#sofas at walmart

[sofas2024]

X&D Solid Wood Leisure Large Rocking Chair Sad Penguin Chair Can Lie On The Balcony Living Room Lazy Entertainment

Get it now

[hellenhighwater]

May I inquire as to where you found those dishes? They're lovely!

Everything I posted is either secondhand or something I made myself, so I can't be of much use. The plates are Sakura Galaxy pattern, if that helps you find them, and they also did white and green as well as the blue that I have. They're no longer made but I think maybe Target carried them once?

[llycaons]

in case anyone is wondering how my interior design journey is going I'm getting really into pottery barn

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Precaratize bosses

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me SUNDAY (Apr 21) in TORINO, then Marin County (Apr 27), Winnipeg (May 2), Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), and beyond!

Combine Angelou's "When someone shows you who they are, believe them" with the truism that in politics, "every accusation is a confession" and you get: "Every time someone accuses you of a vice, they're showing you who they are and you should believe them."

Let's talk about some of those accusations. Remember the moral panic over the CARES Act covid stimulus checks? Hyperventilating mouthpieces for the ruling class were on every cable network, complaining that "no one wants to work anymore." The barely-submerged subtext was their belief that the only reason people show up for work is that they're afraid of losing everything – their homes, their kids, the groceries in their fridge.

This isn't a new development. Back when Clinton destroyed welfare, his justification was that "handouts" make workers lazy. The way to goad workers off their sofas (and the welfare rolls) and into jobs was to instill fear in them:

https://www.theatlantic.com/business/archive/2018/03/welfare-childhood/555119/

This is also the firm belief of tech bosses: for them, mass tech layoffs are great news, because they terrorize the workers you don't fire, so that they'll be "extremely hardcore" and put in as many extra hours as the company demands, without even requiring any extra pay in return:

https://fortune.com/2022/10/06/elon-musk-jason-calacanis-return-to-office-gentlemens-layoffs-twitter/

Now, there's an obvious answer to the problem of no one taking a job at the wage being offered: just increase the offer. Capitalists claim to understand this. Uber will tell you that surge pricing "incentivizes drivers" to take to the streets by offering them more money to drive during busy times:

https://www.uber.com/blog/austin/providing-rides-when-they-are-most-needed/

(Note that while Uber once handed the lion's share of surge price premiums to drivers, these days, Uber just keeps the money, because they've entered the enshittification stage where drivers are so scared of being blacklisted that Uber can push them around instead of dangling carrots.)

(Also note that this logic completely fails when it comes to other businesses, like Wendy's, who briefly promised surge-priced hamburgers during busy times, but without even the pretense that the surge premium would be used to pay additional workers to rush to the restaurant and increase the capacity:)

https://www.theguardian.com/food/2024/feb/27/wendys-dynamic-surge-pricing

So bosses knew how to address their worker shortage: higher wages. You know: supply and demand. For bosses, the issue wasn't supply, it was price. A worker who earns $10/hour but makes the company $20 profit every hour is splitting the surplus 50:50 with their employer. The employer has overheads (rent on the shop, inventory, advertising and administration) that they have to pay out of their end of that surplus. But workers also have overheads: commuting costs, child-care, a professional wardrobe, and other expenses the worker incurs just so they can make money for their boss.

There's no iron law of economics that says the worker/boss split should be 50/50. Depending on the bargaining power of workers and their bosses, that split can move around a lot. Think of McDonald's and Walmart workers who work for wildly profitable corporate empires, but are so badly paid that they have to rely on food stamps. The split there is more like 10/90, in the boss's favor.

The pandemic changed the bargaining power. Sure, workers got a small cushion from stimulus checks, but they also benefited from changes in the fundamentals of the labor market. For example, millions of boomers just noped out of their jobs, forever, unwilling to risk catching a fatal illness and furious to realize that their bosses viewed that as an acceptable risk.

Bosses' willingness to risk their workers' lives backfired in another way: killing hundreds of thousands of workers and permanently disabling millions more. Combine the boomer exodus with the workers who sickened or died, and there's just fewer workers to go around, and so now those workers enjoy more bargaining power. They can demand a better split: say, 75/25, in their favor.

Remember the 2015 American Airlines strike, where pilots and flight attendants got a raise? The eminently guillotineable Citibank analyst Kevin Crissey declared: "This is frustrating. Labor is being paid first again. Shareholders get leftovers":

https://www.thestreet.com/investing/american-airlines-flight-attendants-bash-citi-analyst-who-put-shareholders-before-workers-14134309

Now, obviously, the corporation doesn't want to offer a greater share of its surplus to its workforce, but it certainly can do so. The more it pays its workers, the less profitable it will be, but that's capitalism, right? Corporations try to become as profitable as they can be, but they can't just decree that their workers must work for whatever pay they want to offer (that's serfdom).

Companies also don't get to dictate that we must buy their goods at whatever price they set (the would be a planned economy, not a market economy). There's no law that says that when the cost of making something goes up, its price should go up, too. A business that spends $10 to make a widget you pay $15 for has a $5 margin to play with. If the business's costs go up to $11, they can still charge $15 and take $1 less in profits. Or they can raise the price to $15.50 and split the difference.

But when businesses don't face competition, they can make you eat their increased costs. Take Verizon. They made $79b in profit last year, and also just imposed a $4/month service charge on their mobile customers due to "rising operational costs":

https://www.reddit.com/r/LateStageCapitalism/comments/1c53c4p/79bn_in_profits_last_year_but_you_need_an_extra/

Now, Verizon is very possibly lying about these rising costs. Excuseflation is rampant and rising, as one CEO told his investors, when the news is full of inflation-talk, "it’s an opportunity to increase the prices without getting a whole bunch of complaining from the customers":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/11/price-over-volume/#pepsi-pricing-power

But even stipulating that Verizon is telling the truth about these "rising costs," why should we eat those costs? There's $79b worth of surplus between Verizon's operating costs and its gross revenue. Why not take it out of Verizon's bottom line?

For 40 years, neoliberal economists have emphasized our role as "consumers" (as though consumers weren't also workers!). This let them play us off against one-another: "Sure, you don't want the person who rings up your groceries to get evicted because they can't pay their rent, but do you care about it enough to pay an extra nickel for these eggs?"

But again, there's no obvious reason why you should pay that extra nickel. If you have the buying power to hold prices down, and workers have the labor power to keep wages up, then the business has to absorb that nickel. We can have a world where workers can pay their rent and you can afford your groceries.

So how do we get bosses to agree to take less so we can have more? They've told us how: for bosses, the thing that motivates workers to show up for shitty jobs is fear – fear of losing their homes, fear of going hungry.

When your boss says, "If you don't want to do this job for minimum wage, there's someone else who will," they're telling you that the way to get a raise out of them is to engineer things so that you can say, "If you don't want to pay me a living wage for this job, there's someone else who will."

Their accusation – that you only give someone else a fair shake when you're afraid of losing out – is a confession: to get them to give you a fair shake, we have to make them afraid. They're showing us who they are, and we should believe them.

In her Daily Show appearance, FTC chair Lina Khan quipped that monopolies are too big to care:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oaDTiWaYfcM

Philosophers of capitalism are forever praising its ability to transform greed into public benefit. As Adam Smith put it, "It is not from the benevolence of the butcher, the brewer, or the baker, that we expect our dinner, but from their regard to their own interest." The desire to make as much money as possible, on its own, doesn't produce our dinner, but when the butcher, the brewer and the baker are afraid that you will take your labor or your wallet elsewhere, they pay more and charge less.

Capitalists don't want market economies, where they have to compete with one another, eroding their margins and profits – they want a planned economy, like Amazon, where Party Secretary Bezos and his commissars tell merchants what they can sell and tell us what we must pay:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/01/managerial-discretion/#junk-fees

Capitalists don't want free labor, where they have to compete with rival capitalists to bid on their workers' labor – they want noncompetes, bondage fees, and "training repayment agreement provisions" (TRAPs) that force their workers to stay in dead-end jobs rather than shopping for a better wage:

\https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/04/its-a-trap/#a-little-on-the-nose

Capitalists hate capitalism, because capitalism only works if the capitalists are in a constant state of terror inspired by the knowledge that tomorrow, someone smarter could come along and open a better business, poaching their customers and workers, and putting the capitalist on the breadline.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/18/in-extremis-veritas/#the-winnah

Being in a constant precarious state makes people lose their minds, and capitalists know it. That's why they work so hard to precaratize the rest of us, saddling us with health debt, education debt, housing debt, stagnating wages and rising prices. It's not just because that makes them more money in the short term from our interest payments and penalties. It's because it de-risks their lives: monopolies and cartels can pass on any extra costs to consumers, who'll eat shit and take it:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/02/its-the-economy-stupid/#overinflated

A workforce that goes to bed every night worrying about making the rent is a workforce that put in unpaid overtime and thank you for it.

Capitalists hate capitalism. You know who didn't hate capitalism? Karl Marx and Freidrich Engels. The first chapter of The Communist Manifesto is just these two guys totally geeking out about how much cool stuff we get when capitalists are afraid and therefore productive:

https://pluralistic.net/SpectreHaunting

But when capitalists escape their fears, the alchemical reaction that converts greed to prosperity fizzles, leaving nothing behind but greed and its handmaiden, enshittification. Google search is in the toilet, getting worse every year, but rather than taking reduced margins and spending more fighting spam, the company did a $80b stock-buyback and fired 12,000 skilled technologists, rather than using that 80 bil to pay their wages for the next twenty-seven years:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/21/im-feeling-unlucky/#not-up-to-the-task

Monopoly apologists like to argue that monopolists can rake in the giant profits necessary to fund big, ambitious projects the produce better products at lower prices and make us all better off. But even if monopolists can spend their monopoly windfalls on big, ambitious projects, they don't. Why would they?

If you're Google, you can either spend tens of billions on R&D to keep up with spam and SEO scumbags, or you can spend less money buying the default search spot on every platform, so no one ever tries another search engine and switches:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/04/teach-me-how-to-shruggie/#kagi

Compared to its monopoly earnings, the tech sector's R&D spending is infinitesimal:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/08/11/nor-glom-of-nit/#capitalists-hate-competition

How do we get capitalists to work harder to make their workers and customers better off? Capitalists tell us how, every day. We need to make them afraid.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/19/make-them-afraid/#fear-is-their-mind-killer

Image: Vlad Lazarenko (modified) https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Wall_Street_Sign_%281-9%29.jpg CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

[ratlikeclown]

WIP Wolverine x femReader 18+

“God, do you ever suck on anything other than Wade’s dick and cheap cigars?”

He leaned in close to your ear and growled,

“Ya lookin to find out Princess?”

x Deadpool kinda eventually lmfaoooo

FemY/n is mid 20’s - early 30’s

Tw for depression and like drug use mentions ig

🌶️🫵

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hello 👋 This is the first fanfic that I have written in over 10 years the brain rot is so unbelievably real for wolverine and deadpool rn

its a little embarrassing tbh lmfaoo

—————————

I’m not really sure how to tag this tbh. I’ve never posted on tumblr. . It’s a little spicy and will get more interesting later. I just wanted to toss this small part out for readers to test the waters. Anyway um I’m not experienced writing y/n pov so please be nice.

Your friend, Wade Wilson, couldn’t take no for an answer. You knew that and yet you still had the audacity to tell him ‘no’ three times tonight. And about thirty minutes after you ignored his last phone call there he was, practically knocking down your door. It wasn’t like he couldn’t actually kick in your door, he was just being polite. 

The apartment buzzer went off. You sat up from your position on the couch, hoping he’d just give up and leave if you didn’t acknowledge him. Like a stray cat. Or a crackhead.

“Knock knock~” you heard his voice through the door. “I smell Hot Pockets and sadness I know you’re in there”

Gripping the arm of the sofa you waited hoping he’d have the common courtesy fuck off .You heard the door knob rattle. Dumbass.

With a click of the lock, your door swung open revealing Wade, grinning as he shoved his Baby Knife back into his coat.

“Wade, what the fuck? I told you-“

He clapped his hands loudly, interrupting you.

 “Let’s go Funshine Bear, the nights young and I’m not going anywhere without you” Wade marched past you, straight to your bedroom humming to himself.

“You look awful by the way, we’ll fix you up though.” He clicked his tongue and crooked a finger in your direction. You huffed angrily, sliding off the couch to follow him. 

You stopped in the doorway, almost refusing to step inside. He was elbows deep in your closet drawers, throwing clothes onto your bed, muttering his disapproval at every item he tossed.

You crossed your arms as you watched him. 

“Do you have anything that doesn’t look like you took it from the Walmart dumpster?” He pulled a drawer out from the dresser and dumped it on the floor. “You know the one I’m talking about, right? Where all the coke addicted bronies go to have a bone sess before band practice.”

You crossed your arms as you watched him. “Wade, I’m not in the mood to go out.”

You heard him sigh, but continued to riffle through your things. 

“That’s nonsense, the plot can’t continue with out you. Annnd we made these plans last week.”

He peeked at you from behind the open closet door. “I’m a little worried about you. You aren’t your chipper self lately”

“I’m just tired” You replied dismissively.

It wasn’t like Wade hasn’t been trying to cheer you up in his own way. For the last few weeks he’d text you obscure and quite frankly disturbing memes at 3 AM. Excitedly offer you drugs that he’s pilfered from the his blind roommate- (he knows you don’t do drugs, he just wanted to brag about stealing coke from Blind Al)

He’s also been sending you the strangest X-Men fan fiction. (His favorites were ‘old man yaoi’ including Professor Xavier and Magneto) Usually you eat that kind of stuff up, finding it funny that you knew some of the people that the fanfiction was written about, like a private joke between you and Deadpool. But worst thing he’s done has beencalling you almost every day and attempting to make plans with you, but you always seem to cancel last minute. So yeah, he has been trying. It just.. didn’t help.

Your eyes flickered to your wall of photos next to the closet door.  Pictures of your closest friends and family. Their arms around you laughing, smiling. Pictures of trips and silly outings that meant the world to you. You felt so much guilt and regret looking at them.

Depression was a bitch. It was like a rabid dog that wouldn’t let you get back on your feet. You felt it gnawing at you, causing you to lose interest in everyone and everything. You felt alone. Your eyes fell back to Wade, you watched your friend hard at work trying to match your shoes with a dress he had found. He was clueless. You couldn’t tell him any of this though, it would just make him worry more.

There was someone you did want to talk to though. To tell everything to. Someone that you had grown so close to the last few months.

You missed Logan.

This realization caused your face to heat and anxiety weld up in your chest. You balled your hands into fits thinking about that arrogant jerk. You’ve tried to be a friend to Wolverine. After all this wasn’t his reality. He was your timeline’s replacement. (Idk you should go watch the movie. I’m not explaining it.) and for a while, you thought you were friends.

Lately, if he wasn’t drunk and depressingly moody, he was angry and a massive dick. 

“Y/N? Look a little pink at the cheeks are you feeling OK?” Wade was now standing less than a foot from you, his brows furrowed. You hadn’t noticed him move.

Snapping back from your thoughts by Wades voice, you ran hands over your face as you turn towards the attached bathroom.

“Dude, I told you I’m just not feeling good-” You stepped into the bathroom and turned on the faucet “I don’t wanna hang out with-“

“Logan?”

“Your friends.” You finished. You felt your face flush deeper at his name being mentioned.

“That’s what I said” Wade followed you to the bathroom, but thankfully didn’t come in. He stood outside while you closed the door. 

“Trust me honey, I know he’s the embodiment of a sentient happiness starved cactus whose father never loved him but-“

You groaned, trying to avoid Wades ramblings you turned the water on full blast, drowning out the remainder of his sentence. You splashed water on your face and ran a comb through your hair. You heard Wade continue talking, almost to himself while also sounding like he was talking to someone else in the room  as well. Someone you couldn’t see. He did that often. It was creepy.

You swung the door open frowning.

“-sometimes he stabs me through the face to shut me up, but I know he does it because he’s not good with words.”

Wade smile faded when he saw your face. 

“It’s kinda hot”

“I don’t want to talk about it Wade.” You sat down onto your bed with a huff despite the pile of clothes and plastic hangers. You stared at your hands. You felt the overwhelming weight of your anxiety in your chest and stomach. Maybe you should go out. Maybe he won’t show up tonight. Maybe-

“You look like you wanna talk about it Friendo.”

Wade joined you by dramatically pushing all the clothes off the bed, making an even bigger mess of your room. He flopped down onto your bed stomach first, propping himself up by his elbows. He kicked his feet and smiled at you.

“I’m all ears.”

“I don’t know how to start” You admitted.

“Start with an ‘I feel’ statement” 

Another sigh escaped your mouth. How did you feel? It felt complicated. You met him a few months ago. At first he was rude and closed off. Then he slowly began to open up, sure you still bickered and fought like cats, but it had playful undertones. (‘Sexy undertones’ Wade had joked) When he was being genuine and open, it felt like you could talk to him for hours. Though he never spoke for too long, he would to listen to you earnestly. Up until a few weeks ago, that is.

“I feel like Logan hates me. I feel like he would rather huff paint thinner than have a decent conversation with me.”

Wade laughed. “Well that’s not true, I can’t get him to huff anything.”

You shot him a look.

“Listen, I invite Mr. Grumpy out every time. But he’s too busy sulking to get fucked up with us. He would rather get drunk and pass out in the floor of the apartment. He probably won’t even show up.” Wade gave you a reassuring look.

“If he does you’re gonna be there with me. We’ll leave if you feel uncomfortable at all.”

He rolled over and sat up, putting an arm around you.

“I’ve just noticed your mood lately I need you to know that I love you.” He gave your shoulder a squeeze.  “-and I miss getting fucked up with you.”

“Will you stab him for me if he’s mean?”

“Of course. I always have Baby Knife on me.”

“Fine. Let me get ready”

He jumped off the bed excitedly.

You pushed Wade out the door to get dressed, pausing in the doorway. “Wade?”

“Yes Friendo?” He turned on his heel

“I love you too bud”

He squealed as you closed the door.

~~~

You never understood why Wade wouldn’t just buy a car. He makes decent money (he doesn’t) and could probably afford a nice one. (He couldn’t) At one point you recall him having a weird hyperfixation with the Honda Odyssey (he fucked Wolverine in one) (allegedly)

Instead, you were climbing into the back of a dirty beat up taxi cab that his friend, Dopinder, drove for a living. At least you didn’t have to walk. Dopinder was a sweet guy, if not a little unhinged every once in a while. 

“You look quite beautiful tonight Miss Y/N” He complimented you as you settled in the back seat. You smiled at him, appreciating the comment. Wade had picked out your dress and you felt a little exposed and out of your element in it. It wasn’t anything crazy, just a slick black dress with a low neck line. The dress was short, ending a little above the knee. The problem was the slit up the side. You wanted to wear tights under the outfit but Wade insisted on fishnets. ‘You look like a goth baddie’  he had assured you, ‘Like a Hot Topic clearance rack version of Morticia Addams.’

Wade hopped in the front and immediately started to flip through the radio channels. Dopinder usually had on pleasant sounding Indian pop music but Wade settled on some heavily censored 90’s hip hop. 

The drive was rocky. Wade, who almost never kept his hands to himself, would grab poor  Dopinder while dancing along to the music causing the cab to swerve. A lot.

Having made it to the bar in one piece, you quickly scrambled out of the back, thanking the young man for the ride. 

Wade waited for you at the door.

~~~

The bar was loud and dark. One of those typical bars you see in movies, filled with moving bodies and cigarette smoke. Music pumped through the speakers with some people lingering near the bar while others swayed on the dance floor. Wade bounced through the crowd pulling you along towards the bar, where his group of friends took up half the bar area. You scanned the crowd nervously. No Logan. Your muscles relaxed, and you moved with a little more energy.

Wade greeted his friends with various enthusiastic greetings and crude gestures. You smiled in greeting and waved at a friend you recognized but sat down on a stool next to where Wade stood, him blocking you from most of the other bar patrons. There was a part of you that was a little disappointed that Logan wasn’t here. It made sense if he didn’t show up here, this bar was honestly more like a club, upbeat and energetic. He’s used to dark depressing dive bars, places you can drink yourself into a coma and not be bothered. But the few times he had shown up here you had thought that he enjoyed your company, for a little while at least. During times when the others were off doing dubious shit somewhere, he’d sit with you at the bar. You even managed to get him to dance with you once. That all changed recently. Something happened that caused him to be distant and often rude for seemingly no reason.

Everyone seems to be so happy to see Wade and he, them. You didn’t really know why you were here. It already felt overwhelming. You used to love coming here. Drinking and dancing, playing pool badly and belting out shitty country music karaoke with everyone. Lately, things have felt different. You’ve lost interest in a lot of the things you use to enjoy, spending your days just working and rotting in your apartment. This was too much.

Wade touched your shoulder causing you to jump.

“Hey we’re off to play some darts you in?” 

You smiled at your friend. “You really wouldn’t want me to play, you’d end up as the dart board.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time Sweetheart” Wade laughed, “we’ll be over there if you change your mind.” He made a heart with his hands and turned toward the group already making their way to the play area.

You sat quietly at the counter with a glass of something sweet and strong. You wanted to feel a buzz but you needed it to taste good. Your eyes scanned the crowd, people watching. You watched people dance and sway to the newest Kesha song blaring through the speakers. You witnessed a near fight over a pool game. You heard Wade’s laughter from across the room, his friends echoing along. You felt alone. It was your fault you told yourself. If you wanted to feel better you would’ve gotten up and joined your friends. But here you sat, being miserable on purpose. 

“Hey beautiful, mind if I joined you?” Your head snapped up meeting the face of someone you didn’t recognize. He was good looking, in a vanilla frat boy kinda way. With his backwards hat, sleeveless tank, skinny jeans and all.

But he smiled like a wolf.

“I’m sorry.” You tried to smile politely, but you had a twinge of anxiety growing in your chest. “I’m not really in the mood for company” 

The man smiled motioning to the bartender for a drink. “Can’t I just buy you a drink? “

“Really, I’m fine” You turned back to your drink, your eyes unfocused, hoping that if you just ignored him he’d leave. Your gut flipped when you heard him pull out the stool next to you. He wasn’t leaving.

“Come on babe, I can show you a good time”

“She said she ain’t looking for company bub.” A low voice growled behind you. A beer bottle came down heavily in between you and the creep. Your eyes trailed the hairy but beautifully sculpted arm to its owner, though you already knew who it belonged to. Logan. Even in this lighting you could see his rugged face. His hair was styled in its iconic cat ear shape. His beard was trimmed nicely combined with his thick muttonchops. His eyes were a little hazy but beautiful and dark. You met those eyes for a brief moment, he smirked at you before his gaze flickered to the other man.

 “Well?” He rumbled, barring his teeth.

“Naw, I was here first grandpa, you fuck off.” The frat guy stood up straight, trying to look intimidating.

“Trust me” Logan chuckled. He straightened cracking his knuckles before raising his fists and extending three razor sharp Adamantium claws from each hand.

“You don’t want none of this”

~~~

“You didn’t have to do that” you looked down at your glass avoiding Logan’s gaze. You heard him land heavily in the bar stool next to you. He tapped the counter signaling the bartender who was very clearly avoiding your side of the bar.

“I wasn’t going to have some limp dick creeping on you.”

“I was handling it” 

“You didn’t seem like you were handling anything Princess.” He scoffed.

You shot him a look. He smirked as he chugged his remaining beer, you couldn’t help watch his throat bob as he drank. He finished and loudly set the bottle down. He met your eyes and you looked away feeling your face heat violently.

“You thirsty princess?” He asked as the bartender set down two shots of something before scurrying away. He slid one glass your way.

“No thank you. I have my own drink”

You pushed the glass back his way. He eyed your almost empty cocktail and shrugged.

“Suit yourself” he took the glasses and knocked back both shots simultaneously slamming the glasses back down. After a few moments of silence, where you clearly felt Logan eyeing you the entire time, you sighed.

“I didn’t think I’d see you tonight Logan.” You admitted. Another beer had appeared in front of him, he took a swig. He eyed you, his eyes slowly trailing from your face down your body. They rested at the slit in your dress, exposing most of your fishnet covered thigh. You felt a ping in your lower belly, causing you to cross your legs uncomfortably. His eyes followed to movement. He licked his lips and met your eyes again smirking.

“Why didja miss me?”

You looked down at the growing piles of shredded napkins you had been anxiously ripping apart. 

“Yes” you said at last. There was no point in lying. You did miss him. Even seeing him now, clearly drinking away his problems, you couldn’t help but feel glad he was there with you. You were glad he scared away that creep, despite his now passive aggressive demeanor. You met his eyes again.

He snorted and tipped the beer to his lips.“You’re a fucking liar”

You felt your gut squeeze with anger. Why was he treating you this way? You didn’t ask him to step in to a play hero. You didn’t ask him for anything. You just wanted to get out of your shitty apartment for one goddamn night. You balled your fists and spun to face him fully.

“What. The. Fuck.” You clenched your teeth annunciating each word bitterly. “Is. YOUR PROBLEM”

“My PROBLEM,” he practically spat the word,

”is that I have to deal with your moody ass attracting the eye of every fucking creep in this place when you very fucking clearly don’t want to be here.” 

You threw your hands up angrily and gestured around the bar. 

“I didn’t want to deal with any of this Logan. I just wanted to go out with my FRIENDS, which I used to think you were one. I don’t fucking know what prick you had up your ass lately, but you sure as hell don’t act like you like me. WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?”

He was silent for a moment, studying your face, making it turn even redder. Then he laughed. He shook his head laughing and sloppily chugged his second beer.

You had enough. You needed to get away from him. You shoved yourself back, tipping the stool over in the process.

“Come find me when you figure out what you want.” You turned to leave. You made it a few steps before you heard Logan’s voice call mockingly.

“Nice dress by the way” 

You didn’t turn to look at him.

“Fuck you, Logan”

~~~

You ran your hands under cold water, leaning over the sink you splashed the water into your face and sighed. You looked into your mirrored face. This was a disaster.

Maybe if you just stayed in the bathroom you can avoid everyone until Wade was ready to leave. You felt bad that you ran off instead of finding him. You would’ve felt safe with Wade.

Your head was swimming, from the alcohol or the interaction with Logan you couldn’t tell.

The speaker above you crackled playing the opening notes to ‘Dirty Diana’, a favorite of yours. A banger Wade would say.

Without warning the door sung open and Logan stumbled in. 

“You’re in the wrong bathroom you drunk asshole” you snapped. His eyes met yours from a brief moment before he swayed slightly and took a step forward.

He pushed past you wordlessly and began kicking open the bathroom stalls. They were all empty. 

“Dude get out” You gripped the sink behind you, watching Logan warily. You knew deep down he wouldn’t hurt you but you obviously didn’t want him in here with you. He turned to you, taking a step forward.

”I needed to talk to you”

“Yeah, you could have waited til I got out of the ladies room??” 

“No.” he growled before in one swift movement he was in front of you, his arms on either side of the sink trapping you between them. Your breath came out in a shudder and your knees wobbled. This honestly was a thing out of a fantasy, something that you were embarrassed to admit you’ve thought about. You had been fighting your feelings for this big stupid man, stuck between thoughts of friendship and lust. God, he wasn’t helping with the latter.

“Logan”

“I’m sorry” he said looking as remorseful as he could under the circumstances.

“What did you need to talk about that couldn’t wait Lo?” You swallowed, gently lifting your hand and placing it on his chest, pushing lightly. His hands moved to your legs keeping you from pushing him further.

“Ya told me to find you when I figured out what I wanted”

“Yeah” You scoffed. “Enlighten me”

~~~

“I want you”

Logan leaned over you, his hands sliding up your thighs to rest on your hips. His fingers dug in lightly, the movement making your legs feel like jelly. You gripped his shoulders to steady yourself. He was so firm and warm under your hands.

His face was inches from yours, his expression unreadable in the low lighting. You smelled the smoke and alcohol on his breath.

“God, do you ever suck on anything other than Wade’s dick and cheap cigars?”

He leaned in close to your ear and growled, 

“Ya looking to find out princess?”

You felt a ping of desire sink into your lower belly as his hand moved from your waist.

Shivers went down your spine as his hands slid up your torso coming to a stop right below your breasts. One of his thumbs brushed upwards lightly, teasingly.

You sucked in a breath as he lowered his face to your neck and brushed a kiss to the sensitive skin. His facial hair tickling your jaw.

“Logan, you’re drunk.” You croaked out, pulling away slightly, your hands sliding from his shoulders. He moved with you.

You felt his lips brush your skin again, another kiss, before his thumb slid upward against your breast. Fuck. The wet heat between your legs was unbearable. You needed some sort of friction. You definitely noticed the pressure from his pants pressed against your stomach. So close, you just needed anything. You bucked your hips against his, almost involuntarily, causing a rumble to escape his throat. His thumb stroked again.

“That’s a good girl” His head bobbed lower dragging his tongue down as he kissed your neck. You could feel him smile as he sucked the skin of your collar bone in a way that would definitely leave a mark. Holy Hell. What was happening.

You were sick of your neck getting all the attention as you reached up to take his face in your hand. He practically melted at your touch, his breath hitching as you stroked his cheek with your thumb. You wanted him, needed his mouth on yours. You pulled his face up, a little roughly, to meet your gaze. You thought you heard him let out a little surprised chuckle from the movement. His eyes were half lidded as he met yours. He was drunk, and you realized, so were you. You leaned in, your lips feather light against his-

You jumped at Wade’s voice from the other side of the door, calling for you.

Shit. You dropped your hand away from his face.

Logan growled, low and angry. He abruptly took his hot hands from your body and leaned his head to your ear, you felt his lips against your skin.

“Some other time then, darlin’.” He pulled away from you swaying slightly, before grabbing his beer from the counter and yanking open the bathroom door.

~~~

Anyway, thanks for reading. I guess I don’t know if this is any good and I will be posting the rest on Ao3 eventually

[sparkle-fiend]

Fruity Four Advent Calendar, Day 21: “Midwinter Night”

When they come across the tree in Walmart, Eddie practically starts to vibrate with excitement. "We gotta get it, Steve, please. Please, please, please. I need that tree."

They're shopping for decorations for their first ever apartment together, and they do need a tree, but... "Why that one?" It's obviously artificial, 7 ft tall and solid white. 

"We never had space for a real tree, so Wayne got a little plastic one that fit on the coffee table. It looked just like this one." Eddie waves his hand at the tree in question, like a magician showing off a trick. "I loved that thing." 

Looking at his boyfriend's bright, hopeful face, Steve easily concedes. 

They add some ornaments, a string of rainbow-colored lights, and a tinsel star to complete the recreation of Eddie's childhood tree. 

Once it’s all set up, they stand back and admire the way the lights shine pink, blue, yellow, and green against the white branches. It does look pretty; plus, Steve’s father would hate it - which adds to the appeal. 

(Sometimes the flash of colored light makes his heart race, bringing to mind the memory of a charging demogorgon, or the burst of fireworks against melted flesh in the atrium of Starcourt mall - but Steve ignores it. It'll be fine.)

It is fine... until it's not.

***

Steve comes home, tired and feeling the start of a migraine. He heads through the living room toward the kitchen, intending to grab some water and a Tylenol - when the upstairs neighbor cuts on a vacuum. The muted roar doesn't sound much like a demogorgon, but with the Christmas lights twinkling nearby it's enough to trip something in Steve's weary brain.

He's not in their apartment anymore. He's in the dimly lit hallway of the Byers' house, the smell of gasoline burning in his nose. The lights are flashing, which means the monster is coming - but he doesn't have his bat. He fumbles around the coffee table, searching... it was just here a minute ago, right? His heart is pounding like a drum, pulse rushing loud enough to muffle the voice calling his name.

"Steve? Steve?!"

He can't tell if it's Nancy or Jonathan, but they sound frightened. "Hold on Nance!"

Warm hands grip him by the shoulders. "STEVE!!"

If he doesn't find that bat they're going to die, and it'll be his fault... all his fault... 

"Please baby, come back to me. It's okay - you're okay."

It's not Nancy or Jonathan. Not Robin or Dustin or Erica calling his name.

It's Eddie leaning over him, dark curls falling like a curtain over Steve's face. His cheek is smudged, and for a second Steve thinks it's blood. They're back in the Upside Down and Eddie is bleeding out under his hands...

"Steve," Eddie says softly. He's warm and healthy, wounds sealed into scars; and the smudge on his cheek is just sauce. 

Because he was in the kitchen cooking dinner. Steve can smell it now, sausage and tomato and garlic.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Eddie asks gently.

Steve tries to explain without mentioning the lights, but Eddie knows him too well. He asks just the right questions to work it all out, and the look of guilt that crosses his face hurts worse than a blow to the head. 

Eddie gets up and goes to the tree, yanking the plug from the wall and plunging the room into gloomy darkness. "Ed, you don't have to do that..."

"I do Steve, I absolutely do.”

Steve sighs. It's the night of the winter solstice - the longest, darkest night of the year. It'll be even darker with the tree stripped of lights. "At least wait until tomorrow."

Eddie pauses his task of carefully unwinding the light strands from the tree without disturbing the ornaments. "Come here." He tugs Steve off the floor and maneuvers him onto the sofa. 

"Lay down for a minute, okay? I got this." He fetches a cool cloth and a glass of water, along with the Tylenol Steve originally meant to find.

"What about dinner?"

"It's done. I'll just pop it in the fridge, and we can eat when you're feeling better."

Steve wants to protest, but the pain in his temples has escalated to a blinding pitch. He agrees to close his eyes for just a minute - drifting off to the sound of Eddie humming softly in the background.

He wakes to the same sound and assumes that only a few minutes have passed; until he sees the clock. "Two hours? Shit, you shouldn't have let me sleep so long!"

Eddie shrugs. "You needed it. Besides, I had to run an errand."

He leans behind the tree and plugs a cord into the outlet, filling the room with a soft yellow glow. Apparently, Eddie had replaced the lights while he slept.  Clear, simple bulbs - no frills or flashing patterns. "Are these okay? Be honest." 

Steve nods. It's not as pretty as it was before, but it's comforting; like the lamp he used to keep by his bed. 

Eddie reheats dinner and they eat it straight from the pot, so there won't be more dishes to worry over. The plan was to watch a movie, but Steve is still exhausted even after his nap - worn out by the headache and the panic attack; so they just cuddle together in front of the tree.

Curled against Eddie, head resting easy on his boyfriend’s shoulder, Steve says, “I'm sorry about the tree. It doesn't look like the one you had growing up anymore."

Eddie puts an arm around him and squeezes. "I like this better. We're making a new tradition."

[avonne-writes]

A quick birthday drabble for @swifty-fox 🩷🎂 Happy birthday, dear!

Here's Chick Harding's POV, picking up from the end of my latest HS AU chapter. It’s Gale's 18th birthday 😊

When Georgia said she was going to go get the birthday cake they ordered for Gale, Neil thought she'd be back in half an hour. But it's been two hours and there's still no sign of her. As he predicted, the boys didn’t really need any distraction at first, but when he hears the sound of them coming down from upstairs, he knows that time's up. He’s gonna have to cover for Georgia or spoil the surprise. From his seat in the old armchair, he increases the volume of the soccer game he’s watching and pretends to be engrossed in it. He hopes that it catches their attention instead of the empty driveway.

As they approach, he hears them rib each other about one of those video games they play online with their friends, then Bucky throws himself down on one end of the sofa, Gale on the other. Bucky stretches his lanky limbs wide and yawns.

"Chelsea-Arsenal?" He says before he has even closed his mouth. "Ugh, that was one shitty game. Look at that corner. Did he wanna shoot a pigeon or something?"

Neil chuckles. He loves that Bucky has no filter whatsoever when he's comfortable, and it fills him with warmth that they are close enough now to share mundane moments like this. It feels like belonging. He feels blessed that he took his chance and asked Georgia out that hazy summer day one and a half years ago. Every day with her and her family has been a gift so far. Even the hard ones.

At the thought, he glances over at Gale, who's staring out the window instead of watching the game. His legs are curled up under him. On the opposite end, Bucky swings his own up on the cushions to sprawl sideways on the couch. He’s too long to fit, but instead of settling down with his knees pulled up, he starts kneading at Gale’s thigh with his feet. Gale ignores him. How, Neil can’t fathom, but the boy looks like he’s so used to that kind of behaviour that it doesn't even register to him.

"Where's Georgia?" He asks Neil after a moment.

There’s an edge to his voice that Neil can’t place, something anxious. Always so hard to read. Neil wishes he could just comfort him with a hug, a friendly clap on the back or a terrible soccer game rerun, but Gale continues to be unreceptive to him. It makes sense, he thinks, stomping down on the anger rising in his chest as he thinks of Gale's father. Gale doesn’t know, but he and Neil had an altercation after they moved Gale out. But Neil can be intimidating if he wants to be. He doubts that the alcoholic bastard is going to cause them trouble again.

"Getting some groceries." Neil lies smoothly.

Bucky groans. "What groceries? Fridge is chock full already, there's nowhere to put it."

"Damned if I know, boy." Neil spreads his hands, faking indifference. It works seamlessly on Bucky, but a hint of sadness appears on Gale’s blank face.

"I would've gone with her if I'd known."

No wonder that Georgia asked Neil to cover for her. She must have known that Gale would want to spend time with her today and to help out wherever he can.

Neil opens his mouth to say something but Bucky beats him to it. "I can take you to Walmart if you want."

Amusement tugs Gale's lips into a smile. "Walmart?"

"Anywhere you want." Bucky straightens his legs to plop them on Gale’s lap. He scratches his chest. "See? Chivalry isn’t dead."

Gale's smile widens, digging into the apples of his cheeks. He shoves Bucky's legs off.

To Neil's relief, the sound of tires rolling on the driveway and a purring engine interrupt the conversation. Finally! She's back, and Neil hasn't fucked up and ruined the surprise yet. He pushes himself up from his seat and stretches, cracking his spine. Bucky yawns again, then gets up to walk off towards the front door with resignation, expecting bag upon bag of food that he’ll have to haul in from the car. Neil is about to follow him when he hears Gale's tentative voice.

"Neil?"

"Yeah, buddy?"

He can count the number of times Gale addressed him directly on one hand. He turns to look at him curiously. Gale is taller than him, but he looks small as he smooths a hand over his long hair in discomfort.

"I was wondering..." Gale clears his throat, then stands up straight and looks Neil in the eye. "...if you knew any part-time jobs you could recommend. Maybe at a garage? Or something. I can learn anything."

Neil hums, impressed. "I'm sure we can find something." An idea occurs to him. "You’re good with spreadsheets, aren't you?"

When Gale nods, he grins. "I think I have just the thing for you."

That draws a smile to Gale's lips too.

The front door opens, and first Bucky, then Georgia walks in, twin grins on their faces, eyes squinting in their joy. Her auburn hair looks windswept, tumbling over her knitted green scarf, and her cheeks are flushed from the cold. Neil wants to sweep her into his arms and kiss her skin warm again, wants to hear her laugh against his chest.

But he’s not the one getting hugs and kisses today. It's not his day, and he doesn’t mind it one bit, because he gets to see Gale's expression shift from curiosity to surprise, then joy as he spots the box Georgia carries carefully to the kitchen. She sets it down on the table and opens the carton to reveal Gale's cake. It’s covered in fondant decorations shaped like his favourite things, and cursive letters wish him a happy birthday in the middle of it.

"Oh." He says when he sees it, then looks up at her.

Neil can’t see his expression but he sees hers crumple for a moment as she pulls him into a hug and kisses the side of his face. She closes her eyes as she holds him close.

"Happy birthday, sweetheart."

Gale mumbles a thank you into her shoulder.

After a moment, Bucky steps closer too and wraps his long arms around them both. That makes them all laugh. For a second, Neil feels out of place, but they pull back from the embrace, and the next thing Georgia does is drawing Neil into one too. She smells like the sweetest flowers and fresh winter air, like Christmas and home. To Neil, she's all that and more.

She gives him a sheepish smile when she steps back. "How did you know I was going to get groceries too?"

[shotmrmiller]

Seeing the pathetic little bitch König asks have really juiced up my brain a bit.

Pathetic König would most definitely see you on a random ass Sunday morning while you're walking out of a Walmart with a bag full of snacks. Hair? Frizzed and wild. Clothes? You're still in your rumpled up Carebear PJs and your piggy slippers.(This is totally not based off of a lazy Walmart morning for me. Not at all..)

He is instantly hard. Harder than a brick house, in fact. A single look and a triple take is all this pathetic man needs to follow you home and sit on your front step in the pouring rain while pawing at the door with whined out 'bitte's' every other second. All the while, he's had his other hand in his pants the entire time while arching his back and pressing his face against the crack of the door just to get a whiff of your favorite candle burning.

pathetic little bitch konig omfgggg!!! why he gotta be all that!

BITTE!!! NOT THE BITTE!!! he's so pathetic. like you've still got sleep in your eyes and this man is throbbing. this creep won't stop cornering you every second he gets just to say hello because he thinks you didn't see/hear him the other times (blatantly ignoring him and he still can't fucking take a hint)

so you're like time for a game plan: start dressing like you're homeless and it just backfires. all he can think about is how comely you look and it starts putting images in his head of you looking like that in his home (he lives in a tiny shithole with//)

his little flat smells of spilled beer and cigarettes even though he doesn't smoke. the walls are thinner than paper which leads to countless days of late nights and early mornings since the neighbors won't stop procreating (they might be squatters)

there are faded stains on the ceiling, and cobwebs sit in forgotten corners. the walls were ivory when he moved in even though the property manager had said they were white (maybe at some point they were long before he got there)

long story short, it's a rundown place that he hopes he'll see you in one day with your knotted hair, crinkled pajama bottoms, and stained spongebob slippers. just the thought of you sitting on his stiff sofa has his southern blood pumping. also, he thinks your natural scent is best. unshowered, no deodorant, no makeup— just spicy in both scent and attitude.

[zepskies]

If You Want It To Be - Part 3

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: When your car breaks down after a hunt, Sam and Dean tow you back to the bunker for Christmas. This time of year gives you and Dean a little courage to be honest about what you both want. And what you want, is for him to see you. (18+)

AN: And here’s Part 3! This fic is an entry for @deanwinchesterswitch's TGWRC: Christmas in July event. 🩵❄️

Themes: Mistletoe (a classic), eggnog, Christmas dinner

Word Count: 3,600 Tags/Warnings: 18+! Smuttish, fluff and feels.

Part 3: Christmas Day

The next day, Christmas morning comes. You’re up early after a night of somewhat restful sleep (anticipation of today kept you up for a while). 

And so are the guys, though their enthusiasm isn’t as bright as yours. 

Everyone is still in their pajamas, the humans with their mugs of coffee as you corral your friends into the living room by the sparkling, multicolored tree.

During your trip to Walmart on your first night in, you managed to squeeze in some shopping for actual presents. Your wallet now hates you, and likely will until February. 

But it’s worth it to see the guys’ faces when they find their names on gift-wrapped boxes under the tree. Jack in particular wears an expression of wonder, almost like a little kid. It makes you smile. 

Everyone has a small gift from you, though they clearly weren’t expecting it. Sam accepts his parcel from you with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, I don’t think any of us remembered about this part,” he says.

“No worries,” you wave him off. “It’s just a ‘thank you’ for letting me crash here for the holidays.”

You have a new book for Sam, an old-school Gameboy for Jack, a new set of ties for Castiel. You hold your breath when Dean sits down on the couch to open his. 

He considers the small box with slightly furrowed brows. He glances up at you. 

“What’d you do?” he asks. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Just open it, Dean,” you reply with a laugh. A smile twitches at his face, and he finally obliges you. 

Inside the black velvet box is a nice silver watch with a leather strap. 

Dean blinks in surprise. He glances over at his empty wrist where his father’s watch used to rest, but he hasn’t replaced it since it broke after the witch hunt in Indiana.  

You come over to sit beside him and point out the new watch’s features.

“This part is adjustable,” you explain. “I figured you could take it off and use the strap for your dad’s watch.”

A slow smile spreads across Dean’s face, warm and somewhat disbelieving. You bought him a whole new watch, just so he could use the leather strap for his old one. 

Something in his heart tightens, and also eases when he looks up at you. You’re smiling, a little nervous. 

And Dean can’t help himself. He cups a hand behind your head and kisses your cheek, wishing he could do more, but not wanting to invite curiosity. Already he can feel Sam’s gaze on both of you.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Dean says. “This is…it’s real nice. Thank you.” 

But Sam notices the warmth in his brother’s voice, and the way he looks at you. And the way you’re looking at him, like he hung the damn moon. 

It brings a suspicious smile to Sam’s face. 

When you offer to pick up breakfast, Dean intervenes and says you’ve done enough. Sam will get breakfast going, he insists. (And Sam, rolling his eyes, agrees with him.)

“I’m gonna step out for a sec, but I’ll be back,” Dean then says. 

“See ya later,” you reply with a little wave before you go to help Jack set up his Gameboy. Castiel is already sorting through his new ties, arranging them by color, then by pattern on the sofa. 

You glance over your shoulder though, and manage to catch the way Sam pulls his brother aside. You don’t hear what they’re saying, but it sparks your curiosity. 

“What?” Dean asks. Sam raises a brow at him, with a knowing smile. 

“Get her something good,” Sam tells him. 

“Dude, shut up,” Dean holds a finger over his lips and glances over at you. Thankfully, you seem invested in helping Jack. 

“I’m just saying. Put some effort in,” Sam persists. His eyes hold a teasing glint. “Nothing from the gas station.”

“All right, I got it,” Dean snipes back. It’s none of Sam’s business, really, but he already has an idea growing in his mind as he heads down to the garage.

Dean has all but disappeared since this morning. You thought the two of you were going to talk at some point, but you haven’t seen him all day. 

Maybe it’s stupid, but you start to wonder if he’s avoiding you. If the gift was too much…

Sam happens to catch you lost in thought while you’re glazing a large ham in the kitchen.

“Can I help you with anything?” he asks. 

“Sure,” you reply. “Want to peel the potatoes?”

You glance at the bag on the counter. Sam agrees and joins you to wash and start peeling for you. 

“Have you seen Dean?” you ask him, hopefully subtle. 

Sam’s lips start to form a knowing smile, but he dims it down. “He’s probably in the garage.”

“…Oh, right. God forbid I bother him while he’s working on his car,” you joke. Sam glances at you.

“Or yours, most likely,” he says. “He did promise to get it done by today. Didn’t you guys have a little bet going?” 

He knew about that? you think with a blush. 

“That was silly,” you admit. “It’s Christmas. He should just relax.” 

“When my brother says he’s gonna do something, he commits,” Sam says. “He deals with people the same way.”

You raise a brow at him. “What do you mean?”

Sam just smiles, like he knows something you don’t. He finishes peeling the last potato and sets it down on the counter with the rest.

“All right, what’s next?” he asks.

Once the ham is in the oven and the other side dishes you and Sam prepared are set off to cook, you return to your room to shower and get ready for dinner later. 

You decide to wear the dress you found while you were shopping, before you even knew your relationship with Dean would change. 

You almost went with a red lacy one, but there was something about this dress—green velvet, off the shoulder sleeves and flaring at the waist. It’s simple, but pretty. You pair it with some comfortable black flats. 

You spend longer getting ready, only having to redo your eyeliner once this time. Then you steel yourself, gaining some confidence, and you go downstairs. 

Jack is in the kitchen, sneaking a finger in the cranberry sauce.

“I saw that,” you tease. He stiffens like you’ve caught him red-handed. He quickly tucks his hands behind his back. He notices how you’ve cleaned yourself up with a polite nod.

“You look very nice,” he says. 

“Thanks!” you chirp, blushing lightly. “Want to help me set the table?”

Jack obliges you like the nice kid he is. You two set up the long dining table that the guys usually use for research, first with the new red tablecloth, then the plates and silverware and glasses. 

And finally, while Jack checks on the ham in the oven, you place the (fake) gold candleholders on each side of the table. 

Dean comes out of wherever he’s been hiding, right as you’re leaning far over the table to light a candle. You don’t realize how your dress rides up your thighs in the back, but Dean is captivated by the sight for a moment…until he clears his throat. 

“Need some help there, sweetheart?” 

His unexpected voice startles a yelp out of you. You flail as you lose your balance, but he hooks an arm around your waist and prevents you from catching your hand on fire. He brings you flush against him, smirking down at you.

“Nice reflexes,” he teases. “When’s your audition for the Karate Kid?”

“Oh, shut up,” you gripe back. 

You shoot him a playful glare as you rest your palms against his chest. But it loses its effect when you melt into his subsequent kiss. You reach up to twine your arms around his neck, letting your nails graze up the back of his neck and through his hair. 

He shudders a little, with a pleasant hum, making you smile against his lips.

He breaks from you with a customary Dean grin, which is equal parts flirtatious, amused, and a hint cocky.

“Miss me?” he asks. You smile through your blush, but you have to taper down your inclination to say yes. His gaze drags down your body with interest. 

“I like this dress too,” he says, and his voice fairly rumbles. Along with his scrutiny, it makes your face flare with heat. Your fingers play with a button on his shirt, red flannel this time. He rubs the soft velvet along your hip.

You tilt your face up to him, despite your lingering blush. 

“Where’ve you been all day?” you ask. He quirks a smile. 

“I’ll show you,” Dean says. 

Dean takes your hand and leads you downstairs to the garage. 

There you find the remains of your car, which has rusted out parts strewn haphazardly all over the ground. You raise a brow. This is how he fixes your car? 

“You are so not winning the bet.”

Dean snorts. “It’s an old rust bucket. Needs a complete fucking overhaul, or the scrap heap. If you really want, I’ll get the new parts, fix it up top to bottom…or, you could just take a stroll through my garage.”

He gestures around, where classic cars are lined up on either side of you. A wide grin spreads across your face. 

“Oh my God, you’ll let me drive one of these?” you say in excitement. 

“You can pick one out and take it home,” Dean replies. Though he doesn’t want to think about you leaving…maybe you two can talk that over later.

Your smile falters. “What? Dean, no. This is your collection.”

He pulls you in by your waist and gently bucks his hand beneath your chin. 

“Call it my gift to you,” he says. You notice his father’s watch once again rests on his wrist, with the help of the new leather strap you bought for him.  

“You’d really give me a whole freakin’ car?” you ask, tearing up and beaming bright at the same time. 

Dean brushes your cheek tenderly with curled fingers; his answer is in his eyes. You try your best to blink away your would-be tears. He catches the one that falls from the corner of your eye with his thumb.

“Why don’t you go pick one out?” he suggests, nodding behind you. 

Biting your lip, you reach up and kiss him sweetly before you get started. You miss the way Dean blushes a bit. Because you’re already meandering down the line of beautiful old classics. 

Soon enough you stop at an interesting red one.

“Ooh, this one’s nice,” you say. Dean is unimpressed. 

“No,” he shakes his head, crossing his arms. 

“What, why?”

“I ain’t puttin’ you in a Volvo. Come on, you can do better than that.”

“But it’s cute.”

“Remember, you’re gonna be driving across state lines,” he reminds you. “You want something reliable, strong.”

You huff and decide to keep looking, but you lay a gentle hand on the side mirror. 

“I might be back for you. Don’t go anywhere.”

A smile threatens Dean’s lips as he watches you. He knows for sure he’s losing the bet. But it’s worth it for this moment right here.

You flit between the rows of cars. Finally, you stop at a funky mint green one. It reminds you of a car your grandfather had when you were a kid, when he’d take you out for ice cream on a Sunday.

“You like that one?” Dean asks. He walks over and joins you at the car, soothing a hand over its hood.

“I think I do. What is it?” you ask.

“A Ford Thunderbird, 1960.” Dean’s gaze meets yours, and he smiles. “Good choice. 5.8-liter V8 engine. 300 horsepower. This gal was powerful in her time.”

“Let’s see if she still is,” you say with a grin. 

So you and Dean break out the Thunderbird into the open roads of Lebanon, Kansas. 

Dean gives you pointers on driving stick, as it’s been a while for you. But after a few minutes, you regain the hang of it and test the car’s powerful sounding engine. It almost rumbles as loud as Baby. 

“Oh, crap. What about dinner?” you realize. “The guys must be waiting on us.”

“Eh, they’ll live,” Dean says with a grin. “Keep going. There’s a park right around the corner here.”

Sure enough, you’re about to turn into a park that borders on a small, but beautiful lake. You probably should’ve brought a coat; the car’s old heater isn’t doing you much good in your little dress. 

But right now, you don’t care. Because this is a perfect moment, and you don’t think you could be much happier. 

You park the car in view of the sparkling lake. Before Dean can turn to you and ask what you think of the car, you’ve started climbing over the upholstery over to his side. 

“Whoa. Easy tiger,” he chuckles as you grunt and struggle. 

“Here’s my Karate Kid audition,” you joke, earning an even deeper laugh from Dean.

But he helps guide you into his lap, where you straddle his hips and reach down to anchor his seat back. The two of you laugh when it momentarily gets stuck, but Dean is able to fix it. With a turn of his wrist, his seat jerks back and gives you more room to maneuver. 

His warm hands smooth up the back of your thighs while you find purchase on his shoulders. 

“Hmm. You’re cold, babe,” he remarks with a frown, and he rubs your legs more to generate some warmth on your skin. “Should’ve brought your jacket.”

Your legs might be cold, but your face heats up at the way he calls you babe. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like you’re really his.

Your answering smile is both warm and playful.

“Who needs clothes when I’ve got a big, strong, flannel-wearing man to warm me up,” you tease, soothing your hands along his toned arms. 

It lifts his frown into an amused grin, even as he shakes his head and grips your thighs more firmly.

“Oh, so I’m a portable heater now?” he remarks. 

“Yup,” you nod with a grin as you lean down. “Do your job, heater.”

Swiping your hair over your shoulder, you lean down for a sweet kiss. But it quickly gains in passion as his tongue slips past the seam of your lips. His hands move to take a healthy grip of your ass, grinding you down into his lap. 

A pleased sound gets trapped in your throat when you feel his length pressing against your core through his jeans. You slip a hand into his hair, deepening the kiss and nipping at his lower lip.  

You feel like a teenager making out with your boyfriend in some backwoods clearing. But it’s an exhilarating feeling.

You never thought you’d be able to do this. Not with Dean. 

You cup his face in your hands and pull back a bit.   

“I love this car,” you say. “You really gonna give it to me?”

Dean smirks. Once again, your lipstick (though lighter this time) is smudged all over his mouth and chin. You wipe some of it off with your thumb.

“Maybe I won’t,” he says. “Maybe I’ll take my sweet time fixing that rusted out piece of shit sitting in my garage.”

You giggle against him, and his hands smooth up your thighs, rucking up the skirt of your dress.

“Is that your plan?” you reply. “Strand me at the bunker, make sure I can never go home?”

“Something like that,” he says. “Gotta keep my girl close.”

You huff. “Your girl? That’s presumptuous.”

“Oh, really?” Dean gives a deep chuckle. “Weren’t you the one who said this wasn’t a one-time deal?”

“No, you said that. I’m just along for the ride,” you quip.

But you think you’ve teased him too much when his amusement starts to fade. His green eyes dim to embers as he tilts his head.

“Is that right?” he asks. 

You soften, gazing down at him with a more genuine smile. You press your hand to the side of his face, letting your thumb sooth over the apple of his cheek. 

“Dean, of course not,” you say patiently. “It’s you. It’s always been you.”  

That admission is thick in your throat. It comes out at nearly a whisper. 

But then, the shadows begin to clear from Dean’s eyes. His lips curve into a more familiar smile.

He kisses you, and the two of you continue exploring one another. Not to mention, testing the limitations of a reclined car seat.

By the time you two get back to the bunker, the dinner table is a mess. The guys have clearly eaten without you, and now Sam is trying to explain the finer points of football to Cas and Jack in the living room. He pauses when he notices you and his brother walk in.

“Where’ve you guys been?” he asks. But he spies Dean’s hand resting on the small of your back with a smile. “The food is in the kitchen. All you need to do is heat it up.”

“Thanks!” you call to him on your way to the kitchen. 

Dean means to follow you, but he stops short when he sees a framed picture of Mary Winchester hanging on the wall in the living room. He draws closer to it, not realizing that the others are watching him. Most of them with curiosity, and one with hopeful wariness. 

His mouth curves with a slight smile. Someone caught her by surprise. He can tell by the way she’s looking over her shoulder in the 8” by 10” frame. She wears her favorite green jacket—one that Sam bought for her last year. Her hair brushes past her shoulders in a haphazard mix of blonde curls and waves. But her smile. That smile’s even more golden.

“Who put this here?” Dean asks. When he doesn’t get an answer, he glances back and finds his brother’s gaze first. He just smiles, but doesn’t look like the culprit. Dean moves on to Cas, who subtly shakes his head.

Jack, on the other hand, looks both guilty and hopeful, before his eyes fall to the folded hands in his lap. 

Instinctively, Dean wants to tighten up. But when he looks back at his mom’s smile, a little more of the edge in his heart crumbles. 

“She looks good there,” he says. He turns back to Jack and gives him a nod…and a reserved smile. The nephilim hesitates to return it, but when he does, it’s a genuine one. 

Dean moves on to the kitchen, where he pretends not to catch the way you’d been surreptitiously watching the scene from the kitchen. You duck your head and continue cutting some ham for the two plates you’ve set out on the counter.     

Dean’s face lights up when he finds the pies: pecan and apple. 

“Okay, you want mashed potatoes or macaroni with the ham?” you ask him. Dean raises a brow at you. You smile in amusement.

“What am I thinking? Both, obviously,” you say. 

“Obviously,” Dean quips with a nod. 

“Ah, well that’s interesting,” says Castiel. It stops both hunters in the kitchen with curious looks. 

“It seems you’re caught again,” the angel tells you, nodding up to the mistletoe poised above you and Dean. 

You roll your eyes, while Dean just smirks. You glance up at him with a question in your eyes. 

Should we tell them? you ask.

Dean’s smile grows. Hell, yeah.

He leans in to cup your cheek, and he kisses you soundly—something that shocks both angels…but not Sam. You close your eyes with a sound of contentment. You grab onto Dean’s shirt, holding him close.

“She didn’t kiss Sam that way,” Jack comments. 

Castiel recovers first, realizing what’s happened by Sam’s knowing look. 

“No,” Cas says in amusement. “I don’t believe she did.”

While Sam turns up the volume on the TV, giving you and Dean some privacy, Dean finally parts from you and tugs a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. 

“You know, I promised you a car by Christmas,” he says with a grin. “Technically speaking, I did come through on that deal.”

You raise a brow, though a smile tugs at your lips. “Hmm. I suppose you did.”

“And if I remember right, I get a…what was it?” He pretends to recall with a raised finger. “Oh, that’s right. A consequence-free request.” 

“Here we go.” You roll your eyes, but amusement and warmth still gleam them. “All right, Dean Winchester. What can I do for you?”

He hums and seems to consider it. He makes a show of it, really, tilting his head, looking down at you with a deepening smirk. You fight not to blush under his scrutiny, even as your smile grows. Your hands rest against his chest, while his slide around your waist and pull you in closer. 

“How about you don’t go running off so soon,” he says, thumbing at your cheek. “Stay through New Year’s, at least.”

You’d be lying if you said you aren’t shocked. You raise a brow. 

“That’s your request?”

Dean shrugs, but his quirking smile can’t hide the fondness in his eyes. It warms you in a way you also don’t expect.  

Taking your chin with gentle fingers, he presses a lingering kiss to your lips. Your eyes close as you once again take in this heady feeling. Being with him still doesn’t quite feel real, but you’re holding on for as long as you can. 

When he eventually pulls away, he smiles at your slightly hazy face.  

“I already got what I wanted,” Dean says. “Now we just…keep this good thing going.” 

You really do blush this time.

“Got what you wanted, huh?” you tease. He gives you a wry look.

“Not what I meant.” Then he smirks, squeezing your hips. “But actually yeah, that too.”

You laugh and swat at his shoulder. 

“Well, since I’m honor bound. I suppose I can stay a few more days,” you reply. “And I mean, your birthday’s not long after that.”

Dean hums in agreement. “We talkin’ early birthday present?”

You flash him a cheeky smile and slowly slide your hands down his arms. 

“Then Valentine’s Day’s is just around the corner,” you add. Dean nods sagely, trying to temper his smile.

“Might as well stay through February,” he says.

You grin. “Ooh! St. Patrick’s Day!” 

Dean laughs genuinely then, throwing his head back. You hold onto the edges of his button-down shirt and tug him back to you. 

“What I mean to say is, I could consider staying longer,” you say. However long you want me, your tone suggests. “…I’ll just need to tie up a few things.”  

You know your father will be just fine if you decide to move to Lebanon someday soon. He now has his new wife to keep him company, and there isn’t much else tying you to your hometown besides nostalgia, and bittersweet memories of your mom.  

“Is that a serious offer?” Dean asks.

You grin up at him playfully. “If you want it to be.”

He smiles and kisses you again. The way he holds you, looks at you, it’s tender enough to make your throat tighten with emotion. 

“I do,” Dean says. He stares down into your eyes. “It’s you, sweetheart. For me too. Just you.”

 Your smile is tremulous, but oh, so bright.

“Good.” 

AN: And that's it, folks! 🥹 Let me know what you thought of Part 3. I truly hope you enjoyed it!

Coming Up Next:

I have one other Christmas in July fic in store, over in The Boys fandom. Look out for "Love Actually" (Soldier Boy x Reader) next week!

It's set in the "Break Me Down" story-verse, but can be read as standalone. I will tag everyone who follows that ongoing story (which is almost finished!!).

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Tag List:

Comment below or send me an ask if you'd like to be tagged in this series!

@iprobablyshipit91 @katherineann83 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @agalliasi @venicesem @waters-2567 @deans-spinster-witch @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @mimaria420 @skyesthebomb @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @emily-winchester @hobby27 @spnexploration @freewastelandstrawberry @stoneyggirl2 @satanicpixiedreamgirl @agothwithheavysetmakeup @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @melancholictearz @tipthejar @deans-baby-momma @nic-kolas @jacklesdeanvessel @beautyvaliant @mrshalverson2021 @ajjustice @leigh70 @violetlilysunshine @jackles010378 @ades106 @luvs4dria

[puddingcatbeans]

timkon; no coffee for tim.

Tim's standing in the kitchen, staring at the broken espresso machine in despair. He hasn't moved for a while—is it still morning? Whatever. There's no morning without his caffeine.

He could fix it. Probably? He's pretty good with machines. Well, he's better with software than hardware, but he can figure it out. That's what Youtube tutorials are for. And if worse comes to worst, he can always blackmail Jason into fixing it for him.

Or he can buy a new one. Though that's a last resort because he's written off quite a lot of Titans purchases under his expenses and Bruce will probably call him for a—shudder—conversation. The 500-pounds of gummy bears and marshmallows and the mini-blowtorches was for an experiment, okay. They're scientists. So yeah, no splurging on another espresso machine.

Or maybe Tim can just become one with the kitchen floor. Yeah. What's the point if there's no more coffee. What's the point.

"Tim?"

He doesn't even twitch. It's despair time. No well-meaning teammate can drag him out of—

"Oh, buddy." Strong arms lift him from the ground and carry him over to the living room area. He's dumped gently onto the sofas. A moment later, a familiar body weight is draped over his, crushing him into the cushions.

"Oof," Tim complains.

"Shhh," Kon says, "let me squish the sads out of you."

"No," Tim says, poking ineffectively at whatever part of Kon he can reach. Which turns out to be his knee, which doesn't do anything because Kon is not ticklish at all. It's not fair. "Let me wallow in peace."

"Dude, your bad vibes are gonna bring the whole Tower down if we're not careful."

"Just stuff me in the corner and leave me be."

Kon shifts, pressing Tim more evenly into the sofa. "No can do, leader man. We take care of each other, remember?"

Tim sighs. He surrenders to his fate. Kon makes himself comfortable, tugging at Tim's arms and shoving at Tim's legs so he can stretch out properly. Tim allows it, if only because Kon's very warm and if Tim can't have his coffee, then he can at least go back to his blissful unconscious state with his own personal heater.

(Behind his back, Kon gives a subtle thumbs up. Above Tim's head, peeking out from behind the doorway, Cassie and Bart returns the signal. Then they disappear from view, hopefully on their way to the nearest Walmart in hopes of finding another espresso machine.

Kon peeks up to find Tim already snoring away. He smiles. Mission accomplished.)

[pray4saint]

I need sapnap thoughts on after care on himself and u and in general .... those dream ones ...🦋🦋🦋🦋

anyway hope you're well ml!

🐈‍⬛anon

aftercare

masterlist & descrip. pg-13. 13+. implied and referenced sex. playful banter. established relationship. dream version.

a/n. hii 🐈‍⬛, i'm doing a bit better now, ty for asking n thank you for requesting / i ended up just doing him with his partner but yk

kissing all over your face, praising you for how well you did and telling you how much he loves you

definitely wants to take care of everything for you

tells you not to fall asleep while he leaves to get a shower

makes you go pee first and then you can shower together

he takes his time scrubbing up and down your body and running his hands through your hair with conditioner

washing your faces in the shower by simply splashing each other with the water you collect in your hands

also light kisses along your shoulders and neck and collarbone

helps you dry off out of the shower and adds product to your hair to protect it, also offers to braid it if it's long enough

insists you wear his clothes, even if you're going out

usually you'll sit on the edge of the bed and he'll offer you choices, so you get to pick clothes for the both of you

sends you to get snacks while he cleans up the bed, or the floor, or the sofa

random forehead kisses for the rest of the day !! do you know why he does it? no. are you complaining? no.

”you know if you keep this up i might just have to drag you back to bed.” you coo as his hands leave your hips after pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. he stops in his tracks and turns back to you. ”don't say that.” ”why not?” ”because i will take you right here.”

also if he was particularly rough he takes you to target or walmart to buy a new little trinket

pray4saint© do not copy, translate or repost my work without my express permission.

[sofas2024]

living room sofas

[steveshairychest]

I just got the funniest damn image in my head and i can't stop laughing about it and i just need to share.

So imagine a moment with Eddie just laying on Steve on his sofa, all nice and cozy probably with a movie playing in the background that no one is watching, nuzzling in his chest hair, trying to be all smooth and seductive, while Steve watches him with a little blush, trying to figure out what did this overgrown cat baked up in that strange brain of his this time.

But. We all know Eddie. He may be brilliant, but he's also a dork and a failure that sometimes miscalculates the most obvious because he's too focused on his grand plan and the big picture.

And so when this guy starts kissing and licking and sucking Steve's chest as the first step in his perfectly planned 8 step romantic foreplay scenario of the evening, he immediately fucks it up by choking on a random hair curling at the back of his throat. He then spends next 5 minutes trying to not puke as he is showing his whole hand into his mouth in an effort to fish the curly thing, that has meantime wedged itself between his molars, out.

Meanwhile Steve is shaking curled with head between his knees, soundlessly wheezing with a laughter, already getting purple in face because he can't breathe. And so can't I. They are such an impossible disaster.

Even weeks later, whenever Steve remembers the scene, he does an uncoordinated hand motion towards Eddie and then his mouth and bends over in a wheezing cackle, tears in eyes and everyting. Eddie usually just, turns red, groans, covers his face with both hands, then leans forehead first against the closest vertical surface, because he's never living this one down, is he?

The only other person who knows what this is about is Robin, because Steve tattled to her afterwards (it took him over an hour long phone call full of whiney high pitched laugh-incoprehensible half sentences to explain what happened) who immediately joins Steve, while the rest of the gang is just standing there staring blankly like "???? WTF????"

Thiis has me giggling and rolling around in my bed !! this is exactly what my sick little brain needed.

Steve frames the chest hair that Eddie pulls out of his mouth bcs 1: the whole situation was hilarious and he needs a forever reminder of it and 2: that had to be his longest chest hair on record, he needs to keep it to remember the glorious achievement.

Eddie makes up a different story each time someone asks about the random framed piece of hair that sits perched on their fireplace; 'it's the hair of our first child' 'I found it in Walmart and grew attached' 'it's my bellybutton hair'.

[mooodyblue]

any day now | part two.

adn masterlist

summary: after a flight back from cali to memphis, elvis finds himself somehow stuck in your apartment in 2022.

warnings: time traveler!elvis, panic attacks, mentions of his death, may contain inaccuracies and typos.

wc: 2.9k

a/n: hi, if ya wanna be tagged in this fic, reply to this post and i'll be sure to add you to the taglist! no set schedule, trying to upload at least every two weeks.

you squinted your eyes at the bright light coming through the window, sitting up slowly and checking the time on your phone. but then you remembered. “elvis..” you gasped, shooting up quickly from the couch. your eyes wandered to your bedroom door, still closed. there was no sign of him waking up in the middle of the night, you didn't hear him either. not even for a glass of water.

you eventually gathered the courage to get up and stand in front of the door, pressing your ear against it. your heart sank, noticing there was no sound coming from the otherside. you turned the knob, preparing yourself for the worst.

“oh, good morning.” elvis said casually with a smile, book in his hands.

your jaw went agape, “y-you're still here?” you said, surprised. “did you even sleep?”

“just a few hours–better than none.” he shrugged, setting the book aside.

“and you're still here?!” you repeated.

he threw his hands up, “honey, i’m just as confused as you are.”

you stared at him in disbelief. now you're really regretting not buying that pullout couch when you first moved in. you let him have first dibs at the bathroom, allowing him to shower and come out smelling like your favorite floral body wash compared to his usual axe and muskier scents from what you've read online. afterwards, you made him coffee just like he liked it as well as breakfast–not even having to ask how he liked his eggs and bacon.

you set the plate in front of him as you took a seat in front of him at the table. he looked down at the plate, eyebrows furrowed. “how did you know?”

“everyone knows, trust me.”

the two of you sat in silence for a moment, enjoying breakfast quietly as you ran through your to-do list for the day. clearly elvis was going to be with you for awhile, at least you hoped. he needed clothes and maybe his own toiletries, but how?

you didn't want to bring attention to elvis and have people continue to question elvis's existence. it was a common myth that he was still alive–a stupid myth at that. you didn't want to add onto that, let alone in the middle of walmart. having elvis lay low for awhile would be the smart move, at least not until you were sure he'd be around for awhile. there was really no way of telling how long he'd be with you.

“you think there's somethin’ i gotta do in order to go back?” he interrupted your thoughts, taking a sip of his coffee.

you raised an eyebrow, “like what?”

“i don't know. do we kiss?”

you choked on your orange juice, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “excuse me?!”

“no! no-no, that's not—i mean!” he set his mug down, shaking his hands. “i-i-i meant like they do in fairy tales. like, a kiss wakin’ ‘em up.”

“i’m not kissing you.” you said sternly.

he looked at you in surprise, “you don't wanna kiss me?” he asked, shocked.

“why would i? we just met.”

he scratched the side of his head and scoffed. that wasn't something he was used to. everyone wanted a piece of him. “i’m not sayin’ i wanna kiss you either.” he said defensively. “it was just an idea. or maybe i need to hit my head again–if i did hit it, which i don't think i did.”

you rolled your eyes, “and i’m not letting you hit your head again.”

“are you gonna let me do anything?” he crossed his arms.

“i don't know, we'll see.” you stood up and took his empty plate. “you did spawn in my apartment after all.”

after back and forth banter and a clean up in the kitchen, you met back in the living room, pacing back and forth while elvis watched you from the sofa. you had to go back to work soon and god knows how you're going to manage leaving elvis at home by himself. for starters, he needed a phone. a way to contact you in case he accidentally started a fire from not knowing how to use something as simple as the air fryer. maybe a few books–ones he loved in his other life and ones you think he'd enjoy that you also liked. there was just so much to do. all this for him to possibly be gone tomorrow or the day after. but you still refused to talk to him about his death.

it was baffling how calm elvis was throughout all of this. why wasn't he freaking out? like he was okay with suddenly being in an entirely new world. you read books and watched documentaries but he was still a stranger in your home, but elvis was okay with that. it made no sense to you.

“honey-”

“what do you wanna know? apart from your death–what do you wanna know?” you asked suddenly, stopping in your tracks.

he sat back, sighing. “was i with anyone when it happened at least? where did they put me?”

you scoffed, “take my advice, do not go out with ginger.”

“ginger?” he raised an eyebrow.

“trust me. just don't do it.” you shook your head, crossing your arms. “you're resting at graceland.”

his lips perked up slightly, “graceland, huh?”

you sat next to him, giving him a small nod. you pulled out your phone, scrolling through your gallery until you came across your own photos at graceland, showing them off to him and swiping through slowly. the photos left elvis speechless, how his family was resting alongside him. he told you various stories as you showed him some of the rooms you got to see and brought up how surprised he was at how much different his home looks now compared to what it was back in the 60s.

elvis week, the birthday celebrations, annual events; he couldn't believe how loved he still was after all these years. you continued to tell him about his fans, records he broke after his passing, how there are literal stores and restaurants just dedicated to him. he sat there in silence, trying to fight back his tears. he was disbelief. “all these years–people still love me? t-they still listen to my music?”

you smiled at him. “more than ever. people of all ages, all over the country. they still love you.”

he shook his head in disbelief, sniffling a little as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “that's crazy.”

“which is why i don't..really think it's a good idea to have you leave. at least not yet. especially with this huge movie that just came out about you-”

“they made a movie?!” he exclaimed, sitting up.

“that’s not the point here! look, i’m gonna have to pick up some things for you and get you a phone which means i’m gonna have to leave you here home alone.” you stood up, hands on your hips. “and i don't exactly trust you with technology just yet.”

elvis scoffed, “i’m not a baby, honey. i can manage on my own. i’ll just read till you come back.”

and you prayed to god that he'd still be there when you got back.

while you searched retail and department stores for whatever you think elvis may enjoy(no jeans, nothing brown, lots of fun colors), elvis took this time to be nosy. to search around your little apartment in beverly hills that looked nothing like what he had back in his tiny world.

he had a one on one staring match with the reflection of what was now called a television. but he had to admit, it’s nice that he can now just watch his favorite movies whenever he wanted in the comfort of well-not his home, but somewhere that didn’t involve a whole process of renting out an entire movie theater. he wondered if the memphian was still around. not to mention, he can watch his favorite shows on a much larger screen and not the small ones he has back at graceland. he still couldn't fully grasp the meaning of streaming. is anyone really ‘streaming’ his old movies and concerts like you mentioned? he found that hard to believe.

then he came across your laptop. of course, not knowing what it was, he opened it, eyes widening in amazement at the lit up screen. “what the hell is a google….” he muttered to himself, eyes squinting as he navigated with the small, touchpad. he tapped on the search bar and looked down at the keyboard. he wanted to search himself so badly, the mystery behind his death and how touchy you were about it just eating him up inside. but it was better to hear it from you. despite only knowing you for a short amount of time, he trusted you more than whatever the hell google was. instead, he opted for typing in ‘time travel’, scoffing at the word fiction being in the definition. “if it ain't real then how did i get here?” he asked to no one.

he ended up reading the entire wikipedia page which was really no help to him. he didn't come by a time machine or a wormhole, just a bunch of big words that gave him no answers. he found the website fascinating though, somehow going from reading about black holes to reading about the history of microwave ovens. but he was still worried about finding himself on there and quickly clicked away.

elvis really didn't mean to pry all that much. he wasn't aware of social media, he didn't know what he was getting himself into when he tapped the little ‘facebook’ bookmark. you did in fact, have an ex. definitely could have done better. he scrolled a bit too far down your profile, coming across a photo of him that you once shared of him in the 70s. “ain't no way that's me….” he said in disbelief, enlarging the photo. “well, i’ll be damned.” he quickly closed out, shutting your laptop and shaking his head.

he looked at the framed photos you had around, studying your family and friends that you seemed to be close to. he was happy to see you had a good relationship with them, family was important to him too.

his lip curled up slightly at the various records you had in the corner, ranging from today’s artists to some of his very own. you'd have to play them for him one day. he hated listening to his own records but he was curious about the ones he had yet to record.

there were so many questions still lingering in his mind, would he even be able to leave the house at all? maybe this was his chance to start over, to have a new life. maybe you were supposed to be his soulmate and that's how he ended up in your presence. or perhaps it's just a wake up call to warn him about his future. who knows, he wish he knew. all he could do was pray and hope for the best.

when you returned, hands full with bags, elvis quickly took them from your hands and set them on the counter. he felt bad about the clothes you bought him and the phone and everything else–he's normally the one to buy people things. however, every piece of clothing, it was so him. you nailed him perfectly.

“–and i know you hate denim, like really hate it. but…” you pulled out a denim jacket from the bag, holding it up. “thought this would look nice on you. but i can always take it back.”

“god, you didn't have to do all this for me…” he said, flustered. “you’re too kind.”

you flashed him a smile, “i’m gonna set up your phone so you can….”

“i opened your…your thing.” he blurted out.

“my thing?”

“yeah…that…that thing.” he said again, pointing at your laptop.

you turned around, glancing at it sitting on the counter. “i didn’t look up myself! swear! i-i did see a photo of me but i quickly clicked away.” he defended, panic in his voice.

“how did you even know how to use it?” you picked up your laptop, putting it away in your bedroom.

“i just…pressed buttons.” he watched you move across the room, eventually sitting down at the counter. “i’m sorry.”

“you get nothing out of being nosy.” you sighed.

elvis was still curious about that photo he saw of himself, keeping his concerns to himself.

he got curiouser and curiouser as the week went on, always waking up in surprise to see he wasn't in his bed. you went back to work and he was stuck at what he now calls home, watching shows you had told him about and eating whatever in the fridge was microwaveable. but he didn't know who he was more interested in; his future or you.

there was something about you that intrigued him. you weren't jumping at him like most fans would do, not a single request from him. every person he’d ever met or become friends with had wanted something from him whether it’d be a new house, a car, an autograph or just money. granted, he left all his money back in memphis along with everything else. ugh, was he going to have to get another id? like people would believe that he was actually elvis presley. you did mention to him that some of his friends were still alive, maybe jerry could help him out. but then again, finding out your best friend who's been dead for over forty years is alive but at the same time not really alive just may be a bit too much for one to handle.

but he missed his home. his bed, his horses, the people he saw every single day. he was never alone. this was almost terrifying for him and he doesn't know how he’s going to continue to deal with being alone for long periods a day while you're gone. he’s a very lonely person in general, but not a day went by when he wasn't with someone. being with someone helped him not get too much in his head; much like what he's doing right now.

why was he here? is this god’s way of punishing him for something? he had plans, he had movies to film, there had to be some sort of explanation. you won't even tell him how he died for christ's sake. there’s something missing, a missing puzzle piece. every single night he now goes to bed wondering if that would be the last time he would ever see your face. he doesn't want to forget you or your face, but he wants to go home.

this was all too much for him. he can’t do this, he can't be here and get attached. nobody is going to believe him if he ever went back, but what if he never goes back? would it be for the better?

so many questions were lingering in his brain, giving him a overwhelming feeling. he felt himself begin to panic, shaking his head as he rested it in his hands. his chest felt heavy, panting and panicking. then his heart began to quicken, making it hard for him to control his own breathing.

“elvis? you still here?”

your voice was muffled, a loud ringing in his ears. “elvis?” he looked at you, panicked with a hand over his chest. “hey, hey. i’m here, what's going on?” you sunk down to your knees, meeting him eye level on the couch. “look at me, deep breaths.”

“i-it's hard, i-i can’t-” he panted.

“yes you can. c’mon breathe with me.” you rested a hand on his knee, taking a deep breath in and then a deep breath out.

he followed and repeated after you, doing it until he could feel his heart beat normally again. “god…i-i…i..” he let out a shaky breath.

“el, i think you just had a panic attack.” you breathed, rubbing his knee softly. “thank god i came home in time.”

there was a look of worry on his face. he couldn't remember the last time he had a panic attack. sure, he had a little bit of anxiety before filming his special but he didn't get that bad. “i’m so scared.” he finally admitted, his voice slightly cracking. “so fuckin’ scared.”

you stood up and sat beside elvis, facing him. “what are you scared of?”

“i don't know.”

you let out a small hum, rubbing his back. “that's okay.” you reassured. “we’ll get through it. i’ll help you. there's a reason why you’re here and we’re gonna figure that out.”

he looked down, nervously picking at his nails and fidgeting with the nonexistent rings on his fingers out of habit. “takin’ up too much space in here.”

“no you're not, elvis. look at me.” you turned his head, his sad eyes locking with yours. “i’m not giving up on you. it's only been a week. we’re just taking this one day at a time.”

for the first time in that week he’d been with you, he got a good look at your eyes. he gave you a soft smile, the infamous half grin you’d see photos of everywhere online. suddenly, he found himself slightly excited. excited to learn about you, your story. you were right, there was a reason he was there with you.

maybe, just maybe, that reason was you.

tags: @elvisalltheway101 @prompted-wordsmith @plasticfantasticl0ver @18lkpeters @notstefaniepresley @presleyenterprise @kiankiwi

[chaysreality222]

A Shifting Attempt Storytime! - Part 1

hii guys, it's c! i wanted to post some old story times i had in my notes of some shifting attempts i've had. sadly, not all of them have dates but i'll be posting them one by one! i hope this gives you all some motivation to shift!

The Middle of the Day on July 25, 2022

I tried shifting during the day, using the Valentino method and a subliminal. I ended up falling asleep and waking up. I remember what helped me shift last time was being really tired then doing visualizing and affirmations from there. I ended up having a really weird and vivid lucid dream.

I woke up in Walmart in this aisle with these random kids. It looked like they made a little fort in the shelf and were watching a tv screen that i'm assuming they brought and put it on that shelf. I got up and I was looking around, feeling I need to find a way to get out and go home.

I walked into the next aisle and walked all the way down which i was assuming was the front. Where all the cash registers would be and the entrance would be it was blocked off by a wall. I stepped back and went back to the aisle I came from and then noticed how high the ceilings of the walmart were and how there were no windows and entrances at all, just over-hanging lights. All the shelves and aisles were empty.

I was wondering if I should go back to those kids or look around more, for a moment I thought they had disappeared but then I heard their voices again. I chose to look around, and not to far was this other room I had walked into that was huge with incredibly high-ceilings (i'm talking like story buildings type of high).

It was set up like a furniture store. Off to the left of that furniture space, there was like another space that had these floor to ceiling windows that just looked out into space (I was literally in the middle of space or I think the universe). There was this floating, circular platform that had my DR bed, the one in my Santa Carla DR. I saw it and it automatically made me think about my Santa Carla DR and how I need to get there.

There were these folded type of stairs that I automatically was thinking were unstable and I wasn't sure if it would hold me as I tried to climb. But they were connected to one of the sofas and I went over and I attempted to climb it but I lost my balance and the stairs retracted. I stepped back and I was thinking of another way, all of a sudden I just felt the urge to call out to the boys as if I knew they were waiting for me.

I said "David? Dwayne?" and I stood there for a moment seeing if I could hear them answer back but all there was, was silence but I can feel- I can't explain it in my soul that they were near and I was almost there, I was close to them.

So, I looked up at the floating platform again and I looked to the side to see this elevated platform that I need to climb up on and see if I could use that to help me get up. As soon as I climbed up, I woke up. I felt tired and groggy.

I'm really thinking about trying a lucid dream method since I always end up lucid dreaming. Thing is i'll be aware that I'm controlling the dream but not aware that I'm dreaming, only sometimes. Make sense? So, I need to work on being more aware of that. If anyone has any tips or if they've ever shifted while lucid dreaming, please leave some advice. thanks!

to put it out there, i haven't really tried to shift for AWHILE now (as you can see the date). i'm still dealing with some new adjustments in my life. i'm not sure if I want to shift to my hogwarts dr I've recently created or a waiting room. leave a comment or message in my inbox if you have any advice for me! thanks! as always, Happy Shifting!

xoxo, c!

[find-roronoa-zoro]

Roronoa Zoro X CisFem Reader

38

Spring had quickly turned to summer and before you knew it the heat and humidity you didn't miss while being abroad had crept in.

"Tiiiigerrrrr," you groaned, kicking the sheets off and tugging at your sweat drenched tank top, "when are they going to fix your air-conditioning?"

He turned to watch you, "It's an old building. They said they have to replace the entire thing. It could take another week or so."

Wiping your forehead, you groaned again,"I can't sleep like this."

"Would a shower make you feel better?" he fanned your face with his hand.

"It's 2AM."

"You aren't sleeping anyway." he chuckled sitting up.

"Fine." you sighed looking over at him,"Where are you going?"

He pulled a shirt over his head, "While you're cooling off I'm going to run to Walmart and get a fan. It'll help a little."

You didn't protest, a fan sounded like an amazing idea. After slipping into some shorts and shoes Zoro kissed your nose and left. You shuffled into the bathroom peeling away your damp clothing. He was right, a luke-warm shower was very soothing. When you finished you braided your wet hair and grabbed fresh light clothes from the stash you kept in the top drawer of his dresser. Not long after you'd sprawled back out in the bed, your greenette returned with a box. By almost 4AM the two of you had the fan put together and oscillating between you.

"So much better." you hummed flopping back into his mattress, "Tomorrow we're staying at my place. You can't live like this."

"It doesn't bother me that much." he rested his head on your chest, "Besides, there's too many people at your house."

Your fingers absentmindedly made their way through his hair, "While sweaty Tiger is very attractive, I'd rather not lose my boyfriend to a heatstroke. But that is true."

He chuckled and closed his eyes enjoying your affection.

"When is your lease up?" your question forced him to glance up at you.

"Two months, why?"

You shrugged nonchalantly,"Just thinking we should find a better place than this. Stuff is always breaking and they take forever to fix it."

"We?" he repeated feeling his pulse speed up a bit.

You hummed distracted by the thought of a newer apartment with working heat/air and updated appliances.

"Are…" he shifted to get a better look at you in the moonlight,"Is this some weird way of suggesting we move in together?"

"Well," your stomach plunged to your feet,"I mean… my house is always loud and you deserve a better apartment. Split rent would make it easier to save, right?"

He deadpanned before smirking, "Of course, not because you love me or anything."

"Shut up," you blithely nudged him, "that's a given."

For a moment you thought you'd made a terrible mistake. It had just come out so naturally that you didn't have a chance to run it through the proper filters.

What if he wasn't ready?

Were you ready?

Yes.

The fact that big scary relationship steps felt so easy when it came to Zoro was your glowing neon universal sign.

A soft laugh rumbled through his chest, "This wasn't how I expected we'd tackle this conversation."

You rolled onto your side to face him in the dim moonlit room, "Would you rather I propose?"

He paused stunned for a moment before tossing you an accusatory glance, "You're joking."

"This time, Tiger." you chuckled pulling him in for a sweet kiss, "I'll get you eventually though."

He dropped his head bashfully into your chest, "We'll see about that."

In the coming weeks you began searching for an apartment together. The two of you settled on a one bedroom in a newer complex on the outskirts of the city almost halfway between home and Newgate Industries. You'd be out of the house but still close enough to your boys, and Luffy would probably be over all the time anyway.

You leaned against Zoro on the sofa in the family room scrolling through a furniture website on your phone.

"Should we keep your couch or get something new?"

Your boyfriend hummed in thought, "It was a hand-me-down, but I don't want to spend too much. We already have the deposit and first month's rent."

"A house warming gift then-yoi." Marco joined the conversation taking a seat in the old recliner next to you.

"That's too much." Zoro commented.

"I'll be sure to order a cheap one then." your older brother replied changing the channel on the TV.

"You won't win." you chuckled, not bothering to look up from your scrolling, "I'll send you the link Pineapple."

Zoro glanced between the two of you and shook his head, "Sometimes it's hard to believe you aren't blood related."

"Thank you." You and Marco replied in unison making him chuckle again.

"When's the move in date-yoi?"

"In a couple of weeks." Zoro answered swiping up past a sofa he didn't like on your phone.

"Hey!" you protested.

"Too fancy." he muttered over your shoulder.

"Have you gone over the material for the deposition?"

You glanced over at your brother, "I've looked at it a few times. I'm not sure what else I should be doing."

Over the course of the last month the family was preparing to go in for a deposition, at which point Sabo suspected to be offered a deal to settle outside of court. If a settlement couldn't be reached then the statements would be used in court.

"We'll just answer whatever stupid questions they have-yoi."

Two days before you were to move out of your childhood home you met your brothers downtown outside of the city courthouse. Zoro joined as moral support but stayed out in the lobby. You and your siblings were sent up to the third floor to wait as you were called back individually to answer questions. Sabo was not able to legally represent the family because he was part of the actual case, so when you went in you were met with part of the legal team from your corporate office and Weevil's lawyers.

It was nerve wracking but not incredibly difficult. They asked you questions about your father's relationship to Weevil's mother. About your adoption. How present Pops was in your daily and school life because of his busy job. They asked about The Babies' adoptions and how they were raised. Most were yes or no questions. Occasionally your eyes dropped to the stenographer's quick fingers while you formulated what you thought to be the best response. When you were finished they sent you back out to wait for each of your brother's turns. After a few more hours the six of you were sent home completely mentally exhausted.

___________________

Moving day finally arrived. Fortunately, you had plenty of muscle to help that only required payment in the form of food and beer. You were a little nervous to move in with Zoro knowing your dynamic might change a bit - at the same time you were relieved to have more uninterrupted time with him.

Your two blonde brothers arrived to help later than planned, having spent most of the afternoon tied up in meetings. Both of them looked worn out and defeated.

Marco leaned against the bar that separated the living room and kitchen fiddling with tape on a box of glassware.

"What's the deal? Why are you two moping?"  you poked him.

"We got the offer for the settlement today-yoi"

"Not good I'm guessing?" you asked leaning next to him with a beer.

"Nope." he sighed,"He'll only settle for half of everything."

"Looks like we're going into battle then, huh?" you scoffed,"At least we can still fight."