#oh gee! event

[yoonyeon0]

Omggee congratulations on 50+ followers yooo

Could I request a fluffy gaolang x reader where reader tries their darndest to get gaolang to paint his nails pink for valentines day

🙏🙏🙏🙏 thank youu🙇🙇🙇

PINK MANICURES W/ GAOLANG

DAY ONE - PAINTING YOUR NAILS AND BEGGING GAOLANG TO JOIN!

NOT PROOFREAD; word count : 928

masterlist - oh gee!

it was a fairly chilly day, most people deciding to stay inside because of it. you were one of those people, staying inside and doing most household chores and entertaining yourself since your husband had gone to work hours prior.

while watching boring documentaries and skipping past channels for anything interesting your eyes were also getting very distracted by your nails. you sat there, staring at your nails for a fairly long time, inspecting the natural beauty of them before getting the best idea - why don’t you paint them?

it was 5:28 pm and you were looking around the house for any decor you could put on your boring nails until you found it. a beauty baby pink nail polish. it was perfect! valentines was coming up anyway so why not?

you sat down quickly and got to work. quickly preparing your nails for the polish by cutting your cuticles and putting on a base peeling coat.

hours passed like minutes and every second that passed made you visibly wanna cry. why did you suddenly decide to make these simple nails so much harder? adding gems and designs should be left to the professionals but apparently you were one as well!

you were too busy working on your last nail to notice the sound of the door opening and closing behind you and shoes clacking off until the deep voice of your husband sounded behind you accompanied by a kiss to your cheek.

“hi dear. how was your day?”

you turned your head and smiled upon realizing who was looking at you now - your sweet loving husband.

“it was soo boring. you know, you really shouldn’t have left me, your beautiful, amazing, and angelic wife here alone.” you said sarcastically.

“i know. im sorry love, i promise ill stay here with you more okay?”

“kaolang i was being sarcastic about that. enough about me, how was your day?”

he heaved out a sigh and avoided your gaze a little before muttering a simple “it was like normal”

obviously something had happened but you couldn’t decipher what. you wanted to pesk him about it and ask why he was feeling so tense but he had already walked away. you stared at your husband as he slowly walked to your shared bedroom to change. you gave a small frown, a little sad that your large husband was stressed about something and you couldn’t reallly do anything about it.

until you remembered your pink nails. you could paint gaolang’s nails! i mean, matching is so adorable and he wouldn’t mind right?

you got up from the chair you were seated on to your shared bedroom where gaolang was currently changing.

“honey, do you want me to do your nails?”

gaolong’s shirt was halfway off and he was now looking at you with a surprised look (which was really just his eyes widening.) his shock seemed to disappear immediately as he finished taking off his shirt to approach you.

“my nails? what brought this on?”

“oh nothing! i just wanted us to match for valentines!”

you could tell he was debating on how to tell you no in the kindest way he could but you couldn’t decipher also tell that he immediately gave up.

“of course dear.”

╴╴╴╴╴⊹˚

you were seated in front of kaolong, watching him look intently at the baby pink polish you put on his nails. you giggled slightly, catching his attention.

“what’s funny?”

“your reaction! you need to calm down - im the one doing this so you are in good hands.”

he gave a small chuckle before deciding to let his body go a little less tense than it was already. you noticed this and smiled. now that he was clearly calmer, you decided to take the initiative to ask what happened at work today.

”hey honey, what happened at work today? you seem more tense than usually.”

he obviously didn’t wanna talk about what happened to avoid adding more on your plate to stress about so as usual he thought about if he should tell you before giving in.

“one of my opponents had made a nasty comment on you and it really pissed me off. maybe that’s what has me so tense.”

you let out light chuckles before exhaling with a big smile on your smile on your face.

“you know gaolong, you’re adorable.”

that one remark made gaolong blush in shock. he put his head down in order to hide his blush a bit but you stopped him by taking your hand to cup your cheek and slowly caress it.

“you’re getting all worked up over a little stupid remark. next time if they have something to say about me, tell them to come and say it to my face.”

he was shocked at the words coming out of your mouth but pleased that you weren’t scared to defend yourself.

“okay love. ill try.”

“enough about all of that sad and sappy shit. look at your nails! they’re so cute and we match!”

you put both of your hands on gaolong’s rough and beaten hands, feeling the dedication to his craft residing within them. you smiled as your hands were obviously softer than his rough hands. you saw how much he does for you to live a comfortable life and it made you smile. you quickly stopped daydreaming as you saw him tilting his head in confusion as you were staring at him and not the nails.

“we should post these on insta! hold on, let me get my phone!”

erm guys i don’t like this - probably butchered this SO bad but we persevere 😓

𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙤𝙣! 𝘿𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙡, 𝙘𝙤𝙥𝙮 𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙨𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙢𝙮 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠.

[aestariiwilderness]

But yes – sure, “Free Palestine!” supporters are worried for the Palestinian children. This man was so concerned “for the children”, in fact, that he directly copied Hamas’ efforts and…shot children to demonstrate his concern for children. Likewise – again imitating Hamas and so many other so-called Pro-Palestinians – he held individual children responsible for the imaginary crimes of a Christian elementary school/imaginary crimes of a nation, and attempted to kill them for it. And planned to do so again. Oh, and it’s not even done! To cap it all off, he planned to use his own "child" as a weapon to kill more children, in his concern “for the children”. Just like Hamas and the Palestinians themselves, who regularly send their own children as suicide bombers to Israel to kill Jews; who systematically brainwash their children into thinking their lives are only worth however many Jews they can kill. 

There is no sense here; there is no moral high ground, there is no freedom or justice or actual concern for anyone. There is only unreasoning, bigoted hate and a manic love of death. 

The children he shot -- 5 and 6 years old, respectively -- are alive, thank God.

[y-vna]

　❘❙ 　✢ 　You'll be the prince

　❘❙ 　✢ 　and I'll be the princess 　🍥　 @wintercitos ˖

Tysm @p-oisn for helping me with this mb ヽ(●´ε｀●)ノ

- I only put these versions, so the cover for lover matches the moodboard colors, but you should totally listen to Taylor's version of these songs instead! :33

[lowrezbonuslevel]

ew icky puter

they might be stupid idk

the above is star dream's base form. currently working on the form they might take after the "cool corporate spy incident."

[osaemu]

3K ?!!! WE CHEERED OMG ! !

💌💌 omg my baby is shoo famous neow dont forget about us little bunnies when u touch the stars ! !⭐⭐ im shoo proud of u my hannah banana , i love u shoo much i cherish u so close to me my little tulip in da spring ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

YUYUUUU IM LITERALLY TYPIN UP MY ASK FOR UR EVENT RIGHT NOW ! 🥹🥹 NOOO you'll always be one of my first (and cutest !) moots ever mwah mwah <333 ILYSM SENDING U LOTS OF LOVE !!

[deathsmallcaps]

Replying to tags but then I ran out of room and I think i was if not cooking then at least microwaving

#dude when I was in 6th grade I read #the veldt #and at the time it disgusted and genuinely scared me because I was #just so surprised that people - children! - could be raised to be so heartless #idk if I read it for the first time as a 23 year old it would scare me so much #but goddamn

#I think we're both people who are *at least* good at literacy but we're both a little too STEMmy #to look at it the way some English teachers want us to? #like they want people to go from 'damn that's fucked up → what themes are the authors trying to explore here → what about the world #made them think of that and perhaps what are they trying to get us to consider and think about and perhaps change' #obviously not all writing is a fable with a moral at the end #but a lot of good writing has some sort of central belief that it wants the reader to consider

#(I struggle in creating that with my fiction ugh and I think a lot of booktok books do too and it bugs me that we have that connection)

#but anyway #I think you and I'd first reactions are like #’that's horrible → how can we prevent that specific problem from occurring again' #like take the lottery. my (and maybe your?) first reaction is like 'that's horrible → they should ban the lottery' #but the English teacher is going to want us to think 'oh gee okay so this is a commentary on traditions. why would this tradition be started #/necessary? does the lottery reflect the overall morals and sensibilities of the overall society (aka fond of the death penalty etc). #what sort of tradition might this mirror today? connecting to historical events and the fact that the person stoned and the author were #women. aka the gender commonly stoned for witchcraft in New England #do you think that's related?' etc etc etc wrapped in metaphors and shit. and tbh that's how I learned a lot of my religious and political #philosophy as well as history. I really like Thomas swift's 'a modest proposal' (satire) for that reason.

but that was NOT my initial #thought process for English class. I had to be heavily trained into thinking that way and often my first instinct is to not engage with the #metaphor an just go straight to the logic/sensible answer. blah blah blah. I really respect lit and history teachers as a profession but boy #do I not want to teach it because I would be so slack on writing the kinds of questions that would get the kids to engage with the meta. #once I got a piece I got it but it was a struggle every damn time. because I had to get over my feelings of well why didn't they just not #do that'

the biggest one I can think of is 'song of Solomon' by Toni Morrison. I think my senior AP English teacher wanted us to really #consider authors and characters of color (he was white but it was 2018-2019 aka Trump era) so he taught us othello and TM. othello is a #little easier to understand because iago is just being a little bitch about a Black foreigner getting a promotion and a hot wife and no longer being able to convince himself that he was better than Othello

But TM’s main character Milkman? Unlikeable, spoiled little shit who doesn’t give a damn that he’s the 1 percent of his marginalized community and he’s frittering his privileges away so hard that it literally induces suicidal and murderous tendencies into the people around him. Among other things.

It took me foreverrrrrr to engage with the text beyond GOD I HATE THIS GUY but once I was able to examine his psychology and the mean flip side of ‘if you want to fly, you have to get rid of earthly attachments’, which he does at the end of the story.

Was it a chore? Absolutely. But have I ever forgotten the story or the literary tools it gave me? No.

Maybe I’m just speaking for myself in this longass response - you and I usually talk animals and men not books 😅 - but yeah every English class is full of these annoying stories that are meant to rattle one’s brain and I REALLY avoid rattling lmao. Tbqh again I respect lot classes but I’m glad they’re over lmao

But anyways I listened to Levar Burton’s podcast ‘Levar Burton Reads’ from start to finish, and he once read (as a three parter) Toni Morrison’s Recitatif. It’s the story of two girls, one Black one white, who grew up around and with and against each other during the mid 1900s.

I didn’t know what the story was getting at, aside from the surface ideas of the American Civil Rights Movement and privilege and stuff. But LB usually asked questions or briefly mentioned the author’s main idea at the end. And when he did? HOLY FUCK.

If you ever decide to listen to it (I’ve never gotten my hands to a print copy so idk if they usually have some sort of author’s note at the end to ask the reader this question)(I love LB’s voice he’s a pleasure to listen to if you listen to Recitatif) please @ me and tell me if it also blew your mind and made you consider how you viewed the POV character of the story.

Because it blew my mind and made me really consider why I assumed things about the pov character. Im not going to say anything further because I feel like I’m spoiling the point but yeah.

Anyways again this could be just me but I’ve always had trouble moving on from the straight solution mindset. When I was 12 I was in a model UN and I was told to write a report about Togo and its healthcare issues. I took this to mean that I had to research the common issues there (such as unclean water and mosquito bite diseases) and then come up with solutions.

It was incredibly embarrassing to do all that and then hear every other group explain their countries healthcare issues and WHY (historically, monetarily, etc) their countries struggled with such things. And my ass went up there and talked about affordable mosquito deterrent changes to water sources and cheap water cleaning services.

I didn’t realize it then but like. It perfectly exemplified my lack of instinct to subtextually interact with instructions and prompts.

And the thing is. May the universe bless and boost the fucking lit teachers out there because my poor students are entering math class with lit skills 6 grades under where they should be and are genuinely unable to interact with straightforward STEM instructions. My college had every ed major take a ‘teaching literacy’ class and sure I passed but the thing is. I’m not really the person that’s supposed to catch these kids on that subject. I’m supposed to be a secondary math teacher. So a lot of the advice in that class simply wasn’t applicable and I wish it was!!! I’d be happy to help in that subject but also I WAS TRAINED TO BE A MATH TEACHER. AND MOST LITERACY AND LANGUAGE DIFFICULTY COURSES ARE NOT DESIGNED WITH STEM IN MIND. (Which is why I want to learn enough Spanish that I can teach kids learning English math as well because that’s an area that doesn’t get a lot of crossover and a lot of kids fall through).

Well this turned into a ramble goodnight lmao. I’d say this was a decently microwaved thought track lol

[jieas]

japanese national team wrestlers...

[f1nneas]

I love you Jesse from pitch perfect

[slutoru1207]

Stranger in a Strange Land

Viltrimite!Mark x Reader

When Mark first arrived on Earth, he saw it as nothing more than a mission. A planet to study, integrate into, and eventually conquer.

Then, he met you.

It wasn’t anything dramatic. No explosions, no fights, no cosmic events shifting fate itself. You just… bumped into him.

Literally.

You were in a rush, balancing coffee, your bag, and about ten different things when you crashed right into him—and bounced off like you hit a brick wall.

Your coffee spilled. Your things scattered. And you ended up on the pavement, blinking up at the tall, broad strangerwho didn’t even budge.

He looked down at you, eyebrows furrowed, golden eyes studying you with sharp curiosity.

“…You’re fragile.”

That was the first thing he said to you.

And instead of being terrified—you got annoyed.

"Gee, thanks, man," you muttered, gathering your things. "Glad to know I’m not made of steel."

His head tilted, clearly confused. You sighed. Another clueless dude with zero social skills.

Still, he crouched, far too close, picking up your bag like it weighed nothing before offering you a hand.

That’s when you got a good look at him.

He was gorgeous.

Tall, stupidly muscular, sharp jawline, tousled black hair—but his eyes. They were different. Golden, intense, watching you like you were some strange new species.

You hesitated before taking his hand.

It was warm. Solid. And when he pulled you up—he lifted you effortlessly, like you weighed nothing.

That was the beginning.

-

You quickly learned that Mark wasn’t just weird.

He was entirely clueless.

He didn’t understand social norms, personal space, or why humans didn’t casually lift cars to move them out of parking spots.

"What do you mean I can’t?" he frowned, watching as you dragged him away from a busy intersection. "It’s inefficient."

"It’s illegal," you corrected. "And it freaks people out!"

"But I’m helping."

"You're scaring people, Mark!"

He looked at the pedestrians, who were staring in horror after watching him lift a sedan with one hand.

"…They should be grateful."

You groaned. "Okay, we need to talk."

Mark didn’t understand human food, either.

"You’re telling me," he said, staring at the plate of pancakes in front of him, "that this is considered 'breakfast'?"

"Yeah?" you said, confused. "Why? What do you eat?"

His eyes darkened just slightly.

You decided not to ask.

Instead, you shoved a fork into his hand. "Just try it."

He sighed, looking skeptical—but took a bite.

And then… he froze.

You watched as his expression slowly shifted—surprise, wonder, then… something almost like awe.

"…This is good," he muttered.

You grinned. "See? Welcome to the magic of pancakes."

For the first time, he smiled.

A real, genuine, boyish grin. And it made your stomach flip.

-

Mark was blunt, honest, and terrifyingly intense.

But as time passed, he softened—at least around you.

You caught him watching you sometimes. Not in a creepy way—but in pure fascination.

"You’re so small," he’d say out of nowhere.

You raised an eyebrow. "Gee, thanks."

His lips twitched. "I like it."

…Oh.

Then there were the moments he got protective.

Like the time a guy got too close, too pushy.

Mark didn’t say a word. Didn’t need to.

He just stepped forward, standing at his full overpowering height, eyes glowing, and… yeah. The guy practically ran.

You had to drag Mark away before he could actually kill someone.

"You can’t just threaten people, Mark!"

"Why not?"

"Because that’s not how humans work!"

"Then how do I make sure no one touches you?"

You paused.

Your heart pounded.

"...You just ask me if I want them to."

His gaze flickered. He was silent for a long time before muttering, "I don’t want anyone else to touch you."

Oh.

-

Mark didn’t know what love was.

Not in the way humans did.

But he knew that whenever he was near you, his chest felt lighter. That when you laughed, something warm spread through him. That when you weren’t around, he felt restless.

And when someone even looked at you the wrong way, he had to physically restrain himself from acting on pure, primal instinct.

So, one night—he just asked.

"What does it mean when you want to keep someone?"

You blinked. "What?"

"When you don’t want anyone else near them. When you think about them constantly. When their happiness makes your chest feel—" he paused, searching for the word, "—lighter."

Your heart stopped.

Slowly, you set your drink down. "Mark…"

He stared at you, waiting. Expectant. Hopeful.

"You’re describing love," you whispered.

Something in his expression shifted.

For a long time, he didn’t say anything. Then, finally—he reached for your hand.

His grip was gentle. Careful.

Like he had already decided.

"Then, I love you."

And just like that—you were ruined.

[thrilling-oneway]

we're so fucking back

[cyber333angel]

like imagine sugar daddy! rafe begging to eat you out after rinsing his money on yu x

i would die i think x

-🎀

⋆｡ ୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ ˚୨୧⋆｡

you had just finished shopping with rafe at a couple of different stores, ending your journey at one of your favorite places, victoria secret. he had already spoiled you too much today but it was always worth it.

so as your walking around the shop pointing out what you liked, you decided you wanted to try a few sets on to make sure it would fit. rafe sat down next to the dressing room with your bags bought from expensive brands, places only kooks could afford, waiting as you tried on the pretty lingerie. they all fit perfectly except one was pretty hard to zip so you asked for help, “rafe could you come in here please? quick!” you yell to him, he picks up his head from his phone and walks into the large stall, locking the door behind him. “i just need you to zip this up. i think the zipper jammed-“ you stop talking for a moment, watching rafe in the mirror in front of you stare you down head to toe. “rafey! are you listening?” and he snaps from the trance. “yeah..yeah im listening kid. turn around.” you do as your told as rafe walks up to you, bracing his hand on your shoulder as he pulls the he zipper up.

you squeal looking at yourself, happy of how the lingerie fits. “oh em gee! rafe doesn’t this make me look so pretty! what do you think?” you turn to look up at him but jerk your head back a bit when he grabs you by the waist inching himself closer to you. “this little get-up is for me hm princess? teasing me because you wanted daddy to touch you?” rafe asked you with a stern voice, his sudden actions make you fluster.

the two of you had agreed on a strictly money based relationship when you first started out, having you attend all the prestigious events to impress the kooks with his pretty girl on his side. but over the weeks you noticed he would look at you and hint things in a way that was not so professional. “no rafe! remember we said no sex and that this was only a business relationship?!” you tell him, although you were only trying to convince yourself at this point. “business relationship my ass you know you want more than that. why don’t you let me make you feel good huh? you look so pretty for me..” you look at him hesitantly, “I don’t know rafey..” and he twists his head to the side. “please baby?” his begging getting the best of you, you nod knowing what he said before was right and rafe flashes you a handsome smile. “theres my good girl.”

you sat in the chair that was in the dressing room, your legs spread out in front of his face as he lapped at your soaked folds. he had taken the lower part of your lingerie off, carful not to ruin it so he could buy it after he was done with you.

you were barely able to contain your moans as he sucked on your bud, his biceps wrapped around your legs forcing your heat to be close to his face. rafe mumbled little nothings under his breath, praising you. “taste so fucking good for daddy baby ..” you mewled at him, squirming around the chair and arching your back as he held you in place, “stay fuckin still alright?” he told you, pausing for a moment to get your response and you nod frantically. “mm yes daddy m’trying!” and the brunette goes back to licking stripes up into your cunt. “let’s hurry this up yeah?” you whine and cover your mouth as he takes two fingers, plunging them into your heat.

rafe thrusts his fingers in and out of your pussy, urging you to cum and you hump at his fingers, making rafe chuckle, “you really want to cum huh needy girl?” you ignore him as he places little kisses to your sloppy cunt making your hips buck. rafe sucks at your sensitive bud a few more times and you cum, your slick covering the bottom on his chin leaving you out of breath.

rafe licks the arousal of his fingers but sees you spread out on the chair out of breath. suddenly taking your jaw with his other hand and shoving the wet digits into your mouth. “taste how fuckin sweet you were for me..” you moan quietly around his fingers, slurping up the juices left as he looks at you.

he takes his fingers from your mouth, helping you clean you up and puts the lingerie set back in your shopping basket to pay for at the cashier desk. “lets go pay sweetheart. ” he tells you.

[roc-haze]

Cry To Me | WillNE

You weren’t too sure how you’d ended up in a dingy pub on a Thursday evening, but the second Arthur Hill had figured out you had an upcoming long weekend, you were done for.

“Oh come on, Y/N! We’re going out for a few quiet pints.” He had said, sitting on your sofa a few days before.

“Who’s we, Arthur?” You had pried, eyebrow slightly quirked.

“Well me, obviously. Clarkey, TV, Chris, Becky, Chip and Sabina.” He rattled off friends, thinking out loud to see who had he forgotten. “Pretty sure that’s everyone… oh wait, Will! Will Lenney.”

Your cheeks flushed. Will didn’t often come out with the group, choosing to strategically avoid the filming of pub golf and platform roulette. Basically any event in which cameras could catch him being embarrassingly drunk. Arthur had asked him, only to be met with disappointment.

Out of all the YouTube crew, Will had always caught your eye. You both tended to sit back and enjoy the chaos of everyone hanging out together, opting for meaningful conversation where possible. You swiped up on each other’s stories, often texted songs through to each other and Will was a regular commenter on your Strava account. I heard you run faster if you listen to AC/DC.

“Oh that’s right, I forget you have a bit of a hard on for him.” Arthur teased, laughing as the red flush spread across your cheeks.

“Fuck off, Arthur!” You laughed. “You’ve come into my flat, drank all my coffee and now you’re taking the piss out of me.”

“Yeah, what are friends for?” Cheeky grin on his face, Arthur dodged the onslaught of cushions thrown at his face.

So, here you were.

Becky and Sabina had naturally gravitated towards you, occupying the end of the table. You were a few wines in when Sab had pulled out her phone, eager to share her camera roll.

“You would think that Josh and Freezy are engaged, the way they are glued to each other.” Sabina laughed, showing the two of you photos from The Fellas Podcast shoot earlier that week.

“Remember that TikTok trend? The best friend Steve one?” You asked in between giggles.

“Yes! The ‘it’s just me and you and your friend Steve’ one! These two idiots would be perfect for that!” Becky was in stitches, scrolling through Sab’s photo gallery.

“What are we laughing at, ladies?” You had heard him before you laid eyes on him. Turning your head, the tall Geordie man was stood behind you with a grin on his face.

“Will, you have to see this!” Sab turned her phone screen around for him to see.

She was met with a loud, hearty laugh. “That’s almost romantic, innit!”. Will politely made small talk with Sabina and Becky, his eyes barely leaving your face as you enthusiastically listened to your girlfriends.

“Would any of you like a top up? I’m headed up to get a drink?” He asked, met with polite declines. He placed a hand on your shoulder, meeting your gaze. “I’m glad you’re here. I was hoping you would be.” And with that, he had made his way up to the bar, hugging his friends as he went.

You lightly run your hand over your shoulder, a sudden warmth making its way up your neck and to your cheeks.

Becky caught the gesture, smirking at you. “Babe, come on. You better jump his bones soon.” You laughed her off. Don’t be silly, Becks. We’re just mates. Friends probably don’t stare at each other longingly.

—

About two hours and 3 rounds had passed when George had located the jukebox. He had excitedly run up to you, grabbing your hand and pulling you over to the machine.

“I know you love cute shit like this, Y/N. I thought I’d let you pick a song.” George passed you a coin.

The catalogue was mostly 60s and 70s singles, which made it impossible to pick just one song. Taking a quick glance through the selections, you settled for the Bee Gees ‘More Than A Woman’. A few moments after inserting the song, the sound of digital strings and synthetic bass filled the room. You stood at the jukebox with a massive grin adorning your face, swaying to the Bee Gees.

On the way back to the table, an elderly gentleman had stopped you in your tracks.

“Excuse me, miss. Is that a working jukebox?” He softly asked, his kind eyes meeting your own.

“Yes! Would you like me to show you?” You extended your arm out, helping him to his feet.

George looked to you. “Have you got this?”

“Yeah, I’ll be back to the table in a few minutes.” He nodded, returning to the group.

You reached the jukebox, looking through the selections with the man. “There are just too many good choices, aren’t there? I might have to go with Elvis or Solomon Burke next.”

He looked up from the catalogue, surprised look on his face. “I don’t meet too many young people who fancy Solomon Burke.”

“Really? I remember him from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack.” You cracked a smile.

The elderly man extended his hand for you to shake. “I better introduce myself. My name is Thomas.”

“Y/N. Glad to meet you.” You shook his hand gently.

“The pleasure is mine,” Thomas had a kind smile. “That lovely lady over there is my wife Edith. She’s been a bit nervous to be out and about as she had a fall a few months ago.”

“Oh no, is she doing okay now?” Your face had dropped, ever the look of empathy covering it.

“Yes, she’s well again. I think just a bit cautious. I’d love to get her up for a dance.” Thomas picked a song, inserting a coin.

“Well, if Edith decides to turn you down - I’d love a dance.” The two of you walked back to his table, exchanging a smile as he bid you farewell.

Returning to your group of friends, Will gestured for you to fill the empty seat next to him.

“Making friends, are we?” Will teased, lightly running his hand over the top of your own.

“Yeah, that’s my new bestie Thomas. He’s wanting to have a dance but I think Edith is a little nervous. She’s not long had a bit of a fall.” You looked back at the couple, waving back when Edith had raised her hand.

“Why don’t we give them some encouragement? Maybe she just needs to see someone else absolutely tearing it up on the dance floor.” Will laughed, a soft laugh rumbling through his chest.

As ‘More Than A Woman’ reached its final notes, it was soon replaced by Solomon Burke’s ‘Cry To Me’.

Will rose to his feet, holding his hand out for you to grab. He walked right up to the couple, flashing a cheeky smile at Edith. “I was hoping you two could teach us to dance?”

Edith just couldn’t resist. Not that you could blame her. Who could say no to Will? Extending his hand out to her, Will helped Edith to her feet and got her acquainted on the makeshift dance floor. As you watched on, you felt a tap on your shoulder.

“Shall we?” Thomas offered an arm, positioning the two of you not too far from Edith and Will. As her smile grew, so did his. Will had Edith giggling, spinning her around without a care in the world.

“He seems like a good man.” Thomas had said to you, speaking as though it were matter of fact.

You smiled straight at him. “He is.” That answer must’ve sufficed, as Thomas tried his best to spin you around.

Across the pub, Becky sat fighting back tears.

“Are you alright Becks?” George had asked, struggling to figure out why the girl was suddenly upset.

“Does that not make you want to cry? Look at how cute they are dancing with that elderly couple.” Becky gestured toward Y/N and Will, dabbing underneath her eyes.

ArthurTV piped in, his own eyes shining with unshed tears. “I heard Y/N say the lady was afraid to dance because she’s just had a fall.”

With that, Becky’s first tear dropped. “And Will got her up dancing? That is so sweet!”.

A few moments of idle chat later, the song was nearly over and Will was handing Edith back off to her husband.

“Thomas, do you mind if I steal the young lady for a dance?” Will gently placed a hand on Tom’s shoulder.

“Of course you can. You better get in before her dance card is full.” Thomas joked, squeezing your hand before turning to Edith.

Edith caught your eye, pointing to Will. “He’s gorgeous!” She mouthed.

“You’re telling me!” You whispered back, letting the Geordie man lead you to the middle of the dance floor.

The song changed to Frankie Valli’s ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’.

“I thought you liked Frankie.” Will smiled down at you, one hand planted firmly on your waist and the other intertwined with your own. You ran your free hand along his arm, settling it just below his shoulder.

“I love Frankie Valli. I didn’t realise you did too?” You couldn’t remember Will ever mentioning him.

“Oh, I don’t really. You mentioned that you had a few of his albums on vinyl so I gave him a whirl. If you weren’t the one who recommended him, it probably wouldn’t be my vibe.” Will looked around the room, avoiding eye contact in case he’d given away too much. Shit Will, that sounds a bit feral.

“And given that I was the one that recommended it, what do you think?” You squeezed his hand, urging him to meet your eyes.

“Well, Y/N. I like pretty much whatever you like. I think it’s pretty special that you feel like sharing your favourite music with me.” He swallowed hard, stretching his arm out to spin her around in a circle.

As you completed the circle and found yourself back in his grip, you let it slip nonchalantly. “So you must like yourself then?”

“Oh, I go alright.” It took a moment for Will to register what you had said. “Wait. Did you just say what I think you said?”

Deciding to be brave, you stopped in your tracks, dropping your hands to rest on his forearms. “Yeah, I did.”

Will’s hands trailed alongside your sides, leaving a wake of tingles where he had touched you. He placed his hands on either side of your face, looking directly at you. “D’ya mean it?”.

“Oh yeah. I’ve got a big fat schoolgirl crush.” You laughed, breath hitching as Will lightly traced his thumb across your bottom lip. He moved closer.

“That is the best news I’ve heard all fucking week.” His lips ghosted yours, nervous to make the first move.

Edith yelled from across the pub, “oh just kiss her, you silly bastard!”.

That was all the encouragement Will needed, connecting your lips together. If it weren’t for the fact he were right across from you, you could’ve sworn there were actual sparks touching your lips. Your hands find themselves resting on his back, as he used one hand to gingerly hold your face and the other to takes its place in your hair. He lightly tugged on strands of hair, prompting a small gasp to leave your lips. He smiled into the kiss before pulling apart for just a moment.

“So, is it safe to say you like like me?” You winked up at him.

“Sweetheart, I fucking yearn for you,” he pulled you into his chest, arms wrapping securely around you. He placed another quick kiss to your lips. “Let’s go home.”

…..

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

And the winner of the poll is….. WillNE!

Thanks so much for voting!

Would love to dedicate this cute little one shot to @octaneink 🫶

[honeyryewhiskey]

it's just a stupid holiday

abt, dean takes his cupid to a valentine's gala, where a rogue angel has been preying on adulterers. you're just excited to be part of the chaos, and dean is trying desperately to keep his focus on the mission and not on his bubbly lovebird wrapped in a little red dress. what could possibly go wrong with this situation?  cw, grumpyxsunshine go on a fake date  ! dean practicing restraint ! and failing bc this stupid cupid is just so sweet ! fluff !  mentions of violence but no gruesome details, mdni, 18+  3.9k words

“i still don’t get why it has to be me doing this crap,” dean groans, shifting uncomfortably in his usual seat behind the impala’s wheel. his fingers drum against it as he scowls out the windshield.

sam, sitting to his right, doesn’t bother looking up from the stack of papers he’s reviewing. “because you’re better at the whole…” he gestures vaguely, searching for the right words, “pretending-to-be-charming-with-women thing.”

dean snorts, tossing his brother a sideways glare. “gee, thanks, sammy. real boost to the ‘ol self-esteem.” he rolls his eyes and adjusts the rearview mirror—only to catch a glimpse of you in the backseat.

that stupid dress. that strappy, red, distracting dress. you’re busy fiddling with the silky hem, completely oblivious to the way it hugs you in all the right places.

dean clears his throat sharply. fidgeting with his suit tie, he forces his eyes back to the road. “hey, cupid,” he growls, trying to sound annoyed instead of flustered. “remember, this is a job. we’re not going to this thing to drink champagne and play house. we’re hunting. focus.”

you lean forward, resting your arms on the back of their seat. a playful grin spreads across your lips as you reach out to pinch his cheek. “oh, dean, don’t you worry,” you assure, ignoring his quick swat at your hand. “i’ll be the best hunting partner ever. all business. no play.”

you deepen your voice, mimicking his usual gruff tone. “just like you.”

dean groans louder this time, and sam smirks faintly without looking up.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

the plan for tonight? attend some high society valentine’s night gala as dean’s date, while sam kept watch of the perimeter. honestly all you really heard was sam and dean entrusting you to go undercover on a hunt with them—and you smiled so hard your cheeks ached (to which the brothers again started bickering about whether or not including you was a good idea). then they explained the holiday, humans practically worshipping cupids for a day, the excitement thrummed through you so hard you damn near passed out right there in the middle of the war room. 

sam and dean made it sound so straightforward, but as you walked into the venue—your arm looped through a stiff and uncomfortable dean’s—it became glaringly obvious this event would be anything but simple.  

red and pink heart shaped balloons spilled out from the entrance, framing a sleek red carpet scattered with rose petals that guided you into the heart of the party. the ballroom was enormous, yet nearly every inch of the room was drenched in lavish decor—flowers, jewels, endless shades of red and pink. a sizable crowd mingled beneath the dazzling display, their chatter blending harmoniously with the soft, elegant symphony flowing from the orchestra on stage. 

a small gasp left your painted lips as you took everything in, “this is incredible.”

dean, watching you carefully as your eyes darted from one dazzling detail to the next, murmured, “yeah, sure is.” his voice was barely audible in that soft tone. 

you peeled your gaze away from the galore, meeting his with that sugary sweet smile that makes his knees grow weak. “this is really all for cupids and love?” 

his brows cock as he considers your words, trying for once to not immediately destroy the innocence beaming from your eyes with his charmingly pessimistic perspective on, well, everything. “yeah,” he clears his throat, his arm slipped from yours, absentmindedly raising his hand to push the stray hairs that had fallen in your face, he hated when anything—anything at all—hid that view. “all of this exists because of what you lovebirds do to us.” 

you’ve gotten sharper in the weeks you’ve spent with the winchesters. picking up on what they call sarcasm and double meanings isn’t the easiest, but you’ve become so observant of dean you can almost feel it when he says one thing, and inside guards his true emotions. something in the way his face tightens, how deep of a breath he takes to release the stress, you’re not even sure if he’s aware of these tells but you know better than to clue him in on your cheat codes for decoding this ever-complicated man. 

dean sighs, slipping his hands into his dress pants as his eyes scanned the crowd, “alright little angel, let’s—”

you’re about ten feet away before he can finish his sentence, bee-lining to a side table overflowing with chocolate boxes, teddy bears, bouquets, flower-shaped ornaments, and so many little cherubs adorning nearly every item. 

a woman dressed in crisp black and white approached you with a polite smile, balancing a platter of dainty, bite-sized cakes. “please, help yourself to anything you’d like. mr. and mrs. nightingale donated all of these lovely trinkets for our guests.” 

“uh, we’re good on toys, thanks.” a gruff voice booms over your shoulder. dean snakes one arm around your waist as he reaches out with his free hand, swiping two mini cakes off the platter. the woman shot him a withering glare before turning away. 

“here.” he muttered, plopping one of the treats into your open palm, devouring the other in one bite. 

“but, dean,” you whine, dropping the cake onto the table and reaching for a plush brown bear sitting front and center. 

dean’s grip around your waist tightened, pulling you snug against his chest. the sudden shift made you wobble on the cherry-red heels you’d only recently learned to walk in.

“nuh uh.” he hums, low and firm. “business, lovebird. focus.” 

your pouted lips and narrowed eyes meet his steady squint—a silent warning for you to cut it out. 

“fine.” you whimper, giving the bear one last wistful glance before turning reluctantly back to the crowd. “what are we doing again?” 

“trying to figure out who the next victim is, while sam watches for the angel.” leaning down so only you could hear. his breath on your ear sends little sockwaves down your spine, his tone low to avoid drawing attention from the nearby guests. “think your cupid crap can sniff out any cheaters in the crowd?” 

your brows knit as you try to focus your energy on observing with your angel vision. you can’t necessarily see or smell infidelity, but there are glittering strings that exist between connected humans and only a cupid is capable of detecting them. 

slowly, the ballroom came alive before your eyes, dozens of ribbons in gold, red, white, and silver weaving through the spaces between bodies. each color represents a distinct bond woven in fate. but the sheer number of people packed so tightly together made it difficult to pinpoint who belonged to what thread. the tangled web shifted and shimmered, overwhelming your senses as you struggled to unravel it. 

“i can’t smell infidelity,” you state plainly, your tone clipped as you strain to focus on the red strings in particular. a throbbing begins in your head, growing sharper with each passing second. “There’s red, but—”

the throbbing quickly escalates into a pounding ache, forcing you to release the energy of the room. your vision shifts back to that of a mortal’s as your hands instinctively clutch dean’s arm for support.

he reacts instantly, turning you to face him as his strong hands steady your swaying form at the waist. “hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, voice low but firm, concern flashing in those jade-green eyes as they search your face for an answer.

“i can’t, dean, i’m not really strong enough to read this many people,” your eyes find the floor, feeling too embarrassed to meet his gaze, “the energy, it just kinda pushes me out.” 

when cas left you with the brothers, he failed to mention that you were a bit of a heaven reject. a cupid with faulty powers—and the whole issue with you not always wanting to follow heavenly orders. cas saw something in you, at least, and you hoped that the winchesters would, too. 

“c’mere.” dean huffs, locking your fingers in his as he guides you down another hall. you step into a smaller room where a few people are scattered about on lavish couches and chairs. standing slightly behind you he places a reassuring hand on the small of your back he leans over your shoulder, “try it in here.”

with a nod you focus again, dean’s thumb rubs against your back soothingly, his other hand tightly wrapped over the top of yours as he watches you with care. again the room is dancing with ribbons, but the power isn’t nearly as overwhelming. “there’s a lot of gold in here.” you speak without looking away from the crowd, a smile finding your lips as you notice the elderly couples bound in glittering gold. 

“what’s that mean?” 

“purity turned everlasting.” you release his hand to face him, unable to contain the smile on your lips as you describe the phenomenon that makes you most excited to be a cupid, “they were fated with white strings, or bonds, to have something sweet between them, a simple fling or a good marriage. but it could have easily turned red and fragile from something like cheating, and it didn’t. these souls will probably find themselves in the same heaven, now, because of their commitment to the bond.”  

dean grins down at you, catching the way your excitement practically vibrates through your body. truthfully, it all sounded like a load of crap to him. but then there’s you—with that unbound energy, one he’s certain no one else—angel or human—could ever replicate. the way your infatuation with love seems so genuine, so pure, it softens parts of him that have been hardened for years, wound tightly in cynicism for the very thing you embody.

before he can stop himself, his mind drifts. he’s already considering leaving sam to handle the case on his own, just for one night, so he can watch you explore this world with that wide-eyed wonder. to see you smile up at him like that a little longer.

and maybe—just maybe—to catch a few more glimpses of you prancing around in that little dress, oblivious to the way it rides up your thighs when you move, or how your bouncing excitement causes… other things to bounce right along with you.

dean clenches his jaw, mentally reprimanding himself as he forces his gaze away from you. focus, winchester. focus.

“so, you’re saying we need to find red bonds or whatever,” he mutters, working to keep his voice steady. “but you can’t see ’em with all those people in there.”

you nod, watching him closely as he weighs his options.

“uh-huh,” he breathes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “guess that means we’ll have to chat up some of the drunk old birds with loose lips.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

dean’s plan worked. after about an hour of mingling with the party guests, the two of you find yourselves on the edge of the crowd, watching a middle-aged married couple whom numerous women had whispered about. rumors swirled of the wife and her tennis coach, the husband and his secretary—long trips taken without the other, late nights at the office. all the signs of mutual betrayal.

the exact kind of relationship the rogue angel has been targeting. 

“classic,” dean mutters, eyes narrowing as he observes the couple, now mingling on opposite ends of the room. his stance is tall and stiff, locked in hunter mode.

you tilt your head, less focused on the case and more on the glittering display of treats and trinkets catching your eye a few tables away. a quick glance confirms dean is too busy scowling at the couple to notice you quietly slip off.

the desserts are as extravagant as the rest of the party, each treat adorned with ribbons and delicate designs. A small card catches your attention: cordial cherries. intrigued, you pop one into your mouth. the sugary red juice takes you by surprise, spilling down your chin and all over your fingertips. 

the flavor is sweet against your tongue, the chewy red center tart in contrast. you reach for another, taking it whole, and another for good measure, needing more of that sugary taste. you hadn’t heard dean approach, closing in on you with a confused scowl etched into his brows.

“love,” dean’s gruff voice startles you, his hand suddenly grasping your sticky chin to turn your face towards his, “you’re making a mess.”

embarrassed, you freeze, cheeks flushed as you glance up at him with cherry-stained lips. dean’s eyes darken slightly, flicking down to your mouth as he brushes his thumb along your sticky chin. without a second thought, he sucks the sugary residue off his thumb, his eyes never leaving yours. 

a strange, warm sensation blooms in your chest—and lower—making your eyes widen in surprise. that was a new feeling, and something about dean’s expression told you now probably wasn’t the time to ask him about it. 

dean looks over his shoulder toward the couple again, his expression unreadable. looking back to you, he sighs. “bathroom,” he nods to the corner, “now.” he orders, his voice a little rougher than usual. 

You pout but follow him obediently, weaving through the crowd until you slip into the lavishly decorated restroom. Dean locks the door behind you, the click of the latch oddly loud in the quiet space. In the mirror, you catch a glimpse of your reflection—smudged lipstick, syrupy streaks trailing down your chin, and little splotches on the swell of your breasts.

without a word dean is behind you, in the reflection his face is blank, barely hiding his agitation. he spins you to face him, his pupils eating away at the green of his eyes. his hands find your hips and in one motion you’re seated on top of the porcelain space between the sinks. 

“‘m sorry, dean.” you mumble, looking down at your hands in lap, fidgeting with the hem of your dress. he grunts a ‘mhm’ in response, making that warmth in your center morph into a ball of anxiety. the feeling you usually get after doing something terribly wrong, and dean gets that familiar scowl and grumpy tone. 

like he is now, except he usually isn’t this quiet. 

he comes back to you with a handful of wet paper towels. his eyes are focused on your lips as he wipes away the lipstick and sticky sugar. 

“stop pouting like that.” he grumbles, folding the paper before dragging it down your chin. his hand stops, eyes flicking between your chest and eyes for a moment before he’s handing the paper over to you, “you can get the rest.” 

as you dab at the mess on your chest, the silence stretches between you, weighted by unspoken thoughts. your mind drifts back to the couple in the ballroom, their entwined red strings sullied by betrayal.

“why do they do that?” you ask softly, breaking the quiet, “that couple, why do they do that to each other?” 

dean shrugs, standing between your legs with his arms crossed. “just what people do, lovebird. it’s not something i can really explain. everyone makes choices for their own reasons, hell, they probably don’t even know why they do that to each other.” 

you nod, mulling over his words. “i wouldn’t make those choices,” you say after a moment. “if I could be human, i wouldn’t waste it. What they have… it’s a gift.”

dean chuckles dryly, “and somehow i believe you, little angel. but being human isn’t all kittens and rainbows, mortality sucks. our emotions suck. and making the right choices, it—it’s hard.” 

“but you get to feel,” you say, your voice softening. “you get to fall in love. those emotions are what make humans so… special. sometimes i wish i could feel that.” you pause, suddenly shy. “maybe that’s why I’m not a very good cupid. i get too distracted by all these questions.”

Dean’s gaze softens, his arms uncrossing, planting his strong hands on either side of you, leaning closer. “You’re not a bad cupid,” he says gruffly, fighting with himself to sound more gentle than usual. “you care, a whole lot. if it were up to me, i’d say that’s not a bad thing.”

before you can respond, the ring of dean’s phone echos in the room, shattering the tension. he pulls away to retrieve it out of his pocket, scowling at the screen. “sam says the angel’s outside. we need to move.”

his hand finds yours, instinctively, tugging you out of the room and through the crowd. dean is locked into hunter mode again, his entire body on high alert as he’s practically dragging you across the ballroom.  

reaching the furthest wall, large windows give view to an expansive flower garden shimmering under the moonlight. a rather beautiful sight, where each bush is perfectly trimmed to line the weaving cobblestone paths. dean pauses at the door, looking back at you with a look that makes you wonder if he’s about to be sick.

before you can ask what’s wrong, he’s dropping your clasped hands, “just—stay in here. keep watch of the people while sam and i handle this.” 

“what?” you begin, flustered. sam and dean had spent days prepping you for whatever might happen. you learned how to actually use your own angel blade, the one you only carried around because it was an order but had never intended on using. dean taught you how to shoot his guns, and despite your distaste for their sharp sounds and harsh rebound—you sucked it up because the boys were trusting you. “no! i’m in this, too, remember? i can help—”

“no.” his voice is stern, his mind already made. he was giving you that look again, that made you feel like a helpless baby. it was comforting when it got him to ease up on you for little mistakes, but right now it was annoying. irritating, because you finally felt like you’d get to prove your worth with this hunt. 

“dean—” you start, but the door swings shut behind him before you can finish. with an exasperated groan, you rush to a near by window, heart pounding as you watch him dart down the shadowed path. 

the moment he’s out of sight, a sick twist of nerves coils in your stomach. seconds stretch into centuries, a burning lump rising in your throat as your imagination runs wild. then, movement catches your eye in the darkness.

dean’s body flies through the air, crashing hard into the ground like a ragdoll. 

your breath stutters. you’ve never witnessed a hunt before—not firsthand—but you’ve seen the aftermath. bruises, cuts, even broken bones you’d healed despite dean’s gruff protests against your divine touch helping him.

he struggles back to his feet, but he’s too slow. the angel—a tall, imposing figure in a crisp suit—stalks towards him with eerie precision, circling like a predator toying with its prey. from your vantage point, the angel’s back is turned to you. that’s all the opening you need.

without thinking, you dart for the door. the cool night air sends goosebumps rippling over your skin, the chill mixing with the nervous heat burning inside you. you catch sam out of the corner of your eye, lying on the ground further up the path and groggily coming back to consciousness as he sits up. 

stopping short, you kick off one of your cherry-red heels, gripping it tightly in your hand. it may not be a bow, but you’re still an archer—and this will have to do. with a flick of your wrist, you send the stiletto flying through the air.

the heel collides sharply with the back of the angel’s head. he stumbles slightly before spinning around, fury etched into his face as his silver blade flashes in the moonlight.

fear floods your system, making your knees weak. you’re not sure if it’s bravery or recklessness keeping you standing as he charges towards you. but your distraction is enough.

dean is on his feet again, blade in hand. with one swift motion, he drives it deep into the angel’s neck. the being’s body flickers with light before crumpling to the ground, lifeless.

for a moment, everything is still. to stand frozen, gawking at the scene before you as dean slowly staggers back, panting heavily. when his eyes find yours, they’re sharp with anger. with a huff he’s crossing the grass towards you, that grumpy scowl having taken over his pretty features. 

“dean, i—i’m sorry, but—”

he closes the distance in two long strides, hands cupping either side of your face. the firmness in his touch makes your breath catch in your throat. before you can say anything more, he gently tugs, pressing two rough kisses to your forehead.

you blink up at him, your thoughts a buzzing, tangled mess. 

“save it, lovebird. i know.” he sighs, dropping his hands. his voice is gruff but softer than you expect, his relief shining through the cracks of his frustration. “just never do that again.” 

sam slowly approaches, sporting a fresh bruise on his cheek. his expression wavers between amused and impressed. “nice shot, cupid. i told dean you’d come through.”

“shut it, sammy.” dean snaps back, his scowl deepening as he glances over his shoulder at the angel’s body. “let’s get rid of the angel’s body and get the hell out of here.” 

you bite back a sheepish grin, slipping your remaining shoe off to follow behind the brothers. 

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

back at the bunker…

you had tried, several times, to get out of the stupid red dress. the thin straps came loose from your shoulders easily enough. but the damn zipper in the back was just out of your reach, no matter how you twisted or stretched, it remained out of grasp. the nice lady at the dress shop who helped you get into the damn thing, wasn’t around to get you out of it. 

with an annoyed huff, you padded barefoot out of your room and down the hall, the hem of the dress swishing faintly with every step. you stopped in front of dean’s door, hesitating for a moment before knocking. 

there was a pause, followed by a muffled shuffling sound. the door swung open, dean took up most of the door frame clad in an old band shirt and sweats, his hair mussed from sleep and his expression distinctly unimpressed.

“what?” he grumbles, voice rough and gravelly, clearly annoyed at having been woken up. 

“i need help,” you whine, turning your back to him and gesturing over your shoulder. “i can’t get to the stupid zipper.”

he let out a long-suffering sigh, but his rough finger tips brush against your skin as he grips the top of your dress in one hand and tugged the zipper down with the other. 

you’re not really used to wearing dresses, and you’re too tired to think about how, y’know, gravity works. 

the silky red material drops to the floor, pooling over your feet. “oh.” you mumbled, looking down at the discarded dress. 

“jesus,” dean muttered, his voice strained. when you looked back at him, his eyes were fixed firmly on the ceiling, lips pressed tightly together as if trying to keep a lid on something. 

a wicked giggle bubbled up before you could stop it. “thanks, dean!” you chirp, abandoning the dress on the floor and darting down the hall in nothing but your pink underwear. 

the sound of his exasperated cursing followed you, echoing against the hall as your laughter trailed behind. 

[layeredshirts]

This is the month of Heartslabyul evidently.

We're getting a Rapzunel themed event with Riddle as the SSR! The themes of alienation, children asserting identity, and what we owe one another are not lost on me, they're prominent in both works. Rapunzel is the tale of a girl who initially believes herself to just be sheltered before realizing that she's actually stunted by her relationship to her mother who fails to create an identity separate from her daughter. Riddle is also treated as an extension of his mother's desires and hopes, metaphorically siphoning away his magic oh em gee

[bodyhopper-files]

After Hours at the Stadium

Mitchell stood in the dim glow of the stadium lights, his phone raised, his proud fatherly face beaming as he snapped photos. Jackson stood before him, his singlet stretched tight over thick, powerful muscles, flexing under his father’s proud gaze. His broad shoulders gleamed under the artificial lighting, the tight fabric emphasizing every inch of his defined frame.

The big college championship wrestling meet had ended hours ago. The crowd had cheered, the mats had been rolled up, and the other wrestlers had long since left. But to all outside appearances, Jackson, a 19-year-old stud jock at the peak of his athletic prime, was still here, basking in his father’s admiration.

"Now flex a little harder for me, son," Mitchell said, voice dripping with admiration.

Jackson grinned, sweat still glistening from the meet. "Gee, Dad, I don't know if I can flex any harder! My muscles are already SO big in this LITTLE singlet!"

Mitchell chuckled. "That's because you're my big, strong GROWING boy!"

Jackson swelled his chest with pride, striking pose after pose. The empty arena was theirs alone now, the crowds long gone, and Mitchell was drinking in every moment with a glimmer in his eyes, snapping shot after shot.

"Gosh, son, I am so PROUD of you."

Jackson laughed, feeding off the energy, his flexes becoming more exaggerated. "Oh, Dad, you know JUST what to say!"

And then... the illusion cracked.

Mitchell lowered the phone slightly, exchanging a look with Jackson. A knowing look. A dark look.

They weren’t Mitchell and Jackson at all.

Their names were actually Gary and Lou, two lowly stadium crew members who had been lurking in the shadows long enough to develop a deep, gnawing jealousy. The real Mitchell and Jackson had been their chosen targets this time. A father-son pair they had studied, watched, envied. And now, they were them—at least for the night.

Gary, now appearing as Mitchell, grinned as he admired his supposed “son.” Lou, now Jackson, flexed his borrowed muscles with a smug, indulgent glee. The fabric of the singlet hugged his body like a second skin, a perfect replication of the physique he had admired from afar only hours ago that same evening. It felt real—because for now, it was real.

It had all started when Gary found the device. An ancient, alien relic buried beneath the stadium grounds during routine maintenance. A simple, unremarkable stone… until he touched it. The symbols carved into its surface pulsed, their meaning seeping into his mind, a whisper from the cosmos beyond:

"Only within the boundary of its finding does the change hold. Only those who have walked its grounds may claim another’s shape. Beyond this place, the truth will reclaim its own. The transformation cannot follow where the power does not reach."

Gary had understood immediately. The transformation would only work within the stadium’s radius. They could only take the form of those who had set foot inside. And once they stepped beyond its unseen boundary, their true selves would be restored.

That last rule was their only limitation, but within these walls, they were gods.

And they had gotten good at it.

"Well, son," Gary said, the smirk of a man who knew he was getting away with something spreading across his face. "Why don't we go get some photos of you in the locker room?"

Lou—Jackson—grinned back, his borrowed, handsome jock face flushed with excitement. "I LOVE that idea, 'Dad.' I'll show you what else of mine has been growing..."

The two chuckled darkly as they made their way through the vacant hallways, reveling in the power they held. The stadium was their playground. The stolen lives their entertainment. And when the night ended, they’d slip back into their ordinary, unremarkable bodies, waiting for the next event… and their next victims.

Because jealousy wasn't enough. They wanted to be them, if only for a little while. And from the shadows and dark corners of the stadium, they always found their next prey.

Original AI illustration by @bodyhopper-files

[jianwon]

TOUCH UP AND DOWNS — player 380

sypnosis. the usual chaos fades away when se-mi, the captivating actress, steps into your makeup station. her playful teasing and effortless charm unravel your carefully built composure, leaving you flustered. an unexpected gesture makes you confront feelings you hadn’t anticipated, leaving you questioning if this connection could be more than fleeting, one that might change everything.

part 2 part 3

content— actress!se-mi x fem!makeupartist!reader. pure fluff. flirting and romantic tension. mentions of squid game characters.

disclaimer. story is entirely fictional and in no way reflects real events, individuals, or their relationships. characters mentioned are fictional representations based on their on-screen personas.

wordcount. 1.2k words

the backstage area of the set was its own ecosystem, a controlled, buzzing chaos where the cast and crew functioned like cogs in a well-oiled, frenzied machine. green tracksuits were tossed onto racks, props were lost and found within minutes, and coffee cups piled up in forgotten corners. yet somehow, amidst the mess, you managed to carve out your own calm at your makeup station. it wasn’t much, just a small table cluttered with palettes, brushes, and bottles of setting spray.

your mornings were always the same, actors trickling in, each with their own quirks and complaints. today started with thanos, who planted himself in your chair with a dramatic groan.

“y/n-ah, you have no idea how much my body hurts,” he grumbled, stretching his arms as if he’d just run a marathon.

"maybe tone it down a bit and try not to act like such a daredevil." you teased, dipping your brush into some fake blood. "hey, i was trying to stay in character!” he protested, puffing his chest out like a proud schoolboy.

“your character dies in episode seven. what exactly were you preparing for?” nam-gyu chimed in from across the room, already in his disheveled tracksuit and inspecting himself in the mirror.

the two men launched into a mock argument while you worked, and you couldn’t help but laugh. the cast was like a dysfunctional family, always bickering, but never seriously. you’d become fond of their antics, even when they slowed you down.

when min-su walked in, grumbling about his hair as usual, the chaos only increased. "this look makes me look like i’m auditioning for a k-pop parody group,” he complained, plopping into the chair next to nam-gyu's.

myung-gi, who was already seated and scrolling on his phone, didn’t even look up before saying, “that’s an improvement from your regular look." the room erupted in laughter as min-su glared at him. “don’t make me mess up your makeup, hyung.”

“not before i do,” you muttered, adjusting his hair until it sat perfectly. “there. now you look less like a coconut.”

“gee, thanks,” min-su said with mock offense, though he grinned at you.

as the morning chaos gave way to quieter moments, you felt your heart do its usual nervous flip when se-mi entered the room. even amidst the energy of the set, se-mi had a presence that demanded attention. everything about her, her walk, her gaze, the effortless way she carried herself. they were magnetic.

“is it my turn yet, artist-nim?” she called with a playful nickname she’d teasingly given you, her voice cutting through the hum of activity like a soft melody. you swallowed hard and nodded, motioning to her chair. “y-yeah, come on over.”

"ready to work your magic and make me pretty?" she asks, settling into the chair with a grin. her fingers sweep through her short hair, brushing it back effortlessly. "pretty? you barely need me for that," you blurt out with a nervous snort, before immediately freezing, your cheeks heating up as the weight of your words sinks in.

"oh?" se-mi tilts her head back suddenly, her eyes locking onto yours. the unexpected movement makes you jump, nearly stumbling over your own feet.

"you're still nervous today," she observes, her voice light but her tone teasing. her gaze shifts to your reflection in the mirror, and her smirk deepens. "i can tell."

“i’m not nervous.” you lied, picking up a brush and focusing intently on your palette. she teased, leaning forward slightly. “then why are your hands shaking?”

your breath caught as you realized she was right. you forced yourself to steady your grip, determined not to let her fluster you any more than she already had. “just… stay still,” you managed, your voice quieter than usual.

as you leaned in to contour her cheekbones, se-mi tilted her head slightly, her smirk deepening. “you’re really good at this, you know,” she said, her tone softer now. “but you don’t give yourself enough credit.”

your heart skipped a beat, and you bit the inside of your cheek to keep from blurting something stupid. “thanks..” you muttered, with a soft smile, focusing on blending the makeup perfectly.

for a moment, the usual backstage chaos seemed to blur into the background. the distant chatter and clatter of equipment faded, replaced by the steady, deafening drumbeat of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. it was just the two of you, the air thick with an unspoken tension that made it impossible to focus on anything else.

“you’re blushing” se-mi whispered, breaking the spell. you pulled back abruptly, your face burning. “am not!” you said, though your voice betrayed you.

se-mi chuckled, a low, melodic sound that made your stomach do flips. “cute..” she said under her breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

the day moved forward, and with each passing hour, you grew more aware of the fact that it was se-mi’s final scene. she was one of the last actors to wrap, and the air backstage felt bittersweet. the rest of the cast had taken turns congratulating her, but when it came to your turn, you found yourself hesitating.

you watched from the monitors as she delivered her final scene, her performance so raw and emotional that it left a lump in your throat. when the director called cut, applause erupted on set, and se-mi smiled, wiping away tears as the crew cheered.

you were waiting at your station when she walked back, still dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. “you okay?” you asked softly, holding out a pack of makeup wipes.

“yeah,” she said, her voice shaky but steady. “it just… doesn't feel real, you know?”

you nodded, unsure of what to say. instead, you focused on helping her clean off the remnants of her makeup and splatters of fake blood on her face, your hands moving with practiced precision.

“you were incredible,” you said after a moment, your voice barely above a whisper. se-mi looked at you, her gaze soft but intense. “thanks,” she said. “that means a lot coming from you.”

you hesitated, then blurted, “i’m really going to miss you.” her eyebrows lifted in surprise, but her smile quickly returned. “oh? gonna miss my face in your chair every day?”

“not just that,” you admitted, fiddling with the edge of the makeup wipe in your hand. “i’ll miss… you. it’s been nice having you around.”

se-mi studied you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. then, without a word, she reached over to the counter, grabbed a pen, and scribbled something on the edge of a makeup chart. she folded it neatly and handed it to you.

“what’s this?” you asked, your hands trembling slightly as you took it. “my number,” she said simply, her tone warm but teasing. “call me sometime, y/n. i think you’re cute.” your jaw dropped, and she leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “but don’t tell anyone, okay? gotta keep my cool image intact.”

she winked and walked off before you could respond, leaving you frozen in place with the paper clutched tightly in your hand. the chaos of backstage continued around you, but all you could focus on was the faint scent of se-mi’s perfume lingering in the air and the fluttering in your chest.

a/n— just letting you all know that my requests are open ! feel free to send me anything :)