#open a history book and maybe your brain too

[blueberry-ry]

Star Wars fans that try to compare the Jedi to the Catholic Church because they both "collaborate with the state" have no fucking idea of what the Catholic Church actually does and what the problem with it being in power actually is, and it drives me fucking insane

[gold-onthe-inside]

wrong person...

who? spencer reid x blake!reader content warnings: reference to an open wound (as a metaphor), kissing, implied sex based on: req. @imagining-in-the-margins wrong recipient prompt (nsfw) - Character sends their friend a detailed review of their recent sexual encounter… and accidentally sends it to the person they’re reviewing - can be xOC word count: 1.5k a/n: it broke my heart having to make penelope the bad gal in this fic, but tbf, my girl can cross boundaries, even with the best intentions. reader is a psychologist and alex's goddaughter, set in s8 (maeve does not exist), after the fifth date. also, slightly tweaked the prompt so it's not necessarily a play-by-play review, but enough to sting. spencer's not the kind that kisses and tells in my book, and i don't feel comfortable writing reader!characters that do.

So, maybe it wasn't an entirely awful idea to let your godmother set you up with her colleague. He's definitely smarter than all your own colleagues combined, and easy to wind up too. In the beginning, it had all been to get Alex off your back, and then you hadn't been able to stop thinking about him all week. You had rules to navigate this stuff, you had refused to get attached until he texted or called you first, and there was a 5th date minimum to invite him in like this. Most days, your heart still felt like an open wound, too many men using you like a plaything, a stepping stone to someone else, but Spencer was different.

You leant on your elbow, always an early riser, the sun barely peeking through your curtains, as you took in his features - the slope of his nose, his perfect peach coloured lips that had been reverent to you all night, cleverly placed love bites behind his ear and chest. At 30, you were too old to be careless. He had freckles too, if you looked close enough, lightly dotting his nose. He's gorgeous and it felt ridiculous that he didn't know it with the way his jawline was sculpted by Michelangelo himself. You'd learnt a long time ago not to trust boys as pretty as he was, but Spencer was all heart, no matter what Alex said about his brain capacity. He was earnest in a way that modern men weren't, you could see why Alex was begging you to see him.

Slowly but surely, he started to stir, hazel eyes blinking up at you. "Hi, beautiful," he murmured, all hoarse from sleep and you couldn't help a smile.

"Morning, sunshine," you replied, and he's already leaning up to kiss you, his hand sliding into your hair, and you sink into his warmth, letting it dissolve you all over again, until his phone started to ring, and he had the decency to give you a sense of closure before pulling away entirely.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, slowly opening his golden green eyes.

"It's your job, don't apologise," you said, your voice mellow like honey, and he kissed your nose before shifting to take the call. You'd rather he kiss you like that and leave for work, than the guys who left before you could wake up - or worse, while you were in the shower. You sat up in bed, watching as he pinned his phone between his ear and shoulder, scrabbling to put on clothes and hopping into a pair of trousers, trying not to laugh - he was easily embarrassed, not that you minded. You liked reassuring him afterwards that you really did like him.

He doesn't blame you for speaking up before he hangs up, you were only trying to help, calling out his name to toss him his watch, which he caught in both hands (he's getting better at that), but it means Penelope hears her voice. And from there on, all hell breaks loose.

Penelope's relentless with this stuff, really the only thing that bothers him about her. He loved her with all his heart, but sometimes, she just didn't know where to draw the line. It's not the first time in history that an FBI agent had done something like this. Alex was kind enough not to say anything, which everyone took as a woman of her age being demure and respectful. But the rest of them…

It was his fault entirely, he should have had better control of his temper. But texting had always been a pet peeve of his, and every time his phone went off that day, it had been Penelope probing about the girl she'd heard over the phone. He'd done everything he could think of, even begged Morgan to call Penelope off the hunt, told him he'd do everyone's paperwork for the rest of the month, but even Morgan knew when a cause was lost. Penelope had tracked his card, found the restaurant the two of you had gone to (some niche Korean place he knew you'd like), and had gone to the extent of tracking you down and ID'ing you, and doing a full background check, and was updating him so often that he'd lost track of the case he was actually supposed to be working. Not being able to narrow the profile any further and the next phone vibration being the last straw, he'd texted back in a blind rage, not even reading the message that had actually been sent.

Spencer: stop texting me at work! i'm probably never gonna see her again anyway, so just STOP!

In his defence, not that he actually thought he had one after his mistake, Penelope had actually stopped texting him after the message had sent. He'd thought it was his text, but it had actually been because she'd tracked down their unsub. It wasn't until he called you with the intention of telling you that he was flying back that night (and was craving Thai food and her company) that he realised something was wrong, because you wouldn't answer. You always answered your cell. Not because of him personally, or so he was flattered to think until Alex corrected that, but because the virtue of your profession. Any call could be an emergency call so you always always picked up. You'd interrupted dates to answer calls - not that he minded, not with how his job sent him all over the country at a moment's notice. So, why wouldn't you answer his?

And then he realised. He had fucked up. Massively, massively fucked up. You had texted him around noon, wishing him luck with the case, that you had taken a lunch break in case he wanted to talk, and asking whether he'd eaten. To which he'd replied with a complete overreaction and now he was sorely tempted to jump out of the jet without a parachute.

He closed down any kind of small talk, sidelining Penelope's attempt to probe deeper, but even then, it was, what, an hour between Quantico and DC?

You were watching Roman Holiday on your couch, practically swallowed in blankets as you watched your comfort movie when the bell rang. Repeatedly. You didn't pause the movie - you had it memorised - as you left your cocoon to answer the door, looking through the peephole first. Spencer was panting, out of breath, almost bent over as you opened the door, mostly to make sure he didn't pass out. "What, were you chased by a hyena or something?"

"I'm… so… sorry," he panted, looking up at her. "I… I can explain all of it, I didn't mean it."

"I'm surprised you even came here, I thought you were never gonna see me again," you said dryly, knowing it was a low blow - he deserved a chance to explain - but you had been miserable for hours. He could live with a little of your sarcasm.

"I didn't mean to send it to you," he said and you tilted your head.

"I know that, you're too smart to mix up pronouns," you said.

"Penelope… heard your voice this morning… she was like a dog…. With a bone all day, just… constantly texting me and asking about you and I couldn't focus at work, I just texted it to her to shut her up for a bit, I didn't… actually mean in… Can I sit down?" he asked, pleading at you, and you really can't resist those eyes, so you stepped aside, letting him into your apartment.

He's too good at his job not to see how that one text had ruined your day - with your favourite movie and everything but the mattress from your bedroom hauled out to the couch, and he crashed into an armchair, his gaze on you as you poured him a glass of water and walked over, kneeling beside him to make him drink it. He let the cool liquid wash down his throat, then set the glass aside, leaning over and closer to you. "I really really didn't mean any of that. I mean, I did mean the stop texting part, and I meant it for Penelope, but not for you, I always want to hear from you, I mean, if I could, I'd shrink you down to Tinkerbell size and take you with me everywhere, but miniaturisation technology is too far away, we're barely getting 3D printing to work reliably--"

"I believe you," you said softly, pressing your hand to his wrist, feeling his thumping pulse.

"You do?" he asked, looking at you with those beautiful eyes.

"I do," you said. "To be fair, it did feel very uncharacteristic of you to say that to me, let alone get angry at me."

"It's just been a really long day," he said, tiredly, and you nod.

"I have the perfect cure for that," you said, smiling up at him.

"Yeah?"

"Roman Holiday and takeout," you replied and he smiled back down at you.

"Sounds perfect to me."

[wendichester]

ok you write some teen dean but I wanna see teen sam x reader please and thank you :3

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ assignments & study sess,

summary. you run into sam at the school's library

pairing. teen!sam winchester x reader

wordcount. 539

notes. honestly, whenever i think of sam is almost stanford and onwards, but this turned out cuter than expected ehe thank you for requesting bubs 😙🩷

Sam has noticed you before. It’s hard not to.

You’re in a couple of his classes, always sitting near the window, twirling your pencil between your fingers when you’re lost in thought. You don’t talk much, at least not like the loud kids who take up all the space in a room, but when you do—when you answer a question in English or crack a joke to your friend—Sam always finds himself listening a little too closely.

He’s never had the nerve to talk to you, though. His family moves too much for him to bother making friends, and besides, you probably don’t even know who he is.

At least, that’s what he thinks—until today.

The library is quiet, except for the occasional rustle of pages and the soft hum of the overhead lights. Sam’s hunched over his history textbook at one of the back tables, trying to focus, but his brain feels like it’s made of static. He’s got an essay due in two days, and all he’s managed to do so far is reread the same sentence ten times.

And then—

“Hey, is this seat taken?”

He freezes.

Because that’s your voice.

Sam looks up so fast he nearly knocks over his coffee. And there you are, standing right across from him, your bag slung over one shoulder, a hopeful tilt to your lips.

For a second, all he can do is stare.

“No,�� he blurts, a little too quickly. He clears his throat, willing himself to not sound like a complete idiot. “Uh, yeah. I mean—go ahead.”

You smile, sliding into the seat across from him, and Sam swears his heart actually stumbles over itself.

“Thanks,” you say, pulling out your notebook. “It’s weirdly packed in here today.”

Sam glances around. There are maybe five other people in the entire library.

He looks back at you, and you’re watching him with a tiny, knowing smirk. Oh.

You did that on purpose.

Sam swallows, trying to fight the warmth creeping up his neck. “Yeah. Super crowded.”

You grin, setting your stuff down. “I’ve seen you around,” you say casually, flipping open your book. “You’re, like, crazy smart, right? You always get the highest scores in English.”

He blinks. “You—you’ve noticed that?”

You tilt your head, like the idea of not noticing him is absurd. “Of course. I sit right behind you.”

Sam has no idea how to respond to that. His brain is short-circuiting, stuck on the fact that you—this girl he’s been secretly stealing glances at all year—have been paying attention to him too.

“Uh, thanks,” he finally mutters, pushing his hair back. “I just… read a lot, I guess.”

You hum, resting your chin on your hand as you watch him. “You always look super focused in class,” you muse. “Like, intense focus. It’s kinda impressive.”

Sam lets out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, well. I try.”

You lean in slightly. “So, Mr. Genius, since we’re here—wanna help me with my essay?”

It’s an easy excuse to stay here longer, to keep talking to you, and Sam knows it.

But he’s definitely not going to say no.

“Yeah,” he says, a real smile tugging at his lips now. “Yeah, I can do that.”

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[cruel-seduction]

Beyond Fears 

Summary - With the biggest exam of your life coming up, stress is eating you alive—but Mattheo refuses to let it win. He’ll do whatever it takes to pull you out of your own head, even if it means causing a little chaos. But when the truth behind your fear comes out, he’s ready to remind you of one thing—no matter what happens, he’s not going anywhere.

Content Warning - Suggestive theme and Curse words. 

Glimpse - “And as for your stupid little fear that I’ll find someone else—ugh, babe, do you think I’m insane? That my brain is rotting?” His lips twitched into a smirk before softening again. “Do you think I’d willingly trade you—the love of my fucking life, the only person who actually laughs at my dumb jokes, the only one who knows exactly how I like my coffee, the only soul on this godforsaken planet who makes me feel like I belong—for anyone else?” His voice was raw now, honest in a way that made your chest ache.

His forehead pressed against yours, his nose brushing yours as he whispered, “Baby, there is no one else. There never will be.”

a/n -Hello, my certified cutie red flags!! Divider Credit goes to @bernardsbendystraws. And also I wrote this based of on a scene from my fav show. Cause I needed to do crying reader over valid reason and this seem like best. And she does portrays that she is strong. but Mattheo is Mattheo bro.

Requested by @jarjarbinks-har-har

Mattheo could feel the tension rolling off you from a mile away—thick, restless, electric. Anxiety coiled around your frame like an iron grip, tightening with every breath you took. The upcoming exam loomed over you like a storm cloud, its weight pressing down on you with an unbearable force. If you passed, you’d be the youngest woman in history to earn a seat at one of the most prestigious higher education institutions for witches and wizards. The pressure was suffocating, an invisible noose tightening around your throat.

You weren’t the only one feeling it. Mattheo was tense too, but not because of the exam. No, he was wound up because of you—because your stress became his stress, your suffering bled into him like an open wound. He’d tried everything to ease your nerves. He took you to your favorite coffee shop, bought you anything you wanted, even tried distracting you with jokes and stolen kisses—but nothing worked. You were drowning in books, lost in your relentless pursuit of perfection, and no amount of comfort could pull you out.

Eighteen hours. That’s how long you had gone without sleep. Maybe more. You were running purely on caffeine and raw determination, your veins practically humming with exhaustion. Dark circles didn’t just shadow your eyes—they owned your face, carved into your skin like permanent bruises. At night, you sang old traditional songs in a hollow, eerie voice, studying by torchlight like some deranged scholar possessed by ancient magic. Your roommates had given up on you, groaning in frustration as your muttered revisions carried into the early hours. Even when Mattheo convinced you to crash in his dorm, you never truly rested. You just laid there beside him, whispering formulas, theories, and incantations under your breath, your fingers tracing invisible notes on his skin. It was getting out of hand.

Mattheo watched you now, his jaw clenched as he took in the sight before him—you, hunched over a book in the Great Hall, a cup of coffee gripped in one trembling hand, barely picking at your food with the other. Students all around were suffering through exam stress, but Mattheo didn’t give a damn about any of them. You were the only one who mattered. And watching you unravel like this was killing him.

Sitting beside him, Theodore Nott let out a low whistle. “Mate, what the hell is wrong with her?” he muttered, following Mattheo’s gaze.

Mattheo exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “That stupid exam is next week. She’s pushing herself too hard. If she doesn’t pass, she won’t be able to retake it for another four years. That would completely screw up her entire life plan.” His voice was tight, frustration laced beneath the concern.

Theodore huffed a laugh, lips curling in amusement. “Please, it can’t be that serious. No one plans their life around one exam.” Mattheo’s eyes darkened as he turned toward his friend. “It’s her wallpaper.” Theodore’s brow furrowed. “What?”

Mattheo ran a hand through his hair. “The life plan. It hangs over her bed.” Theodore’s mouth formed a small ‘O’ of realization, his amusement fading into something more thoughtful.

Mattheo knew this couldn’t go on. He couldn’t just sit back and watch you self-destruct. No, he had to do something.

And he knew exactly what to do.

Later that day, Mattheo found you exactly where he expected—in the library, buried under an avalanche of books, your fingers gripping a quill like it was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. Without a word, he sank into the chair beside you, drumming his fingers against the wooden surface.

You didn’t even glance up, just exhaled a frustrated sigh before whispering, “Don’t waste my time. Just say what you wanna say.”

Mattheo smirked, leaning back in his chair with that signature arrogance, the kind that both infuriated and charmed you in equal measure. “Babe, don’t worry. You’re gonna crush it. You could take this exam with one eye closed and still beat half these idiots. And most importantly—” he paused, his voice softening slightly, “—even if you don’t, it’s fine. You got this.”

Your eyes snapped to his, narrowing. “You don’t know what you’re saying,” you scoffed. “You’re only saying this because you love me. Love has made you dumber.”

Mattheo let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “No, I don’t think so. If anything, love has made me smarter. See, I haven’t picked a single fight this whole month.”

Your lips twitched despite yourself, a ghost of a proud smile appearing. “Yes, I am very proud of you for that. But if you don’t get the hell out in ten seconds, I will personally break your nose.”

Mattheo grinned like he’d been waiting for exactly that response. In a single, swift motion, he grabbed your wrist, yanking you to your feet before you could protest.

“What the hell, Mattheo?!” You struggled against his grip, your chair scraping noisily against the floor as he dragged you out of the library. Heads turned. You scowled. “Stop! I swear to Merlin, if this is another one of your—”

He didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow down, only coming to a halt when he shoved open the door to an abandoned classroom and pulled you inside.

You shot him a glare as you yanked your arm free. “This better be good, Riddle, or I’m hexing your balls into oblivion.”

Mattheo’s smirk widened as he leaned casually against a desk, arms crossed over his chest. “Since you’re so stressed, I figured—why not give you a test?”

Your eyes darkened, your irritation sharpening into a glare. “Are you serious? You dragged me here for a fake test? These things are useless, Mattheo. They don’t have the same pressure, the same distractions. It’s all too damn quiet and perfect, like the walls themselves are whispering the answers.”

Mattheo tilted his head, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Yeah, I figured you’d say that.” He clapped his hands together once, and suddenly, the door swung open.

In walked Abby and Scully from Ravenclaw, each lugging twenty-five bags of chips. As they sat down, they immediately started munching—loudly. Crunching, smacking, licking their fingers like they were trying to break a world record for obnoxious eating.

Your eye twitched.

But that wasn’t all. Right behind them, a group of students filed in—loud ones. The kind who couldn’t stay quiet if their lives depended on it. They bickered, they whispered, they tapped their quills against the desks, they fidgeted like caffeinated squirrels.

Mattheo leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered, “Better prepare yourself, Y/L/N. This is your battlefield.” Then, with a wicked grin, he added, “And I know you wanna rip my clothes off right now, but you’re gonna have to wait and ace this test first.”

You stepped closer, so close that he sucked in a breath, his smirk faltering just slightly. Your voice dropped to a sultry whisper, just for him.

“I am so fucking turned on by you right now.” You smirked. “Give me five minutes to destroy this test. Then? You.”

Mattheo’s mouth fell open slightly, like he’d just been hit by a Confundus Charm.

You winked, snatching up the test from his hands, and took your seat, utterly unbothered by the chaos around you.

Mattheo, still standing there, watching you with something dark and heated in his gaze, let out a quiet, disbelieving chuckle.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered. “I think I just made studying sexy.”

Mattheo sat outside on the Quidditch field, staring up at the darkening sky, the cool breeze doing nothing to temper the frustration simmering in his chest. His fingers fidgeted with a stray blade of grass as he replayed the events of the day over and over in his head. He was about to go find you himself when he noticed Abby and Scully trudging toward him, looking particularly sheepish.

“We’re out of chips,” they said in perfect unison.

Mattheo blinked. Then scowled. “What the hell? I gave you fifty packets. And I told you to stay in that damn room.”

Scully shifted uncomfortably before muttering, “About that… Y/N kinda… vanished.”

Mattheo’s stomach dropped. His jaw clenched. “Vanished?” His voice was eerily calm, but his eyes—oh, his eyes had darkened into something deadly.

Abby nodded. “Yeah, she just—poof. One second she was there, the next, gone. No idea where.”

Mattheo shot to his feet, his entire body thrumming with tension. “I asked you to do one thing,” he snapped, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “One fucking thing—and you couldn’t even do that?” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Move aside.”

It was almost nightfall, and Mattheo, along with his friends, had been searching for you for over an hour. You were nowhere to be found. His mind churned with possibilities—were you upset? Were you hiding? Had something happened? And then, like a punch to the gut, it hit him.

Today’s date.

Mattheo stopped in his tracks, exhaling as realization settled over him. “I know where she is,” he muttered. “Go back to the dorms—I got this.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and headed toward the Potions classroom.

And there you were.

Curled up in a ball, tucked into the shadows, your arms wrapped around your knees as if holding yourself together. The dim candlelight flickered against your face, casting soft, golden hues over your tear-streaked cheeks. His chest tightened at the sight.

Mattheo said nothing as he stepped inside. He didn’t need to. Instead, he lowered himself to the floor beside you, his presence warm and steady.

You glanced up, your voice barely above a whisper. “How did you find me?”

His expression remained neutral, but his eyes—his eyes—were soft as they met yours. “15th of March.”

A humorless laugh escaped your lips, and despite yourself, a small, sad smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. “Of course.”

Mattheo’s lips curled into one of those rare smiles—the kind he didn’t give just anyone. “A year ago, today, we had detention together.” His tone turned teasing. “You spent the whole night pretending to be annoyed while secretly staring at me like I was the hottest thing you’d ever seen, and by the end of it, you were completely infatuated with me.”

You gave him a side-eye. “Mattheo.”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. You flirted with me for fifteen seconds, and I became obsessed.”

You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head. “Sounds more accurate.”

A comfortable silence settled between you both.

And then, softly, Mattheo asked, “Babe, can you tell me the real reason why you’re scared?”

You hesitated for a moment before shifting closer, resting your head against his shoulder. His warmth seeped into you, grounding you, anchoring you.

“I didn’t even know why I was so tense before,” you admitted. “But when I was in that classroom, giving that practice test… I realized.” Your throat tightened. “Passing this test means going away from you. And I—I don’t know how to handle that.”

Mattheo stayed quiet, letting you speak.

“All these days, I’ve been drowning myself in books, trying to avoid thinking about it. But in that classroom, it hit me.” Your voice cracked. “Everything between us is so good right now. But what if leaving ruins that? What if we can’t make long distance work? What if me being gone changes everything?” A tear slid down your cheek, soaking into Mattheo’s shirt. “And what if—” your voice broke entirely, and you inhaled shakily, “—what if you realize that you deserve better? What if you find someone else, someone closer? Someone who isn’t a whole country away?”

Mattheo was quiet for a beat. Then, with a slow exhale, he shook his head and lifted his hands to your face, cradling your cheeks between his palms. He wiped your tears away gently, then—because he was still Mattheo—he wiped his hands off on your shirt, making you let out a watery laugh.

And then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said, “Babe, listen to me—no, actually, shut up and listen, because I know that pretty little overthinking brain of yours is already running marathons.” His thumbs stroked your cheekbones, his touch featherlight. His gaze—intense, unwavering, filled with nothing but love—held you in place, made you feel every word before he even said them.

“Darling, if you don’t go—if you give up your dream for me—I swear I will throw myself into the nearest trash can and live there forever because that’s exactly where I belong if I let you do that.” His voice was steady, firm, convincing. “Baby, I want you to go. I need you to go. Not because I want to be away from you—hell no, I’m already dreading the distance—but because you’ve been dreaming about this since you were a kid, and the only thing worse than missing you would be watching you resent me for holding you back.”

You sniffled, lips trembling.

“And as for your stupid little fear that I’ll find someone else—ugh, babe, do you think I’m insane? That my brain is rotting?” His lips twitched into a smirk before softening again. “Do you think I’d willingly trade you—the love of my fucking life, the only person who actually laughs at my dumb jokes, the only one who knows exactly how I like my coffee, the only soul on this godforsaken planet who makes me feel like I belong—for anyone else?” His voice was raw now, honest in a way that made your chest ache.

His forehead pressed against yours, his nose brushing yours as he whispered, “Baby, there is no one else. There never will be.”

Tears slipped silently down your cheeks.

“So go. Conquer. Be brilliant.” He swallowed thickly. “And when you come back, I’ll be right here, still stupidly in love with you, probably crying into your hoodie and talking to your pictures like a lunatic.” He gave you a small, wry smile. “But I’ll be yours. Always.”

Your lips trembled. Your fingers clutched at the fabric of his shirt.

And then, with no warning, you surged forward, crashing your lips against his in a kiss so deep, so desperate, it stole the breath from both your lungs.

Mattheo exhaled into your mouth, his arms winding around you like he never wanted to let go.

And maybe, just maybe—he never would.

[theseinfernalangels]

Kiss It Better? — Sawyer Henrick

Synopsis: Sawyer comes back from sparring in need of a little TLC (Mender!Reader).

A/N: The voices got too loud. I’m giving myself the responsibility for filling up the Sawyer tag since my boy doesn’t have that many fics for some odd reason. A little bit suggestive, but not enough to warrant a huge warning.

     With a heavy thud, you slam your textbook shut and groan into the silence of your empty room. You loved Violet Sorrengail, truly, but her commitment to studying books from front to back was honestly excruciating. For such a small woman, she had huge brain, and even bigger patience when it came to historical academia.

     You could not relate. You’d rather re-memorize the muscular system than read another Brief History of Navarre excerpt. You silently curse your boyfriend, Sawyer, for making that pact with Violet last year — to teach her combat in exchange for the more academic classes. Sure, her knowledge kept the Iron Squad (and, by extension, you) afloat, but if you looked at another map of Navarre’s evolving borders, you’d just about lose it.

    You pause. Wait. Speaking of which…Where was your aforementioned boyfriend? He usually stopped by your room at least once a day, just to see you and give you some much-needed loving, but you’d only seen a glimpse of him in the morning before he had to go and do his Executive Officer duties. You weren’t necessarily a clingy person, but…You missedhim. Like, a lot. Maybe it was because it was almost that time of the month, or maybe because you’d gotten so used to seeing him all the time — you weren’t exactly sure.

     Your dragon, Cridhe, lets out an amused rumble. “Never have I heard you yearn for the Russet One’s company so hard.”

     Your lips droop into an indignant pout. “I’m not yearning,” you argue. “I just…Oh, dammit. You’re right. I’m pathetic, Cridhe. I miss him.”

     Cridhe snorts. “Pathetic isn’t necessarily the word I’d use, Ciúin. Perhaps infatuated. Definitely not pathetic.”

     He abruptly adds, “Trust me, I’ve seen plenty of pathetic humans in my time. You being oddly clingy to the Russet One is just you being a young woman.”

     You raise an eyebrow. Trust your own dragon to reduce your love into girlhood. “You sound like my dad.”

     Cridhe barks out a laugh. “I can assure you, I do not sound like Major Callahan. I think I’d need to have a little more audacity to my character.”

     Before you can respond, there’s a familiar knock at your door. Two long knocks and then a short one, followed by what sounds like the rapping of a single finger against the wood. Your special knock. Sawyer.

     I really need to figure out how to modify the wards so he can just walk in himself, you think as you slide off your bed and swing your door open. You’re met with tired but amused eyes as Sawyer leans against the side of your door, patiently waiting for you to pull him in. You open your mouth to greet him cheerfully — the literal sight of him has boosted your mood tremendously — before you falter.

     “Were you…sparring?” you ask, tilting your head. He’s got a split lip, and bruises seem to trail over his neck and under his shirt. It’s nothing new, but it definitely alarms you.

     His soft smile warms your heart. “Yeah. Seems like that one girl in your squad, Holt, had it out for Aetos earlier. She decided to use me as her personal punching bag.”

     You snort, grabbing his hand and yanking him into your room. “Not surprised. Those two have got issues.”

     Sawyer closes the door behind him and wastes no time in settling on your bed. At the beginning of your relationship, he would have just stood awkwardly in the corner and waited for you to tell him that, Yes, you’re fine, you can sit. Now, though, he’s less hesitant and just plops down, looking at you expectantly.

     Another great thing about Sawyer Henrick: He was just as clingy as you.

     You practically float over to him, climbing on to his lap and throwing your arms around him. You tuck your face into his neck and breathe in his scent — woodsy, with the slightest hint of vanilla — and sigh. “Missed you.”

     His chest rumbles gently as he laughs. “So I heard. Sliseag told me so.”

     Your eyebrows furrow for a moment. How would Sawyer’s dragon know you missed him?

     “Oh,” you huff quietly when you connect the dots. “Dammit, Cridhe.”

      Your dragon’s silence practically confirms his guilt. Sawyer laughs a little harder at your ensuing complaints. “It’s alright, darling. I missed you, too. I didn’t get to see you earlier.”

     You draw back enough to face him and actually look at him. In the dying sunlight, he looks ethereal. Even with a split lip and bruised skin, the sun makes his hair look more orange, and his freckles stand out in the light. If you weren’t so tired, you’d count every single one of them and then retrace your steps about five times over.

     “It’s okay,” you reply, tracing his features with a single finger. “That just means you get to stay here longer.”

     The wince he looses when your finger brushes over his lips doesn’t make it past you. “Sore?”

     He nods and then averts his gaze. When he looks back to you, you notice that his cheeks have turned a little pink. “…Kiss it better?” he queries, his voice a little hesitant. It seems old mannerisms die hard, especially for a shy boy like him.

     Fortunately for you, you were dying to get your lips on him anyway. You study his bruises for a moment, your eyes trailing down to his neck. Yeah, sundown was definitely his time; he looked utterly divine despite his skin being marred with flecks of purple. Your finger snags the edge of his shirt, pulling it down to expose more bruising. You meet his eyes for a moment, his pupils slightly dilated and sparkly as ever. Cute.

     You lean down, brushing your lips against his neck and allowing your signet to ignite and soothe the skin of his throat. His breath catches, his fingers gripping your waist a little harder at the heated rush that sings against his skin.

     “Not what I had in mind,” he murmurs, his words a little shaky, “but…Damn, darling. You’re something else, aren’t you, sweet girl?”

     You smile against his neck as you keep moving your lips up and around the damaged skin, shifting your thighs slightly as you lean closer to him. “Not really,” you hum against his skin. “You’re just sensitive sometimes.”

     He can’t — and doesn’t — argue with you. He barely opens his mouth in fear of any soft noises escaping him as you kiss up his throat, Mending his bruises little by little as you go. You’re not sure where this desire of yours came from; maybe it’s because you haven’t seen Sawyer for a little longer than you’d like, or maybe it’s because he just looks too good like this, or maybe it’s because you’re not too great at shielding yet and Cridhe is quite the romantic dragon. You’re not sure, but you’re egged on by the feeling of rough fingertips scraping against the hem of your shirt, threatening to dip under to the skin of your stomach if you continue.

     You suddenly get a bright idea. 

     Pausing in your movements, you ask him, “Sawyer? Did you miss me, too?”

     He barely registers your question, his eyes glued shut and his mind swimming in the velvet sensation of your lips on him. He cracks an eye open, though, once you speak, his voice breaking slightly. 

     “Of course I did, darling,” he sighs. “Like I said, I barely — Shiiiit.”

     His words are cut off by a ragged curse as you trace the warm tip of your tongue in a figure-eight around one last purple mark by his pulse point, which pounds furiously under your mouth.

      Sawyer groans. “You evil, evil woman. You set me up.”

     You grin, sweetly pecking his jaw. “Maybe,” you giggle, drawing back from the crook of his neck to look at him fully. Your lovely, patient boyfriend was looking at you through half-lidded eyes, his chest heaving as though your lips had produced some sort of chokehold on him. Maybe, in a way, you had, given how he gripped your hips with his short nails digging into your flesh.

     You lean in, nose-to-nose, your mouth barely brushing his lips. “Something tells me,” you add, your hand moving to rest on his shoulder, “that you’re not going to complain about it.”

     He closes the distance between you two, catching you slightly off-guard. You snap out of your daze, though, early enough that you can reach with one hand to cup his jaw to keep his face still as you press your lips firmly to the wound on his, your signet Mending the flesh with a rush of heat to accompany the oddly satisfying feeling of his lip knitting itself back together. The feeling makes his hands drop and grab at the nearest part of you — the back of your thighs — and squeeze, forcing a sharp inhale from you.

     Sawyer pulls back (much to your dismay), his hands shaking as he reaches for the hem of his shirt. You almost ask what he thinks he’s doing, but he slowly drags the fabric up, exposing the skin of his toned stomach…Which also happens to be littered with yellow and purple bruises.

     He just looks at you, his expression unreadable. “These, too?”

     You can’t help the fond but mischievous smile that graces your lips as you peck his newly-Mended lower lip. “I thought you’d never ask, pretty boy.”

[accidentcache]

five ➜ hinge binge [ FINAL ]

warnings: language, smoking, alcohol, mentions of stalker, written under the cut, fem!reader as usual!

cache notes: normal / quirkless au! childhood bestfriends rumi and keigo <3

series masterlist

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the double doors to the kitchen swung open, presenting a very nervous and freaked out looking touya. his forehead was sticky with sweat-- the bar was busy again, but also because he had spent the last fifteen minutes flirting with the one person his friend had told him was always off limits.

the one person who he had a crush on since the first time he'd seen them. if he didn't make it so… obvious that first night, he probably would not be drenched in his own nerves after talking with you for just a handful of minutes.

but no, keigo-- ever the protective best friend, had done his damnest to keep touya and yourself seperated. the fact that you didn't know he worked at the same bar this entire time? worked here longer than keigo? was the one who got him his management position in the first place?

crushed. absolutely devastated.

from the other side of the heated serving platforms, keigo's eyes narrowed as he caught touya pacing ever so slightly. he wouldn't come right out and accuse him of anything. keigo plays smarter than that. and touya definetely hasn't admitted fully to his crush on you. but keigo is smart in some ways. he knows.

"the hell are you doing, todoroki?" he calls through the heat, looking up from the dish he was currently helping spinner with. tomura slides behind them and steals a pickle, and though keigo doesn't verbally stop him-- he glares in his direction and swats at him as tomura darts away to avoid it.

touya smiles a little too widely for keigo's liking. his lower lip wobbles. his hair sticks to his forehead.

keigo stares. "are you kidding me?"

"what else am i supposed to do, takami?" touya leans forward from the other side of the serving platforms. if keigo can play his cards right, he'll get touya to admit his crush on you and have further reason not to have you two hang around each other.

"your job?" keigo retorts. "you've worked full houses before, touya. it shouldn't be an issue."

"you didn't tell me she'd be here!"

bingo.

keigo pauses slightly, but spinner has a hold on the dish the two of them were working on. spinner only spares him a faint roll of his eyes before taking the plate, sliding it up on the rack under warmth of the lamp before calling the ticket out. "who?" he questions after a beat.

touya hisses in response. "don't be dense, blondie," touya's teeth grit and his grip tightens on the metal countertop as he shifts uncomfortably in place. "your friend," he starts again. "[y/n]."

they're at a standstill now. with touya admitting to having a thing for you and keigo looking smug that he got him to admit it in the first place, the kitchen was buzzing around them-- ignoring the tension as both of the waited for the other to speak.

keigo knows your dating history. it's long, it's questionable and it makes his head hurt when he does think about it. and yeah, at first; he totally was judging the book off the cover and wanted touya to stay far away from you.

over the years, he's grown closer to the guy-- he still doesn't think it's a good idea for you to even think about getting in the guy's pants, but he wouldn't be the worst guy you got into bed with by a longshot. and that, unfortunately, is saying something. and keigo knows he has an overwhelming protective streak over you, he always has since high school. the trio— rumi, yourself and keigo— went through a lot together.

there was that little inkling in the back of his brain that maybe touya would treat you right. maybe.

"keigo, i'm being so fucking real with you right now, i don't think i can hold it together," touya's voice wavers. if the two of them weren't talking about you, he would've laughed. but the sight of touya being so flustered and out of sorts when he's normally so confident and a natural with women picks at another part of keigo's brain.

"god, do you actually like her?"

"i don't even know that much about her and i want to learn everything," touya replies. his tongue presses between his lips and he almost looks… desperate? for keigo's blessing it seems.

touya's witnessed keigo's protectiveness before. the night that he had to kick the stalker out-- he remembered just how livid the blonde was after touya had handled getting the guy out of the building.

it was a weird night for the both of them. keigo refused to get into it, but touya knew not to get on his bad side when it came to those closest to him. that was enough of a reason to get over this crush of his on you-- but did it work?

no, far from it, actually. coming face to face with you in the alley half an hour ago short circuited touya's brain. with your cheeks flushed from the alcohol and dancing you had done, hair sticking to your forehead; you looked as good as the day he first saw you. he wasn't expecting the menthol-- though he could change that if he could get past keigo first.

"she doesn't date my coworkers," keigo tries to dissuade him.

"i can try," touya counters back.

the blonde narrows his eyes. "keep it in your pants."

touya's eyes brighten, the look of pure satisfaction spreading onto his lips-- widening considerably by the second. his palms meet the metal of the counter twice, the corner of his mouth continuing to lift. "no promises."

keigo looks incredulous. "touya--!"

touya is already heading towards the double doors, his demeanor taking a complete 180. he spins on his heels to walk with his back to the door, holding his hands up in mocking surrender. "relax, takami!" he calls out, though there's twinge of honesty laced in his tone. "i'm not gonna sleep with her--" he steps through the doors, not letting the doors close until he finishes his statement.

"tonight, that is!"

keigo can only stare at the double doors as they swing and settle to a close after his departure.

© accidentcache do not repost, translate or alter my work without permission. all rights reserved.

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[honeyryewhiskey]

december

or, it's christmas tiiiime, and now dean is getting bossed around by his cupid to prepare the bunker for the holiday. he's totally loving it, just don't tell anyone. cw!! fluff! fluff! holiday fluff and wait—you do what under a mistletoe? heated kissing, strong language, 18+ 6.3k words

You’re sitting crisscrossed on the living room floor, barely a foot away from the TV, eyes glued to the screen.

Dean had left early in the morning for supplies, leaving you to follow Sam around the bunker like a shadow. You peppered him with endless questions about hunting, lore books, and the monsters they hunted until his patience started to fray. A tough feat with the ever sympathetic Sam, but somehow you keep managing to push that boundary with both the Winchesters. When the topic turned to his love life—your innocent curiosity fully unhinged—Sam had finally cracked. To remedy the situation, he popped in a DVD, and it only took a few seconds for you to become completely absorbed into the grinch who stole christmas. 

The sound of the bunker door opening and slamming shut breaks the movie’s spell for a moment. Dean’s heavy boots clamber down the stairs as he grumbles, “Unbelievable. Two other mouths this food is feedin’ and not a single hand to help unload the car.”

You don’t budge, the movie is far more compelling than whatever Dean’s annoyed about. What did not go unnoticed by the disgruntled man was your attention being on the screen, instead of on him. None of your usual circling around him asking what he got at the store like you usually do. The thought buzzed around in his brain as he put the groceries away. A pesky little feeling of wanting your attention setting him on edge. He couldn’t even help himself, peeking out of the kitchen a few times to look back at your hypnotized form. 

The vibrant hues of the screen reflected in your pupils as you watched each grumpy humph and retort from the Grinch. You found the oddly green and fluffy thing endearing, his antics making you think of another huffing, grumbling, dramatic man. 

Suddenly, a soft brown teddy bear appears in your line of sight. The stuffed animal disrupts your viewing, staring back at you with shiny black eyes and a stitched-in smile. You blink, eyes trailing up the arm holding it. Dean towers over you, wearing his usual grumpy scowl—an expression that contrasts so sharply with the stuffed bear in his hand that you almost laugh.

“Here,” he gruffs, shaking the bear slightly. “You wouldn’t shut up about wanting one on our last hunt, and the store had some, so…”

Your brows knit in confusion, raking your brain until you remember the bears at the gala. Cute and just begging for you to take home. Too much action of the night led to you leaving without a new plush friend, and you did bring it up to Dean at least once. Maybe twice, four or five times at most. 

Realizing Dean was actually listening to your spiels—despite his expressions making you think otherwise—makes your face light up with a radiant smile. You take the bear gingerly, cradling it like something precious. It’s plump, soft, and better than the ones at the gala. Settling it into your lap, you resume your movie watching, tucking the bear snugly as if it’s watching the film with you.

Dean’s frown softens—just a little—as he watches.

You lift a finger to point at the screen, peering up at him with furrowed brows. “Dean, this movie says Christmas is a holiday in December. It’s December now, but you and Sam haven’t said anything about this Christmas stuff.”

Dean shifts uncomfortably, his eyes darting around the room like he’s hunting for an escape route. “It’s… made up,” he shrugs. “Not a real holiday.”

“Oh,” you murmur, frown tugging at your lips as you look back at the TV. Holidays are becoming one of your favorite things these days. You were aloofly aware that humans had traditions, but there were so many over the course of human history that you never bothered to keep track. Now that the Winchesters have clued you in on some of these celebrations, you find it hard to believe the boys can be so lax about participating. And although you try your damn hardest not to be overly excited over learning new things, the joy that holidays brought you was a Pandora's box you’ve decided to leave cracked open. 

“Dean,” Sam’s voice cuts through the air as he walks into the room, a deep sigh trailing behind him. “Why are you lying to her about Christmas?”

“Lying?” You whip your head between the brothers, wide-eyed. 

Sam shoots Dean a look—one that says fix it—while Dean smiles coolly back, clearly unbothered.

“I’m not—” Dean starts, but Sam raises a brow. Dean groans, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Okay, fine. I lied. But we’re not—”

“We have to prepare!” you shout, leaping to your feet. Screw containing excitement. The movie showed you the wonderful intensity of this Christmas thing, and you’d be damned if you let Dean grumble his way out of this one. 

The teddy bear tumbles to the floor, forgotten for the moment. “We need a tree, and presents, and cookies, and sweaters!” You list, recounting from the film. Your gaze falls back to the bear, and you scoop it up quickly, holding it close. Your eyes sparkle as you coo, “Grumpy Bear needs a sweater, too.”

Dean freezes. “Grumpy Bear?”

Sam’s brow furrows. “Wait—Grumpy Bear?”

“Uh-huh,” You nod eagerly, trying not to laugh at your own joke and ruin it. Jokes were hard and you’re still getting the hang of them. “I named him after Dean.”

Dean groans, pinching the bridge of his nose as Sam fails to stifle his chuckle. “You’re killin’ me, lovebird,” Dean mutters under his breath.

“Alright, then,” Sam interjects, clapping his hands together before pointing at you and Dean, “you two go out and get us a tree and what-not. I’ll stay here and get the bunker ready.” He’s sporting a smug grin, clearly satisfied with his swift evasion of having to do any of the brunt work.

“What? Dude—no.” Dean shoots back, his head tilting as he sighs. 

“That’s a perfect plan, Sam!” you chirp back, placing Grumpy Bear on the couch. You don’t give Dean the chance to protest further, darting to grab your shoes and jacket while the brothers bicker in the living room. 

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

The Impala hums steadily along the snowy road, but your focus is on the radio’s dial. Before you left the bunker, Sam had pulled you aside, helpfully informing you of the radio stations that play nonstop festive music this time of year. You memorized his quick instructions: Just turn the right dial, he’d said, until the static gives way to something jolly and christmas-y.

So far, though, all you’ve found is static—and the longer it drags on, the more Dean radiates a particular brand of agitation that’s starting to fill the car.

“Love,” he finally says, his voice tight with thinly veiled annoyance, “what are you doing?”

“Hang on, I just have to find—” You twist the dial a little more, and finally, success. The opening notes of have a holly jolly christmas crackle through the speakers, soft and cheerful. Satisfaction pools through you at the sound. A stark contrast to the usual sounds coming from the impala’s speakers: loud, crashing instruments with throaty vocals and a single song lasts for what feels like forever. Classic rock, he once told you, nothin’s better than the classics. 

Dean groans like you’ve just personally offended him and immediately reaches over to change the station, but you’re faster. You swat his hand away with a firm pout.

“No way, Grinch.” You shake your head, crossing your arms triumphantly. “It’s Christmas time, and we’re getting into the spirit.”

Dean’s eyes flick between you and the road, and though his expression starts off sour, you can see the amusement tugging at the corner of his lips. Sam had warned you this would happen. He’d even told you exactly what to say when Dean inevitably tried to kill the Christmas cheer: Just say something about getting into the Christmas spirit, and be firm, Cupid. You know how he gets. 

“Grinch, huh?” Dean mutters, throwing you a sidelong glance. “Alright, fine. I’ll let it slide this one time. But for the record,” his finger goes up in protest, “I am not the Grinch.”

“Oh, no?” You grin, eyes playfully scowling at him. “Mean, grumpy guy up on the mountain gets all gushy when someone’s nice to him for once? Sounds like someone I might know.”

Dean huffs out a laugh, finally giving in to the playful banter. “Grumpy, mean—fine. But I do not do gushy.”

Hearing his laugh makes your heart flutter, the sound feeling like a trophy when he’s usually at his wit ends with you. Dean was in general a pessimistic guy, that much you’ve noticed. And he was mean when he first met you, and wrongly assumed you’d be an annoying mouthpiece from heaven. But in the months you’ve spent following him around, you’ve started to figure out how to make that scowl melt into a big smile. 

It was hit or miss most of the time, but you always were a bit of a boundary pusher. 

“You do, too.” you press mockingly.

“Uh-huh,” he breathes, brows quirking, “Is that so? Well if I’m the grinch that makes you, what—my Cindy Lou Who?” His face squints with his words. 

“Exactly,” you chirp, practically glowing with pride. Without thinking, you reach over, placing a small hand on his chest. “And I’m gonna make sure that heart grows three sizes, Winchester.”

Dean’s eyes flicker between you and your hand. His mouth twitching into a lopsided smile as he shakes his head. “I bet you will, lovebird,” he murmurs, voice softer now as you retract into your seat and he focuses on the road again. “I bet you will.”

The playful warmth lingers as the Impala rolls on, the car filling with soft holiday tunes and the quiet hum of the engine. You nod along to the music, sneaking glances at Dean as he drums his fingers against the wheel in time with the song.

The scenery outside begins to shift, and Dean slows the car, turning onto a gravel driveway. The worn out sign on the left side gate at the entrance reads, The Ginger Family Farm – Christmas Trees & Reindeer!

Your gaze sharpens as you sit up straighter, a large red barn sits on the hill, surrounded by neat lines of snowy pine trees. It’s an old and faded structure, but the chimney bellows smoke and the doors are propped open. From this distance all you can see are the twinkling lights inside and movement from the people within. But it’s the pasture near the entrance that really catches your attention. A herd of reindeer grazes lazily by a fence, their soft brown fur gleaming in the afternoon sun. Another faded sign beside them reads: Santa’s Helpers Live Here!

Dean hasn’t even fully parked when you unbuckle your seatbelt and lean over him, climbing into his lap to get a better look out of his window.

“Dean,” you whisper, eyes alight with wonder as your nose grazes against the glass, “are those… reindeer?”

He glances down at you, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. “Yep,” he replies, reaching over your frame to throw the car into park.

“They’re real?” you ask, turning to him with wide eyes, equal parts skeptical and fascinated. “I mean, I knew they were real, but I didn’t think I’d ever actually see them.”

Dean chuckles as he pops his door open, an arm going around your waist to stop you from tumbling out of the open door. “Real enough. But don’t get your hopes up—they don’t fly.”

You slide out after him, giving him a mildly exasperated look. “I know they don’t fly, Dean. Our universe has exactly three beings with wings: birds, bugs and angels. That much I am sure of.”

Dean snorts, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets as he watches you drift toward the fence, your curiosity written all over your face. The way your head starts to tilt, lips popping open as your eyes start to squint. Dean has witnessed this look more than a handful of times now, and it still has that same damn effect of making him want to watch you explore new things all day. 

But it also makes his heart twist and strain as the pounding reverberates throughout his entire body. The kind of thing he does not want to think deeper about. You’re just cute, that’s all, and what kind of monster would say no to something so, damn, cute?

“You wanna go say hi?” Dean calls after you, his voice light and teasing.

You glance back at him, a shy smile finding your lips. “I can do that?”

“Sure, bet there’s some kid over there feeding them carrots. You can be next in line.” He teases.

The teasing goes over your head, as all you really heard was Dean agreeing to something. Without hesitation, you grab his hand, tugging him toward the pasture. “Fine by me, but you’re feeding them. I don’t do well with teeth.” you shutter. 

Dean raises his brows, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and amusement. He tucks that comment away for later, adding it to the growing list of your quirks that simultaneously baffle and charm him. But you’re tugging him across the snowy field, all bright-eyed and—oh god—giggly, you’re giggling. He can’t bring himself to stop you.

And if his hand stays wrapped in yours a little longer than necessary—warm and steady against the cold air—well, that’s between him and his not-so-Grinch-sized heart.

As you approach the pasture, the reindeer lift their heads, their large, black eyes blinking lazily in your direction. One of them—a particularly curious-looking one with a slightly crooked antler—takes a few cautious steps closer to the fence.

You freeze mid-step, tucking yourself closer to Dean. “It’s coming over here,” you hiss, half-whisper, half-excited gasp. You weren’t used to animals of this size, a nervousness you’re still getting used to feeling creeps up your spine. With your hand still intertwined in his, you use your free hand to clutch his arm and merely peek at the animal from the safety of Dean’s side. 

“Yeah, that’s kind of the idea,” Dean replies, deadpan, though the grin tugging at his lips betrays his amusement.

The reindeer stops a few feet away, eyeing you both with what you can only describe as mild suspicion. You tighten your grip on Dean’s hand and arm, big eyes peering up at him expectantly as you nudge him forward slightly. “Okay, go on, you first.”

Dean snorts, stepping forward to the fence. “It’s a reindeer, not a beast. Relax.” He leaves your side, the winter air hitting him a little harder without your warmth pressed against his side. Leaning against the wooden fence, he holds out a tentative hand like he’s done this a thousand times before.

To your surprise, the reindeer moves closer, sniffing at his fingers. You watch, wide-eyed, as it nudges Dean’s palm with its fuzzy pink nose.

“See? Not so bad,” Dean coos, glancing back at you with an infuriatingly smug expression.

You scoff, crossing your arms. “Sure, you’re the reindeer whisperer. But if I try that, it’s probably gonna bite me.”

“Doesn’t even have teeth to bite with,” he replies, rolling his eyes.

“You’re lying again, aren’t you?” you mutter, eyes sizing into slits from suspicion. Dean shrugs, but the smirk on his face instills your weariness. 

Hesitantly, you shuffle closer. Keeping close to Dean, so that most of his body is between you and the animal, you tentatively reach out. Dean’s large hands contrast yours when they’re side by side like this, and he impatiently moves yours to touch the curious snout. 

A quiet, nervous gasp escapes you, but the reindeer only leans into your touch. It’s nose is soft and velvety. The feel of it momentarily puts out your nervous flames. Dean gently maneuvers you in front of him to give you ample space for petting, leaning down to your ear he speaks softly, “There you go, little angel. Just be gentle, alright? Don’t wanna spook ‘em.” 

The words spook ‘em makes you jump back, but there’s little space to move with Dean being so close. Making you become a stumbling mess between him and the fence. Your harsh movements scares the reindeer, as the nimble animal darts back to it’s herd. Leaving you huffing with your heart pounding.

With your hands now safely back at your sides, you feel Dean’s chest rumble with laughter as you whip around to shoot him a scowl. “Not funny, Dean.” you whine, watching as he struggled to pull himself out of the laughing fit. 

A familiar sound, music like the kind you found in the car, turns your attention to the old barn. You take notice of the small cluster of families near the entrance, their arms full of freshly cut Christmas trees. The warm glow of string lights spills out from the open barn doors, illuminating the snow-dusted path leading up to it.

With one more flash of sharpened eyes at Dean, you march on towards the cosy atmosphere on the hill. Dean quickly falls in line, mumbling half-hearted apologies through the fading bubbles of laughter.

Stepping into the barn, the scent of fresh pine and hay wrap around you like a warm blanket. Inside, a few people mingle and look around the shop. A large wooden counter sits in the center, where an elderly man with kind eyes and a bushy white beard greets you with a wide smile.

Dean leans into your ear again as walks past, quickly murmuring, “That’s definitely Santa.” He pulls away with a glimmering smirk and shoots you a wink as he approaches the counter. 

“Looking for a tree?” The man in a buffalo plaid jacket asks, his voice warm and welcoming. Your thoughts briefly wonder if he is Santa. But if a spirit actually went around invading people’s houses on the same night every year, surely Sam and Dean would have done something about it by now. You settle on a quiet suspicion that you would not be asking Dean about. 

Dean glances at you, green eyes softening. “Yeah,” he says, his tone lighter than usual. “Somethin’ nice. She’s got high standards, this one.” He gestures to you with a big, charming smile. You nod back, not entirely sure what high standards for a tree would be, but you’re certain the bunker would need the best damn tree available. 

Dean starts talking about height, type, and price with mr-may-or-may-not-be-Santa—a conversation that makes your brain wonder elsewhere. The barn was warm and something behind the counter mixed a chocolatey scent into the pine air. Wooden shelves lined the walls, stocked with syrup bottles, boxes of pastries, and Christmas themed trinkets. You moved towards them to get a closer look and search for anything pie-like for Dean. 

As you muse around the small space, a basket of small, handwoven angel-dolls catches your eye. Curious, you step closer and pick one up, tilting your head as you inspect its delicate details. Each doll is unique, with different hair and skin tones, but they all share the same serene, closed-eyed expression. They look kind. Peaceful. So different from the angels you once knew in Heaven. 

The quiet shuffle of boots behind you signals Dean’s approach. His jacket brushes the back of yours as he leans over your shoulder, his gaze following yours to the doll.

“That’s what we put on the top of the tree,” he says casually.

“Why?” you ask, tucking the angel back into its basket.

“Uh, not sure, really. Maybe—”

A gentle clink, clink, clink interrupts him. You both turn toward the sound to see the jolly man behind the counter holding a silver bell high over his head. His grin stretches wide over his rosy face as he announces, “You two are the first of the season!”

Dean’s brows furrow. “The first what?” he mutters under his breath, while your own confusion mirrors his.

The man gestures upward with a wink, then turns back to his work. Dean follows his motion, his head tilting back, he sees it. “Oh god,” he whispers with a quiet groan. 

“What?” Your eyes trail up, finding a small sprig of green with red berries hanging over your heads. 

“Mistletoe,” he answers flatly.

Your head tilts with curiosity, still staring at the small fixture, “and that means?”

Dean hesitates, glancing at you before clearing his throat. “You’re supposed to kiss whoever you’re caught underneath it with. And if you don’t, you get bad luck.” 

Your lips twitch as you stifle a giggle. The thought of humans, for centuries, kissing beneath a little spring for the sake of good luck. Humans and their little quirks, never ceasing to entertain you. “How romantic.” you muse, that mischievous look, the one Dean has learned to recognize, is glowing in your eyes again.

He shifts uncomfortably, his hand rubbing the back of his neck,  “It’s a stupid superstition we don’t—”

You’re not even paying attention to the words coming from his mouth. Instead, you lean onto your tiptoes, grabbing his wide shoulders for support as your lips place a soft kiss against his. He’s warm against your skin, his hands instinctively finding their place at your hips, causing goosebumps to ripple along your skin. Hot and dizzying. The sensation is so exciting that a light bulb clicks on inside your mind. This must be why humans kiss under a damn sprig. 

It’s over just as quick, a fleeting touch, but enough to leave Dean frozen in place. When you pull back, his wide-eyed expression makes you bite your lip to suppress a laugh. You briefly wonder if kissing him when he’s grumpy would leave the same effect. A thought you’ll probably test, as it cements itself into the fabrics of your mind.

“You’re looking at me funny.” You say with a laugh. The innocence in your voice makes Dean’s head spin. Batting your lashes up at him like a kiss is as simple as a high five. 

He blinks, green eyes raking your face as he processes what just happened, “You just kissed me.”

“Mhm,” you hum nonchalantly, thinking nothing of it.

“But you’re an angel—cupid or whatever.”

You arch a brow, tilting your head as if the thought hadn’t crossed your mind. “And?”

“I don’t know, I just…” Dean falters, gesturing vaguely. “I figured you’d be… you know, above that sort of thing.”

The corners of your lips twitch as you suppress a smile, your voice soft but teasing. “Did you think that means I’m some sort of prude, Dean Winchester?”

“Well, yeah,” he admits, still too caught off guard to filter his words. “Kinda.”

You shrug, your eyes alight with quiet amusement. “I’ve never been afraid of a little sin.”

Dean stares at you, utterly baffled, his mouth opening like he wants to say something but can’t quite find the words. His mind spins in circles, caught somewhere between disbelief and the faintest flicker of something he refuses to name.

Finally, he shakes his head and mutters, “Lovebird, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

You grin, the playful spark in your eye only growing. “Maybe. But at least you won’t have bad luck now.”

Dean groans, running a hand down his face as he turns toward the barn’s open doors. “C’mon, let’s just find a damn tree and get out of here before you decide to test any more sins on me.”

But as he walks ahead, his heart beats a little faster, and he doesn’t dare think too much about why he already misses the warmth of your lips.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

“Are you sure the Santa guy said you could do this?” You ask, your voice tinged with doubt as you glance between Dean and the awfully large axe slung over his shoulder.

Dean stands there, the very picture of confidence, one hand propped on his hip and the other gripping the axe like he’s posing for the cover of Lumberjack Monthly. His eyes rake over the tallest tree in the grove, a determined smirk playing on his lips. Somehow, he’d sweet-talked the man at the counter into letting him chop down the damn tree himself—a detail you’re still struggling to wrap your head around.

Your eyes timidly look over the rest of the trees. Some were already cut, bound in netting and propped against fences. Closer to the barn, a few families stand around men, dressed in matching plaid and denim, as they expertly axe down the pine—the way it’s supposed to go, a tradition you quickly picked up on. 

Dean doing it himself, when you assume he’s never taken down a tree before, does not feel like the right way to go about the tradition. 

“Cupid,” Dean sighs dramatically, still appraising the tree, “I chop vamp heads for a living. I think I can handle a little tree.”

You eye the towering pine skeptically. “I wouldn’t exactly call this ‘little.’”

Dean turns to you, his smirk widening as a glint of mischief flashes in his eyes. “That’s what—” He stops mid-sentence, recoiling at himself as he shakes his head. “Nope. Nope. Not doin’ it.”

You blink at him, confused by his abrupt backpedaling, but before you can ask, he’s already stepping up to the tree and hefting the axe like it’s a wonky baseball bat.

With a hefty swing, the blade lodges into the trunk with a solid thud. Dean pauses, straightening to inspect his handiwork, though his furrowed brow suggests he’s less than impressed.

Letting out a frustrated huff, he shrugs off his jacket and shoves it into your hands. “Hold this,” he mutters, already focused on pulling the axe free for another attempt.

You dutifully clutch the jacket, taking a tentative step back as Dean lines up his next swing. The follow-through chips a small piece from the trunk, sending it flying through the air. Your gaze tracks it as it lands quietly in the snow.

“Dean,” you whine softly, glancing around at the other families in the field who seem to be having a much smoother time letting professionals handle the chopping. “Maybe we should—”

A sharp crack interrupts you, the sound startling as it echoes through the crisp air. Your breath catches as you snap your attention back to Dean, who’s now whistling under his breath, clearly pleased with himself.

“Alright!” he cheers, his grin wide and triumphant as he puts more force behind his swings. The tree trembles with each impact, the gap between trunk and stump widening until, at last, the entire pine groans and falls with a muffled thud into the snow.

Dean chucks the axe to the ground, throwing his arms up in victory. His breath puffing visibly in the cold air. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about, baby!”

For a moment, you’re frozen, staring at the tree in awe. It’s not just any tree, you realize—it’s your very first Christmas tree. The thought sinks in, filling you with a fizzy warmth that bubbles up into a grin so wide it makes your cheeks ache. Without thinking, you hop across the snow to where Dean is standing, your boots crunching beneath you.

“You did it!” you squeak, your voice breathless with excitement as you fling your arms around his neck.

The hug catches Dean off guard, but his hands instinctively settle at your waist, pulling you closer and lifting you just slightly off the ground. He’s sturdy, like an anchor, and for a moment, the world feels perfectly still despite the crisp air and the snow swirling gently around you.

You pull back a fraction, your arms still looped loosely around his neck, and Dean looks down at you, his own grin softening. His chest tightens unexpectedly at the sight of you—eyes wide and sparkling, cheeks flushed from the cold, or maybe from something else entirely. The joy radiating from you feels almost too much, too bright, too... vulnerable.

He swallows hard, his throat suddenly dry as the warmth of the moment wraps around him.

“Oh, lover,” he murmurs, the nickname tumbling out unbidden, his voice low and almost reverent. “you gotta stop lookin’ at me like that. For my own sake.”

Your grin falters for just a second, confusion flickering in your eyes. “Like what?” you ask softly, your voice almost unsure, as if the words themselves hold a weight you can’t quite grasp.

Dean chuckles, shaking his head like he’s trying to brush off the way his stomach twists at your innocent question. “Never mind,” he mutters, his hands lingering just a moment too long before gently setting you back on the snowy ground.

You don’t linger on his words, too focused on the tree, and how it doesn’t make you feel jittery and nervous like the way looking Dean in the eye is making you feel. “C’mon, Dean,” you say, your voice bright again, “let’s get this Christmas tree home!”

Dean watches you bounce toward the tree’s trunk, your laughter dancing in the air like the snowflakes falling around you. His chest feels tight again, but this time, he doesn’t fight it. The way your smile lingers in his mind feels dangerous, but he can’t seem to let it go. 

Against his own better judgement, he lets himself soak it all in—the smile he puts on your face, the way your excitement feels like a kiss from the sun in the dead of winter.

He exhales slowly, his breath visible in the cold air, and picks up the axe with a quiet smile tugging at his lips. Watching you crouch to inspect the tree like it’s the most magical thing you’ve ever seen, he reels in the inexplicable warmth settling in his chest.

“Yeah,” he murmurs to himself, his voice soft. “Let’s get it home.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Back at the bunker…

The living room feels much more cozy with all of the festive decor priming the room. The scent of pine mingling with the usual smell of dust and old books. The tree is nearly perfect—twinkling lights casting a golden glow, red and green ornaments catching the light in sparkling bursts. But the top remains bare.

The three of you are finishing up the tree, clad in matching sweaters. Dean let you pick them out, each adorning little reindeer and ‘oh deer’ written across the image with sparkling jewels. 

“You’re too far to the left, Sam!” you call out, hands on your hips as you stand beside Dean.

“It’s centered,” Sam retorts, utilizing his full height and wing span as he adjusts the angel at the top of the tree.

“No, she’s right,” Dean cuts in frankly, arms crossed. He squints up at the angel. “It’s a little crooked. Just tilt it—”

Sam groans. “You two are impossible.”

You nudge Dean with your elbow, grinning up at him. “Told you I have a good eye.”

Dean smirks, shaking his head. “You? A good eye?” He shakes his head, smirking.  “Please.”

With an exaggerated huff, Sam adjusts the angel one more time, muttering something under his breath about “backseat decorators.” But when both you and Dean gasp in unison, he pauses to look down.

“Better?”

“Perfect!” you both chime at the same time, your voices overlapping in synchronicity.

You glance at Dean, giggling at the moment’s absurdity, only to find him already looking at you. His grin softens, the teasing edge replaced by something warmer, deeper.

“Told you teamwork makes the dream work,” he gloats, but his voice is quieter, almost teasing.

You look away quickly, that funny warmth spreading to your cheeks again. The way he keeps looking at you today, all that warmth in his pretty green eyes—it’s too much. There’s a warm gooey feeling stirring in your chest, the intensity of new emotions is always exhausting. But this? You’re not even sure how you’re still standing when your knees keep going weak. 

Your hand brushes against the weight in your pocket, the mistletoe you had swiped earlier suddenly feeling heavier. The memory of the earlier kiss flashes in your mind, and your stomach flutters nervously. What if—no. You can’t just stand here thinking about it. God, no. You have a thought to chase down and explore.

“I, um… I’ll be right back!” you blurt out, spinning on your heel before either brother can question you.

Dean blinks, caught off guard. “What? Where are you—?”

But you’re already halfway down the hall, moving faster than you probably need to. Sam and Dean share confused looks, the younger brother shrugging before turning back to the tree to adjust some of the ornaments. Dean tries to let it go, but he’d actually enjoyed having you so close to him all day, he couldn’t just shake the annoyance he felt at your absence. 

Meanwhile, your quickened pace comes to a harsh stop at your room, heart racing. Clumsily pulling the small spring from your pocket, you fasten it to the doorframe with a piece of tape.  You step back to admire your handiwork, a sly grin spreading across your face despite the butterflies in your stomach.

“Dean!” you call out, your voice light and sing-songy, “can you come here for a sec?”

His boots are heavy against the floor as he approaches, stopping just short of the doorway. His eyes narrow as they take in your giddy grin and the way you’re practically bouncing in place. 

“What’s going on?” he asks, suspicious.

You point upward, your smile widening as his gaze follows your gesture. The mistletoe dangles above him, and his expression shifts—part amusement, part exasperation.

“Seriously?” he drawls. “You stole that, didn’t you?”

You press your lips together, suppressing a giggle. “Borrowed,” you correct innocently.

Dean shakes his head, his lips pressing together in a way that barely hides his smile. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” but it’s so quiet, as if he’s only speaking to himself.

You shrug, your playful tone impossible to hide. “I’m a cupid,” you say sweetly, as if that explains everything. “And you’re under the mistletoe.” You remind him. 

He sighs, leaning against the doorframe. His eyes take their time looking you up and down. Like he’s trying to measure you up, your mischievous nature making his head spin once again. 

And Dean really hates getting his mind frazzled, especially by a little thing who’s so goddamn sugary sweet.

 “Uh huh, you got me there.” 

You nod, reeling in the way he’s giving into you. “Rules are rules, Dean.”

There are about a million and one reasons why he shouldn’t entertain this. Getting caught under the mistletoe at the barn was one thing—a moment of bad timing, easily brushed off. But this? This cheeky little stunt of yours, this deliberate invitation—it’s another story entirely. You’re an angel, literally, for God’s sake. There’s gotta be rules around this growing connection that he’s been so stubbornly ignoring. That much he’s sure of. Nevermind the fact that you’re pure, a true beacon of sweet curiosity and everything he is not. 

Dean knows damn well his rough hands would quickly break something so delicate if put in his grasp. 

But you’re excited, staring at him starry-eyed. And it’s just a kiss. Hardly a real one if there’s a mistletoe commanding it, right? 

Surely, this sin can be forgiven… twice. 

For once in his life, Dean lets go of the ever-tight grip he has on his better judgment. He silences the screaming voice in his head, loosens the chains on the flickering desire he’s tried so hard to bury. His body moves before his brain can catch up, his hand lifting to your face.

His thumb presses into the soft skin of your chin, his fingers firm but gentle as they tilt your head up toward him.

Your breath catches. He pauses, leaning in close enough that the peppermint-laced warmth of his breath fans over your lips. The hesitation lasts only a heartbeat, just long enough for that voice in the back of his mind to beg him to stop.

But he doesn’t.

Dean closes the distance, his lips pressing against yours. It’s firm but not harsh, sure yet somehow keeping a tenderness he’s finding harder to deny around you. Your world tilts, heart hammering so loudly you’re certain he can feel it in your chest. For a moment, the edges of everything blur—time, space, all of it—until there’s only him.

His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. The other finds your hip, anchoring you to him in a way that feels as much like a need as a want. Your hands move instinctively, planting firmly on either side of his neck, fingers curling into his hair for stability.

The kiss deepens, unhurried yet consuming, his lips leading and yours eagerly following. The lingering scent of pine clings faintly to him, grounding you even as the dizzying heat of his touch threatens to sweep you away.

When he finally pulls back, his chest rises and falls heavily, breaths mingling with yours in the narrow space he leaves between you. His lips linger close to yours as he murmurs, voice low and rough, “Happy now?”

It takes a moment for you to find your voice, still lost in the haze of what just happened. Your cheeks burn, but the giddy smile spreading across your face is impossible to contain. “Oh, I don’t know,” you tease breathlessly, tilting your head. “Maybe. I think your Grinch heart might’ve grown at least one size today.”

Dean snorts, the tension breaking as the corner of his mouth lifts into the grin you’ve been pulling out of him all day. “You’re impossible,” he says, though there’s no real bite to it. Not this time.

Even as he steps back, as he forces himself to put distance between you, his eyes stay locked on yours. Jade green and conflicted, they linger for a beat too long, like he’s trying to figure out what on god’s green earth he’s just gotten himself into.

this was so long im sorry, i got a lil carried away

[luigilore]

lu and offline!reader who only uses goodreads

it's his excuse for following you on there even though you don't know each other very well. he obsessively checks it to see what you're up to, uses it to start conversations, and for his own personal recommendations when it's just to get your attention. he'll buy books you want to read and say he just had it around when he gifts it, but you can tell it's never been opened by how new it it, but you don't comment on it. he does hope you'll comment on the fact that he just happens to be reading the same book as you lol

oh wow this is so good imagine college lu + having a class w/ him maybe a humanities english/history/theology class that he takes for his gen ed req but is actually very invested in- the material is interesting and you're there.... luigi genuinely thinks your comments in class are so insightful and interesting, you're always carrying a different book in your bag, and he likes listening to ur laugh when ur talking before class with ur friends

as one inevitably does, he googles you and does not find anything.... like what and then one day before class a group of u are talking and you mention how you don't have any social media and how harmful you think it is... and luigi would butt in like 'yeah, i don't like social media either' and you would grin and ask, 'you're offline too?'

he has to be like... 'well, no. i'm actually a computer science major- so...' lmfaoo and u laugh like oh! okay and smile but he cringes sooo hard at himself and thinks about this convo for a week like genuinely

a few weeks later he makes conversation with you about a point you made in class and you'd somehow mention goodreads and he'd take his chance with 'i'm trying to meet more readers can i have ur good reads :)'

he would be SO awkward but sweet... eye contact would be marginal, but he would hold the door for you as you're walking out together and you give him ur goodreads and he's he adds you immediately after you leave lol

would read through your reviews that night... i think if he was fr fr crushing he would want to know everything about you and all of your opinions... just fascinated .... googles your top five list and reads ur fav book then brings it up a few weeks later. bonus points if it's just absolutely not something he would ever gravitate towards lol and all of his friends are like 'wtf are you reading???' lmfaooo

if u add something to ur want to read list he'll show up with it like yeahhh just had this laying around... nbd... and it's like some relatively obscure, niche reprint or something lmfao (also pristine) but i fear u r endeared... like yeah ur first date would have to be a bookstore date <3

anon ur brain 🤯 i love this smmm

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Hello! Hope your day is going alright. I was wondering if you have any advice for when all characters feel the same? Despite having different core traits and mannerisms, when I write them it always somehow ends up feeling like they're copy pastes of one another to me. I noticed that I've been having a hard time with giving my characters agency too which led me to wondering if that isn't causing the former issues.

Thank you for taking the time to run this blog and help so many people, cheers!

Writing Notes: Character Identity & Agency

Identity chart. Example:

What parts of themselves are influencing their decisions in your story? Familiarize that part of their identities.

Try to maintain the truth of the group and to simultaneously think of your character as an individual.

Thinking about why your characters behave the way they do and why they make certain decisions is important to writing a good story.

The plot moves along because of the decisions your characters make.

Be honest with yourself and what you know and don't know, do some research and ask for help, you'll create more authentic characters that way.

Your Character's Agency. Some writers prefer to map out their story but allow their characters to help lead the story.

This technique is more often used by "pantsers".

A pantser is a term most commonly applied to fiction writers, especially novelists, who write their stories "by the seat of their pants."

The opposite would be a plotter, or someone who uses outlines to help plot out their novels.

Many writers fall into one camp or the other, though it's not uncommon for writers to try both methods from book to book.

Author Victoria Schade describes giving her characters agency:

...I kept stressing out about a specific plot point I couldn’t untangle, and over time my characters slowly revealed the answer to me. It wasn’t an “a ha” moment, it was a gradual realization, and when it all came together I couldn’t help but think, “It was there the whole time!” But that’s the beauty of letting characters have agency and giving them an active role in the writing process—they surprise you!

It pays off to let characters have agency, she has found, particularly in the drafting process.

WRITING TIPS. When creating a character, try to understand them so that their actions and words are consistent with their personality and history.

Who we are is at least partly hardwired, inherited from parents and grandparents.

A lot of those characteristics like how extraverted or introverted someone is, how open or private they are, how conscientious or empathetic or neurotic they are is there in a child’s brain.

Knowing those basic characteristics could help you understand where a person has come from.

But those traits are plastic; they are moulded by experience and especially childhood.

Writing a backstory for a character helps the writer make certain that even confident social behavior (from an introverted character) is different from the social behavior of an extravert.

No personality trait is better than another, extraverts don’t have easier lives than introverts, conscientious people don’t do better than slapdash people.

Everyone struggles with their own nature in the wrong settings.

Of course, writers delight in putting them in the wrong settings.

Understanding motivation is crucial to developing a character, most writers do this automatically.

They may have a plot-driven goal (solve the crime, deliver the ring, marry the hero), but they also have

personal motivations (revenge against a killer, loyalty to comrades, love or loneliness).

Example: You don’t want a shy, lonely character to suddenly propose a karaoke night, because the reader won’t find it believable. Maybe she has to be talked into it, dragged even!

When creating main characteristics, it’s worth jotting down a personality sketch and basic history.

Smaller characters are just as important.

It's okay if you don’t delve into their history much, but you don’t want them to be stereotypical characters, just ciphers for the plot.

These smaller characters are great opportunities to reveal something about the main character, as they are seen through their point of view.

Example: A confident person meeting a surly waiter might challenge them, or ignore it. An anxious person might blame themselves.

We are interested in people and how different they are from us.

Stories of extraordinary life experiences draw us in.

We want to learn about personality traits that we don’t understand, like psychopathy or obsession, which explains the popularity of true crime books and fiction about murder.

Human beings are varied and interesting, we like to understand what they do.

A death, a divorce, a lost job, a miscarriage, all lead to a fresh start—it’s a brilliant trope, because we all experience them in our own lives.

Characters are revealed to us as they struggle and adapt, make new choices, build new relationships.

People don’t move on cleanly; they trail the past around with them for years.

Allowing a character to experience doubts and fears going forward makes them more relatable, more realistic.

Our senses produce a lot of memories.

The most evocative are smells.

We can activate memories from our childhood, even babyhood from a scent.

Example: Smoke from pipe tobacco can evoke someone's grandfather, who they hardly knew because he died when they were just a toddler. But the smell could bring back the sound of his voice and his bristly beard, huge leathery hands.

The "Read a lot" Writing Tip:

Read psychology articles and real-life stories, just to enrich your fiction.

As writers, we collect stories.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Thanks so much for your kind words! Try some of these tips and see which ones work for you as a writer, or perhaps for that specific story you are currently writing. Some writers don't find it necessary to give their characters agency, but it can work at times. When characters start to feel "the same", one technique is using charts like this, or templates, just to help with keeping track of your characters' traits and further differentiating them from one another. Hope this helps & have a lovely day/night as well.

More References for Character Development

Some Writing Worksheets & Templates

[kiefbowl]

What's your take on written erotica/smut like fanfiction? Obviously it's nowhere comparable to porn, but I definitely see problems with it as it can perpetuate misinformation and harmful stereotypes all the same (ie. many tropes are very likely based on exposure to porn).

I do see fanfiction as something of a hobby/safe space made predominantly by women for women. There's creativity and a community involved, and real people aren't being harmed in its production.

What do you think? Is it something feminists should be against? Or is it a gray area?

It's situational and depends on context. Women are allowed to be sexual and explore their desires as much as their boundaries. I also think it's sticky to assume that anything "bad" that a woman says is sexually exciting can only have been learned through socialization. However, socialization can never be removed from sex. So, should women be treated like grown adults who know their own sexual appetites? Surely, yes. Does that mean adult women can't be coerced or socialized into "liking" something they otherwise would not have? Obviously not, that is very possible.

I think there is a history within feminism that can swing a little conservative in this area, moralizing natural sexual instincts and assuming women ought not have sex at all. This is problematic thinking for me, but also I don't ultimately disagree with the benefits of celibacy and how radical and political that decision can be. I celebrate every woman who takes that course of action, for whatever reason and whatever sexuality and to whatever degree. Women do not need to have sex, of any kind, with anyone.

The issue I take, however, is the impulse to assume women can't know their own minds, bodies, and intuitions - or that an individual woman's body belongs to a political agenda before it belongs to herself. This is a general impulse of misogyny as a whole, and I think it's false to assume you don't have this impulse just because you are a feminist. It takes a lot of work, constant lifelong work, to see women as full capable adult humans and also to have a theory of mind about women. Women are not infantile, and sexuality is not inconvenient.

To loop this back to fanfiction, I think we can see a convergence of different issues (mild and serious) with some things that are fact-of-life or even positive. My main concern with "smutty fanfiction" is actually young girls, rather than women. I think a lot of tweens and teens are exposed to raunchy fanfiction before they're exposed to scientific and unmoralizing sexual education. That can cause huge issues for young girls that can lead to issues as young (and even old) women. Should a 13-year-old be masturbating to written BDSM of cartoon characters before she even learns that masturbating is normal and healthy & before she can see any affirmations that "normal" sex is meant to be pleasurable, and women are active participants to it? Not to be puritanical but, uhm, no. Are there, like, policy fixes I think should be in place? I struggle with that.

I think the policy fixes for these issues aren't so much about regulating fanfiction and who gets to access the internet - I think it more has to do with disseminating proper sexual education early and thoughtfully. When it comes to the role of fanfiction and erotica in women's lives in general, perhaps backstage activism is a better route here. Conscious raising groups, books & magazines, getting together with women and girls and having frank and open discussions...these things go a long way in our communities.

But also - girls get to be sexual too, and I think the ways taboo intersects with sexuality isn't so surprising. I don't think feminists need to be overly alarmed when girls are curious and maybe a little naughty. I don't think reading fanfiction is ever going to be worse than watching online porn, least of all that the way your brain processes video is different than how it processes the written word. I don't think a young girl is "doomed" if she reads a particularly explicit book or sees something that is, broadly, disagreeable to feminist thinking. If anything, maybe feminists should be targeting mothers and giving them resources on how to intervene in a healthy way. How do you talk about weird furry porn to your tweenager without making her feel ashamed? How can you make it so that the embarrassing is funny and she feels safe? How can you say "I don't think you should be looking at this" not because it's sexual, but because it distorts sexuality? How do we help mom be cool when maybe mom isn't cool?

I think this is a very interesting topic that deserves attention, and a lot could be written about it. Thanks for the great question.

[inosukijiro]

✮⋆˙ modern!reader

𝙨𝙮𝙣. ━ one minute, you were at home and the next, you were gone. but now, here you are, and it looks like you're here to stay!

━ 𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙨. hiiii, first post in a few months huh (╥﹏╥). anyways i’ve had this idea in my brain for a really looong time so im v happy to get this out of my drafts FINALLY ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜ and i also never wrote headcanons or for spn before so i hope its okayyy <3

━ 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨. none?  lowercase intended. gender-neutral reader unless stated otherwise. modern reader in spn. this was supposed to be shorter then i yapped a little too much oops. 1.02k words.

  ─── ⋆⋅𖦹⋅⋆ ───  ─── ⋆⋅𖦹⋅⋆ ───  ─── ⋆⋅𖦹⋅⋆ ───

𖤐 .ᐟ you are a long way away from home, whether you like it or not. you try so hard to maintain your composure, because in your mind, there is no point in freaking out. but you do, just a little bit in the beginning because how could you not? you’re a nervous wreck, no doubt. and the boys can’t really blame you.

𖤐 .ᐟ you are armed with nothing more than your crochet hook, your small purse, and the clothes on your back. you are lost and for right now, you feel small and alone.

𖤐 .ᐟ but you are going to be put through an interrogation. they are the winchesters and can never be too careful. it’s nothing over the top, but you are from where you are and the boys had just about enough of their lives being on display. you are on your best behavior — polite and kind, but you are still nervous and a little shaky.

𖤐 .ᐟ you, who is trying to remain calm through the initial skepticism that came with popping up out of nowhere. the assumption is witches, a curse maybe. deans got the holy water ready just in case and sams flipping through lore for any type of explanation. there is, but no one likes it. there’s a recollection of something a witch had done a week ago, mentioning something about being out of this world. it’s a reach, a long shot even, but that witch is long gone. 

𖤐 .ᐟ so, here you are. you, who knows things. too many things. things that the brothers would rather you not know. you know their traumas — their childhood traumas no less. you know about most of their hunts and their world ending drama. deans wary, though sams more open to understanding. 

𖤐 .ᐟ that's because you aren’t threatening. you aren’t weird, at least not in a bad way. you aren’t obsessive, you're respectful. you don’t pry, you don’t push, you never overstep. you ask before touching anything, you clean up after yourself — making it look like you were never even there. you never bring up anything either, nothing that would be uncomfortable. nothing that would deliberately show the knowledge you had. you stayed in their present and contributed if asked. 

𖤐 .ᐟ you didn’t insert yourself in any hunts, maybe because you knew that you weren’t a hunter. or maybe because the boys would not be receptive to having to babysit you out there. but you are helpful. you organize lore books and help with research, and cook. that certainly softens dean up a bit.

𖤐 .ᐟ you’re a sweetheart, and over time it's really hard for them to stay away though. you're crafty and witty the more you come out of your shell, and it's a wonderful sight to behold. you are many things — soft and sweet, happy like sunshine; but you do have a little bark, and a little bite, and are most certainly able to keep up. you radiate such warmth that you are the calm to their chaos.

𖤐 .ᐟ the thing about you — the thing that makes it so easy for both of them — is that you already get them. there’s no need for explanations. no need to spell out their trauma or their history, because you do in fact, already know. and not in any way that makes them uncomfortable, not in a way that feels invasive. you don’t use it against them, don’t throw their past mistakes in their faces. you just understand.

𖤐 .ᐟ for sam, he doesn’t have to explain why he does anything. he doesn’t have to explain why he hesitates sometimes. why he still believed in trying to save people, even when the world has given him every reason not to. you don't see him as just sam winchester, boy king, a tragic protagonist. you just see him. you never look at him like he’s naive for wanting more than just hunting, for being drawn to books and research and the idea of a quiet life. you remind him, in little ways, that he’s allowed to want more, even if he never really gets it.

𖤐 .ᐟ and for dean… well, it takes longer for dean to get there. because it's one thing for him to slightly like you, to even tolerate your presence. it’s another to trust you and let you in. and he does. it’s the way dean stops questioning if you’re staying. the way he smiles when you giggle at his dumb jokes without forcing it. the way his heart clenches when you hand him one of his beers without him having to ask. the way you see him — the real him. not just the reckless, self-sacrificing jackass that he presented himself to be. and you don’t try to fix him. no, you would never do that. you don’t pity him. you just stay.

𖤐 .ᐟ there’s an unspoken something you notice in the way dean always finds himself standing closer to you than necessary. or the way sam’s gaze lingers a little too long when you’re focused on a book. the way both of them instinctively check to make sure you’re okay after a hunt, even though you weren't even there. how your absence feels wrong whenever you’re not with them.

𖤐 .ᐟ you do, however, treat them the way you think they deserve to be treated. with a little bit of softness and a little bit of delicacy. not too much. oh no, but just enough to not scare them away. 

𖤐 .ᐟ you don’t make them work for your understanding. they don’t have to explain why they are the way they are. why they react the way they do. why some nights they drink too much and fall apart under the weight of everything. you already know. and because of that, they don’t have to pretend with you. they can just be. 

𖤐 .ᐟ and maybe you’re stuck, trying to find your place in their world. sometimes you think that you have no business being here. it's dangerous with everything that goes on in their lives. and… that's okay. they’ll help you. they’ll pick you up and bring you in close. they’ll bring you back when you're distant — pull you back to reality. because you aren’t alone, you’re with them.

lmk if i cooked or not chat, ty (˶˃⤙˂˶)

[mortimerc]

𝕴 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖇𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖘𝖆𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖔𝖓𝖈𝖊 𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖊.

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 2

Male - GN Reader x Viktor (Arcane)

TW : blo0d, t0rture, g0re, obsessive behaviour?, cursing/ harsh wording

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

After the meeting with with Professor Heimerdinger, You had done your own 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡 about the mysterious person that had been attending your lectures. You have to admit, that you might have done too much snooping in the said person.

Nothing much, just his birth certificate, ID, passport, where he lives, what he does.

It’s probably just a matter of interest that you have and it probably will pass on through time like how everyone has.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

After a lecture on the history of human evolution, You decided to make your move and actually do something. So you called him after the lecture before he left.

You walked up to him and you think, he was so much more shorter than you have expected.

Calling his name- “Viktor, was it?”

“Ah, Professor, do you need anything?”

You haven’t think this through before, you didn’t think you would make this far. So you made up a lie.

“Yes, I have been in this academy for many years now, doing well without assistance-“

From now, all of the researchers have left the room, leaving you both alone.

“But my brain needs a little help, maybe a little space for the things that I lecture. In summary, I think I would need a TA, and I have put a lot of thought into this and I think that you would be absolutely perfect on what I teach.”

“So, what do you say, Viktor?”

“It must have seem that you have really precise observation, and you are correct, I am really interested into your lectures. Evolution. But are you sure that I am good enough to be by your side, Professor? I mean, I have seen all of your work and what you had invented, but there are much more better examples rather than myself.” Viktor said with his thick Siberian accent.

“Are you questioning my decision?”

He laughs softly “I guess not, I’ll have to think about this. How about you give me directions to your office, then if I made my decision, I’ll just visit you directly.”

“Alright then, follow me.”

You both made your way to your office, chatting about something on the way before arriving.

You opened the door to your office and invites Viktor in.

You pulled out a chair at your desk, helping him sit down and propping his cane on the wall.

You notices Viktor seemed to relax more than usual when he was in the lectures, taking in the smell of the coffee, old books and ink aroma that your office had

“I have another lecture to head to, You are free to come and sit in my office whenever you wish, well that is if you agree to my offer soon. I will be waiting for your reply soon.” You said while packing up books, paper and chalk packets into your briefcase before heading towards the doors of your office.

“Mhm. I’ll see you soon, Professor.”

You nod before leaving and closing the door behind you. Viktor can hear your shoes clicking throughout the hallways, the noise gradually getting quieter until Viktor sits in your office in complete silence.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

This story is going to be longer than I thought…

[rainybubbles]

How do the COD men end up calling you at 1 A.M ?

Gaz, Price, Soap, König, Ghost, Alex, Alejandro

(Sorry in advance for my mistakes, English is not my mother tongue. So sorry if it's badly written or if they're OOC)

G A Z :

-"I don't think I can help you Gaz" you said on the phone, while sitting on your bed.

-"but you said you like animals."

-"YES BUT I CAN'T MOVE A FUCKING ALLIGATOR BECAUSE IT'S ON YOUR BALCONY" you scream on the phone "How..." you take a pause "I don't want to know how it ends up here."

-"...so you won't come."

-"Gaz it's 1 AM."

-"You said I can call you if I need help."

-"Yes. But the alligator is the exception."

-"...and if I also have a racoon in my bed ?"

-"...Gaz did you..." you realize.

-"It's a hypothesis."

-"I can hear on the phone, the crack behind you."

-"...okay maybe it's true."

-"WHY DO YOU HAVE A ZOO IN YOUR HOME ??!"

-"It's not me, animals like me."

-"You're a fucking Disney princess."

-"...does it mean if I whistle, they go ?"

-"...I don't want to answer that."

-"...so you're coming ?"

-"Only because I don't want to end up in prison for failure to assist a person in danger."

-"And you like me."

-"Gaz I'm not confessing my feelings after we talked about a racoon."

-"You don't deny it."

-"..."

-"you will see the alligator is nice."

-"Gaz, no." you sigh

P R I C E :

-"John ?" you answer on the phone. Your voice is hoarse, the call has woken you up.

-"Sorry I have woken you up, love."

-"Is there a problem ?" you ask. You were worried because last time John called you, Soap exploded John's bathroom and he needed your help.

-"No, there is none. I just finished a mission and wanted to hear your voice." he says with his deep voice.

-Your heart skips a beat. Alone in your dark room, you feel butterflies in your belly. Price and you were friends, you were a librarian and you met because John was a regular who reads many history books.

-You have a crush on the man, but you didn't know if there was a chance because of his job.

-"I see" you answer, you don't know what to add "does my voice sound so charming ?" you joke

-"It is honey for my ears, love."

-shit.

-The man has rizz at 1 AM after a fucking six-months mission, you thought.

-"I...I can say the same for you ?" you try to flirt, but it sounds more like a question than a compliment.

-He laughs on the phone.

-Oh gosh how you love his laugh.

-"In fact I was trying to think of a clever way to ask you out, but it's late and my brain isn't functioning properly, love." He confesses.

-"oh" you say

-oh ? You really said oh to a fucking romantic confession at 1 AM, like in a dramatic romance movie ?

-"I DIDN'T MEAN OH ! I mean, yes, but not to your confession. It...Yes. yes." you say embarrassed

-He laughs again.

-"then we have a date."

-"yes."

-"I'll text you the information, good night, love."

-"good night."

-You didn't sleep at all this night.

-You were too stressed about the date, and too happy to have this date.

S O A P :

-"you won't believe me."

-"Soap, it's like 1 AM, why the fuck are you calling me ?" you answer sleepy.

-"I discovered this new recipe."

-"...so you decided to call me at 1 AM, for a recipe ?"

-"It's the best you'll ever hear."

-"...go on" you sigh.

-"You mix marshmallows."

-"Ok."

-"With nutella"

-you frown your eyebrows.

-"ok"

-"And bacon"

-"everybody is so creative." you say

-"What ?"

-"Soap you- wait, did you eat this ?"

-"YES ! It's so good, you have to try it."

-"It's 1 AM. Why did you try this ? Why calling me after, I...Soap are you okay ?"

-"I am."

-"you eat nutella, marshmallow and bacon mixed."

-"yes."

-"It's not what an okay person does."

-"Person with taste do that."

-"Yes person with taste and no taste bud."

-"You haven't tasted it yet."

-"And I won't."

-"...so me being in front of your door with this incredible midnight snacks is a no ?"

-"Soap you- I live like 3 hours from your flat."

-"I wanted you to try it !"

-"It's fucking creepy."

-"so you won't open the door ?"

-"I will. And I will throw this snack in a bin, cook a real snack, feed you with it, and call Price to have your taste bud check by a doctor."

-"I'm fine."

-"No, your tastes are horrible." you say

-"So you're insulting yourself."

-"What ? why ? I said your tastes are horrible not mine."

-"But you're my taste in human."

-You shut up.

-"did you-"

-"I'm trying to say you're my type, yes"

-"fuck I open the door."

-"Told you it was a game changer."

-"I don't open the door for your snack. I open for your ass"

-"that's mean."

K Ö N I G :

-You saw König calling you on your phone which surprised you because you know he hates talking on the phone.

-You immediately answer.

-"König ?"

-"...You're awake," he says relieved.

-"yes, are you okay ?"

-"Ja, I'm back home."

-"I see," you smile.

-You met König on a base. You're a trainer of detection dogs, so you often work with the army. Since this meeting, you both text each other a lot.

-"Do you want to talk about your mission or do you want me to vant about how annoying my day was ?" you ask as usual

-"I wanted to know if you're free now."

-"Well it's 1 AM, so yes."

-"I don't have any sugar, and I want to bake. But I can't. And I don't want to go outside."

-You know König bakes when he has anxiety, it helps him to relax. So if he wanted to bake, it would be probably because he needed it.

-"Ok, I'll be here in 30 minutes."

-"thanks."

-"But you let me eat the finished products."

-"of course," he laughs.

-You start to dress and put your shoes on.

-"What are you baking exactly ?" you say on the phone

-"Cookies."

-"that's one of my favorite snacks." you said while you put your sugar in your bag.

-"I know." König answers

-"you know ?" you repeat

-There is a silence.

-"I wanted to give you cookies tomorrow, but everything happened and..." he starts hyperventilating.

-"König, calm. Okay so you wanted to give me cookies but you felt a wave of anxiety coming, so you decided to bake them now, but you ran out of sugar" you summarize.

-"yes."

-"Can I ask why you want to give me cookies ?"

-"because it will be a good idea to picnic with you"

-"as a date ?" you ask.

-"yes."

-"well I hate picnics."

-"oh"

-"But guess what my favorite activity is ? Baking at 1 AM cookies. Guess you're a lucky guy."

-He laughs.

-"you just try to comfort me." he says

-"Does it work ?"

-"yes."

-"then we have a date."

G H O S T :

-"Simon" you answer on the phone.

-He doesn't add a word.

-You know why he is calling you.

-He has had nightmares.

-Every time, when he was not on the field and had them, he usually did nothing. But since he met you, he knew that focusing on your voice, helped him to not think, to just erase everything.

-"Do you prefer me rambling about my day or a funny anecdote ?" you ask.

-"your day." he says quickly, his voice is hoarse.

-"Well at work a grandma fought against a gym bro in the line. Because the guy was mean to my colleague, he said she fucked up his coffee just to have one free. Nothing unusual sadly. But the grandma started to snap at him. And we were scared because the gym bro was all muscular so if he decided to fight, the grandma would finish to the hospital, you know. And...she beat him up. She was like super strong. It was so cool. She was like Batman."

-You ramble again and again.

-Ghost just listens, every word was his anchor. Every word was a flow calming him.

-And until the sun rises up, you talk.

-It's his favorite thing about you, your voice.

-Maybe one day, he'll hear it saying sweet nothings to him.

-But for the moment, he'll focus on it and just feels at peace.

A L E X :

-"what's your favorite flower ?"

-"Alex it's 1 AM, what the fuck," you say on the phone.

-"What's your favorite flower ?" Alex asks.

-"Why do you want to know that and why now ?"

-"I have already asked you that during a break on a mission but you never answered the question."

-You frown your eyebrows.

-"It was like 2 months ago."you realize

-"yes, and ?"

-"And you ask me a question you have already asked me two months ago, on the phone at 1 AM ?"

-"yes."

-"...you have drunk Price coffee, isn't it ?"

-"...yes."

-"how much ?"

-"four cups."

-"you're still alive?"

-"I hear my heart. I don't know if it's normal."

-"Shit the fuck this man is drinking." you groan "Alex you know you can't drink his coffee, it could wake up the dead."

-"I know but I needed one."

-"Drink water. I'll come."

-"So you'll answer my question ?"

-"No, I'm coming so I can avoid you having a heart attack. The flowers are not important here."

-"even though I want to give you flowers for a date ?"

-"We'll see later, first your heart."

-"so it's a yes ?"

-"yes but first your heart Alex, focus damn."

He laughs.

A L E J A N D R O :

-"don't laugh." Alejandro says

-"How can I not laugh ?! You stuck on a stranger's balcony in panties, Alejandro."

-"Y/N."

-"Okay, okay. So tell me how it happened ?"

-"I was at my sister's flat. I was dressed up as a princess, because I was playing with my niece."

-Cute, you think.

-"And after few hours, my niece fells asleep, so I changed my clothes but while I changed I heard a meowing. So I checked, and a kitten was precarious on the balcony under my sister's flat. So I went through the window without thinking, using my phone as a flashlight, and I jumped."

-"And now you're in panties with a safe kitten but you can't go back to your sister's flat."

-"No, and I can't call her. I was supposed to babysit my niece because my sister and her wife are on a date, I don't want to bother them."

-"You didn't need to wear panties for a princess costume." you realize

-"I like to immerse myself in the character. If I cosplay someone, I take it seriously." he says firmly.

-You laugh at his determination.

-"Okay, but how can I help you ? I mean I can't teleport."

-"You can ring on the owner's flat, so he could open the door. I don't want to break in someone's flat. I'm not a criminal."

-"You fight the cartel everyday Alejandro."

-"It's not the same."

-"Okay, I'll come."

-After this you helped him. But you sent a picture to Rudy of Alejandro with the kitten and the panties.

If you want more, my COD masterlist : here.

And my masterlist : here.

[angelpuns]

50au Part 22

“Sooooooooo, Raphael,  right? Where'd you all get your names, anyway?” Leo asked, leaning a little too far into Raph’s space. 

Once Mikey and Donnie had set out on their ingredient-hunt, Raph had helped Leo to the TV room to watch a movie. And instead of watching Leo was asking him questions. 

“ cause they're a little too matchy-matchy to mine, ya know? Makes this whole thing seem like total bullshit,” 

Raph sighed, not daring to look at Leo right now. He was still working on…on being present when it came to hanging out with Leo. It wasn't that he didn't want to hang around his little brother, just sometimes if he looked at him too long he started thinking about…the krang. And nearly killing him. 

And now he got to add the ‘ watch him almost bleed out’ and ‘remember holding him down and tranquilizing him’ to the mix, which was making it really, really hard to not let his mind drift off. 

Because he really, really needed to keep an eye on Leo. Donnie had mentioned that even he didn't know if Leo was faking or not, and that he could try and make a run for it. 

Fucked up leg or not. 

Just when things were getting better for them. For him. Just when Raph and Leo were starting to be normal around each other again, everything seemed to blow up.

“ Pops named us, that's why they match. He was goin' through a super weird art history phase back then, had a buncha random books about it,” He answered, sighing. Raph knew he shouldn't ask at the risk of it making him upset, but he needed to know, “if Pops wasn't there, how'd you get your name?”

Leo leaned out of his space with a laugh, “I was watchin' Romeo and Juliet and thought he was pretty. But Romeo didn't fit me, so I took the actor's name instead,” 

Raph couldn't help but laugh, that sounded like something Leo would do. It was kind of a relief to know that even though his memories didn't have any family, he was the same old Leo. 

“ Sounds like somethin' you'd do, yeah,” He snorted, “once a middle child, always a middle child,” 

“ Yeah, well, I was actually an only child, soooo” Leo shrugged. 

Raph didn't day anything about that. He didn't know what to say. Obviously Leo didn't really believe them, and Raph sure as hell wasn’t gonna be able to convince him. Even Mikey couldn't convince him. 

They were quiet for a while, before Raph finally spared a glance at his brother. 

Leo looked tired. He was watching the movie, but his eyes kept fluttering closed before opening again with a start. Even when he was relaxing against the arm of the couch, Raph could see the tension in his arms and legs. Like he might need to run at any second. It made Raph's chest ache and that persistent fog on the edge of his brain start Creeping in. His little brother was scared  of him. 

As he should be, though. Raph seemed unable to do anything but hurt him, after all. 

“ Didn't sleep well?” He rumbled, instead of spewing all the bullshit that was building up in his head. This wasn't a good idea either, he knew that, but it was better than sitting in silence watching Leo be scared of him. 

Leo glanced over, shrugging a little and fixing his expression into something less exhausted and more neutral. 

“ Eh, but I don't sleep well normally anyway,” He started, opening his mouth to say more and then shutting it again. 

“ yeah, I know. You didn't sleep a ton right after the- “ Raph cut himself off. It was probably not a good idea to bring that up. He didn't want to make Leo even more scared or panic by talking about it. 

He'd gotten better about it in the last couple of months. They all had. But it felt like all progress was out the door on the face of this curse. 

Leo sighed, “...yeah. Had a lot of… a lot of nightmares..” 

Raph swallowed. He really, really didn't want to talk about this. But maybe this would help Leo feel…safe. He didn't know. It felt like the wrong choice to make,but Raph had never been known for making the best choices, even before the invasion. 

“You had one last night?” he murmured, “ That why you were watchin’ the camera light?”

Leo pulled his legs up to his chest, wincing a little when he pulled the injured one up, “ ….yeah. I guess it looked kinda like..when I was stuck in the…well, I guess you know,” 

“ Yeah. I know,” Raph murmured. 

It was quiet again for a moment, the sound of a Lou Jitsu fight playing on the screen, cheesy sound effects and all. 

He cleared his throat. He was going to regret this, but Leo didn't seem anymore tense than before. 

“ You had a nightmare the second day, too,” He murmured, “ that's why Donnie's set up all these crazy precautions and stuff. We didn't want you gettin' scared and runnin' away again…gettin’ hurt bad again,” 

Leo was looking at him. He wasn't looking st his brother, but he could see Leo's gaze on him in his peripherals. Raph couldn’t tell what expression he was making, but he hoped it wasn't scared. He didn't want to see Leo scared anymore. 

“ …oh. Right. That makes sense..” Leo murmured, “ you guys didn't mention that in the video, I- I didn't know that happened….”

“ um…” 

Raph didn't move. Leo put a hand on his arm, “ Look, I'm real sorry about running before…i mean, I really wanted to rjn in this morning, don't get me wrong, but…maybe…i mean this makes some sense, ya know?”

Raph blinked. It was one of the only genuine apologues he'd heard coming from Leo. And he was totally lucid, unlike after the invasion when he'd- 

Don't think about that, Raph. Don't thjk about that right noe. 

“ H-hey, that's okay. I mean, I'da been scared and run off, too,” Raph chuckled, “  a big guy like me comin' in and wakin' you up after a nightmare, I mean, it'd scare anyone”

Leo chuckled and gave him a little pat, “You’re not scary, Raph. From what I can tell, you're just a big ole softie,” 

Leo yawned, stretching his arms up and relaxing back into the cushions, “ I'll bet you wouldn't hurt a fly” 

Raph had been so happy and relieved to hear the first statement that the second one hit like a ton of bricks. He was going to be sick. 

If only Leo knew. If only he knew what Raph had done. Both when he was under the influence of the krang and when he wasn't. Leo would be so scared of him. He should be so scared of him. 

Raph felt like he couldn't move. Not a muscle. He couldn't move or else he'd break whatever trust Leo had in him because if he moved, Leo would know. He'd know to be afraid of Raph. He'd know he wasn't safe like this, not with Raph. 

So he didn't. He sat there and stared through the projector screen, afraid to move or think or breathe. Afraid to even look at Leo again. 

And eventually, Leo scooted closer and closer, sleepily burying his face in his arm and murmuring that he trusted him. He trusted Raph. And that he was just going to take a little nap if that was okay.

Raph didn't move a muscle.

---

I feel like I'm maybe not as good at writing Raph POV so this was interesting to do. I just find his POV difficult cause I having practiced it as much is all.

Anyway he's got a lot of conflicted feelings cause on one hand he wants Leo to trust him more than anything but on the other all he's done lately is hurt Leo and Leo doesn't even KNOW.

Anyway enjoy, I'm queuing this and I will add links later cause I'm sleepy

Part 1 | Part 21 | Part 23

[thebisexualdogdad]

fic where Maddy Perez falls for East highlands resident bad boy and they hook up after a group project

Maddy Perez x Male!reader

Maddy certainly wasn't the only person in school to have a thing for you, in fact you had already made your way through most of the cheerleading squad but unlike them Maddy refused to let you know she was insanely attracted to you.

"Looking good Perez, when are you going to let me take you out," you asked her one day in history class when she was wearing her cheer uniform for that night's football game.

"Never gonna happen Y/N," she said rolling her eyes but really she was imagining how good your head would look underneath her skirt.

Then there was that time at a party when you surprised everyone by actually showing up.

"What are you doing here? Don't you prefer getting drunk on cheap beer behind the liquor store," Maddy jokes, finding you in the kitchen as you start drinking some very expensive whisky directly from the bottle.

"Maybe I just wanted to see you," you say, offering her the whisky, "you look hot by the way."

Maddy quickly grabs the bottle and chugs some of it hoping to hide the blush forming on her cheeks, "too bad I'm not interested in letting you get in my pants but I'm sure you'll find someone else to get lucky with."

"You're breaking my heart Perez," you say playfully.

"Didn't know you had one," she cracks.

"If you ever let me take you out on that date you'd see there's more to me than just being a devilishly handsome bad boy," you say leaning in close to her.

Maddy gulps, taking another swig of whisky to stop herself from fucking you right there on that counter.

You and Maddy continued this game until you eventually got partnered up for a history project.

How the hell was she going to retain her self control and not jump your bones when you were going to be spending so much time together alone in her bedroom.

Well technically you could have done this project at the library but Maddy was horny and thinking with her pussy, not her brain.

So here you are, in her room on day three of working on your project with Maddy looking at you like a four course meal after you drove her home on your motorcycle.

Her body was still humming from the vibrations and holding onto you so tightly.

"Maddy? Earth to Maddy," you laugh, snapping her out of her trance, "I think we've got enough research notes to start working on the essay."

"Yeah, right, let me get my laptop," she says, taking a seat at her desk and turning her laptop on.

You grab the small ottoman she uses at her vanity mirror and take a seat next to her, a little too close for Maddy to stay focused on the essay.

"You want me to type? You seem to be making a lot of typos there Perez," you laugh.

Maddy pushes the laptop in front of you and stands from her chair, "I need some water do you want anything?"

"Vodka would be nice," you grin.

"I'll get you a soda," she says before leaving her bedroom.

When she returns her glass of water is nearly empty from her trying to cool herself down and she hands you the soda.

You crack it open and take a drink, setting it on the desk as you keep working.

"Can you hand me the textbook, there's something I want to look up," you ask a few minutes later and when she grabs the book she knocks your dark soda over and it spills right onto your white shirt.

"Oh shit I'm so sorry," she says running to her bathroom to grab a towel to clean up her desk.

But when she steps out of her bathroom you're standing there shirtless.

"Mind if I wash this in your sink? Its sticky and I don't want it to stain," You ask.

"Uh, yeah, yeah that's fine," she says, glazing over your abs as you walk past her to her bathroom.

She cleans up the soda and hears the water running in the bathroom, she has to get it together.

She sits on the edge of her bed and puts her head in her hands, how the hell did you have this much of an affect on her.

"Hey it's okay, it's just a shirt," you chuckle when you come back into her room.

You left your shirt hanging in the bathroom to dry and now there's some stray water droplets running down your stomach.

Fuck.

You walk over to her and Maddy can't fight the urges anymore, her hands go to your neck and she pulls you down into an intense kiss.

"Woah, Maddy," you say in surprise, pulling away from her.

"You've been hitting on me since the sixth grade, you really don't want this?" She scoffs.

"I want this more than you know, I just want to make sure you want this," you say.

"I want this Y/N, I really want this," she says bringing you back in for another kiss.

You sink down to your knees in front of her, kissing down her neck and playing with the hem of her shirt.

"Take it off," she orders and in seconds her shirt is gone.

You keep kissing down her body until you reach the top of her jeans.

You look up at her and she nods her consent before raising her hips in the air so you could tug her jeans down her legs.

"God you're beautiful Maddy," you say, kissing along her thighs, "and so wet already."

"I hate that you turn me on this much," she groans right as your tongue licks her through her panties.

"If you want me to stop just tell me to," you say.

"Don't you fucking dare stop," she says sternly and you smile, pulling her panties to the side and tasting her directly.

You moan and Maddy feels it deep in the pit of her stomach, your tongue working her in ways no other guy ever had before.

One her of legs goes over your shoulder, giving you better access.

Her arousal drips down your chin and you slip a finger inside with ease, Maddy moaning above you.

A second finger enters her and you pump them slowly, using your other hand to pull the hood of her clit back and suck it between your lips.

"Holy shit," Maddy cries out, she had been holding this in for so long she can't even feel embarrassed about how quickly she came because it felt so fucking good.

"Damn Perez, I wasn't even down there for a full five minutes," you say cockily.

"Shut up and fuck me Y/N," she demands and you happily stand up, dropping your jeans to reveal the massive boner poking through your boxers.

"You got any condoms?" You ask, stroking yourself through your boxers which only turns her on more.

"Top left drawer in my bathroom," she says.

You go to her bathroom again and find the box of condoms, grabbing one and when you return her bra and panties are gone, leaving her completely naked and now in the center of her bed.

"Have I told you how beautiful you are?" You say, letting your boxers join the rest of your clothes on the floor and putting the condom on.

"Didn't I tell you to fuck me already?" Maddy states and you smirk, joining her in bed.

You settle on top of her, kissing her and she moans at the taste of herself on your tongue.

Reaching down you tease her with the tip of your cock, lathering it with her arousal before easing it inside.

Maddy clearly doesn't want to wait any longer so you quickly rock your hips in a steady rhythm.

Her nails dig into your back, her bed creaking underneath you.

You suck harshly at her neck, one of your hands going to play with her chest.

Maddy moans loudly when you roll one of her nipples between your fingers, legs wrapping around your waist so you can hit deeper inside her.

"Oh fuck me, right there, right there," she chants.

Once again it doesn't take long for her to cum, this one hitting her even harder than the first.

"Do you want me to pull out?" You ask her, slowing your movements giving her a few aftershocks.

"No, keep going until you cum," she says, grabbing your ass.

You smirk and pick your pace back up, she's squeezing your ass and within another minute you're cumming inside her.

"Fuck Maddy," you grunt, your hips moving more frantically through your release.

"That felt so fucking good," she says, groaning when you pull out of her and feeling so empty.

You roll over next to her, taking the condom off and throwing it in the trash next to her bed.

"So does this mean you're finally gonna let me take you on a date?" You tease.

"I'll tell you what Y/N, if we get an A on this project, I'll go on a date with you," she replies.

"You got yourself a deal," you smile, "now let's get back to work, we have an essay to write."

"Have you ever worked this hard on an assignment before?" She jokes.

"Nope but sex is an excellent motivation and it'll be even better at the end of it because I'm going to take you on the best date of your life."

[ninguitar]

LOWKEY.　　◦　 prev.　next.

three. not again. . .

❛ in which a concert you were tantalized by your friends into attending led to a one-night hook-up with band member, yu "karina" jimin, who was coincidentally a classmate, too. though incredulous and foolish, in karina's eyes, you were way too good to have you slipping through her fingers, but even so, she couldn't just act on it, leaving the two of you in an awkward predicament, keeping the feelings amidst lowkey. ❜

A LATE AFTERNOON TUTORING SESSION, your skin absorbing the radiance of the sun through the window, while the curtains sway back and forth in a pattern your eyes darted towards.

swinging your backpack over your shoulder, a stack of papers clutched in your arms, you take your time on the stairwells, too exhausted to quicken your step. with a stomp, you sigh, hoping whoever your "mentee" was, wasn't some douchebag.

reaching your destination, you swing the classroom door open, only to be met by a dim, quiet classroom—the only sound most audible was the thumping of the air conditioner. shrugging, you meekly pull a chair back, stacking heaps of books on top of each other.

your brow furrows at the sound of the door slammed open, making you huff under your breath. whipping your head to the door hastily, your gaze trace over the girl's features. "y/n, right?" the girl mumbles, a thin line playing on your face.

you nod, pulling the chair beside you to beckon the girl to sit beside you, "and you are?"

"jimin, but karina's just fine too," karina mutters, taking the seat beside you. her eyes flicker to the amount of books on the desk, muttering curses under her breath before leaning back, her gaze fixating on your lips.

jesus christ, every glance at you brought poor karina back to flashed of that night—the same night in which her lips were pressed against yours enticingly, the one you seem to not even remember—and god, was it driving the korean girl insane.

karina shifts uncomfortably, her arms folded against her chest, as the suffocating silence lingers, only before you speak up, "uh—history, right? you need help in that, right?"

the korean girl only nods, the heavy tension weighing down on you two, even though you didn't even know the reason why. your hands meet the history textbook, flipping to the first few pages—each page marked up with some sort of writing of yours, some written sloppily, while the others were written clearly.

your nails dig into the textbook, as you clench your hands, noticing the way karina's gaze shifts ever-so-quickly to your movements, scrutinizing you, even. what the fuck was wrong with her? all you could remember was finding her pretty, which you only knew from checking your private account's tweets from the other night, while karina looked almost horrified, as if she saw a ghost.

karina hovers over you, as you explain some concepts that fell deaf on the korean girl's ears, her brain solely focused on you—the way your eyebrows furrow as you speak, the gleaming smile on your face, and your tousled yet perfectly-styled tresses. fuck, why did you have to be so gorgeous?

while an hour or two passes with you simply reviewing over concepts and the final exam's standard format and criteria, karina's hands reach a piece of ripped paper, immediately folding a paper plane with precision. she gently tosses the airplane in the air, the wind guiding it back to the two of you.

you huff in response, "c'mon, just review over this one topic, and you'll do fine on your next unit exam." to which, she huffs in retaliation, groaning dramatically, before her hand curls around your wrist, "just a little fun won't hurt."

with resignation, you meekly nod, not wanting tension to still burn between the two of you for who-knows-what, and besides, karina had been responding to your questions much better, her voice unwavering.

maybe tutoring wasn't so bad.

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