#no one is making gifs so i had to. my man is back.

[navybrat817]

Back Off, He's Mine

Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You put an agent in her place after she flirts with Bucky.

Word Count: Over 2.5k

Warnings: Established relationship, violent threats (not against the reader or Bucky), protective vibes, catty behavior, possessive vibes, implied sexy times, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Inspired by an anon ask asking for Bucky's wife to stick up for him. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky stared at you from across the break room table, his pretty blue eyes not blinking as you looked back at him. The two of you were locked in a lengthy staring contest and you didn’t want to lose. But as the air in the room began to dry your eyes and he flashed you a beautiful smile, you couldn’t stop yourself from blinking. And the moment you did, he struck.

Snatching the last bit of the beloved pastry right from the middle of the table.

“Damn it,” you muttered, crossing your arms when he chuckled. “You cheated.”

“Oh, yeah?” he smirked, making a show of taking a slow bite. Your eyes followed his tongue licking his lips and you pressed your thighs together without thinking. The bastard made eating look sexy and he didn’t even take a full bite. He was taunting you. “How did I do that?”

“You cheated by existing.” You gestured to him, your smoking hot husband in his black t-shirt and tactical pants. To the person who made those clothes, you saluted them. “And you have serum in your veins, so I’m pretty sure you don’t have to blink as much as I do and that’s an unfair advantage.”

He chuckled again, graciously passing over the last small bite of the pastry. Your eyes lit up in thanks, popping it in your mouth with a moan. It was true love to share food like that. “I don’t think that’s how the serum works,” he teased. “And you’re a goddess, so isn’t that cheating, too?”

“Okay, but I’m not actually a goddess,” you countered, though he did make you feel like one.

His eyes softened, leaning across the table and crooking his finger. “Yeah, you are,” he whispered, kissing your lips once you met him halfway.

Before you could deepen the kiss, a shrill voice rang out in the breakroom. “Sergeant Barnes! There you are!”

Bucky’s cheek twitched as he settled back in his seat. The voice echoing in the room would’ve been enough to make anyone wince, but his enhanced hearing made it worse. He worked hard to block out noises so he’d be comfortable, and your eyes instantly narrowed at the person who brought him discomfort.

You recognized her after a moment, a pretty woman who would likely fall out of her top if she sneezed too hard. She hadn't worked there long, but she had her eye on Bucky from the start. She always flirted with him, tried to stand close to him and push her chest close, and he always dropped in the conversation that he was a married man. Apparently she didn’t get the hint that he wasn't interested. Either that or she was into taken men.

“Hi, agent,” Bucky politely said.

“Agent. Always so formal,” she giggled, dragging a chair over from another table and taking a seat without asking. “I’ve been looking all over for you, Barnes. You're a hard man to track down.”

Bubbly agents didn’t bother you in the slightest. You appreciated anyone who could stay upbeat in the line of work you dealt with. It wasn’t the enamored look in her eyes either that bothered you because you understood people wanting Bucky and you were secure in your relationship. No, what bothered you was that he had clearly been kissing his wife and she pointedly avoided looking at you after interrupting. That was just rude.

It also bothered you how uncomfortable Bucky looked when she moved her chair closer to him, his shoulders stiff and smile not reaching his eyes.

“Been spending some time with my wife,” he said proudly, reaching across the table to take your hand. You dipped your head down with a small smile, your heart still doing that funny flip like it had since the moment you met. He even managed to clear out the room so you two could be alone. “We were just finishing up.”

She didn’t spare you a glance as she set a hand on his metal arm. His cheek twitched again, squeezing your hand. It took a lot of effort for you to not knock her back from the table for touching him without his permission. “Excuse me,” you began, your tone even. “I don’t-”

“Do you think you could spar with me later?” she cut you off and either didn’t see or ignored your glare, leaning forward in her seat to make her chest stick out more. Bucky didn’t look. “I’ve been having trouble with a couple of moves and you’re so good at them,” she added, her eyes on him like she wanted to eat him up.

Which wasn’t going to happen.

“I don't think…” he stopped when her fingers trailed higher.

“Please, Sergeant?” she pouted.

Your eyes went back to your husband to get a read on him and make sure he was okay. He wasn't. His smile still didn't look right and his back was ramrod straight. Squeezing his hand seemed to ground him since he breathed a little easier, though your anger was simmering.

“I, um, don’t mind sparring if you really need the help,” Bucky began, gently pulling his arm away. “But you interrupted my time with my wife.”

Her smile faltered while yours widened. Bucky didn't like anyone cutting you off, whether that was your time together or interrupting you speaking. “What?” she asked.

“Hi there. Been sitting here the whole time.” You wiggled your fingers when she finally looked your way. “Excuse us for a second,” you said, avoiding her stare the way she avoided yours. “Bucky, do you think you can wait outside? This agent and I need to have a little chat.”

Your husband looked like he was trying not to laugh and you would take laughter over discomfort any day of the week. “Be nice if you can,” he teased, pressing a featherlight kiss to your hand. “I love you, baby,” he whispered.

“I love you, too,” you whispered, something unspoken passing between the two of you.

Defending each other was second nature, always would be.

Bucky didn’t immediately leave the room when he stood up. Instead he rounded the table so he could bend down and kiss your mouth, too. You smiled as it lingered, your heart skipping a beat. “Don’t keep me waiting out there long, Mrs. Barnes,” he whispered.

“I won't, Mr. Barnes,” you teased, tucking some of his hair behind his ear.

Straightening up, he gave a small nod to the agent for her sake. “Come find me later if you still want to talk about sparring. Maybe I can find someone for you.”

“Okay, Sergeant,” she smiled, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. That look wouldn’t last.

You waited until Bucky was gone to face the agent, who stopped smiling the second your husband was out of sight. Leaning back in your seat, you crossed your arms and asked point-blank, “You trying to fuck my husband?”

The wide-eyed expression was priceless when she realized you weren't asking as a joke. “What are you... I just asked him to spar,” she tried to brush it off.

“Please, don't insult my intelligence,” you said. It was beneath both of you to do so. “I get why you want him. Besides being one of the sexiest creatures to ever exist, he’s a good man. Polite, probably treats you with respect. More than most of the men around here.”

She shifted away from you and nodded. “He's a nice guy.”

“He is,” you agreed. They didn't make men like Bucky anymore. “And I’m not going to tell you to stop hitting on my husband, but I highly suggest that you back off. At the very least, don’t throw yourself at him right in front of me. It’s sad.”

“Why?” She had the nerve to smirk. “Worried I’ll steal him away?”

You smirked, too. She had balls and you respected that, but this wasn’t a battle she’d win. “Steal him away? You make it sound like he’s a toy and he isn’t. He’s a man, my man,” you said, holding up your hand so she could get a good look at your wedding ring. “And you are not a threat in the slightest. Our bond is much stronger than that.”

Her smirk went away fast, replaced by something sad. You almost felt sorry for her until she said, “Jealousy isn't a good look on you. It’s kind of… ugly.”

You scoffed. If she wanted to play, you’d play. “Jealous of what? You hitting on a married man who doesn't want you?” you asked, not feeling guilty in the slightest when her face fell. “I’m not telling you to back off because I'm jealous. I told you that because you’re only going to embarrass yourself if you keep trying and you’re going to make my husband more uncomfortable than he already is. I don’t like people making my husband uncomfortable.”

An unspoken threat hung in the air long enough that she swallowed. “And how exactly did I make him uncomfortable?”

“Besides you hitting on him, you touched him without making sure it was okay to do so,” you answered, letting a bit of venom seep into your tone. Bucky went years without autonomy and consent was important to you. He suffered enough and didn’t need to deal with things like this. “I’d hope as an agent you’d be able to pick up on subtle body language cues enough to know that he didn’t want you touching him.”

“And how do you know he doesn’t want me touching him? Are you a mind reader or something?” she sneered, flicking a nonexistent piece of flint from her shirt. “If he really didn't want me touching him, he would've said so. And guess what? He didn't say a word.”

You saw red, your hands curling into fists. For her to ignore the nonverbal cues… “I know my husband. I know Bucky. He doesn’t want you touching him nor does he want to start anything with you because he’s extremely faithful. He won’t throw away a loving, trusting marriage for a quick fuck or doomed affair,” you stated. She bristled, but tried to recover. “If you make a pass at him, he’ll reject you. He’ll do it as respectfully as he can because he’s a good guy, but he will reject you. That’s a promise.”

“Because he loves you so much. Jesus, what makes you so special?” she spat, surprising you both. But the longer you looked at her, the more she deflated under your stare. “I mean… He doesn’t say much to me, but when he does it’s always about you. ‘My wife this’ and ‘my wife that’ and he’s always so… proud.” She shook her head. “Do you know how lucky you are?”

You did feel a little sorry for her now. Crushes hurt, but better that she hurt now and heal than to keep pushing and hurt more later. “I’m not special. We just love each other, that’s all. And, trust me, I’m aware that I’m very lucky to have him. Someone who gets me and will fight for and beside me,” you said, a loving smile touching your lips. You hoped Bucky was listening outside the door. “There’s a guy out there waiting for you, but that guy isn’t Bucky. So don’t lower yourself by trying to go after someone who’s taken.”

She side-eyed you, crossing her arms over her ample chest. “And what if I don’t stop?” she asked.

You giggled humorously, all sympathy gone. The agent actually looked nervous at that sound and you were glad because you weren't going to play nice. “Well, if you don't back off, Bucky could make a complaint about you harassing him or at least request that you’re transferred. Maybe fired since you’re still in your probationary period,” you began, looking at your wedding band when she began to protest. “At the very least, I could have your schedule rearranged so you can spar with me. You see, Bucky taught me a few moves and if a bone or two breaks, well…”

It wasn't an empty threat either. Bucky loved fighting for you, but you could hold your own. It turned him on.

Her eyes darted to the door when you stood up and stretched. “Listen, you don't need to-”

“But do you know what I'm going to do for now?” you asked, cutting her off the way she cut you off. “I'm going to take my husband to one of the interrogation rooms and suck the soul out of his body through his incredible cock,” you smiled sweetly, taking pleasure in the sputtering sound she made. “And after he recovers, he’ll have the choice of bending me over the table and either eating or fucking my pussy. He’ll probably choose both. He’s pretty insatiable.”

She got to her feet, too, and you half expected to see smoke come out of her ears. “I don't need to hear–”

“What? Does hearing that Bucky is going to fuck me and not you make you uncomfortable?” you asked innocently before you got close to her. “Shove your tits in my husband's face again or touch him without his explicit consent, and I won't just make you uncomfortable. I’ll make your life a living hell.”

While you lost the staring contest to Bucky earlier, you very much won against this agent. She stood perfectly still and averted her gaze as you pushed your chair in. “Is that a threat?” she mumbled.

A cliche question, so why not give a cliche answer? “It’s a promise,” you smiled, heading to the door. “Oh, if he does decide to spar with you, I expect you to apologize and behave yourself. I’ll hear about it if you don't.”

Bucky leaned against the wall, waiting for you as you exited the room. He looked over the moon. “We’re going to one of the interrogation rooms, huh?”

You giggled, taking his hand as your cheeks warmed. “Of course, that's what you took from that.”

“How could I not?” he asked, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Thanks, baby. I thought I dropped enough hints that she’d back off.”

“Nothing to thank me for,” you assured him. He deserved to be comfortable at work. If some guy kept hitting on you, he would've stepped in, too.

“You think she’ll back off now?”

“I think so, but you tell me if she doesn't,” you said. You’d keep an eye on her, too, just in case. And if she pushed again, you’d put her back in her place. Maybe you’d make her listen while Bucky fucked you. With his permission, of course. “So, which room should we go to?”

He chuckled, the sound a happy one in the hall. “Room B. We can be as loud as we want,” he replied, tugging you closer. “I’ll show you just how special you are to me.”

Heat filled your body, anticipating how good it would feel to have him fuck your throat and more. “My body is ready, Sergeant,” you teased, shrieking when he picked you up and ignoring the whistles from other agents that walked by.

They were used to the shenanigans of Mr. and Mrs. Barnes by now.

And you couldn't wait for more.

Just like we deserve a loving Bucky, he deserves love, too. ❤️ Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[faylvrs]

holding you , holding me ✿ bllk men

﹒postscript : when they realise they’re in love, with you. ɞ‎ feat. nagi, reo, rin, karasu, shidou, sae, kaiser ɞ‎ cw fem reader in a few, banter, suggestive

nagi realises he’s in love with you when the late night calls start getting more frequent. he had started craving your presence more and more. hell, he felt lovesick.

“what a hassle..” nagi’s head flops against the bed sheets, his gaze constantly shifting to his phone to see if you’ve replied to his text yet.

the nagi waiting for your texts? not to mention texting first, call a man whipped!

”i only take a few second’s to reply..” nagi picks up his phone again, grumbling when his notifications are empty. if he replies as soon as you do, why do you have to spend the next 3 decades replying back?

nagi’s usually the one who replies and then logs on minecraft for hours. him replying in mere seconds at your texts—you’re definitely special. very special in his eyes, oh. there’s something else that caught his eyes.

nagi’s phone lit up with a notification, from you.

sure! it’s a date then :))

cool, :x. 7PM?

reo realies he’s in love with you when his pockets really start to hurt.

i mean really. he’s been spoiling you relentlessly for the past few weeks. even if you insist you don’t need a new shirt, by tomorrow your closet is filled with them.

you just can’t seem to escape his mind. whenever he walks by the street and spots a store, his first thought goes to you, that maybe you’d like this. that maybe he should buy it for you—of course he will.

“you know.” reo smiles at you as you try on the new necklace he bought for you. “i booked a dinner for us, just us.”

“oh?” you hum, still struggling with the hook. “can you help me?”

“sure.” he’s more than happy to help you hook your necklace—a chance to put his hands on you? he’ll take it gladly.

“so about that dinner..” his hands swiftly clasp your necklace around your neck. “are you coming or what?”

“i don’t know… the mikage reo taking me out?” you grin up at him. “im a little shy.”

you and reo laugh soundly, well, looks like you’ve got a date tonight.

rin couldn’t believe it.

he’s in love with you, playback—he’s in love.

it started off with smaller details, like how he would leave his soccer practice or gym earlier than usual to see you. and also how his messages app slowly started to become his most used app.

soccer wasn’t everything anymore, he had you too now.

“don’t make me waste money on this lukewarm shit ever again.” rin gruffed as he watched you sip the drink he had bought you from the convenience store earlier.

normally, he’d never waste his money on some useless milkshake from the store, that’s not even good for your body. but seeing you contentedly gulp at the fresh taste of your drink, he can’t seem to hold himself back.

“give me some.”

the words slip out of his tongue before he can control them.

“you wanna try?” well he’s definitely colored you surprised now. “come here then, rinnie.”

rin could feel his face slightly heat up at the nickname. he scoots closer to you, snatching the drink from your hand with no warning.

“hey!” you glare at him as he drinks the entire thing in one gulp, definitely not what you anticipated. “that was mine, you were supposed to take a sip.” you huff at him.

rin only rolls his eyes. “i paid for it. ill buy you a new one later.” your eyes sparkle at his words.

“fine, you win.” you smile. “im going to get going before you become grumpy and tell me to shoo.” you give him a teasing wink, about to get up from his couch when suddenly he grabs your arm.

“wait.” he grits his teeth, biting back words. “don’t go.”

“rin?”

“just, don’t.”

“you missed me, huh?” karasu smirks. he had his hair down, for once not put up with an insane amount of gel—karasu in all his glory.

“i didn’t.” you huff at him. “you look even uglier with your hair down.”

“yer’ comparing my beauty to your birds nest?” karasu crosses his arms, leaning against the door.

“oh, we can see them split ends girl.” you roll your eyes.

karasu has always loved bantering with you, but nowadays, it seems as if his heart has been telling him thats not the only reason his heartbeat speeds up whenever he’s around you.

he loves bantering with you, he loves you.

there’s a prolonged silence, karasu’s anticipating if he should say what he’s about to say. he usually isn’t this nervous—you’re the exception to that.

“you think you wanna go out sometime, yeah?” it’s the way his sharp eyes soften that makes your heart start doing flips.

“yeah, i do.”

there’s a moment of comfortable silence, your brain ingraving the memory in the back of your head. which of course, quickly gets ruined by his cocky smirk. he wasn’t the best at dealing with these moments

“even y’can’t resist my charm.” karasu sticks his tongue out at you. “ill pick you up at 9.”

“you… get back here!”

shidou could feel a wide grin on his face as he read your message—“sure, i’d love to go sky diving with you!”

anybody would of said that is a crazy idea for a first date, but you? you can say you definitely match his freak.

his heart explodes into a burst of enthusiasm whenever you’re around him. he can feel a rush of serotonin whenever you accidentally brush your hands against his.

oh he was so in love. he is definitely wifing you up when you deploy the parachute- how could he not when he feels like he’s going to explode with all these bottled up feelings.

he in fact had a very disappointed pout on his face when you said it was far too soon for marriage, so what if you’re not dating yet? you can start now!

your betrayal will not be forgotten. but hey, he can try again next year.

sae realised he’s in love with you when you started becoming an avid figure in his daily routine.

it was like muscle memory for him to wake up and check for your good morning text, never failing to emit an amused scoff from his lips.

of course, he acknowledged the fact that he was in love with you. but would he dare entertain the thought and risk the beloved friendship you already have? never.

“nobody’s looking.”

this was dangerous. he has you trapped against the wall in the locker room, his lips tantalisingly close to yours. he wasn’t suppose to be doing this—but how could he resist when you came to see him at practice?

“sae…we can’t here.” you try to be rational, but your breathing is just as heavy as his.

“just shut-“

footsteps. someone was coming. sae pushes you away behind a locker so nobody see’s you, leaning against the wall nonchalantly.

maybe next time he’ll get you.

kaiser took some time to notice his feelings, but even he started getting self conscious of all the excuses he started making to touch you, and the flirting was starting to cross a few boundaries as well.

maybe he’s just lust-driven, that’s all he thought for a while. he chose to distance himself, and you didn’t miss the change in his behaviour.

he thought distancing himself would help ease his feelings.. not make them worse.

he can feel his heart throbbing, mind full with only thoughts of you—is it love or is it lust?

he doesn’t know, he’s never felt like this before. what even is love? thats stupid.

“hey.” he smirks, grasping your hand, a habit of his by now. “what are you up to, schatz?” the light-hearted pet name rolls off his tongue smoothly.

“michael.” you look at him, eyes widening a little. “i haven’t seen you in forever.” his expression slightly wavers at that.

“oh i’ve been.. busy.” he lies, smiling. the truth is, he hasn’t been busy at all. he’s been avoiding you, you and your precious smile.

“its okay.” you pat his shoulder. “i just missed you.”

“i missed you too.” he blurts out unknowingly, slightly flinching at what he said. “i’ve been avoiding you.” he confesses.

your eyebrow’s slightly raise at that. “…why?”

“because.. i don’t know.”

your hands hesitantly reach out. you knew how he was about physical touch, but maybe just this once he needs it.

he bents down a little, his face hitting your shoulder as he reciprocated your hug.

“Ich liebe dich.”

apologies, some parts aren’t as long as the others. i got lazy ( and have favorites… ✌️) only 7 chrc bc i had no ideas for isagi

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hey I saw your post and honestly this is my first time making a request. How about arcane characters with a cat like reader? Idk it's just a thought that came (sorry if that's a bit weird)

Dunno whether this answers your request like you imagined. Also probs shit fire time writing for some of these characters.

Viktor found your cat like personality quite interesting and humorous if he wasn’t within the lab, working with things that normally didn’t capture your interest, unless they glowed of course.

Other than that it felt as though you were intentionally acting up in his lab for a reaction, like a cat would gauge the reactions of their owners before pushing a glass off the table. That’s how Viktor often felt with you

Then he has to keep an eye on you to make sure you didn’t touch anything dangerous because you were captivated by its light.

‘No, it’s dangerous and could hurt you my dear.’ He so often warms you as he guides your hand away when he felt it was dangerously close to what he was working with. Your mind didn’t head his warning, only the fact that there was a shinny object in the laboratory and it was the only thing you could focus on.

‘If so dangerous, why is it shining as though it wants me to touch it then?’ You responded, daring to touch the object once more and Viktor swore you either knew what you were doing and playing him for a fool, or you had no self preservation skills within your entire body to fight back against your urge to touch a dangerous foreign object.

It’s literally a stand still between the two of you and one that happens far too often that Viktor knows that this was all part of your plan, and unfortunately for him he falls for it almost always. He watches you while you watch him before doing something rash, making think you’ve actually touched the dangerous object, only to look at you unamused when you smiled at him mischievously as you wiggled your unharmed fingers at him.

This often leads you to being banned from the lab for pulling a stunt like that, however this was more for your safety and for him to calm his racing heart. You’ll kill this poor man with your antics but he wouldn’t want you any other way, especially when you cuddled up to him for warmth and sleep there.

It soothes him just as much as it soothes you.

Ekko found himself often wondering where it was you went sometimes.

He sees you in once place and then you disappear the next, returning to base only when you felt it necessary of you to do so, illusive and vague of where you’ve been it was often a bit frustrating. You could’ve been in serious danger for all he was aware and when he confronts you about this behaviour of yours, you’d only shrug and say:

‘Where it is a go on my own time isn’t something you should waste time worrying over.’ Before leaving to go elsewhere within the base and lounge against one of the trees thick and sturdy branches, eyes closed in content as you softly drift off into a light nap.

How the fuck you got up there, he’ll never know other than the fact that you managed to get up there in the first place with effortless ease.

Ekko’s nickname for you was either kitty or something along the lines of a cat based pun. You hated all of them equally but Ekko only feels more vindicated when you only proven his perception of you right whenever you displayed a trait that was common amongst cats. Whether that’d be silently judging everyone from your perch way up high, or lounging in his bed, more specifically where he had laid moments prior, feeding off of the warmth that lingered there or otherwise Ekko would find humour in you cat like traits because they were the things he loved the most.

(In a timeline where they actually have phones I can imagine him sending you cat memes and saying ‘this you?’ Or ‘I found your relative’ he thinks he’s funny, and he is but you won’t admit it out of petty pride)

However the one thing that you could always hold over Ekko’s head was the fact that you could silently manoeuvre your way into a room without him knowing and managing to catch him off guard. Ekko didn’t find it particularly funny but he lets up eventually and admits that it was kinda funny that you managed to take him by surprise. This was why you were more suited to missions heavily requiring a person with an abundance of stealth and agility.

‘Always landing on your feet aren’t you?’ He’d tease but you would let it slid as you shrugged your shoulders and reply. ‘What can I say? It kinda comes with the territory don’t you think?’

‘You sure you weren’t a cat in your past life or something?’ She would ask as she raised a brow at you as you cuddled into her side, much like a cat would when in they wanted to leech off is the warmth of a human.

‘No, why you ask?’ You say as you began to close your eyes, her warmth blanketing you almost immediately, and becoming increasingly sleepy.

‘You act like one for starters with how lazy you are.’ She pointed out and you’d only scoff at her, resting your head on her shoulder, having become too comfortable with your current position to even be bothered to move.

‘I’m not lazy, I’m merely taking advantage of the beauty that is power naps.’ You defend yourself and it was Sevika’s turn to scoff, having heard this excuse countless times before, and it never stopped her from continuing to compare your personality to that of a common house cat.

She disliked it at first, finding it weird and annoying at the fact that you didn’t seem all that bothered with the ongoings of Zaun, instead favouring to rest in high places that provided warmth or close to it and watching everyone with clear judgement within your eyes. However that judgment did end up saving her from time to time, not that she’d ever admit to this, as she was confident in her own abilities to smell a bitch from a mile away.

Though the more as time passed she grew to find it somewhat easier to deal with, though you cuddling up to her for warmth did put her off now and then, affection wasn’t commonplace in Zaun; so forgive her for not exactly taking to it immediately. Though each time you did cuddle into her side, her urge to create distance between you dwindled, from Perivale shoving you away from her, to slowly accepting that this was her life now.

‘Sure, that’s a hell of a way to avoid saying that you’re lazy.’ Sevika smirks when you glared at her, clearly insulted by this, before moving off of her to go rest elsewhere on the bed you shared and making sure your back was towards her in an effort to show your disagreement with her statement. ‘Not. Lazy. I just like napping.’ You retorted.

‘Yeah, sure keep telling yourself that, I’m sure it’ll be true one day.’ Sevika jokes and your shoulders only deflate more, knowing you’ll never win this war with Sevika when her mind is made up. She’s always in the right in most cases.

Mel is all too familiar with your cat like traits that nothing you do is out of the ordinary to her.

She finds humour and amusement in you participating in things commonly associated with felines. A human cat is what you were in her eyes as you slept the easiest you’ve ever slept when besides her, her presence was calming and was more then enough to have you reduced to a relaxed state before succumbing to sleep.

She just had that effect on you and you loved it as much as she does as she got to run her hand down your back.

‘You’re practically purring.’ She teases.

‘It’s not my fault you know exactly what makes me melt.’ You replied as you smiled up at her, never having gotten use to having this absolute goddess of a woman bless you with her smile, her heart, her everything.

Mel smiles softly. ‘You don’t exactly made it much of a challenge.’ She says as she watched the way you practically leaned in towards her touch, eyes closed in content with a smile spread across your face that she swore your nonexistent tail would be swishing from side to side. She has been in this position countless times before and yet it never gets old with how content she felt when moments like these between you and her freely exist within her mind.

You don’t exactly make it hard for her not to love you like she did, it came to you as easy a breathing as that’s how quick you were to fall for her, almost as if it was as though you were breathing; Easy, effortlessly and natural.

‘How can I when you read me so effortlessly and without fail?’ You replied back in almost a purr, a mischievous smile spread wide across your lips, ‘I shouldn’t need to hide myself from my lovers eyes, for she knows me all too well.’ You add. Another thing Mel adored was your cunning but cautious mind and the way you seemed oddly too relaxed for some, watching those very same individuals like they were merely mouses that squeaked about their freedom; like you were being amused by rather was being said in meetings as though you knew something they didn’t.

You were like the Cheshire Cat, often times speaking in riddles that only she herself understands.

Mel kisses the tip of your nose. ‘You smile like the cat that caught the canary,’ she says as she pulls away. ‘Learning more about you is more interesting and intriguing than the last.’

‘Then I hope I stay that way for a long while.’ You said, smirking when you felt her kiss your lips.

[narnian-neverlander]

What Could’ve Been [Viktor x GN!Reader]

Plot Summary: In which you find yourself in a world so similar yet so different to your own and are simply too tired of life knocking you down again and again to still play the selfless hero.

Word Count: 3,9k

Warnings: spoilers for Arcane Season 2, talk about character death and illness, suicidal thoughts, slightly suggestive at the end

A/N: I saw that alternate timeline and went ‘Ekko’s a stronger man than I am’ and went with that; actually wanted to write sth fluffy and happy, and this is wholesome-ish, but with some very bleak undertones so I might have to write some actual fluff to compensate. Also, the religious imagery wasn’t planned from the get go but it kinda happened and it is on brand for this man, I just decided to turn it on its head a little 🤷

“Interesting. When I told you about this last, you advised the exact opposite.”

You freeze mid movement, plate hovering an inch or so over the table you were setting. “Well I… I suppose I’ve changed my mind.”

The soft tap of a cane against the floor alerts you to him crossing the room, appearing in your peripheral as you put down the porcelain with shaky fingers. “A rather… hm, siginificant change in such a short time, wouldn’t you agree? Not to mention you acted like I was telling you for the first time.” He doesn’t receive an answer, so he keeps going. “I’ve had a theory for a while. I don’t believe I’ve told you about it, because really, it’s only a pipe dream at this point, but entertaining for the duller moments nonetheless: alternate timelines. The possibility of several different realities, all co-existing with each other simultaneously. Some would call the mere idea preposterous, I’m fully aware, but then again, how would we know for certain? How could we know? Unless one or more of said timelines happened to… overlap.” The silence that follows is deafening and heavy; a precursor of what’s to come. “You’re not originally from this world, are you?”

While he knows this is a conversation that needs to be had, the way you curl into yourself and seem to wither and grow small before his eyes makes him wish he could take it all back. He tries to catch your gaze, but you purposely avoid his as you drag yourself over to the couch. Body heavy and tired, you all but slump down into worn cushions, blankly staring into space as you weakly reply with “No. I’m not.”

He doesn’t move, nor does he speak, cause while he’d been expecting your answer to a degree, now that it’s out in the open he’s… unsure what to even do with it. It isn’t a worry for long, though, as you continue speaking, slow and weary. Like you had been expecting, dreading, this moment just as much as him.

“It wasn’t a… conscious choice. To come here, I mean. It was an accident really, I didn’t even know what had happened at first.” A weak chuckle. “This was a shock to me as much as it must’ve been for you.”

And what a shock it had been for you. To have been standing with your friends in the bowels of the Hexgates one minute and to wake up in an unfamiliar bed the next. Dizzily traipsing through a space that had felt familiar yet foreign all at once; pictures and mementos from times you couldn’t remember staring at you from every surface. And to have had Viktor come through the door, bag of baked goods under one arm, to find you in the living room of what should’ve been your home, looking every bit as lost as you felt. It had been a miracle you’d stayed standing then and there, with the way he’d looked: same lanky figure supported by a cane, same messy chestnut locks, same two beauty marks against the pale skin of his sharp face, same concern in his honey colored irises when he took in your state. But no dark circles borderlining bruises under his eyes, no hollowed, sunken in cheeks, no blood on his lips to betray another attack. And no Hexcore devouring him whole. Your downfall had come in the form of slender fingers gingerly wrapping around your forearm to try and steady you; a silent question and a gentle offer of help. One of those fingers wearing the very same ring you usually kept on a chain around your neck, because you’d always been too busy or too in your own head to just ask him. To offer him your heart, your life, your everything, if only he wanted it. Always too terrified of rejection, of losing him to his illness; too scared of fucking something until it was too late. And when your hand had come up in search for said necklace, a nervous habit that had developed at some point, and you’d found a matching ring on your own finger instead, you’d finally dissolved into a wailing, sobbing mess against his chest, never wanting to let go again.

And what a shock it had been for him. To have talked to you, not twenty minutes prior, an exchange of sleepy, lazy kisses and quiet murmurs, telling you he’d go get breakfast and be right back, watching as you’d curled back up under the blankets with a content sigh. To come through the door, expecting you still in bed and instead finding you in the middle of your living room, looking utterly lost and misplaced in your own home, an almost manic look in your eyes, staring at him like you’d seen a ghost. He’d approached you, carefully, like one would a wild caged animal, and then a simple touch of his had sent you into a meltdown. And at an absolute loss, he’d simply held you. Let you cry yourself to utter exhaustion in his arms, the both of you a heap on the floor, propped up against the back of the sofa. When you had finally, finally calmed down, you’d played it off as the aftershocks of a nightmare. The kind that makes you believe they’re real and keeps you trapped in them for what could feel like a lifetime. And Gods you’d looked like you had aged a lifetime while he was gone. And ever since that night you’d been… different. Getting lost in your own head more often than not. Suffering from nightmares almost every night. Migraines and something akin to epileptic seizures every once in a good while. He had let it go on, assuring you that if you needed anything he would be there for you, and in the following months, you’d seemed to settle and things had gone back to normal. Relatively. But it had been the memory loss that had made him suspicious. Or more so the fact that while some things remained, others seemed to have happened differently for you and some had never happened at all. Never having been able to leave well enough alone, he’d started digging for explanations. And now, at the end of his research, his most impossible theory proven right - he’s yet again at a loss of what to do. How to help you.

“I didn’t know how I got here, much less how to get back. From what I do understand about all of this, and it ain’t much, the thing that sent me to this world doesn’t even exist here. So at first I didn’t have much of a choice but to just… live. To pretend like everything was normal and I belonged here. But eventually I realized that even if I got the chance to go back, I didn’t want to. I wanted to be selfish, I wanted—“ Your voice cracks, thick with emotion and he watches your head drop forward like a doll’s whose strings have been cut, eyes downcast at your trembling hands. “I wanted to be happy again. And for once in my damn life I wanted it to last. It just never fucking lasts…”

Stride over to you and hold you tight, kiss you and tell you that everything would be alright, that you would figure this out together, like always. That’s what he should be doing. Every bone in his body tells him to, but just like so many other times in the past, his oh so brilliant mind prevents him. Tells him that there is no ‘together, like always’ because the person in front of him isn’t the person he’s known his whole life. Isn’t the person he married. Everything’s an ugly mess and he doesn’t mean for his next words to come across as cruel, doesn’t perceive them that way; blissfully unaware of the implications, he’s simply, truly curious.

“What would you do if you were to go back home?”

An inelegant snort leaves you and you wipe the back of your hand over your eyes in a desperate and vain attempt to stop the tears from flowing.

23 seconds.

You were counting, just to give you something to occupy your spiraling mind with, really.

23 seconds.

That’s how long it had taken him to no longer refer to this world, this apartment, him as your home. To prioritize whatever might be going in your other life. And you know it’s not fair, to be this upset with him, this version of him that you’ve been deceiving from the start; even though he has never wronged you. But you can’t help it. Guilt and regret would soon be all you’d have left again, so might as well leave him with some, too.

“Well… if I hadn’t gotten sucked into this mess, I would’ve killed myself by now. I guess I’d be getting back to that.”

The breath that escapes him sounds like you actually just sucker punched him in the gut and immediately makes you feel terrible about how casual and bitter you’d made it sound, but he’d wanted the truth and that was it. Limbs heavy und unsteady, you rise from your position on the couch and make your way over to the front door. “I’ll go take a walk or… you know, go do… whatever. Give you some space, time to think.” Your hand’s already on the door handle, but you pause and somehow find it in yourself to turn around and at least give him the courtesy of looking at him for what you’re about to say. “For what it’s worth, I never meant to let it go this far. It just became so… easy to pretend like things had always been like this. You made it easy. And while I’m sorry that I lied to you, tricked you, intentional or not, I got the chance to fall in love with you all over again. And I could never be sorry about that.”

You’re fairly certain you’ve never seen him move as fast as he does now and before you know it, you’re wrapped in a hug almost too tight, his cane landing on the carpeted floor next to you with a dull thump. “You cannot say things like that and expect me to just let you walk out of that door, I-“

Readjusting his hold on you, he cradles your head against his shoulder and loops his other arm around your middle, continuing in a hushed, gentle tone. “I can’t bear the thought of harm befalling you. Even worse, you harming yourself. In any timeline. Please, just stay. No matter what might happen in the future, just… stay with me. Right here.”

He means for it to be reassuring, comforting, loving, you know that. It’s not his fault that it has the exact opposite effect.

Wincing, a new wave of tears springs to your eyes and you remove yourself from his hold, but can’t bring yourself to let go completely; hands now linked between the two of you. “Viktor, I stole the body and life of a person you actually love. I don’t want you to force yourself to try and love me out of pity.”

“And why are you so certain that’s what this is?!” It surprises you, how genuinely upset he sounds, and a gasp is forced out of your throat when he wrenches his hands out of your grasp and his palms find your face, to force your gaze onto him and keep it there, wether you want to or not. The expression he’s wearing almost scares you; thick brows furrowed in anger and lips curled back in what could nearly be a snarl, but as soon as gold eyes find yours, red and puffy and so very desperate and grieving, whatever fire seemed to have been burning him up inside goes out all at once.

His shoulders drop and he rests his forehead against yours with a sigh, warm breath fanning over your face. “I’m sorry, moje láska, please forgive me. I’m not angry with you, I just… I can not comprehend why you are so ready and willing to accept rejection, but will not even entertain the possibility that loving you comes as easy to me as your affections for me do to you. Why can you love every version of me, but I’m not allowed the same with every version of you?” He watches you blink owlishly, your mouth opening and closing several times and he’s not sure wether it’s endearing or heartbreaking, how clear it is that this possibility never even crossed your mind. “You act like this entire situation only penalizes me, when in reality, I’m not actually your Viktor, either, am I?”

He expects this to help, to give you a new perspective. To make it clear to you that you are both the same; you are not a villain in his story. And there is a smile on your lips, but it’s so small and sad that his stomach drops at the sight. “No, you’re not. You couldn’t be. My Viktor is gone.”

And all of a sudden, it makes so much sense. How sometimes you’d stare at him with the most haunted look in your eyes, like he was a dead man walking, ready to collapse at any given moment. How you’d grow frantic when he came back late from the academy. How you’d insisted on tagging along on the most mundane of tasks, always under the guise of wanting to spend more time with him, but really just keeping a close eye on him at all times. Though he suspects the former to be true; the chance to spend even a few more precious hours with a loved one you’d thought lost, who wouldn’t jump at that chance?

His world would simply seize spinning if you were no longer in it, he can’t even begin to imagine how you feel. How tormenting it must’ve been to see him everyday, a second chance dangling right in front of you, but never certain if you were to wake up back in a world where he was gone.

You’re in his arms again in a heartbeat, one hand carding through your hair, the other rubbing soothing patterns into your back; whispering sweet little nothings into your ear as you bury your face into the crook of his neck and sob. All so much like the day you arrived and saw him for the first time, and yet… softer. More intimate.

You stay like this until your bawling dies down to whimpers and sniffles at which point he gingerly coaxes you to look at him.

“Miláček, listen to me. As it stands now, you have no way of going back to your original world.” He doesn’t call it your home anymore, you notice. “You did not ask for this, you did not choose this; you had it thrust upon you while going through enough pain and grief you considered taking your own life. For the love of everything, you needn’t feel guilty for wanting to use this chance to find happiness again. And you shouldn’t feel guilty if you continue to do so.” Still sniffling you gently caress his face, thumbs running over his chiseled cheekbones and heart stuttering when he leans into your touch. But then you catch sight of the ring on your finger again.

“I’m not… I’m not the person you married, Vik.” Unknowingly, you parrot his own thoughts back to him, but surprisingly enough, he finds he doesn’t much care anymore. He’s flabbergasted how he could ever even doubt for a second that it would matter which timeline you were originally from. Because it’s still you. Damn it all, it’s still you. “Maybe so. But I’ve seen the same kindness in you in those past few months that I’ve always known. The same wit. The same ambition and passion. All the things that made me love you in the first place. You said this gave you the chance to fall in love with me again; would you allow me the chance to do the same?”

The truth is, while you want to try and build a life here, you feel guilty. Guilty about the friends you left fighting a war. Guilty about taking over the life and joy of someone else, even if they are a different version of you. Guilty about forcing the man you love into a relationship with a person he technically doesn’t even know. All these months, you’d only ever reciprocated his affections, never initiated them, had barely let him touch you at all, because you’d always felt like somehow you were coercing him into cheating on someone he actually loved. But here he is now, telling you that he wants you, this version of you, all of you. Could you really do it? Leave behind everything and everyone you’ve ever known, for a chance at happiness, a fresh start? You had no guarantee that things would go smoothly in this universe either, after all. Wouldn’t you just be playing pretend for the rest of your life?

“So what, we’ll just… pretend like it’s the first time then?” you ask, a quiet breathless laugh accompanying your question. He shrugs and smiles at you. “Something like that. Falling in love with you again and again and again? I could imagine a worse fate.”

So could you. Much, much worse, in fact.

Your expression shifts somewhat without you even realizing and he immediately recognizes that he must’ve triggered some form of painful memory. He places tiny little kisses all over your face, murmuring apologies all the while and when you sigh in contentment it finally dawns on him that this is very much the first time you’ve let yourself enjoy being close with him since you got here. He doesn’t blame you; the moral dilemma that was forced on you would put anyone on edge and make them anxious about what they could allow themselves to experience without some form of consequences. He would prove to you that there would be none, he’d make sure of that; singlehandedly destroy them if they did decide to raise their ugly heads. That you didn’t always need to give and give and ask for nothing in return. That you could take what you wanted and not be punished for it. You’d taught him that after all.

“Moje světlo…?”

Gods have mercy on your soul, you never could say no to him when he used those damn pet names on you.

You crash your lips to his, desperate and practically starved; in direct contrast to all the sweet promises and gentle reassurances you just shared, there’s nothing romantic about it. It’s all tongues and teeth and absolutely filthy and it’s exactly what you need right now. Your back makes contact with the door you’d been oh so insistent on walking out of not even fifteen minutes ago, that thought now the furthest thing from your mind as his hands are already under your shirt, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Your head falls back against the worn wood with a thump as his lips find your neck, leaving marks and bruises for everyone to see and maybe the moan that escapes your throat with a broken version of his name coupled with how weak your knees already feel could’ve been embarrassing, but you don’t have it in yourself to care; it feels like it’s been years since he last kissed you like this. Touched you like this. The whine of protest as he pulls back is cut short when he drops to his knees in front of you, hands on your hips to keep you in place and placing on last kiss on your stomach before he puts some distance between you both, not more than a few inches really, but still too much for your liking. One hand goes to cover his own, while the other cups his face, trying to tug him closer again, but he refuses. Brows knitting together in confusion and frustration, you’re about to ask him what he thinks he’s doing, but he beats you to it.

“I won’t go further unless you tell me you want this.” You almost laugh, because he can not be serious. How much more obvious could you be? Your own body is doing half the talking for you, really. But of course that’s not exactly what he means. “I want you to admit to me, and more importantly to yourself, that you want this life. I want you to realize that it is perfectly alright for you to be selfish every now and again.”

His words trigger a memory from long ago, when you’d found him passed out on the desk in the lab one too many times. After you’d been done yelling at him, you’d told him that he couldn’t just always give and give and give until there was barely anything left of himself. That it was okay to be a little selfish and take things for himself every once in a while.

Take your own advice, liar.

A voice somewhere in the back of your head purrs bewitchingly and it’s right. You are still lying. Not to him though - to yourself. Telling yourself that you feel guilty for wanting to stay here, when in reality that’s how you should be feeling. But the truth, the real truth, is that you’re scared.

Scared of how little you actually care. About the friends you left fighting a war. About taking over the life and joy of someone else, even if they are a different version of you. About forcing the man you love into a relationship with a person he technically doesn’t even know. You haven’t truly cared about any of it from the get go; always too self righteous to admit it to yourself, though.

Practiced fingers slip from his cheek to the hair at the nape his neck and pull; he goes along willingly this time, head forced back and his eyes lock onto yours, right as fresh, hot tears start to travel down your face. But you’re done grieving; you are livid, plain and simple. “I want this…” you breathe out, so quiet he almost misses it. You don’t stay quiet, though, you can’t anymore, and your voice rises in volume with every sentence spoken. “I want to stay. I want a life with you. All blissful boredom and domesticity. It’s all I ever wanted. Why…? Why was even that too much to ask?!”

He doesn’t have the answer, but he does have the solution, delivered with a slight turn of his head and a kiss to your wrist.

“It wasn’t. It isn’t.”

Breaths heavy and irregular, you simply take in the sight of him: all disheveled hair and kiss swollen lips, pretty blush all the way down to his neck, eyes dark and pupils blown wide, only a thin ring of gold left, looking at you so longingly, on his knees for you and you alone; like a worshipper ready to commit any atrocity for the sake and love of their god.

“You can take what you want, anděl. No one will punish you for it. I won’t let them.”

Angel. Oh, the irony. Irony turned certainty. Certainty turned reality.

So take you would. And you wouldn’t bother looking back at the things you’d left behind.

[merakidoll]

Rock your body

synopsis ˚ෆ 𐙚 : short stories for some of your favorite Jujutsu kaisen men + Eren Yeager, with their bimbo lover at the gym

tags ˚ෆ 𐙚 : black chubby reader! bimbo reader! oral ( f and m ), backshots, sideways sex, ab riding. lots of cum, and pet name. won’t lie eren’s part is really miren and was for me sooo

mirah note! ˚ෆ 𐙚 : i deleted this and i’m not sure whyyy … so it’s a repost 🤗

✧.* Geto And Gojo - Planks !

like everything— the two boyfies found the gym and you as a competition. you were quite used to this actually, loving how competitive they got and how it was always a win for yourself!so, when they brought you down to the at home gym— telling you to lay on the pretty pink blanket and open your mouth, your little brain couldn’t process what was gonna happen. but you were sooo excited! “princess. me and gojo are gonna see who can do the longest plank while you suck our cocks, okay?” geto talked to you slowly, dumbing down his words so you could understand.

replying to his words with a big smile and glassy eyes. he knew— as always that you were one hundred percent on board. “who’s first, daddy?” the men looked between one another— gojo’s tight gym shorts falling to the ground as he got into position. geto crouched beside you both, watching his twink already have some effect just from your breath blowing over his cock. pressing start going sunk down into your throat, you automatically start gagging around him. your throat contracting against his tip with pre-cum coming out.

“o-oo fuck!” it was barely thirty seconds and gojo’s arms were trembling, dick jerking into your pretty mouth. once you got comfortable with the position and his length, you began to bob your head. spit and cum dripped down your chin as you focused on tasting him, while geto used his thumb to wipe a little of the mixed saliva from your mouth that was going to fall on your dress. he’s looking your in the eyes as he tastes the flavor groaning, head falling back the his hair coming out of the ponytail.

your pussy pulsated. cunt dripping at everything that was happening— mind so clouded with wanting to be touched while also pleasing your men. though, one minute in, gojo started to fuck your face; lewd moans and praises spouting from his mouth. icy blue eyes shut, him cursing to himself because he was close. “s-suck harder baby, righttt SHIT! thereee ohfuck! m’cumming! f-filling my pretty baby’s m-mouth!” you took all of his ropes like a big girl, small chokes from swallowing his cum— still sucking on his red tip. after the feeling has surpassed, gojo fell beside you heavily breathing with his limp cock.

“two minutes? you suck!” you pouted, overestimating gojo’s limits.

✧.* Choso - Push Ups And Pussy Eating !

“c-cho calm down!” your thighs were shaking so much it hurt. the man had been at it for hours, raising his body and lowering himself— using his tongue to bring you so so close then take it away, but the small up he had to do. right now, his tounge fucked in between your gummy walls. your hips pushing against his face making a mess over his pretty features, almost orgasming at the tip of his tongue. but once the feel of pressure bubbled within your stomach— it was taken away.

choso’s moving his face and going up, smirking as he hovered above you. “w-why?” you asked, glossy eyes so doey and sad that it did something to his cock. instead of answering you, he went back down between your legs. softly kissing your thighs before he continued his teasing. but one small kiss to your clit— and he knew there would be no more going back up. choso started to devour your cunt. small tugs at your clits that he let go and licked his way down to your hole that dripped on the gym mat.

he pat himself on the back for his at home gym as he made you fuck him back. pushing your body up and down so he’d slide in and out of your cunt gently. you both were applauded by how much you creamed against his tonguy— his face, along with his mat getting drenched while your body felt like it was on fire.

“what’s next sweetpea? let’s see what we can do while daddy does jumping jacks.”

✧.* Nanami - Squats While Fucking !

his grunts went all throughout the empty gym. you two were actually playing a really dangerous game, but that was all a part of the fun! “you there baby?” nanami’s soothing deep voice whispered in your ear. you could only moan, spit all over the white beater that was drenched in his sweat.

was it weird to say his sweat didn’t taste so bad?

his knees buckled as he went down for another set of ten. his legs muscles flexing as the squat burned him in a delicious way— but the way you bounced on his cock had to be better.

“s’big!” you said almost dreamily. nanami’s touching the sweet sensitive spot over and over which made you feel so foggy. your pussy clamped down on him, as he went down for his final stretch. your hands shaking, pulling at his blond roots— pussy squirting out all of what he made of you. you could only whimper against his neck as his own release was not far fetched. the feeling of getting your cunt stuffed made you daydream about all of the babies you could have for your nana.

“what a good girl for me baby, daddy won’t let that go unnoticed.”

✧.* Toji - Tricep Dips And Backshots !

“f-fourteen!” it was so hard counting exactly how many dips toji was doing— but fuck. the way his pelvis hit your ass brought back your memory. his balls slapped against your cunt lips— your slick dripping down yours and his which ultimately helped his rhythm. toji’s body burned, legs hurting to the point he wanted to tap out. already on his third set of 20’s, but the way your pussy sucked him in had him thinking differently. your cunt clenched around him, your shaky breaks and pushing at his muscular chest to give you one second to gather yourself.

“no, you’re a big girl, take. it.” you could only cry looking up at the gym walls. “f-fourteen nono si-“

“awe, done fucked my baby so dumb.”

✧.* Sukuna - Ab Riding And Weights !

what you were participating in was something that was very dangerous, and of course it had to be sukuna’s idea. while the cool air of his gym blew on your body, you sat on top of him— his abs to be exact. “keep going darlin’ giving daddy the fuel.” he winked at you before lifting the weight again, and that’s when you started to buck your hips. the slick that was there from you cumming once before helping you.

your clit sensitive yet throbbing, your hands pressed against his beefy chest— nails making small scratches because you needed to hold something. “t-too much!” you whined still bucking into his defined body that was making pleasure too much. sukuna finally put down the weight, navigating his hands to your waist and taking over.

“pretty baby just needed daddy’s help.” his cock was hard against the gym shorts from you looking so desperate. your nipples were pretty and hard, that he had to use one hand to play with them. “like that?” he asked, knowing that you loved it. so much that you couldn’t even ask to cum, falling forward as your pussy throbbed. your cream making yet another mess and your face buried deep into his neck as salty tears fell on his skin.

“unt oh. did you ask to cum baby?”

✧.* Eren - Clamshells *MIREN SPECIAL*

“mmm you there bunny?” your babbles and incoherent words made eren chuckle to himself. who know that he could have his cake and eat it too. working out was a stress relief for him, the adrenaline shooting throughout his veins and he would use the rest of the pent up energy on you.

but now he was having a two for one.

while the band was binding his leg, his cock was deep inside of you. you both side ways, eren’s body multitasking: pumping, and doing his leg exercises. you on the other hand felt like you could faint. your pussy so stuffed, and it feeling so so good. your eyes felt crossed, vision blurring as you could feel the mind blowing orgasm at peak.

“p-puppyyy! m’there” you warned, your hole clenching repeatedly until your forbidden juices cotated his pretty length. eren groaned, kissing your forehead to give himself motivation to hold out. he was on his last set; so close. and when he finally reached fifteen he fell onto his back and lifted you on top of him as if you weighed nothing.

“good fuckin’ girl for papa baby” he fucked into you, chasing his high; your nails digging into your palm, trying to contain the screams of pleasure.

“daddy needs you here more often mama”

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Imagine…Dean Coming Back From The Dead

Pairing: Dean x reader

__________

“Hiya sweetheart.” You stared wide eyed at the man baring a striking resemblance to your boyfriend. Your very much been dead for five years boyfriend. He held up his hands, slowly stepping inside as you backed up. You dove for your side table where you kept the demon blade along with your other weapons.

The man who looked oh so much like Dean apart from the fuller beard and slightly longer hair, took a big step to the right, avoiding your attempts at stabbing him. He slid forward, knocking the knife away when you went back for more.

“Who the hell-“ He pushed on your back, skirting past you and going to your weapons. You growled, trying to cut him off when you watched him pick up the silver blade. He held it to the back of his hand, slicing it open.

“We both know I’m not a demon since I walked right over that devils trap under the hardwoods and I'm not a shifter or a leviathan or ghoul," he said, setting the blade back down. He held up his hands when you grabbed the knife again, ready to take aim. "Alberta."

Your eyes flared wide for a split second, Dean smirking.

"Hey, I'm man enough to admit the dude was hot. I did notice he had a striking resemblance to a certain...me," he teased. "Why'd you never hookup with him again?"

"How do I know it's really you?" He pursed his lips, thinking it over as he cocked his head.

"Same way I know you never made it past first base with that guy. You ran out of the motel room like it was on fire." You lowered your knife, dropping it on the ground. He stepped over close, gently grasping your chin with his thumb and forefinger. "I thought I told you to try and move on if something happened."

"I did try," you whispered, breath catching in your throat. "No one's you."

"Well, at least you being single makes this situation slightly less awkward," he said, dipping his head down low, tilting your chin up. "You still my girl?"

"I've always been her." He grinned, slowly touching his lips to yours, your hands finally gripping his jacket. He was so warm, so full of life.

You flinched away when an image of his cold, restless body came to mind.

"I'm sorry," he said when you ran a hand over your mouth, wrapping one arm around yourself.

"It's not you," you whispered, your eyes welling as you found his green ones waiting. "I buried you."

"I know you did," Dean breathed out, wiping away a stray tear that fell. "I'm here to stay...most likely."

You squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head. "I can't do most likely, Dean. I can't get you back just to lose you again."

"Help me with one last job then. Jack said if I help with a case, I could come back. For real." You stared at him, Dean cupping your cheeks in his large hands. "Please. Five years was rough enough. I don't want to wait a lifetime to have forever with you."

You took a deep breath, nodding as he pulled you into a deep hug.

"Alright, tell me about the job, De."

_______________

[brunchable]

Christmas Present | B. B.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x F! Reader Themes: Christmas Meet-Ugly, forced proximity, enemies-to-lovers(ish), rom-com Summary: You and Bucky are fighting over the last deluxe holiday gift set. The petty bickering escalates into a full-blown argument in front of shocked holiday shoppers, causing store security to intervene. As punishment, the frazzled guard handcuffs you together in the security office until you both "calm down." A/N : This oneshot is part of my 4K Follower christmas themed celebration. I hope you enjoy this first one! Thank you so much for reading my stories! Dividers by @saradika-graphics

It was supposed to be a quick trip. Grab the deluxe toy train set, pay, and leave. That was the plan. But life had other plans, and those plans came in the shape of a six-foot something man with a smirk as sharp as the jawline above it.

You reached for the last box on the shelf—your prize, your golden ticket, the sole reason you braved the chaos of twenty-third shoppers.

"Excuse me, I believe I was here first," you said sweetly, gripping the box.

"Excuse you, sweetheart," the man countered, one metal hand already gripping the other end of the box. "I had my eye on this before you decided to swoop in like some holiday vulture."

"Holiday vulture?!" you spat, yanking the box closer to your chest. "I don’t see your name on it, Terminator."

He raised an eyebrow, leaning in just enough to make you flinch. “Name’s Bucky, not Terminator. And I’d be happy to write it on the box for you... after I take it home.”

“Not happening,” you hissed, tugging harder. The box creaked ominously under the strain.

“Let go,” he growled.

“You let go!”

By now, a crowd of amused onlookers had formed, phones out, capturing every moment like a live-action reality show. One kid shouted, “Go lady! You’ve got this!” while a woman in a reindeer sweater whispered, “This is better than The Bachelor.”

“Look, lady,” Bucky said through gritted teeth, “I don’t want to ruin Christmas for you—”

“Oh, really? That’s what this feels like!”

“But my friend’s kid specifically asked for this,” he finished, as if that were a valid excuse.

You rolled your eyes. “Well, so did my niece. And unlike you, I didn’t wait until the last minute to shop.”

“Your cart’s full of candles!” he shot back, pointing to your precariously stacked haul.

You gasped, scandalized. “They’re scented candles and they make great gifts! Not that you’d understand.”

“I understand they’re not as hard to find as this!” he said, gesturing wildly to the now-doomed train set.

The tug-of-war escalated, your battle waging in the aisle of festive chaos. The crowd grew, complete with commentary.

“Bet five bucks on the lady!”

“Ten on the guy with the arm!”

And then—CRASH. The box tore clean down the middle, spilling its contents across the floor. Tiny train cars scattered like shrapnel, and a miniature conductor figure flew into a nearby stroller, making the baby cry.

Gasps echoed through the store as you and Bucky froze, still clutching your respective halves. Somewhere in the distance, someone yelled, “SANTA WOULDN’T APPROVE!”

A whistle cut through the air. “Alright, break it up, you two!”

You turned to find a middle-aged security guard glaring at you like an exhausted babysitter. His name tag read “Carl,” and he looked about one tantrum away from quitting.

“We were just—”

“I don’t care!” Carl snapped, his moustache twitching with barely contained rage. “Both of you. Security office. Now.”

The security office smelled like stale coffee and regret. You sat handcuffed to Bucky, who, despite his protests, looked far too comfortable with the situation.

“This is ridiculous,” you muttered, yanking futilely on the cuffs. “We’re adults!”

“Debatable,” Carl deadpanned, sipping from his 'World’s Best Grandpa' mug. “You two are staying cuffed until you learn how to act like it.”

“I’m not a criminal!” you protested.

“Not what the footage shows,” Carl replied, spinning his chair to reveal the grainy security camera feed of you and Bucky mid-squabble. The freeze-frame of you squawking like a bird while clutching a toy train in a death grip was particularly unflattering.

“I’m offended on her behalf,” Bucky said with a smirk, leaning back in his chair.

“Oh, shut it,” you hissed, elbowing him.

“You’re the one who tore the box!”

“You’re the one with the metal arm. That thing’s basically a wrecking ball!”

Carl slammed his mug down. 

“Enough!” He massaged his temples like a teacher on their last day before retirement. “You’re staying here until I feel confident you won’t burn the store down.”

“Burn the store down?” you repeated, aghast, throwing your hands in the air as much as the cuffs allowed.

“Trust me, I’ve seen worse,” Carl muttered, eyeing both of you like feral raccoons fighting over a sandwich. With an exhausted sigh, he locked the door behind him and muttered something about “needing a damn coffee break,” leaving you and Bucky alone in the tiny, overheated room.

The silence that followed was so oppressive it felt like the room had shrunk. Only the faint, mocking jingle of Jingle Bells played faintly from the store’s speakers as you and Bucky sat shoulder-to-shoulder, stewing.

Bucky, apparently unable to sit still, started bouncing his knee—a rapid, relentless motion that made your entire chair vibrate like a washing machine on spin cycle.

“Stop that,” you snapped, glaring at him.

“Stop what?” he asked innocently, his knee bouncing harder.

“Your leg,” you hissed. “The whole chair is shaking! Are you trying to make me seasick?”

His lips twitched, clearly enjoying your misery. “It’s a free country.”

“Not for your knee, it’s not!”

“Well, maybe I wouldn’t be bouncing my knee if I wasn’t chained to someone with candle obsession issues,” he shot back.

“Oh, that’s rich coming from the guy who went full WWE over a toy train set!”

“You’re the one who tore it in half, lady!” he said, pointing accusingly.

“I was fighting for my family’s honor,” you retorted dramatically, crossing your arms as much as you could.

“You mean your candles.”

“It’s called being thoughtful, you Grinch impersonator!”

His knee bounced harder, and you grabbed his leg in desperation, making him pause. “Seriously, stop! I’m going to throw up, and then you’ll really regret this.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, alright, I’ll stop. But only because you look like you might actually hurl, and I don’t need Carl coming back and cuffing me to the radiator this time.”

“So,” Bucky continued after a beat of silence, “Do you always fight strangers over train sets, or is today special?”

You glared at him. “Do you always shop last minute and ruin people’s holidays, or is that your side gig?”

He snorted. “Ruining holidays? That’s harsh. I’m saving them.”

“By what? Sabotaging shoppers?”

“By making sure my best friend’s kid gets the one thing he asked for,” Bucky replied, voice softening slightly.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity. 

“Okay, that’s… kind of sweet,” you admitted reluctantly.

“What about you?” he asked. “Candles for everyone?”

“No,” you mumbled. “The train set was for my niece. She’s… had a tough year.”

Bucky nodded, silence enveloping the two of you yet again, the tinny chorus of Frosty the Snowman blared overhead, and the absurdity of your situation finally hit you. You started giggling, and to your surprise, so did he.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, still grinning.

“This,” you said between laughs. “This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever been part of.”

“Right,” he agreed, laughing harder.

For the first time since being forced to sit there, you weren’t arguing. Well, unless you counted arguing about whose laugh was uglier.

Carl finally returned, jangling the keys like a janitor who had seen too much. His Santa hat was slightly askew, and his mustache twitched with a mix of frustration and exhaustion. He looked like someone’s adorable grandpa who had just been told the grandkids set fire to the Christmas tree.

“Alright, you two,” he grumbled, unlocking the cuffs. “You’re free. But before you go…”

He planted his hands on his hips, his gut straining against his red vest, and glared at you like you’d just stolen cookies from the jar. 

“I’ve been doing this job for fifteen years, and let me tell you, I’ve seen a lot of nonsense. But this—” he waved a hand between you and Bucky “—takes the fruitcake. Grown adults fighting over a toy train set like it’s the last turkey on Earth? Really?”

You started to open your mouth to argue, but Carl cut you off with a stern wag of his finger.

“No, no. Don’t even try to explain. You’re both guilty. Guilty of being Christmas disasters. And you…” he pointed at Bucky, his stubby finger trembling with indignation. “You’re what? Pushing 40? Shouldn’t you know better?”

That’s when Bucky’s lips twitched. And twitched again. And suddenly, he was laughing. Not just chuckling—a full-on, shoulder-shaking laugh that echoed through the tiny room.

Carl’s mustache twitched in annoyance. “What’s so funny?”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said between gasps for air, “but… I’m being lectured by someone who looks like Santa’s understudy.” He wiped a tear from his eye. “You’re like a cute little Christmas elf—just missing the pointy shoes.”

Carl’s face turned as red as his vest. “I am not cute!” he barked.

“You kinda are,” Bucky said, grinning.

You smacked his arm. “Stop antagonizing him!”

But even you couldn’t suppress a giggle as Carl threw his hands in the air. “You know what? I’m done. Get out. Both of you. Before I call other mall security and have you escorted out by the Grinch Squad.”

Bucky saluted dramatically. “Merry Christmas, Carl!”

Carl muttered something about needing a stiff eggnog and waddled back to his desk, leaving you and Bucky to stumble out of the security office.

“Well, that was fun,” you deadpanned, starting to walk away, only to stop when Bucky called out.

“Wait! Hey!”

You turned, eyebrows raised. “What? Did you leave your dignity back there?”

He ignored the jab, shoving his hands into his pockets. For the first time since the ordeal started, he actually looked... awkward.

“I, uh… was just wondering what you’re doing after this.”

You blinked at him, genuinely caught off guard. “What am I doing? Are you serious?”

“Yeah, serious,” he said with a little shrug, his smirk less cocky and more boyish now. “You’re, uh… funny. And kind of cute, when you’re not threatening to strangle me over toy trains.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed. 

“This—” you gestured dramatically between you both “—is the foundation of your flirting strategy? Chaos, insults, and shared custody of a train set?”

“Worked, didn’t it?” he teased, grinning now.

You huffed, crossing your arms. “I just spent an hour handcuffed to you while debating whether or not to throw you out a window, and now you want to… hang out?”

“Why not?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, like this was the most reasonable suggestion in the world.

“Because this is ridiculous!” you exclaimed. “I barely know you, we’re still enemies by all accounts, and—”

“You haven’t said no,” he interrupted, cutting you off with a pointed look.

You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came out. Damn him and his stupid smirk.

Finally, you sighed, half-laughing at the sheer absurdity. “Fine. But if this turns into another wrestling match over a menu, I’m walking out.”

“Sure,” he said, grinning like he’d just won the lottery. “Whatever you want.”

As you both walked out of the office areas and back to the mall, you muttered under your breath, “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Believe it, sweetheart,” he said, falling into step beside you. “And next time? Maybe we’ll skip the handcuffs… unless you’re into that.”

You glared at him, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you, curving into an unwilling smile. Maybe chaos wasn’t such a bad foundation after all.

The morning sunlight streamed through the curtains, illuminating the room as Bucky groggily reached for the remote. Still half-asleep, he flicked on the TV, more out of habit than interest. The morning show’s upbeat jingle played, and he squinted at the screen, his brain catching up to the cheerful voices of the two hosts.

“—and now, for what might be the most hilarious Christmas shopping moment caught on camera!” the female host announced, barely suppressing her laughter.

Her co-host, a grinning man in a Santa tie, chimed in, “Oh, this is a good one. Forget Hallmark—this is real-life rom-com material, folks. Roll the clip!”

Bucky froze mid-stretch as the screen transitioned to shaky footage of himself and you, locked in a dramatic tug-of-war over the train set in the middle of the toy aisle. The commentary from the crowd was clear as day.

“Go lady! You’ve got this!”

“Ten bucks on the guy with the metal arm!”

“Oh, no,” Bucky muttered, sitting up straighter, dread pooling in his stomach.

The video jumped to the box tearing in half, scattering train pieces like confetti, followed by the baby wailing and someone shouting, “SANTA WOULDN’T APPROVE!”

The hosts erupted into laughter.

“Okay, okay,” the woman said, wiping a tear from her eye. “I’m calling it now—this is the meet-cute of the decade. I can hear the Hallmark writers typing this into a script.”

Her co-host nodded vigorously. “Absolutely. Two strangers, both fighting for the same toy on the eve of Christmas eve—classic enemies-to-lovers setup.”

They both howled with laughter as the clip transitioned to grainy security footage of you and Bucky cuffed together, bickering like an old married couple.

“And this is where the movie writes itself,” the man said, pointing to the screen. “They’re forced to spend time together, cuffed in the security office. Sparks fly. Cue the heartwarming ending!”

The woman leaned toward the camera, her expression conspiratorial. “So, the real question is… did they exchange numbers? Did they get coffee? Did they—”

Bucky groaned and buried his face in his hands as his phone buzzed on the nightstand. He grabbed it, flipping it over to see a message from Sam:

Sam: Congratulations, you’re famous. 

A second message immediately followed:

Sam: Also, what happened next? Don’t leave me hanging! Did you at least get her number?

Bucky tossed his phone onto the bed with a groan, only for it to buzz again. This time it was Steve:

Steve: They’re right. This does sound like the start of a love story. Please tell me you didn’t blow it.

“Unbelievable,” Bucky muttered, scrubbing a hand down his face as the TV hosts continued speculating.

“What do we think, folks?” the male host asked, gesturing dramatically. “Should we start a Twitter campaign to find out what happened next? I need closure!”

“Absolutely!” the female host replied. “If you’re watching this, toy train couple, please—reach out. America is invested.”

“I’m never leaving the house again.” Bucky groaned louder, sinking into the pillows. 

His phone buzzed again.

Sam: Famous AND trending. Look at you.

Bucky grabbed a pillow and smothered his face with it, his muffled voice barely audible: “I hate Christmas.”

He sighed and shifted, his pillow falling to the floor—he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning his head, his irritation melted away as he looked to his right, where your figure was still peacefully curled under the covers. Your hair was a mess from the night before, your cheek pressed against the pillow in a way that made you look adorably innocent—though Bucky distinctly remembered you weren’t so innocent a few hours ago.

A small, satisfied smirk tugged at his lips. He let out a breath, shaking his head as he muttered to himself, “Actually. . . Maybe I don’t hate it too much.”

tags: @lomlbuckybarnes @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @winterslove1917 @hzdhrtss @mostlymarvelgirl

@missvelvetsstuff @unaxv @carnal-vogue @bmyva1entine @wheredidiputmyfish

@thereoncewasagirlnamedjane @wanda-widow @filmologetica @awaywithtime @Thealyrs

@greatenthusiasttidalwave @winchestert101 @strawberrybisou @unaxv @asgards-princess-of-mischief

@fynnwolff @Janonymus0 @veronicapaula

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Blurred Lines

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley X Female!Reader

AU: Roommate! Simon x Roommate Reader

Warnings: fluff, reader is lowkey oblivious

Authors Note: I hope you enjoy, i wrote this based off of @machveil’s Roommate Simon (I love their Roommate Simon fics sm pls check them out)

Word Count: 3.2k

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

Living with Simon Riley wasn’t something you had planned. It was supposed to be temporary—an arrangement until you found something more permanent. But weeks turned into months, and now, living with Simon felt as natural as breathing. The man was quiet, incredibly organized, and a walking fortress of dependability. What more could you ask for in a roommate?

But Simon wasn’t just a regular roommate. He had a way of taking care of you that blurred every line between platonic and something more. Your friends were the first to point it out.

“Simon does everything for you,” Rachel had said during a game night, chips in hand and a teasing grin on her face. “He’s basically your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you’d said reflexively.

But Rachel wasn’t convinced. “Oh, hun, he pays for your stuff, cooks for you, and even carries your wallet when you’re out. If that’s not boyfriend behavior, what is?”

You’d brushed it off then, but deep down, you couldn’t deny how much Simon did for you. It wasn’t just about groceries or fixing things around the house—it was in the small moments, the quiet gestures that showed just how much he cared.

The grocery store was bustling with life, a chaotic symphony of carts rolling, cash registers beeping, and the low hum of chatter filling the air. The smell of fresh bread from the bakery mixed with the faint tang of cleaning products, a strange but familiar comfort.

You walked ahead of Simon, pushing the cart with an unhurried pace. The wheels squeaked faintly as you stopped in the snack aisle, eyes scanning the shelves for your favorite brand of chips. Simon followed close behind, his large frame an unmistakable presence, almost daring anyone to step too close.

“Stay close, sweet’eart,” Simon’s deep voice drawled from behind you, his tone casual but carrying an edge of authority.

“I’m literally right here,” you said, rolling your eyes but smiling despite yourself.

Simon didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he shifted his stance slightly, his dark eyes flickering to the side as if tracking the movements of a passerby. His protective instincts were always on high alert, even in mundane situations like this.

You reached up, fingers brushing against a bag of chips on the top shelf. It was just out of reach, and you huffed in frustration. Before you could even think to ask, Simon stepped forward, his long arm easily grabbing the bag for you.

“Here,” he said, handing it over without fanfare.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, adding the bag to the cart.

Simon didn’t respond, already busy adjusting the cart’s contents. He moved items around with precision, making sure nothing was crushed or precariously balanced. You noticed the way his brows furrowed slightly, his focus so intense it almost made you laugh.

“Are you always this meticulous?” you teased, leaning on the handle of the cart.

Simon glanced at you, one brow arching. “Someone’s gotta keep things in order, luv.”

You grinned, pushing the cart forward as he fell back into step beside you.

The trip continued like this, an easy rhythm between the two of you. Simon reached for items you pointed out, his broad shoulders brushing yours whenever the aisle narrowed. Occasionally, he’d toss something into the cart without asking—usually something he knew you liked but wouldn’t think to grab for yourself.

When you made it to the refrigerated section, you grabbed a bottle of iced coffee, holding it up for Simon’s inspection. “This one okay?”

He tilted his head, pretending to scrutinize it before nodding. “If it makes you happy, sure.”

You snorted at his mock seriousness but placed the bottle in the cart anyway.

As you neared the checkout lanes, you instinctively reached for your wallet, but Simon was already ahead of you.

“Don’t even think about it,” he said, pulling out his own card.

“Simon,” you protested, “I can pay for the groceries on my own.”

He fixed you with a pointed look, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ve got it, luv. Put your wallet away.”

You huffed but obeyed, watching as he tapped his card against the reader with a practiced motion. It wasn’t the first time he’d done this, and you knew it wouldn’t be the last.

On the way back to the car, Simon carried all the bags, his muscles flexing effortlessly as he balanced the weight. He didn’t let you carry a single thing, brushing off your offers with a simple, “Don’t worry about it.”

As you climbed into the passenger seat, you glanced over at him as he loaded the trunk. The way he moved—efficient, steady, and always attentive—was just so him.

When he finally slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, you couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks for, you know… everything.”

Simon glanced at you, his dark eyes softening just a fraction. “Always, sweet’eart.”

And with that, he pulled out of the parking lot, the quiet hum of the car settling into the comfortable silence between you.

The cool evening air wrapped around you both as you strolled toward the corner store, the quiet hum of crickets filling the silence. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving the streets bathed in the pale glow of streetlights. You walked ahead slightly, hands stuffed into your jacket pockets, the faint chill nipping at your fingers. Simon trailed just a step behind, his presence a constant, reassuring shadow.

It wasn’t unusual for Simon to insist on walking you anywhere at night, even for something as mundane as grabbing snacks. He always said it was just to “make sure you’re safe,” but the protective way his eyes scanned the empty streets told you it was more than that.

Halfway to the store, Simon suddenly stopped. His boots scuffed against the concrete as he paused, his hand reaching into his jacket pocket.

You turned to face him, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “What’s up?”

Without a word, Simon pulled out a thin chain, the metal catching the light as it dangled from his fingers. The dog tag attached to it swung gently, the stamped letters gleaming faintly under the streetlight.

“What’s this for?” you asked, tilting your head as he stepped closer.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, Simon raised the chain over your head with deliberate care, his fingers brushing against your neck as he adjusted the tag so it rested flat against your chest. The cold metal sent a shiver down your spine.

“There,” he said gruffly, taking a step back to admire his work.

You stared down at the dog tag, your fingers brushing over the cool surface. It felt heavier than you expected, the weight of it pressing against your skin.

“Okay, seriously, what’s this about?” you asked, looking up at him.

Simon’s expression was calm, but his jaw tightened slightly, like he was choosing his words carefully. “So people know you’re not alone.”

His words hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken meaning.

You blinked, the realization of what he was implying slowly dawning on you. “You mean… like a claim?”

Simon shifted slightly, his hands finding their way into his pockets as he held your gaze. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

Your cheeks heated, and you looked away, unsure of what to say. The weight of the dog tag was suddenly very noticeable, a tangible reminder of Simon’s quiet protectiveness.

“Simon, this is… I don’t know, kind of intense,” you said, though your voice lacked conviction.

He shrugged, his broad shoulders moving in a way that was both casual and calculated. “Just want people to know you’ve got someone lookin’ out for you. That’s all.”

There was no teasing in his tone, no hint of humor. It was just Simon being Simon—blunt, straightforward, and unapologetically protective.

You touched the tag again, your fingers tracing the etched letters. “Thanks, I guess,” you mumbled, your voice softer now.

Simon nodded once, satisfied, and motioned for you to keep walking. “Come on, luv. Let’s get your snacks before the store closes.”

The rest of the walk was quiet, but the weight of the dog tag on your chest felt oddly comforting. Every so often, Simon’s hand would brush against your arm as he kept close, his presence steady and unyielding.

By the time you reached the store, the initial awkwardness had faded, replaced by a warmth you couldn’t quite place. As you browsed the aisles, the dog tag jingled faintly with each step, a constant reminder of Simon’s silent promise: you weren’t alone, not with him around.

The living room was alive with laughter, the sound of a shuffled deck of cards, and the occasional crinkle of a snack bag being passed around. Your friends, Rachel and Amy, were perched on the couch with their legs tucked underneath them, their eyes sparkling with mischief. Simon sat in his usual spot on the armchair, one leg stretched out, the other bent at an angle, his posture relaxed but commanding as always.

You were sprawled on the floor, leaning against the coffee table with a plate of chips and salsa within reach. The game cards were scattered in front of you, and you were in the middle of a round of some ridiculous party game that Rachel had insisted on bringing over.

“Okay, your turn, babe,” Rachel said, gesturing at you with a grin.

“I swear to God, if you keep calling me that, I’m skipping my turn,” you replied, narrowing your eyes at her.

“Oh, please,” Amy chimed in, her smirk widening. “We all know you’re taken anyway. Right, Simon?”

You froze mid-reach for a chip, your head snapping up to look at Simon. His expression was unreadable, his dark eyes fixed on the game cards in his hand. He didn’t even flinch at the question, though you swore you saw the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips.

“What?” you asked, your voice laced with exasperation.

Rachel and Amy exchanged knowing looks, the kind that only spelled trouble.

“Come on, hun,” Rachel teased, leaning forward. “You two practically act like an old married couple. I mean, look at him—he even came out here tonight just to babysit us.”

Simon, still unreadable, finally glanced up from his cards. “Someone’s gotta make sure you lot don’t burn the place down,” he said dryly, though the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at his lips.

Rachel wasn’t deterred. “See? That. That’s boyfriend behavior.”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “For the last time, Simon and I are not dating.”

Amy raised an eyebrow, reaching for her drink. “Could’ve fooled me. He carries your wallet when you go out, pays for everything, even cooks for you.” She pointed her glass in Simon’s direction. “And don’t even get me started on the dog tag thing.”

“Oh my God,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands.

Simon’s low chuckle rumbled from the armchair, drawing all eyes to him. He leaned back, his posture impossibly casual, as if the entire conversation didn’t faze him in the slightest.

“Can’t help it if I look after her,” he said, his voice smooth but carrying a playful undertone. “Someone’s gotta make sure she doesn’t get herself into trouble.”

Rachel gasped, dramatically clutching her chest. “See? That’s boyfriend talk!”

Amy nodded sagely. “If it looks like a relationship, and it quacks like a relationship…”

You shot them both a glare. “It’s not a relationship. Simon’s just… Simon. He’s like this with everyone.”

At that, Simon raised an eyebrow, giving you a look that made your stomach flip. “Am I now?” he asked, his tone dripping with dry amusement.

“Well, no,” you admitted, stumbling over your words. “I just mean you’re—you’re protective, and…”

“And what?” Rachel interjected, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Protective, attentive, devoted—sounds like a boyfriend to me.”

You grabbed a chip and threw it at her, which only made her and Amy burst into laughter.

Simon let out another low chuckle, leaning forward to set his cards on the table. “You’re fightin’ a losin’ battle, sweet’eart,” he said, his voice a little softer now, a little more serious.

You looked at him, your heart doing that annoying fluttery thing it always did when he gave you that look—the one that felt like he could see straight through you.

“They’re wrong,” you said stubbornly, though your voice wavered slightly.

“Whatever you say,” Simon replied, leaning back again, but there was something in his expression that made you wonder if he thought they were wrong, too.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of laughter and teasing, but their words stayed with you long after Rachel and Amy left. When you glanced at Simon, still seated in his armchair with that calm, steady presence, you couldn’t help but wonder if there was more truth to their jokes than you were willing to admit.

The night had settled in around you both like a soft blanket, the city’s noises muffled by the thick walls of your apartment. The quiet was comforting, but it also felt heavy, as if something was pressing on your chest. You sat cross-legged on the couch, flipping absentmindedly through the pages of a book, but your mind wasn’t really on it. You kept stealing glances at Simon, who was sprawled out on the opposite couch, eyes glued to the TV as he absentmindedly fiddled with the edge of his dog tag.

The air between you two had shifted recently, not in any obvious way, but in the way things felt too comfortable to be strictly platonic anymore. There was an unspoken tension, thick and lingering, like a string pulled too tight, just waiting to snap. Simon’s protective gestures, his little acts of care, had started to feel different. More… intimate.

You cleared your throat, your fingers trembling slightly as you set your book aside. “Simon,” you called softly, unsure of what you were going to say but knowing you couldn’t keep pretending it didn’t bother you.

He didn’t look up from the TV, but his voice was still warm and steady. “Yeah, hun?”

The pet name made your heart skip a beat, and you swallowed. This was it. You couldn’t dance around it anymore.

You hesitated, unsure how to frame the words in your head. “Can we talk?”

Finally, Simon turned his head to look at you, his eyes softening just a fraction. “Sure.” He reached for the remote, pausing the show with a click before placing it on the coffee table.

You took a breath and shifted, sitting up straighter, the weight of the moment sinking in. You had to ask, even though the question terrified you. “Are you… are you doing all this because we’re just friends, or because you like me?”

Simon’s expression didn’t change at first. His eyes didn’t narrow, his lips didn’t twitch with a smirk. He simply looked at you, his gaze steady, like he was weighing your words, understanding their weight.

You felt your face flush, the uncertainty creeping in. You knew you sounded ridiculous, asking this out of nowhere. It wasn’t like Simon hadn’t been there for you in ways that felt like more than friendship—he always carried your wallet, always made sure you were safe, and damn it, he even wore his dog tag around you. But you didn’t want to jump to conclusions.

The silence between you two stretched on for a heartbeat too long. Then, slowly, Simon leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “You really don’t know, do you?” he asked, his voice low and almost contemplative, but there was something in his eyes now—a flicker of something softer than the usual guardedness.

You stared at him, mouth dry. “What do you mean?”

Simon didn’t respond right away. He simply took off his dog tag, the cool metal clinking as he held it between his fingers. You watched as he slipped it off and stood, crossing the short distance between you two with a confidence you couldn’t ignore. Your breath hitched as he stopped in front of you.

“Simon—”

“Luv,” he interrupted, crouching down in front of you. His hands moved gently, taking yours in his with surprising tenderness. “I do this for you because I care about you. More than you think. More than I probably should.”

Your heart raced, and you opened your mouth to speak, but he raised a hand to stop you.

“You’re right, I’m not doing this just as your ‘friend,’” Simon continued, his voice thick with something unspoken, something raw. “I’m doing it because I want to, because I need to.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles, the touch soft, but firm—like a promise.

Your pulse quickened as the realization settled over you like a wave. He *did* care about you. More than you’d ever let yourself believe.

“Simon…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He gave you a small, almost apologetic smile, leaning in just a little closer. “You’ve been driving me crazy, sweetheart,” he confessed, his breath warm against your skin. “Every time you smile at me, every time I see you taking care of yourself and others, it just… I don’t know how to explain it, but I *need* to be there for you. I need you to know that you don’t have to do anything alone. And… I want more than just this. More than just us hanging out and pretending this is nothing.”

Your breath caught in your throat. The words were all there—sincere, raw, real—but you couldn’t quite wrap your head around them. This was Simon. Your Simon. The one who took care of you, the one who wouldn’t let you pay for anything, the one who wore that dog tag just for you. He wasn’t just your protective roommate. He wasn’t just your friend.

“Do you want this?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. It was the first time you had heard any uncertainty from him, and it made your heart ache.

“I… I think I do,” you whispered, your fingers curling around his in return. “I think I’ve wanted this for a while now.”

Simon let out a breath you hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his shoulders relaxing. He leaned in, his lips brushing softly against your forehead, a tender, lingering kiss that left your skin warm.

“Good,” he murmured, his hand finding its way to your cheek, lifting your face toward his. His gaze locked with yours, soft but full of a quiet intensity. “Because I don’t plan on letting you go.”

Before you could say anything else, Simon closed the gap between you, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was nothing like the playful teasing or the friendly pats on the back you were used to. This was slow, deliberate, and full of promise. It was the start of something new, something real.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, Simon’s forehead rested against yours.

“I’ve wanted this for a while too, sweet’eart,” he murmured. “For a long time.”

And in that moment, everything in the world felt right, as though the weight of all the unspoken words, the unsaid feelings, had finally been lifted. You weren’t just Simon’s roommate anymore. You were his. And he was yours.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[jesswritesthat]

Bakugō Katsuki: Class

Fandom: BNHA // MHA — [ Masterlist ]

Summary: ~1.4k, fluff

• Teaching your class at U.A. was an amazing experience but that’s because they don’t know who you’re dating. Until they find out that is.

Warnings: Post time skip spoilers, cursing

>>>>——————————>

You stared at them with a deadpan expression, one that the ever devoted Class 2-A had grown accustomed to over the past year that they'd experienced with you as their Homeroom teacher.

"I told you. I'm retired."

"We know (L/n)-Sensei, but you're like only in your twenties." One of them argued, brow raised in confusion.

"So is Midoriya-Sensei." Now part of you wanted to mutter an additional 'but not for long', however that wasn't your surprise to deliver.

"Different circumstances. You could still do the whole hero gig, especially since you're well trained enough to kick all of our butts without breaking a sweat." Another stood from their desk to contribute rather eagerly.

"Trust me, I have enough of the hero business to deal with once I get home."

———

Of course, they'd never be able to comprehend such a topic when they had no idea you were in a relationship with the number fifteen hero himself, Bakugō Katsuki. You'd hear the villainous tales, the torturous reporters, and dabbled in a few first aid sessions.

This lingering aftertaste of hero work was enough to satisfy you after your retirement, and Katsuki respected your career choice providing you were happy with it. If he had the time he'd even offer to help out with any work you'd bring home since he could still ace any exam put in front of him even now.

However, with your respective busy schedules meaning any time you got to spend together was appreciated. Even if it was a day like today when you'd been gifted the opportunity to do some shopping in the district - Katsuki wearing a hoodie and mask to prevent the whole idea of socialising with anyone but you.

Yet, timing was not on your side. Katsuki had pulled his mask down to meet your lips in a chasté kiss, brief glimpse of a sentimental smile gracing his expression whilst remaining in proximity.

“Oh. My. Wash.” Odd reference to hero no.8 but still, Katsuki and yourself snapped to the nearby interruption finding familiar sets of shocked eyes staring on.

"The hell is wrong with you?" The blonde aggressively barked, flicking to the teens with festering irritation. "Never seen a damn kiss before? Grow up!"

Immediately you grabbed his hood, pulling him back to you close enough to whisper in his ear.

"Katsuki... they're um... from my class."

He froze up then once you released him and looked back to the group with an expression of pure resentment. 

"Fuck."

"Yeah, fuck." You confirmed under your breath, sighing hopelessly when meeting the sparkling gazes of admiration from your students.

"You're dating a pro hero?!" One of them exclaimed, another following in just as enthusiastically.

"No no, you're dating THE pro hero!"

"He's not top ten so technically—" Meanwhile you deftly attempted to subdue their excitement as it began to garner the attention of passersby.

"He's famous! All that stuff during the war, plus he's like a living legend. That man is a freaking powerhouse, I wanna be as cool as him when I make it to the pro leagues." Another proudly claimed, pointing finger guns at Bakugō who only tsked in response wearing his classic glare. Noting the accumulating attention he fixed his mask, reaching for your wrist and angling himself in front of you.

"Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight and (L/n)-Sensei. Who'd have thought it?"

It started to grow out of control, the lingering onlookers surrounding you both and your students in a crowd, then erupting in applause and flashes.

"Did they say Dynamight?! Take a picture!”

"PRO HERO DYNAMIGHT IS HERE!!"

Before you knew it, fresh air brushed your skin and Katsukis' hand lingered on your lower back.

"You good?"

"Dating a pro hero is definitely not boring." You breathed relief, the pair of you looking back in the direction of the shopping districts and both silently agreeing to walk the other way.

"Is when ya can't even browse in peace."

"It's okay, we can grab ramen and head home?"

"Work gonna be okay for you?"

"I'm sure I'll get questioned about it, but the kids will be fine.” You shrugged it off, figuring they’d probably find out eventually anyway.

"Get Deku to talk to the shitheads."

"Izuku is... well being strict isn't his strong suit... so..."

"That wimp can't even manage a bunch of brats?! Course he can't, damn idiot." The blonde moodily attested, flicking his crimson gaze back to you with a cunning smirk far too menacing for his proposition. "If you want, call me and I'll assist in a training session from hell."

"Katsuki, you cannot blow up heroes-in-training regardless of your ‘Explosion Murder God’ title.”

“It builds character. Gotta toughen up if they want to be pros don’t they?” He held the door to a small restaurant open for you, smirking proudly with his justification. You could only shake your head with a laugh.

“I guess you’re right.”

———

As predicted, the next time you saw your students at U.A, the questioning immediately ensued.

"Today for our English lesson—"

"How'd you meet?" One of your students abashedly cut you off, the moment you’d stepped into class no less.

"By accident. Anyway I have some worksheets—" Again you attempted to continue as if nothing had transpired, as if no revolutionary news had been discovered, as if the entire class hadn’t already heard about it.

"How long have you been together?"

"Long enough. These sheets will—" In vain, you tried, a girl putting up her hand and not even waiting to be selected before speaking anyway.

"Do you wanna get married?"

"I want to get this lesson done. I'm not answering anything about my personal life." Hands on your hips, you faced them with a scolding expression - intimidating enough for them to get the message.

"Dynamight is coming for the sport festival this year right? We could ask him him then."

"You... you do realise the man you're talking about? Mildly snappy, questionable people tolerance, a little explosive..." Saracasm flowed through you, for his attitude toward the public was the sole reason he wasn’t ranked higher. Based on hero ability alone, he would be undoubtedly top three.

"And your boyfriend."

"And my boyfriend." Was your deadpan reiteration, fingers pinching the bridge of your nose before sighing. "I am highly against this, if you do get to speak to him, it'd be wise to gain valuable advice on hero-related subjects. But for now, this is worksheet explains..."

———

Thankfully, your class had stuck to their word, the event no longer became a tangent for questioning. Aside from for hero advice or genuine check ups on Dynamights’ well-being after a particular gnarly attack portrayed on the news the previous night.

Indeed, they also remained true to their word by tracking the infamous hero down during the sport festival. Cornering him in one of the halls of the stadium before the next upcoming event - no doubt on his way to find you or Midoriya-Sensei.

"Dynamight! Dynamight wait up!"

The hero met the approaching group with a scrutinising side eye, scanning each student and narrowing upon recognition.

"You brats again."

"Yes, but there's a few things we wanna ask you!" One of them desperately explained, trying keep his attention and presence in tact. Meanwhile Dynamight growled lowly, folding his arms with an accusatory glare potent enough to send them running for their lives in moments.

"I swear this better be good else I'm outta—"

"It's about (L/n)-Sensei."

"..." A second of silence. His features softening minutely with his tone morphing to one less antagonistic. "Go on then."

———

Izuku sat opposite you in the faculty room, fingers occupied by the warm cup of tea he was currently nursing after delivering the information to you.

"He... he actually told them?"

"Yeah." Izuku nodded in confirmation, his carefree grin far too chipper for the matter at hand.

"Without yelling?"

"Uh-huh."

"Why...?" It was retirical, almost mystified, but Midoriya only laughed and answered you anyway.

"Kacchan has no problem talking about things he likes or is interested in, it's been that way since we were kids. It just so happens one of his favourite subjects is you (Y/n)." Again he spoke brightly, you think even he is besotted with the situation.

"Izuku, don't say cheesy stuff like that!"

"Sorry, if it's any consolation I think if they asked any 'dumb questions' he'd have shooed them off."

Following your conversation with Izuku, returning to your class came with a sense of both unease and comfort. Apprehensive about how they would react toward you from now on, especially since you weren’t clued up on the details of the conversation they’d had with your boyfriend.

"Hey 2A, I heard your interrogation went well."

"Oh yeah? Did you get told that at home?" One of them replied happily, the exchange between you that of a playful one which left you rolling your eyes with a smile.

"No, Midoriya Sensei filled me in. I haven't seen Dynamight, he’s busy with hero stuff y'know."

"We found out everything we wanted to know so we won't pester you anymore. Also asked about hero stuff like you said." He continued, watching as you focused on writing the lesson objectives on the blackboard rather than the conversation.

"There was one thing that piqued our interest though." One of the girls giddily added on as if it were a trade secret they were all in on. Unawares to you, the entire class held a unanimous feeling of bubbling expectance, like a time bomb waiting to go off.

"Uh huh." You continued writing, lacking investment in the whole ordeal.

"He said wants to marry you too."

The snapping of your chalk echoed a little too heavily in the anticipating silence of the classroom.

<——————————<<<<

[ Masterlist ]

[dixons-sunshine]

Sweet Treats | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Day One: Cookies/Cocoa

(GIF by @jaaryl)

“Jesus fuck, s’colder than a witch’s tit out there. M’freezin’ my ass off.”

The sound of your husband’s voice echoed through your shared Alexandrian home. You chuckled lightly to yourself, shaking your head as you continued with your task; placing the cookies you had baked into a tin, two steaming cups of hot chocolate resting on the countertops next to you. You had made the beverages when you had initially heard the roaring rumble of the archer’s motorcycle, knowing fully well that Daryl would be feeling like an ice cube when he returned.

And you were right.

The sound of Daryl’s footsteps grew closer, until the man himself was standing a mere few feet away from you. He hummed in approval when the aroma of the freshly baked cookies filled his senses.

“Mhm, smells good,” he started, rubbing his hands together in the hopes of heating them up. “What’cha makin’?”

“Hello to you, too, Daryl,” you began in a teasing voice, turning around to face him and nearly colliding with his chest, not expecting him to have been so close. However, you quickly composed yourself. “How was your day? My day was okay, thank you so much for asking.”

Daryl rolled his eyes, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yeah, yeah. M’sorry. Lemme try again.” He cleared his throat, stepped forward and gently pulled you closer by your hips, his ocean-like eyes sparkling under the faint light of the kitchen. “Hiya, Sweetheart. Whatever you’re makin’ smells fuckin’ amazin’.”

“Hmm, not exactly right, but we’re getting there.” You smiled softly and leaned forward to catch his lips with yours, slowly and tenderly moving your mouths against one another’s. When you pulled back, you reached up and tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear. “Okay, but you weren’t lying. Even your lips are cold.”

“S’what I said. S’fuckin’ cold out there,” Daryl replied, moving to lean against the countertop while he carefully watched you grab a cup of, what he presumed to be, coffee and pass it over to him. However, when he took a sip, his eyes widened, and he looked back over at you. “S’this…?”

“Hot cocoa,” you confirmed, your eyes crinkling at the corners as you smiled at the almost child-like glee on his face at the sweet beverage. “I found some on a run the other day and I swiped it. And—” You grabbed the tin and opened it, before extending it to him. “—I asked Carol if I could borrow her cookie recipe, because you can’t have one without the other, right?”

“Right,” he agreed, taking a cookie from the tin and taking an eager bite from it.

He groaned in satisfaction and you laughed lightly. “Good?”

“Fuckin’ amazin’,” he complimented through a mouthful of the sweet treat. “You truly outdid yourself with this.”

“Thank you,” you replied, picking up your own cup and holding it up for a ‘toast’. Daryl scoffed but smiled faintly, before clinking his mug against yours.

“What’re we toastin’ ‘bout?” he inquired.

“Nothing in particular. Maybe about our love for each other.”

Daryl shook his head, but could not stop the warmth that bloomed in his chest at your words. “Way to make the moment sappy.”

“You love it, and you know it.”

“Nah,” he admitted after a moment of silence, “but I love you, and s’enough to make me overlook all of your chick flick moments.”

“You know what? I’ll take it.”

[pandoras-box-27]

kiss it when you're done pt 1

max verstappen x reader x charles leclerc

wc: 1445

summary: In 2014, friends max verstappen and charles leclerc watch a race led by y/n l/n, a rising star in the racing world, with whom max and charles become infatuated.

warnings: boners? nothing beyond that yet

a/n: the first bit of my lestappen challengers au! hope it's worth the wait.

“Maxie,” Charles teasingly calls for him. Max stops, rolling his eyes as he watches the boy run to catch up with him. “Can you not demolish me tomorrow?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Max scoffs, sipping water from his blindingly bright red bottle.

“No, look, I’m at peace with the fact that you’re going to win-”

“It’s still the air, it’s not a fact,” Max interrupted, Charles was known to be rather self-destructive and Max wasn’t known for tolerating it.

They’d known each other's quirks since they were just children, battling their disagreements out on the karting track. They’d grown closer as friends but continued playing rivals once they got in the car. They were both prodigies for their age. Max just seemed more confident in his skills, constantly pushing himself to the limits, and it was abundantly clear when he was put against Charles. A smug, charming young boy, who got praise, win or lose. Was Max jealous of Charles’ familial situation and unconditional support? Not that he’d ever say out loud. However, Charles was equally jealous of Max’s genuine skill. It fueled their fighting on and off the track, though it was more like sibing rivalry.

“But, statistically, it’s much more likely,” Charles rambled. Max laughed, practically spitting his water out. Charles scoffed before continuing. “I’m just saying, like… throw me a bone? Let me lead for a moment?”

Max stopped in front of him, turning to face him. “If it matters to you so much, I can just give it to you.”

Charles paused, in shock. “Wow. Okay. Thank you.”

“I’m kidding,” Charles rolled his eyes, which made him smirk. He continued down the path, already knowing Charles was still behind him. “Do you have money on this or something?”

“My mum’s coming.”

——

Max and Charles situated themselves in between the packed bodies in the paddock. They stood unbothered, suddenly thankful they still weren’t famous enough to be recognized, just the occasional local throwing themselves at Charles’ pretty feet. Max just watched, jaw slack, his eyes as he watched each of them have to dust themselves off after being rejected. 

“You don’t want any of them? The last one was pretty hot.” Max guffawed, shamelessly ogling the ass of the last girl as she stomped away.

He scolded the other man, playfully, “Too desperate, it makes me, by proxy, seem desperate.” 

Max nodded along, as if he understood what he was saying. If it had been Max he would’ve ‘disappeared’ to the nearest broom closet with the first girl. Charles was devishly handsome, and was annoyingly aware of it. He knew he had every girl at his feet. Max was charming as well, though. He just wasn’t as confident in them, not as much as he was in his skill. 

Max was suddenly pulled out of his thoughts by the cheers from a nearby garage. His head tilted back up at the screen in front of him. He watches the replay of the moment. 

“What an amazing overtake, once again, by the Y/N L/N!” 

“Wow, in that car? That’s impressive.” Charles remarked, 

“Did you know she already has gotten the team multiple sponsors? Just cause she’s driving it.” Max stated like he had her fact sheet already memorized.

Charles’s eyes flipped back and forth between the screen and Max, his mouth agape. “What? How?” 

“She’s probably going pro in like, a month. I watched her at the last race as well. She could win the real thing tomorrow.” 

Charles and Max stared at the screen with wide eyes and a lethal dose of curiosity. To say that Y/N is smoking the competition would be an understatement. In a car most wouldn’t bet on, she’s making them look like less than karting champions. As Max and Charles watch, both of them steadily. 

Charles glanced down at his crotch after a particularly incredible point. As swiftly as he realized what was happening, he picked up his popcorn from the table next to him and held it over his prevalent bulge. 

Barely a moment later, Max looks down, blushing as he sees his own boner, before doing exactly the same thing. They both looked straight ahead at the race, trying to look as casual as possible, neither of them realizing that the other was in exactly the same boat.

—

“The L/N Foundation,” Charles read slowly from the pamphlet sitting on the table, “Inspiring young women in motorsports.”

“Wow, a foundation in her second year Formula racing?” Max asked, his eyes tracked on her as she glided through the crowds like they were the Red Sea.

“It’s her family’s,” Charles explained, flipping through the pages, “Her mother was in motorsports but it wasn’t as acceptable in the 70s. Her father raced in her honor but it wasn’t the same-”

Charles looked up and noticed Max had drifted away to a table further up, closer to the dance floor. He swiftly came up to the empty space next to him. 

“Did you know she's from a small town just outside France?” Charles pretended to read the small printed text, “It’s near where I grew up.”

Max looked over at him, curiously smirking, “Yeah?”

“Born and raised, she doesn’t know much English,” Max slowly nodded along, his eyes rising back to her. 

“You should read the pamphlet,” Charles teased the blond, poking his side. Max shook his head, not being able to take his eyes off her. The music suddenly changed from something slow and soft to one of the big American ‘club’ songs with lyrics their mothers wouldn’t approve of.

Max’s lips curled into a wide smirk and Charles’ eyes went wide as they watched Y/N's hips sway to the rhythm of the song playing in the background. Her dress was tight around her chest, accentuating her perfect tits, and flowed out over a layer of petticoat that moved dramatically with every swish of her hips. She was the perfect mix of alluring and elegant, just as she had been on the track, which left both of their heads spinning. 

“I’d let her fuck me with that trophy of hers,” Max whispered into Charles’ ear, only making him blush harder as his imagination went wild.

“Oh my god,” Charles muttered softly under his breath. He couldn’t believe it, he’d never seen anyone so perfect. He watched her whisper-shout something to her friends before slowly exiting the dance floor.

“Oy,” Max slapped Charles’ arm, before running over to the couch she was heading towards. Charles followed suit (once he realized what was happening)

Just as she reached the sofa area, they were on her tail. She turned around in shock. Max raced to start and, easily slipping into the little French he knew, spoke first.

“Bonjour, madame, je m'appelle-”

“I’m Charles Leclerc, it’s nice to meet you,” Charles interrupted, smiling widely and eagerly.

“Nice to meet you,” Y/N bit back a smile, shaking Charles’ hand, a firm handshake as his hand lingered just a second too long. She pulled back after a moment, reaching for Max’s as she started to speak again, “Uhm, enchante. I, uh-”

“Don’t speak French,” Max sighed, mentally cursing himself for his stupidity. Charles wasn’t necessarily lying, Y/N was born and raised from a small town just outside France, and it was near Monaco. It was just in Italy. His mistake was immediately apparent. The thick accent laid on her tongue and rang like choir bells in their ears.

“Well, yes, not well. But, I was going to say, ‘I already knew who you two are.’” Y/N shrugged, laughing a little to herself. She plopped herself down on the couch behind her, staring up at the two men. “You’re Formula’s next big thing, my father doesn't shut up about you.

You’re racing in Formula 3 next year, yes?” Charles swears he’s never seen Max’s head move faster. 

“You’re not signing to -”

“Yeah. How did you -- ?”

“Me too.” Y/N says, leaving silence among the group. 

 “What?” Charles exclaimed, excitedly.

“I just accepted the offer, and they mentioned you,” she smiled brightly, they couldn’t tell if she was more happy for Charles or herself. Her head whipped around at the sound of someone calling her name. She sat up off the sofa. “Nice to meet you two,” She stared at Max, and with her best (terrible) French accent, “Au revoir.”

Charles held back a laugh as he watched her leave. Max punched him in the gut, not hard, more playfully, but it still hurt. Charles bent over, holding his stomach simultaneously for the large belly laugh he was letting out and the pain.

“I can’t believe you believed me,”

“You little shit.”

taglist

@ananyasr1bughead @akkklys @meglouise00

[bullet-prooflove]

Three Shots: Ryan x Reader (Yellowstone)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @trublu2u @yousigned-upforthis @queenslandlover-93 @ladychaos1525

Companion piece to:

Kitty - Ryan knows something's not right when he seees you with another man.

Such A Good Girl - Ryan makes a realisation about your undercover op.

It’s the gun shots that change everything.

There’s three of them, each one a loud retort that echoes through the clear night air as Ryan sits behind the wheel of his truck, that casefile on his lap. He’s out of the vehicle in an instant, heart hammering in his chest as he races towards the house with his Glock in his hand.

This shit right here, this is his nightmare.

The door is unlocked when he reaches it, it’s the way of people who buy second homes in remote areas like this. They don’t think to lock the doors because whose around to open them anyway.

The stench of cordite hits him the moment he steps into the hall way, he can taste it on his tongue as he searches the house for you with a franticness he feels in the very depths of his soul. It’s in the study he finds you and the scene… it’s nothing like he expected.

You’re sitting in a leather chesterfield with Myer’s dead body at your feet and your gun in your hand, resting lightly on the arm of the chair. Blood blossoms across the expensive cream sweater the other man is wearing, saturating the fabric as crimson spreads underneath him. It’s the expression on his features that gets Ryan, the look of absolute surprise that his life had ended this way.

“Katalina.” Ryan says softly trying to understand what happened and you look up at him without so much as a hair out of place.

“I found that.” You tell him as you gesture to the laptop on the coffee table. “And I just couldn’t let him get away with it.”

Ryan folds his sleeve over his hand, careful not to leave a fingerprint as he presses the space bar. A video starts to play and it’s the worst fucking thing he’s seen in his entire life.

“There’s one for each of them.” You tell him, your voice completely devoid of emotion. “One for each of the girls he raped and then dumped on the reservation.”

It’s then that it dawns on Ryan, what happened here tonight. Myers hadn’t attacked you at all. You’d executed him.

Three to the chest, just like they taught you at the academy.

“You need to make the call.” You tell him, your eyes meeting his with a clarity he finds harrowing. “Tell them what you found when you walked into this room.”

“I’m not letting you go to prison for putting down a fucking animal.” Ryan tells you and he can tell your surprised by the expression on your features. “He doesn’t get to take you down with him.”

Already his mind is working damage control, the same way it does with every single mess he’s ever had to clean up for the Duttons.

“You found the video and he attacked you.” Ryan informs you as he starts to stage the scene in his head. “When you shot him, you were in fear for your life.”

“Ryan.” You say gently as you stand up and step towards him. “Nobody’s going to believe that, there’s not a mark on me.”

“Well baby.” He sighs as grasps your arms and rolls up your sleeves. “We’re gonna have to change that.”

The next couple of minutes are a true testament of love and Ryan hates every fucking second of it. He grips your arms so tightly, he leaves finger marks embedded in the flesh. He tears your shirt, sending the buttons careening in different directions. He fucks up your hair, yanking it out of that neat braid so it’s mused up and loose. When it comes to the crunch, to actually inflicting violence on you, he just can’t force himself to do it so he steps back, surveying the mess he’s made of you.

It’s not enough, he realises, his heart sinking and that’s when you take the intuitive.

“There’s a rolling pin in the kitchen.” You tell him, your voice resolute. “I need you to get it for me.”

Love Ryan? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Time Is On My Side | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: y/n is getting unhinged as fuck man, torture, mentions of childhood trauma,

Word Count: 4738

A/N: this gif should not be attractive but here i am sitting in a puddle... WHO SAID THAT

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

Three weeks. All Dean had left was three weeks. 

It felt like your heart was constantly in your throat. It felt like you could never get Dean close enough to you when you slept beside him. No amount of late night conversation or sexual escapades could save you from the anxiety you had welling up inside you. 

And so, you went back to work trying to find the demon holding Dean’s contract. 

You lingered behind Sam in the back of a dark room in an abandoned cabin where Dean was throwing every torture he could possibly think of at the demon strapped to the chair in front of him. “You ready to talk?”

“I don't know,” he wailed. “I don't know anything!”

“Oh, you hear that, guys?” Dean taunted. “He doesn't know anything.”

“Yeah, I heard,” Sam smirked. 

You stayed silent.

“I'm telling you the truth,” the demon pleaded. 

“Oh, you are? My god, then I owe you an apology. Allow me to make it up to you.” Dean held the demon’s mouth open and forced Holy Water down his throat. “I'm gonna ask you one last time: who holds my contract?!”

You were mentally scolding yourself for finding this interrogation sexy in any manner.

The demon went quiet and hung his head low. He looked up with inky black eyes, smiling. “Your mother. Yeah, she, uh, showed it to me right before I bent her over.”

“I want a name. Or else—”

The demon cut Dean off. “Or what? You're gonna squirt your holy water in both ends? Please. Brother, that's like a flea bite compared to what's coming to me if I tell you jack. Do what you want. The only thing I'm scared of is the demon holding your ticket.”

You stepped forward for the first time. “Let me try something.”

Dean looked at you skeptically, but the wheels in your head began to turn. The boys hadn’t seen you in action with an interrogation just yet; a skill you could credit your father for bestowing upon you. 

“Oh, god,” the demon laughed. “Gonna torture me with a kiss, pretty girl?”

You kept your gaze ahead, preparing for what you were going to have to do to this demon. “We got any salt in the trunk, Dean?” 

He shot you another skeptical look. “Yeah…?”

You nodded at him to go get it while you circled the demon holding the iron fire poker behind your back. When you were behind him, you quickly carved the binding link symbol into the back of his neck through the demon’s screams of protest. 

The demon laughed when you were finished. “A binding link? Really?”

“Hate to say it, I’m with him on this one,” said Sam, looking at you with confusion written all over his face. 

You gave him a look that told him to just trust you. When Dean returned with the large bag of salt he had in the trunk, you doused the iron poker in holy water and dipped it in the salt. “Is this gonna feel like a flea bite?” you asked, your face completely flat. 

The demon’s eyes flashed with fear, but he kept his “tough guy” persona up. You lightly cut down his left thigh with your knife before shoving the poker in the wound, and he screamed out louder than Dean had been able to manage making him. 

“Who holds Dean’s contract?” you asked evenly. 

“I can’t tell you,” he replied flippantly. 

“You can,” you said, “you just don’t want to.” You cut down the inside of his left thigh and created a deep gash, repeating the same action of putting the poker inside the wound. “See why I wanted you stuck inside?” you snarled. “You’d miss all the fun.”

“I’m not telling you anything!” he cried. 

You recoated the iron in holy water and salt. You cut up the side of his torso and put the poker against the wound once more. “Tell me,” you demanded. 

“No!” he screamed in agony. 

“Tell me!” you screamed in his face, holding the poker to his throat. 

“(Y/N)—” you heard Dean say quietly from behind you. 

You shoved the demon to the ground, still bound to his chair, and grabbed a handful of salt. Harshly, you rubbed it into the bleeding wound on the inside of his thigh. “Fucking tell me!” 

“(Y/N)!” Dean pulled you up from the demon by your elbow. “Sam, finish this fucker.” He pulled you outside of the cabin, and you shrugged him off you. 

“What the fuck, Dean?!” 

“I couldn’t watch you do that anymore,” he said. 

“What, get some demon to spill his guts? I thought that was what we’re here to do,” you scoffed. 

“Yeah, but that?” Dean pointed back at the cabin. You could see Sam exorcizing the demon through the window. “I’m not gonna watch you do that to yourself.”

“This has nothing to do with me. I’m fine,” you responded. 

“I’ve never known you to be like that,” he told you. 

“Like what?”

“Like me,” he answered, looking anywhere but your eyes. 

“C’mon, Dean—” you rolled your eyes. “This has nothing to do with my character versus yours or something like that. This is a desperate time. Desperate times, desperate measures.”

“Whatever,” he said. “Why is this just a casual thing for you?” 

“I grew up a hunter with a mean ass dad, Dee. He taught me all this,” you said, waving your hand in reference to the cabin. 

“Really?” he questioned. “You never told me that.”

“It never really came up,” you smiled lopsidedly. “Besides, not much time for backstories when we’re trying to break a demon deal and keep Sam from going Dark Side.”

“Don’t do that again. Not for me, okay?” Dean asserted. “I can’t watch that again.”

“I’m not asking you to,” you replied. “But if it gets us some answers, I will do it again.” Dean went to protest, but you kept going. “If it gets you out of this fucking deal, I’ll do pretty much anything. I love you, and I respect you, but this is not up for debate. I have a skill. Why not use it?”

***

“Guys, why are we gonna go after a fucking zombie when we should be focusing on Dean’s deal?” you asked, referring to the case Sam had found in the paper. “We’ve been on soul-saving detail for months now. But three weeks out, all of a sudden, you’re interested in workin’ a case?”

“Look,” Sam sighed, “I just thought since Dean’s been all gung ho to hunt, I’d be doing him a favor.”

“Obviously I wanna hunt some zombies, (Y/N),” Dean grinned. 

You dropped your head back knowing you’d lost the fight.

***

The man who’d died had apparently had his liver removed surgically. After thoroughly convincing a coroner that you were insane, you realized your zombie theory was all wrong.

You remained fed up with the fact that you weren’t focusing on Dean’s deal but went along with the case anyway. While Sam and Dean remained focused on talking to another man who’d had an organ cut out of him, you were angry with the entirety of the situation; not specifically the two brothers.

Now, back in the motel, you sat on Sam’s bed while Dean happily chomped on a burger. You pretended to research on your laptop while Sam actually worked on his. 

“So, I got a theory,” Sam piped up. 

“Yeah?” Dean asked through a mouthful of food. 

“Yeah, I talked to Mr. Giggle's doctor. Turns out his incisions were sewn up with silk.”

That caught your attention. “What?”

“That’s weird,” Dean added.

Sam nodded. “Yeah, nowadays, it is, but silk used to be the suture of choice back in the early 19th century. It was really problematic. Patients would get massive infections. The death rate was insane.”

“Good times,” Dean quipped. 

“Right, so doctors, they had to do whatever they could to keep infections from spreading. One way was maggots,” Sam grimaced. 

“Dude, I’m eating,” Dean winced. 

“It actually kind of worked because maggots, they eat bad tissue, and they leave good tissue. And get this. When they found our guy, his body cavity was stuffed full of maggots,” Sam explained. 

“Dude, I'm eating!” Dean groaned. “Alright, let me get this straight. So, people are getting ganked, right? A little ‘antiques roadshow’ surgery, some organ theft. But why is this all sounding familiar?”

“Uh, Dr. Frankenstein?” you quipped. 

“No, because he’s heard it before,” said Sam. “When you were a kid. From Dad. Doc Benton: real-life doctor, lived in New Hampshire, brilliant and obsessed with alchemy, especially how to live forever. So, in 1816, Doc abandons his practice and—”

“Right, yeah,” Dean cut his brother off, “nobody hears from him for like 20 years, and all of sudden, people start showing up dead.”

“Dead or missing an organ or the hand or some other kind of part.”

“ 'Cause whatever he was doing was actually working. He just kept on ticking. Parts would wear out; he'd replace them. But I thought Dad hunted him down and took his heart out.”

“Yeah, I guess the Doc must have plugged in a new one.”

“Alright, where's he doing the deed?” Dean questioned. 

“According to this, Benton's picky about where he sets up his lab. He likes dense forest with access to a river or stream or some kind of freshwater,” replied Sam. 

Dean took another huge bite of his burger. “Why?”

“Because that's where he likes to dump the bile and intestines and fecal matter.”

Dean gagged. 

“Lost your appetite yet?” Sam deadpanned. 

Dean considered, looking down at his burger. “Oh, baby, I can’t stay mad at you.”

Though you normally would have giggled at Dean’s joke, you simply rolled your eyes this time. 

Dean had apparently been expecting you to laugh, too. “What’s up?” he asked. 

“Nothing.” You shut your laptop and walked out with the brothers staring after you to smoke a joint. 

***

Almost an hour of you sitting outside later, Dean marched out of the room with his bag. 

“Where you going?” you asked him. 

“Sam lied to us. He knew Benton was here,” he replied, throwing his duffel into the back of the car. 

“What?!” you exclaimed angrily. 

“Yeah,” Dean huffed. “And Bobby knows where Bela is. That’s where I’m goin’.”

“I’m coming with you,” you asserted. Off his look, you stated, “I’m not asking.”

“Can’t say I’m loving this new attitude of yours,” Dean said as you headed back to your shared room for your bag. 

“My dude’s gonna die in three weeks. Forgive me if I’m a little on edge,” you called over your shoulder as you strutted ahead.

***

Dean drove well into the night as you sat beside him holding his hand. You couldn’t help but want to constantly be touching just to revel in the fact that he was here, and he was okay. 

You arrived in Canaan, Vermont around three in the morning. You and Dean stopped at a motel to get a few hours of sleep before you would head to meet Bobby’s contact, Rufus Turner. 

“I’m sorry,” Dean told you through the dark, holding you against his chest. 

“For what?”

“Everything,” he replied, voice rumbling deeply in his chest. “I’m sorry I’ve been hard on you. I know this has been…” he trailed off, sighing. 

“You don’t need to apologize, Dee,” you told him. “I’m not angry with you. I’m just stressed out.”

“I know. And I’m sorry I put you in that position.” 

You tilted your face up toward him and kissed his chin. “It’s okay. Let yourself off the hook.”

The two of you didn’t speak for the rest of the night, but you knew that Dean wasn’t sleeping. The both of you were staring up at the ceiling thinking about what was awaiting Dean in less than three weeks. 

The evidence of that showed in the bags that hung under your eyes as you approached Rufus Turner’s house. A handwritten sign hung on the porch reading, “No solicitors, that means you! No asking for donations. No selling ANYTHING!"

Dean rang the buzzer and than banged on the door. 

You heard a noise behind you and turned to see a security camera positioning itself toward you. “What?” a man’s voice asked through the intercom. 

“Hi,” you said politely. “Rufus?”

“Yeah, even if I am, the question is still the same. What?”

“I’m (Y/N). This is Dean. We’re friends of Bobby Singer’s,” you replied. 

“So?” he asked. 

“You called him this morning,” explained Dean. 

“So?”

Dean tried to flash a charming grin at the camera despite his obviously growing frustration. “You told Bobby about a British chick who made contact with you.”

“And so?” Rufus continued. 

“You know where she is?”

“Yeah.”

“Great. Could you tell me where I could find her?”

“No.”

“ ‘Course not,” Dean muttered to himself. He looked back up at the camera. “Look, Rufus, man—”

The door jerked open to reveal the man you’d been speaking to. “Look, let me point something out to you. You are knocking at my door, so don't ‘Look, man’ me. I'm not your man.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Dean replied politely. It was like he was speaking to his father, and how quickly he snapped into line startled you slightly. 

“Alright, let me tell you a little story,” Rufus began. “See, once upon a time, Bobby called me, asked me to call him if I got a whiff of this Bela Talbot. I got a whiff. I called. The end.”

“Okay, yeah, if you could just tell me where she is, I mean, that would be great,” Dean chuckled awkwardly. 

“Dean, right?”

Dean nodded. 

“Dean, do I look like I'm here to help you?” 

“I’m gonna say no?” 

“Then get the hell off my property.”

“Would a bottle of scotch change your mind?” you asked, holding up the bottle Bobby suggested you bring with a lopsided smile. 

Rufus eyed you, brows drawn, then the bottle, and then grinned. 

***

Rufus was actually pretty cool once you’d gotten to know him and plied him with a little liquor. What he told you about Bela was what really piqued your interest, though. Rufus managed to find Bela’s— well, Abby’s— records from England. She’d apparently lost her parents in an accident where it seemed the brake lines were cut on their car. 

You didn’t drink, seeing as Dean wasn’t intending on being the responsible one in this scenario, and as a result, you drove a very drunken Dean back to your motel. 

“But Bela—” he whined. 

“I’ve got her. You’re staying here,” you asserted, doing your best to get him on your bed. 

“I don’t want you going alone,” he replied. 

“You are too drunk to be handling a gun, m’ love,” you told Dean. “I promise I’ll be back soon, okay?”

“Wait.” Dean grabbed your hand as you turned for the door. “Be safe, okay?” 

A gentle smile tugged at the corners of your lips. You helped Dean tug off his boots and get into bed. He passed out pretty much as soon as he hit the pillow, and you gave him a lingering kiss on his forehead before you left. 

***

As soon as Bela closed the door to her hotel room, you were on her with your arm across her throat and your gun in her face. “Where’s the Colt?” you sneered. 

“(Y/N),” she replied calmly. 

“No extra words,” you asserted.

She quirked a brow at you. “It's long gone, across the world by now.”

“Liar,” you said, shoving her neck harder. You grabbed her bag from her hand to look in it, keeping your gun firmly trained on the place right between her eyebrows. 

“I'll call the buyer. Speak Farsi?” she smirked. 

You pulled her against you and made quick work of frisking her in search of her gun. 

“What the hell are you—?!” 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you replied, dangling her gun in front of her face that you’d found tucked in her waistband. You used the tip of your gun’s barrel to flick the light on, then pointed it back at her. “Don’t fucking move, or I’ll kill you, I swear to god.”

You began to search the room, taking every drawer and bag apart. 

“I told you, I don’t have it,” Bela spoke evenly. 

“We are way past trust, angel,” you explained to her. When you heard movement behind you, you shot at the door inches from her head. “I told you not to fucking move.” You continued searching.

After a few minutes, she spoke again. “It's gone. Get on a plane if you must. Track down the buyer. You might catch up to him eventually.”

You angrily threw the last drawer open, rummaged through it, and stood with your gun pointed at her head. 

“Are you going to kill me?” she asked.

You simply nodded in response. 

“You're not cold-blooded, darling.” Bela rolled her eyes. 

“That’s where you’re wrong,” you stated flatly. “The boys are more of the Care Bear type than I am.”

She gave you a skeptical look. “Really.”

“Really,” you smirked cruelly. “You and I are way more alike than I think you realize.”

“How’s that?” she snickered. 

“Both annoyingly bitchy. Both with various vices and addictions. Both brutally honest. And we both killed our parents,” you told her. “But what I can’t work out is why you did it.”

She looked completely shocked but tried to maintain her composure. “I don't know what you're talking—”

“Yes, you do,” you replied. “Don’t fuck with me. You were, what, fourteen? Shady car accident, police suspected a slashed brake line, and little Bela— well, Abby— inherits millions. Ringing any bells?”

Her mouth agape, she breathed out, “How did you—”

“Doesn’t matter,” you drawled. 

“They were lovely people. And I killed them. And I got rich. I can't be bothered to give a damn. Just like I don't care what happens to Dean,” she shrugged.

Seeing red, you pushed her against the door with your arm against her throat again.

“You make me sick,” you snarled. 

“Likewise,” she grinned. 

You backed away from her, pointed your gun, and cocked it. Then, you noticed the woven herbs hanging above her door were ones used for warding off Hellhounds. Deciding killing her now would be letting her off easy, you clicked the safety back into place and shoved her out of your way. “I’ll see you around, Abby.”

***

When you returned to the motel, Dean woke up as soon as you opened the door. He hummed sleepily. 

“Morning, princess,” you smiled. 

“You haven’t called me that in a while,” his deep voice rumbled. 

You giggled. “Figured it was time to bring it back.”

“Is she—?” Dean trailed off, referring to Bela. 

“No,” you said. “She will be soon, though.”

He shot you a confused and slightly irritated look. “I thought you were gonna—”

“I was. And then I saw Devil’s shoestring hangin’ above her door. I figured that would be a more suitable death for her,” you shrugged. 

“Damn, she made a deal?” he questioned, getting up from bed. 

“I’m guessing to kill her parents,” you replied. 

“Good thinkin’. Well, let’s get goin’ back to Sam.”

You nodded. “Sure you don’t need to nurse that hangover first?” you asked mockingly. 

He groaned. “That scotch was some serious shit, man.”

***

“I’m really fucked this time, (Y/N),” Dean admitted, voice breaking slightly. 

You pulled your eyes from the road to look at him for a brief second. “Dee…”

“No,” he shook his head. “The Colt’s gone, and Sam was right. Bela was a goose chase.” Dean’s phone rang. “Speaking of…” he trailed off as he answered the phone. “You okay? Was he there?... Did you kill him?... What do you mean, ‘no’?... What, the live-forever formula?... Great, let me guess. I got to drink blood out of a baby's skull?... Wait, wait, wait. What are— What are you saying? You think… Okay, so, this formula…” He suddenly got panicked. “Sam?! Sammy!” He slammed his phone shut. “Dammit! Drive faster, (Y/N).”

“What happened?!” you questioned. 

“He found Benton’s cabin. He said that whole, uh, live-forever thing is just science. Meaning… it’s doable. And then, Benton found him,” Dean explained. 

“Oh, fuck.” You floored it completely. “Well, how the hell are we gonna find Sam? Weren’t there, like, five different possible cabins?!” 

“I’m gonna get the phone company to put a track on it,” Dean responded. 

After he did so, the car went quiet for another moment as you focused on driving. However, there was a nagging thought in the back of your mind. “Are you… Are you gonna take the elixir of life?”

Dean considered for a moment. “I don’t know. I don’t even know if this is gonna work.”

“Right. I don’t know if changing out whose pancreas you’re carrying is gonna have an effect on the Hellhounds’ ability to… y’know…”

“Yeah,” Dean nodded. “This fucking sucks.” He slumped down in his seat. 

“Hey, all is not lost,” you told him. 

He shot you a look that said, “Yeah, right.” “Look, right now, we just need to focus on Sam,” he asserted. 

“Okay, then. What’s your plan?” you asked. 

He gave you another look. 

“Right,” you said dryly. “Why would you have a plan?”

***

Thankfully, when you got to Benton’s cabin, you found a bottle of chloroform on the table in the kitchen. Silently, you held it up to show Dean. He took it from you and drenched his Bowie knife in the liquid. 

As you approached the cabin’s basement, you could hear Doctor Benton’s voice becoming closer and closer. Dean mouthed to you, “One, two, three,” and then, you and he began shooting at the doctor’s back after jumping out from behind the wall blocking the basement’s stairs from the rest of the room. 

“Shoot all you want,” Benton grinned, approaching you. You let loose two more bullets, and Dean swept up behind him to stab him in the back. 

He stumbled and turned around. “A knife? What part of immortality do you not understand? Pity about the heart, though. It was a brand-new one.”

“Good. It should be pumping nice and strong,” Dean smirked. “Sending this stuff throughout your whole body. See, I picked up your little bottle upstairs and dipped the knife in it.”

Dr. Benton’s mouth fell open in shock, and his eyes rolled back in his head just before he collapsed. 

“(Y/N), gimme a hand?” Sam asked as Dean dealt with Dr. Benton’s body. 

You rushed to his side, unstrapped his limbs, and carefully peeled the pieces of duct tape off his eyelids that were holding them open. “You okay?” “Yeah. You got here just in time,” he smiled weakly. 

You gave him a quick hug, both relieved that he was okay and happy to see him again. 

“Alright, break it up,” Dean groaned. “Help me get this mook on the table. He’s fuckin’ heavy.”

***

You sat in the corner of the room waiting for Dr. Benton to wake up. After about an hour of twiddling your thumbs, the doctor groaned. 

“Oh, hiya, Doc. Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey,” Dean deadpanned. 

“Please—” the doctor panicked. 

“ ‘Please’ what?” Dean taunted. “You've been killing poor bastards for over a hundred-fifty years, and now, you got a request? Shut up.”

The creature struggled against his restraints. “No, you don't understand. I can help you. I know what you need.”

Dean ignored the doctor and focused on you and Sam. “We might have to cut him up into little bits. Y'know, this immortality thing is a bitch.”

“I can read the formula for you. You know… immortality… Forever young, never die,” he tried. 

“Dean,” Sam said suddenly. 

“Sam,” you warned. 

He walked out of the room, indicating for you and Dean to follow. 

You kept an eye on the doctor just to ensure he couldn’t go anywhere while Sam addressed his brother. 

“I mean, we're talking Hell in three weeks, or needing a new kidney in, like, half a century,” Sam urged. 

“Yeah, well, you can't exactly get those at a Kwik-E-Mart,” Dean snarked. 

You kept silent. 

“It's not perfect, but it buys us more time to think of something better. We just need time, Dean. I mean, please, just- just think about it.”

“No,” Dean replied firmly. 

That surprised you, if you were honest. 

“Dean, don't you want to live?” Sam asked in desperation. 

Dean gave him a sympathetic look, but his voice was firm. “What he is isn't living. Look, this is simple.”

“Simple?” Sam scoffed. 

“To me it is, okay,” Dean returned. “Black or white; human, not human.” He strolled back into the room to tower over the immobilized doctor. “See, what the Doc is is a fuckin’ monster. I can't do it. I would rather go to hell.”

“You don’t understand. I can help you!” The doctor yelled. 

You poured more chloroform onto a rag and handed it to Dean. Dean covered the doctor’s mouth with it and turned to Sam. “Now, I'm gonna take care of him. You can either help me or not. It's up to you.”

***

The three of you laid the doctor’s body in the ground inside a refrigerator wrapped in chains. You dropped the doctor’s book on top of the box. 

“No!” Benton wailed. “Stop it! I can help you!”

“Enjoy forever in there, Doc,” Dean said, sounding slightly emotionless. 

As gruesome as the thought of being trapped down there forever was, it was what needed to be done. And so, you shoveled the displaced dirt back on top of the refrigerator and book. 

When you’d dusted your hands off, you turned to the boys. “Alright, we gotta get the hell outta dodge.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked. 

“Bela’s probably on her way to the motel as we speak,” you replied. “She swiped the receipt from my pocket.”

“And you didn’t think to say anything till now?” Dean asked, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. 

“We were a little preoccupied!” you remarked. “Now, c’mon. Let’s get our shit before she gets there…. Should be in about three hours.”

***

After exactly three hours had passed, you called the motel room you’d been staying in while Dean drove the three of you away from trouble. Quickly, the phone picked up. 

“Hiya, Abby,” you cooed. “Figured you’d be stopping by.”

“Wh—”

You cut Bela off. “I felt your hand in my pocket when you took that receipt.”

Her breathing had become quicker. “You don't understand.”

“Hmm, I’m pretty sure I do,” you told her calmly. “I saw that Devil’s shoestring hangin’ above your door. There’s only one use for that: holding Hellhounds at bay. So I went back and took another look at that obituary for your parents. Exactly ten years ago today. Happy anniversary, I guess.”

When Bela didn’t speak, you continued. “Is that why you stole the Colt, huh? Try to wiggle out of your deal; our gun for your soul?”

“Yes,” she replied, and you could tell she was crying. 

“But stealing the Colt wasn't quite enough, I'm guessing,” you nodded, pursing your lips. 

“They changed the deal. They wanted me to kill Sam,” she cried. 

“Really?” you mocked. “Wow, who’da thought that demons would’ve been untrustworthy. Well, I’ll leave you alone now. Let you live out your last few minutes in peace.”

“(Y/N), listen, I need help,” she begged. 

“We are weeks past help, lovebug.”

“I know I don't deserve it,” Bela continued crying. 

“Y’know, come to think of it, you don’t. But if you’d come to us sooner and asked for help, we probably could’ve taken the Colt and saved you.”

“I know,” she swallowed, “and saved Dean, too. I know about his deal.”

Your heart sank, and your voice became dangerously low. “And who told you that?”

“The demon that holds it. She holds mine too. She said she holds every deal,” Bela explained. 

“She?”

“Her name’s Lilith.”

‘Fabulous,’ you thought. “Lilith? Why should I believe you?” you spat.

“You shouldn’t, but it’s the truth.” “This can't help you; not now. Why’re you telling me this?” you questioned. 

“Because just maybe you can kill the bitch,” she replied, voice holding her usual charm for the first time during your call with her. “Tell Dean I’ll see him soon.”

Taking in a shuddering breath, you said, “See you around, Abby,” and hung up the phone.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[pepperyduck]

[prologue] last christmas - s. gojo

part one of my “last christmas” series

synopsis: revisiting the memories of last year's christmas with satoru.

warnings: mostly fluff with a little bit of angst, celebrating christmas, you and satoru have a kid, husband gojo (but not for long >:3).

to you, from pepper: happy december! if you guys have any ideas you'd like me to incorporate in this series, let me know!

series masterlist | masterlist

december 25th, one year ago

“dad! dad! mom! wake up!”

ren, your son, shouted upon barging into your shared bedroom, voice filled with excitement for the day ahead. satoru’s eyes were the first to snap open, body jolting out of the bed to rush towards your son and pick him up. you groaned and rolled over, only to be met with the weight of your ren and then your husband on top of you, forcing you to wake up much earlier than you wanted.

“i’m getting up,” you grumbled, weakly pushing satoru’s arm to get him away from you.

after sitting ren down on the floor—allowing the boy to run straight out of the room and go wait at the top of the stairs—satoru kissed your temple and rolled over to lay next to you, his face straight in front of yours. his soft hands grabbed yours, and yours were warm and cozy from the big comforter on your bed and all the heat it retained.

“merry christmas, baby,” satoru whispered, pecking a small kiss to your nose. “let’s get you up before ren kills us both. i’ll make you coffee once he sees the arrangement i made.”

a small smile pulled at your lips as you remembered how the night before went. satoru had rushed you to bed almost at the same time as your son, swearing that it would be worth it in the morning. ren and you both wrapped your presents for satoru and each other earlier in the day before, all because you had to go to bed early.

“merry christmas satoru,” you hummed in response.

satoru and you both crawled out of bed, meeting ren at the stairs soon after. your son buzzed with excitement, as any five-year-old would, feet pattering down the stairs as your husband soon followed. both of them showed nearly the same amount of enthusiasm about the holidays, and christmas in particular. satoru became a man child at the mere thought of christmas.

 needless to say, last year was no different.

upon entering your living room, which had already been extravagantly decorated by your husband—the tree he bought literally touched the over 10-foot ceiling—you took in the magical sight your husband single handedly put together in a few hours.

the long couch was filled with all kinds of gifts, wrapped with bows to the utmost precision, and presents were lined wall-to-wall around the tree. all the lights satoru put up were shining brightly, even the fireplace was lit with stockings stuffed full along the mantle. satoru wrapped his arm around your waist as the both of you watched ren go crazy over the sheer amount of presents in the room.

once ren had settled down and you made room on the couch for you and satoru to sit (ren plopped down on the floor), and satoru made good on his promise of coffee, satoru allowed you to relax while he piled up the seemingly millions of gifts he had picked for you.

for ren, he had gotten him an entire catalog of toys, games, clothes, a bike, a gaming console, pretty much anything a child his age could dream of.

as for you, you could recall each time you picked up or pointed out each one of your gifts when you and satoru went shopping. he got you a pair of boots you pointed out at the beginning of the year, four new bags, two faux fur coats, lingerie (that you threw back behind you so ren wouldn’t see), seven new pairs of shoes, jewelry, makeup, perfume—the whole nine yards.

the whole time you were unwrapping your gifts, satoru sat back and watched you with the most content feeling in the world. there was nothing better to him than the way your face lit up and how you profusely thanked him with each gift, kissing him with a giggle and a hug.

he was so in love with you then.

the last gift satoru gave you was also the smallest of the day. a small box, intricately wrapped with a bow tied in the middle by hand. ren was already in the process of moving all his things into his room, leaving you and satoru alone in the living room. you slowly untied the knot and peeled back the wrapping paper, revealing a small, velvet box. flicking back the top, you looked at satoru for a moment before bringing your attention back to the box.

inside the black velvet laid a necklace. the chain itself was glistening with your favorite precious metal, and in the middle was a tiny, gorgeous, blue gem. without a sound, satoru snatched the open box and held it up right next to his eyes, showing off how the gem matched the pretty cerulean and sapphire of his irises.

“it’s so pretty…” you said, absolutely amazed at how well the gem matched your husband’s eyes. “thank you, babe.” you hugged satoru around his neck, tight, and his arms wrapped around your waist to hold you.

“you’re welcome, pretty girl,” satoru whispered in your ear, his voice was soft and genuine, and he placed a kiss to your cheek.

after satoru put the necklace on you that day, you never took it off. it was a symbol to the both of you, for some reason—a symbol of all the love and devotion in your marriage.

little did you know, that was supposed be your last christmas spent together.

taglist: @sugoroo @dazailover1900 @isalenperry @coffeeluvr96 @laaalaaaloooppppsiiieeeee @labelt-san @yoimiya-m @chewuyy @nariminsstuff @k-kkiana @poopypipi

if you asked to be tagged & i didn’t, make sure ur tags are on! let me know if you’d like to be tagged in this series :)

[cabinetofquriosities]

The Ritual

Agatha x Reader || Warnings: Smut, violence

Done for an exchange with @marril96 who made this gifset as a preview for my upcoming detective Agathario fic. Check her stuff out!

Agatha hadn’t been able to use her magic for months.

She couldn’t sense a hex or a binding spell. If there was one, it was intricately done. No, there was a block. Regular people had the flu, witches had blocks. It wasn’t often and it typically never lasted more than a few days.

It was sometimes brought on by being near overpowering magic while your own was unstable. Other possible causes were new overwhelming emotional changes, mental torture, or lack of practice for more than a few decades. It was often psychosomatic, caused by the mind rather than anything external.

Agatha had never suffered from it, given that her major life changes were almost immediately followed by absorbing the powers of a coven. Nicky died, she created the con of the road. Rio left her after brief reunions, she would find more witches to use. The pair had finally let go of one another decades ago, so it couldn’t have been Rio.

When she met you, though, her entire world shifted. She was finally feeling grounded by someone who wasn’t running off for a greater purpose like her ex did. You both made each other your purpose.

She had plunged the depths of her mind to figure out what the cause of her block was, but couldn’t find anything. She researched every text on the subject of blocked magic. All it said was to find the cause and make peace. Agatha had always considered peace to be overrated.

Agatha had moved in with you a few months prior, right around the time of her magic freezing up. You both lived in an old victorian at the edge of the woods. You found yourself holding her at night, whispering words of comfort in her ear. You would help her look for answers while reading up on your own healing magic. You supported her the best you could. She was happy with you, but incomplete without her purple. It was a new thing for Agatha to feel happy and to feel powerless. Both were unnatural states for her.

One day, you were working on a new healing salve as the sun set outside. You plucked a bloom from the dried flowers you had hanging over the kitchen island amidst the pots and pans. You dropped it into the boiling water, watching the color change.

A crash yanked you out of your focus. You froze, conjuring a ball of energy in your palm as you listened for a possible threat. Instead, you heard a familiar groan. You extinguished the orb before running to the source of the sound.

Agatha had collapsed after opening the door. Blood poured from a wound in her side. She had bruises and cuts all over her form. You knelt down, moving her onto her back so you could get a better look at the damage.

“What happened?!” you asked in a panic.

Agatha let out a pained wheeze. Your heart raced and your chest tightened.

Agatha coughed up some blood before saying, “A warlock… he followed me from the magic shop in town… he knew who I was. Wanted to… be the killer of the witch killer.”

As if she had summoned him herself, a tall man appeared in the doorway. He was unable to come inside due to the sigils surrounding the house. He smiled and laughed.

“A healer? Oh, this is going to be far too easy. I am surprised the great witch Agatha Harkness couldn’t find a protection witch to keep her s-“

You cut him off with a powerful beam of destruction shooting out from your palm. So many mistook healers for being peaceful or having passive magic. They didn’t realize that such witches also held command of the opposite end of the spectrum. While you could heal, you could also harm more harshly than other types of witches. It was the balance of magic that some so easily forgot.

The warlock landed in the dirt like a ragdoll. You stepped out onto the porch, looming over him. He winced, opening his mouth to say something before you shot him with another blast, holding this one until it left him a blackened husk of meat.

Once your were assured of his demise, you ran back to Agatha’s side. She wasn’t doing well. You knelt down, having a second look at her injuries. She gasped sharply in pain as you moved her shirt up enough to see the wound. It was definitely one that could prove to be fatal with how much blood was being lost. You were too far from any hospital, so you would have to find a way to somehow heal an injury that was damn near impossible to do with magic.

You were a healer, yes, but you were a healer of witches. You could only help so much with fixing regular people, especially when they were harmed by a witch or warlock. With witches, she could channel her magic into theirs to heal their bodies. The fact that Agatha no longer had access to her power meant that you couldn’t save her life without going to extreme lengths. Even then, there was only a chance of success.

You stood up and ran to the kitchen, leaving Agatha on the floor in the entryway.

“Oh no… it’s fine… I’ll stay right here…” she called.

You would have smiled if not for your fear. As long as she was being her sarcastic self, she was still alive. You already had half of the concoction done since you had been working on healing salves already, but the substance itself wouldn’t be enough. It needed a ritual to go along with it.

You threw in more ingredients and let them boil as you ran to the living room to retrieve candles. You rapidly and clumsily set them down in a circle around your girlfriend. You noticed her eyes had drifted closed. Your stomach dropped and you bent down, shaking her awake. Agatha woke, groaning in pain.

“Owww! Damn it!” she scolded.

“Good! Keep yelling at me. Keep your eyes open. I’ll be right back,” you said before running off.

She did just as you said, finally following orders for once. You ripped a page out of one of your spell books. She loudly complained about everything she could as you brought the serum, gemstones, matches, and chalk out. You set them all down and got to work. You drew sigils in chalk between each candle before lighting it. The gemstones were placed in a specific order.

You consulted the torn page that detailed the ritual. You had never attempted this ritual before. It was too risky for both parties involved. If it went wrong, your own form could be drained of life along with hers. Agatha, who had been bitching just a moment before, recognized the preparations.

“No…” she said.

“Yes,” you said back while lighting the final candle.

“No… there has to be another w-“

“This is the only way.”

“My love, you can’t…”

“I can and I will,” you said with an assuredness that you weren’t sure you completely felt.

You moved into the circle with her, stripping her clothing from her. She gasped and winced, but neither of you had the luxury of being delicate. You carried on, taking the serum and pouring it from the pot over her torso, coating the injury. Her back arched as she screamed out in pain. You hated that you were unable to let it cool properly. The salve instantly healed the burns caused by the boiling temperature. She passed out from shock, but you slapped her awake.

“Agh! What the fuck?!” she yelled, “You couldn’t have BLOWN ON IT or added ice before giving me THIRD DEGREE BURNS?!”

“Oh, hush, they’re already gone,” you chided.

You began chanting in Sumerian as the energy around them shifted. The ritual was older than most, something that was created before Latin. The candles would be the first measure of how it was working. The flame shrank to nearly nothing, signifying a lack of effectiveness. A second passed before the wicks re-ignited with bursts of fire. You felt your body relax slightly as you kept chanting.

You then changed your chant, moving to her wound. You hovered your hands over it as they glowed. The imbalance of power created a vacuum, with Agatha’s lack of magic causing your own to begin breaking down. Your face began to lose color and your arms shook. The gemstones vibrated against the wooden floor as a warning that you swiftly disregarded. Agatha realized what was happening, watching your lips turn blue as her own body began going cold. You doubled over, your face close to her shoulder.

“S-stop,” she whimpered, wanting at least one of you to survive the ritual.

You simply kept chanting, even as your voice constricted. Agatha brought her hand up and cupped your cheek. You turned your head to face her, knowing in that moment that you would rather die with her in an effort to save her than sacrifice her to save yourself. The only way out was through, for better or worse.

You leaned into her touch as your skin began to warm again. You watched pink returning to her lips and cheeks. The wound was also beginning to heal slightly. You could tell from Agatha’s smile that you looked better as well. You finished the chant and looked back at the page showing the steps of the ritual. A sly smile tugged at your lips.

“I doubt we will have an issue with this part,” you said.

“What do you mean?”

You didn’t answer as you hiked up her loose skirt. You said an incantation before bending Agatha’s legs. You leaned down, your eyes gazing into your girlfriend’s as your tongue slipped inside of her. Agatha whimpered before arching her back. She shook from the shooting pain of the wound, but the pleasure outweighed it.

You slid two fingers into her, curling them with every thrust. You needed to bring her to the peak of pleasure to essentially give her body a jump the way you would a car. It would give Agatha a magical influx on par with adrenaline in combination with electric shocks to the chest. With nothing to work off of on Agatha’s side, you had no clue if you would survive this. Her climax could restore her or it could drain you both depending on what the universe allowed.

Although you would never tell Agatha for fear of giving her a fatal case of performance anxiety, Agatha was familiar enough with the ritual to know the stakes. She looked down at you with so much love. She had been so terrified of having someone who she loved like this in her life, but this risk you were taking for her cemented what she should have already known. You were devoted to her more than anything and would never leave. As that realization clicked into place, something finally changed within herself.

Just as you were beginning to feel another drain, Agatha’s body began to emanate energy. The magic rushed through her, finally flooding in after months of being blocked. Her acceptance of you as a constant in her life sparked it.

You could taste the power restoring itself as you devoured her. You sucked aggressively on her clit as your fingers thrusted faster. Both of your eyes locked, your magic balancing with hers. The wound healed with a blinding glow, closing completely with her orgasm.

She had never looked more beautiful than she did in that moment with her energy visibly engulfing her. Shades of purple licked at the outline of her form. Her eyes shone with violet and gold. Her walls clenched and pulsed around your fingers.

One candle flame extinguished itself after another. The stones stilled. The aura of Agatha’s power absorbed back into her. She took a shaky breath, lifting herself up on shaking arms. You crawled over her before kneeling, straddling her lap. Your palm rubbed over her now unharmed skin. You couldn’t believe it had worked.

Her hands held your face and guided you to look at her. You beamed at her like you had fallen for her all over again without knowing.

[pixarchan]

So that’s what the song means, it’s a prayer, a prayer for Moana to get back to Maui one more time and in retrospective it makes a lotta sense.

Just like you said all his life he’s done nothing more than living in a rebellious lifestyle, tricking both gods and humans for out of fun or for something else, and even tho he was raised by the gods they can’t actually be considered as his family ‘cuz somehow he grew up to be self sufficient enough to take care of himself, and out of the love and appreciation he craves for he shows this stoic man who’s is not afraid of anything and anyone, he cups his own feelings up so he doesn’t look weak in the eyes of everyone, like he was trying to prove himself and everyone he’s worthy of their love, a love that was denied by his own parents, this man really needs therapy ASAP.

And for the first time in his 3000 he showed his true colors to a young mortal girl who taught him that sometimes it’s ok not being ok, that if you keep bottling up your emotions you’ll end up hurting yourself, and in that moment Maui let himself be vulnerable, he let all his emotions flow freely and opened up his heart to Moana, even tho he expected her to understand him she actually did, she gave him empathy and didn’t judge him for his actions, she just simply listened and allowed to see a side of his that barely no one knows, she even offered him a shoulder to lean on even if he didn’t ask for it, just like Klaus said “A true act of kindness always leads to another” Moana’s kindness and compassion showed him that being vulnerable doesn’t make you weaker, it makes you even stronger than ever.

Being strong doesn’t mean you are invincible, Maui spent all his life trying get the approval from everyone and he gained a true friend but at the cost of one day he’ll have to see her die, another thing he tried to avoid in his inmortal life the fear to get so attached to her that the mare idea of watching her die would just devastate him so he would rather die than living another 3000 years without her.

And well, the inevitable happened and all his world shattered in pieces while he holds Moana’s lifeless body in his arms, he didn’t care about his hook, his tattoos or whether is a demigod or not the only person he loved and cared about more than his own life was gone and the desperation and grief made him crumble, so he did the last thing he never thought he would, HE PRAYED he prayed for her to save her, he never asked anything from the gods, humans or even the ocean, but he hoped for someone to listen to his prayer, and when Matai Vasa and all his ancestors (including Tala) showed up he and Tala looked through his eyes and I would swear they silently asked Maui what he would be willing to sacrifice for Moana, eyes say more than words and he answered back with tears in his eyes saying “I’ll give you anything you want, my hook, my power, my immortality, I’ll give my own life if it’s necessary but please save her”, said and done they brought Moana back to life and the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was Maui and that fire in his eyes were back one more time now that the woman he loves is alive safe and sound 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹.

You know, it would’ve been amazing if Disney had at least made Maui kiss Moana’s forehead or even her hand during the Mana Vavau, that would’ve made worth our while but I’m pretty sure they know what they’re doing and I hope so, if I didn’t lose my hopes for Moana and Maui in these 8 years since Moana 1 was released, now more than ever I‘ll hold onto that hope until the third one and if I have to wait another 8 years for it, then it’ll worth it 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰.

Big Moana 2 Spoilers ahead. Beyond the cut is the Samoan to english translation of maui's 2nd song for moana. (And the context it appears in)

ladies and gents of the moana fandom, thanks to the effort of samoan speaker @yuki685 on youtube, and my buddy @rykierykerman for hooking me up with the text and screenshots

what i'd like to discuss with yall today is not only sharing the translation for this song, but some of the character implication this has for maui, especially when you look at how his OG legends depict him.

LYRICS:

(Maui singing in Samoan):

Aue, aue, le faigata / Aue, aue, how difficult it is

Ua pa'ū fa'anoanoa / Falling into sadness

Aue, aue, fa'ataga ola / Aue, aue, please allow this life to continue

Lenā La'u talosaga / This is my prayer

---

(E manu malo) / May there be blessings

(Opataia Foa'i and Te Vaka singing in Tokelauan)

Tele tele mana e o te vavau (Vavau) / Great, great power of mana

Tau ke tu ke Manumalo / Fight, stand tall and be victorious

Ke Manumalo / Be victorious

---

(Grandma Tala)

Aue, aue, mana e o te vavau / Aue, aue, the power of mana

Tau ke tu ke Manumalo / Fight, stand tall and be victorious

Ke Manumalo / Be victorious

Ke Manumalo / Be victorious

Ke Manumalo / Be victorious

_____

The piece that made me flip my shit when I read it was the confirmation that this song is a PRAYER

when I first heard this song before the movie I assumed it was a funeral rite. a dirge, followed by a choral revival. during the film, when maui and then the ancestors sang it over moana's lifeless body and I had no subtitles to go on, I thought perhaps it was a spell, or maybe a lullaby from Maui's far distant past, then taken up by the ancestors as a comfort to the grieving Maui- then back to the spell theory as Moana awoke to the powerful music and emotion channeled by tala and her crew.

even my first google translate search of the lyrics missed the word prayer, which goes to show that AI translation is no match for native human insight.

Maui's song being a prayer is a friggin big deal.

Maui's stories span the width & breadth of the pacific islands, and each culture arising from those island tells variations on that legend. some emphasize his rebellious side, others his inventiveness, still others his drive, his humor, his ingenuity, his pride. But a common theme in most is that this man, this demigod- he does NOT get along with the majority of his ancestors or the gods. Even when he's not outright malevolent to them, he's tricking them or undermining their effort. He's usually stubbornly self-sufficient, if he gets help from someone divine, its usually because he tricked them into doing it. Maui does not beg, he does not plead. (at least, not with any lasting sincerity). he's a charmer, a schemer.

But here he is, his tattoos stripped away, his hook gone, his beloved Moana growing colder and colder- he's out of tricks. he's out of time, out of power. he's as helpless as the day he was thrown into the ocean to save her. rock bottom, figuratively and literally.

he does the absolute last thing he can, born of pure desperation. pure grief, pure need. He prays.

he prays not expecting an answer. he prays, knowing that the gods and all his family would relish the chance to tell him to fuck all the way off. he prays, even if to no one but moana's lifeless body.

i often joke that maui is bad at feelings. but really what i mean is that maui is bad at regulating his feelings. he represses them as hard as he can, denies them, wraps them in humor and when that fails he straight up tries to out run them. its a maladaptive coping skill he's had to pick up over his immortal 3000 year lifespan because otherwise, he'd be wallowing in endless grief as friend after friend either dies or lives long enough to become his antagonist. boy has some serious trauma built up and no good examples of how to handle it in a healthy way.

until moana.

moana provided an example of how to be vulnerable without being weak. a safe space where he could share his heart and be met with understanding and validation. we see him mature, even fractionally, and in the sequel he's not nearly so closed off. he worries openly about moana, admits his concerns about the mission, even returns moana's favor from the first film and gives her a sincere, supportive pep talk.

but all his progress in processing his emotions seems to backfire in this moment. the first time he'd opened his heart to a fragile mortal friend and here he is, exactly as he feared, devastated at her passing. He had invested real time and care and attachment into this human and he's utterly shattered that its all coming to an end so fast. that he'll never experience her voice or her smile or her wit ever again.

she's precious to him. he cant bear to lose her. his sadness in more crushing than the ocean he's surrounded by, denser than the rock he kneels upon. even if he got his powers back, even if he pulled up a million islands, if Moana isn't there to land on them...there's no point.

less than 10 minutes ago he was ready to die for her.

3 minutes ago in movie time, maui faced his own mortality. powers stripped bare, down to his last ounce of strength, frying in impossible lightning heat, he kept struggling. the first look he gives moana is fear, raw and unfamiliar on that handsome face. but in this penultimate moment, his eyes meet moana's. his grimace gentles, eyebrows lift, gaze softens into a regretful, heart melting smile. he finds small comfort in seeing moana for one last time, seeing her unhurt, hearing her call his name. the rope slips from his grip, and somewhere in the milliseconds between lightning flashes, he relaxes, relief skitters across his features. perhaps he thinks "ahh, at least she's ok." "at least she'll outlive me". perhaps he has a moment of acceptance for his fate, knowing she's proud of him, knowing he did his very best. maybe he thinks ,"this way ill be sure to meet her again, in the afterlife. its for the best."

or maybe, just maybe, he thinks

"see you out there, moana."

but now, 3 minutes later, its once again the worst case scenario. any relief he had in that last smile at her is obliterated in the wake of his grief. its once again the worst case scenario. he's not thinking now of the curse being broken or his hook or his tattoos. a world that she's not in, whether he be human or demigod, is not a world he can stand to exist in. he cant do this without her. he needs her.

so he digs deep inside himself, through the pain or losing her, through his own family trauma and antagonism towards authority, and pride, to beg, on his knees for help from a higher power. its unclear to us if he's intending to pray to the gods or to his own ancestors or both or neither. to anyone who can help. to anyone who will listen.

and its neither of those sources who answer, at least, not as directly as matai vasa or tala do. its moana's kin, her loved ones, (eventually including the ocean), who answer from the great beyond. he looks them in the eyes and they weep with him. they sing power over moana and the impossible happens.

(salacious handholding occurs)

the stars are put back in maui's eyes, the sun back into his sky.

does this mean...

yes.

his tattoos are still cooler than hers.

even when theyre mad at him. (same, little guy, same.)

bruh.

now kiss