#phil got a little shot

[shesnake]

Spider-Verse Artists Say Working on the Sequel Was ‘Death by a Thousand Paper Cuts’

Why don’t more animated movies look this good? According to people who worked on the sequel, Across the Spider-Verse, it’s because the working conditions required to produce such artistry are not sustainable.

Multiple Across the Spider-Verse crew members — ranging from artists to production executives who have worked anywhere from five to a dozen years in the animation business — describe the process of making the the $150 million Sony project as uniquely arduous, involving a relentless kind of revisionism that compelled approximately 100 artists to flee the movie before its completion.

While frequent major overhauls are standard operating procedure in animation (Pixar films can take between four and seven years to plot, animate, and render), those changes typically occur early on during development and storyboarding stages. But these Spider-Verse 2 crew members say they were asked to make alterations to already-approved animated sequences that created a backlog of work across multiple late-stage departments. Across the Spider-Verse was meant to debut in theaters in April of 2022, before it was postponed to October of that year and then June 2023 owing to what Entertainment Weekly reported as “pandemic-related delays.” However, the four crew members say animators who were hired in the spring of 2021 sat idle for anywhere from three to six months that year while Phil Lord tinkered with the movie in the layout stage, when the first 3-D representation of storyboards are created.

As a result, these individuals say, they were pushed to work more than 11 hours a day, seven days a week, for more than a year to make up for time lost and were forced back to the drawing board as many as five times to revise work during the final rendering stage.

"For animated movies, the majority of the trial-and-error process happens during writing and storyboarding. Not with fully completed animation. Phil’s mentality was, This change makes for a better movie, so why aren’t we doing it? It’s obviously been very expensive having to redo the same shot several times over and have every department touch it so many times. The changes in the writing would go through storyboarding. Then it gets to layout, then animation, then final layout, which is adjusting cameras and placements of things in the environment. Then there’s cloth and hair effects, which have to repeatedly be redone anytime there’s an animation change. The effects department also passes over the characters with ink lines and does all the crazy stuff like explosions, smoke, and water. And they work closely with lighting and compositing on all the color and visual treatments in this movie. Every pass is plugged into editing. Smaller changes tend to start with animation, and big story changes can involve more departments like visual development, modeling, rigging, and texture painting. These are a lot of artists affected by one change. Imagine an endless stream of them."

"Over 100 people left the project because they couldn’t take it anymore. But a lot stayed on just so they could make sure their work survived until the end — because if it gets changed, it’s no longer yours. I know people who were on the project for over a year who left, and now they have little to show for it because everything was changed. They went through the hell of the production and then got none of their work coming out the other side."

[puckinghischier]

Falling

Nico Hischier x fem!reader

summary: reader gets hurt and nico is worried about her

notes: y’all i ain’t gonna lie, i went through a bit of a rollercoaster while writing this. i loved it at first, then halfway through started hating it, then somehow started loving it again towards the end. so if it seems a little all over place i’m sorry. also i know very little about how a dislocated shoulder works, so just pretended i didn’t if i got anything wrong. i hope y’all enjoy it!! happy reading!! 🫶🏼

request: from my 400 follower celly - “A hears that B got hurt and rushes over in a panic to see if they are okay” where reader maybe gets in an accident or gets hurt in their sport (nothing major). Bonus points if you add “I can braid your hair for you- I mean, only if you want.”

[4.5k]

part 2

“Yeah, Mom, I’m fine. Nothing’s broken, just a nasty dislocation,” you attempt to calm your mother’s nerves, trying to unlock your apartment door with your good arm while balancing your phone between your cheek and shoulder. “They reset it for me and told me to follow up with my primary care on Monday. Gave me some pain meds and sent me on my way.”

“Well, what about until then? What if you need help? What about work? How will you drive?” she rapid fires questions at you.

“I’ll figure it out, don’t worry. Since it was a work-related injury, I’ll still get paid. And they’re paying all of the medical bills, so that’s all taken care of,” you make your way into your apartment, shutting the door with your foot behind you. “Everything else I’ll handle as it comes.”

She doesn’t seem satisfied with your answer, tsking into her phone, making you picture her trademark displeased headshake.

“What about Nico? Why don’t you stay with him until you’re back to 100%? I’m sure he’d be willing to help out,” she suggests, her tone switching from worried to suggestive.

You roll your eyes, knowing exactly where this conversation is headed.

“Mom, how many times do I have to tell you, Nico and I are just friends. We work together. Just because you think you saw him look at me a certain way when you were visiting doesn’t mean I have to call him every time something goes wrong,” you tell her, placing your bag on your kitchen table.

Ever since your mom came in a few months ago to visit, she’s been on your case about making a move on Nico, it all starting when she witnessed Nico helping you across the ice during a pre-game practice while trying to get some action shots.

You work as a photographer for the Devils, not realizing that being able to ice skate would have been a nice addition to your resume.

Your college advisor arranged the interview for you right before graduation. You had no previous knowledge of hockey, having come from a football family. You told your advisor this, but she insisted you didn’t have to know anything about a sport to be able to take good pictures of it.

During the interview, you made sure to inform your now boss that you didn’t know how to skate, hoping it wouldn’t be a problem. He assured you that you could take pictures from the stands or the players bench, the chance of you having to step onto the ice slim.

For the first few months of your job, it was smooth sailing. You were mostly taking pictures from the camera holes in the glass or being told to cover locker room and arrival pictures. You worked with one other photographer, a seasoned sports photography veteran named Phil. Phil was a New Jersey native, having grown up skating, so he took over the duties of any major action shots the director wanted from on the ice.

Unfortunately for you, Phil’s wife had convinced him to retire early, losing his help right before the league’s short Christmas break.

Seeing as they had just hired you, and it was the middle of the season, the hunt for a replacement for Phil was put on the backburner, more important team matters taking precedence.

You were forced to take over Phil’s duties, meaning you were now responsible for any on the ice shots. You had found a way to slowly scoot across the perimeter of the rink, staying out of the way while also getting the shots you needed.

Your system was working well until the morning of a gameday, having gotten permission from your boss to bring your mother along to this particular practice, wanting to show her all aspects of your job.

For this particular game, the players were especially focused on practicing their skills and running drills during morning skate. You were doing your typical shuffle while clutching the edge of the waist-high wall when someone came zooming past you, causing your feet to start sliding uncontrollably, not being able to find your footing on the slick ice.

You felt the moment you were about to fall, waiting for the impact of your butt on the cold ice, but it never came. You felt yourself fall into a body covered by plastic pads, gloved hands shooting out to grab your upper arms.

You looked up, seeing Nico smiling down at you in amusement.

“It’s a bit slippery out here, huh?” he jokes, making sure you’re standing steady on your feet before letting go of you.

“Well, we are standing on ice, so….” You trail off, grabbing onto the wooden ledge again, preventing another near fall.

Nico laughs, looking down and shuffling his skates back and forth.

“Well would you look at that? We are on ice ” He flashes a smile, looking back up at you.

You stick your tongue out at him, earning another chuckle from the team’s Captain.

“You know, most people use these great things called ice skates when they try to walk on ice,” he tells you, lifting one skate up for emphasis.

Rolling your eyes, you scoff out a “Oh wow, why didn’t I ever think of that?”

“Just some food for thought,” Nico shrugged as he placed his foot back down on the ice, skating in a little circle, as if to say “See, told you so.”

You let go of the ledge to cross your arms, forgetting that you needed the stability. When you try to shift your weight from one leg to the other, you lose your footing again, this time falling forward into Nico. You let the camera in your hands fall, grabbing onto his biceps to stay upright, thankful for the camera strap around your neck.

His hands shoot out to grab your forearms.

“You know the sad thing is, even with the skates, I’d still be as clumsy, considering I have absolutely no idea how to use them,” you tell him, the two of you still holding on to one another.

Nico shakes his head at you, placing one of your hands on his forearm, moving you from in front of him to beside of him.

He starts slowly skating towards the bench while you shuffle your feet along, putting all of your focus on keeping yourself upright until you reach your destination.

When you finally reach the bench, you step off of the ice and let out a breath of relief.

“Thanks, Cap. Would’ve hated to make a fool of myself out there while my mom’s watching,” you thank him, looking over to where your mom sits, a smile on her face.

Nico follows your gaze and waves to your mom, matching her smile.

“Well, we wouldn’t want that now, would we? What if she found out her daughter was a skating fraud?” he teases, leaning in to whisper the last two words.

“It’s her fault for never taking me to the rink my town would throw up once a year at Christmas. Who knows, maybe I would’ve been a skating prodigy if given the chance,” you shrug.

A mischievous smile makes its way onto his face. “I think we should put that theory to the test,” he tells you, causing your eyes to latch onto his.

“Come again?” You raise your eyebrows and tilt your chin down.

“I mean, I can’t have some photographer out on my ice during practices that can’t even stand up,” he keeps his tone light, making sure you know he’s just teasing, “So, I’m going to teach you how to skate, and see if you really would have been a skating prodigy.”

He skates off, winking before resuming his practice.

You don’t have a chance to speak to him again until after the game, when you get at text from an unknown number reading “Rink, tomorrow, 2pm. I’ll bring skates, just bring your prodigy skills.”

After that, you meet with Nico twice a week for skating lessons.

The two of you quickly form a friendship, Nico bringing you coffee on gamedays and you slipping him snacks on the bench during games. You even started inviting him over for dinner after your lessons, insisting the least you can do is feed him to repay him for preventing you from making a fool of yourself on the ice.

Today, however, you did make a fool of yourself on the ice.

You were standing behind the net, telling the players to skate towards you so you could get some shots for the team’s Instagram account by request of the social media manager.

Once you were pleased with the amount of shots you had gotten, you left your spot from behind the net, skating slowly towards the benches, still a little wobbly on your skates.

You were looking down at your camera, thinking of how you’ll have to get Nico out here after the game to get some shots, knowing he’s currently doing pre-game interviews in the locker room.

You weren’t paying the slightest bit of attention to the pucks littering the ice in front of you, skating right into one and losing your balance, holding your camera up with one arm while trying to catch yourself with the other.

You felt the way your shoulder shifted, crying out in pain as players turned and started rushing towards you on the ice.

The team doctor came out and told you he was pretty sure your shoulder was simply dislocated, but sent you to the hospital to make sure nothing’s broken.

The ER doctor confirmed your diagnosis, putting your shoulder back into place before pumping you full of pain meds and placing your arm into a sling.

Which leads you to where you are now, back at your apartment, explaining to your mother why Nico can’t be at your beck and call.

“Honey, when are you going to realize that boy is in love with you? I’m telling you, the way I saw him look at you that day I came to visit, the skating lessons and dinners,” she starts, giving you her typical speech when you tell her Nico is just a friend.

“Mom, it doesn’t matter what you think you saw, we’re seriously just friends. And he’s busy, his schedule is too hectic to spend his time babysitting me,” you interrupt her, not wanting to hear her Nico speech for the thousandth time, regretting ever telling her about the skating lessons.

She sighs into the phone.

“I’m just trying to help you, you know…” you hear your mother start, but you tune the rest of her words out, focusing on the three loud knocks on your front door.

Your head turns to your door, the unexpected noise causing you to jump, the sudden motion tipping your bag over, the contents spilling all of your kitchen floor.

“Honey, are you alright? What was that?” your mom halts her one-sided conversation, worry in her tone.

“Shit!” you exclaim, watching the container of memory cards fly open, the small squares sliding across the linoleum floor.

You forget about the sling on your arm, crouching down and trying to reach for the cards with your bad arm, a searing pain shooting through your shoulder at the movement.

Letting out a loud yelp, you bring your arm back to its resting positing in the sling.

“Y/N, what’s going on? Did you hurt yourself?” you barely hear your mother’s voice through the phone speaker, not being able to think about anything other than the throbbing pain in your shoulder.

You hear three more pounds on your front door, this time a voice following the knocks.

“Y/N! Open up!”

You groan, trying to stand up, too many people trying to get your attention at the moment.

“Honey, talk to me. Is someone in there with you? I heard another voice,” your mother asks you as you stand, making your way over towards your front door.

“Someone’s knocking on the door,” you grit through your teeth, trying to think about anything but the pain in your shoulder. “I dropped my bag and tried to pick something up with my bad arm. I’m fine. Just hurts,” you tell her, opening your door to see a frantic Nico standing there.

His wide eyes scan your body, stopping once they see the sling on your arm.

You notice his wet hair and lack of socks on his tennis shoe covered feet.

“Are you okay? They told me you had to be taken to the hospital before the game started, but no one knew what really happened,” he rushed out, looking up at your face.

“Hey, Mom, gotta go, Nico’s at my door,” you tell her, a little stunned that the object of your conversation just appeared, hanging up the phone before she could make any comments about it.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?” you ask him, pointing towards his feet, an amused smile on your face. The shock of seeing him at your door making you completely forget about the pain in your shoulder.

Nico looks down at his own feet, looking back up at you with red cheeks.

“Oh, uh, I couldn’t find my socks after the game and i couldn’t get you to answer your phone, so I rushed over to the hospital to see if you were still there, and they told me you left about an hour ago, so I hopped in my car and came over here to make sure you were okay,” he tells you, not meeting your eye.

You’re shocked at his confession, not expecting him to be so concerned about your impromptu trip to the hospital.

“Well, I’m here and still standing,” you awkwardly stand in your doorway, not knowing what else to say, thinking about how if you weren’t arguing with your mom over Nico on the phone, you might have gotten his calls.

“Yeah, I see that now,” he shoves his hands in the pocket of his hoodie.

The two of you stand there, not really knowing what to say to one another.

“Do you want to come in?” you ask him, moving out of the doorway to let him step into your apartment.

Nico shakes his head yes and walks past you, looking towards the mess on the floor in your kitchen.

“What happened here? Is this the crash I heard?” he asks you.

“Yeah, the bag fell and spilled everything. When I went to pick it up, I forgot and used my bad shoulder,” you gesture to your slinged arm.

Nico shakes his head at you, crouching down to pick up the camera disks all over the floor.

“Oh, no, you don’t have to-“

“Well you’re sure as hell not trying to pick them up again,” Nico interrupts you, standing and placing the now full box of disks on your table.

You roll your eyes at him, walking over towards your fridge.

“So, what exactly happened? Jack told me you hurt your shoulder?” he follows you over to your fridge, watching you scan its contents, or lack thereof.

“Well, I was looking at my camera and skated right into a bunch of pucks on the floor, then was too focused on saving the equipment instead of remembering how to fall properly,” you told him, remembering his words during your first skate lesson, telling you not to catch yourself if you fall on the ice.

“See, I told you to just let yourself fall. Never try to catch yourself,” he echoes his words in your thoughts.

“Yeah, well, it’s a lot easier said than done,” you deadpan, shutting your fridge door and looking at Nico.

Your stomach growls at that exact moment, making you groan at your lack of food in your fridge, not having eaten since before your accident.

“When was the last time you ate anything?” Nico asks you, looking down at your growling stomach.

“Uhhh, breakfast?” you recall.

Nico’s eyes widen. “It’s almost midnight. Did they really not feed you at the hospital?” he asks you.

“Considering they were busy doing x-rays and scans to make sure nothing was broken or torn, no,” you walk over to your cabinets, finding them also bare.

“Alright, go sit down and I’ll order us something to eat,” Nico shoos you out of the kitchen, walking over and opening the drawer where you keep all of your takeout menus.

You wonder how he knows where your menus are, forgetting for a moment that he’s over at your apartment at least twice a week after your skating lessons. Sometimes more, the occasional movie night making its way into your weekly routine.

“What do you want? Sushi? Chinese? Burgers?” he questions, flipping through your menus.

For some reason, your brain chooses this moment to register how much you enjoy the sight of Nico in your kitchen, looking through your takeout menus and offering to order you dinner.

You think back to all the times he’s helped you make dinner, laughter filling every moment of your time together. You think about how he always wear his pjs when he comes over for a movie night, bringing a different chocolate candy to put in the popcorn each time. You think about how he somehow learned your coffee order without you ever telling him, bringing you a coffee every morning, even at away games.

You think about your mother’s words, and how you didn’t even have to ask Nico to come over tonight, or to give you skating lessons. You think about how you never have to ask Nico to do anything he does for you – which is a lot, you’re realizing – he just does it. He does it because he wants to, because he’s kind and caring and wants to spend time with you.

“Hello? Earth to Y/N, what do you want for dinner?” Nico snaps you out of your sudden revelation.

“Sorry, spaced out for a second. Must be the pain meds,” you tell him, knowing that your mind isn’t the least bit impaired right now.

“Okay, go sit down, we need to get some food in you then,” he fishes his phone out of his pocket, mumbling out “Can’t believe they pumped you full of meds on an empty stomach.”

You make your way to your couch, sitting down and taking your shoes off, making yourself as comfortable as you can.

You remove a stray piece of hair that fell onto your face, knowing how awful it must look.

When you fell on the ice, the claw clip that was holding your hair in its up-do broke, causing it to fan out over the cold, wet ice. Once you got to the hospital, you were put in and out of so many different machines, you can only imagine the tangled, matted mess it is.

You get up and go to your bathroom, finding your brush and trying to comb it out. The task proving to be difficult with only one hand. The tangles keep pulling your head back and hurting your tender scalp, but you keep trying, whimpering each time the brush gets stuck on a particularly bad tangle.

You don’t even hear Nico approach your bathroom, just a sigh and “I told you to sit down,” before the brush is taken from your hand and you see Nico’s reflection behind you in the mirror.

Without another word, he proceeds to brush your hair for you, ensuring every tangle is gone before setting the brush on your sink.

The two of you make eye contact in the mirror, neither one wanting to break the silence during the surprisingly intimate moment.

You clear your throat, looking down after the silence got too intense, causing Nico to avert his eyes as well.

“I really wish i could wash my hair, but i know that’s a no go tonight,” you chuckle, wishing your bathroom was a little bit bigger in this moment.

“I can braid your hair for you,” Nico starts, staring at you in the mirror, watching your eyes snap up to meet his. “I mean, only if you want,” he stutters out.

“Really?” you ask him, a little stunned.

“Yeah. I used to help Nina with hers all the time when I was younger,” Nico mentions his older sister, grabbing your hair lightly and starting to section it off. “Anytime she would have a sleep over I would always weasel my way into the party. So one day, she made me sit in a braiding chain and learn how to braid her hair.”

You let out a giggle, picturing a smaller version of Nico sitting at the end of a line of girls, braiding their long hair.

“Then, Nina claimed I got so good at it she always wanted me to braid her hair before her volleyball matches, then her friends all started wanting me to do theirs, too,” he continues talking, nearly lulling you to sleep with the soft movements of his hands as you listen to him speak.

“I think that’s adorable,” you quietly speak, closing your eyes.

“What can I say? When a pretty girl needs her hair braided, who am I to keep my skills to myself?” he jokes, making you wonder if he meant you or his sister’s friends.

“I’m sure it’s any little boy’s dream to have an entire volleyball team at his mercy, all those pretty volleyball players begging him to play with their hair,” you tease him, handing him the hair tie that you always keep on your wrist.

“I don’t know, I think playing with a pretty photographer’s hair is better, if you ask me,” he ties the hair tie around the bottom of the braid, reaching up to pull the braid loose, making sure it’s not too tight.

You keep your eyes closed, knowing he can likely see the redness on your cheeks at his words.

“Alright, eyes open. Need to make sure you like my work,” he places his hands on your biceps, making sure to keep his touch feather light on your bad arm.

He turns you around so you’re facing him, holding a handheld mirror that was laying on your sink in front of your face, allowing you to see the reflection of the braid.

You’re shocked to see the flawless Dutch braid that cascades down your back.

“Nico, you’re like…really good at this,” you reach your good hand to the back of your head, running it down the braid.

“Told you, I had a lot of practice,” he shrugs, setting the mirror down.

You yawn, the relaxing nature of having your hair braided allowing you to realize how tired you are from the day’s events.

“Nuh-uh, gotta keep you awake until we get some food in you,” he tuts, taking his hands and patting your cheeks.

You groan, leaning into his palms that stay resting on your face.

“C’mon, let’s get you changed and on the couch,” he motions for you to leave the bathroom.

You walk to your room, Nico helping you carefully remove your sling before leaving and giving you some privacy.

You change into your pajamas, somehow managing to get your arm into an oversized Devils shirt you found at the bottom of your drawer.

Nico is standing outside of your door when you open it, helping you back into your sling.

He stands in front of you, staring at you with a look that you can’t decipher.

“Is…everything okay?” you question him, noticing his stare after adjusting your sling.

His eyes snap up to you, seemingly unaware that he was even staring at you in the first place.

“Uh, yeah, sorry. I just- is that my shirt?” he asks you, pointing to your pj shirt.

You look down at the oversized shirt, trying to think of where you got it.

It had just showed up in your laundry basket one day, assuming it was one they gave you when you got your job, but Nico’s question makes you think harder.

You realize, suddenly, you do remember where you got it.

During one of your post lesson dinners, Nico had spilled his drink all over his shirt. You offered to wash it for him after he changed to a shirt in his duffel.

You meant to take it back to him after you washed it, but forgot about it entirely, packing it away in your pajama drawer.

“Oh, crap, it is. Do you want it back, I can go change?” you ask him, worried he’s upset that you forgot to give it back.

“No…no it’s fine. Keep it. I have plenty,” he shakes his head, glancing down at it once more.

The two of you make your way to your couch, finding something to watch on tv when there’s a knock on the door, signaling the arrival of your food.

You start to stand to go get it, but Nico sternly tells you to stay put.

Rolling your eyes you sit back down, grabbing the remote and continuing to channel surf.

Nico’s gone for longer than you expect, causing you to sit up and turn back towards your kitchen, wondering what’s taking him so long.

You see him walking over to you, a tray full of food in his hands.

He had ordered from your favorite sushi place, figuring it would be the easiest for you to eat one handed.

As he sat down the tray on the coffee table in front of you, you realized what took him so long.

Nico had put a toothpick in each piece of your sushi, knowing using chopsticks with your non dominant hand would have been hard for you. He poured soy sauce into a small container, allowing you to simply pick up each toothpick and dip it in the sauce before popping it in your mouth.

He had also ordered you a bottle of cherry coke, which he knew was your favorite, and placed it on the tray with the lid unscrewed and a straw peeking out of the bottle next to a glass of ice, just incase you wanted it that way instead.

You looked up at him, feeling that funny feeling in your chest like you did earlier in your kitchen, blown away at how he always seems to think of everything he can to help you out, even when you’re not injured.

You must’ve been looking for longer than you realized, because he cocks his head at you, confusion present on his face.

“What?” he asks, not understanding what’s wrong. “Did you not want sushi? I thought you said it was always the one thing that could cheer you up?”

You shake your head at him. “No, sushi is perfect,” you tell him, a small smile on your face as you look up at him.

He smiles back for a few moments, then started scooting the coffee table towards you so you don’t have to reach to grab your food. He moves around the table to sit beside of you, the size of the small table causing him to sit so close to you that you can feel the warmness of his large thigh against yours.

You once again think about all of the things he’s done for you without you even having to ask. Now including coming over after a game—no doubt exhausted and sore—and taking care of you without even thinking twice. Braiding your hair and calling you pretty. Staring at you unintentionally wearing his t-shirt. Modifying your food so it’s easier for you to eat with one hand.

You sit there, staring at the man you fear you’re falling in love with, already planning out the apology text you’re going to have to send your mom.

[nomsfaultau]

Dark sbi where Tommy accidentally kidnaps Philza, not knowing he’s a crime lord. And he swears it was an accident! He just, you know, panicked. Tommy and Tubbo were just minding their own business slapping graffiti on a building (practicing their art skills, you see) when a cop started screeching at them, apparently not an appreciator of the fine arts. And since Mrs. Innit would KILL him if he got arrested, Tommy panics and takes a hostage, shouting at the cop not to take a step further or he’ll kill the random civilian he’s ducked behind so he can’t get shot.

Meanwhile Philza isn’t entirely paying attention, and realizes there’s suddenly a small child sheltering behind him from a cop. He gives the cop the nastiest look imaginable, which causes them to back off enough that Tommy thinks his plan is working. Once the negotiations start Philza is baffled by who would have the gall to kidnap him, and so poorly at that. Frankly it’s an umbrage to face the work of an amateur.

Well, till the abductor asks his name. “…do you not know who I am.?”

Tommy squints at the guy. His suit looks kinda fancy? Is it better or worse for him if he managed to randomly capture some Wall Street schmuck? “Hell no,” he hisses. “And I don’t care. I’m a dangerous guy alright? You don’t know what I’ll do to you.”

Philza’s laugh causes the cop to advance, wagering the situation isn’t intense. But because Tubbo’s ‘Yes And’ game is a force to be reckoned with, he casually pulls out a nerf gun (painted to look real for a prank on Ranboo) and trains it on the cop. Philza is positively delighted as he realizes just how amateur his abductors are. Oh this will be a riot to watch.

With more bluffing than Tommy knew he had in him, promising the hostage 20 bucks if he pretended to go along with it, the pure manic chaos bleeding from Tubbo’s eyes and ample gun waving, and creative use of spray paint in the eyes of the chasing cops, Tommy and Tubbo somehow manage to book it. For some reason the hostage keeps up with them instead of escaping. Huh. Can you develop Stockholm syndrome that fast? Tommy would ask, but he’s panting from sprinting. And as they live in an unjust world, hostage guy isn’t even breaking a sweat despite the three piece suit.

“You’re not going to get far on foot,” Philza murmurs. As corrupt and useless as the cops are for most things in this city, he doesn’t imagine there’d actually be that much fuss over a random man being kidnapped, but he wonders what they’ll do if spooked a little more. It’s been amusing thus far. The boys bicker, then elect to force him to drive as neither have licenses. They don’t ask him to drive to their homes, instead some secondary location. Smart, albeit Philza will definitely know both addresses within the hour.

While Tommy is busy ‘threatening’ Philza about the consequences of not getting them there, Tubbo just leans over from a bag of chips he’s munching on and offers them to Phil. Tommy rounds on him, less for showing exploitable kindness to the hostage and more for eating the Doritos that were meant to be his. Philza almost chides them for revealing each other’s names, but decides it might just be easier to hand them notes at the end of this. So far they aren’t getting a passing grade in abduction. But he has to admit it’s far more entertaining than the ‘business’ meeting he was planning to attend.

(Techno, meanwhile, hasn’t heard from Philza and is going BALLISTIC trying to figure out who kidnapped him. From the police report Phil just kinda went along with it, and looked terrified after a private exchange with the abductor, which has to mean the threat is ungodly to convince the Angel of Death to submit. Techno’s about to have a panic attack imagining the unthinkable horrors happening to his best friend, and is only holding it off by doing atrocities about it. This is the THIRD secret criminal organization he’s ripped apart in the last two hours and PHILZA ISNT HERE EITHER!?)

Philza has decided he likes his kidnappers. They’re not experienced in the slightest, but they make up for it with bravado, determination, and a certain lack of rationality that is necessary in the line of business Philza is in. Yes. They’ll do nicely if given a little guidance.

It’s half an hour before either of them notice Philza is driving aimlessly and they don’t recognize the city around them at all. “Hm? Next time I don’t recommend you give the hostage control of the vehicle. I could have immediately driven to the police station.”

Tommy frowns, almost more nervous at the implication the obvious blackmail would go unused. “…why didn’t you?”

“There’s no love lost between the cops and I. And even more importantly, you amuse me. I like your…potential.” He grins at the soft click of Tommy covertly trying the handle and finding the car doors locked. “Getting out at this speed is almost always fatal, Tommy.”

Tubbo lifts the muzzle of the fake gun towards him. “Let us go right. now.”

Philza leans over, ruffling Tubbo’s hair. The teen gulps at the glimpse of the holster Philza’s jacket was hiding, sharing a wide eyed look with Tommy. “I’m not exactly scared of foam bullets, mate.” He chuckles lowly at the tension freezing both of them. “Relax. You’ll be home by dinner. After you went through all the effort of kidnapping me to avoid trouble with your parents, I don’t intend to ruin it. I like you two; you have spunk I don’t see often. After all, it takes a lot of guts to kidnap the leader of the Syndicate.”

[watcher7-9]

Jealous Dr Ratio is the best ^^ II Dr. Ratio X Researcher!reader II Not grammar checked TT II I hope it ain’t OOC

Why does their attention slip so easily from me to them. What do they have that I don’t. Dr. Ratio stared irritatedly at his lab paper before his eyes flickered back to you and the new team member that was assigned to the project. The newbie called, Phil was assigned to your team to aid you two in the experiment. At first he really didn’t mind too much, only finding it slightly irritating that it was not just you two. But things only got worse as Ratio started to notice how overconfident Phil was. A person that doesn’t respect his methods, disrupts him, and worse of all trying to flirt with you. He was baffled as you actually laugh at some of the jokes Phil had told. Almost slamming a chemistry book across the man’s head as he was turned around, but you had stopped him in time. Tugging him back as he glared at Phil with ill intent.

“Oh Dewdrop~ you glisten in the morning light, soft as a whisper, pure and bright. You-” Before Phil could finish his poem to you Ratio cut in coldly, “You do know what dewdrop is a British euphemistic for a drop a mucus on the end of someone’s nose? It’s quite rude of you to address someone as that.” Phil only blink in surprise at the interruption before starting to laugh. “Haha, I didn’t know that but-” Dr. Ratio interrupted again dismissing Phil’s words, “It’s getting late you should head back to…your quarters. We will clean up since we know this lab more than you ever would.” Biting back the last two words he not so gently shoved Phil toward the door. Dr. Ratio blocked himself in front of you as Phil tried waving you a goodbye. He closed the door to the lab before turning back to you with crossed arms across his chest. Staring at you like some angry cat that you owed an apology to.

“Is there something wrong my dear Doctor?” You laughed as he continued to glare at you. You could almost see a vein pop out of the head as you laughed at him. “Now you’re laughing at me? Didn’t do that when you were all busy howling over that newbies jokes, eh?” He shot back as you started to clean up. This didn’t seem like the calculated and cold Dr. Veritas Ratio you knew of, but this random jealousy was pretty enjoyable breaking his usual style of talking. You couldn’t help but feel a little smug over this new unlocked emotion from him. “You laughed at his jokes. I didn’t think you’ll find such halfwitted comments amusing.” He continued to ramble on as he stuck close to you and helped you put away the equipment. “I was only trying to brighten the mood. You were staring at that poor man like he was some dirt on your shoe.” You only smiled back at him as you watch him grumble.

“Poor man? Are we talking about the same person we was a disturbance to my work. Our work! Wasting precious time dwindling over some bird brained fool. And he dare question my methods and how I wanted to do things?! Who does he think he is. H-he even has the courage to smother himself all over you. He’s even worse than dirt on my shoe.” You listen to him continue to ramble over this dude, you could probably see steam from his head if you really tried. You had only seemed Ratio this expressive towards you when he was venting to you about what idiots his students were. Such pure hatred toward this person it was almost funny. After his rant he suddenly steps toward you, continuing until your back hit one of the counters. “Hm? Are you not fuming anymore, dear?” He stayed silent for a bit as he hugs you against him. His hold on you tight as his hands wrap tightly around your waist and back as if a snake trying to suffocate you in his grip. “You’re quite the eager one today. It’s usually me that initiates things out of you,” you smile as you pat his back.

Ratios head rested against your shoulder before burying into the crook of your neck. It started off as soft nuzzling before starting to get rough. Rubbing his cheek deeper into your neck as he griped you against him. You could almost feel his teeth against your neck as if a cat marking its territory. “What are you doing my dear? You are not denying those cat allegations.” You chuckled as he slowed down before muttering out. “Say anything you want. You’re still mine though. No cocky Philly cheesesteak will steal what’s mine.” He slumps himself into you more as you try to comfort the big kitty. “Alright alright, how bout we go home and continue the show we were watching? I’ll pour some tea and maybe get a few snacks out? How does that sound for you.” Ratio contemplated your offer before nodding “Alright, I guess that will work out. But I’m gonna request for him to get removed from our group. I don’t think you’ll be enough support for me if I have to juggle that idiot and my students. Besides he’ll only drag our research.”

[fullscoreshenanigans]

#ray with a piping bag making frosting flowers w jemima

ray  being  a  stern  “eat  ur  vegetables”  type  cook  for  his  family,    but  also  ray  picking  up  baking  bc  he  knows  how  much  the  kids  appreciate  being  able  to  have  sweets  again……………………….  ray  making  cookies  and  sitting  down  with  his  elbows  on  the  table  and  threading  his  fingers  over  his  mouth  and  finding  it  hard  to  explain  to  emma    &.    norman  why  this  suddenly  makes  him  sad  but  the  kids  remember  yuugo  and  they  can  do  it  for  him  and

[elysianightsss]

I have a request: how would the Techno react if Reader dies but appears a few months later alive but very injured?

Now this inspired me.

Warnings: 18+, angst, suicide mentioned, hints at nsfw, blood, alternate timeline where she was never pregnant; adding Athena and Apollo into this would have made me cry so no. 

————————————————————————

Techno was distraught, it was against his nature to love and be loved and yet you taught him how. You were his everything and more. From the moment you shot him in those woods all that time ago, when the voices went quiet when your face came into his eyesight, everything changed for him.

He loved you more than life itself, so when Phil broke the news to him that you were dead, he lost it. Standing in the living room of the home you had shared together, rage burned through him, his shaking hands ripping, shoving, destroying. By the time he was done, Phil had witnessed something he thought he’d never see.

Techno was weeping, sobbing, screaming for you. A broken man wanting the only thing he couldn’t have. For months Techno barely ate, barely slept, contemplated suicide daily. How could he live without you? Why would he even want to? Without you there was no meaning to his life. It was like a huge hole had been punched through his chest.

The absence of you was everywhere he looked, the little touches you had slowly added to the house over the years. Your perfume, oils and lotions on the white vanity in the corner of the room. Techno remembers vividly, when you had talked about wanting one and he worked for weeks to build and paint one you’d love. He sat for hours carving intricate designs onto the legs and around the mirror just for you.

The wardrobe filled with your clothes, the beautiful materials you covered your body with, he was always envious of them, they got to touch you all the time. Dresses hanging there that hugged your figure perfectly, that made his heart beat faster.

The bathroom filled with your sweet bath oils and bath salts, countless times he had come home from fighting and you drawn him a bath and washed him clean. Countless times had he taken you apart in the sweet smelling waters and steamy room.

The bed was the hardest to deal with, it reeked of you. The mouthwatering smell he wanted nothing more than to roll around in, it was always present when he slept. It was a slight comfort to him, but always left him distraught. He thought about sleeping downstairs but had to remind himself that he had destroyed the couch.

More time passed, around six months now since Phil had told him about your death. He was a hollow shell of himself, he had lost a lot of weight and always had dark bags under his eyes. He was surprised he was still breathing.

“Techno!” Phil had screamed, a dreaded, fear filled, confusion dripping scream. Techno sighed, it took so much energy out of him to simply stand. Feet practically dragging along the floor, he shuffled to the front door sparing a longing look to his axe of peace. Whatever was on the other side of his door was dangerous if Phil’s scream was anything to go by, and he was happy to let whatever it was kill him.

Opening the door and stepping out onto the wood panels just before the stairs that led down to the snow, red cloak and gold crown nowhere in sight, The Blood God isn’t who stepped out to fight, but a broken man ready to die.

That all changed the second he saw you. You who had been dead for six months, you who he had mourned for six months, you who was bruised and covered in cuts with blood dripping from them. You who looked just as starved and exhausted as Techno did, in fact you looked worse.

“Sweetheart?” Techno’s voice cracked as he uttered the term of endearment he hadn’t spoken in so long.

“Tec.” Your voice was small and fragile, your hand reaching for him. The clothes you wore were torn and certainly not enough to keep you warm in the freezing cold snow you had trekked in to get home.

He ran to you, feet moving quicker than they ever had before all so he could take you in his arms and hold you close. “I’ve got you darlin’, I’ve got you, hold on to me.” He used all his strength to help you into the house, Phil running to your aid too.

You took in the state of your home and honestly it was alot better than what you had expected. Glancing at your husband, he avoided eye contact sheepishly, normally it would have made you smile. You don’t even think you know how to do that anymore.

“Let’s uh, get you upstairs.” Phil said awkwardly, helping Techno carry you up into your bedroom, and onto the bed. You sighed in pure relief that you body didn’t have to hold itself up anymore, that you weren’t on a nasty cold stone floor too but the soft, Techno smelling, mattress you had been dreaming of for six months.

You were so happy you cried. You cried ugly, hard, loud. Letting all your emotions out. Techno was there stroking your filthy, greasy hair and holding your dirty, sore hand. “Sweetheart?”

“I’m just so happy, I thought this day would never come. I had convinced myself that it wouldn’t. And yet here I am. Home.” You sobbed out the words, looking at your husband through your tears blurred eyes, just about making out the crooked smile on his gorgeous face.

He wanted to ask what had happened, wanted to know who had done this to you. But just seeing your relief to being in a bed, to being home, he knew you’d need time.

Phil went home after Techno had asked him to, they agreed not to tell anyone you were back until they figured out what had happened to you and by who.

Techno ran you a bath and took extra time and care into washing you off, he had to pull you out of the disgustingly mucky water and run you a new bath. This one you could soak in, allow yourself to relax, even when the clear water did dirty again, only a little this time though.

You saw the look in Techno’s eyes as he washed you and you knew, remembering the vow he made to you all those years ago; “I love you, it took me a while to say it I know. But I need to know you understand—“

“Understand?” You asked.

“How much I love you. I’d destroy empires for you. Pillage country’s for you. Kill for you.” He pressed his forehead to yours. “If anyone ever even thought about hurting you, they’d be dead before they could finish that thought.” He growled, deep from within his chest. The ruby of his eyes shining brighter the more he talked about it.

“I understand.” Of course you did. You knew from the moment you said ‘I do’ exactly what that meant.

“You’re going to kill him aren’t you?” It was a question you knew the answer to but you still felt compelled to ask nonetheless.

“Yes.”

[finelinevogue]

sad beginnings,

summary - everyone sees you as this weird and crazy ravenclaw. everyone except remus and sirius.

pairing - ravenclaw!reader x wolfstar

word count - ~2.5k

tw: angst | no happy ending (yet) | bullies | blood | fight | self deprecation | she pronouns used

You thought breakfast would be better than a bowl of porridge, but that’s what you get for waking up late.

You’d overslept on your alarm clock by 45 minutes and were now paying the consequences by eating disgusting gruel for breakfast. There wasn’t even any honey to drizzle on top, thanks to some older Ravenclaws hogging it for their pancakes.

Half the tables were empty, as people started to head off for their first lessons of the day.

You had potions in half an hour.

Potions was one of your favourite lessons of the day, not because you liked the subject - in fact you despised it - but because you got to secretly crush on two of the prettiest boys in school.

Remus Lupin and Sirius Black.

They were currently the only group of Gryffindors still at their table, making a rather loud ruckus as they stood up from the table to leave.

James was teasing Lily about something and Sirius and Remus couldn’t stop laughing over it. Lily pretended to be offended and fake punched Sirius for laughing at her, only to have Remus lean down only slightly and kiss Sirius’ clothed arm all better.

It didn’t help that the two boys you would of course have a heavy crush on would already be in a well established relationship.

I mean, they were the prettiest boys in the school and they were opposites to each other so their relationship made perfect sense.

You just wished you had gotten there with one of them first. But who? You admired them both the same.

Both of them had—

“Oi, Y/N!” A Ravenclaw in your year, named Philip, shouted from down the table, making your porridge slide off your spoon and splat against the table.

You looked towards where Philip and his band of quite mean friends sat.

“Daydreaming about boys you could never get, again?!” Philip laughed, causing others around him to as well.

You didn’t reply. You knew better than to reply. Just keep your head down and trouble should go away.

Your eyes drifted from Philip over to where the Gryffindors had nearly exited the Hall, only Sirius and Remus had stopped just shy of leaving.

They were stood talking to each other.

“Who is it this time Y/N? Hm?” Darcy, one of Philip’s friends teased.

“Remember when Y/N tried to date Isaac? As if she could ever date him.” Someone else joked.

You looked back down at your porridge, still listening to them but trying your best to block them out.

Looking at your breakfast made you think about Isaac. He was just as bland and boring. Until he wanted to have sex with you and you really didn’t want that, well then he became an absolute prick. Started spreading horrible rumours about you, showing his true colours.

Isaac started spreading stories about how you tried to come onto him, only to deny him. How you had been weird and crazy the entire night, when in fact it was the opposite.

Now everyone thinks you’re weird, a prude and a bitch.

One of the reasons you have no friends.

Isaac had managed to isolate you and Philip and his cronies had taken advantage of that.

“Think she was looking at Remus and Sirius.” Someone snickered, making you love uncomfortably.

“No way! Y/N has hots for the dogs,” They thought they were funny, “Is that true, Y/N? You want Remus and Sirius to be your little boyfriends?”

They all laughed, until they went silent.

“You alright, Phil? Can I call you Phil?”

Your head shot up to see Sirius leaning down over the bench next to Philip, resting his palms on the table and glaring him down. Remus stood right behind him.

Your heart rate increased at the sight of them magically appearing.

Did they hear? Did they know? Were they in on the sad and pathetic joke?

“It’s just Philip.” Philip gulped.

“Great, Phil.” Sirius smiled, but it definitely wasn’t genuine. “We heard your filthy mouth speak our names and, well, I for one don’t like pricks speaking about me or my boyfriend behind me back. So keep your goddamn mouth shut or I’ll hex you back to Year 1. Okay?”

“Uhhh…”

“I said, okay?” Sirius asked again.

“Yes, yes!” Philip stuttered.

“Good.” Sirius moved back to stand up.

It was lovely that Sirius had come over here to defend his boyfriend like that. You craved someone having the kindness, and definitely the courage, to stand up for you like that.

You watched as Sirius took Remus’ hand and you wondered what that felt like.

You could imagine Sirius’ hands being quite rough and Remus’ hands being calloused, but both still having a sense of softness to them. They’d both be very grounding and warm to hold on to.

Then they both walked your way.

You quickly started to eat your porridge again, keeping your head down. You don’t think either of them would make a scene with you, but maybe they’d caught on to your gazes and blushing and they’d had enough.

You thought you were subtle but maybe you’d been far more obvious than you intended. You cursed yourself, but only knew it was a matter of time before you made a fool of yourself.

Maybe they weren’t even walking towards you. Why would they? They didn’t know you, except for your name maybe.

But then you saw them stop in front of the bench on the other side of you.

You looked up to find them both smiling warmly down at you. You gulped, thinking the worst.

“You have potions next right, Y/N?” Remus asked kindly.

He did know your name…

And he knew your timetable…

“Yes?” You asked, cautiously.

“You want to walk over with us? We’re heading there now.” Remus asked.

You were a little gobsmacked that they were asking you to do something with them.

No one has asked you to do anything in a very long time, even something as simple as being asked to walk to class with them. So this was a huge deal to you.

“Really? I mean, sorry, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“Intrude?” Sirius laughed, “Never. C’mon.” He kindly smiled and you nervously got up from the table.

You picked up your robe and wand.

“Are you sure?” You asked to make sure a second time.

“Y/N, if you don’t hurry up then Sirius is probably going to pick you up and carry you there himself and then I’m going to have to deal with him moaning about crippling back ache later on… Oh my God… That want be implying anything about your weight… Um… Should I just stop?” Remus rambled and looked to Sirius for help.

“You really should.”

And you smiled.

Genuinely smiled, for what felt like the first time in a long time.

•-•-•-•-•-•

The hallways were starting to become busy.

People moving from morning time to lesson time, especially the first years with their overpacked bags and reckless running through the corridors to get to their lessons on time.

One darted past you, causing you to wobble. Luckily Remus was behind you and he put his hand on the lower part of your back to balance you carefully.

“Thank you.” You said, whilst trying really hard not to blush.

You failed to notice Remus blushing too as you turned back around. You definitely didn’t fail to notice the way Remus kept his hand on your lower back, helping you weave through the halls.

With two of the most popular guys in school, you didn’t realise how easy it was to actually manoeuvre through the corridors.

You’d spent too much time being infatuated with the time that Remus and Sirius were giving you, though, that you’d forgotten your potions book.

You stopped short, feeling the boys bump into the back of you abruptly.

“Bloody… Are you alright Y/N?” Sirius asked.

“I’ve forgotten my potions book. I’ll catch up with you, I just need to run to get it.” You turned to say to them, feeling slightly small underneath both their pretty eyes looking at you.

“Here, just take mine.” Sirius offered.

“No.” Remus swatted his hands, “Another “forgotten” book and you are going to get detention.”

“Oh screw that.” Sirius rolled his eyes.

“Y/N, take mine instead.” Remus insisted.

“What?” This time Sirius hit Remus’ hands away, “And mess with your perfect record? I don’t think so. Y/N…”

“Hey, listen.” You chuckled at the sight of them arguing… over you. It felt like the most surreal situation. “I’m just going to get my book, okay? Then none of us will be in trouble. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

You smiled at them in thanks, before darting around and away from them.

After you’r turned the corner, Remus hit Sirius over the head with his textbook.

“Ow! What the…” Sirius rubbed the back of his head.

“Really? You were about to give yourself a detention?” Remus chuckled, knowing exactly that was what Sirius was about to do and why.

“For Y/N? Absolutely.” Sirius smirked.

Remus shook his head and kissed Sirius’ cheek in admiration, before taking his hand and leading him off to potions.

•-•-•-•-•-•

As you rooted through your belongings in your dorm, you hummed to yourself with content.

You felt ten times lighter than you ever had felt before and all because the two pretty boys you’ve been admiring for so long had looked right back at you. They’d even gone as far as walk with you to potions.

Sirius was willing to get a detention for you and Remus was willing to break his golden reputation. That was flattery of their highest form.

You finally found your book, before pivoting to leave your dorm.

Only to find Darcy standing there with a cat in her arms, looking malicious as ever.

“O-oh Darcy. Hello.” You said, losing your hum and your smile with one look at her.

“Cut the pleasantries. You made us look like fools at breakfast in front of Sirius and Remus, you foul witch.” Darcy spat at you.

“I’m sorry, I never meant for that to happen.”

You felt yourself caving in on yourself, becoming that shelter of a shy person that these horrible people made you.

“And you think an apology will make it all better?”

“I don’t know.” You lowered your head.

“Well it doesn’t.” She moved towards you and you gulped in fear of her. She’d pulled at your hair and enchanted curses on you before, so you were terrified of what she might do now. Especially when it was just you two here.

“I’m sorry.” You looked up at her, hating that she could probably see the fear in your eyes.

“Show us up like that again and you’ll leave with more than just a scratch.”

“A scratch?” You asked, but maybe you shouldn’t have.

Before you knew what was happening Darcy’s cat attacked your face, clawing at your cheek with one powerful hit. The cat screamed what sounded like a war cry and you screamed in pain.

Your head turned to the side, leaving the cat’s claws to drag slightly down your cheek before letting go. You didn’t reveal your face again until you heard the door slam shut.

It only took a minute for you to delicately touch your cheek and see the blood for the pain to come flying in. You cried as you sat on your bed, cupping your cheek from dripping blood everywhere with one hand and the other hand resting on your forehead as you came to terms with what just happened.

You’d just been attacked for trying to apologise for something you hadn’t been in control of.

Your tears ran down your cheek and stung as they ran into the cuts on your cheek.

Walking to the little mirror hanging up on the wall, you looked in to see yourself. There were three lines scraped down your once bare cheek, running from just under your eye to resting on your jawline.

You cried some more, completely getting lost in the self loathing, before rushing around the dorm to find some healing lotion and tissues.

It took you ten minutes to clean up the mess on your face, and another five for the bleeding to calm down. It was an angry red mess, but you had to get to potions before the class ended.

You breathed out through your mouth a shaky breath, dabbing under your eyes with the sleeve of your jumper to wipe away the tears.

“You’re okay.” You said to yourself in the mirror. “You’re okay.”

You found that talking moved the cuts on your face and they stung even worse. So no talking it was. Brilliant.

“You’re okay.” You reminded yourself one last time.

But your words felt far from convincing.

[ part 2 ]

[cod-dump]

I don't know much about Pappy Russ, and Graves. But from what I've read, he's the reason Graves has a cut on his face. Old Bastard put him on a hog to see what the little bugger could do, only to forget- OH SHIT! FUCK IT HAS TUSKS!! RUN PHIL RUN!!

Graves getting the scar on his cheek from his childhood instead of during his marine days is actually hilarious. He talks up the scar, he almost got a shot through his eye, he almost died in action but crawled out alive.

But in reality it was the result of an incident that almost resulted in his mother refusing his grandfather to ever have him at his farm ever again. Old man had to wrestle a pig to the ground so little Phil could get out of the pen.

Definitely resulted in Adler getting lasting injury on his leg. The only reason Mrs. Graves didn't take Phil away, old man learned the same lesson with a worst result. Graves had a cool scar on his face and made up a million different stories to how he got it.

And Old Man Alder had to admit his fucked up leg was a result of him throwing himself at a boar to protect his grandson because of his own idiot actions.

[lila-lou]

✨High School Sweetheart - Pt 2✨

Summary: You come face-to-face with a ghost from your past—Dean Winchester. Five years after he vanished from your life without a word, and now he´s here. But neither you nor he are teenagers anymore.

-Listen to "Chance with you"-

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Language, ANGST, Fluff, poor fucking dean

Word Count: 6231

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💙

It barely took ten minutes of sitting beside Dean in the Impala before Sam, watching his brother’s slightly dazed expression, finally broke the silence. Sam’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he noticed the faint blush still lingering on Dean’s cheeks, his older brother biting his lip, lost somewhere deep in thought, the edges of a grin tugging at his mouth.

“Still really pretty, huh?”, Sam mumbled, a slight smirk pulling at his own lips.

Dean blinked, as if snapped out of a daydream, glancing at Sam with a mixture of irritation and sheepishness. “Shut up, Sammy”, he muttered, though the flush on his face deepened as he tried to focus back on the road.

But Sam wasn’t about to let it go that easily. “Oh, come on, Dean. The look on your face says it all. You’re practically glowing”. He leaned back in his seat, watching his brother with a look that was both curious and amused. “I mean, I knew she was special, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this”.

Dean let out a breath, shaking his head, though he couldn’t hide the small smile still playing at his lips. “Yeah, well…”. He trailed off, running a hand over the steering wheel as if it could ground him, as if the familiar leather beneath his fingers could keep him from spiraling into the memories of you. “She’s… I don’t know, Sammy. She’s always been different”.

Sam nodded, a knowing look in his eyes. “She got to you, huh? Even back then”.

Dean let out a rough chuckle, rolling his eyes at Sam’s all-too-knowing expression, but he couldn’t shake the warmth spreading in his chest, even if he tried to hide it behind his usual bravado.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get all mushy on me”, he shot back, giving Sam a light punch on the arm. “Just ‘cause I’ve got a soft spot doesn’t mean you need to turn into Dr. Phil over here”.

Sam grinned, rubbing his arm dramatically. “Hey, I’m just saying, it’s kinda nice to see you like this. Kinda reminds me you’re human after all”.

Dean scoffed, his cheeks darkening a bit more as he focused on the road, though a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Alright, smartass. Keep it up, and I’ll throw you out of this car faster than you can say ‘college boy’”.

But Sam wasn’t about to let up, not when his brother was in rare form, and he leaned back with a smirk. “Right. Go ahead, toss me out. Maybe I’ll find my way back to that little bookstore she’s got. Tell her all about how you kept looking at that card she gave you when you thought I wasn’t looking”.

Dean’s head whipped toward Sam, his expression caught between shock and embarrassment, and he quickly cleared his throat, shifting in his seat as he tried to play it cool. “Pfft, the card? Didn’t even realize I had it”. He shrugged, feigning nonchalance, though his fingers instinctively brushed against the pocket of his jacket, where he’d tucked it safely away.

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “Right. Like you’re not gonna call her first chance you get”.

Dean cleared his throat, trying to shake off the knowing look Sam was throwing his way. “I’ve got bigger things to worry about than a card, Sammy”, he muttered, eyes fixed on the road.

Sam smirked, crossing his arms as he settled back in his seat. “Uh-huh. Bigger things like… calling her? Or just figuring out how you’re gonna manage to stay away?”.

Dean shot him a quick glare. “You know, you’re real mouthy for someone who’s got a free ride”.

But Sam wasn’t letting up. “Look, Dean, all I’m saying is… we’re still in town, at least until we figure out what’s going on with this case. Not like you’d be going out of your way”. He raised his eyebrows, his tone both teasing and genuine. “Maybe it’s a sign, you know?“.

Dean scoffed again, rolling his eyes as he tried to keep his focus on the road ahead, though the twitch of a grin betrayed him. “A sign? Really? What’s next, Sammy, you pulling tarot cards out of the glove box?”.

Sam shrugged, a smirk still lingering on his face. “I don’t know, Dean. You’ve always been the one to follow your instincts. And I think we both know this isn’t just another hunt”.

Dean let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head. “You really are going for that Dr. Phil gig, aren’t you?”. But the usual bite in his tone wasn’t there. “Look, it’s not like I’m dying to make her life any more complicated than it needs to be. You saw her—she’s doing fine. Better than fine, actually. So, maybe it’s better if we just leave her out of all this”.

“Right, sure”, Sam replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because you looked real ‘fine’ back there when you were about to drive off again. Totally ready to let her go”.

Dean shot him a glare, but it didn’t have much heat behind it. “Just because I want her to be okay doesn’t mean I need to go barging back into her life, alright? She’s got her shop, her routine. She deserves someone… better. Not someone who has to leave town at a moment’s notice”.

Sam leaned forward, his expression softening, but his eyes remained steady on his brother. “Or maybe she deserves the truth. You know, the Dean who sticks around long enough to let her decide for herself if she wants you in her life”.

Dean clenched his jaw, trying to shrug off Sam’s words, but something about them hit too close to home. He kept his gaze fixed ahead, but his grip on the wheel tightened, his shoulders tense. “I don’t know, man”, he murmured, voice softer now, almost hesitant. “I left her once. Not exactly the best track record”.

“And yet, she still gave you her number, didn’t she?”, Sam countered, his voice gentler now, but unyielding. “Seems like she’s already made part of that decision. Maybe all you have to do is follow through”.

Dean stayed silent, his gaze distant as he considered Sam’s words. The road stretched out ahead of them, but the weight of what Sam was saying hung thick in the air. He knew his brother was right—that he’d only be lying to himself if he tried to brush this off as a coincidence or some passing feeling.

Finally, he let out a low chuckle, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “You know, you’re getting a little too wise for your own good, college boy”.

Sam shrugged, leaning back with a satisfied grin. “Just looking out for you, big brother”.

-Flashback-

It was a crisp autumn afternoon, a few days into the new school year, and Sam had already noticed the way Dean’s gaze lingered on you whenever you crossed paths in the hall. Dean would lean against his locker or sit on the edge of a bench outside, looking casual, pretending he was just minding his own business. But Sam saw the way his brother’s eyes tracked your every move, the subtle shift in his posture whenever you were near, as if he was debating making a move but could never quite bring himself to.

Sam knew Dean well enough to know his brother wasn’t one to hold back, not usually. Dean had always been confident, sometimes cocky, and had no trouble talking to girls when he wanted to. But with you, it was different. Sam saw something softer in the way Dean looked at you—a rare uncertainty, almost like he was afraid to ruin something he hadn’t even started yet.

So Sam, always the quiet observer, decided to give his brother a little nudge. With a smirk, he took matters into his own hands, slipping a note into each of your bags. He kept it simple, setting up a “chance meeting” during lunch.

Neither of you ever found out who had orchestrated it, and Sam never breathed a word about it afterward, but he remembered watching from a distance as it all played out.

The lunch bell rang, and you wandered over to the spot Sam had mentioned in the note—an empty table under a big oak tree at the far edge of the school grounds. As you approached, your gaze landed on Dean, already sitting there, idly picking at the sandwich in front of him. When he looked up and saw you, a flicker of surprise crossed his face, quickly replaced by a crooked grin, though you could see a faint blush on his cheeks.

“Oh, hey”, he said, a bit too casually, his voice carrying a hint of nervousness you hadn’t expected. “Didn’t think anyone else knew about this spot”.

You smiled, feeling the same odd flutter in your chest that had been there since the first time you’d noticed him in the halls. “Yeah, me neither”, you replied, sitting down across from him. Your hands fidgeted as you unwrapped your sandwich, and you risked a glance up, catching his eyes on you.

The two of you settled into a quiet, awkward rhythm, stealing glances and giving each other shy smiles. It was strange—usually, you could hold a conversation with anyone, but something about him, about this moment, left you a little breathless, as if words would somehow ruin it. So instead, you both sat there, eating in silence, lost in the simplicity of each other’s presence.

After a few bites, Dean cleared his throat, his voice low and a little rough. “So… you’re (Y/N), right?”.

You nodded, trying to ignore the way your cheeks heated up as he said your name. “Yeah. And you’re Dean?”.

He chuckled softly, nodding. “Yeah. Dean Winchester”.

Silence settled between you again, but this time it was comfortable, both of you just taking in each other’s presence. The occasional breeze rustled the leaves overhead, casting dappled shadows across the table, and the scent of autumn filled the air—fresh, crisp, with a hint of warmth from the fading afternoon sun.

Every so often, your eyes would meet, and you’d exchange a shy smile, like you were both trying to figure out why this moment felt so special. For a while, neither of you felt the need to say anything. You just sat there, grinning like two kids with a secret, your sandwiches forgotten.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of glances and soft smiles, Dean let out a breath, shaking his head with a small, almost bashful smile. “So… you come here often?”, he asked, his tone teasing, though there was a hint of sincerity underneath.

You laughed, the sound breaking the quiet around you. “Guess I do now”, you replied, meeting his eyes with a smile.

And in that moment, something unspoken passed between you—a silent understanding that you both felt something real, something new.

As the lunch bell rang again, neither of you wanted to leave, but you both stood, reluctantly gathering your things. Dean gave you one last look, his gaze warm, a quiet promise lingering there. You exchanged a small wave, parting with barely a handful of words spoken, but it didn’t matter. The connection was there, something simple and pure that you’d remember for years to come.

And as you walked back to class, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed—that, somehow, in that quiet moment under the old oak tree, you’d found someone who might just mean something.

-End of the flashback-

The memory faded, but a faint smile lingered on Dean’s face as he drove, lost in thought, his fingers still brushing the edge of your card in his pocket once more. That first lunch under the oak tree—so simple, barely a conversation at all, really. But it was one of those memories that had stuck with him all these years. He hadn’t known then how much it would mean to him, how that day would be the start of something he’d never really shake. He could still picture the way you’d smiled at him, shy but genuine, the way your laughter had slipped out, breaking the quiet like sunlight streaming through a crack in the clouds.

“You’re remembering it, aren’t you?”, Sam asked, his voice quiet, softer now, like he knew he was treading on something sacred.

Dean blinked, pulled back to the present, his hand dropping from his pocket as he cleared his throat. “What are you talking about?”, he muttered, but his face betrayed him, that faint, far-off look still in his eyes.

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “Come on, Dean. Your first meeting. I know you remember it as well as I do. You were looking at her like she was something you’d been searching for”.

Dean rolled his eyes, but there was no real bite to it. “Alright, Nostradamus, dial it down a notch”. He hesitated, glancing at his brother, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “Wait… you were watching?”.

Sam shrugged, feigning innocence but failing miserably. “Maybe. I mean, someone had to play matchmaker. You weren’t exactly making any moves on your own”.

Dean’s jaw dropped slightly, a look of realization dawning over him as he put the pieces together. “Wait a minute. That note… You’re telling me you set that up?”.

Sam grinned, unapologetic, as he raised his hands in mock surrender. “What can I say? I knew you needed a little push”.

Dean shook his head, a mixture of disbelief and grudging appreciation crossing his face. “You were fifteen, Sam. Already sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong”.

Sam just laughed. “Hey, don’t knock it. Without me, you two would probably still be stealing glances from across the hallway”.

Dean rolled his eyes, a low chuckle slipping out despite himself. “Guess I owe you one, then”, he muttered, his voice a little softer, his gaze drifting back to the road. The thought of that quiet lunch, the way you’d both sat there smiling like idiots, felt as fresh as if it had happened yesterday.

He fell silent, the weight of the past settling over him again, that strange mix of regret and nostalgia twisting in his chest. Sam watched him for a moment, his expression softening, sensing his brother’s quiet struggle.

“You know”, Sam said, his voice gentle, “maybe this is your chance, Dean. To do things differently. You’ve got the card. You’re still here. It’s not like you’re running out of reasons to reach out to her”.

Dean’s grip on the wheel tightened, his jaw working as he wrestled with the decision that had been simmering under the surface since they’d left the bar. The logic was simple enough, and he knew Sam was right. But the thought of opening that door again, of letting you back in, was equal parts terrifying and thrilling.

After a long stretch of silence, Dean let out a breath, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe”, he said quietly, his tone carrying a touch of hope he didn’t often let himself feel.

The evening settled around the small, dimly lit motel room, the hum of traffic from the nearby road blending with the low rumble of the TV in the background. Sam was already fast asleep, sprawled across one of the twin beds, his breaths steady and even. But Dean lay awake, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts drifting back to you—back to those lunch breaks you’d shared, the quiet moments that had managed to etch themselves so deeply into his mind that they felt like yesterday.

-Flashback-

It had been a week since that first lunch together under the oak tree, and somehow, it had become an unspoken routine. Every day, you’d find him waiting for you in the same spot, and each time you’d sit across from him, settling into the easy rhythm that had formed between you. Each day, it was a little less awkward, the smiles a little brighter, the silences a little more comfortable. And each day, Dean felt something in him relax, as if the weight he carried had lightened, if only for those few minutes with you.

On this particular day, you’d shown up with two hot chocolates, handing him one with a shy smile. He took it, surprised but grateful, the warmth of the cup seeping into his cold hands.

“I thought you might need it”, you said, your voice soft, almost teasing as you sat across from him, watching his reaction.

Dean took a long sip, his eyes twinkling with a familiar mischief as he set the cup down, looking at you over the rim. “You know, you keep bringing me stuff, and people might start thinking we’re a thing”, he teased, his voice carrying that trademark Dean charm, but with a warmth you hadn’t quite heard before.

You rolled your eyes, chuckling as you pulled your own cup closer. “Oh, please. They probably already think that”. You tried to keep your voice light, but there was an unmistakable blush creeping up your cheeks, which only seemed to amuse him more.

“Guess I’ll just have to get used to all the rumors then, huh?”, he replied, a faint blush of his own coloring his cheeks, though he played it off with a casual shrug. “Could be worse. There’s no one else I’d rather get a hot chocolate from”.

You bit your lip, feeling your heart stutter in your chest as you looked at him, his grin still lingering, his gaze holding steady on you. Dean had this way about him, this mix of cockiness and mystery that set him apart from everyone else. He was older, and though you didn’t know much about his life, there was something in his eyes—something quiet, something that hinted at secrets, like he’d lived more than anyone you’d ever met.

And somehow, all of it—his smirk, his laugh, that intense, guarded gaze—it made you feel giddy and nervous all at once, like you were balancing on the edge of something you couldn’t quite name.

You cleared your throat, trying to shake the feeling, but your voice still came out softer, a little breathless. “Well, guess I’ll just have to keep up the hot chocolate supply then, huh?”.

Dean could feel his own heartbeat pick up, thudding against his ribcage as he looked at you, but he kept his expression casual. He wasn’t about to let on that just sitting here, watching you smile and laugh, was enough to make him feel… well, a little unsteady. This wasn’t supposed to be part of the plan. He was just here for a few weeks, maybe less, keeping his head down, blending in, not getting too attached. And yet, here he was, heartbeat racing, feeling like he was balancing on the edge of something he hadn’t prepared for.

“Guess I’ll just have to keep showing up, then”, he replied, his voice light, though there was an unmistakable warmth in his eyes as he looked at you. “I mean, can’t say no to free hot chocolate”.

You laughed, shaking your head, and the sound sent a warmth through him he couldn’t quite explain. He glanced down at the cup in his hands, trying to hide the slight blush creeping up his neck, but he couldn’t resist looking back up at you, his gaze softening despite himself.

“Not just here for the hot chocolate, though”, he added, the words slipping out before he could stop them. He cleared his throat, trying to play it off with a shrug, but he knew he’d already given himself away. “I mean, the company’s not too bad either”.

Your cheeks flushed more, and you bit your lip, a small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth as you looked down, trying to hide your own reaction. That small gesture, that shy, quiet smile—it made Dean’s chest tighten, and for a moment, he let himself just watch you, forgetting the rules he’d set for himself.

In those simple lunch breaks, in the way you’d look at him with such unfiltered warmth and kindness, Dean had found something he hadn’t expected: a chance to feel… normal. He hadn’t thought that was even possible anymore. Not with the life he led, not with the weight of everything he knew he’d have to leave behind.

But with you, it was different. You made him want things he’d never thought he could have—a life that wasn’t always on the road, days filled with easy moments and quiet laughter instead of danger and uncertainty. And that scared him, more than he’d admit. Because he knew he wasn’t supposed to want this, wasn’t supposed to get attached. But here he was, feeling his pulse race every time you so much as looked at him.

You glanced up, catching his gaze, and for a second, the two of you just held each other’s stare, the air thick with something unspoken, something fragile but real.

-End of the flashback-

The memory faded, but the feeling lingered, a quiet ache settling in Dean’s chest as he lay in the dark, staring at the motel ceiling. He let out a long breath, his hand rubbing over his face, trying to scrub away the emotions that had crept up on him, emotions he’d buried for so long he’d almost convinced himself they were gone.

But being back in town, seeing you again, had peeled back every layer he’d built to keep those memories at bay. He could still see you as clearly as if no time had passed, that shy smile tugging at the corner of your lips, your gaze soft and sincere in a way that had always made him feel like he was something more than the kid his dad had dragged from town to town, always moving, never staying. And those lunches—just a few stolen moments under that oak tree—had been the closest thing he’d ever had to a taste of normal. They’d left him wanting a life he’d known he could never keep.

Dean let out a low, humorless chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “Should’ve known better”, he muttered to himself, voice barely a whisper in the stillness of the room. But there was no denying it: he’d never really stopped wanting that life with you.

He rolled onto his side, trying to settle into sleep, but his hand drifted unconsciously to the pocket of his jacket, where the small card you’d given him rested, a reminder of the day’s events, of the quiet invitation you’d made him.

For a moment, he debated it, running a thumb over the edge of the card, letting the idea linger. But he knew the risks, the life he’d bring crashing down into yours, the way his path never seemed to lead anywhere that didn’t end in heartbreak or goodbye. He didn’t know if he could pull you into that world, not after how hard he’d tried to keep you away from it back then.

But he also knew that maybe, just maybe, he couldn’t keep himself away any longer.

With a sigh, he closed his eyes, the faintest smile tugging at his lips as he whispered to himself, “Guess we’ll see”, before finally drifting into a restless sleep, the image of you still lingering in his mind like a quiet promise.

-Flashback-

Days later, on a quiet night, the kind of evening that felt wrapped in stillness, only broken by the rustle of leaves in the soft breeze and the occasional bark from your dog as he sniffed at everything in sight. You hadn’t expected to see anyone in the park this late, let alone Dean Winchester, slumped on a bench, face bloodied, bruised, and staring into the distance like he was barely holding himself together.

Your heart dropped, the sight of him so raw and shocking that for a moment, you thought you were imagining it. His clothes were torn and stained, dark patches of blood spreading across his shirt and jacket, and his arm was cradled awkwardly, held close to his side in a way that made you realize something was seriously wrong.

He looked up, eyes widening slightly as he registered you standing there, but his expression quickly turned guarded, his gaze flickering away as if he could somehow hide the damage from you by simply looking somewhere else.

“Dean… what happened?”, you whispered, approaching him slowly, the weight of concern heavy in your chest. You felt your dog pull at his leash, sensing your worry, but you held him back, focused on the broken figure in front of you.

Dean forced a smirk, though it came out more like a grimace, his face paling with the effort. “You know, just a rough night”, he muttered, trying to sound casual, like he was brushing off a scraped knee rather than the blood seeping through his shirt. “Thought I’d get in a little brawl. Keeps things interesting”.

You frowned, not buying his attempt at humor for a second. His arm was cradled protectively, and the tension in his face told you he was barely holding it together. He looked exhausted, broken in a way that went beyond the physical injuries, as though something much deeper had been hurt tonight.

“Dean, you’re hurt”. You knelt down beside him, reaching out carefully, but he flinched, pulling back instinctively before realizing it was just you. His defenses dropped, just for a moment, as he looked at you with something raw, almost vulnerable, in his eyes.

He let out a heavy sigh, glancing down at the blood staining his hands. “It’s… it’s nothing. Got into a fight, bit off more than I could chew. Happens”. His voice was rough, edged with the kind of pain he’d clearly been trying to ignore, but there was something else there too—a flicker of shame, as though he didn’t want you to see him like this.

But you could see the weight he was carrying, and the thought of him out here, alone and hurt, made your heart ache. “Come on, we need to get you to a hospital”, you insisted, your voice gentle but firm, reaching out again, this time more determined.

Dean shook his head, a grimace of pain tightening his features. “Can’t”, he said, his voice low. “Too many questions. I’ll… I’ll figure it out”. He tried to push himself up, only to falter, his breath catching as he slumped back onto the bench.

“Dean…”. You felt a surge of frustration and worry, torn between wanting to respect his stubborn independence and the overwhelming need to help him. “If you’re not going to the hospital, then at least let me help. My place isn’t far from here. I’ve got first aid stuff, and… you can clean up. Please”.

He looked at you, and for a moment, he seemed to consider it, his resolve wavering. Finally, he nodded, letting out a breath that seemed to carry the weight of his pride with it. “Alright. Just… just don’t tell anyone, yeah? I don’t need anyone knowing I can’t handle a stupid fight”.

You nodded, a soft smile breaking through your worry. “I won’t say a word”.

With a careful hand, you helped him stand, his weight leaning against you as he took a shaky breath. The walk back was slow, every step a reminder of just how much he’d been trying to mask his pain, but he didn’t complain, didn’t try to pull away.

As you reached your front door, you turned to Dean, pressing a finger to your lips and whispering, “We’ve got to be quiet. My parents are asleep”. He nodded, gritting his teeth against the pain as you helped him navigate the steps, each creak of the floorboards feeling impossibly loud in the stillness of the night. Your dog trotted quietly behind, sensing the need for calm as you led Dean through the dimly lit hallway, past closed doors, and up to your room.

You cracked your bedroom door open and guided him inside, holding your breath as he took in his surroundings. It was a simple room, but every inch of it was distinctly yours—a world apart from the barren motel rooms and grim hunting spots he’d known all his life. Posters lined the walls, a mix of bands and books you loved, and there was a soft, warm glow from the string lights draped along the headboard of your bed. The bedspread was a gentle shade of blue, soft and clean, with a few cozy throw pillows tucked neatly on top. A bookshelf stood by the window, crammed with novels and notebooks, a few favorite titles spilling onto the floor in stacks.

Dean’s eyes widened slightly as he took it all in, his gaze wandering over the posters, the string lights, the soft details. He looked almost out of place, like he’d stumbled into another world—a place where the harshness of his life didn’t belong. He shifted his weight awkwardly, cradling his injured arm, and you could see a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes as he took in the details of your room, details that, to him, seemed to capture pieces of you he hadn’t known yet.

“Nice place”, he muttered, trying to keep his tone light, but you could tell he was genuinely taken aback. It was like he was seeing a different side of the world—one he hadn’t been allowed to experience.

You gave him a small, reassuring smile, whispering, “Thanks”. You motioned for him to sit on the edge of your bed as you quietly opened a drawer, pulling out the first-aid kit and some supplies.

He lowered himself onto the bed slowly, grimacing as he tried to keep his sprained arm steady. The mattress sank slightly under his weight, soft in a way that made him blink in surprise. Everything in your room seemed to have a softness to it—the kind of comfort he wasn’t used to but found himself instinctively leaning into.

Dean watched as you moved around your room with quiet familiarity, pulling out bandages, antiseptic, and a towel. You flicked on the lamp by your bedside, casting a warm glow that softened the edges of the room, and as you sat beside him, his gaze lingered on you, a hint of awe in his eyes.

“Feels… nice in here”, he murmured, almost like he was embarrassed to admit it.

You settled beside him on the bed, the first-aid kit open between you as you prepared a damp cloth, dipping it into a bowl of warm water you’d brought up from the bathroom. Every movement was gentle, careful, your focus fully on him as you began to dab away the dried blood from his face, wiping it away in soft strokes.

Dean watched you, his eyes tracing your expression as you worked. He seemed almost hesitant, like he didn’t quite believe he deserved this kind of care. There was a rawness in his gaze, a hint of vulnerability that made your heart ache as you gently brushed a thumb over his cheek, wiping away a streak of dried blood.

“Does it hurt?”, you asked softly, looking up at him, your eyes filled with quiet concern.

He shook his head, though you knew he was lying. “Not much”, he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper, his gaze fixed on you as if he was trying to memorize every detail. “Guess I’m tougher than I look”.

You gave him a small smile, continuing your work with gentle hands. “I don’t doubt it”, you murmured. “But even tough guys need someone to patch them up sometimes”. Your voice was tender, carrying a softness that felt like a balm on wounds that went deeper than the bruises and cuts on his face.

Dean’s gaze softened, a flicker of something vulnerable slipping through the usual guardedness he wore like armor. He didn’t say anything, just watched as you worked, his eyes following the movement of your hands, the way you handled him with such care, as if he were something fragile.

As you moved closer to clean a cut near his eyebrow, your faces were just inches apart, and you could feel his breath, slow and steady, warm against your skin. He was still, so still that you could almost hear his heartbeat, the air thickening between you as he held your gaze, his expression open in a way he rarely allowed himself to be.

“You’re always this soft?”, he asked, his voice so low it was almost a murmur, his eyes never leaving yours.

You felt your cheeks warm, but you didn’t look away. “Only for people who deserve it”, you replied, your voice equally quiet, the words carrying a meaning that hung in the air between you, heavy and unspoken.

Dean’s jaw tightened slightly, his gaze flickering downward as if he didn’t believe he was worthy of that softness, of that quiet care you were offering him so freely. He swallowed, a faint smirk pulling at his lips as he tried to brush it off. “Not sure I fall into that category, sweetheart”, he muttered, his voice laced with a self-deprecating humor that barely hid the vulnerability underneath.

You rolled your eyes at his words, but there was a smile tugging at your lips, soft and genuine. “Well, you don’t get to decide that”, you murmured, still focused on the cut above his brow, carefully dabbing at it as though he might break under too much pressure.

Dean’s smirk faded, replaced by something softer, almost disbelieving, as he looked at you. “Guess not”, he whispered, his tone lacking its usual bite, as if he was letting himself accept your care, even if just for a few moments.

You finished tending to his cuts and bruises, then sat back a little, finally taking in the full picture—Dean Winchester, bruised and broken, but with that familiar, guarded warmth in his eyes, one that was aimed solely at you. Despite his injuries, he managed a small, crooked grin that sent your heart racing all over again. You didn’t realize it then, but this was a moment he’d remember, the memory of your touch lingering with him like a promise.

-End of the flashback-

You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, thoughts drifting back to Dean—the boy he’d been, the man he’d become. So much time had passed, and yet, seeing him again felt like slipping into something familiar, like picking up a story that had been left unfinished.

He’d stood in front of you, years later, carrying the weight of battles fought and scars earned, a look in his eyes that told you he’d seen more than he’d ever wanted to. Yet somehow, despite the rough edges time had given him, there was something unmistakable in his gaze, something that brought you right back to those early days—the same quiet warmth, that flicker of mischief, that vulnerability he tried so hard to hide.

It was almost surreal, how he looked so much older, and yet, to you, he was still somehow that eighteen-year-old boy who’d made you feel like the center of his world in those stolen moments.

You rolled onto your side, pulling the covers closer as your heart beat faster, memories rushing back to fill the silence of your bedroom. You thought of how he’d looked at you back then, like he was trying to memorize you, and how he’d looked at you now, like he couldn’t believe you were real. And in that moment, you felt the weight of those lost years, the ache of missed moments and the wonder of seeing him again, as if fate had brought him back to you.

But even now, as a grown man, standing in front of you with a lifetime of stories written on his face, he still looked at you with that same spark, that same fondness. It was as if, in his eyes, you hadn’t changed at all.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 Right now, early-seasons-dean gives me all the vibes... I just.. CAN´T. HELP

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Part 3

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[alittledizzy]

okay thoughts/timestamps for the phanniversary newlywed game video!! (random breaks are to appease the tumblr gods)

:55 - The capitalesterification of things that used to be unspoken fandom holidays is startling to me still. Jarring, even. It's theirs to own; I'm not really mad about it. But it feels weird. 2:00 - "You are our third in this video. The questioning third." I need a shot, actually. 2:13 - Dan referencing how they are basically the same person at this point before it even starts. 2:27 - Who would be caught tied to a wall at furcon? Unanimously Dan. This doesn't surprise me at all; my headcanon for a while has been that Dan is more likely to identify as a furry while Phil is more likely to be fascinated watching furries have sex but not identify with any other aspects of it as much. I think Phil probably just enjoys things a bit to the left of center, in general, even if he doesn't want to partake himself. 3:32 Who is bossies? Unanimously Phil. I love this little peak into their dynamic. Ignoring the "stinky baby" thing, they are bossy in different ways. Dan is more big picture trying to accomplish goals and Phil is more to try and satisfy his individual needs.

4:05 - Who is more likely to cut the video off due to a sponsor? Obviously this one is Phil, and cue spon segment that I skipped the first time and am skipping now. 5:28 - Who would accidentally answer the door with no pants on? Unanimously Phil. I think this just speaks to a little more of Phil's general obliviousness and ability to be in his own bubble when he's comfortable, which is kind of fascinating considering Phil seems more anxious and hyperalert when they are in public. 5:50 - Who drinks more? Unanimously Dan. We knew this already about Phil being a lightweight and Dan not being one, but I do enjoy confirmation that Phil is just a silly drunk and the shoutout to a classic dinof video. 6:36 - Who is the gayest? Unanimously Phil. This does not surprise me at all and I am going to answer an ask specifically just about this. But tl;dr I think Phil has a very binary sense of attraction and Dan doesn't. Also he gets a gold star for "the concept of women." 7:02 - Who's most likely to get a tattoo? Unanimously Phil. This Phil lore is interesting and I do think he'll end up with a tattoo at some point. 8:20 - Who is most likely to have the next medical emergency? Unanimously Phil. His body really is a fail. :(

8:42 - Who is better at time management? So many questions in and the first differing response!! This immediately took me back to the roulette game. Good to know Dan has not changed in his stubbornness, and also that he believes a divorce is when he can't see Phil for five seconds. 9:44 - Who snores more when sleeping? Unanimously Phil. rip everyone on that tour bus, apparently? Now I need to know if Dan is the type to just put in earplugs, or if he wakes Phil up when it's too loud. 10:16 - Who starts more arguments? Their second differing response, and imo the most satisfying moment of the video. Insert this type of domestic into my vein. Dan is pettier about small things but he says he's just pointing things out/observing it, and to him he's just verbalizing it and to Phil it's Dan starting an argument. Phil wants Dan to let more things just wash over him. 11:10 - Who kills/removes the spiders? Unanimously Phil, which we already knew but I love a good renewed confirmation that he removes them with a glass instead of killing them. 11:31 - Who is more likely to stand up for the other when a restaurant gets their order wrong? Unanimously Dan, followed by the beautiful phrasing of Phil not even complaining if he got "the cheese super allergy knife bowl, mmm tasty." But the dichotomy here that I really love is how in the microcosm of their relationship Phil is bossier, more outspoken with turning things into arguments, and more likely to ask for and get his way… but when it comes to outside of the relationship Dan finds that more comfortable. Dan really does have that older sibling-verging-on-mom override.

11:53 - Who's more likely to be lurking on social media? Unanimously Phil. Dan is traumatized and I do believe he doesn't want to know or see the commentary on himself or his projects except through a filter. Philter. Sorry. I'll move on. 12:10 - Who is the bigger nerd? Unanimously Dan. Dan does seem more for ADHD style hyperfixation whereas Phil is more of a lifetime fandom person. 12:47 - Which one of you is the alpha? They each answered themselves, but neither of them took this seriously. Phil is right tbh they are both betas. 13:17 - Phil doesn't like being told what to do. This is probably my second favorite part of the video. I feel like it makes sense but isn't something I would readily think of; he doesn't like confrontation so it's not an element of his personality that we would see come out a lot. But he's also someone that's essentially never been in a scenario past the school age where he really had to answer to anyone above him. He's equal in his relationship, he's financially independent, he's in control of his career. Any 'boss' he's had was an unconventional scenario (like BBC1 where he didn't have to apply to be there, he was invited) and while he's worked hard he's just done it of his own volition and not due to anyone outside of himself and his partnership requiring it.

13:29 - Who's more likely to flirt with the waiter? Unanimously Phil, which I love because this is really a slice of true Dan. He didn't once try to imply that he's the lolz horny on grindr getting those hookups slut boy summer persona. Dan is only that in theory; in reality he's worrying about politics and his own anxiety and making sure Phil wasn't served cheese allergy knife soup. 13:59 - Who's more likely to become a stripper? Unanimously Dan. Shoutout to the nakedbooth era of 2009. I also appreciate his point about how being any kind of content creator is similar. 14:40 - Who is most likely to leave their hair in the shower wall? Opposing answers, but Phil's logic is flawed. It isn't who will see it, it's who would do it. Confirmation from Dan again that Phil is very messy and also still uses three towels. 15:04 - Who has a worse sense of direction? Unanimously Phil. I really identify with this.

15:14 - Who has the highest screen time? Unanimously Dan, but they go into the differences in screen time. Phil seems to actively use his more whereas Dan uses it passively to watch things. Dan never lets his mind just be chill and doesn't want to be alone with his thoughts, whereas Phil can rawdog the laundry with nothing playing. Dan uses his phone for escapism, Phil uses it to seek out information. 15:52 - Bubbly Ben coming in clutch with "Whom's ass claps the hardest?" - I need an oil painting of Dan's expression as Phil reads this. And the caption should be, "Answer the fucking question, Phil." (It is, obviously, a unanimous Phil.) Followed by one of Dan's patented over the top 'we crossed a line' which I'll forgive him for in this one instance since the entire video was fairly free of his go-to filler quotes.

[roosterforme]

The University of Sugar | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: You take Bradley to a work happy hour, but nothing about it makes him happy, since your boss is clearly flirting with you. Was that man blind? Could he not see your engagement ring? Bradley was ready to fuck some sense into you. And you were so willing to let him.

Warnings: Fluff, swears and smut

Length: 2700 words

Pairing: Beer Boy and Sugar! Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)

This is a one-shot to accompany my fics Old Habits Die Hard and Right Girl, Wrong Time! This was written for a request. Banner by @mak-32

Check my profile for my masterlist

Bradley was exhausted. He'd had such a long week, stayed on base late almost every day. He was ready to get undressed, take you to bed, and pass out for at least twelve hours. But when he unlocked his front door and walked into the living room, you were standing there in a cute little dress, all made up. Maybe he could squeeze in a quickie before he passed out. 

"You look like you're ready for me to take you to bed," he said with a smirk as he started to untie his boots. But then he remembered something that you had said... about... a happy hour? Fuck.

"You need to get changed. I don't want to be late," you told him, checking the time on your phone while he groaned. Now he remembered. He promised you weeks ago that he'd go to the happy hour with your coworkers from the math department at San Diego State University. But right now, he was dying to get in bed and stay there.

"Sugar," he whined, "Baby, I'm exhausted. Can't we just stay home?"

"No!" Now you didn't look pleased at all as he made his way closer to you. "Go get changed, Beer Boy."

He wrapped you up in his arms and pulled you snug against him. "Come on, Baby," he crooned. "Doesn't our bed sound better than happy hour? I promise I'll make you cum. Twice."

You kissed him and smirked devilishly. "I'll hold you to that. After we get back from happy hour."

"Fuck," he groaned releasing you and heading to the bedroom to get changed. There was no way he was getting out of this one. He was going to have to chat with your coworkers all night. A bunch of boring math nerds. Because there was no way there was more than one hot, interesting math nerd at your school. You were an anomaly. You'd cornered that market. 

Plus, Bradley just knew he was going to feel like an idiot all night. You were smarter than anyone he knew, and it would be like a bunch of clones of you walking around sounding extremely intelligent. He didn't even know what he was going to talk about. 

"Ready?" you asked with a smile when he reemerged from the bedroom. You took him by the hand and led him out to the driveway. "I can't wait for you to meet everyone."

---------------------------

It was worse than Bradley thought it would be. Apparently the median age of college math professors was eighty. He held tight to his bottle of beer while you introduced him to way too many people whose names he would never remember. He tried to smile, but he had to stifle a few yawns while he followed you around the small auditorium on your campus.

Everyone knew you. Everyone liked you. Everyone wanted to talk to you. Which was all fine and dandy until Bradley got cornered in conversation with Professor Rosenthal while an extremely handsome man walked up to you and gave you a lingering hug. 

"Who the hell is that?" Bradley asked, completely cutting off Professor Rosenthal.

"Oh," he sputtered, turning to see where Bradley was looking. "Oh, that's Professor Philip Harding. The department dean." 

Bradley's brain was buzzing now as he watched Professor Philip Harding put his hand on your lower back while you laughed. You had mentioned him before. Many times. You told Bradley that you frequently ate lunch with Phil on the benches outside your building next to the rose garden. Bradley was the one who lovingly packed those lunches for you.

He watched as you slowly took a step out of Phil's reach. "That's a good girl, Sugar," he muttered, now completely ignoring Professor Rosenthal. 

But Phil closed the gap and was already next to you again. Was this guy blind? Or just stupid? Did he not see the engagement ring on your finger? Could he not comprehend that you were in a relationship?

"Fuck," Bradley growled, glaring at him as he set his empty bottle down and tore across the room. Phil was tall, dark and handsome, and Bradley knew you liked that kind of thing. Plus, if he was the department dean, he was probably as smart as you were. 

Jealousy pulsed beneath his skin as he came up behind you and wrapped his hand around your perfect hip. "Hey, Sugar," he rasped, leaning down to kiss your neck. He loved the way you melted into his touch, but Bradley kept his eyes on Phil who cleared his throat loudly. 

"Hello," Phil said, looking at Bradley with a thoroughly unimpressed expression. But he could just fuck right off, because Bradley wasn't impressed either. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Dr. Philip Harding."

You smiled up at Bradley. "Phil is the department dean. And his office is next to mine." Then you turned to Phil, and Bradley had to watch his gaze dip down to your chest as you said, "Phil, this is Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw."

"Her fiancé" Bradley added, rather too loudly. 

Phil just smirked at him. "Ah, yes. I believe I've heard mention of you before. You work on submarines or something?"

Bradley clenched and unclenched his fist. "I'm an aviator," be ground out. "A pilot. I fly an F/A-18."

"Right," Phil replied cooly before turning back to you and asking you a question about your calculus lecture. And then Bradley had to stand there and listen to you laugh while he felt like a complete idiot. 

After a few moments of listening to Phil's annoying voice, Bradley pulled you a little closer and said, "Please excuse us," effectively cutting off the conversation and luring you back toward the refreshment table.

"What's wrong?" you asked. "You're acting so weird."

Bradley's eyes bugged out. "I'm acting so weird? Sugar, what the fuck, Baby? That guy is flirting with you right in front of me."

"No, he's not," you replied with an eye roll. "He's always like that."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" he growled. "Because it does not. In fact it makes me feel worse."

"He's harmless, Beer Boy. I eat lunch with him all the time."

Bradley managed to speak through clenched teeth. "The way you described him, I pictured a geriatric nerd with a receding hairline and fucking dentures!"

You burst into laughter, planting your hand on his chest as you cackled and gasped for hair. 

"He's not old at all!" Bradley complained.

"No," you said, trying to reel in your laughter. "I think he's forty."

"He's handsome!"

"So are you." Your hand slid up to the back of Bradley's neck as you grinned at him.

"He wants to fuck you!" 

"So do you," you replied calmly. "You're jealous."

Bradley took a few deep breaths. He would never, ever admit to that out loud. "He touched you," Bradley growled. He didn't even care if he was causing a scene right now. You were going to be his wife, and he would be damned if Phil didn't leave here tonight knowing damn well where he ranked with you. 

"I told him to stop," you said sincerely. "I don't think he'll do it again."

"He better fucking not."

You leaned up and kissed Bradley's chin. "I can't believe you're jealous of him. You have no reason to be." You searched his face and sighed, that needy little sound you made when you were ready to go. "I love you. And you look so hot right now."

Bradley's cock twitched for you, and he pulled you snug up against him so you could feel that he was hard. You moaned softly, and Bradley glanced over to see that Phil was looking this way. 

"Let's go fuck in your office," Bradley told you, possibly loud enough for someone to hear. And then he kissed you hard, slipping his tongue into your mouth until you were pulling him toward the door. 

"I don't know what's gotten into you tonight," you whispered, ducking your head as you led him out into the hallway. "But I'm not mad about it." 

Bradley followed you down the hall to your office as you clicked along in your high heels. He was very familiar with this room, and when you unlocked the door, he pushed you inside but not before he noticed Phil was also in the hallway. 

Bradley winked at the other man before he slammed the door shut behind him. You had a smug, needy look on your face as the fluorescent lights started to warm up and brighten the small room. 

"You're mine, Sugar," he stated simply, caging you in against your desk. "And next time you eat lunch with Phil, I want you to think about this," he whispered, reaching down so his hand was underneath your dress, grabbing the back of your thigh and making you break out in goosebumps. "And this." 

You moaned softly as he gently pressed his lips to yours in the sweetest kiss. "Bradley," you whined as his hand slid up to the front of your underwear. "I thought you were exhausted from work."

"I got my second wind," he promised, leading his gentle kisses along your jaw and to your ear. "Now pull your underwear down, bend over, and tell me how hard you want it."

The strangled noise you made had him laughing before he sucked on your neck. But sure enough, you started yanking down your own underwear, and then you turned your back to him. 

You looked up at him over your shoulder, smiling sweetly as you said, "Hard."

Bradley was working on his own button and zipper as quickly as he could. "That's my sweet Sugar," he crooned, and you bent over your desk, moaning his name. He carefully pulled your dress up so your ass was beautifully on display for him. His cock was gliding through your wet pussy as he gently kicked your legs a little further apart. 

You wobbled a bit on your high heels as Bradley ran his big palm along your ass, cupping and squeezing you. "Bradley," you gasped, wiggling yourself back against his hand. 

"You want it hard, Sugar? First, you need to promise me that if that asshole Philip Harding ever touches you again, you tell me immediately." Bradley knew his tone was a little rough, and when you met his eyes over your shoulder, you nodded. 

"Okay." Your voice was soft, just like your skin beneath his palm. Bradley squeezed you before spanking you one time. "Bradley!" you screeched, biting your lip and moaning. 

"Promise me," he demanded. "He never touches your lower back or any other part of your body ever again." His fingers skimmed up along that exact spot on your back.

"I promise!" you groaned, still pressing back against him. Bradley thrust into you, hoping like hell that Phil was still out in the hallway. He wouldn't mind one bit if the department dean heard everything he was doing to you. And if your current volume was any indication, then perhaps everyone else in the small auditorium would be able to hear you, too. 

"You wanted it hard," he grunted, absolutely slamming into you. "You're mine. Gonna be my wife."

"Yes!" you screeched, grabbing along the top of your desk, trying to hang on as he fucked you. Bradley ran his hand along the spot where he spanked you feeling the warmth there. 

"You're smart, Sugar," he praised, slipping his hand around to your clit and bending so his front was pressed to your back. "Now tell me who you belong to."

"You!" Your voice sounded a little hoarse, and he could hear it quiver as his fingertips spanked your clit. 

He growled next to your ear as he alternated between tapping and rubbing. "Say my name."

"Bradley!" 

"Good girl," he praised, pinching your clit until you screamed. And then he spanked your pussy through your orgasm, tapping just hard enough that your legs started shaking. 

"Fuck," you groaned, the single syllable loud and drawn out as Bradley took you by both hips and fucked you so hard, you were whimpering. 

"Mmm," he hummed, palming your ass. "I'd love to cum all over your pretty face right now, but you'll get that when we get home. I'll spread it all around. Mess up your makeup and let you lick my fingers clean."

"Bradley, please?" you begged, but he spanked your ass and shook his head, fucking your harder as he got close. "On my face!"

"No. You insisted we come to happy hour, and it's already going to be obvious what we did without my cum all over you, Professor Sugar."

"I love it when you call me that," you crooned, clearly enjoying this entire interlude. "Now fuck me until you come."

It didn't take long after that. He came inside your tight pussy, painting it up and chanting your name. His hands were tight on your hips, and as soon as he withdrew, Bradley knelt down behind you. He kissed along your ass and your thighs as you tried to stand upright on your unsteady legs. 

"Easy," he crooned, watching his cum drip out of you as he eased your cute underwear back up your legs. You spun to face him as he pulled your dress down. Your hair and makeup were a mess, your lips were a little puffy, and you couldn't stand up straight. You looked down at him, still kneeling before you. "I love you," he promised as you let your hands rest on his shoulders. 

"I know, Beer Boy," you whispered, voice hoarse from screaming. "I love you, too. And I love when we fuck in my office or the study rooms on campus. It's kind of our thing."

Bradley stood and kissed you softly. "Academia really suits me. I went to the University of Sugar."

You bit your lip and giggled as he led you toward the door. He took your left hand in his and spun your pretty engagement around on your finger as you made your way back to the happy hour. When Phil exited the men's bathroom a few doors down from your office and wouldn't make eye contact, Bradley smirked. 

"You were loud as hell," Bradley informed you just before rejoining the group. "And you look so fucking dissheveled, I can't wait to bust a nut on your face later."

"Beer Boy!" you gasped, following him with wide eyes as Bradley made his way back to Professor Rosenthal with a fresh drink. He had accomplished what he set out to do, and now Phil would think twice before he touched you again.

"So sorry we got interrupted before," Bradley said to the older man. "What were we talking about?" Then he listened to Professor Rosenthal talk about the politics of the math department, his upcoming retirement and his hip replacement. And all the while, you kept eyeing Bradley with a very satisfied look on your face. 

----------------------------

"Okay, Beer Boy," you muttered to yourself, sitting on a bench in the rose garden next to your building on campus. You were unpacking the lunch Bradley had made for you, which included a note with huge handwriting.

Sugar, Can't wait to get my hands all over you later. Love, Beer Boy

You snorted and tucked the note into your pocket. This is what he did now. Every day since he met Phil, Bradley wrote you a dirty lunchbox note. The first note last week had been about how Bradley wanted to fuck you in the Bronco when he picked you up from campus. And sure enough, he had done just that, in the parking lot behind the student union building. 

Of course Bradley knew what he was doing, because Phil had accidentally seen that note. And he hadn't eaten lunch with you since then. But now you were waiting for your new lunch pal, Professor Rosenthal.

"You win, Beer Boy," you whispered, texting him a photo of the note along with a little message from you.

I want your lips and tongue, too. 

You smirked and ate the lunch he packed you, excited to get home later. Excited to marry Bradley. Excited for everything. 

----------------------

Love checking in with Beer Boy and Sugar from time to time! Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32

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[salemshotspot]

SECRET

CM Punk x Little!Reader

WORD COUNT: 1.3k

DESC: After a stressful day y/n reveals to Phil that they're a little

Gender Neutral Reader [They/Them]

WARNINGS: SFW Age Regression//Not Proof Read//Implied Anxiety//Overstimulation//Alcohol Mentions//Mentions Of Drunk People//Mentions Of Stress//Crying//Characters Probably Acting Out Of Character//Generic Pet Names

A/N >> This is my first time writing for a little reader so apologies if it's not great, I've been thinking about writing for other wrestlers with a little reader [as well as more Punk!] So hopefully this isn't that awful no one wants to read any other stuff from me lmao

TAGS: @seasonal-depression-of-punk

Enjoy!

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The entirety of the wrestling roster were more than familiar with and accepting of age regression due to how open The Judgement Day were about Dominick's age regression; however this didn't stop y/n from keeping their regression a secret from everybody. They had gone as far as trying to avoid The Judgement Day while they were caring for a small Dominick as y/n found themself slipping into a regressed state whenever they were around other regressed people and their caregivers. This is why when y/n felt themself slowly slip into a regressed state they wanted nothing more than to go home for the evening so they could do so without any fear of being seen.

After a successful episode of Monday Night Raw a handful of wrestlers decided to go out for a drink to celebrate, y/n couldn't think of a worse situation for themself right now; they were exhausted, they were anxious and going to loud, packed bar wasn't going to help them at all.

'Hey y/n a few of us are going out to celebrate, do you want to come with us?' Phil's voice echoing through y/n's dressing room, pulling them from their thoughts. Y/n forced a smile to paint their features, Phil always made sure to involve y/n in everyone's plans as he knew they tended to go unnoticed due to their quiet, self-reserved nature. 'I think I'll give this one a miss Phil, I'm not really feeling up to it' y/n softly replied to which Phil jokingly rolled his eyes; 'come on y/n' he began, 'It'll help to take your mind off of things and plus, it won't be the same without you' he softly pleaded. Despite the anxiety slowly filling y/n as well as the difficulty to not fall into a regressed state slowly becoming greater y/n couldn't bring themself to disappoint Phil so, after letting out a subtle sigh, y/n replied; 'alright Phil, I'll come out, just for a while though ok?' Phil's eyes practically lit up, completely unable to hide his excitement; 'awesome!' he exclaimed, 'we'll see you there.'

Once y/n arrived at the bar their eyes tiredly scanned the building until their eyes landed on Phil, Drew, Becky and Seth who simultaneously waved to y/n, signalling for them to come over to the area of bar which they were sat at; 'Y/N!' Drew shouted, his voice laced with intoxication 'you made it', wrapped in Seth's arms, Becky reiterated what Drew was trying to relay; 'we're really glad you're here y/n.' Before y/n could reply, Phil playfully patted the empty seat next to him signalling for them to take a seat next to him, to which they agreed, instantly feeling at ease from Phil's presence alone.

Around half an hour had passed and it was becoming increasingly more difficult for y/n to stay focused on their surroundings despite the grounding feeling they got from Phil's presence; they couldn't take it anymore, it was so loud, every decibel of sound infiltrating y/n's body, attacking their senses. As their head began to pound, y/n silently and abruptly shot up from their seat and rushed outside to their car, haphazardly pulling the door open, crawling onto the back seat and locking the door. Y/n wanted nothing more than to go home, they wanted nothing more than to have all of their comfort items so they could comfortably regress but instead they were stuck in the back of their car, completely overwhelmed. As their stress and desire to go home grew y/n found themself unable to stop themself from finally slipping into little space, inadvertently meaning that they were officially stuck in their car as operating a car whilst not only overwhelmed but also in a regressed state was definitely not a good idea.

Y/n did the only thing they could in their situation; they curled up on the backseat of their car and allowed tears to cloud their vision. Suddenly y/n was pulled back into reality by a gentle yet prominent knock on the car window, as their eyes shot up they met with the concerned and unwavering eyes of Phil who motioned for y/n to roll the car window down so he could speak to them. Y/n was reluctant to roll the window down, secretly hoping if they didn’t do so then it’d mean Phil never caught them in the state they were in, however they couldn’t bring themself to ignore Phil, he had a look of concern in his eyes which was impossible to ignore. Once the window was rolled down Phil leaned into the car so that he could speak to y/n without raising his voice, sure that speaking loudly right now would distress y/n. Softly he requested; ‘can I come in sweetheart?’ Sweetheart? Phil had never uttered such a name to y/n, surely he was just trying to provide comfort and right now comfort was all a little y/n needed right now.

With a subtle nod y/n unlocked the car door allowing Phil to climb in, once he was seated, y/n couldn’t contain themself, they instinctively crawled over to Phil, laying their head on his lap. As y/n lay down Phil took his calloused hand and began gently running it through y/n’s hair before softly speaking; ‘can you tell me what’s gotten you so upset sweetheart?’ Mumbling into his lap, hiccuping from the tears still pouring from their eyes y/n replied; ‘want home.’ Phil lightly chucked, ‘well there’s a very simple solution, you can go home, there’s no need to cry is there?’ He said in a tone which he intended to be playful but came across as mean-spirited, causing y/n to cry further. Realising his tone, Phil spoke once more; ‘shh y/n I’m sorry, why aren’t you going home hmm? Is everything ok?’

Y/n froze for a moment, slowly realising that the secret they were so desperate to keep from everyone was moments from coming out. Phil, growing anxious himself from y/n’s change in demeanour, gently rubbed circles into y/n’s shoulder with his thumb, silently encouraging y/n to speak. Further burying their face into Phil’s lap in order to muffle their words, y/n muttered out ‘I'm like Dom’ secretly hoping that Phil wouldn't hear them. 'I can't hear you sweetheart' Phil spoke out to which y/n repeated themself at the same register. Warmly smiling down at the person on his lap, unable to find their shy nature anything short of amusing, Phil took his large hands and placed them on y/n's shoulders, pulling them into an upright position. 'I can't understand you when you're hiding that face of yours y/n' he lightly chuckled, 'can you repeat yourself one more time?' After a moment of thought filled silence y/n let out an anxious sigh and repeated themself for a final time; 'I'm like Dom' they said lowering their head.

Phil admittedly wasn't the smartest man but once y/n uttered those words he instantly understood what was going on; 'and do you have somebody to look after you like Dom does?' Phil asked anxiously, the thought of y/n not having a caregiver to keep an eye on them while regressed worried Phil more than he'd ever like to admit. Y/n quickly shook their head, they had been without a caregiver for as long as they can remember, pulling them into a sympathetic embrace Phil planted a soft kiss on the top of their head before suggesting something tempting to y/n. 'How about we get you home hmm? What kind of a guy would I be if I didn't make sure you were all looked after?' Y/n giggled softly and nodded at the prospect of having a caregiver, and Phil of all people? They couldn't help but feel excitement well in their chest.

With that, Phil climbed into the front of the car, sure to keep a hand spare to drape around to the back of the car for y/n to hold onto for comfort. Once they had arrived home y/n retrieved all of their comfort items before joining Phil on the sofa. Tomorrow they would discuss Phil becoming a more permanent member of y/n's life, possibly becoming their caregiver but right now all y/n needed was to feel safe so they could finally sleep and out the stress of the day behind them.

——————————————————————————

A/N >> I'm sorry this isn't great but if anyone wants to give my writing a second chance drop requests in my inbox lmao and lmk if you'd like to be tagged in any future fics

[royalarchivist]

Chatter: Missa mentioned wanting to take you to Japan twice on his stream so far, lol. If he ever offered, will you join him?

Phil: Yeah, we definitely want to go, we 100% want to go. Me and Kristin have talked about it loads, we just don't know when, but we definitely would love to go. And having someone like, take us places would be busted OP, that would be crazy. That would be really cool. Like, "Oh, take away all the stress of- of trying to figure out where to go and not knowing where to go? Sign me up."

Phil: Isn't he there with Roier right now? [Laughs] I swear that dude should live in Japan, like, he- he should live there at this point. He's there more than he is at home! [Reading chat] "They are" I saw their stories, I was like, "They are in Japan again." When I saw– I was like "No fcking shot." I mean, Roier is bound to be having a good time, I bet. It's probably much better than fcking melting in Mexico right now with the heat. [Reading chat] "He loved Japan so much" yeah, I could tell from like, all the times he's gone, and then also when we were in Brazil, he saw a store that had like– it was just like, specifically like, Japanese stuff. Like, little like food, drink, little like, gadgets, homeware stuff. And he just like, gravitated towards it. He just went– [Phil leans off-camera] and we were just "Ok, alright, we're going in here?" [Laughs] And he said he's gonna buy too many things and to tell him to like, stop if he's got too much in his hands, like, take things off of him.

[eisforeidolon]

Question: What was the most dangerous or scary stunt you ever did?

Jensen: Most dangerous or scary stunt we've ever done. [whistles]

Jared: Dangerous or scary stunt. So, ironically, the stunts that were not the most dangerous were the ones that I hurt myself the most. [laughs]

Jensen: Yeah.

JDM: Yeah. It's ones where, like, you don't need to go over this with me, I got this, I can take a fall. And then you crack your skull. Yeah.

Jared: Then you crack a shoulder or something. Um, the most dangerous - Ackles?

Jensen: I mean, I would say, there's definitely a lot of dangerous - I mean, it's also changed, like, the things that we were allowed to do back in the day have grossly changed now. They won't let us, just for insurance purposes, do a whole lot.

Jared: 'Cause we're older now. [laughs]

Jensen: It might be that, too. But I'll never forget probably the one I look back on the most and go 'oh my God' was - I did a very terrible movie called Devour, and in that movie [Jared: Oh!] I was like, hunting in the woods, and then out of nowhere this mountain lion - giant, like, [JDM laughs] I don't even know how, it was hundreds and hundreds of pounds. [Jared laughs] This like, grown cat. And they -

JDM: It was real?

Jared: [laughing] Yes!

Jensen: Yeah, yeah, 'cause they didn't have money to do CGI.

JDM: No CGI.

Jensen: No. So I'll never forget it, they said, they gathered the whole crew and the [finger quotes] animal wrangler came out and gave a safety speech. It was like, okay everybody I want you guys to know that when we bring the cat out, we want, we need everybody to stay in this area. We need you all to stay together. If somebody needs to go to the bathroom, you need to walk in pairs. You cannot single yourself out, once you do that, you instantly make yourself prey. So stay in a group, do not leave this area unless you have to, if you do leave, make sure it is at least in pairs or more. Jensen, could we get you on your mark out there in the middle of the woods? What?! So that alone should have given me pause, but I was young enough and too dumb to say no. And so then the shot, at one point there was a camera over my left shoulder and the cat is supposed to charge at me and as it leaps, I raise up my rifle and I shoot it. So we were doing that shot -

Jared: [laughs] Nope.

Jensen: And the animal wrangler was right behind me to my right, with a little like [vigorously shakes hand] baby toy. Just shaking it right over my right shoulder -

Jared: And Jensen was like, ah toy, toy, toy! [makes grabbing motion]

Jensen: And they're like action, and here comes this, like, five hundred pound cat charging at me full steam, jumps up in the air, and I'm supposed to raise my rifle, and it was so close it brushed my shoulder with its like [makes claw hands][Jared looks visibly uncomfortable] - because it was coming right at that toy and I just went [mimics half raising a pretend rifle, then ducking out] Nope! I look back on that now and there is no way - if there was anybody from the studio, or any producer on set that day, that would have left the lead actor to be anywhere close to that man-killer. Uh, so that was probably one that I look back on and think I got out of that one.

Jared: What about Yellow Fever? Do you remember the snake behind the couch? Phil Sgriccia was directing it, and we're sitting on the couch, you know, and the guy's asking us questions as this GIANT fucking python -

Jensen: It was a two hundred pound python.

Jared: Yeah, whose head was the size of my whole fist and fingers. And -

Jensen: Yeah, that was real.

Jared: It was real.

Jensen: And you left!

Jared: Of course I left!

Jensen: It did this on me [demonstrates on JDM's shoulder] like it came up over my shoulder and went all the way down -

Jared: I'm this far away, and I started getting -

Jensen: And he's on the other side of the couch -

Jared: [fake nervous laugh] I'm out!

Jensen: And he just gets up and leaves the scene. I can't move, I'm just frozen in terror -

Jared: So they had to change the angle of the camera, because I wasn't gonna fucking be there.

[Jared and JDM have an exchange here that I can't entirely make out, but from JDM waving and saying I'm good, I'm good, presumably about GTFO]

Jensen: Also, the snake wrangler was behind the couch, and he was on his back and he was supposed to just feed the snake over the couch and onto my shoulder, and it wouldn't go. This snake's like two hundred pounds -

Jared: He's, like, agitating the snake -

Jensen: So he's [mimes] kicking it and pushing it. And I'm like, does the snake ever get upset? And he's like, no, he's really docile as long as you don't, hurt it or step on it or be mean to it, it's totally fine. I look over my shoulder, and he's like [makes violent shoving and kicking motions] Come on! Dammit! And punching it and shoving it and kicking it and then it gets onto my shoulder and I'm like, I'm gonna get - I'm gonna die. This is it. I'm gonna die in front of all of my friends. Yeah, so, but they won't let us do that stuff anymore.

JDM: I did a movie called Texas Killing Fields and it wasn't even a fucking stunt, but it had to do with an animal. But also an animal without an animal wrangler. I had Chloe Moretz over my shoulder and it was a scene of me coming out of the swamp, like I had just -saved her of course. [Jared laughs] 'Cause that's what I do, I save people. And they were like just go, the shot's ready Jeff, just take her and walk out into the swamp. I'm like, cool. So I got her and I'm telling jokes, making her laugh and I look down and I'm stepping and there's like an eight foot alligator as my foot is going down on top of its head. And this thing rears up - I dropped Chloe and ran. [J2 crack up] I like ya, kid, but -

Jensen: Not that much!

JDM: See ya. Survival of the fittest.

Jensen: You don't have to be fast, just fast-er.

JDM: That's exactly right. And she landed on her ass, so I was gone, so she [wasn't gonna beat me?]. Yeah, 'cause most of the stunts, I've gotta say, we've been really lucky working with really good stunt people, too. You know they generally do the stunt and then we stand there because we're idiots, the three of us all make bad decisions -

Jared: Correct.

JDM: The shot's done, they got it in the can and then we're like -

[they all talk over each other a bit here]

Jared: Let's do it again!

JDM: Can we do it, just let us try, 'cause -

Jensen: Let me see if I can hit this wall harder.

JDM: Yeah, harder than the stunt guys that have been doing it all day. We're, you know, that causes pain, I can't -

Jensen: It does.

JDM: But really, they're so - we've worked with some really good people in our lives. Supernatural, The Boys in particular, that guy won a [?] Emmy or whatever -

Jensen: Koy.

JDM: They know what they're doing. Walker, I'm sure the same deal, you know.

Jared: Yeah.

JDM: You can't fall off a horse anymore. You can't.

Jared: Right, yeah.

Jensen: It hurts.

JDM: [humorous echo] It hurts. You can throw people at alligators, though.

[muiitoloko]

RICKMAS 2024: DAY 07. QUIET WISHING

Summary: Phil, a rugged barber with a quiet yearning, finally considers pursuing his feelings for you after his son Brian and a friend tease him into admitting his interest.

Pairing: Phil Allen × Fem! Reader

Warnings: None

Also read on Ao3

Phil’s hands stilled mid-cut, his eyes catching sight of you through the barbershop window, your arms laden with bags, a hint of a smile on your face as you navigated the bustling street. It was the holiday season, and even from inside, he could see the warmth of Christmas in your eyes, the joy of whatever gifts you’d picked out reflecting in your smile.

His client, an old friend, noticed the shift in Phil’s focus and smirked. “Why don’t you ask her out, Phil?” he teased, breaking the silence.

Phil scoffed, shaking his head as he resumed snipping away, feigning disinterest. “I don’t see her like that,” he muttered, his voice low, betraying none of the truth. But his friend wasn’t buying it, chuckling as he watched Phil’s feigned composure crack just slightly.

“Oh, come on,” the friend scoffed, his voice a knowing murmur. “Anyone with half a brain can see the way you look at her. It’s written all over you, mate.”

Phil grumbled, feeling the warmth rise to his face. “She’s the same age as my son, Brian,” he argued, voice a bit gruffer than intended, hoping the excuse would end the conversation.

But as fate would have it, at that very moment, Brian walked in from the back of the shop, catching only a portion of the conversation. “Who’s my age?” he asked, his gaze shifting between his father and the client with a raised eyebrow.

Phil straightened, clearing his throat as if to move the topic along, but his friend grinned and jumped in eagerly. “Your dad here’s got his eye on that lovely young woman who just walked by,” he said, barely holding back his laughter.

Brian looked at his father, unimpressed but not surprised. “You mean [Your Name]?” He shook his head, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Yeah, Dad, we’ve all noticed. Subtlety isn’t exactly your strong suit.”

Phil shot him a warning look. “Enough, Brian,” he muttered, but Brian wasn’t finished, a teasing grin spreading across his face.

“Oh, don’t stop now,” Brian drawled, leaning against the counter, crossing his arms. “Let me guess. You’re trying to convince yourself that she’s just some girl carrying Christmas presents, right? But we both know better.” He let the words hang in the air, watching his father squirm, something rare and endlessly entertaining.

Phil’s mouth tightened, his hazel eyes narrowing as he tried to dismiss the conversation. “That’s enough, Brian,” he said again, but this time his voice held a softer edge, one that almost sounded vulnerable.

Brian leaned back, arms crossed, a smirk plastered on his face as he watched his father attempt to brush off the topic, though it was obvious Phil was rattled. “Come on, Dad,” Brian said, his voice carrying a touch of gentle insistence. “When’s the last time you went on a proper date? You’ve been single for as long as I can remember since you and Mum split up. Maybe it’s time you took a chance.”

Phil’s hands stilled, and for a moment, he stared down at his client’s hair, his jaw tightening. “I’m perfectly fine on my own,” he muttered, though even he could feel the hollowness of the words. Brian just shook his head, chuckling softly.

“Maybe you are,” Brian admitted. “But that doesn’t mean you should be. You deserve a bit of happiness, Dad. And she… well, everyone can see you’ve got that quiet wishin’ for her. It’s about time you stopped pretending.”

Phil felt his face warm, glancing toward the window, but you had already disappeared from view. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, as if releasing a burden he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying. Brian wasn’t about to let it go.

“What’s the harm in asking her out to dinner?” Brian continued, his tone encouraging. “Just a meal, Dad. A little Christmas cheer, some conversation. You’re always saying she’s got a good heart, that she’s kind, smart… and, well, if you’re gonna spend your days sighing over her in here, you might as well give it a shot.”

Phil scowled, but the edges of his resistance were cracking. “You make it sound so simple,” he muttered, his voice almost lost in the hum of the shop. Brian clapped a hand on his shoulder, the warmth of his encouragement breaking through his father’s stoicism.

“Because it is, Dad,” Brian replied, leaning in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Besides, from what I’ve seen, she seems like the kind who might like a bloke who’s a bit rugged, a bit quiet, a bit… hands-on, if you know what I mean.” He shot his father a wink, nudging him playfully. “Go on, Phil. Show her you’re more than just the man with the scissors.”

Phil felt himself flush as Brian’s words hit home, his mind slipping for a moment into images he’d never dare speak aloud. The thought of your warm smile, of your laughter filling the quiet corners of his life, stirred something deep within him, something he’d buried long ago.

[ughdoir]

꣑ৎ cm punk! teasing phil leads to some well deserved punishment.

contains black female reader, bimbo reader! quick whip, lowercase intended, insertion, dirty talk, piercings, degradation, filth, cum shot, cum eating, rough, orgasm denial, spitting, choking, spanking, slapping,minors don’t interact

bimbo reader! who stumbles into the house wedges clicking against the marble floor with a grin. eagerly calling for your boyfriend as you sit the assorted shopping bags down.

“phil!” you whined again smiling as the tattooed man stands before you. a white towel snug around his waist , hair dripping from the shower with a curious gleam in his eyes.

“look what I got.” you’re flipping up your denim skirt a glimpse of metal catches his attention. a surface piercing just above your clit. while your pretty tongue adorns a similar ring. phil believes he’s going crazy.

bimbo reader! whose face is buried between sanrio plushies. phil’s tattooed hands decorated in rings on either side of your round ass spanking harshly.

“stupid little whore letting some guy pierce you.” he rips your blue lace panties stuffing them in your mouth as his tip rubs against your creamy folds.

“who knows what you did for those piercings probably fucked him.” phil spits slamming his entire length inside of you. you know bad girls don’t get time to adjust.

you’re milking him ,thick thighs and ass slamming on his dick. the drool from your mouth staining the couch and ruining your panties still between your teeth.

he’s pulling at your extensions, strawberry lip gloss faded as he kisses you deeply shedding the panties from your mouth. a harsh bite to your bottom lip making you wince.

“you’re making me crazy women.” he grabs your neck arching your back further as you clench around him. the sounds of clapping and your slippery pussy has you in a haze.

bimbo reader! whose flipped around phil’s hands grasping at your love handles to bounce you on his dick.

“if you knew any better you wouldn’t dare cum.”

“I’m sorry.” you whimper words babbling but it’s no use. only increasing the rate you bounce your ass on his cock, the motion similar to water enticing him.

“shut the fuck up.” he’s stern fingers wrapping around to flick at your piercing. the cold metal and soreness jolting your senses. “you’re lucky I don’t rip it out.” your juices are coating his balls both thighs sticky in arousal as he ridicules you. dirty little girl.

you’re greedy. several approaching orgasms washed away as you try your best to be obedient. phil chuckling as he pulls both of your sensitive nipples twisting them wickedly. your pain being his enjoyment.

“unfair.” you whine out earning a slap to your cheek the tears brimming your hazel eyes. “what’s unfair is you being a stupid slut.” he’s pulling your head back again spitting in your mouth to which you swallow.

bimbo reader! whose on her knees mouth agape and tongue poked out eager for phil’s cum. “gonna coat that tongue ring.” he’s biting his lip staring down at your pretty face.

plump lips, ass propped up, and loose curls framing your brown skin sends him over the edge. he groans the profanities spilling as he strokes one last time lazily cumming in your mouth.

droplets of semen covering your ring while most splashes your cheek and eyebrows swallowing in earnest. he pulls you to your feet face covered in cum while he tugs at your swollen clit.

“now let this be a lesson the next time you fuck with me.”