#no matter what you think their relationship is

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Neighborly (Part 3/Ending)

mdni

Masterlist

Soap x reader x Ghost

Summary: You didn't know hate until Johnny MacTavish. (Or a really big build-up to cuddles and smut).

Warnings: SMUT, vaguely dom Ghost, unrealistic recovery time from near death experience/hypothermia, cuddling for medical reasons, implied medically-related stripping, implied anxiety disorder/depressive disorder, self-isolation, language, incredibly shitty communication and social competence.

The next day, Ghost had you write a list of things you needed from home. He assured you Johnny wouldn’t be stepping foot in your place, but that did leave you on your own with the Scotsman while the giant lumbered through the snow to pack an overnight bag on your behalf.

Your extremities still had fits of unpleasant tingles, but when Ghost examined your hands and feet, he assured you there shouldn’t be permanent damage. First degree frost bite at worst. He praised your choice in winter boots, thick socks, and heavy mittens.

You’d asked how he knew.

“Had some experience. Nothing to worry about. Trust me.”

Instantly flustered, you’d looked down at the huge socks over your hands, fighting away the question of which man they belonged to, and assured him you did. Stupid, since you barely knew him, but you did, and much more than you should.

It didn’t matter if the man was handsome under that mask or ugly as sin. His voice did things to you. It made you want to sin so much he looked like an angel. And the way he handled you in bed, if only platonically, woke your libido from hibernation. Which was un-fucking-fortunate, all things considered. You’d be a horrible lay at the moment with your chapped skin and lingering exhaustion.

Besides, your neighbors were definitely in a relationship.

As you dozed after a cup of sugary tea, Ghost stepped away to speak with Johnny. You could see through the open door when the big man seized his partner by the back of the neck, leaning forehead-to-forehead as he rumbled something in that intoxicating voice. The mask didn’t come off, but you’d definitely spied a tongue stretching the knit to stab into Johnny’s mouth. Hands went to waists, drifted to asses, displayed affection they probably didn’t realize was so public.

You tried very hard to actually go to sleep after that. It wasn’t like you’d meant to creep on them. And they were the ones who chose to make out in front the invalid’s open damn door.

But it put your thoughts in a tailspin, and everything overwhelmed you. A near death experience preceded by robbery and car problems made for a long day. Waking up in your neighbor’s boyfriend’s arms and realizing they’d seen you naked took the knot of emotions and twisted. Then there was the fact that Ghost was likely elbow deep in your underwear drawer – again for platonic reasons – and it wound you up in the worst way. You were a fucking mess. A wad of feelings without an outlet.

You needed to get off and have a good cry. Either or both. And you weren’t in a position to have either.

When you’d suggested going home, Ghost shut you down before you even finished the thought.

“We’ll take care of you. Owe you, yeah? Besides, you’re still recovering.”

So, you wrote the damn list, asking for your comfy clothes, your toothbrush, phone charger, and other necessities. You resisted asking for your favorite throw blanket or the heavy, knitted monstrosity you tried knitting a few years back that was almost a sweater. Nothing you loved was safe around Johnny, and you didn’t want to be a burden, anyway.

Fuck.

Right.

You were a burden.

When you felt a bit better, you’d handle the empty mugs on the nightstand. What else could you clean? Efficient as Ghost was, he was babysitting for two adults. There must be a mess to clean, laundry to fold, something.

You’d make it right. When you’d put some distance between your waking thoughts and death’s shadow.

Trying to think your way out of the lingering pain with your thighs clenched and your glare drilling into the far wall, you almost managed to dissociate for a beat.

Until he knocked.

“Hey.”

Fucking Johnny.

You rolled over, glowering with the blankets up to your nose. Ghost should hurry and come back.

“’M so sorry, hen.” Failing to take the hint, Johnny inched into the room. His folded arms and heavy frown left him looking severe. The boyish illusion was missing. He was all bulging muscles, faint scars, and dog tags.

You’d wondered more than once if he was military. If he was, you’d bet anything Ghost was, too.

“I almost died,” you mumbled, speaking through the blankets. “I would’ve helped with whatever you needed if you’d fucking asked.”

His eyes snapped shut. His head dropped. Deep breaths lifted his shoulders, and he looked like he was in genuine pain.

Good. That made two of you.

“You’re an asshole.”

“Aye.”

“You’re a jerk.”

“Aye.”

“You almost got me killed.”

“Aye.” Eyes wide, hands pressed to the foot of the bed, he towered over you, bubbling over. “I’ll make it up to you. Whatever it takes.”

He was practically panting, trying to escape his guilt. Just one more thing he wanted from you: absolution. A knight seeking a quest of atonement.

If he could take away the memories of betrayal and isolation as you felt your mind break and your body fail, that would work. You almost found enough spite in your heart to say it.

“I thought we were friends.” Half confession, half accusation.

“We are, bonnie, I swear –”

“No, we’re not.”

He clenched the blankets, white-knuckled with wet eyes that promised rain.

“Bonnie –”

“Stand down, Soap.”

You both turned to find Ghost peering in from the hall. He held a duffel bag, lightly dusted in snow that hadn’t quite stopped falling. Doordash had arrived with your order.

He set the bag on the end of the bed, nudging Johnny aside and nodding towards the open door. Johnny got the message, slinking out with his tail between his legs.

“Brought your things. Feel up to a shower? It would probably help at this stage. I’ll set out some towels for you.”

“Thanks.” You ignored Johnny, grateful for the escape Ghost offered from both the conversation and the room. “That sounds great.”

“I’ll get things sorted, then.”

He left you to choose your things from the bag, disappearing into the ensuite you had yet to explore. You got what you needed. Toiletries. Robe. Toothbrush. Just the basics. You’d address your hair later. And… everything else, really. You weren’t ready to see your clothes sitting folded in a tidy pile on your neighbors’ bathroom counter, even less so on their bed.

Ghost reappeared, and he pointed out the towels he’d prepared. “Assume your shower’s like ours.”

“Probably. Thanks.” Again. “I’ll just be a minute.”

“Take your time.”

A nice sentiment, but you really couldn’t. You practically jumped out of your borrowed clothes as the water heated, and you got in when it was just north of tepid. You would not use all their hot water. By now, they had to be running on generator power. The power always went out for a day or two when the big one hit. All it took was one tree.

Still, once the sweat and stress-stink washed off, your hand lingered over your chest, an echo of your host’s. He hadn’t gotten frisky. He’d been entirely respectful. But if his hand had strayed even a little…

Or a lot.

Shit. Fuck. No.

You could not get off in your neighbors’ shower. That was out of the question. Even if they didn’t hear you, it was… rude.

Your core ached, stirred from passive aggression to full on fit by the water and your overactive imagination.

Enough. You were clean. You needed to stop.

So you finished your shower (and nothing else) in record time. You wrapped yourself in your robe, wondering if Ghost had packed any sports bras comfortable enough to sleep in.

Both men were waiting for you when you emerged.

“Uh…��� Were you supposed to get dressed in the bathroom? Shit. You should’ve…

“Thought it was about time you got that apology,” Ghost said. He stepped closer. His fingertips brushed over the back of your hand, conjuring goosebumps like magic. “You’re cold again.”

“I’m fine.”

“Oh, aye.” Johnny winked. Caught himself. Cleared his throat. “Really am sorry. Wanna prove it. First step towards reparations, aye?”

He inched closer as he spoke, and Ghost stepped back to give him space. You held your ground, but only out of confusion. You technically had more skin covered than you had since they rescued you, but you were hyper aware of the loose knot holding the robe closed.

“What did you have in mind?”

Tea? A year’s subscription to a meal delivery service? A note?

His eyes flicked to your lips. “Thought I could warm you up.”

Your brain sputtered. It even made a sound like your engine had when it ran out of gas.

“I don’t think I understand.”

“I think you do.”

He wasn’t touching you. Yet. But his breath fanned over your lips. His body heat reached through your robe.

His partner was in the fucking room. “You’re in a relationship.”

“Already discussed it.”

You turned to Ghost, shocked, but he was relaxed. Almost casual about his boyfriend seducing the neighbor in his bedroom.

“We both like ya, bonnie,” Johnny whispered in your ear.

You shivered.

It sounded like such a bad idea.

But you wanted it. You wanted a real apology, and a reason to forget it all ever happened.

“How about it?” Johnny was hovering. Waiting for the green light. “Let us make you feel good?”

One more time, you looked to Ghost. You had to be sure. You wanted his permission. His confirmation. He nodded. So did you.

With one hand on your cheek, drawing your attention back to him, and one on the back of your neck, your neighbor pressed you into a kiss. There was no demure pecking. No sweet warm-up. Lips, tongue, and teeth leapt into the fray at the first trumpet blast.

A gasp gave him a window of opportunity, and soon you were eagerly kissing him back, yanking on his stupid mohawk for vengeance and a pitiful attempt at control.

Johnny licked a moan out of your mouth. He scoured your whimpers clean, gulping them down with a happy rumble.

“The best apologies are given on your knees, don’t you think Johnny?”

A silent exchange passed between the men, and Johnny was all smiles.

“Couldn’t agree more. Here, sit down, pretty girl.” He arranged you on the edge of the bed, dropping to his knees to keep the kisses coming. He plucked the robe’s knot free and tugged it open. His lips stayed on yours as fabric fell away from your shoulders, legs, and chest, pooling around your wrists. There was no time for the usual, momentary panic of finding yourself naked for the first time with a new romantic partner.

One more peck, and a whispered, “Lie back, bonnie.” And he was working down your sternum, pushing your knees apart. “Gonnae give you an apology you never forget.”

The apology came letter by letter, spelled through your folds. The S snaked around your entrance, looping over your clit. The O stayed there, spinning around your bud. The Rs wandered, following the O’s path before tracing each side of your entrance. The Y started at your base and swept up, teasing either side of your clit in turns.

He said it over and over again. The clever rhythm had him smiling against you as you tugged at his mohawk, trying to chase each sensation. But his hands were strong, and he kept you spread and stationary. At the mercy of his repentance.

The Os never circled long enough, and his tongue dipped inside just enough to remind you how much you ached for more on every Y.

It was driving you crazy, and tears of frustration gathered, blurring his self-satisfied gaze. You’d had it with him. Even when he went down on you, he took his own pleasure first, playing games you had no spoons left to enjoy. You wanted him to take care of you like he’d promised. You wanted to lose yourself. Wanted to feel desired. Wanted to feel good.

Your whining plea didn’t sound at all sexy to your own ears, but the way the tongue shook with suppressed laughter between your legs proved someone was having a good time.

Solid heat you’d learned to recognize in your sleep slipped up behind you. Long, thick fingers petted back your sweaty hair, and a hand pulled you back, urging you to relax into a solid chest. Ghost, once again coming your rescue.

“Be good, Johnny,” he rumbled. “Stop teasing.”

Eyes glinting, your tormentor’s face appeared. He licked his lips with a wolf’s fervor, eyes flashing from yours to Ghost’s.

“Yes, sir.” His voice had gone rough. Deep. You shuddered, and he squeezed your thighs. “Mind givin’ me a hand, LT?”

Ghost huffed, almost a dry laugh, and his hands left you. You had a mind to complain again, but then his grip appeared under your knees, lifting and spreading even farther than Johnny wheedled earlier. You were obscene. You were desperate.

“You doing alright? Let us make you feel better. Give Johnny the chance to start paying you back for all the trouble he’s caused, yeah?”

One hand clamped onto his arm, unsure whether you planned to push it away or simply cling on. As you vacillated, Johnny craned forward, blew on you, and you spasmed. Your free hand jumped back to Ghost’s balaclava, and you knew what you wanted.

“Yeah. I’m alright. Please.”

“You heard the woman.”

“Happy to serve.” Johnny grinned, nearly feral, and lunged forward with fresh determination.

Now free, his fingers pulled you open, giving him better access to the mess he’d made with all his teasing. His tongue pressed hard, spearing deep as it could reach. It worked relentlessly, trying to scoop out every last drop, but the slick only grew, and he returned to your clit.

Ghost held you at an angle that defied your attempts to ride Johnny’s face, and you turned into a twitching, writhing mass in his lap. When his partner started suckling your bud, you shrieked, and Ghost crooned. His thumbs worked circles in your flesh, soothing the edge of delirium rising with your pleasure.

“Good girl. There you go. Finally letting us take care of you.”

A finger pressed inside, petting and curling as it hunted for the right spot. Every muscle rolled, trying to participate, to join the dance, and then Johnny found what he was looking for, and you screamed.

He’d tormented you so long. You didn’t have a chance to give a warning or brace for the snap. Your orgasm practically exploded, and for a minute you couldn’t even breathe. Everything froze, trying to catch and keep the high as your vision went white and your ears rang. Your thoughts ran slow and thick, like honey in winter, just soft enough for Ghost’s words to penetrate.

“How you feelin’? Rung out or ready for more?”

What a stupid question. Appreciated, but stupid. You’d ask for more until your voice gave out.

You consciously, carefully unclenched your fingers from his mask, from his sleeve. He still held you open, shivering and bare apart from Johnny’s face, still pressing slow kisses with tongue and teeth anywhere he was tempted to taste. Glimmers of firelight caught in the arousal smeared over his cheeks.

“More.”

Johnny muttered something very Scottish you couldn’t quite make out through the fading white noise in your head. But your eyes worked perfectly well, and he put on a show, yanking off his shirt, showing off like he used to when he shoveled the drive.

“Tell her, Johnny,” Ghost prompted. “Give her everything you’ve been thinking since you moved in here.”

“Fuck.” The Scotsman worked his belt free as talked, staring at you. His eyes roved, chasing the paths his tongue had traveled, rising to your heaving chest, to your face, so close to his LT’s commanding gaze. “Heard the neighbor was a hermit. Expected – doesnae matter. Prettiest hermit I’d ever fuckin’ seen. Showin’ up with biscuits and makin’ friendly.” The belt swished free from its loops and clattered to the ground. “Had me graspin’ after my manners with one look. An' after I tried catchin’ your eye in the snow, you took care of me an all.” He popped his button free. The zipper went down. “Wanted to bring ya inside and make things cozy. Had to wait for Ghost. Had to let ‘im see ya. Let him understand.” His hand slipped under his clothes, bringing a swollen red tip peeking over the elastic of his underwear.

“Should’a heard him on the phone,” Ghost murmured in your ear as Johnny pushed down his remaining clothes, already hard and weeping for you. “Thought he was gonna come to just the thought of you some nights. Started giving me ideas before I even had a chance to thank you for minding him.”

Naked, practically glowing in the fire, Johnny swooped down for a kiss. He squeezed a breast, thumbing the nipple relentlessly until you broke for air. Everything about him hummed with energy. A livewire sparking over the street. “Wanna fuck you. Please? Please let me fuck you, bonnie. Sweetest little cunt I’ve ever had. Please?”

Standing where he was, and held as you were, his dick rubbed against you as he spoke.

You were going to combust, and you’d enjoy every fucking second of it. All thoughts of snow and ice had melted. Everything had turned to steam.

“Yes.” He’d dived to work a hickey into your neck during your brief hesitation, and you fought to even whisper your answer. “Please.”

He lined up, rocking shallowly once, twice, and pushing home in a long, burning stroke. You yelped, and he moaned, both going still until the sting had passed. By the time you nodded your permission, he had his hands on your hips, trembling with need.

He fucked you like he was dying. Like you were his last meal and the only lifeline thrown in a storm. It was months of yearning, months of confusion and false starts and greedy hunger that spilled over and burned you like hot wax. There was no shelter – not that you wanted any – and you once again seized Ghost’s arms because they were the only fucking thing he’d let you reach. They would take care of you. You weren’t allowed to do any of the work. Not in that bed. Not that night.

Johnny keened, huffing and growling and whimpering as he went faster and faster. He brought you so far. So close. Just a little more.

But not enough.

His hips stuttered, his head bowed, and his warm release splashed out.

“Fuck.” Blushing from exertion – and probably something else – he looked up from where he was still balls-deep to sheepishly meet your eyes. “I swear, never finished so fast in my life. Didn’t get you there in time, did I?”

He pulled out, and you dropped your head back on Ghost’s shoulder with a wail of frustration. You were too close to stop now. You reached down to touch yourself, but before you could rub one out, Ghost shifted. He moved closer to the edge of the bed, dropping one of your legs to swat your hand away from your clit.

When you didn’t fight him, he reached behind you, and you both heard and felt him work his cock free.

“May I?”

Too horny and too frustrated, you nodded wildly. “I said I trusted you.”

“Glad to hear it.”

He didn’t pick up where Johnny left off. Thick fingers that had really only held you up to this point reached down, groping over breast and belly to reach your center. Long strokes kept the spark in your belly alive as he ran his hand over you, lubing his fingers in the mixed spend.

One dipped in. He paused, considering. Then a second joined.

“Minute I saw you at the door, knew you were a carer,” he said. “Knew it’d been so long since someone took care of you that you’d forgotten how a good neighbor should act.” The fingers curled, scissored, working you with clear and vulgar intent. “Wanted to be more than neighbors. Had to close that door quick. Every filthy thing Johnny said hit me, and I wasn’t fit company.” The full implications of that didn’t quite hit you in the moment, but a hazy vision of him watching you through the windows, palming an erection sent your cunt fluttering.

A third finger. All together, they were wider than Johnny’s cock. A deep breath helped. The thumb flicking over your clit like a moth drawn to a porchlight did more. “Had to figure out how to fix all the fuck ups then. So many delays. Took too damn long.” He pulled his hand free, denying you release.

“You said you’d take care of me.”

“We will, sweatheeart. Easy now.” His hand hovered in front of you, fingers spread so he could watch his good work cling and drip like a liquid spiderweb between his digits. “Fuck. You’re perfect.”

He spread his knees, pushing yours wider, and he lifted you up until his dick rubbed over your entrance. Even without looking, you could tell he was massive. You’d need to relax. You’d need to trust him.

Unlike Johnny, he took things slow. He read every flutter and clench, every gasp and hiss like he was fluent in your personal language of carnality. The stretch constantly rode the edge of too much, but it touched places no one else had reached, stuffed your senses full of bliss. And he was so careful. Tactical.

When he’d sheathed himself, his hands slid to your thighs, positioning you in a similar way as before.

“Think you’ve got more apologizing to do, Johnny.”

“Yes, sir.”

You’d closed your eyes at some point, overwhelmed by everything Ghost had to give, but you snapped to attention when a tongue ran over your clit. Johnny smiled up at you, pleased as punch. Devious fucker.

Ghost thrust, and the sound he pushed out of your mouth was pure filth. Helpless, you made it again with the second push. It happened again and again until it became an unbroken string of praise and pleas. Johnny made a game of keeping his tongue on you, pulling back, going still so Ghost would bounce you along it as he drove into you.

A hand pressed over your lower belly, and you moaned in tandem with Johnny.

“Fuck, Simon. Can feel you moving in her.”

After Johnny’s performance, Ghost clearly had something to prove. The first time you came, you clenched so hard on his dick it actually slowed him down. You thought that would be it, that he’d ride high to the end having achieved his goal. Instead, he kept going, fucking you brainless as Johnny actually giggled below. A second climax left you boneless, and by the third you’d entered a fugue state. Ghost slowed down until you could respond (I’m okay.) and then he drove you over the edge until you forgot how to count. Johnny offered kitten licks and praise throughout. When Ghost finally finished - pulling you flush to his chest and panting in your ear (Good fucking woman.) it was Johnny’s attention to your clit that broke you. He sucked and worked his tongue under your clitoral hood like he was sucking nectar from a honeysuckle blossom.

But you were tapped.

“Can’t. Too much.”

Johnny disengaged immediately, and two pairs of hands lifted you from where you sat impaled. Soft words and warm washcloths bathed you in the afterglow. Gentle suggestions guided you under the covers, and a familiar touch turned you to rest with your back to a heated chest. Warmth crowded in from the front, too, murmured joy and praise leaking through the haze to find you.

You didn’t even realize as you slept that you’d found something far better than a good neighbor. But that understanding would come with the dawn, a cup of tea, and a suggestion to go thrifting when the weather broke so you could find a matching set of truly hideous mugs.

[jadeshifting]

— SCRIPTING YOUR FAMILY. ( i swear it can work even if they’re not dead )

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— DISCLAIMER. script what you want !! this isn’t judgement or an attempt to convince you of anything. i still have ded family in some realities, don’t worry :^)

alright, so a lot of shifters skip right to scripting their DR families straight into the afterlife. gone, nonexistent, dead and buried. this is for a myriad of reasons, though for me and everyone i know, it has a lot to do with backstory, or the idea that family ties are going to cramp our style or get in the way of our dream life and the plot. but, for anyone who’s interested, let’s flip the script (pun intended) and talk about why creating an original, unique family for your desired reality can actually make your experience richer, more meaningful, and a whole lot more fun !!

WHY KEEP THE FAMILY DRAMA?

first off, let’s address the elephant in the room: family can be a lot. but scripting them out entirely can be like throwing the baby out with the bathwater !! there’s tons of potential to consider there. a family offers plenty of opportunities to add depth, lore, and a whole bunch of emotional layers to your DR. think about it—what’s a life without a little family drama, a bit of cozy love, or even a quirky aunt who always brings the laughs? it doesn’t have to be a big, happy family—it can be whatever you feel like you need, whatever fits

HOW TO BUILD YOUR DR FAMILY

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— SIZE MATTERS ( but not really ) .　　. 　 ˚　. when scripting your DR family, start with size. do you want a big, loud, chaotic family with siblings running around, or something closer to a small, tight-knit crew? maybe you’re an only child who’s the apple of your parents’ eyes, or perhaps you’re in the middle of a bustling household where everyone’s got a role to play. there’s no right or wrong—just what feels right for you, and what you feel like you need in that specific DR

— CHOOSE YOUR ROLES .　　. 　 ˚　. who’s in your family? a loving, supportive mom who’s your biggest cheerleader? a cool dad who’s kind of your best friend? maybe a set of grandparents who tell you the most insane stories about their youth, or a mouthy sibling who keeps you on your toes. think about the roles that would enrich your life in your DR. remember, these people are there to support your life, not unnecessarily complicate it

— CONNECTIONS .　　. 　 ˚　. now, here’s where it gets fun (in my opinion): your relationships. are you super close with your mom, the kind of close where you can endlessly gossip and have deep life talks? is your dad the type to give you space but always manages to have your back when it counts? maybe you have an insane sibling rivalry that spans over a decade. the relationships you script can add so much flavor to your DR—it’s all about creating connections that resonate with you, and support you in all the ways you want to be supported

FITTING INTO THE LORE ( making it make sense )

if your DR has a specific lore or world-building element ( Hogwarts, Marvel, etc. you know ), weave your family into it !! maybe your mom’s a legendary witch, or your dad’s a top Auror. perhaps your family runs a magical bakery, or you’re part of an ancient lineage with a complex magical or academic heritage. the point is, your family should feel at home in your DR, adding to the story rather than feeling like an afterthought that detracts from it

SOME IDEAS FOR YOUR DR FAMILY

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( just to get you started )

— MAGICAL LINEAGE .　　. 　 ˚　. your family has a rich history tied to your DR’s lore—maybe you’re descendants of a powerful wizard, or you’ve got a long-standing feud with another powerful family. drama

— ECCENTRIC GROUP .　　. 　 ˚　. a family full of eccentric or seemingly ridiculous people—a dad who invents magical gadgets, a mom who’s an expert potion maker, siblings who are always concocting some mischievous or downright strange plans

— TIGHT-KNIT TEAM .　　. 　 ˚　. quiet and likely unassuming—just a small, close family who’s been through everything together together. you lot might not be flashy, but their love and support are solid and you know you can always count on them

— CHAOTIC CLAN .　　. 　 ˚　. a massive, bustling family where everyone’s got their own unique role. maybe you’ve got siblings with vastly different personalities, parents that always have something insane to say, or aunts and uncles hailing from faraway places. family gatherings are always an ordeal

DON��T STRESS THE DETAILS

here’s the deal: scripting your DR family is about enhancing your experience, not stressing you out or detracting from all the things you wanna do. whether you want to create a sprawling family tree or just script a few key members, it’s all up to you. and remember—at the end of the day, your DR is personal to you. it’s about what makes you feel connected, supported, and ready to dive into the adventure of a lifetime

so, build that dream family !! whether they’re magical, mundane, or somewhere in between, totally supportive or bringing never-ending drama to spice things up, at the end of the day they’re there to add richness and depth to your DR. and trust me, it’ll make your journey all the more special if you let it !!

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[elexuscal]

It's been frustrating seeing this discourse ping pong back and forth, because as always I feel like it oscillates and missing nuance.

I saw that one post yesterday that's like, "Shipping ruins your ability to analyze media", "For YOU maybe for me I can do both".

And some in some situations, people absolutely can do both. Whether it's because:

The romance is textually an important part of the story, interwoven into the main themes and plot, and ignoring it entirely would be wild (and frankly bad analysis).

There is a really strong relationship at the heart of the series, and it's NOT canonical romantic/sexual, but the reasoning and context as to why it's not is frankly even more fascinating. (I'm thinking about a lot of shows that use heavy emphasis on queerbaiting, or other works that use queer-coding to get past the censors, or part of the tragedy is these characters Didn't get together, etc.)

Sometimes fandom is just fun! And you can sometimes take off your Analytics hat to put on the Fun Hat and go 'Wouldn't It Be Hot if My Blorbos Made Out'.

The problem of course starts to happen when large groups of fan refuse to take off the Fun Hat and put on the Analytics Hat. Or, worse, forget that the Fun Hat is what it is, and swear up and down it IS the Analytics Hat, and get angry at anyone who implies it isn't.

There's a difference in shipping as: 'i think these two characters are neat together' and shipping as: 'Which two characters I want together is the most important, or only, element of the work that matters'. And like OP says, for well-constructed stories that just... genuinely don't have that much focus on romance... if you're in that second headspace, you're genuinely gonna miss a LOT.

I think there's some medias that you just cannot meaningfully engage with if your main priority is shipping

[peachdues]

my favorite genre of relationship is big scary man who is easily bossed around by his not so scary gf

“Excuse the fuck outta me for tryin’ to dote on my girl after not seein’ her for a goddamn week —“

“I don’t have time for your tantrum,” you flip your hair over your shoulder and cock a hip out, glaring at him. “Go entertain yourself until this —“ you gesture loosely behind you at throng of people crowding around the check out counter. “Is taken care of.”

Sanemi folds his own arms across his chest, mimicking your stance. “And do what, exactly?”

“I don’t care!” You hiss. “Just keep out of the way!”

He stares at you for a moment longer, and if you weren’t so up to your ears in retail bullshit, you’d almost think he looked cute. There’s an adorable scrunch in his nose matched only by his very obvious pout.

Sanemi clicks his tongue. “Fine,” he says petulantly. “I’ll just fuck off somewhere else ‘til you decide to remember me —“

“Good! Thank you!”

You don’t spare him another moment, not as you turn away and make a beeline for the crush of customers. Once, your cool dismissiveness had been a turn-on; a baited hook he couldn’t help latching onto. He’s still a little turned on by the sharp way you’d spoken to him — he can’t help but be a slave to someone capable of bossing him around — but he’s also a little bruised.

He’s fucking missed you.

None of that matters to you, apparently, and Sanemi is left by his lonesome.

Near the back corner of the store, tucked between the shelves for biographies and self-help manuals is a small reading area. A plush corner of seat cushions and lumpy beanbags, a tiny plastic table sandwiched between them. Cozy, but not so comfortable as to encourage loitering — as per the owner’s desires.

It’s in one of these beanbags where Sanemi plops his grumpy ass, arms still folded stubbornly across his chest while he sulks. The reading area is within perfect view of the clerk’s counter, though that was more to allow you to keep an eye on any customers who might try and take advantage of the store’s hospitality.

Now, it gives Sanemi a direct line to glare at your stupidly perfect back.

Ty @selkiipon for the illustration of the giant man-baby in question

[flowersforthemachines]

Thinking about Rook and Harding's relationship through the lens of Varric's death like. It's crystal clear it has a big impact on Lace - she's angry and distraught in its aftermath, has to psych herself up just to approach the ritual site ("You need to do it, Lace, it needs to be done"). When Rook suggests that she can use her powers to protect people, the first thing she thinks about is that she could've used them to protect people who mattered to her.

But she sees none of that in Rook. Rook comes across as standoffish at best. "Varric knew the danger." There's no in-game chance to reach out to Harding to share that grief, talk about how it affected them.

But it's not like Rook has to do that, right? Maybe they are not that kind of person. Maybe they grieve, but they don't show it, maybe Harding realises she and Rook just aren't as close as she thought they were, and that kind of stings, but you know. What can she do?

But then things happen in the plot. Weisshaupt happens, Shathann, Cyrian. There are so many chances for Rook to express how sorry they are about someone's passing, the loss of life (and Warden Rook especially does not just observe loss, they experience it and don't have to hide it). Harding sees that Rook can reach out to friends in difficult times. They attend the funeral with Bellara, comfort Taash when they need it. They can grieve, and they can help someone through grieving.

And there's that certain feeling of misunderstanding, maybe a hint of resentment, that Harding, a people pleaser, wouldn't dare to confront. What can she say, even? Why are you mourning all those people and not our common friend? Why not Varric? Why not Varric?

Then, she either dies, never finding out the truth, or finds out the truth so late that the rift between her and Rook has become so big they can't just fill it in. She can't undo the way she had been feeling, feeling about something Rook had no idea about. Tricked by Solas, manipulated to think that Varric was alive. Robbed of the chance to grieve a friend together, time lost forever.

[dyingswanpavlova]

"Your girl" - Part 7 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: If he's so bad, then why do you crave him so much? You crave him enough to let him be your first.

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, threatening, mentions of blood, mentions of murder and rape, body issues, trauma talk, scars, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, depression, manipulation, mentions of sexual activities and desires, smut, oral sex, (rough) sex, penetration, unprotected sex, degradation kink, not beta-read, if I've missed any please tell me! mdni 18+!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

You didn't know what real desire feels like, until you felt it.

Until you felt him.

And you wanted him, as much as you hated him.

The moment his lips crashed against yours, it felt like nothing you had ever felt before.

Sure, you had been kissed before. Once.

The loser has to seduce the shy girl.

But that didn't count. Or even if it did, it didn't matter to you. Because nothing that happened before that kiss seemed to matter.

A part of you expected his kiss to be gentle - he had made a promise to you after all - but there was hardly any gentleness in his touch.

The first second after your lips met had been a soft, tentative caress. Gentle and careful, as if to test the waters. You lay stiffly underneath him, unsure what to really do. You almost felt awkward, but that didn't mean you wanted it to stop. Quite the opposite.

The gentleness felt...almost forced on his part. You already knew he wasn't the soft type, but for you, he tried.

Until he didn't. And eventually his mouth took control of yours.

You didn't mind.

His lips moved against yours more urgently, the tip of his tongue caressing your lower lip and trying to part your lips, demanding entry.

When you finally gave in to his silent demand, slowly and carefully, he took full advantage of that and slid his tongue in your mouth, participating in a sinful dance with your own.

You were still stiff, still shy, still...unsure. And he felt it.

He pulled back, just enough to murmur against your lips. "Open your mouth wider for me, princess."

Princess. That was new. At least you weren't Hana anymore. Or at least not in that moment.

You reluctantly obeyed and with a low groan you felt his tongue push deeper against yours, harder, more demanding.

You almost gasped in surprise, but again, you didn't mind.

It felt so...

So...

And you were still stiff. A part of you almost felt like burying yourself under a pile of non-existence for being so complicated.

But again, he didn't seem to get angry or even frustrated. Instead he slowly pulled his hand back and tipped your chin up with his fingertips.

"Stop thinking so much. Just do whatever feels right. I promise you, I'm not going to laugh or hurt you. I promised you something and I meant it." His voice was softer than you had ever heard it before and it made something inside of you break.

You wanted him. You wanted him so terribly and the thought scared you like nothing else.

God, when he was being gentle like this, you wanted him even more. It made you go near insane with desire and heartbreak, because you could never have him. Could never have this version of him.

He was the man who kidnapped you, not your lover.

The man who slapped you, not the man who kissed you.

But, shit, he kissed you. And you wanted nothing more than exactly that. Maybe even for the rest of your life.

You were always a romantic at heart.

Hopeful and yet hopeless.

"Okay." You whispered softly and nervously nibbled on your lower lip. "I...I just..."

"I know." He whispered and gently ran his thumb over your cheek. "But that's what I'm here for. I'll guide you."

The next thing you realized was how he pressed you against his wardrobe. You had no idea how you even made it across the hallway and to his bedroom, but somehow you did.

He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head, leaving you helpless and at his mercy. But you didn't care.

In fact it made you want him all the more.

The sounds he made while his tongue delved deeper into your mouth made the dampness between your legs increase tenfold.

His hands slowly slid down your arms and over your shoulders, until he reached your waist and then he stopped. His touch was so gentle, almost careful, like he was touching a delicate bird and was afraid it might fly away.

"Turn around." He whispered against your lips. You hesitated for a second, but eventually obeyed, with a slowness that almost made him growl in frustration.

His fingers found the zipper of your dress, impatiently tugging at it, when-

He exhaled in even more frustration when he felt your hand reach for his wrist, stopping him in his attempt to skillfully and swiftly undress you.

"What?" He bit out.

You opened your mouth and closed it several times. How would you tell him? Should you? Or should you just show him?

You were almost sure he was going to be so repulsed that he'd go and find himself a second girl in no time.

The thought made something inside of you die.

"Can I just...lie on my back?" You whispered.

He frowned, but he was a clever man and he immediately caught on the fact that something wasn't like it was supposed to be. But since he was something akin a gentleman who'd only beat you, not force your clothes off you or rape you, he had never seen you naked before. And suddenly you felt incredibly insecure.

"What is this about?" He asked in a softer tone. "Are you nervous?"

"Yes." You said quietly. "But that's not the reason."

Instead of answering, he tilted his chin down and his lips met the back of your neck. The shiver that punched through your body and the sound that left your lips were both feral.

"I know." He whispered. "But I'll make you forget about it soon."

"You...You don't understand." You finally gasped out. "It's...You won't want me any longer."

That made him pause and he slowly pulled his head back. His frown got deeper and there was something else in his expression now, something like confusion and a hint of anger.

"What are you talking about?"

You fought with yourself, trying to come up with something to say, something to do, something to explain, but no.

Instead you simply released his wrist.

His frown stayed in place, but eventually he began to move again and you felt his fingertips tickle the skin of your back when he moved to pull the zipper down. Another hard shiver ran through your body and you closed your eyes. Your forehead tightly pressed against the wardrobe, you waited. Waited for him to recoil in disgust. To push you away and call out God, it was all for nothing.

But the call never came.

Instead he was silent for a long moment and you felt his gaze burn holes through your body.

"Who did this?"

He sounded calm - no, like he was desperately trying to stay calm, maybe for your sake. You couldn't yet tell if he was repulsed or if maybe he was trying to act like he wasn't.

The faint trace of the scar was subtle, but still evident, even after all these years. A cruel reminder that you would never be free of your past. Of the pain. Sometimes you felt like you were made of pain far more than of flesh and blood.

"My mother." You said very quietly, unable to open your eyes yet.

His fingertips followed the contour of the scar in a touch so soft that you barely even felt it. But you did feel it. It immediately made you shiver and gasp.

That was nothing.

The moment you felt his lips brush over the skin of your back, slowly following the same line, you inhaled sharply. Breathlessly.

There was not enough air to breathe.

Your hands were pressed against the wardrobe tightly and you felt your legs shake.

This was enough to make your mind go hazy and your head dizzy. If this already drove you insane like that, you couldn't tell if you'd even be able to have sex with him. Or if you'd slowly float off into non-existence.

This was better than life.

A soft whimper came over your lips the second his tongue flicked out to taste your skin.

"Oh God." You moaned breathlessly.

Good, you thought with the little mind you had left to think. Good. He isn't repulsed.

"Your mother." He whispered, without ever stopping his ministrations. It made you tense, but you listened in silence. "Your mother. Is she still alive?"

You kept your eyes closed and nodded.

A low hum came over his lips.

"Good."

A slow frown formed on your face, but you didn't dare to speak now. You wouldn't have done anything if it risked to stop him from what he was doing.

"And that man? Your neighbor? Is he still alive?"

You slowly shook your head.

"Too bad." He whispered against your skin. "I would have loved to take care of him.”

That made your head perk up and you looked over your shoulder, looking at him with something that was equally horrified as it was…admiring.

“What are you talking about?” You whispered softly.

He nodded. “What do you think? You’re my girl. I take care of my girl. And no one gets to hurt you. No one besides me.”

His words sent a warm shiver down your spine. You knew it wasn’t exactly healthy or…good. But it felt good. And you couldn’t help but feel that certain warmth in your body increase.

The way he spoke of you, with such possessiveness, it awakened something in you of which you never before knew you had that in you.

“But they hurt me in the past.” You whispered, as though this was a normal conversation.

“Doesn’t matter”, he whispered back, “they still hurt you. And anyone who did, will pay.”

You wanted to respond, wanted to express anything, but you didn’t have the time. He spun you around so swiftly and effortlessly that you immediately forgot what you had even been talking about. You stumbled backwards until your legs hit the bed and then he slowly pushed you back. Gently, like everything he did that night.

Gently.

Your heart skipped several beats as you stared up at him like that. Your hair was messy and your face flushed, your lips still swollen from the greedy, demanding kiss and your dress hung loosely around your shoulders. But your eyes, your eyes, they held a special kind of expression that night.

Hunger.

It was hunger.

A hunger you hadn’t ever felt before. So powerful, it was all-consuming. Your mind was occupied with him, unable to focus on anything else than his delicious smirk. The one you had grown to…

Oh God, don’t even think that.

“You look so beautiful.” He whispered in a husky voice. His hands wandered up to slowly undo his tie. The sight was enough to stir even more desire in you, forcing you to shift on the bed, your impatience growing. Your heart was aching with how handsome he was.

If only you could have him like that every night.

He slowly pulled the tie off and it fell to the ground, before he slowly moved to undo the buttons of his shirt. That was when you realized that you would either sleep with him that night or die.

Because that was how it felt.

Like you would die without him. Crumble and suffocate.

Your eyes followed the movement of his hands as he slowly shrugged his shirt off, revealing his chiseled, marble chest. The sight made your brows furrow and you did something oh-so cheeky. You bit your lip. You had to, otherwise you would have probably moaned.

“What is it, sweet girl?” He purred as he slowly moved onto the bed, hovering right above you. “Do you like what you see?”

You closed your eyes when his hot breath kissed your ear. Then you nodded and bit your lip again.

“Good.” He breathed. “Then show me something I’ll like as well.”

He hooked his fingertips under the material of your dress and attempted to pull it down, when…

He hesitated. For a moment you were almost sure you had done something terribly wrong again and you were about to get punished. You held your breath and expected him to swing his fist at you.

“Can I?”

Your eyes widened almost comically in surprise. Your mouth fell open and you nodded.

The sight of you so surprised and speechless made him laugh.

God, what a beautiful sound.

If only you could hear it every day.

If only, if only, if only.

Your heart ached again. But you quickly pushed these thoughts aside. Now wasn’t the time. You could mourn your non-existent, fantasy relationship by the time the next morning came.

That moment was for you and him.

And right then, he was there. And he was real.

And he was gentle.

He pulled the dress down torturously slow, his gaze eagerly following every inch of skin that was revealed.

You felt so naked, so exposed, so…so warm under his gaze.

You swallowed thickly and kept your focus on his eyes the whole time. It was like he suddenly was a different person.

A husband type of guy.

You closed your eyes, forcefully trying to suppress these kind of dangerous thoughts. But it was impossible. You were immediately certain.

You were in love with him.

And it didn’t matter how many water bowls he’d make you lick on the floor, how many degrading names he called you and how many marks he gave you.

You were in love with him.

Your eyes shot open and you looked at him with something akin to pain, but your confusion grew when, for probably the first time, he didn’t immediately met your gaze. His gaze was fixed on your body, firm and yet soft, like glue. He didn’t move it away, just kept it roaming up and down your body. It was enough to make you shiver.

“God.” He whispered huskily. “God, you’re perfect.”

He slowly looked up to meet your eyes again and when he did, the tiniest frown grew on his face.

“What is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Am I going too fast?”

You just stared at him, unable to say anything. The way his eyes were soft, the way his voice was, the way he seemed so concerned.

And there we go again.

You felt tears well up in your eyes and you tried desperately to swallow the lump in your throat.

His expression immediately darkened, mixed with surprise and something else. He immediately sat up, moving his hips away from yours.

“You’re not ready.” He said stiffly. “You don’t want to. Fuck, I should have known.”

He attempted to get up and, judging by his reaction, probably flee, but he stopped when he felt your hand on his wrist, holding him back.

“No”, you gasped out quickly. “No, don’t leave. Please.”

He stared at you, his expression troubled. “But you…”

“I want it.” You whispered. “I really do.”

He shook his head. “No.” He said firmly. “Listen, I won’t punish you when you say no now. I don’t want it to be like this. The thought of doing this, when you don’t really want me, it…”

“I do!” You propped yourself up onto your elbows and nodded quickly. “I do.” You whispered. “That’s not why I’m crying. I was just…”

You briefly closed your eyes, before you continued.

“I’m just complicated.”

He didn’t seem all too convinced, but the frown on his face signaled that he wouldn’t try to run off again.

“Yes.” You whispered softly. “I was just overwhelmed. But I want it. Please, don’t…Don’t go now.”

His frown deepened, but he slowly leaned back down.

“You don’t have to do this.” He said quietly. “You don’t have to endure this, to please me. Not this.”

You slowly shook your head. You couldn’t tell him the real reason.

That you were grieving the relationship you could have had with him, in another time, another universe. That you felt like you were falling in love with him…or that you already were.

You opened your mouth to come up with another excuse, but when words failed you yet again, you did something else. You tilted your head up and your lips met his. Soft and tentative, careful and gentle, but it was you who kissed him.

Bold girl.

He hesitated for a moment as if to make sure you really meant it.

It truly surprised you how much he seemed to care about your consent. So far, a small part of you had always believed he’d snap once he got impatient enough and he’d just take what he wanted, not caring if you cried or begged or pleaded.

But that couldn’t have been further from the truth.

And still you couldn’t help but ask yourself if this was solely about the promise that he made you. Because somehow, under all his insanity, there was something like an honorable man. A man who kept his promises.

But you tried your hardest to lock these thoughts out.

To lock any thoughts out.

Tonight was about you and him.

The moment you felt his tongue part your lips again, that was exactly what you thought about.

You and him.

Him.

And suddenly the whole world seemed to fade into nothingness, because all that mattered was the way his tongue felt against yours and the sound that left his lips when you wrapped your arms around him. Your hands slowly wandered up the skin of his back, up to his shoulders. You tried to touch every inch of him and memorize it in your mind, just in case you never got to feel him like that again.

You were pretty sure you were doing something wrong, because you had no idea what you were doing, but you tried to listen to his words and just do what felt right.

He finally pulled your dress off of you, leaving you almost bare, in nothing but a pair of panties. The cold air hit your skin and you felt another shiver run down your spine.

And another one when his hand ran up your stomach.

And another, even harder, one when he gently cupped your breast in his hand.

You were a shivering, stuttering mess underneath him and all you could focus on was the way his hands felt against your skin – warm and gentle, soft and yet demanding.

He moaned against your lips as he gently squeezed your breast in his hand, before he slowly moved it further up to your shoulder, then down your arm. And eventually, oh God, eventually he took your hand in his. He intertwined your fingers and pressed your hand down against the mattress with a gentleness that equaled a breath of air.

He ground his hips down against yours, a movement that made a flash of electricity shoot through your veins. He was so hard. Hard and ready to ruin you.

And God, you wanted him to.

“Are you nervous?” He breathed without even stopping to kiss you. You tried to pull your head back to speak, but he didn’t let you and that was enough to make you moan as well.

“Yes.” You whispered.

“Just relax.” He murmured softly. “Let me take care of you, my sweet, darling girl.”

He slowly withdrew from the kiss, which immediately left you craving more, but you had no time to think about it, because the next moment you felt him press gentle kisses all over your neck. Your head lolled to the side and you exhaled a soft sigh. You didn’t even stop shivering any more.

You wanted to pull him closer, you wanted to beg Please don’t stop, but your lips didn’t obey. Your nervousness was far more powerful than you initially thought.

As if on cue, he pulled his head back, looked down at you and whispered: “If I do something you don’t want, tell me, alright?”

You managed a weak nod, silently begging him to continue.

He put on a cocky smirk and went back to kissing your neck, ever so slowly making his way further down. Just when you thought he couldn’t do anything to make you feel better than that, you felt his lips brush along your bare breast and his tongue darted out and left a slow, lazy path over your hard nipple.

You had no idea you could make such sinful sounds.

“P-please.” You whimpered.

He grinned victoriously. “Please what, sweet girl? Please stop?”

“No!”

He laughed and shook his head. “Don’t worry, sweetness. Just lean back and let me do the rest. I’ll make you feel good, I promise.”

He resumed his actions and you fell back against the pillow, your eyes shut. Only then you realized how tightly you had your arms wrapped around him. One of your hands slowly wandered up and down his back again, while the other one tangled in his soft hair. You let out a soft sigh when he moved over to your other breast, doing the most wicked things with his mouth.

You were so breathless and constantly gasping for air, it left your mouth dry.

And then it got even harder to breathe.

He slowly kissed his path down your stomach, making you shiver and writhe in anticipation and agony.

“Oh God, what are you doing?” You whispered breathlessly. You wanted to call out his godforsaken name, but he didn’t have one. So instead you ran your hand through his hair again.

He hummed against your skin as he teasingly licked a slow path down your stomach.

“You’ll see, princess.” He whispered softly.

By the time he reached the edge of your panties, you were no more than a puddle. A helpless mess, desperate over everything he did.

Over him.

He took the material of your panties between his teeth and slowly tugged them down.

“Oh, God!”

You had a feeling like something inside of you was throbbing.

You had been wet before. Felt that nervous twitch, whenever the bad, wicked thoughts entered your mind.

But nothing ever came close to this.

When he slowly freed you of your underwear, you were sure you were about to faint, until-

Fucking hell.

He used his teeth the entire way and when he finally managed to pull them off, he bit down on them and you were sure you saw his tongue dart out. You lay there like a statue, your eyes wide and your cheeks flushed as you witnessed how he tasted the piece of lace that had just covered your soaking wet, most private part.

All you could do was stare, your mouth wide open, as you felt the dampness slowly turn into a pool of arousal.

He slowly pulled them out of his mouth and tossed them aside, his eyes fixed on your own eyes.

He hummed out a soft: “I knew you were delicious.”

You opened and closed your mouth several times, but all that came out was nothing.

He smirked again, but it wasn’t even close to mocking. It was more something like…

Satisfaction.

“Are you ready for me, princess?”

Another weak nod later, you felt him lean closer. The second his hot breath hit your core, you let out a needy, breathless whimper.

You had no idea what that felt like, but judging from the way simply his breath on you felt…

“Keep looking at me.” He whispered. “I want to see your eyes, when I taste you.”

And then you finally felt it. His mouth enveloped you in a way you had only ever seen in videos and you reaction came the same instant.

You tried to keep your eyes open, but they fell shut as if on cue.

And the moment you felt his tongue against you, you were done for.

He began to slowly move it, circle your clit and gently suck on the sensitive skin.

Any semblance of composure left your body and you moaned. And moaned. And moaned.

“Oh…Oh God.” You breathed out, instinctively tightening your hand in his hair.

He let out a soft moan when you did and the sound made you moan in response. The soft vibrations of his humming against your skin nearly made your eyes roll back. You wanted to look at him. But God, it was hard to even breathe.

You didn’t know how he did it. But he did things to you, things that made you feel a tightness in you, like it was all too much and also not even close to enough.

He kept running his tongue over your wet folds, again and again, going from gentle and slow to hard and quick. But the way he sucked on your skin was what made you tremble and ache from the inside.

You were close, you could tell. And you didn’t even need to imagine the most heinous things for it.

“Oh God, please, please, oh God, please!”

He didn’t make any attempts to tease you or stop. He grasped your thighs tightly and propped your legs over his shoulders, pulling you even closer. He hummed again and moved and moved and moved and-

“Oh God!”

You inhaled sharply, tensing up so painfully hard. And then you became still. The pleasure rolled over you in hot waves, as a warm, white light overshadowed everything else in your mind.

You never before came so hard in your entire life.

When you finally, slowly came back down from your high, you carefully lifted your head from the pillow, only to find him already staring up at you. He ever so slowly pulled his head back and looked up at you in awe.

And you stared down at him in fascination.

The devil took over your body, because you suddenly felt unable to wait any longer. You needed to feel him. You impatiently reached for him and pulled him back up, until you felt him pressed against you again.

His hardness achingly straining against his pants, pressed against your warm wetness.

“That was so…God, that was so…”

His lips curved up into a slow smile, but he seemed just as breathless.

Did he get even harder?

You let out a shuddery breath and crashed your lips against his again. He felt so warm on top of you, so safe, that you momentarily forgot that you were so scared of him at times.

You forgot that he kidnapped you and you forgot that he slowly broke your soul.

He also made you Hotteok and he made you cum, didn’t he?

Effortlessly.

You needed him. And you were going to die if you didn’t feel him soon.

“Are you still sure?” He breathed and leaned down to nip at your earlobe.

You nodded breathlessly and bit back another moan.

“I am.” You whispered softly.

And the next moment, you felt his hand slowly reach down. Heard his belt unbuckle and fall to the ground. The sound made something inside of you ache with even more impatience.

You used the small moment to look up at his face. His hair was a mess and his eyes were focused on your body, while he reached down and slowly pushed his pants down. When he felt you staring at him, he met your gaze and raised his brows.

“What?” He murmured.

You suddenly realized you had never seen him so…vulnerable before.

He was still confident, still in control. But something about the way he looked and spoke had softened to an extreme degree. It was like sex was something important to him.

Maybe he wouldn’t just fuck you once and then instantly get rid of your body.

Maybe he would actually keep you around.

And you couldn’t tell if that was good or bad.

You stared at him for a long moment, then you shook your head.

“Nothing.” You whispered. “I’m just…”

“Nervous?”

You nodded.

He hummed softly. Before you could look down to catch a glimpse of him in his bare form, he gently tipped up your chin and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.

“We can still stop.”

“I don’t want to stop.” Your voice sounded more confident now. More like someone you didn’t know, but slowly grew to like.

He looked at you for a long moment, before he eventually released your chin. You slowly tilted your face down, your gaze following the sharp contour of his hard body.

He didn’t seem bothered at all by your staring. If anything, he seemed curious. Like he hadn’t been admired like that in long.

Your gaze stopped on his hardened length, thick and long enough to ravage you and throbbing. He was obviously more than eager, but he held himself back without flinching. You were almost disbelieving of such calmness.

You licked your lips as your gaze slowly glided back up to meet his eyes. The look in them hadn’t changed. Determined and ready. But still soft.

You knew at some point he would snap back into that other persona, into the cruel and scary man that he so often was.

But all you saw now was this softness.

And that was all you cared about.

It looked like he was about to ask again, to make sure again, but the look in your eyes stopped him.

You were nervous. And trembling. And even a tad bit scared.

But you were no less determined than he was.

He slowly pressed himself closer, slowly rubbing himself against you. A soft whimper came over your lips and he seemed to have to hold himself back from making any sounds.

He reached up his free hand and gently cupped your cheek. And then he slowly pressed forward.

Carefully. Gently. Inch by inch.

His eyes stayed focused on yours the entire time, checking your reaction.

The moment you felt him press against you, press inside you, you exhaled a small breath.

It was…

Painful. Mostly painful.

You bit your lip to suppress the hiss of pain which still found its way past your mouth. He hesitated to move forward, but eventually continued.

“Does it hurt a lot?” He whispered.

It was more of a pressure, feeling as tight as a coiled spring, ready to snap.

“Yes.” You whispered. “But I don’t want you to stop.”

He clenched his jaw and slowly pushed forward. It was like he was two people at once. One wanted to be careful and gentle and not hurt you, while the other one seemed all too eager to thrust forward and ravage you like a beast in heat.

But he held himself back.

You were sure it was just for tonight.

But he did it. For you.

And you needed him even more, because of that.

A sharp pain shot through your body and you released a soft sound, a mixture of a moan and a sob. But a few seconds later the pain finally dissolved. And then you felt something else.

“God, you’re so tight.”

He slowly began to move again, going slow and careful at first. You felt more and more of him, until you finally felt all of him.

Your nails dug into the skin of his back and you inhaled sharply when he thrust into you harder than before.

Something was off, you could tell. He clenched his jaw tightly and stared down at you with furrowed brows.

And suddenly it hit you.

He was holding himself back for your sake, you knew that.

But you had no idea how hard it was for him to hold himself back.

He had promised you a sweet, gentle, loving first time and that was what he wanted to give you. But what you saw behind his eyes was something akin to pain. He wanted to go harder. He was desperate to.

He was obviously desperate to do many things.

“You can go harder.” You whispered, almost reassuringly.

He shook his head.

“It’s alright.” You whispered again. “The pain passed.”

“That’s not the problem.” He whispered as he rolled his hips against you deliciously, forcing a moan over your lips.

“Then what is?” You breathed out.

“If I go harder now, then I can’t stop. I won’t.” He whispered and gently cupped your cheek in his hand again.

Almost involuntarily, you closed your eyes and leaned into his touch, before you met his gaze again. Now you were filled with even more determination.

“Yes, you can.” You whispered, sounding almost firm. “Go harder. Just a little.”

He seemed unsure, but eventually he did. He moved harder against you, more urgently, but not quite rough yet. Still, his eyes fell shut and a moan fell from his lips.

A particular hard thrust as well as his reaction caused you to moan in return and close your eyes as well.

His head fell forward and he buried his face in his your neck. His harsh breaths made you shiver and sigh.

“I made a promise to you. And I’ll keep it.”

That made you gently tangle your hand in his hair again and pull back, just enough to look at him.

There was something in your eyes that made him pause.

“What?” He murmured breathlessly.

You looked up at him with wide eyes and whispered: “I want you to fuck me.”

His brows furrowed. “I am-“

“No.” You breathed out. “I want you to fuck me the way you want.”

He stared down at you for a long moment.

“But I might hurt you.”

You bit your lip and shook your head, gently cupping his face in your palms.

“I said, fuck me.”

And immediately something in his expression changed. A part of the lunatic who had murdered a man came back. It was scary, really.

But you weren’t scared.

You were fascinated.

And oh, you were aroused.

He started moving harder against you, thrusting deeper into you and then he released a low growl.

“Are you giving me orders”, he breathed, “or are you begging me?”

You gasped for air when he thrust into you even harder. The ache between your legs got worse, the need deeper. And his pace more and more punishing.

“Begging.” You gasped out. “I’m begging you.”

“Then beg me.” He hissed. As if to emphasize his point, he began to move even faster against you.

“Please.” You moaned out.

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me.” You whispered breathlessly. You felt your face flush so hard, it was almost painful, but for the first time in your life you didn’t care. You said the word, because you wanted to say it. And you let him fuck you, because you damn well wanted to.

And suddenly the spell was broken.

“Fuck. Oh God. Please. Fuck me.”

The harder he moved, the more intense that feeling inside of you became.

You never came before from the feeling inside of you, only ever by stimulating your clit.

This was new, it was intense, it was insane, it was-

“Who are you?” He hissed out in a voice that was near furious.

“Your girl.” You gasped out without hesitation. “I’m your girl.”

“Good girl.” He leaned his head down and gave you a long kiss, his tongue pressing into your mouth aggressively while he began to pound even harder into you.

Before you could protest (as if you would have) he pinned your wrists down against the mattress. You were completely at his mercy, you belonged to him and you were in love with him.

You were fucked.

“Who are you?” He bit down on your lip hard enough to draw blood.

You let out a pained moan and pressed your hips up against his.

He moaned into your mouth. “Good girl.”

Then he grabbed your thigh and yanked your leg over his waist, pressing himself even deeper into you. His movements were bordering on aggressive and your moans became louder and more and more breathless. Just like his own.

That was what had been missing back when he pressed into you so gently and carefully.

And you realized you never wanted to miss it again.

“Who are you?” He breathed out again.

“Your girl.” You gasped out.

He hummed and leaned down to bite down on your neck, only to soothe the bite with his tongue a moment later. “That’s right. My cumslut. My good girl. My whore. My princess.”

Each and every word that left his lips made you feel more and more wicked, more desperate to feel him deeper and harder, which you did.

He moved against you with a fervor that bordered on painful and you loved every second of it.

It was painful. But you suddenly realized what you never knew before.

There was a good kind of pain. It existed.

“Are you close, princess?” He breathed before he bit down on your earlobe, causing you to release a soft whine.

You tried to speak, but all that came out was moan, after moan, after moan. So you simply nodded.

He growled in response and pressed your wrists down even harder.

“I’m going to make a mess of you, princess.” He hissed. With a few quick, rough thrusts more, you felt your eyes roll back and your back arch off of the bed and against him.

If what you felt earlier had been an orgasm, you needed a new word for this.

The feeling was so hard and intense, it was almost unpleasant by how fucking good it was.

You wanted to cry and scream out his name, but all you could do instead was dig your nails into his skin, hard enough to scratch down to his blood.

He growled again and started moving so furiously that you felt like you were being torn apart, until you finally felt him twitch and throb inside you. The sounds he made were good enough to almost make you cum again and you watched with half-lidded eyes as he rode out his release, giving a few deep thrusts into you and releasing deep inside you.

Your body was still twitching and writhing underneath him. He kept his eyes closed and rested his forehead against yours. When he tried to pull back, you wrapped your legs around his waist.

“Wait.” You whispered breathlessly. “Not yet. Just…Can we just stay like that? Just for a moment?”

He slowly opened his eyes and met your gaze and to your great surprise…They were still soft. Even more so than before.

“Of course.” He whispered and buried his face in your neck. He slowly lowered himself back down on you, just enough so he wouldn’t crush you.

You were both breathing heavily and your hands were warm and damp with sweat.

“Was that alright for a first time?” He suddenly whispered.

And you did something that you hadn’t done in a while and you had been sure you wouldn’t ever again.

You smiled.

“Yes.” You whispered. “It was perfect.”

He pulled his head back and raised a brow. “Not too rough?”

You shook your head.

He hummed as he observed your smile for a moment.

“I held myself back.” He murmured. “I can’t be gentle next time.”

You looked at him with a soft expression and nodded.

“I know. I remember your words.”

He reached out a hand and gently touched your cheek.

“You should know one thing, darling.” He suddenly whispered.

Your eyes widened and you listened intently. Still, a part of you expected a low, painful blow.

But you couldn’t tell if it ever came.

His words left you torn.

“I’ll never let you go."

___________________________________________

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If I forgot anyone, please let me know and I'll fix it!

[babygirljulianbashir]

I usually dont add to posts but imo this is important. I worked as a home health nurse for kids for a few years and i specifically worked with this one family that lived with this kind of household culture (why would i thank you??)

My house is NOT like that -- my husband and i make it a point to be thankful and praise each other for fulfilling our expected (and unexpected) tasks, being flexible, being thoughtful, etc. Any positive action is acknowledged and praised. I did not grow up this way. We choose to be this way because we consistently notice that it significantly elevates the mood of the house, decreases conflict, and fosters a culture of caring, acknowledgement, and appreciation. It affirms that we are on the same side and understand the efforts we make for and with each other.

So i worked for this family. The dad would do a task that made my life easier, id say thank you, and hed hit me with "why are you thanking me thats my kid i should do things for him". And each time id think, "what does it matter if youre 'expected' to or not? You helped me and im thankful?"

The culture of this house was very. . . fractious. Lots of assuming negative intent, lots of minor disagreements escalating to active arguments. And a lot of everyone feeling unseen, unvalued, and left to the wayside, even though everyone was relatively participatory and everyone cared. But the way they spoke to each other didnt support the helpful and proactive culture they wanted so badly.

Say thank you. Enthusiastically praise every task done by yourself and by others. You might be surprised how it alters the culture of your home and improves your relationships.

As someone who grew up with "I'm not going to praise you for doing what's expected of you; that's not being good, that's doing the bare minimum" I want to encourage you to celebrate every little thing you can. Everything that takes energy and effort should be appreciated and you're allowed to be happy about trying.

[noxitsnox]

I can’t fall asleep without you

hyun-ju x gn!reader

summary: after disappearing for days, your girlfriend comes back home.

tags: angst, hurt/comfort, transphobia and police incompetence , like one curse word

a/n: studying is for weaks, real alpha men (me) write hyun-ju x readers instead. seriously tho, i fear this might be full of grammatical errors but i'm too tired to proof read and correct them ㅠㅠ

also she didn't win the game, it's as if she and everyone else managed to escape after ep. 7 ‼️‼️

today it was your four year anniversary.

or at least it should have been. it would have been if hyun-ju didn't just disappear into nothingness. you couldn't help but be angry. you saved up for months to afford taking her to a really nice restaurant in the centre, called to make a reservation at the beginning of the year. you would've never guessed that you'd spent this day without her.

when you woke up that morning, the morning she disappeared, you were surprised by hyun-ju not being on bed by yourside. usually she'd wake up with you and you two would have breakfast together before leaving for work. even if it was weird you didn't think anything of it. probably she just left earlier for work, she always tried to do some extra shifts when it was possible. you sent her a 'good morning' text and went on with your day.

when you checked your phone during lunch break hyun-ju had not replied your text yet. hell, she didn't even see it. anger, frustration, worry started to make their way all the way up to your mind. but you forced yourself to calm down and think logically. was it strange that she didn't answer? of course it was, but maybe she just didn't have lunch yet, or her phone was dead or she forgot it in the car. it was strange, sure, but not illegal. it didn't matter, because at the end of the day she'd come back home to you.

or so you thought.

that night she never came home. she didn't answer your texts, she didn't pick up your calls... with all the things you heard on the news, all that violence and hate that was slowly growing in the street you were afraid she was attacked. what if she was hurt? what if she needed you to be by her side?

so you called all the hospital of the cities asking for her. none of their patients had her name or fitted her description.

every possible scenario came into your mind. anxiety, panic, fear didn't allow you to think rationally. you wanted to just storm out of the house and go to the police station. but it was still too early to involve the police. you forced yourself to sleep, you would have reported her missing the next day after work.

for some reason, you really believed that the police would help you. why wouldn't they care about a missing person? you almost forgot hyun-ju and you weren't élite citizen, the ones the police cares about, the ones who deserved to be saved.

you went there stressed and afraid, with a trembling voice you told them that hyun-ju didn't come home in two days, that she's not answering the phone and that she never talked about wanting to just leave. holding your heart in your hands you told them your worries only to be met with laughter and judgement.

the policeman told you with a grin that it was useless to do anything, that she's probably just ran away with some rich old man, after all that's what these people do. he told you you were wrong for trusting one of them, to stop waisting time chasing after her and to start looking for a normal partner.

when you returned home you were furious.

hyun-ju, she wasn't that kind of person. they spoke ill of her without knowing anything. she didn't just leave. she couldn't have done it. if something was wrong in the relationship she would've just talked to you. why wouldn't she?

for the first time since all of this happened, you cried. you sat on the couch on the small living room and observed your surroundings. all of her things were still there, exactly where she left them. her black heels were still by the door from your night out nights ago, on the coffee table was the book she was reading with a bookmark towards the centre, her cardigan gently laying on the back of a chair at the dining table...

you spent the next days in misery. you called in sick at work and stared at the ceiling all day. holding the phone in his hand all the time, anxiously waiting for her name to pop up on the screen. Every time you got a message your hopes would rise, only to vanish completely when you saw your mother's name.

eventually a friend came to check on you. they asked how you were doing, you told them what happened, they said hyun-ju was a bitch, you got angry and screamed at them to leave the house.

after they left, you did felt bad about yelling. after all they were just trying to help you. and they did. you needed to take control back. laying on bed won't make hyun-ju come back.

you quickly sent them a message to apologize before hopping in the shower. you started tidying up the house, cleaning the kitchen and putting away the clothes in that black hole you call a closet. even cooked too much rice for dinner, after four years you weren't used to one person portions anymore.

looking in the mirror you said you were doing this for yourself, but in the back of your mind you knew who you were actually doing this for.

you didn't even notice how tired you were until you sat on the couch to clean up the coffee table. with the rag still in your hand you fell asleep.

you dreamed of summer, warm sun hitting your skin and wet hair. the orange color of the sun's rays reflected on the sea and on your faces. hyun-ju's hair were up in a ponytail, her white t-shirt stuck to her skin and a wide smile was printed on her face.

you remembered this day. it was your first summer together and you managed to rent a small apartment near the beach for a couple of days. you spent those days in your own world made of chattering and laughter.

a sudden noise disturbed the image that had been created, it was external to the dream.

you tried to ignore it but it only got louder and louder until you opened your eyes. with the typical confusion that comes when you've just woken up, it took you a while to realize that someone was knocking at the door.

you looked at the clock on the wall. it was barely 5 in the morning. you cursed under your breath as you walked toward the door. who the hell would knock on someone's door so early in the morning?

looking through the peephole a shiver ran down your spine.

was this still a dream or was it really her?

you opened the door energetically. hyun-ju was actually standing there in front of you. hair in a messy ponytail, she was wearing a green tracksuit stained with blood and dirt and white shoes. she looked shaken, as if she could have started crying at any moment.

you freezed in front of the door, unable to move or say anything. you didn't know what you were supposed to do, how to feel. part of you wanted to be mad, but how could you be mad at her when she looked like that?

you noticed that she was shaking, her arms wrapped around her body trying to gather as much heat as possible. she kept her gaze down, as if she were ashamed to be there, right in front of you.

"hyun-ju...", you finally talked. your voice was a whisper audible only to the two of you. you moved to let her pass through the door. "it's cold. come inside." she didn't say anything. the more you looked at her the more she looked like a ghost of herself.

neither of you sat down. you were standing in front of each other in silence. minutes that seemed like hours passed before she spoke. she told you she was gonna shower, change into clean clothes before leaving you alone in the living room.

when she got out of the bathroom she looked more like herself. she sat at the kitchen table and you put a cup of the tea you made while waiting in front of her before taking a seat next to her.

"y/n-" "where have you been?" you interrupted her, sounding harsher that intended. she shook her head, "it's not important right now... you wouldn't believe me anyway." "it's not important, hyun-ju? you're telling me it's not important, seriously-" this time she was the one who interrupted you, rising her voice to match yours. "y/n c'mon i just came back i don't feel like fighting."

you got up from the table, walked a few step away to calm down. part of you recognized that this wasn't the best way to have this conversation, but you couldn't hold back any longer, all the emotions that had accumulated in your heart these days took over.

"i can't believe you. you were gone! for days you disappeared from earth, you wouldn't even answer your phone and when came back your clothes were covered in blood!"

she sighed but didn't say anything so you continued.

"do you know how worried i was? i called very hospital, i even went to the police but you were nowhere to be found. i thought you were dead, hyun-ju... dead!" without realizing it you started crying.

there was silence before she spoke. "y/n i'm sorry, i'm really really sorry", she got up and walked closer to you, wrapping her arms around you. "i didn't think i'd be gone for this long. but i'm here now, i won't go anywhere." from her voice you could say she was crying too. "i'll tell you what happened, but tonight please let me just forget about it."

you broke the hug to look up in her eyes. "do you promise you'll tell me everything?" "i do, i promise."

[prettyboykatsuki]

toji’s cock is just ridiculous for a regular man like

its crazy.

like. genuinely. i dont think you fathom how big it really is because early into your relationship - you just dont see his dick a lot. you can feel it pressed up against you or sometimes you catch a glimpse of it in his hand when he jerks himself off

and you know it's above average but its like. toji just wont let you see it. and for a long time you don't get why. it feels like he's shorting you somehow. and when you bring it up he always says the same thing, maybe eventually when you're more experienced. when you can take three of his fingers without breaking a sweat.

its not really a matter of benevolence on his end but he knows you're gonna try to be brave about taking him if he lets you. you're so stubborn and ridiculous you'll trip all over yourself trying to shove the thing in you all in one go.

he just doesnt want you to do anything stupid.

its not that toji doesnt want to fuck you. but in the same way you threw yourself at him in some aspect, he thinks you're bound to be reckless and do it again.

and predictably you do eventually get . whiny enough, desperate enough to do that. paw at the waistband of his pants like he's neglecting you of something and you look like you're gonna burst into tears and he just sighs. tells you to quit your crying and hold still

he wont fuck you. not yet. but you can see it if it gets you to shut up.

and you.... honestly underestimated how big toji would actually be.

he never really says it. he just says it'll be too much for you which is part of what you find so frustrating. but he wasn't showing humility really, just didn't think there was any sense in bragging.

he's huge. his cock is fucking huge. its not something you are prepared for despite your insistence that you are. its the size of your forearm—too much. too thick. too heavy. you try to wrap your hand around it and it's like a fucking pole and you can barely do that. your fingers barely touch when you use one hand. it's alarming to say the least.

just looking at it makes your thighs feel weak. you're shaking like a little leaf in his arms and toji can't even laugh really. just sighs and says he told you so. he's about to give you some corny speech about it too.

so imagine his utter confusion when you blurt out.

"i want you to fuck me. right now. please,"

[flwrkid14]

So is I alright if I ask this?

I've seen the post where everyone wants to be Tim's favorite, might I ask if you could combine it with the 'Tim will never be anyone's favorite' and the brain dead post spin off? I think it'd be super angst angsty if the bats realize tehy unitentionally screwed up with Tim.

Oh, this is such a good ask! and now I’m going to be feral about it, thank you. Combining all of those ideas? Buckle up because this is going to get angsty.

—

Tim Drake will never be anyone’s favorite.

He’s always known it, accepted it as fact, because it’s not just about how he’s never felt like anyone’s favorite—it’s about how he’s been conditioned to believe that no one could favor him. He spent so much of his life trying to make himself useful to the people around him, because if he couldn’t be loved, he could at least be needed. If they needed him, they’d have to keep him around, right?

So that’s what Tim became. The utility knife of the Batfamily. The glue, the fixer, the one who knew how to put everything back together even if no one ever thought to ask how he was holding up.

And if that meant sacrificing pieces of himself, so what? He was never anyone’s favorite. He had no illusion that anyone would fight for him, that he’d be prioritized. The mission came first. Gotham came first. Family was a distant second, if it ranked at all.

Then there’s Danny.

Danny doesn’t come in with the expectations or baggage the rest of the Bats have. Danny doesn’t know Tim as a placeholder Robin or a second chance or a stolen birthright. He knows Tim as Tim—sharp, exhausted, himself. And Danny thinks that’s amazing.

He says it, too, without hesitation. “You’re my favorite,” he says like it’s a fact. Like Tim has always been the first name on someone’s list.

And it’s such a foreign concept to Tim that his first reaction is suspicion. He doesn’t trust it—can’t trust it—because when has anyone ever favored him? Even when Danny shows time and again that he’s not going anywhere, that his affection for Tim is unconditional, Tim’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Danny to grow tired of him, to leave, to regret his words.

But Danny doesn’t. He stays.

And that’s where it all starts to unravel for the rest of the family.

They see it—the way Danny looks at Tim like he’s the most important person in the room. The way Tim slowly starts to relax around him, shedding the defensive, brittle edges he’s always carried with them. The way Danny makes it obvious—painfully obvious—that Tim is his favorite person.

It's then that it hits them.

None of them have ever made Tim feel that way.

They start noticing the cracks they’ve left in him, the ones they never saw because they were too busy leaning on Tim to hold them together. They think back to all the times Tim had been the one to put in the effort to maintain their relationships, the way he always came through for them when they needed him, but how little they ever did for him in return.

They see the way he hesitates when Danny shows him affection—how it catches Tim off guard every time, like he’s still waiting for it to be a trap. And the Bats realize they’ve conditioned Tim to expect exactly that.

It guts them.

Cass had always known, in the quiet way she read people, that Tim didn’t feel like he belonged. She saw it in the way he held himself—guarded, distant, bracing for rejection. She’d tried, in her small, subtle ways, to show him he mattered, but watching Danny with him now, she realized she hadn’t done enough, that there was so much more she could have done for him not to feel that way. She hadn’t known how deep the hurt ran, and the guilt settled heavy in her chest.

Danny... Danny treated him differently.

Dick, who always tried to be a good brother but never saw the way Tim’s shoulders tensed under the weight of being “good enough.” Jason, who hated him for wearing the Robin colors but never noticed how much Tim blamed himself for taking them in the first place. Bruce, who thought giving Tim responsibility was enough to show he cared, but never thought to give him unconditional support. Damian, who fought Tim at every turn but never realized how much Tim already hated himself for existing in a role Damian felt should have been his.

Even Steph, and Duke—all of them thought Tim was fine because Tim made himself fine. Because Tim was the one who fixed things, and none of them stopped to ask what he needed.

It becomes almost unbearable for them to watch Danny care for Tim, because Danny makes it look so easy. He loves Tim so openly, so obviously, that it highlights every way the family failed to do the same.

And Tim? Tim doesn’t even seem to know he deserves it.

It’s the wake-up call they all desperately needed but never wanted. They don’t know how to fix it. But watching Danny and Tim together, seeing the way Tim is finally beginning to believe he’s worthy of being loved, they know one thing for certain:

They can’t undo the past.

But maybe, if they try hard enough, they can make sure Tim never feels that way again.

[littleslaywrites]

no privacy among profilers | aaron hotchner x bau!reader 

based on this request

summary: after months of secretly dating, hotch and you reveal your relationship to the team at jj's wedding

word count: 1.9k

cw: fluff, age gap, allusions to smut but nothing described, alcohol consumption

The twinkling of the stars mixed with the fairy lights above you, casting a magical glow on the backyard. The team has a giddy energy, still excited about the surprise wedding you’d just witnessed. That was one thing you loved about your job. You shared each other’s ups and downs, becoming a family in a way. 

You had spent a good amount of time getting ready, wanting to look nice for your first formal event with the team. Specifically, you wanted to look nice for Hotch. You knew he’d shower you with compliments no matter what, but you had the intention of taking his breath away. 

It had been a few months since you’d started dating, hiding it from the team. You were a profiler, so you recognized Hotch’s interest in you from your first day on the job. He liked to think that he hid it well, but you were watching closely. The rest of the team was oblivious to the way he watched you, blushing ever so slightly when you met eyes.

You’d quickly found that the two of you were similar, both in profiling styles and personality types. When the team went out for drinks, you always found yourself sitting next to him, often breaking into a conversation away from the rest of the group. As the newest and youngest member of the team, you worried about not being taken seriously, but Hotch always backed you up whenever you presented a theory. By your third month at the BAU, you had tasked yourself with reminding him to take breaks for lunch, and telling him to go home when he spent too long at his desk after a case. 

Your first date night began innocently enough. You asked him out for dinner after work one day, saying he should take a break from all the late nights at the office. When he looked down at his hands, you knew you had him. The slight tell was enough for you to begin plotting, figuring out how to turn the night from a casual dinner to a full-on date. 

You could tell Hotch was using all his might to stay professional. Fraternization is forbidden for those of the same rank, not to mention between a boss and their employee. You also knew he was hesitant about the age gap, a good fifteen years between the two of you. 

Across the table, his eyes were trained on your face, not daring to glance down at your shirt. You’d undone two of the buttons to try to make your outfit seem less like you’d worn it all day at the office, as well as to show just the slightest bit of skin. Enough to get his attention, but not too much as to maintain plausible deniability.

Hotch knew he probably shouldn’t have accepted your invitation. He knew better than to give in to the request of the much younger employee he’d been crushing on. Since he’d first met you, he’d been trying to keep you off his mind. He stole glances, ones he was sure you’d noticed. At least, he noticed the way you looked at him. The two of you played a game, trying to capture moments without the rest of the team noticing. With you sitting in front of him, top undone just enough to barely cover your bra, his eyes kept bouncing down to the tiny bit of cleavage that was revealed. 

By the time dessert had been placed in front of you, you had worked up enough courage (or at least enough liquid courage) to say something. “My eyes are up here,” you said after one particularly long stare. 

Hotch almost chokes on his drink. “I’m not sure what you mean,” he says, although his face turns completely red, contradicting the statement. 

You remember the interrogation methods you’ve been taught, and stay silent, waiting for Hotch to make the next move. 

The silence is broken with a giggle. Surprisingly, it’s not from you. It’s Hotch. You never imagined he could giggle, considering you were shocked the first time you heard him laugh. In response, you start to giggle, and in your drunken haze, the two of you erupt into a fit of laughter. 

You’re a little self conscious, noticing the others dining at the restaurant staring, but when you look up to meet Hotch’s eyes, you stop caring. There’s a twinkle in his coffee colored eyes, and it makes him look younger, less burdened. 

“I think you do know what I mean,” you say through your laughter. 

“And what if I do?” he says, fully embracing your teasing. 

“I have a couple ideas” you reply, taking a sip of what must be your third drink. 

“And what might those be?”

“Why don’t you come back to my apartment?” You leaned as close to him as you could while you were separated by the table. “I’ll show you there.”

That’s how he ended up in your bed, laying in your arms as the sun peeked through the blinds. 

“As your superior, this goes against quite a few FBI regulations,” he says playfully as the light wakes you up. 

“And as the man laying in my bed?” 

“I can forget the rules if you can.”

You decided not to tell the team, knowing it’d complicate the dynamic too much. Instead, your game of stolen glances continues, just on a larger scale. Now it was quick touches of your hands on the jet, sneaking into each other’s hotel rooms like high schoolers. 

The way Hotch looked tonight was making it particularly difficult to keep yourself from staring. His dress shirt is unbuttoned at the top, showing just the slightest bit of skin. It’s reminiscent of your own scheme on your first date. Somehow he’s more irresistible now that you know what he looks like under the formal attire. 

Spencer is swaying with you to the music. The team is all slightly buzzed, passing each other around on the dance floor. 

“Hotch has been staring at you all night,” he says, turning so Hotch is behind you. 

“Hmm?” You try to hide your reaction.

“Is there something happening between you? I don’t want to profile you or anything, but…” 

You look up at him, surprised by the boldness. Usually Spencer would be too shy to comment on this sort of thing, which is why you don’t have a good cover for his inquiry. When you spin so you’re facing Hotch, his eyes really are on you. 

“I think you’ve finally gone nuts, Reid.” You look down, smiling awkwardly, and you're sure he can see right through your lie.

You try to brush off his words, but something nags at you. So, when the song is over, you go straight to Hotch, disregarding the reaction Spencer will surely have to your choice of dance partner. 

Placing one hand on your waist and taking the other in his firm hand, he holds you to his chest. His touch is light, and for once his insistence on being a gentleman annoys you. 

“You look beautiful tonight,” he says, slightly squeezing your hand. In response, you squeeze at the shoulder your hand rests on. 

“Spencer’s onto us,” you whisper.

“Of course he is,” Hotch chuckles slightly. “Can’t hide anything from a genius.”

You know eyes are on you, especially since Spencer is talking with Penelope, meaning she’s currently about to spill Spencer's theory about you and Hotch to literally everyone.

“I guess they’re bound to find out eventually.”

“What are you implying?” He leans back to look at you. You can tell he’s resisting the smile that’s trying to break free. 

“All I’m saying is,” you let a smile overtake you as his lips twitch into a tight smile, “we can’t hide forever.” 

When you turn, you glance around, noticing the team all standing beside the drinks table. They avert their eyes when you glance over, but it’s clear they’re staring.

“I think we have an audience,” you remark, letting your lips brush against Hotch’s ear. 

He holds you a little tighter, his heart fluttering slightly from the sensation.

“I say we give them a show,” you say, finally tired of the tiptoeing around you’ve been doing for the past three months. 

“Miss y/n, how scandalous,” he teases before removing his hand from yours and holding your cheek. You can almost feel the intake of breath from your watchers.

Hotch looks gorgeous under the twinkling lights, that gleam in his eyes intensified by the warm glow. It’s a look that’s reserved for you, and even then, only in your private moments. You always feel honored when you see that sparkle, knowing the rest of the team has only seen a fraction of it on nights out after long cases.

“Kiss me,” you say. It’s practically a dare, urging him to be the one who initiates the reveal. The second you say it, he knows he can’t resist you. Not when your lips look so delicious in the curve of your smile.

Leaning down, your lips meet, lightly at first. Your eyes flutter shut, filled with the familiar warmth his kisses always give you. Leaning into him, you deepen the kiss for a brief moment. When you pull away, he chases after you slightly, left wanting more. 

“Is that all I get?” He tries to pout, but your smile infects him.

“Anything more might give Garcia a heart attack.” Glancing over at her, you think she’s about ready to drop dead, with one hand on her heart and her mouth hanging open.

The rest of the team is no less shocked. Emily and Morgan have erupted into chatter, arguing about who “knew it first”. Spencer has that smug look he always gets when he’s proven right. Even JJ and Will have frozen mid-dance, giving each other a look of surprise. 

Laughing at their collective disarray, you call out. “What?”

“Y/n!” Garcia calls out. “How long have you been hiding this from us?”

“Three months, give or take,” Hotch responds. Garcia lets out an indignant gasp, pulling the three people around her into a group discussion of the signs they’ve missed.

“There’s no such thing as privacy when you work with profilers,” Hotch says quietly to you. 

When the song ends, he leads you to the open bar. You probably don’t need another drink, considering you were already bold enough for a confession. 

Rossi is already there, pouring himself a drink. “I was wondering when you were going to break the news to the team,” he says.

“You told him?” You give Hotch an accusatory look.

“He didn’t have to tell me anything,” Rossi says, saving Hotch from any potential indictments. “You two aren’t as subtle as you think you are, at least not to a founding member of the BAU.” 

He makes his dramatic exit from the conversation, Hotch giving you a glance as he walks off. 

“I’m glad they know,” he says as he hands you a glass. “I don’t like hiding you.”

“I’m sure you’ll get all the bragging rights now that they know you’ve captured your younger subordinate.”

He chuckles slightly at your teasing. “Not when they see the paperwork I’ll need to fill out.”

You sigh slightly at this, remembering the obstacles that come with the reveal of your relationship. Nevertheless, you’re too elated from the confession to care. It’s hard to care about anything when Hotch gives you that bright smile so few people get to see. 

“This is going to be complicated,” you say, a smile betraying your attempt at seriousness.

“It’s worth it,” Hotch says, pulling you in for another kiss, no longer caring about the watchful eyes that surround you. “It’s worth it for you.”

[shadola]

꒰ა boyfriend!shadow . . .

shadow x f. reader. fluff. slight angst. shadow lore spoilers (more aligned with movie lore than game lore). established relationship. could be human or mobian reader.

☆ shadow who didn't want to admit that he liked you at all at first. he hadn't let himself get close to anybody in such a long time, he was worried that he wouldn't know how to handle it going wrong.

☆ shadow who usually spends most of his nights tossing and turning. and when he can sleep, he's an incredibly light sleeper. every brush of a branch against his window waking him up. but can sleep through anything and everything as long as he can feel you in the bed next to him.

☆ shadow who has you sit on the front of his bike, so he can hold onto you as he weaves through traffic. resting his chin on the top of your head whenever you're stopped at red lights. he's always extra careful about road laws when you're on the bike with him.

☆ shadow who reveals that his past troubles with sleeping come from a deeply rooted pain in his heart. who tells you everything he remembers about his older sister, maria. and he remembers everything. he tells you the good stories, dancing and listening to her play the guitar, learning how to roller skate from her. how they were inseparable until the incident.

☆ he told you all about the incident too. how for so long he couldn't think about anything but getting revenge, for hurting the people who hurt him and his family. how it was like that for so many years, and even after his change of heart, he still finds himself wondering what would happen if he had followed through with his plans.

☆ shadow who's love language is acts of service, through and through. he'd do anything to make your life even just a little easier. from brushing your hair in the morning, to packing lunches for you, to zipping up your dresses or skirts. or even tying your shoes when the laces come undone while you're out and about, just so that you don't have to kneel on the ground to do it yourself.

☆ but despite it being his love language, he never really gets used to you reciprocating the actions. he always finds himself a little surprised when he comes home to dinner, or when you help pick the fuzz and lint out of his quills and fur. it's rare for him to be on the receiving end of kindness, or gentle touches and it takes him a bit to get used to.

☆ shadow who makes sure nothing is covering either of your palms when you hold hands. he wants his hand to be against yours completely, and finds himself moving your sleeves out of the way, and even taking off his gloves to obtain that.

☆ he likes holding your hand. it makes him feel closer to you, makes him feel regulated, and even if it's just temporary it makes him feel like all his worries and anxieties are melting away. he squeezes your hand whenever he feels your grip loosening. squeezing it three times in a row when he's talking to someone, or busy with something else. a reminder that no matter what he's doing, you're always what's at the forefront of his mind.

[kkentobox]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀nsfw abc! w/ jschlatt.

author’s note: as i’ve mentioned before, i’ve always wanted to make one of these sooo here it is! :D if you guys would want to see a sfw one, let me know <3 do not steal or plagiarize any work belonging to kkentobox !

A + AFTERCARE —- what they’re like after sex.

⠀⠀⠀⠀schlatt will always clean you up immediately after you guys are done, it doesn’t matter how long it was or who was doing the most work; he’s very quick to get up to grab a clean towel to clean you up and bring you water, maybe even a snack sometimes. after he makes sure you’re well hydrated is when he’ll pull you in close to hold you and press kisses to your forehead. it’s not him if he doesn’t cuddle you and fall asleep right after!

B + BODY PART —- their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s

⠀⠀⠀⠀his favorite part of his body will always be his hands! he knows how much larger they are compared to yours, knowing how to use the extra length to his advantage.

⠀⠀⠀⠀it’s very obvious how in love he is with boobs, he doesn’t care how big or small they are; if they’re there, he’s grabbing them. however, your mouth comes as a close second in his eyes.

C + CUM —- anything to do with cum, basically.

⠀⠀⠀⠀i am a huge believer that he has a breeding kink, so he’ll definitely come inside most of the time as long as you continue to let him. before you guys tried it, he would always cum in the condom or on your chest.

D + DIRTY SECRET —- pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs.

⠀⠀⠀⠀huge pantie stealer, multiple pairs would go missing before laundry day and you begin to think the cats are just hiding them because of how embarrassed he is to admit that he’s staining your used panties with his cum. so whenever you guys go to the mall, he’ll buy you so many more so “you’ll stop whining”, little did you know, he’s helping you pick out his favorites so he can steal them later on.

E + EXPERIENCE —- how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?

⠀⠀⠀⠀schlatt definitely seems like someone who prefers serious relationships over hookups or situationships, so i can see him having experience through his last partners. he knows what to do and knows a couple tricks, but he mainly focuses on learning how you like it. taking his time with you and making mental notes on what you enjoy more.

F + FAVORITE POSITION —- this goes without saying.

⠀⠀⠀⠀standing by the fact that i know he loves the intimacy of missionary. though, he also loves cowgirl and mating press. maybe even a full nelson if you’ve been acting up!

G + GOOFY —- are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.

⠀⠀⠀⠀he likes to keep things relatively serious considering he values how intimate it is to have sex, but he’ll always crack a smile if he notices how cute you look during the moment or just because how much he adores you.

H + HAIR —- how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.

⠀⠀⠀⠀i cannot see him being fully shaven, you guys see how much hair he has. it’s not a full bush because he trims it down, but there’s a good patch of hair that lightly tickles your nose when you go down on him.

I + INTIMACY —- how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect.

⠀⠀⠀⠀he’s a true gentleman in the bedroom when you’re not misbehaving! he’s very touchy in the moment, the type to hold you close that you’re suffocating, the one that holds your hands during missionary. he’s also a huge sucker for heavy eye contact, he loves seeing how telling your eyes are.

J + JACK OFF —- masturbation headcanon.

⠀⠀⠀⠀the j in jschlatt stands for jacking off. before you guys started dating, he definitely had to touch himself six days out of the week because of how pent up he was from work. he doesn’t really bother to do anything to himself now unless you guys have to be apart, but even then, he needs to see you to actually get off.

K + KINK —- one or more of their kinks.

⠀⠀⠀⠀breeding & size kinks are big ones for him, without a doubt. light choking, slapping, degradation & edging on both ends, praising, role-play, dry humping !!

L + LOCATION —- favorite places to have sex.

⠀⠀⠀⠀the bedroom, his office, his car, quite literally anywhere in the house. when you guys moved in, it’s become a tradition to have sex in every room of the house to truly make it home.

M + MOTIVATION —- what turns them on, gets them going.

⠀⠀⠀⠀he’s a simple man in my eyes. lingerie, arguing with you, seeing you in his clothes, hearing you say you want him, thigh highs, watching you get really excited about the things he does for you, when you catch an attitude with him, buying things for you + watching you try them on, making home videos.

N + NO —- something they wouldn’t do, turn offs.

⠀⠀⠀⠀age play, animal roleplay, dubcon and any fluids that come out of you are hard no’s for him.

O + ORAL —- preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.

⠀⠀⠀⠀i see him enjoying pleasing you more, always hungry to go down on you at any hour of the day. waking you up with head, bending you over the counter while you’re making food, etc. though, he could never resist or deny you of giving him head, he’s a man after all. he’s a good balance of both.

P + PACE —- are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.

⠀⠀⠀⠀he’s a mix of both! there’s days where all he wants to do is make passionate love to you over and over, letting you take all his love. there’s other days where he can’t help but give you the meanest, harshest thrusts that make your mind go numb. he’ll grab ahold of your neck, gently squeezing as he forces you to look at him while he pounds into you.

Q + QUICKIES —- their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.

⠀⠀⠀⠀he prefers doing the actual thing and being able to take his time, but he also can’t help himself or wait until you guys are in the comfort of your home. sometimes he needs five minutes in a friend’s bathroom or pulls over on the side of the road for a quickie, it all depends on how needy you guys are.

R + RISK —- are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.

⠀⠀⠀⠀he’s willing to experiment with you, but he’s still very cautious about doing things in public. the biggest risk you guys take is when he takes you over his gaming set-up, knowing all it takes is a slip of a button to go live and show everyone the mess he’s making of you.

S + STAMINA —- how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?

⠀⠀⠀⠀there’s an average of five to six rounds with him, he just cannot get enough of you and will not stop until he feels he’s dumped everything he has into you. he can last a while, but as you guys get closer to calling it is when he starts to get overly sensitive and cums really quick.

T + TOYS —- do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?

⠀⠀⠀⠀he’s begun to grow a collection just for you, though the vibrators have recently become used for the both of you. has multiple dildos, vibrators, handcuffs that he’s ordered specifically for you! the recent order being a dildo made identical to his cock.

U + UNFAIR —- how much they like to tease.

⠀⠀⠀⠀the biggest tease known to man, especially if you’ve been bratty recently or needed him to put you in your place. he’ll deny your orgasms every single time until you have tears streaming down your face and beg for him to accept your apologies.

V + VOLUME —- how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.

⠀⠀⠀⠀he seems more like a dirty talker to me, especially when he gets closer to his orgasm. i can see him maybe groaning or grunting more than actually moaning; unless you have him on the bottom. then he’s whimpering quietly under his breath, trying to keep quiet.

W + WILD CARD —- a random headcanon for the character.

⠀⠀⠀⠀as mentioned before, he has a thing for seeing you angry during arguments or just when you’re moody and decide to give him attitude. something about seeing you angry makes his cock jump in his pants, he doesn’t know if it’s because of how endearing he always finds you or if you just become ten times more attractive when you look angry.

X + X-RAY —- let’s see what’s going on under those clothes.

⠀⠀⠀⠀big dick. huge. i don’t see him being much a grower? you’ve seen how huge he is compared to most people, i know he’s packing. seeing maybe 6.5 inches soft, 7 inches hard in his tarot cards. he’s not overly girthy, but he gives you a nice stretch every time that requires prep beforehand.

Y + YEARNING —- how high is their sex drive?

⠀⠀⠀⠀he can go for hours seeing as it takes him some effort to cum, but he’s always putting your pleasure before his own anyways. you guys are probably doing it at least once or twice every day because of his high libido, but he makes it worth it.

Z + ZZZ —- how quickly they fall asleep afterwards.

⠀⠀⠀⠀he’s out like a light as soon as he’s done with his aftercare, usually because of how intense his orgasms are, he just needs to sleep to get his energy back.

[fear-is-truth]

dare i say ur the best squid game writer?? the namgyu hcs was def the most accurate depiction of his character ive seen ! showed his insecurities so well. chefs kiss. speakinggg of if ur taking requests from him. what abt reader finally breaking up w him? like tired of all the toxicity. how would he react?

BREAKING UP WITH NAM-GYU / PLAYER 124

a/n. omg tysm for the kind words !! i loved the idea for your request, and i hope i did it justice ! thank you again for trusting me with it ♡

at first, nam-gyu’s reaction would be pure deflection. he’d scoff, roll his eyes, and act like he doesn’t care. “fine, go,” he’d say, his tone dripping with venom. “you think i can’t live without you? watch me.” his pride wouldn’t let him admit how much it hurts, so he’d lash out, throwing barbed words your way in an attempt to make you second-guess yourself. it’s a classic manipulation tactic—turning the blame onto you, acting like you’re the one overreacting or being unreasonable.

but as soon as you walk away, he’d start spiralling—anger would segue into panic. he’d start analysing on all the moments he pushed you too far. there would be some level of guilt, but instead of owning up to it, he’d try to convince himself it wasn’t his fault—or worse, blame you for “giving up on him.”

when hours or days pass without a word from you, he’d start calling or texting, alternating between anger (“don’t you dare ignore me”) and desperation (“just tell me what you want me to do”)

when he realises you’re serious and not coming back, he’d oscillate between two extremes. on one hand, he’d try to manipulate you into staying by pulling every card he can think of: guilt-tripping, love-bombing, even reminding you of the good times to make you question your decision. he’d say something like, “you’re just gonna throw all of this away? after everything i’ve done for you?” or, “no one else will care about you the way i do.” not because he doesn’t care (he does care. a lot) it’s because he doesn’t know how else to express his desperation.

on the other hand, he’d also act like he doesn’t give a fuck to protect his ego. he’d put on a front, telling you to go and that he’s fine without you. he’d go to work, or use loads of drugs, just to prove (to himself more than anyone else) that he doesn’t need you. but deep down, he’d feel hollow. every time he numbs himself, it’d just make him think of you more.

if he’s really desperate, and you’ve been ignoring his attempts to get your attention, this might be the moment where he shows an almost childlike side of himself. he’d show up at your door, completely disheveled, and beg you to stay. he’d get on his knees if he thought it’d work, his pride be damned.

after the breakup, if you don’t take him back, he’d probably spiral even worse. he’d rely heavily on unhealthy coping mechanisms—drugs, drinking, or surrounding himself with people who don’t actually care about him. but no matter how hard he tries to distract himself, his mind would always drift back to you. he’d fixate on what he did wrong, though he wouldn’t know how to fix it.

if you did give him a second chance after all this, he’d try to be better, but it’d be a slow, messy process. nam-gyu doesn’t know how to handle his emotions or build a healthy relationship, so even his attempts at improving would be kinda flawed. but the fear of losing you again would drive him to at least try—though whether or not he can actually change is another story.

[marshiewritesfics]

the good things about living with the bat boys. What annoying things do you think they’d do without meaning too? Like their very human trait of living with you is annoying. But you love them still anyway.

Living with the Batboys | The Good and the Bad

A/N: Thank you for the request, @nesting-dreams! I hope that you all enjoy these headcanons! I had a fun time writing them!!

DICK GRAYSON-

- Dick is very charismatic and friendly to everyone that he’s around but especially you

- He would be positive, and, easygoing when you live with him

- Dick is good at creating a welcoming atmosphere that you love to be a part of

- He’s also very reliable at making sure things are getting taken care of

- Dick can sometimes spread himself too thin and wear himself out over the little things

- This can lead to him getting overworked and overwhelmed with everything going on around him

- You try and help ease this burden though and you’ve come up with a solution to divide up the work around the house

- This helps you both not be overwhelmed by what needs improvement

TIM DRAKE-

- Tim is incredibly talented and intelligent which helps him to stay very organized when you’re living with him

- He always keeps your home neat and clean even when he’s been working on a project

- Tim’s also considerate and knows when to work and when not to work as to not wake you up or disturb you

- He’s always willing to help you out around the house with anything you need

- Tim can be too withdrawn especially when it comes to completing a project

- This leads to him being a bit like a hermit who you don’t get to see very often

- This has affected your relationship with him at times but he’s come to know that he doesn’t need to be so focused on his work that he never spends time with you

- He’s learned to balance his work and his life with you in a healthy way

JASON TODD-

- Jason is fiercely loyal and protective over you and your home

- He’s willing to do anything to keep you safe

- Jason always has your back no matter what situation arises

- He’s also very straightforward and honest about situations that have happened and he helps you solve problems that come with living together such as bills and maintenance of the home

- It’s refreshing to have him be so open with you

- Jason’s temper can be an issue at times

- He’s quick to anger and a bit reckless which has lead to a couple of fights between you

- Jason is rebellious and this can lead to conflict and dangerous situations for both of you

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Every Day That You Want

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, tooth-rotting fluff, pregnancy, pre-established relationship, marriage proposal

Summary/Warnings: You have big news for Dean. News you have to tell him, wether he likes it or not. You really hope he likes it, though.

Author's Note: Kind of a prequel to another fic of mine (Still You Want Me), but can be read alone. I just love putting big scary men in normal situations.

Word Count: 2.9k

You can do this. You’ve been to hell and back, you’ve killed angels, you’ve survived at least three apocalypses, and you’ve helped raise the Anti-Christ. This should, comparatively, be easy. 

It’s not. It’s the most daunting and terrifying thing you’ve ever done. It’s just words, but you’re going to choke on them because they could ruin your life. You’ve rehearsed in front of the mirror until your voice didn’t sound like yours anymore and nothing you said seemed real. It had been like repeating the same one word over and over again, until it’s nothing but an odd sound. Until it meant nothing.

But this has to mean something. You have to be able to say this to Dean, and you have to try and not get lost in the possibilities of how he’ll respond. He won’t leave you—Dean would never leave you—but he might tell you he doesn’t want this, and then you’ll have to make a choice. You don’t want to make a choice. You don’t want to hear Dean tell you that, with the lives you lead, this wouldn’t be a good idea. That it doesn’t matter what either of you want, because this isn’t something you get to have.

You want to have this, though. You want to have Dean and the baby. You want to have him as you’ve always had him before—strong and tired, always fighting because it’s all he knows how to do, but resting his head on your chest in the dark and humming against your lips when he kisses you—but you also want to have him in this new way. Where he’d smile for more reasons than just you and Sam and Cas. Where he’d get to direct some of that undying loyalty to someone who’d never be ungrateful, who’d would see him as a hero in a way he might finally believe. 

He’d be so good at it. Dean would spoil the kid, and teach them everything he knew, and care for them more than he’d ever care for himself. It breaks your heart sometimes, how he doesn’t kill himself for Sam, and he doesn’t drink himself to death for Cas, and he tries to get better for you, but he still doesn’t really know how to look in the mirror and not see a shadow.

And this would be the piece of him that’s never been tainted. The piece of him that crawls over you in bed just to hold you, that still watches cartoons and gets excited when he sees a cool car or hears an awesome drumline. The part of him that still cares, against all odds, and cares so much you’ve been worried it would kill him. The part of him that’s so simply made of light and love, crushed under years of his soul being bruised and beaten.

A part of him that won’t break. A part of him you love just as much as the rest of his wreckage, but that you still try to tend to, because you’ll love him the same if it vanishes, but you don’t think he deserves that. Dean deserves to only have that piece of him expand, to have it absorb all the love you throw at him, to grow until he can see it too. Until he can believe it’s there.

You know that it’s all so fucking hard. That Dean will never be all light, but you wouldn’t ever expect him to be. You know that a baby won’t fix him, not by far, but you also know it will show him he can create something. That he doesn’t poison everything he touches. 

That he made something entirely good, with you.

And if he tells you he doesn’t want this, you’ll live with that. You’ve lived with worse.

But you don’t even want to try to live with it. You’ll probably have to, but you’d like to pretend you won’t. 

The most you’re daring to pray for is that he doesn’t freak out. But angels don’t really take your calls anymore. 

So you’ll just have to hope.

You’ve set this up perfectly. There’s a pie in the oven that you will not let burn. There’s bacon and pancakes on a plate waiting for him when he finally gets his ass up. You have the whole bunker to yourself, because Sam’s off to see Eileen.

You’re not allowed to tell Dean that—Sam says he gets annoying—but you will in order to get him in a better mood. Sam’s fatal mistake was believing that you wouldn’t do anything to make Dean happy. So this is really on Sam. He’s the one that introduced you to Dean in the first place. Just because you were his friend first doesn’t mean he didn’t lose your automatic allegiance the moment he said this is my brother and his brother was the hottest man you’d ever seen. 

Sam should’ve known better. His big head should’ve understood that letting you anywhere near Dean—let enough so close that you’d be allowed to fall in love with him—would have always resulted in you using his secrets against him to make Dean happy, so you could slip in the fact that you were pregnant with Dean’s baby as easily as possible. 

Like any sane person would.

Although you have been up for hours, after only sleeping two. And you might be losing your mind. But anyone would lose their mind in a situation like this. Waiting for their dumb boyfriend to wake up so they can change his life forever. 

But Dean’s still asleep. You’re starting to get worried. He usually sleeps in late, especially after hunts, but not this late. Not past noon, long enough for you to stress eat half of his pie, then make a whole second one. Not long enough for the coffee to go cold three times.

You’re about to go check on him when he appears in the kitchen door. Bleary eyes and mussed hair, his glazed eyes focusing slightly when they land on you.

He starts to shuffle towards you, and you forget everything you’d rehearsed. He looks sleepy and adorable, and you’ve seen him like this before but you’d like to see it a million times more. You’d like Dean to always drop his head on your shoulder and wrap his arms around your torso, to always slump over you with a low hum. To always kiss the crook of your neck and let out a long breath when your hands snake around his neck and your fingers tangle in his soft hair.

You could have him like this forever. 

You just have to tell him. 

“Dean-“

“Why’re you up.” He speaks against your skin, his voice slurring slightly, tugging you a little closer. “’S early.”

“It’s 3pm, baby.” You draw back to smile at him, and he just blinks at you. “You’ve been knocked out for fourteen hours.”

He shakes his head, pouting slightly as he takes your hand in his. “Nah. Doesn’t feel it. C’mon.”

Dean starts to walk away, taking you with him, and you’re snapped out of the daze.

“Wait,” You pull on his grip, and he turns with a frown. “Where are you going?”

“We’re goin’ back to bed.”

You give him an amused look, your affection briefly overpowering your panic. “We?”

He nods, tugging your hand in his until you’re pressed right against his chest. “Only up ‘cause you weren’t there. Need to get my girl back to bed, you need sleep too-“

You do need sleep, but until you tell Dean, you might as well be injecting caffeine right into your bloodstream.

“But I made you bacon-“

“Course you did.” He grins, pressing a light kiss to your nose. “You’re awesome, baby.” 

You feel your stomach flutter, and at this stage it has to only be nerves, but that doesn’t make anything easier. “Can we please eat?”

Dean hums, scanning carefully over your face. “You eat already?”

“I had some applesauce-“

“Then we’re good.” He starts to move again, and now you’re attached to him like a magnet. You couldn’t move away if you tried. “Bed.”

You’re frayed and wired and on edge, trying so hard to find the will to insist he stay and eat, but Dean’s so warm and suddenly you’re drunk on him. He’s sturdy and soft in all the right places, herding you back to bed with hands on your shoulders and mumbled praise about being his dream girl, making him bacon for breakfast and lovin’ him more than he deserves, and you wish you had enough backbone to just shout at him that he does deserve your love. He deserves whatever you can give him, including a baby that he needs to know about now before you explode.

But he gets you back into bed, splaying his body over yours and pinning you down.

“Didn’t see Sammy,” his head is buried in your chest, his voice muffled against your skin. “Where’dhe go?”

“Eileen’s.” You sigh, running your fingers through his hair. “I’m not supposed to tell you that, though.”

Dean chuckles, his hands drawing slow circles on your hips. “You’re a little backstabber, sweetheart. I’m never tellin’ you anything again.”

“I’m backstabbing Sam for you.” You shrug, smiling at the air. “I’d never backstab you.”

“’S exactly what a backstabber would say.”

You giggle. “You’re tired, Dean. Your brain’s not working right. Maybe if we get up-“

“Not getting up.” He grunts, squeezing your body. “Not until you get your own fourteen hours.”

“I’m okay, Dean-“

“No. Sleep.”

You sigh, squirming slightly under him. “You know, it’s bad for you to sleep in. It’ll mess up your circadian rhythm-“ 

Dean tilts his head up, frowning at you. “What’s going on with you?”

“I, um-“ You swallow, your whole body suddenly far too warm. “Huh?”

“You always make me sleep extra after hunts.” His voice is a little stronger, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Why’re you suddenly trying to get me up?”

“Nothing’s going on-“

“No.” Dean’s sitting up now, rolling onto his back and pulling you over his lap, his gaze stern. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“There’s nothing wrong either-“

He says your name, squeezing your waist as he rubs his jaw. “Please just tell me. If it’s a body we can hide it, but I need to know if it’s a monster body or person body-“

“Why the hell would it be a person body-“

“I dunno, but if it is you gotta tell me, so I can grab the salt.” He cups your cheek, offering you on his charming, downright boyish grins. “I’m not letting any ghosts haunt your hot ass, babygirl.”

“Thank you.” You mumble, dropping your brow to his. “But it’s not a body.”

“So there is something.”

“Yeah.” You whisper. “But I… I’m not-“

“Hey,” Dean leans back, holding your gaze as he tucks some hair behind your ear. “Whatever it is, I don’t care. I’m helping you.”

You swallow, squeezing your eyes shut. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs, like it’s simple. Like this will really be that easy. “For you? Always.”

It takes deep breathes, and hands curled in Dean’s t-shirt—gripping him hard, making sure he won’t fly away or vanish into the air when you speak—but you do it. You run over your entire rehearsal one last time and let it all go, because Dean’s right here, in front of you, and you just need to-

“I’m pregnant.”

You say it, and he doesn’t vanish into nothing. Dean just stares at you, eyes wider than you’ve ever seen them, and whispers, “With a baby?”

“Yeah, Dean.” You offer him a small smile. “A baby.”

“My- my baby?” 

You open your mouth with a slight frown, and Dean’s hand flies to cover your mouth before you can speak.

“Wait, shit, I didn’t mean it like that, I’m just-“ He groans, his eyes seeming to drive right into your soul as his voice because hoarse. “You’re sure? That you’re… growing one?”

You wish you could read him better right now. You’d laugh at him saying growing one.

Instead you just nod, and it’s like something flips in Dean. He grins—wide and toothy and unrestrained—and you barely have time for the relief to hit when he’s kissing you. Long and deep and passionate, until you’re dizzy and grinding down onto him, falling over his chest and clinging to his shoulders.

“Dean,” you gasp as he dives down to kiss a line over your collarbone. “Shouldn’t we, shit-“ He starts suck on a soft spot behind your ear, and all your exhaustion is starting to catch back up with you, so everything is really just a haze. “Don’t we need to talk-“

“No,” he mutters, rutting slightly up into you and chuckling against your skin when you whine. “Just need you, baby, need to- son of a bitch!”

Dean’s yanks himself up and twists to his bedside table—his hand on your hips holding you steadily against him—scrambling around the drawers as he mutters low words you can’t hear.

“Are you okay?” You ask, your hand fisting in his shirt once more. “I mean, I know you might have doubts about-“

You’re cut off as Dean surges back up to kiss you again, this one shorter and soft, but still firm. 

“No doubts, sweetheart.” He mutters against your lips. “And I’m better than okay. I’m fucking amazing.”

“Good.” You sigh, pulling back to scan over his face. “What was that, then?”

Dean smiles at you, and it’s… nervous. He’s almost never really, truly nervous, but this smile has no edge, no carefully designed charm. It’s just Dean, purely him, smiling at you like you’re holding his heart in your body.

You kind of are.

“I know I, uh, I don’t say it enough. You know I’m not good at saying it. But I do love you,” Dean says your name, and you blink at him. This sounds like a speech. “I love you so much it drives me insane. And I’d never want this, want a baby, with anyone but you. But, I, uh, I want all of this. Whole stupid, apple pie thing, just with you.” He takes a long breath, his eyes never leaving yours. “Marry me.”

You gape at him. “What?”

“Marry- shit, wait-“ Dean reaches slightly behind him, grabbing a small box, and pops it open with his thumb. There’s a diamond ring inside, and it looks like a real one. Not the ones you’d use on cases, that would give you a rash for a week after. This looks… carefully made.

Made for you.

“Dean-“

“Marry me?” Dean looks between your slack jaw and the box, his voice almost nervous. “Please?”

“I-“ This is going better than you could’ve ever even imagined. You’re not sure how to handle it. “I don’t want you to marry me just because you knocked me up-“

“Baby, I didn’t pull this ring out of my ass.” He drawls, his voice a little firmer. “I’ve been getting ready to ask you for months. I was going to kick Sammy out next week, make a picnic in the library-“

“Really?”

“Yeah, I-“ He frowns. “Why’d you think I was poking about your ring size?”

“I don’t, um, I don’t remember you doing that.”

Dean laughs, shaking his head slightly. “That’s good. I was worried I ruined it. I, um-“ he glances down at the ring, his face falling back to the nerves, and you realize you haven’t actually answered him yet. “I haven’t-“

It’s your turn to kiss Dean, and these words aren’t difficult to say at all. “Yes,” you whisper, pressing another, smaller kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’ll marry you.”

“Awesome.” He grins, and the ring is barely on your finger when he’s diving back into you, kissing you until you can’t ever remember anything has been difficult in your life. 

You yawn right as Dean pulls away, and he chuckles. 

“You alright, sweetheart?”

You hum, nodding. “I’m good. So good. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Dean says your name in your ear, and it’s quiet and gentle. Not like a secret, but a promise. “How’s a day in bed sound? We can try and get you pregnant again.”

“That’s not how it works, babe.” You giggle, folding a little deeper into his hold. “I’m gonna have to buy you some books.”

“I’ll read them.” Dean kisses the top of your head, and you can feel his smile on your skin. “For you.”

“Thank you.”

“Course.” He sighs, squeezing your body slightly. “We’re having a fucking baby.”

“Yeah.” You smile, and there’s that piece of him, shining on the surface. All joy and wonder for something that’s really just good. “We are.”

End Note: Dean Winchester in my head this is indeed the life you live every day. Season 15 isn't real it can't hurt me.

Title from Waste by Foster the People

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