maybe she doesn't have a redemption arc.

May be Arcane isn't about redemption.

May be Arcane is about flawed characters who are neither good nor bad.

May be Arcane is a show that shows us that good people can do horrible things and how our society and the people we have or don't have as support can shape that.

Good people can become horrible. Not because it is innate within them. But because of their life experiences.

[cosmowgyral]

Falling into Sin with the Black Tiger ~ Gilbert's 4th Birthday

▪︎ Chapter 2

This is a fan translation so please don't expect it to be 100% accurate. Creative liberties have been taken. All content belongs to Cybird. Reblogs are appreciated. Hope you enjoy!

Gilbert: Ahaha, I was found right away.

The moment I heard a voice from behind me, I was embraced by a cold body.

When I turned around and looked up, there was not a trace of remorse on Gilbert’s face.

Emma: Is work going well for you?

Gilbert: Today my work is to look after you.

Gilbert: But, taking others’ opinions on account while deciding on a present, that’s not good, little rabbit.

(You’ve been watching me all this time.)

I felt both embarrassed and giddy, and my cheeks relaxed.

Emma: But, I don’t know much about gemstones.

Emma: I want to choose something good as it’s a gift for you, Gil. But I don’t know what is good or bad.

Gilbert: Then I’ll teach you.

Emma: That would take the fun out of it.

Gilbert: That’s not true. Rather, you can now go on a date with me, so it’s more fun, right?

(Surely, that’s a possible way to think about it?)

My face becomes sloppier as Gilbert asks me to “enjoy our date”.

(It might be better to wait and see his reaction while choosing.)

Emma: If that’s the case, may I ask you a favour?

Gilbert: Heehee, with pleasure. I’m glad.

Gilbert: I was worried you might try to rely on someone other than me again.

(He really is a troublesome villain.)

I walk through the town, holding Gilbert’s cold hand tightly.

Emma: Which gemstone is your favourite, Gil?

Gilbert: I’ve never considered it.

Emma: Obsidian or something….

Gilbert: Heehee, isn’t that a bit too simple?

Emma: You always give them to me.

Gilbert: I just want to dye you in my colours. It’s not about likes or dislikes or anything like that.

I showed him one gem after another, closely watching his reaction, but there was no change in his refreshing smile.

Gilbert: Which gemstone is your favourite?

Emma: …..When you ask me that, I don’t know what to say.

Gilbert: Right?

(All gemstones are beautiful and sparkly…but my favourite….)

What caught my eye was a rose-red gemstone with a matching blue stone.

(…Maybe I just like Gilbert rather than the gemstones.)

Gilbert: Hey, aren’t you tired from walking? Let’s take a break.

Emma: Uh…that’s right! Let’s do that.

I was so embarrassed that my voice came out higher than usual.

Gilbert gave out a small snort and went to a nearby food stall.

He ordered food so naturally that it was hard to believe he was part of the royal family. Then he promptly received the dishes.

Gilbert: Here you go.

Emma: Thank you. This is?

Gilbert: Dampfnudel…a kind of steamed bread that sells well this time of the year.

Gilbert: There are a variety of sauces but I ordered two kinds, a sweet one and a weird one.

(This is the first time I'm seeing this. It’s a standard thing in Obsidian.)

We sat down next to each other on a nearby bench and I immediately took a bite of the bread smothered in the sweet sauce.

Emma: Mmmm, it’s fluffy, chewy, and delicious!

Gilbert: What about the weird one?

I opened my mouth obediently to take a bite of the bread offered to me by Gilbert, and the sweet and spicy taste balanced well on my tongue.

Emma: It’s so spicy that it warms up my cold body right away.

Gilbert: Heehee, your thoughts are so cute and honest, aren’t they?

Emma: I’d like to hear your thoughts as well, Gil.

To return the favour, when I bring the steamed bun to Gilbert’s mouth, he bites it off all at once, along with my fingers.

(I..thought I was done for….I don’t feel the cold anymore, it’s actually getting hotter.)

Gilbert: They’re delicious, but….I’ve become tamed by your sweets, you know.

Gilbert: Eating street food makes me miss it.

Emma: That’s an honour.

Gilbert: Will you bake me a cake for my birthday again?

Emma: Of course. Not just cake, but lots of other foods too. Do you have any requests?

Gilbert: You’re always like that.

Emma: For your birthday, I want to pack in as many as your ‘number one’ things as possible.

Gilbert: Hmm…..

Gilbert: I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and I really think that right now is the happiest I’ve been in my life.

Gilbert leans in and rests his head on my shoulder.

Gilbert: It’s not that I’m being shy or considerate.

Gilbert: But what you want, you want me to be more selfish than this, right?

Emma: That’s right.

Gilbert: To bother me like this…

Emma: I’m sorry. But I won’t say ‘you don’t have to think about it’.

(Gilbert always thinks about his country and other people, but never about himself.)

(That’s why, when asked ‘what do you want?’, I knew you couldn’t answer.)

(People who don’t know how to live selfishly, are confused, worried, and at a loss for words.)

(I want you to be very selfish.)

Emma: I’ll wait as long as it takes for an answer.

Gilbert: Little rabbit, you have a mean look on your face.

Emma: That’s because I’m the fiancée of a great villain.

Gilbert laughed and quietly closed his eyes.

Spending casual time listening to the peaceful hustle and bustle of the crowd was blissful, and yet I felt a little pain.

*scene shifts to the dining room in the palace*

Emma: Lies….

[Chapter 1] [Masterlist] [Chapter 3]

[madridfangirl]

Star Crossed Lovers - Ch 18 blurb

Jude had an extended Christmas break, but Jobe didn’t, so the family flew in to Sunderland on 24th and Jude joined in that evening. Jobe interrogated him extensively about what went down in Madrid. Denise & Mark were curious too but Denise’s emphatic guideline to Mark was to just let Jude be. He’d talk to them when he’s ready. 

Jobe texted Ananya, while she was on the way to the cabin.

Jobe: 😊

It was simple, but communicated a lot of things. Ananya smiled & responded immediately.

‘Merry Christmas Eve. Sorry for stealing your brother but I sent him right back :)’

‘To you too. And thanks, but he’s yapping non-stop now, more than usual.’

‘Well, good luck with that.’

‘Yeah I’m mostly ignoring him & Dad. Mum’s completely ignoring them!'

Ananya smiled while trying to picture the scene.

‘Have a great Christmas, Jobe. See you soon!'

‘You too. See ya!’

Immediately after that, she received a text from Jude. He had texted her earlier when he had landed, and then when he reached home, which was 30 mins ago.

‘Wassup?’

‘On my way. You?’

‘Sitting by the tree. Will read the letters soon.’

‘Tonight?’

‘Yeah, we do it on Christmas Eve. The presents are also tonight, so to wake up happy on Christmas Day.’

‘Lovely. Have fun.’

‘You too. But not too much.’

She laughed out loud and Anna turned to look at her from the driver’s seat.

‘Will try. Bye now.’

‘Bye.’

The letters were lovely. The whole family was a little overwhelmed but Mark started to make some silly jokes about Jude’s handwriting, when Jude had expressly warned them not to, and Jobe joined in. Laughter & mock wrestles filled the room while Denise stayed perched up on the side, smiling at the 3 kids.

The presents were a long, long affair. Jude had gone well & truly overboard this time - wanted to celebrate the massive Madrid contract & everything else that had come his way this year with his family. Denise even admonished him a little for the overspending and Mark tried to figure out how he even managed that when all his accounts were under their supervision. Jude just smiled smugly, saying he had his ways.

They stayed in for dinner, preferring a cozy home-made meal by the fireplace. It was already 11 pm. Jude checked his phone. Her last message was at 8:30 pm, when she reached the cabin. His mind kept picturing what could be happening there, and if he had made the right call to nudge her to go. 

Nudge her? You practically threw her into his waiting arms.

Sometimes, Jude hated his mind for playing such cruel tricks. 

He needed to talk to her right now. Fuck maturity! Fuck pride!

Jude called. The phone kept ringing. He tried again. Same outcome. After 15 mins, when his mind was about to go into a full-blown overdrive (he was close to pinging Roma for Anna’s number), his phone flashed with a message from her.

‘Bad network here. Just saw you called?’

Well yeah he called. That’s how the calls got registered on her phone. 

Knowing fully well he couldn’t take that tone with her, Jude took two full rounds around his room before responding.

‘Yeah. Can we talk?’

He proceeded to stare at his screen for 1 full minute, then she called him.

‘Hey youuu.’

Jude could tell that tone from a million miles away. She was drunk. Bad idea, he needed her to be fully in her senses tonight. But, she was away celebrating with her friends and he couldn’t possibly hold that against her.

‘Having fun?’

‘Oh yeah. Just ate half a cake. Downed it with wine. In hindsight not a great call but hey.’

She was still using big proper words. Jude surmised she was more buzzed than drunk. Good, some respite!

‘Nice. What else is happening?’

‘Just eating & drinking & playing some music & a little bit of dancing.’

‘Nothing else?’

She smiled, getting his drift.

‘Nothing that I need to tell, like we discussed.’

‘About that, I changed my mind. Tell me everything.’

Not knowing was driving him up the wall. She knew he wouldn’t last long anyway.

‘Jude, we are just joking, bitching rather, about folks at work & some clients. Typical IB stuff.’

‘Hmm.’

She caught the annoyance in his tone. It was time to change the topic.

‘How did it go there? Your folks were surprised?’

That worked like a charm. 

............................................................................

Happy New Year folks :)

[tallbluelady]

Sparrow delivery of ASKS!

Q17: The theme of family and legacy is repeated throughout Dawntrail—did this theme resonate with your character? Were there specific moments relating to family that impacted them? Q18: What important relationships changed or developed throughout Dawntrail? (Definitely not fishing for Urianger developments.)

OKAY. So, like, my entire impetus for Khaliun getting a bump in characterization and taking the role of Wuk Lamat's mentor was almost entirely driven by the fact that Thancred and Urianger were going to be working "against" the Warrior of Light. I couldn't blame CBUIII for making that story decision as they are writing for the character Meteor Finalfantasy and not for Rowan Argentas. It just is what it is! But the arc they were taking the WoL on wasn't the right one for Rowan, at least not pitted against Urianger.

Because Rowan's arc was finding a place with Urianger. In him she finds someone safe to be strange and vulnerable with. Maybe eventually they could have had a casual competition between them, but not when they only got recently married. So this is kinda a working honeymoon for them. Thancred is going to spend an unfortunate amount of time wrangling the newly married couple while Koana is trying to be polite about it.   

So for the actual questions: I had given thought that Rowan and Urianger would likely adopt children on top of trying to have their own, but the bonds shown by those who have been adopted throughout the story made me want that more. But I still have no idea what kind of person their adopted child would be at this point. I think seeing how much Koana truly cares for Wuk Lamat helped confirm the bond between adopted siblings even more, and kindled that sort of excitement in them.

And a really interesting moment for their relationship occurred in the last zone as Rowan went with the group who ventured in there -

Rowan helps Euclase, and is struck by his resemblance to Urianger. While it was Euclase who died early in life, he relates that the one who he left behind was never able to move on. So Rowan now has this thought of Urianger who completely forgot Moenbryda and never got to grieve for her. She practically offers one of her rings for him to give her if she doesn't find that creature that took his. Luckily she does find the ring, and gets to see Euclase and his fiance wave at her as she takes a ride on the gondola with G'raha. After Sphene's threat is dealt with, Rowan and Urianger have a very long talk about Moenbryda. Like, I feel like it had gotten resolved to a point before then, but now Rowan gets to express how glad she is that Urianger got to remember her and how to carry on the legacy of loving him and stuff.

So yeah! Thanks for the ask!

[bobzora]

i think if i tried hard enough i could be an ocguy. if i really tried

[mementoasts]

in my fic writing era i love writing it's my new passion friendship ended with drawing i'm never drawing ever again

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Hold You Tight In My Mind

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Love Confessions, Smut (p in v, blowjobs, kinda fingering), soft angst, injury, hurt/comfort, demon possession, friends-with-benefits to lovers.

Summary/Warnings: You and Dean have an agreement. Best friends who have sex, no strings attached. But when a case goes south, you learn a few things about Dean, specifically his thoughts on the arrangement.

Maybe you won't have to love him in silence after all.

Author's Note: Kinda request from @brtodd on tumblr!! Nothing I love more than a good old love confession, enjoy!

Title from Terrance Loves You by Lana Del Ray

Word Count: 8.5k

That’s a lot of blood. You’ve spent nights in motels stitching wounds and lost yourself on the side of the highway shouting for help, your guts half spilled on the pavement, but you’ve never seen that much blood.

“Son of a bitch, that’s a lot of blood.”

Dean, apparently, hasn’t seen this much blood either. 

“Should we, um,” you scan over the tile floor, your nose slightly scrunched. “Should we take a picture for Sam?”

“Yeah, he should see this shit too-“

“No, Dean,” you give him a flat look. “For the case. To help him figure out what the hell this thing is.”

Dean gives you a bright, boyish grin and nod of approval. “Good thinkin’, in case he gets mad at us-“

“Gets mad at you,” you correct, moving to stand at Dean’s shoulder as he takes the photo. “I’m not a part of this. I just wanna go home.”

Dean shrugs. “We all wanna go home, Sweetheart. Hell, I’ve got a wife and kids- Shit-“

He doubles over slightly from your elbow in his ribs, and you roll your eyes.

“You have a fake wife and kids. And your fake wife,” you jab your thumb at your own chest. “Doesn’t want her fake brother-in-law to kill her.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Dean’s never allowed to have fun.” He mutters, rubbing his side. “And Sammy wouldn’t kill ya’-“

“He’d kill my fake husband.” You pout at Dean, placing a hand over your heart. “And that would kill me.”

Dean chuckles, rising back to his full height. “I love it when you pretend that you care about me. Makes me warm and fuzzy.”

You roll your eyes, hoping he can’t see the low flush on your face. “You’re an asshole.”

“I know.” He shrugs. “You’re into it, though. C’mon, we gotta see if there’s actually a body in here, or Sam’ll kill both of us.”

Dean trudges off through the lake of blood, and you have to shake your head slightly to clear it. This case is going to kill you. This is so fucking gross, and the longer you’re here—in this room, in this town, on this case—the sicker you feel.

And it’s not just the blood. It’s all of this. It’s the haughty country club patrons who are downright impossible to properly interrogate, it’s the extra fancy clothing you have to wear for the investigations, and the shitty little tea cakes that the club serves. Tea cakes that you can feel your stomach growling for, because you haven’t had a chance to eat all day, and that only makes you feel worse. As every hour passes, you only feel more and more sick. You only spiral into starving mess that needs either food or Dean.

And that just makes you ill. Every time you look at Dean and hear him say wife, you want to strangle him then kiss him and it’s exhausting. Because you’d walked into this stupid fucking country club with a plan that would’ve worked fine—Sam’s your driver because he drew the short stick, Dean’s your bodyguard, you’re some fancy heiress looking to spend some money—and everything went sideways the moment the front desk asked how many household members, and Dean said four. Dean said that he was your husband, and you have kids, and that he knows he’s punchin’ above his weight class, but damn him, he can’t feel bad about it. 

You want to hate him for that. You want to throttle him for how he’s treating this like it’s casual and easy, like every time he says wife it’s not so quietly cruel to your heart. How it flutters and glows before withering, because you’ll never have that. Dean always says wife with a teasing voice and nudge of your shoulder, and you can only grin at him like it’s not killing you, reminding you of what you can’t have.

But you can’t hate Dean. You don’t really know how to hate Dean. And he doesn’t know that this is like torture, because he really thinks you’re happy with this. Not just the fake wife thing—because you are playing into it, trading the same taunts and jokes and grins—but the very real, no-strings-attached fuck-buddies arrangement you have. Have had for fucking years. The one where you’ll follow him to the ends of the earth and never, ever look back to see what you’d left behind, but all he’s asking is that you stay in his bed and let him fuck you when he asks.

It’s not a bad arrangement. He’s a sex god, he gives as good as he gets, and you’re technically exclusive, but it’s still not what you want. Crave. Desire more than you’ve ever desired anything.

Because you really just want all of Dean. Something he’s never offered anyone‚ will certainly never offer you, and you’re going to chase until it kills you. You’ll warm Dean’s bed and touch his body for as long as you’re allowed, and cling to these small deaths of maybe this could be real until they all finally catch up to your heart. You’ll gather small offerings he drops in your lap without knowing—you’re the only person he looks at, and his eyes don’t seem to stray, and he’s the one who decided you should be fake married—and build a shrine to him along your ribs he’ll never be allowed to see.

But his voice still haunts your dreams with words you feel over your skin where he’s touched you before. Words you’ve heard a million times—so pretty, sweetheart, good girl—and words you’ll never hear. Words that circle your brain and bang on your skull all the fucking time, even in this disgusting, haunting mess of blood. Words that make some small part of you spark whenever you hear Dean’s deep, strong voice say your name, because you’re a little pathetic and you can’t stop praying that he’ll say them. He won’t. He never does. 

He calls your name, and that spark kicks up your spine, and he still doesn’t say them. 

“I got it!” He sounds so proud, and you hate that it makes you smile. “We’re looking at a demon!”

You turn, pushing through the blood to join Dean at where he’s standing at a fireplace, running his finger over the mantle with a twisted expression of disgust.

“Sulfur?” You ask, stopping as close to his side as he can manage, and he shoots you a grin, holding up a bloodied—but blackened—finger. 

“Bingo, Sweetheart.” He winks, obviously missing your open, wanting gape at him as he looks back to the mantle. “Nasty son of bitch, though, I’ve never seen one of those douchebags do this.”

Dean gestures around the room, and you hum an agreement.

“So we’re good?” You ask, standing slightly on your toes to survey the sulfur buildup. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.” Dean pulls his phone out of his pocket. “I’m gonna call my wife, tell her I’ll be home for dinner-“

You whack his arm, and he laughs like a handsome, cocky fucking asshole you still can’t figure out how to hate.

“Your wife is starving, and tired of standing in blood.” You kick your foot through the mess, wrinkling your nose. “Can we please go?”

“I dunno, I think this is kinda romantic.” Dean gives you a shit-eating grin, and you swallow. “I mean, this is freakin’ gross, but it’s just us and all these guts, I think we could waste some time-“

“Shut up.” You shove him, and he doesn’t stop grinning at you. “Haul ass, Winchester, or you’ll be in the fake doghouse.”

He chuckles, rebalancing in a second. “You’re being a little dramatic, kid-“

“Don’t kid me, Dean Winchester, I’m your fake wife. I gave birth to your fake kids-“

“You’ve got some good points,“ Dean drawls your name, pulling you right against his chest, and suddenly the smell of metallic blood is nothing compared to the leather and whiskey and gunpowder of Dean. The sticky heat of the room is overtaken by the heat in your core, the heat of Dean’s breath as he lowers down to kiss right behind your ear, his voice dropping to a deep, teasing growl. “And I’m gonna real fuck you when we get back to the motel. But I gotta call Sam and catch him up, can you-“

You nod, reaching into his pocket to grab the keys, and force yourself not to look back as you leave. You wince slightly as you lean into the Impala—starting the car before rising back up and leaning against the door—but it’s not like she’s never been covered in blood before. This just… a lot more blood than usual.

Dean takes a year to join you, and when he walks out of the building he’s smirking, spreading his arms in a wide aren’t you happy to see me? gesture. 

“Sam’s workin’ it.” He stops right in front of you, too close and never close enough. “Can I buy a pretty lady a beer?”

“You can buy her some food.” You cross your arms, grinning up at him. “I saw a drive-thru down the road, we shouldn’t go inside looking like this.”

“Smart.” He places his hand on your lower back, guiding you around the car and into the passenger’s seat, and just being so fucking impossible as he opens the door and helps you inside. “Greasy fast-food for me and my girl, comin’ right up.”

You have to learn how to hate him. You have to learn how to flip Dean off and mean it, how to not flush and giggle like a schoolgirl with a crush under his attention. He doesn’t mean it, he doesn’t know how to mean it, but it still makes your lower gut warm and your face split into a wide, stupid grin when he calls you my girl, drawls your name in the car, and rests his hand on your knee as you pull through the ordering window. When he parks in the lot and you laugh together, his eyes rarely leaving yours and his smile never falling from his face. 

Even when he gets out to use the bathroom—promising he’ll be fast and try, somehow, not to draw attention to how he’s soaked in blood—Dean still grins and winks at you, and you can’t figure out how to shove his chest and shout that this is mean. That he’s mocking you and stringing your heart up on wires to play with, and he can’t be expected to know that but this is so fucking mean. He needs to stop smiling at you, and stop saying wife all the time like it’s real when it’s not. It won’t be, it can’t be, and now that’s going to haunt you forever. 

You sit there for long, lonely minutes while Dean’s gone, trying get as little blood as you can on the upholstery, because Dean had already started grumbling about how much work this is gonna be to clean up and you can’t bring yourself to make anything harder for him. You spiral through the sound of Dean calling you my girl and promising to fuck you, sit in the ghost of his big, warm hand on your body and his chest pressed right against your breasts. The gleam in his eyes that was full of promises, and the fantasy of all the plans he might have for that aforementioned fucking.

Then you hear his phone ring, and you frown. Dean almost never forgets his phone in the car, even if he’s just getting beer or paying for gas. It’s a hazard, to not have it. To not be able to reach you or Sam if he needs to, for you and Sam to not be able to reach him.

And he’s been gone a while. Long enough that your throat starts to form a small lump, and—when you pick up the call—your voice is a little unsteady, your attention on where Dean had disappeared into the building.

“Yeah?”

“Oh, hey.” Sam says your name through the speaker, his tone a little surprised. “Where’s Dean?”

“Bathroom.” You frown at the building, desperate for Dean to just appear, and soothe this horrible twisting in your gut. “What’s up?”

“I figured out what we’re looking at.” You can hear some papers shuffling on Sam’s end, his words slow and careful. “Special kind of demon that feeds off of lustful blood, which explains why he’s been going after all those rich people. Like, ten ladies and five dudes have tried to sleep with me this week, and I know you and Dean got that, uh, offer-“

“Sam.” You mutter, your eyes still on the building. “Can we exercise it?”

“Kind of. We can’t use the normal one, because it’s not a normal demon, but there is a way. And these guys seem to be capable of being injured, more dependent on their vessels or something. So-“

“If we find him we can knock him down,” you mutter. “Hold him until we figure out how to flush him out.”

“Exactly. And I’m trying to work on the flushing part,” Sam sighs, and you can picture his sheepish expression. “But I don’t have it yet. Are you-“

“We’re coming back soon. Do you want us gone a little while longer, so you can focus-“

“No, Dean told me about all the blood. Sounded gross.”

You nod, even though he can’t see you. “It was. But-“

“I’ll take the car, need to stop at the library anyway.” Sam says your name through the phone, and there’s a sound of pity in it that makes you curl slightly into yourself. “You and Dean can shower, relax, do, uh, whatever you do-“

You sigh. “Please don’t give me permission to fuck your brother, dude. It’s weird.”

“Yeah.” Sam chuckles through the static. “Sorry. I just know he’s been trying to get you alone-“

“He’s always trying to get me alone.” A dumb smile takes over your face as Dean reappears, and he’s fine. Still covered in blood, but grinning at you with a dizzying joy and gleam in his eyes. “I’ll tell him what we’ve got, and text us when you’ve got the exorcism.”

“Will do. Call me if you need anything, or if, uh, I should stay away longer-“

“Suck my dick.”

You end the call as Sam laughs, and look up to find Dean tapping on your window with a smirk. You blink at him, because he might be covered in more blood than before. There’s a bruise on his forehead that wasn’t there a second ago, his shirt is on backwards, and his jacket is drenched, but he’s look at you like he won the lottery, and you’re not sure what the hell is going on.

“Dean,” you frown at him as you roll the window down, your brow furrowed as he braces an arm on the roof of Baby. “Are you-“

He cuts off your words by ducking down, grabbing your chin, and pulling you into a long, mind-numbing, sloppy kiss that leaves you gaping and dumb. Your fingers curling in his shirt, his low chuckle rolling through your body as he pushes his  tongue down your throat, the taste of Dean—lingering burger and sweet soda and salt for your food, plus something innately Dean that’s heady and always leaves a perfect aftertaste on your tongue whenever he kisses you—overtaking the taste of blood just enough override your sense of this is kinda gross, and make you pull him closer.

When Dean pulls back—leaving you starting at him, your breathing ragged and heart trying to escape your chest as he grins at you—he grins at you, his voice a gravely promise. 

“You ready to head back, darlin’?”

You blink at him. He’s never called you darling. Darling doesn’t sound like a Dean word. “Uh, yeah, but are you feeling okay? You were in there a while-“

“Food didn’t sit right,” he shrugs, drawing back up with a last wink. “Trust me, Sweetheart, it ain’t gonna be an issue anymore. I’m all flushed out.”

He rounds the car, and you watch him move with a frown. That’s the Dean swagger-walk, but it’s longer, with almost no urgency. Dean always walks with a least a little urgency, and he calls you Sweetheart but not darlin’, and something is still squeezing around your throat and telling you something’s wrong, when Dean’s right here. He’s winking at you from the driver’s seat, driving with the same cool ease Dean always has behind the wheel, and talking to you like he always does. Like your every word is fascinating and amusing, and you could say the grossest thing in the world but he’d still call you adorable. 

You hate that he does that. It’s perfect and painful, feeding that shrine over your ribs, and almost enough to distract you from how weird he’s being. How he doesn’t seem at all interested to hear about the blood demon, how his first clarification is so Sam’s gonna leave us in the motel, and how he’s growing bolder with his hand on your leg. Trailing fingers lazily up your thigh and grinning when he brushes over the apex of your thighs, chuckling at your small gasp.

“Think we’re ready for that fuckin’, Sweetheart?” He drawls, pulling into the motel lot. “You sure seem real needy-“

“We’re not having sex, Dean, there’s a demon on the loose-“

“A demon Sammy’s handlin’.” He shrugs. “And I’ve been tryin’ to get you alone all freakin’ week. C’mon, we deserve some time together.“ Dean leans forward, smirking at you. “And I know you want it, babygirl. I bet you’re real fuckin’ wet for me.” He reaches up to your face, running his thumb over your lower lip. “So pretty, darlin’-“

There it is again. Darling. Darling, and the excessive drawling, and the slow walk, and the glint in his eyes you’re only now noticing. It’s colder than how Dean ever looks at you. It’s shallow and crude, like he can’t see anything past a pretty face and body, when Dean is—above all else—your friend. When there’s always a shining light when he looks at you that—both amazingly and awfully—reminds you that you’re more than just a body, and he mostly sees you as the best friend he’s ever had. The one he can do this with, because you care about each other too much to complicate things, and who he’ll always respect.

And this doesn’t feel respectful. It doesn’t feel like Dean. His hands are touching you, but there’s something off about them. Dean would be tracing his fingers over your inner thigh, not moving any further until your either grabbed his hand and moved it for him, or downright pleaded for him to touch you. He’d be disgusted by keeping your bloodied clothing in Baby for even a second more, and choose to back you against the motel wall instead of whatever this is. He’d let you get a word in, for your mock sparring and teasing that he always seems to win.

He would’ve worked in a joke about wanting to fuck his wife, because she can be a real brat when he neglects her. And you’d have smacked his chest, and he’d have laughed, raising his brows and saying see? She gets all bitchy and dramatic when I don’t fuck her right.

But Dean’s not doing that right now. And when you reach over the seat, trailing your hand up his chest in a pretend gesture of need, you feel it. 

Warm, sticky blood that’s fresh, and seeping through his shirt. Pouring from a wound you can feel the dip of, that somehow doesn’t make him flinch when you press slightly on it.

A wound right over his anti-possession tattoo.

You move before the demon—not Dean, this isn’t Dean, and you feel fucking ill—can register what’s happening. You pull one of the Impala’s random guns out from the glove compartment, thank a God who’s obviously not listening that it’s weighed and heavy, and ram the butt of it into Dean’s temple. Not hard enough to kill him—you do want your Dean back after this— but hard enough to knock him out. To buy you enough time to grab his by the neck of his jacket and drag him out of the impala. You kick open the motel room door, scream to Sam for help, and haul him into a chair. Sam ties him down, while you take long, deep breathes, and your words are soft and short when you finally manage to speak.

“He’s possessed.” You whisper, starting at the floor. “They carved through the tattoo.”

“Shit,” Sam starts to pace, and there’s a ringing in your ears that makes it hard to hear him. “It’s-“

You nod. “The blood demon.”

“Are you good to stay here?” Sam marches over to the table and shoving his laptop into his bag. “I’ll go to the library, find what we’re looking for, and call you when I’ve got it. Okay?”

You nod, trying not flinch at Sam’s sympathetic pat of your shoulder, and stare at Dean as Sam leaves. You feel vile. That’s not Dean, but it’s Dean’s body. Dean will still be injured when you get this piece of shit out of his body. He’ll still be covered in bloody, disgusting clothing, and he’ll remember you knocking him out. He’ll ask questions that you’ll have to answer, about how you knew. And you’ll have to tell him that you just did. You’ll leave out the part about how you have every piece of him memorized to worship, so that even if the demon had tried a little harder to pretend to be Dean, you probably still would have caught on. You’d recognizes Dean’s bones in the grave. You’d recognize his voice in space. You’d recognize him just fucking near you if you were being waterboarded and flayed alive. And you’ll have to look him in the eyes and say the painfully basic and obscuring answer of I just did, and that will hurt.

But you have time to practice. The demon’s still knocked out in Dean’s body, and Sam’s taking too long to figure this out, but you don’t have anywhere to be. You can tug Dean’s jacket off his body with a mumbled apology he can’t hear, and busy yourself trying to clean it. You can’t stop looking at him—battered, vulnerable, his face so painfully slack—and the warm, soap-covered cloth isn’t enough to keep you from spiraling. From flinching as the blood, Dean’s blood, becomes red bubbles, and trying to convince yourself that this isn’t going to be so impossibly horrible. That, maybe, the demon just won’t wake up, and you won’t have to do anything but clean Dean’s jacket until Sam gets back

But you’re not that lucky.

Pretty, green eyes that are but don’t look like Dean’s flutter open, the demon drops any pretense of playing pretend, and your skin begins to crawl as it speaks.

“Good mornin’,” it leers at you from the chair, pulling slightly on the bonds. “Aren’t you a pretty sight to see after some forced shut eye.”

You start to scrub on the leather to a degree that can’t be helpful, your knuckles white. 

“Knockin’ us out wasn’t very nice to your friend in here, Sweetheart. He’s awfully torn up about it. Feelin’ like he failed you, beggin’ me not to hurt you, hates that I was able to get the up on him and touch you at all. But can I tell you a secret,” the demon says your name, and your blood curls in your body. “He really wants to touch you himself. You’ve got a real dirty minded fellow on your hands. Who woulda thought the great Dean Winchester’s weakness would be a smart-mouthed bitch-“

The demon seems to choke on that last word, and when your gaze shoots up Dean’s body looks like it’s in pain. He’s curving into himself—his eyes screwed shut and sweat forming on his brow—and you’re moving before you know what’s happening. Jumping out of your seat and grabbing his face between your hands, your voice high and frantic over the blood pounding in your ears.

“Dean?” You run your thumb over his cheek, and he twitches, like he can’t figure out if he wants to flinch away or lean into your touch. “Shit, Dean, I need you to talk to me-“

Dean’s eyes snap open—that foul glint still rooted deep into them—and he laughs as you jerk away like he’d burned you.

“I’ll give ‘im this.” The demon says, the words still slightly strained. “He ain’t an easy ride. Keeps tryin’ to break out and talk to you, tell you not to listen to me and go find Sammy.” The demon laughs again, and it might be the worst sound you’ve ever heard. It’s Dean’s laugh, but inverted. Cold and hateful and wrong. This is so fucking wrong.

“Shut up.” You mutter, taking an unsteady step back, and the demon raises Dean’s brows.

“Well, darlin’, you’re just breakin’ poor Dean’s heart. Hurtin’ him, tellin’ him to shut up, tyin’ him up-“ The demon cuts himself off, twisting Dean’s face into a smirk. “Well, that one’s a funny little case, ain’t it. He’s too much of a pathetic little bitch to admit it-“

You scowl, standing a little taller. “Dean’s notpathetic-“

The demon pushes on as if you’d said nothing at all. “But he’s kinda into this. Likes the idea of you havin’ some fun with him however you want, pleasin’ you however you like, or,” the Demon’s grin grows mocking and crude. “Switchin’ places. Keepin’ you down to find out if he can make you scream louder than when he does that thing with his tongue, see if he can get you beggin’ all pretty. Nothin’ gets him goin’ more than when you beg-“

“Shut up.“ You hiss, grabbing your phone off your bed. “I don’t know what your fucking angle is, but I’d recommend you get out of my-“ you catch yourself, taking a short breath before plowing on. “Out of Dean-“

The demon caught it, though, and his smirk grows. “Your what? He ain’t your boyfriend, darlin’. But Jesus, he hates that too. I don’t think you’d keep indulgin’ this asshole if you could spend a second in here with ‘im like I am. He’s fuckin’ obsessed with you, it’s goddamn pathetic-“

You clench your jaw so hard you might break teeth, your movements rough as you scroll for Sam’s contact. “I said shut up-“

“He thinks he’s fuckin’ poison.” The demon sneers, and you can’t look at Dean’s face—can’t see it cruel and filled with hate—or you might start crying. “And shit, darlin’, he’d like to poison you. He’d like to do everythin’ to you. Fuck ya’ and buy you flowers and marry ya’,” the demon cackles, and you feel a little dizzy. “’S why he’s been doin’ this stupid fuckin’ charade all week. He wants to bruise ya’ and bite ya’, then whine and bitch about how he’s so disgustingly in love with you-“ The demon hacks a slight cough, and shakes his head with a mocking grimace. “Makes me fuckin’ sick, how needy and weak this piece of shit is-“

“I said,” you cross back to the chair, fisting Dean’s blood-covered shirt in your hand and yanking him up with cold words and words you hate on your tongue. “Shut the fuck up. And get out of him, before I fucking kill you.”

The demon just laughs at you, spit covering your face. “You ain’t gonna kill me, Sweetheart. Not while I’m in your precious Dean’s body. Not while you got me here, tellin’ you all the nasty things he’d like to do to ya’, how he worships the ground your fuckin’ walk on and dreams about you sayin’ you love a pile of trash like him-“

You tear off your own jacket, bundle up the sleeve, and stuff it the demons mouth. You don’t fucking care if it’s trapped in Dean’s body until Sam gets back, you can’t keep listening to it. Listening to it fucking lie and rip you apart with only words, watch it eyes gleam as it puppets Dean’s mouth to torture you. Why the fuck would it say things like that. It can’t be to hurt Dean, because all he’ll have to do is tell you when this is over that he’s sorry about what the demon said, and that it’s all just lies. And the demon doesn’t know—can’t know—that it just ripped your heart out of your chest and ran it through a meat-grinder. It doesn’t make any fucking sense, and you feel like your skin is trying to fly off your body, and Dean’s still covered in blood and it’s horrible- 

Your phone buzzes on the floor—slightly cracked from being suddenly dropped—and it’s Sam. When you pick up he doesn’t wait to hear you before he launches into frantic words, practically shouting into the speaker.

“Found it!” He sounds a little out of breath, and you wouldn’t doubt that he’s been running back to the car. “Can you put me on-“

“Yep.” You press speaker, ripping your jacket out the demons mouth and turning the volume all the way up. “Go.”

Sam starts to recite a long, fancy string of Latin words, and you can’t bear to see Dean’s body thrash and roar and fold in pain, but you need to make sure the demon goes. That when Sam finishes and Dean’s eyes start to flutter, it’s safe to thank Sam, hang up the phone, and fall to your knees at Dean’s side.

“Dean,” you cup his jaw, angling his head slightly back. “Shit, Dean, please say something-“

He moans your name, and you almost start crying in relief, dropping your head carefully onto his leg. 

“I, shit-“ Dean’s voice is hoarse as he pulls slightly at the bonds around him. “I’m happy to see you too, Sweetheart, but I kinda need you do untie me-“

“Fuck, sorry-“ You scramble with the ropes, scanning over his body as you do. “I’m gonna go get Sam’s medkit, can you take your shirt off-“

“Well, I’d usually make you but me some dinner- shit-“ He’d already started to pull his shirt off, his whole body shuddering as his arms tried to raise up. 

“Dean-“

“Gimme three, I’ve got it-“

“No, you don’t. I’m cutting your shirt off, just-“ You move to your feet, pointing a stern finger at him. “Stay.”

He raises his hands, flinching slightly at the movement. “Yes, ma’am.”

Neither of you speak for a long while. You throw yourself entirely into his stitches, tossing the bloodied rags of his shirt into the trash and stealing small at Dean’s handsome, exhausted features. He’s watching you the whole time, his mouth opening and closing like he wants to say something but it’s sure where to start. When he finally clears his throat, you hum, keeping your hands steady on the stitches.

“This fucking sucks.” He grumbles, and you huff a dry laugh. 

“Yeah. It really does.” You pull another stitch through the gash, and Dean winces. “Shit, I’m sorry-“ 

“Don’t apologize.” He mutters. “I should be apologizing to you.” 

You frown up at him, your hands coming to a still. “Why?” 

“I let that asshole get one up on me.” He grunts, refusing to meet your eyes. “Couldn’t get a hold over him, either. Let him say all that shit to you-“ 

Something cracks in your heart, but you just shrug. “That’s not on you, Dean. Demon’s lie, you don’t have to explain it-“ 

Now Dean’s frowning at you. “What?” 

“The demon,” you mumble, your face flushing slightly. “What he said. I get it, it’s what they do, you don’t need to-“ 

“The demon didn’t,” Dean coughs, his face redder than you’ve ever seen it, his voice almost nervous. “It didn’t lie. He was a dick about how he said it, but he didn’t lie.”

“I, um, I don’t-“ You gape at him for a long second, trying to figure out if he’s joking. This isn’t something Dean would joke about, but that just means you must have heard him wrong. The demon said Dean loved you, and Dean didn’t love you—you haven’t even allowed yourself to entertain the thought outside of secret fantasies and feverish dreams—so the demon lied. The demon lied. The demon had to have lied, but why would Dean-

He says your name, tone cautious and features soft when you blink at him. “Lost you for a second, Sweetheart, are you-“

“I’m okay.” You mumble, refocusing on the stiches. “I’m probably just tired, I thought I heard you say-“

“That I love you?”

You swallow. There it is again. “I-“

He says your name again, careful fingers brushing hair from your face. “Look at me.”

You can’t. You don’t know what’s going on, and there’s still so much blood. 

Dean hand moving under your chin and guides your gaze up, you lips parting slightly as your eyes meet his. He’s scanning over you, a slight furrow to his brow, and you can’t stop your hand from moving up and wiping a little blood off his cheek.

“Dean-“

“Never mind.” He mutters, shaking his head slightly. “Thought that we, uh, never mind.”

When you finish the stitches—your hands shaking slightly, your head spinning with confusion—you force him to shower first. It gives you time to spiral down, down, down, your brain turning desperately to figure out what that was. Why Dean would say that, why he’s acting so strange, why the demon would say that, why Sam’s being such a dick and insisting that he’s getting a second room, because Dean would—allegedly—rather have you here as the three of you had already been rotating through the floor, couch, and bed. 

Which means you’re stuck with alone Dean for the night. And he’s not fully looking at you when he exits the shower, and you’re mostly just mumbling to each other, and he doesn’t love you but he looks like a kicked puppy. He picks up your own blood-covered jacket, helps you carefully out of your seat, takes the soapy rag from your hands, and flat out refuses to sit until you move to the shower.

And the water doesn’t help. You feel cleaner, but the steam makes your head spin all the more, and you can’t stop picturing Dean’s fallen, almost pained features, and playing the demons words over in your mind.

Dean’s disgustingly in love with you. He worships the ground you walk on and dreams about you saying you love him. And you do love him, but he doesn’t love you, and it’s dangerous to hope that he’d love you, and-

And he still looks so beaten down when you exit the shower. He barely looks at you as you cross the room, his attention wholly on your jacket, and when you drop on the bed and clear your throat, you could sworn he pales.

“Are you,” you swallow, forcing your voice to be stronger. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yep” He mutters, still not looking up. “Stitches are fine, Sweetheart. Good work.”

You flush slightly, but push on. “And your head?”

“Pounding like a bitch, but I’ve gotten through worse.” He shrugs, and words start to creep like vomit up your throat. “We’ll grab Sam in the morning and get goin’-“

“What did you mean?” You blurt, and Dean freezes. “When you said the demon wasn’t lying?”

Dean sighs, and drops the rag, running his hands over his face before turning to you, his voice low and elbows braced on his knees. “What I said.” He grunts, his eyes now refusing to leave yours. “He didn’t lie.”

“About-“

“All of it.”

Your breathing is shallow, your voice barely a whisper, but you have to ask. It will ruin everything, but you need to ask.

But you’re a coward, and you ask the wrong thing.

“Why did you tell the country club we were married?”

Dean lets out a low, humorless chuckle. “Because I thought it would be fun. I’d get to call you my wife and see you blush all freakin’ week, and this case was gonna be shit so I thought what the hell.”

“Oh.” You whisper, unsure what to make of that. “Okay.”

Dean still doesn’t look away. If anything his eyes sear into you as his voice drops lower, his expression darkness and unreadable. “How’d you figure out I was possessed?”

You’d practiced this. You just did. You just knew it wasn’t him. That’s all you have to say, and you can’t. Something grabs your tongue and all you can say is the truth.

“Because I know you.” You mumble, unable to break his gaze. “And that wasn’t my Dean.”

“Your Dean,” He chuckles, shaking his head like he doesn’t believe you. “Wasn’t sure I was your anything, kid-“

“Well, I didn’t think you loved me.” 

You say the words before you can actually think them through, and time freezes. Dust seems to the hanging static in the air, red water still and motionless on the table, the hum of the bathroom fan stuck on one long note, and you and Dean both trapped in place. Neither of you strong enough to speak, but not weak enough to run, and why did you say that, Dean doesn’t love you-

“I didn’t think you’d want to hear it.” He’s searching over your face, words low and whole body tensed. “And I’d try to take it back for you, but-“

“Don’t take it back!” You almost yelp, and Dean’s eyes widen slightly. “I don’t want you to take it back, I just- I don’t-“

“You don’t believe me.” 

You nod weakly, wishing he would look away. Wishing Dean would just let you curl into yourself and hide for a million years, until this ends. Until this sore heat of shame over your skin and blooming warmth of hope that Dean might, maybe, really, possibly love you both die a quiet, easy death.

But he doesn’t look away. Dean pushes himself out of the chair with a grunt, walks on unsteady legs to stand before you, and takes your face between his hand, his words deep and firm.

“I love you,” he says your name, lowering his face to yours. “And I know it’s not what you want, but I do. I won’t apologize for it, but if you’re done messing around with me because of that, I’m never gonna make you pretend you love me back-“

You’d been sent into a daze of Dean loves you, he’s saying it himself and it’s the truth and he loves you, and that snaps you out of it. You close the last breath of space between your lips without effort, and this is a long, lazy, peaceful kiss that people without blood and demons would have. It’s cementing, steeling it fully into you that Dean loves you. You’ll never have to try and force yourself to hate him, because it’s shit work to hate Dean Winchester and there’s no point it anymore. He loves you, and it’s impossible to doubt that he loves you when he’s kissing you like this—not invasive but deep, not demanding but still dragging small moans and happy sighs from your throat, holding your cheek with one hand and cupping the back of your head with the other—so it’s not a war with yourself push him back a little and finally say words that have been stuck in your throat for years.

“I love you too.” You smile at him, and his eyes flash. “I don’t have to pretend, and this is what I want, so please,” you take a shaking breath, moving your hand to hold his against you. “Please don’t apologize for this. And please,” you lean a little further forward, bumping your nose with his as he continues to stare. “Keep messing around with me, Dean. I love you, so I’d-“

You cut yourself off with a squeak as Dean pulls you back into a kiss, this one heavier and sloppier, leaving you with ragged breath and puffed lips. Your hands curl into his shirt as he drops onto the bed at your side, hauls you over him with only a low, slightly pained grunt, and looks up at you with a slight frown on his face.

“That son of a bitch kissed you.”

“I thought it was you,” you mumble, tracing a small patten on his chest with one finger. “Sorry-“

“I’m not mad at you,” Dean gives you an amused look, pressing another, smaller kiss to your lips. “I’m mad at that douchebag, for trying to get with my girl.”

His words are mumbled against your lips, settling deep and warm in your stomach, and you can barely manage a hum of, “Oh. Okay.”

He chuckles, his hand moving under your shirt to run up the skin of your waist, your body shivering with pleasure at the touch. “I’d like to fuck you,” he mutters your name, his eyes on yours so attentive and dark that you might agree to jump off a cliff if he asks. “But my doctor said I need to take it easy-“

“I’m your doctor,” you gasp, dropping your brow to Dean’s as he brushes the underside of your breast. “And I think that- shit, Dean-“ He’s adjusted you in his arms, settling your core right over the obvious, proud bulge in his jeans. “If we take it easy, and you promise to let me stay on top-“

Dean shakes his head, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your jaw. “That’s gonna be a real hard,” he ruts up into you, and you whimper. “Promise to keep, babygirl-“

“Well it’s that,” you lean back, giving him a stern glare. “Or nothing, Winchester. Your choice.”

He gives you a look of mock disbelief. “I can’t believe I fake married someone so freakin’ mean to me-“

“I can.” You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, your own lips curling up slightly. “What’s it gonna be.”

Dean narrows his eyes at you, his hand trailing down your stomach to cup you right over your pussy as he drawls. “I think you should make that choice, Sweetheart. Tell me exactly how you want me to fuck you.”

“I-“ You lean forwards, burying your face in his neck to try and stifle your moans. “I already-“

“You said you stay on top, but that can mean a million things,” he mutters your name, kissing right under your ear. “I can fuck up into you, or you can ride me, or,” Dean starts to rub you through your pants, his thumb drawing rough, taunting circle over your clit. “I can finger fuck this pretty pussy until you cum all over my fuckin’ hand.”

“Dean,” you moan against his skin, your nails digging into his back. “Fuck, I-“

“This,” he moves his free hand up, playing with the waistband of your pants. “Seems to be getting in our way. Take it off for me.”

He doesn’t have to ask twice. You almost scramble to pull off your clothing—still manage to shoot Dean a glare for his low, teasing wolf-whistle when you’re fully bare before him—and almost throw yourself back onto him before you freeze. He’s still dressed—you can see the outline of where his pants must be becoming painful—and he’s still hurt. That’s why you had to stay on top in the first place. Dean won’t say it, but he’s in pain, and that’s more important than sex. You’re aching for him between your legs, you whole body whining to be pressed to his, but you can’t let him injure himself.

So you drop to your knees, help him out of his pants and boxers—feeling Dean track your every movement, remaining silent as you work—and swallow as his cock springs into view. You’ll never get tired of the sight of it. Big and meant to fit so well inside of you, pretty because it’s Dean’s, and he’s not really capable of being ugly.

Dean grunts your name as you take him in your hand, your fingers trailing over his strong thighs as you start to pump him slowly.

You smile up at him, raising your brows. “Do you like that?”

“Of course I fucking like that-“

“Do you love me?”

You say the words innocently, squeezing your hand lightly, and he blushes slightly, throwing his head back as he groans. “Shit, Sweetheart, you don’t know what you’re doin’ to me-“

“I do,” you whisper, pressing an open mouth kissed to the broad, red tip of his cock. “You do it to me too.”

“’S not-“ You take him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and letting him bump against your throat, and he cuts himself off with another groan. “Fuck, ’s not the same-“

You pop off of him with a frown. “It is. I love you too.”

“I know, pretty girl.” He mutters, moving hold your cheek, his cock twitching in your hands as you lean into the touch. “But you don’t gotta do this for me just cause you love me-“

“I like doing it.” You shrug, licking a long stripe up his shaft to prove your point, savoring the grunt it draws from his chest, the way his hand moves to fist in your hair. “I might love you, Dean Winchester,” you grin at him, replacing your mouth with your hand as you speak. “But I also really just like sucking your cock.”

“Son of a-“ Dean’s voice is a growl, his eyes darting over your face like he’s looking for something. “You’re- fuck it.”

You squeak as he pulls you up, back to his lap, and impales you on his cock in one smooth motion. 

“Dean!” You try to gain a little power over your mouth, your fingers running over his fresh stitches. “Your doctor did not, fuck-“ He rolls his hips, and you bite your tongue to stop your moan. “Winchester, your doctor did not approve picking heavy things up-“

“You’re not that heavy.” He shrugs, kissing your shoulder as his arm braces you against this chest, his words teasing and low. “And lucky me, my fake doctor is also my fake wife, and they’re both,” he moves his mouth back over yours, muttering against your lips. “Begging me to fuck them all pretty.” His other arm wraps around you, starting to guide the rolls of your hips, his eyes on yours so soft for how he’s splitting you open and bumping against the deepest places inside of you. “And get them to cum all over my fuckin’ cock.”

You moan, throwing your head back as you start to grind down on him, and you’ve done this a million times before, but it feels different. You’ve fucked Dean enough that you must have covered every base—rough and fast and soft and slow and teasing and desperate and angry and blissful—and it’s the same to your body, but different to your mind. Dean’s hands still ignite fire on your skin as he holds you as close as he can manage, but you’re not worried about how they might drop away. He’s still kissing you everywhere he can reach, but there’s nothing turning in your head about how he might not like what he tastes. He’s doing it all right—he always does it right—but it’s so much more.

You squeeze around his cock and he moans your name, almost pinning you into his laps as he latches his mouth to your upper chest. Sucking and nipping you where people can see. He’s always kept his small habit of marking you to where it won’t be visible, where people won’t jokingly ask you who got messy. But people will see this, and he knows that, and it seems to spur him on. His mouth crashes back into yours, his hands keeping your rhythm on him steady as his mouth and cock unravel you above him.

“You gonna cum, Sweetheart?” Dean growls down your throat, and you just nod frantically, swiveling your hips around him. 

“So close,” you whine, trying to find just a little more friction. “Please, Dean-“

He starts to slam up into you, holding you steady with one arm as he leans back, bracing himself on the bed. His stitches are somehow still closed, he’s looking at you like you’re all the world gathered for him to hold, and his mouth is lowering to pull your nipple between his teeth. Keeping you right on the edge as his thrusts grow uneven, his hands bruising on your skin in the best way.

“Fuck, you wanna cum with me, babygirl?” He groans, flicking your nipple with his tongue before pulling you down to him, dragging you into a kiss of spit and need and pure fucking desire. “Think you can ask me real pretty-“

“Please. Please, Dean, please.” You gasp, your clit starting to rub against his abdomen, your whole body so close to bursting into flames. “So fucking close, need it so bad-“

He bites on your lower lip, smirking at your high whine. “Good girl.” He jerks up into you one last time, the movement rough and uncontrolled, and groans into your ear. “Cum.”

You might have screamed, but everything goes blinding and loud and holy like a hymn you only know in the language of Dean, and you never want to stop singing for the rest of your life. You can hear him shouting your name as he spills up into you, but you’re so high on your pleasure— on the smell of Dean everywhere around you and his lingering taste on your tongue—that it’s distant and only a rush of good. Dean feels good, and he’s muttering in your ear that he loves you, so you think everything might be really good.

And it is. This isn’t blood or work. This is Dean’s cock still buried inside you, his hot, warm cum running down your thighs, and your hands tracing over his warm skin to check that his stitches are still together. This is your face pressed into the crook of Dean’s neck, his hands combing through your hair, and a priceless sense of peace. It’s always lingered before, but it would wash away as you both left the bed, and drift into nothing as you wandered back into the real world. It feels more certain now. It feels more set into your bones, and you know you’ll see more blood and stitch more wounds, but this is going to stay. Dean is going to stay, and you have all of him. And that’s welcoming this sense of peace that’s so finite and rare, you’d have to be insane to let it go. 

So you won’t. And you won’t have to cling to him, because Dean isn’t foolish enough to let you go either. You’ll keep all of Dean, he’ll do the same for you, and he’ll keep igniting a spark in your gut by saying my girl that you won’t ever allow to go out. 

End Note: Look! A Rare Dean Winchester dealing with his own emotions! Spotted in the wild! And I am physically incapable of writing a short one-shot, and I'm very sorry about that.

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

Taglist

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature

[yuwuta]

EAT MY WORDS, AND THEN SWALLOW YOUR PRIDE DOWN — OKKOTSU, INUMAKI

cw: choking, spit (mentioned), threesome, established relationship

Yuuta doesn’t like to share. He’s usually all or nothing, but there’s something about you and Toge that makes you both the exception to his rule. 

Maybe it’s knowing that somehow he’s found a way to have his cake and eat it, too. That he can have both of you, that you’re both his and nobody else’s, and it grants him the privilege of knowing nobody else can take either one of you away from him. 

Except for each other, but Yuuta doesn’t quite mind that. He likes watching you two have each other, likes watching Inumaki tease you while you’re kissing, because he’s messy, flashes of your tongue while he sucks on it, whiny, desperate grinding of your hips against each other that are a clear ploy to hear you whine and plead, and it works every single time. Yuuta laughs a little from where he stands in the doorway to the bathroom, ruffling a towel through his damp hair and admiring how desperate you look when Toge’s hand creeps up your neck to keep you still, the perimeter of your lips slick with spit and you gasping for air and more and more and more and—“Toge, please.” 

But Toge likes to tease, and he knows that Yuuta likes to watch, and that you can take it, so he squeezes another moan out of you before kissing your nose, then your cheeks, then your neck, all open mouth and teeth and tongue. He groans between kisses, feeds off of your whining and flimsy attempts to grab at his shirt, and bites your lip a little too hard to use the distraction to push you back against the mattress. 

Yuuta finds himself blushing when Toge is on top of you, grinding his hips down to watch your squirm, steadying your writhing with a tight grip on your jaw. He can tell it hurts a little, but you can take more—he’s seen you take more, he’s seen Toge give you more, so when he uses his other hand to press his thumb against your tongue and flatten it down, Yuuta gasps along with you. 

Toge is the one who giggles now—and audible laugh that ghosts across your tongue before he licks against yours. It’s followed by a searing kiss, moving his thumb from your mouth to your cheek in loving contrast to his biting kisses. He releases his hold on your neck for just a second, just enough to let you gasp deeply for air, before it’s back, before you’re gasping again and with strained moans, and desperate, desperate hands pawing at Toge. 

“This is certainly fun to watch,” Yuuta slings the hand towel around his neck, rounding the bed as Toge sucks at your skin and gropes your tits, and your eyes screw shut at his mercy. Toge smiles against your collar when Yuuta sits on the edge of the bed next to him, pulls back and swipes his thumb across your swollen lips with wicked intent. “But now you’re just being mean.”

Inumaki merely shrugs, sitting up over your hips and turning to Yuuta, whose eyes flicker between Toge’s and yours, then to your lips, and his hand on your neck, and back to your face. He’d only caught the last few minutes of Toge’s torture, but from the state of your heaving chest, and the amount of bruises on your neck, and size of your pupils, he’d imagined that Toge had been toying with you from the moment he’d stepped into the shower. 

Yuuta grins at the thought. You let Toge get away with too much. You must like seeing him get drunk on you, too; Yuuta can’t fault you for that. 

“Hi, angel,” Yuuta reaches a hand out to cradle your face, a gentle hold that you easily lean into, “Toge being mean to you?” 

Your eyes go wide, fluttering between both boys hovering over you. There’s no right answer, but there might be a wrong one. When your eyes land on Toge again, he’s got his head cocked to the side, a single eyebrow raised, and then quietly, without room for argument he commands, “Answer him.” 

“No—no,” you gasp, immediately turning to look back at Yuuta, who smiles down at you, “I just... want more.” 

Yuuta’s thumb strokes across your cheek, then your bottom lip, until he can slide it into your mouth. He’s been told that his eyes can be intense, and it used to make him insecure, but there’s newfound confidence in the way it makes you and Toge pliant under his gaze. 

“You’ve got her wrapped around your finger, don’t you?” Yuuta muses when you suck on his finger, turning his head, brushing his nose against Toge before leaning into a kiss, “Poor thing.” 

They make a show of kissing each other just to tease you. Toge angles himself towards Yuuta, but makes sure to buck his hips against you to have you straining underneath him, too. The more they lick into each other’s mouths, the heavier Yuuta’s thumb presses against your tongue and you’re left gagging when Toge’s hand leaves your neck to cup Yuuta’s jaw and sucks on his tongue. 

Spit drips down their chins, filthy and wet and too much and not enough. You bend your arms to lean up against your elbows, moaning frustratedly, Yuuta’s fingers messily trailing with you. He can tell that you want to touch them, kiss them, be between them. But Toge is quick to drop a hand from his face, doesn’t even have to look your way to wrap it around your neck with practiced ease and force your back to be flush with the mattress again. 

Yuuta groans, slowly pulling away from Toge when you whine for him. And Yuuta is weak to you, so when he sees your debauched face, he can only coo, lean down and give you a careful, chaste kiss, smearing the spit across your lips when he pulls away. 

“Sorry, angel,” he apologizes, giving you another quick kiss, “Come here.” 

He helps you to sit up, back against the headboard, and Toge kneeling in front of you. Yuuta cards a hand through his hair, pulling him closer to you, not without warning, “Be nice,” before pushing him to kiss you. 

“That’s it,” Yuuta muses, sighing when you both fall into each other’s hold again, “Be good to each other.” 

It’s only Yuuta that gets to see you two like this, only him that gets to share these moments. He’ll let you belong to each other, just as long as you know you’re his, too.

[cherryredstars]

you know what season it is!!! back shots in a sundress with no panties!! i strongly request rich people private beach sex! boat sex! rich sugar daddy husband who is never really home but when he is he WRECKS your body!!

Pairing(s): Miguel O'Hara, Simon Riley, John Price x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Penetrative Sex, Public Sex, SugarDaddy!Characters, Simon isn't gentle in this one (sorry!)

A/N: My favorite season!!!!

Unedited

| SIMON "GHOST" RILEY: CAKE BY THE OCEAN

He can't help himself when his pretty baby is all dolled up for him.

You got that cute little sundress he bought you on, letting out little giggles every time the wind picks up and you have to hold your dress down like the better version of Marilyn Monroe. He doesn't understand why you do it though. You're the one who begged him to take leave so the two of you can spend the warm weather at the beach house, wanting to spend time on the private beach. Plus, if you really cared about decency, you wouldn't have left without panties. He thinks you're adorable, clueless to the fact that you've flashed him a handful of times already.

But maybe that's part of some secret plan you've been plotting. especially when you pout at him and demand he let you rub sunscreen all over his body.

I just don't want your scars to get irritated, Si.

He thinks your a fucking liar. How else would that explain the way you so willingly sprawl out on the beach blanket you've brought along, your bare ass exposed to him as your dress is bunched around your waist. In the sun, he can see your dripping cunt glistening with arousal. He fucking loves the pretty gasps you let out when the wind fans over your folds, a tiny plea for him to stop his teasing following after. His poor, spoiled baby, so desperate to have a different kind of fun at the beach.

He doesn't care for the beating sun burning his back as his thick cock slides through your puffy folds, more focused on the way your insides are a thousand times hotter. The only thing he needs coating his skin is your sticky arousal as it drips around his cock, a foamy ring of white forming at his base as he thrusts into you. He hates sand, but he doesn't mind the way it gets on the blanket as you pull on it, crying and hiccuping at him how it's too much.

"Si! It's too hot, I'm getting all gross and sweaty!" You sob out, teary eyes looking back at him.

He coos at your cries, giving your ass a hard smack before rubbing the pain away. You could have just told him you needed something to help you cool down. He's more than happy to help as he licks over your skin, his saliva coating your neck and shoulder blades. You taste like the sun and sweat, and he knows that after his he'll need to eat out that pretty pussy of yours to see how they add to your addictive taste.

He must have spoiled you too much, rolling his eyes as you start complaining about how sticky your skin feels with his spit drying on you. He shuts you up with a few punishing thrusts, only tolerating your incoherently wobbly moans and cries. He grits his teeth when he feels his high peaking, swiftly pulling out of you with a groan as he hot seed shoots onto your back. It darkens the fabric of your dress, pearly lines sitting on your sparkling skin.

Simon chuckles as you whine under him, his rough hands rubbing his cum over your skin in a thin layer.

"Gotta make sure your pretty skin is nice and coated, love."

His cum looks close enough to sunscreen, anyways.

| MIGUEL O'HARA: HANDS ON THE WHEEL

"Keep 'er steady, baby."

You only moan back in reply, your hands tightening around the wheel. Your hands are sweating from the sun's heat and from the heat radiating off of Miguel's body as he thrusts into you. The sound of your wet cunt is drowned out by the sound of the ocean, but Miguel is more concerned about the ocean of wetness that gushes around his cock. Your grip on the wheel has nothing on the vice grip your pulsating walls have on his cock.

His large hands reach up, his chest pressing against your sweaty back as his hands cover yours. He guides your hands slightly to keep the wheel straight, his thrusts not stopping. He's trying to teach you how to steer the boat through groans, and you only moan and whine in response as your mind gets consumed by the way his cock drills into you. Miguel curses when your grip on the wheel slips, your body falling forward as your orgasm crashes into you and the wheel spins quickly out of control.

His hand instinctively clasps around your neck to keep you from hitting your head on the wheel, making your back arch as he pulls you close to him as his other hand works to fix the wheel. His cock slips out of you, the ends of your fluttery dress pushing over his angry tip. He grunts as he thrusts his cock into your back, groaning as he spurts hot strings of pearly white dampen the back of your dress. You babble as you come down, feeling the wet parts of your dress starting to cling to your skin.

"Didn't I tell you that ya'gotta be careful while at the wheel, mi vida?"

Well, whose fault is that.

| JOHN PRICE: PRETTY HOUSEWIFE

This by far is his favorite part of coming home.

He loves getting home after a rough deployment, only to find his pretty little wife waiting dutifully at home for him. You treat it like a special occasion, making his favorite meals in that cute little apron and sundress that has his cock throbbing. You're so good to him. It's only right that he shows his appreciation with a good fucking.

He doesn't care if his hot plate of food is getting cold as he bullies his cock into your needy hole. You're so tight from not being filled with his cock for so long, your fingers not stretching you out the way his fat cock can. Your little moans and cries of his name are the only nourishment he needs at the moment. His pretty little wife takes him so well.

"Looks so gorgeous f'me like this, doll." John grunts at you, chuckling at the way your walls flutter around him.

This is by far the greatest way to be welcomed home, and of course he's gotta give you the first of many gifts he's got you while he was away. He groans low and deep as he shoots the build-up of cum that's been sitting painfully in his balls, watching as it gushes around his cock as your pussy gets stuffed full. You look so pretty sitting across from him in that sundress, trying to keep as much cum as possible in your snug cunt as he finally digs into his home-cooked meal.

No way in hell he'd let his seed go to waste.

[babyleostuff]

call me back

fluff (+ a bit of angst) 𐙚 established relationship 𐙚 idol!hoshi x fem!reader 𐙚 wc: 1.6k

. . . fighting with you is never easy for hoshi. especially not when an ocean is separating you

was fighting over the last piece of cake stupid and immature? yes. did it feel like hoshi’s whole world was about to collapse when he noticed you ate it? double yes. while your boyfriend wasn’t known for his great patience and non-existent anger issues, he never took his anger out on you, no matter how frustrated and annoyed he was.

well - until last week. 

hoshi came home tired and very, very hungry, nothing out of the ordinary, though you could clearly see he was a lot more agitated than usual, so you did what you always did when he came back exhausted like that - gave him space. you were just about to start your nighttime routine when you heard your name being yelled from the kitchen, and not in a happy “baby, my love, my darling, please come hereeee” kind of way. 

you didn’t even get a chance to take a breath as you entered the kitchen, coming face to face with soonyoung and his angry pout. “where the fuck is my cake?” he asked, and now, a week later, his words were still echoing through his head. 

it was never his intention to lash out at you like that. obviously. he was tired, and hungry, his muscles were aching, he felt like a bad boyfriend for spending so little time with you, and he forgot to buy a gift for his mom's birthday - not that it mattered, nothing could excuse him for being so mean to you. to make matters worse, instead of acting like a man and begging on his knees for your forgiveness, he chickened out and just left. 

“man, why don’t you just don’t call her and apologise?” woozi sighed, throwing his head back because it had to be the tenth time he had to listen to hoshi’s story of how he decided to act like the biggest dick over an overpriced piece of a strawberry cake. 

“i did but she’s not answering.” 

“no shit, i wouldn’t have answered either.” 

and that exactly was the biggest problem - it was hard enough to go through a fight while he was home, but now that he was overseas, a thousand kilometres away from you it was impossible. yes, he could send you flowers and shit, but it would only piss you off even more. there was no way for him to show you how truly fucking sorry he was. 

“i know you’re angry with me right now, but please,” hoshi took in a shaky inhale. he couldn’t remember the last time he felt so… sad. “please, just call me back,” that had to be the tenth voicemail he left you ever since he left home. 

you, on the other hand, weren’t doing much better. you felt like slapping the shit out of him that night in your apartment, and although you were able to control your sudden surge of violence, you didn’t hold back on cursing him out after he left. you even thought about burning his side of the closet but if you did that you’d lose all of your favourite hoodies and flannels, so you gave up on that too. 

after your short rage situation, you sat down at kitchen island, and stared at the empty plate where soonyoung’s cake was supposed to be. how were you supposed to know he’d act like that over a cake? obviously you wouldn’t have eaten it then. you figured your boyfriend must’ve had a really bad day at the rehearsals. the past couple of days were really harsh on him, and if you could you’d wrap him in bubble wrap, a couple of blankets, and cuddle the shit out of him for being so strong through all of this. 

all of those excuses for him and still - you couldn’t bring yourself to answer his calls and texts, no matter how much listening to his voicemails broke your heart. 

“so, um, i know we’re not talking but i’m just calling to tell you good morning. remember to eat, and um, have a great day, baby.” 

the boys were slowly losing their patience too (seungcheol asked mingaho if he could share some of his calming tea) because a grumpy hoshi was never a fun hoshi, plus - they hated seeing their best friend constantly beating himself over your fight. there was something lacking without their performance team leader’s spark. 

“should we just call her?” mingyu looked over at soonyoung, who was sitting by himself in the corner of the room. “he looks pathetic, moping around like that,” he snorted. 

seungcheol groaned, banging his head on jeonghan's shoulder. as they started to get older he started to feel less like a leader but more like a therapist (he really thought about resigning the day seungkwan came whining about a love triangle he got himself into). “they are adults, they should figure it out between themselves.” 

“oh come on, do we have to remind you what we had to do for you when you forgot about your girlfriend's birthday so she would forgive you?” mingyu snickered, and pulled out his phone. 

you didn’t know what to expect when you saw mingyu’s picture flash over your phone screen. it definitely had something to do with your boyfriend, that much you gathered, but you weren’t sure you wanted to hear what he had to say. your boyfriend’s words really hurt you, and no matter how much you wanted to forgive him, you weren’t sure you could do it yet. 

eventually, you clicked on the green button with a shaky finger. “yes?” you took a deep inhale and prepared yourself for whatever you were about to hear. 

“okay, so you know exactly why i’m calling. your boyfriend looks like a kicked puppy, he stopped saying horanghae, he’s dressed all in black and he looks like he drank an entire bottle of soju. i mean, don't worry, he didn't do it because he would be reeling now, but you get what i mean. whatever happened between the two of you, give us back our hoshi."

"well, that was very tactful," you heard coups' voice in the background.

“can you shut up for one second?” 

“no, in fact i can’t.” 

“okay, boys, i don’t want to interrupt whatever is going on, but i really need to know if he’s doing as bad as you're saying.” 

“bad” didn’t even come close to what hoshi was feeling. at this point he was so angry and frustrated at himself for acting like he acted, that seriously had to be one of his lowest points of his life achievements. now you were going to dump him, and he’d have to drown himself in soju, and grow a beard, and write a sad love song that he’d hear at the radio for the rest of his life, and-

there was no way you were calling him right now. and yet, “h-hello? babe?” 

“no, the fucking pope,” he’d have to add a cabin in the woods to his list of what he’d do after you’d break up with him. “kwoon soonyoung, you have to be one of the most insufferable, impatient and immature people i know. all this because of a piece of cake? do you hear how childish that sounds?"

loud and clear, honey. 

“that’s why i didn’t apologise in the first place. i immediately realised how fucking stupid i acted, and felt so ashamed of saying all of those awful things to you, and so i just left.” 

you sighed defeated. you kind of anticipated him saying that - your boyfriend had a habit of doing things before thinking them over, and as much as you understood him being exhausted and overworked, you still couldn’t forget how small he made you feel that night. 

“look, i really don’t want to fight, being away from you is hard enough, but…,” you ran a hand over your face. what were you supposed to do? you spent the last three nights on the couch because you couldn’t fall asleep in your shared bed, and there were so many times when you wanted to text him about the most unserious things that only he’d get, but you just couldn’t. “your words really hurt me.” 

“i know, shit, i know, and i’m so fucking sorry. whatever i’ll say it won’t be enough, i should’ve apologised right away. fuck, your boyfriend is such a loser,” you heard him laugh, but it was not the usual soonyoung laugh that made the flowers bloom, and sun shine. “i understand if you want to take a break.” 

“that’s the thing, i don’t want to take any breaks. i miss you so much. i miss talking to you every night, i miss our silly conversations, i miss getting my daily hoshi boyfriend pics. i’m sick of seeing your face on twitter and not over face time,” you pulled the sleeve of his sweater over your hand, like it would make you feel any closer to him. “let’s take it slow, maybe?”

you could swear you heard soonyoung exhale, “yes, yes, let’s do that. whatever you need, babe,” he said immediately. “my poor baby must’ve been so nervous.” 

“i love you, you know,” you whispered. there was no point in making things worse and pretending that you didn't miss him, and even though it would probably be a while before everything went back to normal, you didn't want him to doubt whether you still loved him as much as you did before.

“i love you too. very much,” he whispered back, finally sounding a bit happier. “and baby? thank you for calling me back.

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @jeonghansshitester @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @itza-meee @eightlightstar @immabecreepin @whatsgyud @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @vicehectic @dkswife @uniq-tastic @marisblogg @aaniag @daegutowns @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @embrace-themagic @ohmyhuenings @nidda13 @hrts4hanniehae @k-drama-adict @isabellah29 @f4iryjjosh @bangantokchy @mrswonwooo @bangtancultsposts @lllucere @athanasiasakura @chillseo @onlyyjeonghan @haecien @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @hannahhbahng @valgracia @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @mirxzii @hhusbuds @wonranghaeee @rosiesauriostuff @gyuguys @aaasia111 @tomodachiii @veryfabday @lilmochiandsuga @asasilentreader @mrsnervous @bewoyewo @sharonxdevi @wondipity @gyuguys @raginghellfire @treehouse-mouse @waldau @wonootnoot @hellodefthings @dokyeomkyeom @sourkimchi @bbysnw

[lowkeyrobin]

hi pookie can I get an mcyt with reader that bakes?? Like they'll just come in on stream and give mcyts a fucking platter of baked goods lol

-🎀 anon

oooo yes omg!! thank you 🎀 anon! <3 got the whole gang in here for this one LOL

MCYT ; "in my baker era"

includes ; tommyinnit, ranboo, badlinu, nihachu, quackity, foolish gamers, slimecicle, & cellbit

warnings ; language, mentions of drugs

masterlist

TOMMYINNIT

"Hi y/n- oh, thank you, darling!'

literally has the widest smile on his face

shows off the goods to the stream

"do these have any drugs in them? me n charlie are trying to sell drugs, y/n. we need more stock"

you hear charlie screaming through tommys headphones, "we need the grain, y/n! we need THE GRAIN"

bro is munching away on those cookies holy shit

he feeds chat as well dw

RANBOO

"Hey babe! Oh, thank you!"

does a whole 360 of the plate for chat 💀💀💀💀

"Oh my God, these are so fucking good"

"guys, y/ns in their baking era. can you write an album about that? please become Taylor swift for us"

"BAHHAHAHAH"

literally takes a picture as per usual and posts it to Twitter LMAO

he gets some fans to send you recipes you should try for a serious baking stream LMAO

BADLINU

"Hey love- oh, hi!"

all smiles and shit, he swears you have a sixth sense to know when people are hungry

"guys, y/n made me some bisexuality cake!" He giggles, showing off the tri-colored cake on the plate

he was making a video with harry, tubbo & tommy so everyone had their facecams on

it was like a three tier cake you made and cut out a slice for him

the inside was just the bi flag and the outside was plain white with some fun icing piper testing

he tries it and it's SO MOIST AND SOFT IT IS PERFECT.

there's just 5 raw minutes of him telling you how amazing this fucking cake is LMAO

QUACKITY

"Hey, I'm streaming ba- ohmyfuckinggodthankyou!!"

does a 360 of the plate for the camera

"Holy shit these look so fucking good, thank you so much, y/n"

he's literally just streaming on the qsmp with roeir and fit and he like games and eats the damn cookies at the same time LMFAO

"Dude I feel like I'm high, these are so good, what's in this shit?"

"cocaine"

"WHAT!? DID YOU JUST DRUG ME? GUYS, MY PARTNER DRUGGED ME, HELP"

you're just playing into the bit dw

best red velvet cookies he's ever eaten

CELLBIT

"Hey darling, what's up?"

you hand him the little strawberry shortcake and he just looks at you like 😍😍

turns to his stream and shoves the plate up to the camera all happy like "Oh my God look what they made for me!"

he eats the entirety of it on stream and asks you a bunch of questions

like how you made it, where you found the recipe, etc

he shares it with you too 💔🫶

NIHACHU

"Hi honey! Ooo, what's this called?"

"Chocolate mousse. it's a little thick because it's my first time making it but let me know if it's good"

she holds that little glass like it's her child

she tries it with a tiny spoon you gave her and she's like "oh my God this is amazing, y/n/n"

shows it off to the friends she's streaming with too

"send them more recipes guys, I wanna be spoiled with sweets!"

"thank you nikis viewers!! love you all"

FOOLISH GAMERS

when I tell you this man's face LIGHTS UP.

"you made me fudge? oh my God! I love you"

literally spends the next 15 minutes talking to you and gobbling the fudge down

"since when do you make fudge??"

"since I wanted to try" you shrug

"you should totally make some more... when you're not busy and if you want to!"

"Thank you y/n! everyone say thank you!"

SLIMECICLE

"Oh, hi y/n! thank you so much"

does a 360 for stream

"when did you find time to make this? I thought you were at work????"

"special treat" you shrug

you watch him run across the qsmp and go to ems bakery to sit inside and eat it 😭

he keeps you on stream for a while cause chat loves you n stuff 🫶🫶

[mitraoki]

genshin men brainrot!

note; just something to ease my way back into writing. i truly miss it a lot - considering how much i abandoned it during my recent semester(⊙_⊙;) i hope you guys enjoy it!

cw; a little suggestive, they're just smitten for u, violence but against other people!!

masterlist.

+ wriothesley has this thing where he likes being yanked by the tie. only from his beloved, of course. someone else comes into play and he’s choking them next. the way your fingers wrapped around the fabric, twisting them around your fist, bringing him in closer till your foreheads touch, and your breathing syncopates with his. whether it's for fun, or when the two of you are left alone in his office, that little smirk is painted across his face and the next thing you know, he's smothering you with kisses.

"someone's needy. not complaining, just anticipating is all."

+ on stressful days, alhaitham forgets reality. no, it's not the kind where he forgets to eat or drink, it's the kind where he becomes a full time machine. all he does is take orders, execute them perfectly, and tend to the various other tasks piling up on his desk. for someone always assuring you that his workload isn't as concerning as you thought it was; it was fearsome to see his questionable demeanor when he meets up with you in public. though, it all comes to end when the two of you are alone - did you flip a switch in him or something? - he's wrapping his arms around your figure from behind, leaving a trail of kisses down your neck and whispering continuous apologies.

"...what can i do to make it up to you?" + neuvilette loves giving you gifts. it was that one time when you'd mentioned you loved the way he crafted it from scratch, bringing his ideas to life. in a way, it's another huge step for him to understand the little things of a human's life; and you were his number one supporter. there he sits during his free time, getting ideas from some of the melusines about what he should give you next. he takes notes of your likes and dislikes very quickly, but everything has to be perfect, just for you. anything to see that smile of yours bloom time and time again.

"if one's not enough, perhaps i can get you tons more! ....no such thing, this was a piece of cake."

+ kaveh loves styling your hair. he's definitely not the kind to judge the length of your hair - he can work with anything you prefer to have. from hair clips to peonies - his skillful fingers work through your locks, getting them done in a jiffy. he makes sure to not hurt you in the process, too. sometimes he even comes home with a new collection of hair clips, claiming that 'it would definitely look good in your hair!' every single time he finishes, he makes sure to get a good look at you, admiring every facial feature of yours. it ends up making you feel flustered, but he's just so in love with you. just what did he do to have such a lover like you...?

"as beautiful as always, my love."

+ not everyday is sunshine and rainbows for ayato. there were even times where your hand would reach out for nothing but a note on your shared bed, stating that he was off to settle yet another matter which frankly, did not require him at all. it was just regulations he had to follow. though you could see the slight changes in his handwriting, indicating that he wrote them all with a heavy heart. except for the 'i love you.' he wrote that with ease, a reassurance that he will return to your arms. when he does, he swings you around, pulling you in for the biggest embrace. he peppers kisses along the bridge of your nose, lingering around your lips, trailing them down to your chin, your neck. any place he could catch a glimpse of in the moment.

"i've never cursed at time as much as i did today. i hope it treats us well tonight."

all created content belongs to mitraoki. reposts/remakes are not allowed.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Difficult V

Mapi Leon x Ingrid Engen x Child!Reader

Summary: A trip to Mami's hometown

It's not often that you don't go back to Norway with Mumma for the international break. You go with her most of the time to see her parents but this time you're staying in Spain with Mami.

It's a shorter break than usual so uprooting your life and forcing you through jetlag is probably worse than just leaving you in Spain with Mami.

Which is why you're in the car driving to Zaragoza, where Mami is from, for the week to see your Abeuala and Abuelo. Mami says she's got a fun week planned for you both but you don't know if you believe her.

She said that she had a fun day planned a few days ago but all you did was feed the ducks at the park and then spent nearly an hour in the art shop as Mami debated different types of pencils.

"There she is!" Abuelo says as you jump out of the car. He grabs you, throwing you in the air and catching you again.

"Abeulo!"

"Look at you, bebita! Looking more and more like your Mumma everyday!"

You grin. "That's what Mami says!"

"Your Mami has good eyes." He puts you back down on the ground. "Now, I'm pretty sure your Abuela has made a cake just for you inside. Do you want to go in and check?"

You're off like a shot before he even finishes his sentence and Mapi is left to bring your bags in by herself.

"What, no welcome for your daughter?"

"Hello, María," Her father says," Thank you for bringing the little one with you. Your mother has been getting ready for her all month. You'll be lucky if you get the bebita back."

"She'll have to take it up with Ingrid," Mapi replies, dragging the bags inside.

You're already sitting on the kitchen counters, being fed bites of cake as Mapi's mother multitasks between feeding you and whipping up another dessert from scratch.

"Hola, Mama."

"Hola, María," Her mother says," You are late. We expected you earlier."

"It is a long drive, Mama. We had to take a break for lunch."

Mapi's Mama raises a brow. "Why did you stop? Are my lunches not filling enough? You had to stop somewhere else to eat? I made lunch specifically for you."

"Mama! Stop putting words in my mouth. We-"

"Can we have second lunch, Abeula? I'm still hungry."

"Of course you can, bebita! I can always trust you to eat my cooking."

"I love your cooking!"

Abuela swings you up into her arms as she flits around the kitchen getting out the lunch she'd put in the fridge.

"Now, you go and watch some tv with your Abuelo. If you eat all your lunch then there is dessert waiting for you."

Your time in Zaragoza is spent very much like your first day. Abuela cooks more food than you've ever seen in your life and you eat it all like you've been starving for years.

Today is different though.

Today Mami has taken you to a storage locker. She hasn't said much about it and she stops in front of the door.

"Bebita," She says," It's very important that you keep this a secret."

You frown. "From who, Mami? From Abuela and Abuelo?"

"No," She laughs," From your Mumma."

"Why?"

"Bebita, I'm serious. Promise this is our secret."

"Okay."

Mami opens the door to the locker and you gasp.

"It's a motorcycle! There's a little one too!"

You're right.

There's a big one that looks like Mami could sit on comfortably. She doesn't touch that one. She grabs the little one. It's exactly like the big one but smaller.

She wheels the little one out of the locker and pops it into the back of the car. It doesn't take long at all for Mami to drive to a dirt track.

"This is your helmet," She says, attaching it to your head and knocking on it to prove it works," And these are your kneepads and elbowpads. What is the important rule?"

"Don't tell Mumma."

"No, the other one. The one I told you in the car."

You think for a moment. "Oh! Squeeze the breaks if I'm scared!"

"And?"

You pout. "But, Mami-"

"No, what's the other rule?"

You sigh. "Don't let the arrow go over the five."

"That's right. I'm going to be holding you the entire time. It's just like your normal bike at home. Now, if- Bebita!"

Mapi scrambles after you, grabbing onto the back of your little motorcycle to keep you upright.

You have no fear though. In fact, you're thoroughly enjoying yourself as you go up and down the bumps in the track, shrieking your joy for the whole world to hear.

"Mami! Mami!" You say," Can I go faster?"

"I don't know, bebita. I think-"

"Is it because you're scared? You don't have to hold on if you're scared. I'm a big girl now!"

Mapi sputters. "I absolutely do need to hold on!" She tells you," And I'm not scared."

"I think you are."

"I'm not!"

"Are!"

"Not!"

"Are!"

It takes a lot of convincing to get you to accept that your dirtbike is staying in the secret storage locker in Zaragoza with her own bike. It's all you talk about as Mapi drives you home at the end of the week.

Your whole short life has now been taken over by the dirt track and your bike. It's all you want to talk about, even as Mapi tries to turn on the radio to drown out your words.

Ingrid is waiting for you both in the house but you completely bypass her, ducking under her arm and immediately running to the tv.

"She hasn't seen me for a week," Ingrid says," And it's like I don't exist."

You fiddle with the remote, flicking through channels until you find the motocross race that's currently going on, falling to the floor so you can watch, pressed up against the tv as close as you can get without being told off.

Ingrid's eyes narrow.

"Mapi," She says," What have you done?"

"Why do you always think I've done something?"

"Because I know your parents didn't introduce her to that. What did you do?"

"Nothing!"

"Bebita, what did Mami show you while I was away?"

"Nothing, Mumma!"

[archangeldyke-all]

can you write something about sevika getting chubbier by skipping the gym because she's focusing on you and other priorities in her life. and finding out she's pleasantly surprised by the extra weight

YES I FUCKING CAN!!!!!!!

men and minors dni

since you've moved in together six months ago, sevika's put on some weight.

she's a tall woman, and she's ripped with muscle, so it's hard to tell at first. but... over time you begin to notice a bit of a change.

her hips are a little plusher beneath your grip, her ribs aren't visible anymore, her sharp jawline gets a little softer.

it makes you so fucking happy.

when you first met her, the woman barely ate. besides whiskey and bar nuts, her appetite mostly consisted of eating whatever scraps jinx leaves behind on her plate after lunch.

you made it a habit to shove snacks in her hands at any chance you got. trail mix, granola bars, sliced fruit: just whatever you had near you that you could give her. she always digs in without hesitation, never tries to deny the food, so you start shoving snacks in her pockets when you do her laundry, and her beg when she's not looking.

as you guys grew closer, sevika started blowing off her nightly visits to the gym to visit with you instead. you asked her once over dinner if she missed her hobby, and she'd just shrugged, smiling at you. "i'll still get a pretty good workout in with you once we get home, babe." she teased. you snorted and elbowed her, shoveling another bite of cake in her mouth, and she smirked as she spoke around a glob of chocolate frosting. "gym's not as fun as you, anyways."

she's still just as strong as she was before; if anything, the extra fat on her body just gives her more fuel to last longer during her fights-- more padding to block and diffuse her opponent's blows.

as much as you love the visual confirmation that you're feeding your girl properly, and she's treating herself a little softer these days; most of the time you don't even notice the weight gain. it's still sevika: the love of your fucking life. she's never brought it up to you, and you've never brought it up to her.

but now, she's standing in front of the mirror, pouting down at her pants.

you blink up from you book and watch her for a second, her hand groping the little pouch of fat she's put on her lower stomach. her lips twitch up at the side just a bit, just for a second, but it still makes your heart flop over to see.

"sev?" you ask.

she turns around to look at you. "my pants don't button anymore." she pouts. you chuckle, making grabby hands for your girlfriend from your shared bed. sevika launches herself in your arms without hesitation. she huffs against your tits, nuzzling your chest.

"i'll alter 'em for you. i know how attached you are to those dusty things."

sevika chuckles, pinches your side before she glares at you. "you like these dusty things too-- they show off my ass."

"mmhmm, real well." you say, nodding and smacking her ass on top of you. sevika giggles and collapses against you again.

she's quiet, drawing a pattern on your skin with her finger. you know she's got something on her mind, you just wait patiently for her to find the words.

"y'know i've gained, like, forty five pounds since we met?" she asks.

you raise an eyebrow at her.

"yeah?" you ask, trying to read her mood. sevika smiles.

"yeah." she says. "i've always been skinny-- at least, since i started puberty. i was a chunky kid, though." she chuckles. you grin at the image of a chubby baby sevika toddling around.

"are you... upset?" you ask quietly.

sevika chuckles. "fuck no." she says. "it's... nice?" she asks. you grin down at her.

"yeah?"

"yeah. i dunno. it's just... i don't feel like i have to train everyday anymore. i don't feel like a fuckin' failure if i skip a day at the gym. i don't get migraines or hangovers as bad anymore, and..." she trails off, looking away from you. you nudge her, recognizing the flustered look on her face and dying to know what's got her blushing. "i dunno." she whispers, chancing a glance up at you. "when i look down and see my stomach's soft... it just makes me think of all the nice meals i got to eat with you to get this way." she says with a sweet smile.

you choke a bit on your breath, then flip the pair of you over, groaning as you bury your face against sevika's giggling throat. "sev!" you whine.

"what?" she asks, laughing.

"you can't just say sweet shit like that baby, you'll make me cry." you whimper against her.

sevika kisses you head and smacks your ass, her free hand drawing patterns into your back. "you can cry babe. i'll hold you."

this does nothing to stop your tears. you groan and pinch sevika's soft side, relishing in the squeal it pulls from her, and the way her rock-hard abs are covered in a nice layer now-- all 'cause of you.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @vikasub @glass-apothecary @m0numents @macaroni676 @vixel352 @artinvain

[koolades-world]

HEYY GIRLIEE soo I got this idea on my mind cuz it's 11 pm and I randomly got energy so I was like thinking if you could make something like how the Brothers would treat or recognize signs of fem.MC WHO grew up Poor like not eating much too en sure the rest Got food or getting super excited when they get something as Simple as a birthday cake or more then 2 or expensive presents or being extra care full with spending money while for getting that if they asked for something from the Brothers theyd happily get it ( pardon my grammar enflish is my Third language😭) -from the awesome and amazing khaos

HEYYY KHAOS!!! hope you've been well!!! good to hear from you!

sure thing :)

enjoy <3

Mc who grew up poor

Lucifer

after hearing you’d never had an extravagant birthday party, he makes it his mission to make it happen

after all, everyone deserves at least one big bash, especially you. you’ve done so much for him and his family and it means so much to him

he talks with barbatos about make a huge cake in your favorite flavor and diavolo about using one of the many ballrooms in the palace

needless to say, he’s going all out to make you happy and see you smile

Mammon

he was already determined to spoil you

however, now he's bound to accidently send you into a coma with the amount of gifts he's throwing at you

you're his best girl!! you only deserve the best things

if you want him to tone it down, he will, but that won't stop him from buying little things that reminds him of you <3

Levi

at first he was confused about how you looked shocked every time he spoke about a crazy purchase he'd made

once you tell him why though, he's going to get you anything media related that you want

into a new manga? he'll get you your own set. really into a specific fandom? the next time they drop merch he's getting everything related to your fav

he always goes out of his way to make sure you feel seen

Satan

the two of you already tried to make an effort to do at least monthly outings together

but he noticed you always try to order the least expensive item on the menu at cafes, so next time, he orders in advance what he knows you’d really enjoy

seeing your face light up was payment enough for him

after that, you have weekly outings where he spoils you and he always makes sure you’re having a fun time

Asmo

besides mammon, he’s the king of lavish living

he’d been showering you in all sorts of expensive products for your face, hair and otherwise

if he’s being a little much, just let him know since he can always find products that you like more

the only thing he won’t compromise on is your spa days together since it’s one of his ways of letting you know he cares

Beel

he’s going to make sure your plate is always full

you’ll never run out of your favorite snacks under his watch

sharing food is his love language

if he could give you the world, he would

Belphie

he’s always there to help you unwind and destress

(even if his brothers are the source of the headache)

he wants you to get amazing rest every night

so, without you asking, he buys the nicest pillow and sheet set money can buy and surprises you with it!

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Trey Clover - Room Relaxation Voice Lines

I don't need anything special just because it's my birthday. I'll be happy just spending it peacefully as ever.

Summon: Living in a dorm is always lively and enjoyable, but that's what makes my alone time even more precious. I wonder what I should do tonight?

Groovification: Today's my birthday... So just let me sleep in a bit more.

Home: Guess I'll head to sleep.

Swap Looks: Can't forget to brush your teeth before sleeping and after waking up.

Home Transition 1: Whew... Oh, oops, I zoned out there for a bit. Time flies when you're not paying attention, huh. Guess I'll brew some coffee.

Home Transition 2: It's always good to have a light top layer handy. It's pretty useful to quickly throw on whenever I need to stay up a little late.

Home Transition 3: Jamil's present was a hot eye mask. I really like how soothing it is. He really gave me something nice.

Home Transition - Login: It might be fun to make my own birthday cake, sure... But there'll be so many sweets at the party that it could be too much to try to eat.

Home Transition - Groovy: I was shocked when Silver gave away that Riddle was planning a surprise for me. The fact that he didn't even seem to have revealed it with ill will is a problem in and of itself...

Home Tap 1: I'm starting to feel a little peckish... No, I shouldn't. I definitely don't want to doze off and wake up without having brushed my teeth, so.

Home Tap 2: I got a notif of a new video. Oh, they're making a boat out of chocolate, huh. This pâtissier sure is something, as always.

Home Tap 3: I received some oil from Ortho, and I'll admit, I did tense up a bit... But when I checked, I was relieved to see it was just olive oil for cooking.

Home Tap 4: I wasn't expecting Sebek to wish me a happy birthday. His tone was arrogant, as always, but maybe he's actually a conscientious guy...?

Home Tap 5: I seem different from usual? I don't think I'm doing anything different... Ah, maybe it's because I'm not wearing my glasses?

Home Tap - Groovy: How do I spend time when I'm in my room? I don't really do anything too special... Although honestly, I'm actually not a morning person, so I just try not to stay up too late.

Duo: [TREY]: Thanks for the earnest well wishes, Silver. [SILVER]: I wish you the very best, Trey-senpai.

Birthday Login Message: You're here for my birthday, huh? And this present... Oh, it's honey! Thanks! It's useful and honestly, easy to comprehend. What I mean is, we had a Science Club meeting today, and... Well, while the club members were wishing me a happy birthday, Rook gave me something. Look at this. According to Rook, it's a "wondrously beautiful clover," but... Is there any difference from a regular clover? I don't really get it... What about you? If you can figure out the difference, let me know on the down low.

Requested by @farfalla49 and @sakurakudo.