#they do not solve all problems and have done things that annoyed me and made my job harder

[queenlua]

i desperately WISH that reading the phrase “[x] is among the few who understands how to write C programs with effectively zero memory bugs” didn’t instantaneously put me through a demented minor-key magical girl transformation sequence in which i became a screeching thirteen-headed cockatrice, belching fire and ichor and rust macros

but UNFORTUNATELY FOR ME i’ve looked at these fuckers’ code, so,,,,

[phagodyke]

zzzzzz

[avocado-writing]

if you are taking short fic requests for wade n logan, how about one where typically sunshine!reader comes home sad and while the both of them have that frenemy thing going, they agree on fucking up whoever made reader unhappy :o btw i love your work ❣️

You fill the apartment with laughter and light and life. You: all parts sunshine and joy, making things a bit brighter even when the world feels so dark. You’re a bit of levity at the end of a day which is usually bathed in blood. A reminder of what’s worth fighting for. 

So when you walk in that night with your jaw grit tight and eyes watery, it’s pretty damn noticeable. 

“Hey. You okay?” asks Logan, voice gruff but full of concern. He’s on the couch, patching himself up from no doubt getting the shit beaten out of him, hopefully not staining the new throw blanket you bought. You head to the fridge wordlessly, grabbing a beer and getting annoyed when you can’t immediately find a bottle opener. He holds his hand out silently, and you give in, allowing him to use one of his claws to help. 

“Long day,” you manage, trying to bite back tears. You hear the bathroom door open and Wade sticks his head out, the sound of conversation irresistible to him. 

“Hey sunshine! How’s my favourite—?” he starts, but trails off when he sees the state you’re in. He goes to jump over the back of the sofa to get to you but immediately falls on his face because he’s missing half a leg. Despite everything a laugh bubbles up from you, inescapable. 

“I’m glad my dismemberment is just a slapstick routine to you, cupcake,” he pouts up at you from the floor. You wipe your eyes furiously with your sleeve and go to help him up, settling him into an armchair - and giving him the opportunity to sweep you into his lap. 

“What’s the matter, honey? Seriously. Who do we need to kill?” he asks. “Is it Deborah? Tell me it’s her. She’s been asking for a knife in the kidney ever since she swiped your lunch two months ago. I’m surprised you haven’t done it yourself, you know we’d help you hide the body.”

“You’re sweet,” you sigh, “but it’s not her, actually. I just had a lot to do today and nobody was cutting me any slack, you know? It got too much.”

“If you need us to talk to anyone,” says Logan, fixing Wade with a look which suggests murdering your colleagues will probably create more problems than solve them, “we’ll do it.”

“Yes! Good-boyfriend, bad-boyfriend routine. Oh, or charismatic-boyfriend, grumpy-but-sexy boyfriend. Or even, slut-boyfriend, slut-but-doesn’t-know-it-yet boyfriend. Maybe that one’s better suited for tonight though…”

Logan growls a warning but Wade just grins, blasé. You giggle. 

“Thanks, guys. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Be a lot more bored and horny,” Wade muses, as Logan mutters “hmph. Apartment would be quieter…”

You drink your beer and smile.  

taglist: : @falsewordz @malfoys-demigod @belilwen @mildly-salted @tvwebs @childeslegstrap @getmeoutofhell @s1eep-o @just-a-beatlemaniac69 @yrthr @momopad @sugarplumz100 @captainjinkx @madspads @acrosstheunivcrse

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Falling Into Me

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Smut (p in v, fingering, oral f receiving), angst, loss of virginity, light fluff, feelings :(, real bad self-image issues

Summary/Warnings: You're a virgin, and it's really not a big deal. Everyone was a virgin once. You're just a virgin longer. Maybe forever, because nobody really seems to be willing to solve that problem for you.

You've never told Sam and Dean, and you don't have any intention to. Ever. But when a hunt goes wrong, Dean finds out. And he might have been keeping something from you as well.

Author's Note: This might be the horniest thing I've ever written. Enjoy <3!

Title from Red Wine Supernova by Chappell Roan

Word Count: 8.9k

You haven’t slept in three days, and it’s starting to be a problem. But you can’t afford to sleep. You can only drink staler and staler coffee, sit at the motel table, and pretend this is a case that, somehow, you’re going to solve. That Dean isn’t grumpier than usual, and Sam doesn’t constantly look like he’s going to kill the next person that dares to have an incorrect idea. It’s why you volunteered for the next round of interviews. You don’t want to be there when one of them snaps and kills the other, and while you wouldn’t love to return to the room and find it covered in blood, at least then you’d have an excuse to call it.

You wouldn’t call it. You’d work the case until it was done, because that’s what you do. And Sam and Dean won’t kill each other, because they’re Sam and Dean. That said, you are expecting a pouting Dean to pacing back and forth outside the room as he waits for you to return, and a grumble about how Sammy said he was being annoying and needed to walk it off. You’re more than prepared to give him a sympathetic smile and ask him if he was being annoying. And he’ll probably protest that he wasn’t, and you’ll raise your brows, and he’ll admit he mighta been drumming really loud while eating the chips.

It’s not an unreasonable expectation. None of you have slept, because this thing is insane. There’s no obvious pattern to the victims, no connections, nothing in line with everything you’ve ever seen. It’s men and woman, a wide age range, no previous coflicts or knowledge of each other in life. There are holes through theirs chests that could be bullet wounds, but obviously aren’t, because Bullets don’t remove the heart from the body. But it’s not werewolves, because werewolves aren’t clean killers like this and every fucking person in this stupid town has passed the silver test. There’s a new kill every night, and a new body every morning, and another reason for you, Sam, and Dean to start screaming every day. Every hour makes you all wired, because it’s closer and closer to another evening where you won’t have caught this asshole and another person will die.

And it’s become really easy to get on each other’s nerves. Sam was mad at Dean because he’d purposefully gotten you all burgers instead of Sam’s rabbit food, you’re mad at Sam because he said you were bad at poker—and you are, but what the fuck—and Dean’s mad at you because-

Dean’s not mad at you. You and Dean don’t really get mad at each other. You understand each other, better than you’ve ever understood anyone else, and it’s the perfect amount of alike that you’ll lend him grace you wouldn’t lend anyone else—including yourself—but you don’t see enough of your own twisting, molding innards to hate him. You mostly see something better. A man that has all the same rotting parts, but has made something out of them while you just waste away in toxins.

And you think Dean sees something similar in you. It’s why you’d been obnoxiously chewing potato chips, right in his ear, and he hadn’t punched you or snatched the bag away from your hands. He’d just rolled his eyes, grabbed one of his own, and started chewing in Sam’s ear.

So you hadn’t really volunteered for interviews so much as been aggressively told by Sam you were doing interviews. And it was only fair Dean met the same fate.

But he hadn’t. And when you opened the door to the room, they both looked happy. 

Dean practically shouts your name when he sees you, wildly gesturing for you to join them at the table. “Sammy found it!” He grins at you almost manically, and it’s a little adorable. “We can finally fucking leave.”

“I might have found it,” Sam corrects, his smile a little more tentative, but still real. “And we can’t leave yet. Not until we actually get the thing-“

“Obviously, dude, but that’ll be soon, instead of in a million years.” Dean looks to you for agreement. “I mean, c’mon. You guys can’t really wanna stay in hicktown Ohio forever?”

You shrug. “I dunno. Good coffee.”

Dean glares at you. “The coffee tastes like ass and you freakin’ know it-“

“Dean.” You give him a flat look. “Do I actually get to know what the monster is?”

Sam sighs. “You’re not gonna like it.”

“I already don’t love it, it’s a monster that’s killed like, ten people-“

“Worse than that.” Dean lets out a dry chuckle. “It’s sorta like a dragon.”

You, very suddenly, don’t feel really well. Everything is hotter than it had been a second ago, and the walls seem to be closing in as your skin begins to prickle and ache. “Like a dragon?” You ask, forcing your voice to remain steady. “Or a dragon?”

“Like a dragon. Tell her, Sammy.”

Sam shoots Dean a glare—not happy being thrown under the bus—and mutters, “It’s a unicorn.”

You stare at him for a long minute, then shake your head. “It’s a what.”

“Unicorn.” Sam mumbles. “They’re, uh, looks like they’re real.”

“But not Pinky Pie and Disney.” Dean adds, turning Sam’s laptop for you to read. “Real fucking assholes.”

“They hunt virgins.” Sam explains. “To bond with. And it’ll kill anyone who falsely lures it.”

“Stab the poor son of a bitch right through the heart, then pull that sucker right out.” Dean adds, spreading his legs and propping his elbows on his knees. “And it looks like it’ll go after chicks and dudes, any age, so that’s why there’s no pattern. You’re able to fuck, you’re fair game.”

“Oh, cool.” You mutter, a lump starting to form in your throat. “I’m always looking for equal opportunity murderers in the monsters I hunt.” 

“Yeah, well, it’s gonna make it a little harder to find the thing.” Sam grabs his laptop back, frowning at the screen. “It’ll take a human form, then look for a virgin. And it won’t be able to tell until it gets the person’s heartbeat up, so it might be a guy or a girl, depending on who it’s hunting tonight.”

“But,” you glance at Dean, who’s grinning as you start to put it together. “It is hunting tonight.”

“Hunts every night.” Dean says, rubbing his hands together. “And we don’t know where, but we can take some guesses. Split up and look at all the bars in town ’till one of us finds something, then gank this douchebag and get the hell out of here.”

“Split up?” You whisper, something wired and flailing coiling around your guts. “That’s, um, shouldn’t we stick together? If it’ll go after anyone?”

“Not everyone.” Same shrugs. “Low, uh, body counts. I guess. Low enough that it can’t tell immediately.”

“So we just need a bunch of whores?"

Dean snorts. “Well tonight,” he spreads his arms, shooting you a wink that really isn’t helpful right now. “We’re the whores, Sweetheart. We’re safe, and we’re going to kick some unicorn ass.”

It’s a cheesy, stupid thing to say, and usually you’d laugh and crack a joke back. Something about unicorn ass and whores that you can’t really think of right now, because there’s bile in your throat and something heavy fogging over your brain.

“How do we, uh,” your tongue is numb in your mouth, and every word is dragged out of your throat. “How do we kick a unicorn’s ass.”

“Well, we’re looking for electrical malfunctions, golden eyes when it gets, uh, excited, and a refusal to drink anything but water.” Sam frowns at the screen, looking up at you with a half-shrug. “Anything amoral seems to knock it down, so just, uh, swear? Then shoot it with iron. Iron kills it.”

“And, um,” you swallow, tugging at the fabric of your sleeves. “What’s gonna to the virgin? If the unicorn finds it?”

Sam sighs. “They, uh, they seem to use them.”

Dean frowns, leaning around to try and read the screen. “Use them-“ 

“Their purity. Use their purity.” Sam raises his brows, and you can see the exact moment it clicks in Dean’s head. 

“That’s...” Dean trails off, running a hand over his face. “Shit.” 

Sam mutters an agreement, and your mouth feels like sandpaper, your heart beating like it’s trying to escape your chest.

“And after?” You whisper, a little unsure you want to actually ask the question, or know the answer. “After they’re used?” 

“Well, they’re not ‘pure’ anymore.” Sam puts an air quote around pure, and you feel a little sick. “So, uh, stab.”

“Oh.” You nod slowly. You might need to lie down. “Stab.”

Dean looks over you with a drawn brow, his voice low and cautious as he says your name. “Are feelin’ okay-“

“I’m fine.” You remember how to smile, and hope it looks real. Not like your teeth are starting to feel out of place in your mouth, and you can’t seem to find enough spit to choke on. “Let’s get the unicorn ass.”

Dean doesn’t look convinced. Hell, Sam doesn’t look convinced. But they both let it go for now, and you can breathe just a little easier knowing you’re not barreling towards a fight.

But only a little easier. 

Because you’re fucked.

Virginity is a funny thing. It’s just a social construct, but it’s a social construct some monsters seem to take as scripture, making it a hazardous thing to still have in your line of work. 

And you hadn’t meant to be a hazard. It just kind of happened. Because it started as something that was a given to have, then turned into something that you just were a little too busy to lose, before becoming an awkward conversation you’re not willing to have. Something that hangs, silent and sharp, over your head and around your throat. Something that’s now a question of why? Why is it never you? You’re not ugly. You’re even pretty enough that, if you tell someone, they won’t believe you and it’ll all feel worse. You’re even pretty enough that you’ve seen people size you up at bars, but none of them ever approach you.

So it might just be you. You might just have something on your face that gives away that you’re more trouble than you’re worth, a little too rough to touch and not have it sting, telling people stay away. 

And Sam and Dean will never know. You’re already a little younger, a little worse of a hunter, a small problem when they’re obviously trying to take someone to their bed but the girl sees you and makes quick and inaccurate assumptions. Sam is better at brushing them off—She’s like my little sister—but Dean gets red and awkward and suddenly loses all his well-practiced charm. He sulks back to the table, and won’t look you in the eyes for an hour or walk with you back to the bar. You’re honestly shocked neither of them have thrown you to the curb by now, an you’re not going to give them another reason to. Another reason for Sam to make a sad, puppy-eyed pity face and Dean to stare at you like he’s not sure you’re real. Like there’s no way someone could’ve possibility survived as a hunter like this. 

And a small, well-contained part of you wishes Dean would look at you the way he looks at other women. Like they still have beautiful, horrible secrets that he’d love to uncover with only his hands and mouth. 

You’ve got secrets. Dean can’t have them—because they’re a liability and you’re not looking to lose him forever—but you really wish he’d just look at you. Once, really look at you, and not see you. See something so much better, that you think he’s always a little close to finding, that nobody else ever seems willing to try and look for.

You’re a little grateful they left you alone in this backwater dive bar. It would hurt to watch Dean flirt right now, when everything feels raw and wired in your body, and every time someone drops next to you at the bar you feel more and more sick. There are quick, polite conversations with random strangers who sound like they’d rather be anywhere than here, with you, and by the time you’ve repeated your cover story for the eighth time your lungs are wrapped iron and your nails feel like a burden on your fingers.

It’ll be over by tonight. All three of you know what you’re looking for, so the unicorn will be dead before sunrise, and you won’t have to do any explanations about why you’ve been quiet and tense since Dean said like a dragon. Nobody will look at you with pity or confusion, nobody will get hurt, and you won’t end up with a hole in your heart as the only people that have ever seen you to be worth something realize just how wrong they were. That you’re really just a small, useless burden that even a literal monster wouldn’t be able to stomach the presence of-

“You here all by yourself?”

Something sparks in your gut at the voice, coming from off to the side, because for a second you really think it’s Dean. It’s deep, moves through your whole body, and knocks loose something in your lower gut that always makes you feel hungry, but it’s not Dean. When you turn, the man next to you looks like someone ran Dean through a printer too many times and he came out faded. A little too short, not quite as broad, all the pretty scars that make Dean Dean seemingly vanished, and a gleam in his eyes that Dean’s never had. It’s a little more feral, without any playfulness or glowing shadows. Too much yellow instead of green, the cocky smirk just a little off, none of it right. None of it Dean.

“I’m, um,” you frown, because this man even smells like Dean. “I’m waiting for a friend. He’s running late.”

Not-Dean clicks his tongue. “Shame, leaving a pretty girl like you all alone. You want some company until your boyfriend shows up?”

You shake your head, turning your glass around in your hand. “Not my boyfriend. And I’m actually…” You trail off, your eyes falling on the man’s own glass. The clear liquid inside. “You drinking vodka?”

“Am I- Oh, sure.” The man chuckles, raising his drink for you to click. “Here’s to not-boyfriends-“

“Can I have some?”

You watch the man carefully as he looks between you and the glass. “Nah, sweetie, you don’t want this, it’s some strong stuff-“

Sweetie. Not sweetheart. Not Dean, not right, not safe. And something is starting to crawl over your skin and shoot up your spine, making you sit a little taller as your heart pounds louder and louder. 

As Not-Dean licks his lips, and scans over you with yellow eyes that might be shining. 

Fuck.

“I, um, I’m gonna go call my friend.” You start to shift off your seat, pulling your phone slowly out of your pocket. “He should’ve been here a few minutes ago, and I’m worried-“

“C’mon, you haven’t even told me your name.” Not-Dean wiggles his brows, and it looks wrong on his face. “Bet I can guess, if you give me a hint-“

“No, it’s fine, my name is, uh…” you look down at your phone, the screen completely black. You’d charged it before you left.

“Your name?” Not-Dean prompts, grabbing your arm. Holding you near him, at the bar. “I’d really love to learn it. I could teach you a few things in exchange-“

“I was never given a name!” Your voice is a frantic shout, Not-Dean’s eyes narrow, and you do the only thing you can think of. Punch Not-Dean square in the face, yank your arm from his grip, and run. Fucking sprint out of the bar and not allow yourself to falter as you hear a roar that’s a little hoarse and off pitched. Like a horse keen. Like a wounded animal.

Like a monster.

Splitting up had been a terrible fucking idea. Now you’re alone, you don’t have even an idea where Sam and Dean are, and you can’t afford to stop and jack a car because you can hear it in the distance. Hooves, clapping against the pavement, getting closer and closer as you begin to run out of breath. You can’t hide, it can hear you, and you can’t go faster because you already feel faint and everything is beginning to collapse in your body. Muscles tightening and skin crawling and eyes pushing out of your skull, every breath too shallow and every step too short. 

You fall to your knees behind a truck, wrapping a hand around your own throat and trying to force your heartbeat back down. Slow, even breathes that come out in choked gasps, nails digging into your skin as the hooves slow, and you hear a low sputtering sound from somewhere behind you. 

And it’s too quiet. You can’t hear anything but your blood in your ears, and all you can see in the night is the flickering yellow light of a streetlamp in the distance. You squeeze your eyes shut and swallow every breath, hoping you can force yourself out before the unicorn finds you. You don’t want to be used. You don’t want to be alone. You just want Dean, where’s Dean, why the fuck did you let him leave you alone, why didn’t you tell him the truth, why can’t you think of anything else but Dean, where’s Dean-

There’s something hot on your neck, and a large presence at your side. Something like spit is being splattered on your neck, and you can’t contain the vomit when a too-rough hand trails up your arm-

“Get the fuck back, you son of a bitch!”

A loud bang cuts through the air—making you jump out of your skin as a heavy body slumps onto yours—and it sounds like church bells and music. It sounds like Dean. That’s his voice shouting your name, his arms wrapping around your body and carrying you away from the unicorn, his breath fanning over your face as he sits you on the curb and starts to turn your face in his hands.

“Fuck, never should’ve left you, but I didn’t-“ Dean cuts himself off with a huff, and you think he’s talking to himself more than you. “Did the asshole touch you anywhere I can’t see?”

You shake your head, keeping your eye glued shut as you curl your hands in Dean’s shirt. Maybe Dean’s shirt. Not-Dean had been wearing plaid too, and you don’t have the nerve or will to open your eyes and seen if it’s your Dean, or the cheap unicorn knockoff.

“Shit, sweetheart, I need you to talk to me. Sam’s on his way, but we gotta get you out of here-“

“Didn’t touch me.” You whisper, fighting every urge into your body to curl forwards and start sobbing weak and pointless apologies. “I’m okay.”

“You’re okay? You think, fuck-“ Dean’s arm—bigger, warmer, maybe actual Dean—loops around your waist, his voice a little closer to your ear. “Need you to hold onto me, got it? We’re goin’ back to the car, and you gotta, fuck, can you open your damn eyes?”

They fly open, almost on command, and it’s Dean. The smell of whiskey is stronger, more authentic, and his face is sharp in all the right places, and it’s really Dean. 

And he looks pissed. His touch on your body is careful, and his eyes are attentive and sparked with worry, but his jaw is clenched, and his every word is suddenly pushed through his teeth.

“You’re gonna hold onto me.” He orders, holding your wide-eyed gaze with a glower. “I’ll take a better look at you when we get back to the room-“

“Dean, I’m fine-“

“And,” Dean barrels on, as if he didn’t even hear you. “We’re going to have a chat. You’re, I can’t-” he shakes his head scooping you fully into his arms. “Just hold on.”

He sounds pissed. Dean’s rigid and silent the whole ride back to the hotel, his grip white-knuckled and tight on the wheel, and you feel even worse than before. This is it. He had to save you, and he’s going to learn why he had to save you, and he might not kick you out but he won’t look at you the same again. No more ease or awe or comfort or understanding, because Dean’s rotten in places where the mold can be burned away with every good part of him, but you’re just rotten. Just a hideous thing that roars in your chest, just angry and cowardlyand revolting and wrong. You’re just wrong. 

All the panic and paralyzing adrenaline had left your body, so you push yourself out of the Impala on unsteady feet. Dean mutters something about Sam dealing with all the cleanup as he opens to motel room door, watching you shuffle inside with clenched fists and an unreadable expression. You flop onto the bed with a small whine, your body beginning to drown in exhaustion, your gaze locked on the peeling paint of the ceiling as Dean moves around the room out of your view.

“Why’d you come back?” You ask, your voice hoarse and weak, and Dean lets out a long, low exhale from somewhere off to the side.

“You were actin’ really weird.” He grunts. “Didn’t sound like yourself. Weren’t laughing at my jokes, or making fun of Sam. Looked sick every time one of us said stab.”

“I could’ve just been-“

“Don’t.” He snaps, and you crane your neck to see him at the foot of the bed, arms crossed and looking at you. Dean seems to be really looking at you, all of you, and you suddenly really wish he would stop. You’re complete exposed below him, under his glare, and he’s going to see something he hates. Something you don’t have a name for that you’ve never wanted him to see, never wanted him to find. The thing that makes everyone else look away.

But Dean’s attention is like a drug, and you need him to stop before you lose him, but you also never want him to stop watching you. It’s confusing and raw and makes you feel like a live wire, one word or touch or stare away from snapping and bursting into a million sparks.

And Dean’s still looking at you. 

“I didn’t,” you swallow, his eyes like a magnet on yours. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry-“

“Don’t.” He repeats, his voice lower. Harsher. “You’re not injured.”

You shake your head.

“Good. We need to talk.”

“Dean, I-“

“I’m asking the questions.” Dean leers over you slightly, and you nod again. “Why the fuck did that unicorn seem like it was hunting you.”

He knows the answer. His whole face is already painted in anger, and you know he knows. He just wants to hear you say it.

“Because it was hunting me.”

“Unicorns only hunt virgins.” Dean grunts your name, still not looking away. “You’re not-“

“I am.” You mumble, folding your arms over your own body as you drop back down onto the mattress. “Sorry.”

“Why would you say, fuck- Why in goddamn hell wouldn’t you tell me and Sam-“

“Tell you and Sam what?” You scowl at the ceiling. “That I’m untouched? Pure? Boring-“

“That you’d be in danger!” Dean all but roars, and you don’t flinch, but you do cringe. All the mold in your body feels as if it’s spreading like cancer, because Dean would never hurt you with his hands, but he might be about to curb stomp your heart with only his mouth. “I don’t give a shit about the virgin thing, I care that you were so fucking stupid to go off alone, that you didn’t trust me enough-“

“It’s not about trust, Dean,” you sigh, squeezing your eyes shut again. “And it’s not like you tell me everything-“

“I do! I’ve told you about all the shit in my past, and my fear of flying, and Rhonda Hurley, and that weird freaking dream I had with the mice in top hats-“

“That’s not the same!” You’re pushing back up on your palms, raising your voice to match Dean’s. You just need him to stop yelling at you, to rip the band-aid off and finally give up on you so you can rest. “This isn’t your business-“

“It’s my business if it’s gonna get you fucking killed, Sweetheart. And I coulda helped you-“

“Helped me?” You scoff. “I don’t need your help with this, Winchester, I’ve come to terms with it-“

There was a brief moment where Dean had looked like you’d kicked him, but it vanishes in a second as he gapes at you in disbelief. “To terms with virginity?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, holding his suddenly slack expression with your own glare. “Nobody wants me, it’s not a big deal-“ 

Dean snorts. “There’s no damn way you’re that stupid-“ 

“I am not stupid-“ 

“Yeah? Cause you’re a fucking idiot if you think nobody wants you.”

It’s your turn to gape at him. Your heart stumbles slightly in your chest, your fingers curling into bedsheets, and the world begins to spin as you try and understand his words. “What?”

“You,” Dean takes a firm step forward, drawing your name. “Are a fucking idiot if you think that there’s not one damn person on the planet who wants you.” 

“But-“

“Nah. No freakin’ buts.” He’s closer now, his knees bumping yours as he glowers down at you. “I’ve watched too many hair-gelled losers at bars size you up like they wanna take a bite for you to have buts. Hell, I’ve-“ Dean shakes his head, running a hand over his face. “Shit, there’s just, there’s no way-“

Your face twists back into a scowl. “Fuck off, Dean. It doesn’t matter if you believe me-“

“Oh, I believe you, Sweetheart.” Dean’s eyes flash, nostrils flaring as a low groan leaves his chest, rolling through the air and settling between your legs in an aching heat. “And I finally fucking get it. You just, you have no idea. I thought you just didn’t want it, but you’re just- Shit-“

“Dean,” your voice is soft, a little breathless, and can’t help but rub your thighs together as his hands start to flex at his sides. “I don’t know what you’re talking about-“

“I know,” he mutters, scanning over your body with an almost predatory expression. “I’m not, I just gotta,” his gaze flies back to yours, his voice suddenly stern. “Sam tell you how the unicorn choses its form?”

You blink. “Wha-“

“It takes the form that will be most appealing to the target. To help the asshole get attention quickly. That unicorn,” his voice drop, deeper than you’ve ever heard it, and it takes all the will you have to not start fall back into in the sheets. “Looked kinda like me.”

“I, um, I don’t-“

“Do you want me?” Dean grunts your name, and you make the mistake of dropping your gaze down, to his pants. To where an impressive outline is straining against his jeans. 

“I’d, I mean, I’m not-“ You swallow, everything a dizzying haze of Dean. “Yeah, I think, but you’re not-“

“I’m not what?” He growls, kneeling down to your eye level, trailing a slow hand up your thigh. “Not interested?”

 “Yeah?”

“Wrong.” Dean’s hand moves higher, trailing closer and closer to your center before running back down to your knee. “So incredibly wrong, Sweetheart. I’ve wanted you since, fuck, since I first saw ya’. But you didn’t seem to want me, so I backed off, but if you just didn’t-“ He pauses, his brilliant green eyes suddenly tearing into your soul, unraveling you before he’s even touched bare skin. “Do you? Want me?”

“I already said-“

“You said yeah.” He mutters, rubbing his hand is a slow pattern on your knee. “Need you to say the full thing, before I do anything else.”

Dean’s face is suddenly softer, with something that aches and tugs on your own heart shining through his eyes, and you couldn’t lie to him if you tried. You can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to Dean. It feels cruel, and wrong, and as if you’d be denying yourself something so good and rare it will never be replicated if you walk away now. 

“I want you,” you whisper. “I’ve wanted you. But I’m not, it’s not going to be good for you. I mean, I know how to take care of that,” you point to the bulge in his pants, pressed slightly against your calf as he crouches before you, and Dean frowns. “But I’ve never, um, you know-“

“You’re not takin’ care of anything.” He says, scanning over your open face with drawn brows. “We’re doing this, it’s gonna be about you.”

“Oh.” There’s a little drool falling out of your mouth, Dean reaches up to swipe it away with his thumb, and your voice becomes a squeak. “Okay.”

“If you really wanna,” his mouth curves into a smirk, and you need it on yours now. “Next time, I’ll let you go to town on Little Dean.”

You can’t stop the small giggle escaping your lips, and it turns into a full laugh as Dean’s own grin grows, and nothing really feels that bad anymore. “Little Dean?”

“Compared to the rest of me, yeah.” Dean does a loose gesture at his broad, strong body, his grin growing cocky. Hungry. Starved. “But trust me, gorgeous. Ain’t nothing little about him.”

Your eyes widen, your thighs rubbing together as the need for him becomes almost unbearable, and Dean lets out a deep, low chuckle. 

“You want me, babygirl?”

You nod, and Dean’s eyes narrow as he squeezes his hand on your leg. 

“Need you to say it-“

“Yeah.” You whisper. “Yes, please.”

A grin splits over Dean’s handsome face, and his hand drifts to your stomach, his eyes never leaving yours as he drawls your name. “I’m gonna need to get you ready, so just,” he pushes you slightly, and you fall flat on your back, moving your own hands to hold his against you. “Stay there, look pretty, and let me work.”

You nod, your vision already a little blurred with desire as you stare at the ceiling. Dean draws back, shuffling around at the edge of the bed, and you look up to see his shirt gone. It’s all warm, slightly golden and freckled skin, strong and soft in all the right places. His muscles flex as he takes a long, deep breath, and big, calloused hands lowering to trace over your midriff, his eyes never leaving yours.

“What’d I say about stayin’ there-“

“I, um,” you gasp a little as his hand slips under your shirt, bunching the material and starting to slowly pull it over your chest. “I’ve done other stuff. Just so you know. And I’ve done things to myself-“

“I bet you have,” Dean mutters, wrapping an arm around your waist, holding you carefully against him as he helps you out of your clothing. “Shit, Sweetheart, you’re so damn beautiful. Can’t wait to taste you, touch you, fucking ruin you-“

You let out a high, needy moan, burying your face in his neck and mumbling against his skin. “Please, Dean, just-“

You cut yourself off with a gasp as his free hand slips into your pants, cupping your pussy over the fabric of your underwear and rubbing back and forth so torturously slow you might fly out of your skin.

“So wet for me already,” he grunts, tugging on your hair until you lean back, meeting his gaze. “Ready?”

You’re not sure what you need to be ready for, but as long as it’s Dean doing it, you’re good. You nod, wrapping your arm around his neck in silent affirmation, and Dean pulls back to pop open the button of your jeans with a single hand, offering himself easier access.

Two broad fingers toy with the hem of your panties, Dean’s eyes almost glittering as his attention falls to where he’s touching you. Watching your body shiver when he glides his thumb over your clothed slit, your hips jerk when he presses down on your clit, your legs stretch as wide as they can when he starts to rub small circles against you.

“Dean,” you whine, your free hand moving to cup his jaw, trying to move his gaze back to yours. “Please, shit-“

“That feel good, babygirl?” Dean starts to quicken his movements, adding small, teasing flicks and pinches that make your eyes roll back in your head. “You like me teasin’ you? Playin’ this pretty fuckin’ pussy until you’re soaked- Fuck-“

You start to grind on Dean’s hand, trying to chase relief while showing him that he didn’t need to play with or tease you. He has you, unraveled on his fingers and desperate for more of him, all of him, whatever he can offer you that will feel like this-

“Shit, you’re dripping.” Dean’s movement on your clit still as he drags his thumb down, resting right over your aching, already sensitive cunt, and pressing into you just enough to make you whimper. “I gotta taste you, Sweetheart, c’mon.”

His gaze shoots back to yours, something a little animalistic in his low, hoarse voice that almost makes you cum on the spot. “Need you hold on, pretty girl, we’re gonna get you out’a these.”

You nod, letting Dean lay you back down on the mattress, lifting your hips as he drags your jeans off your body, taking your underwear with them. Leaving to totally, completely naked on the bed. Vulnerable, entirely at his mercy, with not another place you’d wish to be in the world.

Dean crawls slightly over you, one of his hands tracing up your stomach, palming at your breasts, then rolling your nipple between two, rough, expert fingers. You gasp, arching slightly off the bed, and a low, deep groan rolls from Dean’s chest.

“Holy fuck, Sweetheart. You’re,” Dean cuts himself off, dropping his mouth to your other breast and latching plump, slightly chapped lips around your nipple. Your vision starts to line with light that might be angels coming to take you away, because this has to be heaven. This is better than heaven. Heaven wouldn’t allow such sinful things as Dean groaning against your skin, his boner pressing into your thigh, or his hand kneading at your ass. Someone shouldn’t be allowed to feel this good. This feels like everything, and blissfully nothing, and mostly just Dean.

You must have moaned his name, because he crashes up, fisting a hand in your hair as he pulls you into a sloppy kiss. All teeth and spit and burning need. Dean tastes like coffee and whiskey and syrup and fruit when he shoves his tongue down your throat, and he smells like gunpowder and leather as his weight hold you easily down, and his lips are so soft but so demanding as he practically devours you, and you’re high. He’s not even inside you yet and you’ll never have enough. This isn’t more than what you’ve done before, but Dean’s ruined you with just teasing touches and wet, starved kisses, and you’re starting to worry you might ascend when he actually fucks you.

He starts to kiss and suck a line over your jaw, down your neck, and between your breasts. It’s heavy and wanting, but still so carefully coordinated. Every move Dean makes seems to be calculated, because he nips at your collarbone right as he tugs on your hair, and the sound that leaves you is high and undignified and exactly what he wanted. His chuckle rumbles in his chest—now pressed against your stomach—and all you can do is moan as he continues his perfect torture. Licking one nipple as he pinches the other, dragging two fingers through your folds as he kisses down the plane of your stomach, stopping right at the apex of your thighs with glittering eyes and firm hands, slowly guiding your legs open.

“Shit.” He mutters, warm breath right over your pussy, making your hips jerk slightly. “Goddamn, baby, you’re responsive.“ A wide, smug grin overtakes Dean’s face as he pushes one finger into your pussy, and you squeak. “I’ve been waiting for this.” He growls your name, and starts to pump that finger in and out, the pace so slow and almost painfully good. “God, you have fucking idea how long- How bad-“ Dean groans as you squeeze around him, and adds another finger. “You’re making such pretty sounds, babygirl, better than I ever imagined. Shit, you’re sexier than a fucking dream.”

His eyes drift back to yours, and shiver goes up your spine from how Dean’s looking at you. Really looking at you. Watching your writhe in the sheets and plead for him in weak gasps, watching you at your most vulnerable state, and grinning like he loves what he sees. Like he’s never seen anything better.

“Dean,” you gasp as his fingers pick up speed, starting to scissor inside your dripping cunt, bumping against a tender spot inside of you that seems to sing under his touch. “Oh my god, Dean, please-“

“Such pretty sounds,” Dean grins at you, crooking his fingers against that same spot to rub. “Let’s see if we can make some more.”

Without further warning Dean drops back down, latches his lips onto your clit, and sucks it right into his mouth like candy. It’s almost immediate, how he pulls you from warm pleasure to raw, almost feral desperation. You’re right on the edge, grinding on his face as his stubble burns your inner thighs in the best was possible, his tongue flicking over that pulsing bundle of nerves, his fingers reaching a demanding and brutal pace-

“Fuck, I’m-“ You let out a loud moan as Dean growls against you, pulling at his short, soft hair to try and both move him away as you dangle over the drop, and urge him on to let him catch you when you fall. “Close, Dean, I’m close, please-“

He pulls away, and you almost scream from the loss. You even force yourself up to glare at him, but you’ve barely gotten a steady balance when a high, needy breath escapes you at the sight of him. 

Dean’s towering over you, his pants discarded into another corners of the room, stroking his massive, fully-erect cock in one hand as he scans over your sweaty, flushed body. 

“I wanna fuck you dumb, babygirl.” He grunts, and you can’t really hear him your own Dean-addled brain, so you just gape and moan, and he chuckles. “Shit, looks like we’re already halfway there. You got any words for me-“

“Dean, please.” The words start to fall out of your mouth with the slight drool on your chin, almost as if he’d commanded them. “Please, I need you, need you so bad-“

You spread your legs in offering, and Dean groans. “Fuck, Sweetheart, you can’t just-“ He closes his eyes, running a hand over his face, and there’s a moment before he speaks again where you worry you’ve ruined it. That you’d shown too much, or Dean saw too much, but no matter what this is over before you can even get that huge, glorious cock inside of you- 

“I’m sorry-“

Dean frowns, his brow drawn as he looks down at you. “What the hell are you sorry for.”

“I dunno, I’m just not-“ You swallow. “I’m not good at this, I don’t know what to say-“

He grunts your name, prowling over your body under your trapped between his strong body and the bed, unable to escape his intense, searing gaze. Looking at you, examining you, and not flinching or moving away. “You,” he says, tracing one gentle hand over your cheekbones. “Are fuckin’ amazing at this.” 

You can only gape at him, so he keeps going.

“I’m the one that might fuck this up, Sweetheart. You’re so,” he makes a loose gesture to your body, and you really wish he’d use words, but the look of sheer awe in his eyes will be enough for now. “And I get to do this for you, and I’m not trying to blow my load before you even cum once.”

“I almost came.” You offer him a small smile, your fingers tracing over the sharp line of his jaw. “But you stopped me.”

He lets out a dry chuckle. “Yeah, well, I’m plannin’ to make that up to you. If you still-“

“I want it.” You cut him off quickly, rolling your hips up, right against his cock. “Please, Dean, I really want it.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, dropping a little further down. “Are you-“

“I’m sure.” You guide Dean’s lips back to yours in a soft, almost sweet kiss, and say the words you really hope will snap whatever leash he’s put on himself. “I want you.”

It works. Something flashes in Dean’s eyes, and his hand snakes between your bodies, finding your clit and rolling it in slow circles as he growls in your ear.

“Wanna feel you, babygirl. Fuck you raw. I’m clean, but if you want me to grab a rubber you’re gonna need to keep yourself going while I-“

“No!” You almost yelp, wrapping your arms around him in a desperate attempt to keep him above you. “I mean, I’m clean too, obviously, and I take birth control just for like, lady stuff-“

Dean raises his brows at you. “Lady stuff?”

“It kinda helps with period cramps and-“ You cut yourself off with a moan as Dean flicks your clit, tossing your head back you start to squirm, trying to catch him into you. “Fuck, Dean, please just fuck me-“

“You mean like this?” Dean guides the head of his cock inside you, and your mouth falls open in a silent scream. “Fuck ya’ like this, baby?”

You grind on him, scratching at his back as you plead. “Shit, that’s, Dean that’s good, more-“

“More, baby? You need more already?” His grin is shit-eating, and you’d hit him if the dark look of lust in his eyes, the baritone of his voice being several octaves lower than you’ve ever heard it, and the throbbing ache of him starting to split you open wasn’t rending your limbs only putty in his arms.

“Dean, please-“

You might stop breathing as Dean guides himself fully into you, settling his face in your neck as he bottoms out. There’s a long moment where it’s only Dean’s warmth over and inside you as he gives you time to adjust, groaning against your skin as you squeeze around him.

“Shit, Sweetheart, you’re so tight.” He kisses right behind your ear. “Feel, fuck, feel so good around my cock, so fuckin’ good-“ He emphasizes his words with one, short thrust that pushes him right against that one spot and makes you whine. “You ready, baby? Ready for me to pound this tight little pussy until you cum all over my cock-“

You almost yank him back down into a desperate, borderline feral kiss, because if he kept talking you might have cum from just the sound of his low, rough voice growling in your ear and rumbling in your chest.

Dean takes a long, ragged breath when he pulls away, and you roll your hips only once. Just enough for him to groans and fall back over you, kissing and sucking on your skin like he thinks you’ll vanish if he doesn’t mark you with his touch. 

Then he starts to move, and you were right. This is heaven. Dean’s moving so slow, pulling almost all the way out before driving back inside, until you’re fully impaled on him—his cock pressed fully against that one spot, making your whole body feel warm and alight, and your head feel a little dizzy—then repeating the movement again. And again. Over and over, so fucking slow, still leaving softer, slightly uneven kisses along your collarbone and grunts against your skin but-

“Dean,” you gasp his name, your nails digging into the muscles of his broad back as he continues to move on you. “Fuck, Dean, go faster, please-“

He rises up to meet your eyes, an unreadable expression on his face that’s made entirely hunger and want, but edged with something a little stronger you don’t understand. “You sure-“

“Yes.” You’re practically whining, scratching at Dean’s skin as you squirm under him, desperate him to really, properly fuck you. “Please, Dean, feels so good, need more, need you-“

He shakes his head slightly. “Don’t wanna hurt you-“

“Not gonna-” you let out a breathy moan as Dean pushes back into you, the movement a little harsher than before, and so fucking good. “You won’t hurt me, please, Dean, fuck-“

“I’m-“

“You said,” you force your eyes to stay on Dean’s, even as he sits deep into you, cock throbbing against that soft spot and making you see stars. “You said you wanted to fuck me, Dean.” You raise your chin, grinding up into his torso until his throat bobs. “Fuck me.”

A low, primal noise leaves Dean’s mouth, and he fully snaps. You might have screamed his name when he began to move again—ramming into you at an unforgiving pace, creaking the bed and bruising your hips as he grabbed at your skin, molding you perfectly into his touch and body—but he swallows the noise with a deep kiss that makes your eyes go unfocused, your whole body slack and only for Dean to play with as he drags you higher. Slamming against that spot, balls slapping onto your ass, one free hand squeezing at your tits before dragging down your side and finding your clit-

“So fucking good, babygirl.” Dean groans into your mouth, and you think you might be floating or falling or flying, but it doesn’t matter because Dean grunting in your east and slamming into your dripping cunt, and that’s the whole world. “Look so good, all ruined and whiny, such a good fucking girl, taking this cock so well, made to be fucked so fucking pretty-“ He pinches your clit, and you whimper his name. “Wanna cum, baby? Wanna fucking soak this cock-“

“Yes,” you gasp, scratching at his back, muscles rippling as he drills into you. Something in you hopes it leaves a mark. That Dean feels you on his back a little forever, just like you know you’re going to feel him in your pussy and on your neck for the rest of your life. “Feels so good, Dean, feels so fucking good, wanna cum so bad-“

“Beg-“

Dean barely grunts your name before you bite on his upper lip, almost screaming into his mouth. “Please, Dean, please, need to cum, wanna cum so bad-“

“Shit, baby, you’re-“ Dean groans, his pace becoming uneven and thrusts slightly staggered, cock twitching deep inside you as he ruts into your aching, clenching pussy-

Dean flicks your clit once, sending your hips almost flying off the bed, and starts to rub you at a frantic, savage pace. 

“Cum with me.” He growls your name, lips ghosting over yours and you stare at him under, cockdrunk, lidded eyes. “C’mon, baby, cum-“

Your scream is hoarse as your orgasm slams into you like a freight train—pure, drug-like bliss washing over your whole body, a soft haze of Dean settling behind your eyes and over your skin—and Dean roars as he slams open, warmth coating inside you and dripping between your thighs, down your ass, and onto the bed.

Dean rolls over, taking you with him, and remains carefully sheathed inside you as your cunt grows sensitive and your breathing slows back down. It helps that he keeps your ear pressed to his bare chest, where you can hear his heart beating. Calm and steady and strong, just as certain and constant as the man it’s inside. 

As the man had been.

You’re not sure what he’s going to be now.

“That, ah,” Dean breaks the silence, his voice low and almost soft. “That do it?”

You smile against him. “If you mean take my virginity, then yeah, I think you did it-“

“No, I mean was it,” He groans, his arm shifting slightly around as his voice drops. “Was it good. For you.”

“Oh.” You nod slowly, trying not to hum like a needy fucking when Dean starts to run his fingers through your hair. “Yeah. Really good.” You stifle a moan as he twitches inside you. “It was awesome. Good, uh, good job?”

“Thanks, Sweetheart.” You can hear to smug grin in his voice, his free hand starting to rub soothingly on your back. “You were pretty fucking awesome yourself.”

There it is. You were pretty awesome. And he’s still inside you. And you need to know if you were awesome enough for something, anything to stick.

“You said, um,” you swallow, staring at his tattoo because you can’t bear to look at his face right now. “You said I could give you a blowjob next time. Did-“ 

“Did I mean it?” 

You nod nervously, and Dean’s whole chest rumbles with his low laugh, rolling right through your body. He grunts your name, and—when you still don’t look at him—hooks a finger under your chin to guide your gaze to his. 

“Look.” He sighs, and this is it. He did you a favor, and that’s it. He won’t stay, nobody stays, why would Dean Winchester be the one to stay- 

“I get it,” you mumble, and wish you would find the will to make your body roll away from his. “You don’t need to explain-“ 

Dean’s grip on you remains firm, and his voice is a deep, amused drawl. It feels a little cruel in your gut, because you’d have really liked more. More would have been the best. You didn’t even need all of Dean, you’d just have really like more. 

“You get it.” He raises his brows, and you nod again. “Sweetheart, you might want to actually hear the explainin’ part before you say anything.”

“I, um-“

“See, I’m a firm believer that all ladies should ride more than one dick in life. Too much of a good thing, ya know?” He winks at you, thrusting slightly up into you, and you flush. “But, if you’re taking applicants for long-term dicks, I’d have to be dumb not to apply. I’m never gonna complain if I get you all to myself.”

You stare at him, your voice barely a whisper. “So, um, you mean-“

“If you’ll have me,” he mutters. “I’ll take you up on that blowjob offer soon. And any other offers you’ve got.”

“Offers,” you swallow. “For long-term dicks?”

He shrugs—tracing a finger over your arm and refusing to meet your eyes—and it might be your turn to make the move. 

“Dean.” You whisper, crawling up his chest just enough for his eyes to easily find yours. “I’d really like you being my long-term dick.”

He frowns. “Sounds stupid when you say it like that-“

You drop down to press a soft, tentative kiss against his lips, and he tenses for only a second before overtaking you. Deepening the kiss with his tongue pushing on your lower lip, groaning when you open for him without a moment’s hesitation, pinning you onto his chest with big, strong arms as you fall fully into him.

Dean pulls back for only a second, searching over your open expression—all affection and need for him, swollen lips and shallow breaths—until he finds what he’s looking for, and his face splits into a wide grin. 

“If you’re lettin’ me,” he says, tucking a little bit of hair behind your ears. “I think I’ll stay your long-term dick for while, Sweetheart.”

“I’m letting you.” You whisper, a small smile pulling on your own lips. “But we need to come up with a better name than long-term dick.”

“Boyfriend?”

You stare at him for a second, unsure if this is real, because Dean just said that word like it was obvious. Not something he’s adamantly refused to be for anyone, ever, for the entire time you’ve known him. He said it like he was waiting to say it. And, looking at him—unfamiliar hope haunting the very deepest part of those perfect eyes, his grin so genuine but filled with nerves—you think he might have been. And all the money and glory and pleasure in the world couldn’t make you tell him no.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Boyfriend’s good.” 

Dean’s grin becomes almost boyish, and this last kiss is sweet. It’s a kiss in the rain, or under bleachers, or on a rooftop with nothing but time and peace around you.

And you and Dean have never had either of those things. 

But you’d really like to and find them. And if it’s with Dean, you really think you could.

End Note: Look at Dean. Being Emotional. I'm so proud of him (I made him do that)

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Taglist

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature

[tsukii0002]

Imagine the contrast of the coexistence between Mc and Solomon, a human who did not know that magic was real until relatively recently and another human who has lived for centuries and who uses magic as if it were breathing.

Imagine that little things at home where Solomon is always willing to use magic to solve it, while Mc always beats him to it in the most common and least magical way possible.

But above all imagine, Solomon's frustration, how can his magic be rendered useless in such a way? And if he has no magic, what can he bring to that home?

Solomon: Remember that blanket I told you had a hole in it, I think it's time to mend it *opening one of his books*

Mc: I've already mended it, with a few stitches it's as good as new.

Solomon: Oh…

Solomon: Mc, what was the table that was broken?

Mc: Oh, don't worry, I fixed it.

Solomon: Really? What spell did you use?

Mc: Ha, ha, Solomon, you don't need magic to wedge a table.

Solomon: Mc!! With this spell we will solve our rat problem!

Mc: *smiling* I've already taken care of that, no for nothing Barbatos is so happy with me.

Solomon: That's how you earn your premium tea leaves?

Solomon: Please tell me you didn't fix the shelf that was sagging *with a book under his arm*

Mc: *eating a muffin* Oops.

Solomon: Mc, I told you I'd fix it *pointing at the. with the book*

Mc: Solomon, it was tightening two screws, it's going to take you longer to look up such a mundane spell than to fix it manually.

.

Solomon: Mc… you're a sorceress, you should use magic more!

Mc: *funny* And you should use magic less!!! You're still a human, old man. By the way, remember those yellow spots on the tablecloth that bothered you so much?

Solomon: Yeah?

Mc: Well, I've already made them disappear and without magic.

Solomon: How????

Solomon is sitting, somewhat annoyed, on one of the balconies

Mc: Hey…

Solomon: …

Mc: Are you upset?

Solomon: … No.

Mc: *sighing as they stands next to him* Let's talk, tell me, why does it bother you so much that I solve things without magic?

Solomon: I'm not upset, we don't need to talk at all.

Mc: You know that communication is part of living together right? We are two people with different ways of living, if we don't talk how are we going to have a good cohabitation?

Solomon: … With the brothers you never had that problem.

Mc: Sure I have, maybe not with these things because Lucifer encourages certain stuff to be done manually, but we had to set a lot of guidelines when I started living with them.

Solomon: ...

Solomon: *sighing* I'm not upset… it's just that I'm used to doing everything with magic, even the smallest things, it's easier, faster.

Mc: Well, sometimes yes, but sometimes it's easier to do it without magic, and in my case I'm used to not use magic.

Solomon: *looking at them* I know, but there are things I can't do without magic.

Mc: But that's what I'm for, isn't it?

Solomon: *doubting* Then' what do I bring to our cohabitation?

Mc: *realizing*

Solomon: You cook, you do a lot of chores because you are faster, and you take care of a lot of things that allow you to have a routine… I feel that instead of living together, I am a guest...

Mc: Solomon...

Solomon: And if I can't even use my magic, Am I useless? without my magic I…

The two are silent for a moment

Mc: I'm sorry, I've minimized how you feel… and I've done things my way without taking you into account.

Solomon: Ha, ha, don't worry, *now kind of sad* It's not that big of a deal.

Mc: No, I told you, communication is part of living together and you should tell me what bothers you.

Solomon: *looking at them*

Mc: We can try to find a middle ground.

Solomon: How?

Mc: *thoughtful* Well, the day to day things we can do manually and the things that are very difficult or tedious we can use magic?

Solomon: *considering it seriously'* You could also teach me how to do tasks without magic, like how to wedge a table… and I could teach you spells that I usually use, like the one that sweeps the house by itself.

Mc: *smiling* We can also make a schedule so we don't step on each other's to-dos.

Solomon: *smiling too* And create a chat room exclusively for house stuff where we can let each other know if we're going to do something.

Mc: That sounds like a great idea Solomon.

Solomon: *more lively* And I'd also like to do certain chores together, like laundry or cooking.

Mc: … *feeling bad at Solomon's happy face* Yes… we can do that too.

.

.

This turned out to be longer than I thought, and what started as something funny has turned into a drama😅. I'm not going to lie to you, I love domestic dramas, day to day problems… so this post has turned into that because Solomon is used to live in a very different way than Mc, and living together for the first time is always complicated and habits are hard to change, and co-living is not always so great. Give me domestic situations between Mc and the rest of the cast please!!!! 🥺🥺

Anyway, if you've made it this far, thank you very much for reading🩷

.

.

[atlabeth]

too sweet

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: a night out makes hotch realize a few too many things.

a/n: me??? writing for criminal minds again out of nowhere??? what is going on. and i do not have an answer i was just in a hotch mood bc he's fine asf and i finally have the confidence to write for him here we are lol. hope u enjoy this short lil thing

wc: 2.4k

warning(s): alcohol consumption, a sexual joke or two, written in one go so might be a mess! aaron is all in his head but this is basically all fluff

Hotch can’t focus. 

Mostly because he can’t stop glancing over at you. Normally it’s not a problem—he’d lost count of how many times he’d distracted himself from mounds of paperwork by meeting your eyes through his office window, often accompanied by a smile that made even his heart beat a little faster—and especially now, it shouldn’t be a problem. 

You and Derek have had some kind of bet going on during the past few nights out—you didn’t believe he was as charming and suave as he claimed, and Morgan was all too happy to prove you wrong.

You bet that he couldn’t get at least five numbers every night, and come last Thursday, Morgan took the win at the end of the evening with a smile on his face. As punishment, the first round of their next night out was on you. 

And that’s nice, sure. Hotch is always thankful that his team can still joke around and have fun with each other despite everything they have to deal with each day. He hopes they keep the light in their eyes as long as possible, especially the younger ones. He’s fine with being the stick in the mud, the one who never smiles, the iron willed chief that scares local uniforms.

Hotch is not so fine with the way he feels right now. 

It’s a busy night at the bar, which is understandable. Hotch is sure half the precinct is out alongside them, celebrating the BAU finally solving the case that had torn them to shreds over the past week. You, Reid, and Garcia put the threads together an hour into scouring through evidence, and the unsub was cuffed before noon. 

Certainly something to celebrate—there’s a reason the whole team agreed to go out tonight and leave tomorrow. Even Rossi decided to join when he learned you would be buying, but he’s already abandoned them in favor of catching up with some old friends. Hotch even thinks they might have another round in their future because of their solve, courtesy of the local chief. They had a long night ahead of them. 

But you haven’t gotten the drinks yet, and Hotch wonders how long it’ll take even after you do. Because some officer is trying to talk you up, and you’re smiling and laughing along and giving him every bit of your attention. 

Hotch recognized him the moment he set eyes upon him, even in plain clothes. He’s some joke of an officer from the station, and he’s been trying to get your number—or even just get your attention—throughout their whole visit. Always sidling up to you during debriefs, specifically giving you any information or evidence he finds—Hotch has overheard him asking for your number more than once. 

Hotch has been so focused on the case he’s not even sure if you’ve rejected him or not, and the mere thought is enough to annoy him. If he wasn’t equally as sure of your ability to defend yourself and afraid of overstepping with you, he would have stepped in. 

But it makes sense. The officer is young and handsome, you’re young and pretty—not to mention you have a way of lighting up any room you step into. Hotch spent the whole first month of your employment wondering why you would want to do a job like this. He’s spent the rest of it thankful that you did. 

You’re sharp as a whip, naturally, but you’ve also done wonders for the team atmosphere. It’s hard to feel down with a smile like yours beaming his way. The job weighs you down like it does everyone, but you still manage to lift everyone’s spirits on the jet ride back before they jump into the next case. It’s impressive. 

It’s also trouble. You’ve been part of the BAU for almost two years now, and Hotch has spent just as much time tearing his eyes away from you as he has working. It’s wrong, and it’s wholly inappropriate in terms of your working relationship—he’s your boss, for god’s sake. 

But sometimes, Hotch will be beating himself up over one thing or another on a case, and you’ll plant yourself in his vicinity and refuse to leave until you’ve helped him work through it. If you ever tire of the FBI, he thinks you have a second calling as an elementary school teacher. 

Sometimes the hotel they’re staying at will have truly shitty coffee, worse than they’re used to at the BAU, and you’ll already be in the lobby with a tray full of the team’s orders. Hotch never recalls telling you his order—you just figured it out, and you remembered it. 

Sometimes his gaze will drift your way, and he’ll find you already staring at him. You look away just as quickly as he does, and it makes him wonder. 

Hotch has made a living off of studying the behavior of others. More often than not, he finds himself profiling his co-workers just out of instinct. His job is to know what others are thinking. 

But god. When it comes to you, Hotch doesn’t think he’s ever felt more unsure in his life. Especially when you look at him the same way he wants to for weeks, then act nothing but proper another day; when you fall asleep against his shoulder on the jet one night and entertain some desk jockey another night. 

It makes him feel like a highschooler again, trying to figure out if Haley really liked him or if she was just playing around, and it’s more embarrassing than it should be. Especially when he’s still dealing with the lingering emotions from the divorce. 

“Hotch.” JJ’s voice is enough to break him out of his trance, and he blinks as he turns to her. At least someone paid him the mercy to dispel his thoughts, even if only for a temporary time. 

“What?” 

“Did you hear a single word I said?” she asks, a slight smile curving on her lips. 

“Of course,” he responds. “The chief’s over there talking with the commissioner. He’s the same guy who made your life difficult the last time we were in Milwaukee.” 

JJ’s eyebrows shoot up, and she nods. “I didn’t think you were listening.” 

“I think he just got lucky,” Morgan cuts in, his gaze darting over to you momentarily. “I think you were too focused on our drinks.” 

Reid frowns. “I don’t think he was focused on the drinks. He’s—” 

“Just making sure they’re still coming,” Hotch interrupts, and he straightens his tie. Today really has been a long one—usually, he’s better at covering these things up. “And I wasn’t lucky. I was listening.” 

“Trust me,” Morgan says with a laugh, “I’m watchin’ her until I’ve got a glass in my hand. She’s not getting out of this after the way she bragged this whole month.” 

“The stupidest thing to make a bet on,” Prentiss remarks, “especially with you.” 

“She said she just wanted to prove you wrong,” Reid contributes. “She thinks you’re too cocky.” 

Morgan grins. “It’s not cocky if you can back it up.” 

Hotch’s attention goes back to you, and you’ve finally gotten their drinks. You’re loading them onto a tray like you’re the bartender yourself, and his brows crease. Maybe he should have gone up with you. 

“Do you think she needs help?” he asks. How obvious is too obvious? Why does it feel like his brain only works at half power whenever it comes to you? 

“She’ll be fine,” Prentiss says. “And if she needs it, that guy talking her up can help.” 

“Jason Rodriguez,” Reid remarks. “He hung around her the whole time we were trying to pinpoint a location, and he wasn’t any help, which makes sense because he's practically desk-bound at the precinct. I’m surprised she got any work done.” 

JJ chuckles. “I’m surprised he hasn’t given up yet. He’s been following her around all week, like some lost puppy.” 

Morgan shrugs. “I dunno. She seems pretty into him.” 

“I don’t think ex-frat boys are her type,” Prentiss says wryly. Hotch doesn’t think so either, but he doesn’t say anything. Contributing to this kind of conversation is certainly too obvious.  

“I doubt we’ll be back here for a while. She might as well.” Morgan smiled. “She probably needs a win after such an embarrassing loss.” 

Thankfully, before Hotch has to keep pretending not to care about this topic, you walk over carrying a tray of cocktails—and you’re alone. The subject of their previous conversation seems lost in the crowd, and he feels a dangerous amount of relief. 

“Are you all talking about me?” you drawl. 

“You know we are, sweetheart. Thought you were never gonna get here.” Morgan sits up, smiling at you. “What’d my win get us?” 

“Long Island Iced Teas,” you muse as you set the tray down. “Enjoy it, because I’m gonna be working some overtime to make up for all these.” 

Morgan grins as he takes his drink. “You should’ve never doubted my skills.” 

“I’m surprised you didn’t need any help,” Prentiss says. “You’ve done this before, huh?” 

“Bartended my way through college.” You slide into the booth next to Hotch, just a bit too close for a bit too long, and he hopes that no one can see his chest still for a moment. It’s impressive that he still hasn’t figured out how to lessen the effect you have on him. “I’ve probably got better hands than you, Morgan.” 

“Do we need to make another bet?” he asks. “Because I’d love to clean out your wallet.” 

“Maybe wait another month before you prey on any more poor, defenseless agents,” you croon, and Morgan laughs. 

He pivots the conversation away from you when you pick up your drink and take a sip, and you look at Hotch. Whenever your gaze is on him, you make him feel like he’s the only person in the room. He’s sure you never look at anyone else that way, but Hotch wonders how much of that is his mind trying to justify his imagination. 

“I’m surprised you agreed with this,” you say, mercifully interrupting his thoughts. “I thought you’d want us to go back tonight.” 

“You all earned a night out after the work you did,” Hotch says. He thinks about taking a drink, but he decides against it, at least for now. He can barely trust his sober mind. 

“You’ve earned it too,” you say. “We wouldn’t be anywhere without you, Hotch. You keep us all together.” 

He shakes his head. “I don’t think I ever would’ve connected the dots like you and Reid can with Garcia. I hate unsubs with secret codes.” 

“I’ve always liked puzzles,” you muse. “There’s nothin’ like it when it all finally clicks.” 

Hotch hums, and for a moment, he’s silent. Your gaze remains fully on him, and that might be why he has trouble thinking. It’s too easy to get lost in your eyes. 

“What did that guy say?” Hotch finally manages to ask, because he honestly can’t help it. Morgan’s points actually worried him a bit, and he wonders what that says about him. Ex-frat boy certainly isn’t your type, but someone forgettable for a one night stand isn’t the most absurd thing in the world. 

Your brows knit together as you drink some more. “What guy?”

“The officer you were talking with,” he says. “He seemed to like you.” 

He’d been flirting with you since the moment you stepped into the precinct, actually, desperate for your attention, but Hotch didn’t really want to say that. He’s sure you noticed either way, if the rest of the team did. 

“Oh. Him.” You shrug. “He’s nice, I guess. Definitely a looker. But he’s got nothing beneath that hair.” 

“Morgan’s surprised you didn’t bring him back,” Hotch says. He wonders if he’s pushing too much, and again, he feels like a highschooler testing the waters. Do you know what you do to him? What you reduce him to? 

You shrug as you take a sip. “If he knows what’s good for him, he knows he doesn’t have a chance. My attention’s on someone else.” 

Prentiss calls your name and you get drawn back into the middle of the team’s conversation, and thankfully, Hotch has a chance to digest your words—and the stunner of a smile you flash at him before you get pulled into their talk. 

His decision to not drink seems even wiser, now. Hotch has to loosen his tie, and he ignores Reid watching him. It’s futile trying to hide anything from Spencer Reid—the kid already knows everything. 

Again, it's dangerous how much satisfaction he gets from it—from knowing you never really paid that officer a second thought. You didn’t smile at him the way you smile at Hotch. You don’t smile at anyone the way you smile at Hotch. He thought he was imagining it at first, or that he was just a bit too stuck up, but it was the honest truth. You paid him special attention, and he couldn’t blame the warmth in his chest from the thought on any alcohol. 

He tunes back into the conversation just to hear Morgan demand you pay for his next drink. 

“You’re lucky I’m feeling generous,” you say. 

He puts a hand to his chest. “Generous? You’re just paying what you owe me.” 

You laugh and shake your head. “Pick your poison, pretty boy.” 

“How do you feel about tequila?” 

You make a noise of disgust and shake your head. “As long as I don’t have to drink it.” 

“You’re just paying, sweetheart.” Morgan’s eyes dart to Hotch, and he nods as he grins. “One for me and our fearless leader.” 

Hotch shakes his head. “Someone has to get us back to the hotel.” 

“That’s what cabs are for!” Prentiss exclaims. “Don’t be such a stick in the mud, Hotchner. You deserve to let a little loose.” 

“It takes most people an hour to process a drink,” Reid contributes, “so you’ll be fine before we leave if you want to drive.” 

“Come on, Hotch,” you say, and you nudge his shoulder. “You might as well—I’m paying.” 

“...Fine,” he says, and the whole team cheers. Even Reid smiles. 

“Y’know, you can smile tonight, Hotch,” you say with one of your own before you down the rest of your drink and stand up.

And one actually tugs at his lips. It feels a lot hotter in this bar with your eyes sparkling and you beaming right at him, and he fights the need to shed his jacket. Your grin somehow grows. 

“That’s what I came out to see,” you remark as you pick your wallet back up from the table. “I expect another when I get back, Hotch. There’s a lot to celebrate tonight.” 

Yeah, he thinks as he watches you go. There just might be. 

[panic-at-the-fiction]

A problem to work with

Summary: Bucky Barnes is a problem to work with. He’s annoying, snarky, hot headed and you don’t get along. And this has absolutely nothing to do with your thoughts about how big his arms are, or how hot he is when he’s mad. No this is only about how difficultly annoying he is.

Warning: Tension, banter, eventual smut.

A/N: don’t we all still enjoy pretending it’s 2012 and all the avengers are happily alive and working and living together in the tower. Like I miss that! Let’s put Clint back in the vent and go back to the good old days.

There was a lot of things you loved about your job, ok well maybe there was a few things, but certainly, Bucky Barnes was not one of them.

“Wow, that’s a good look on your doll.” He smiled as you walked down the stairs of the hotel into the Lobby where he stood waiting for you.

“Well I have got to say Barnes, you clean up surprisingly well for a man of your age.”

He scoffed, “It’s called having some class, they don’t teach it anymore.”

Now one might assume with banter so playful the two of you might have something going on, but you don’t. This was just a mission, you were just playing the part, not to be mistaken for anything real between the two of you.

In fact, just a week ago the two of you couldn’t stand each other, it was Tony’s idea to set you two up in such a long close quarters mission.

“You have to be kidding me Tony, you know how annoying Barnes is. We’ll tear each other's heads off before we even make it to the gala.”

Steve shook his head. “Yeah even I have to protest this Tony, I mean (y/n) and Buck in the field, no backup? Couldn’t we partner them with someone else?”

“We can’t rearrange all of our mission plans so that these two don’t have to interact with each other. You both are grown ass adults, suck it up and play nice.” He said with finality before leaving the room. Steve sighed and joined him out in the hallway.

You crossed your arms and looked over at Bucky as he reclined in his seat. “You’re awfully quiet.”

“Thought I was annoying.”

“You are that's why I thought you would have something to say on the subject.”

He shook his head and clenched his jaw, and you felt your heart drop, damn him. “Tony’s right, we’re adults. You just gotta stop acting like a brat so we can work together.”

“Oh please, if this is anyone's problem to solve it’s yours. You’re the one who’s going to actually have to trust me on this mission if we’re to get anything done.”

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Yeah, I’ll trust you, you play nice, I'll do the same. One week, let’s play professionals.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

And you both had played nice ever since. He greeted you with a smile when he picked you up the next morning, carried your bag into the hotel, he even started the mission by letting you run point. Of course, it felt like a trick at first but once you realized he was being serious you returned the favor, bought coffee for the two of you as you staked out the location of the gala, let him do all the talking with the host you gathered information from, and made the two of your dinner the night before the big event. That night felt the most real, things shifted.

You set down a plate of food and a cheap bear in front of Bucky as he poured over the blueprints on the table in your shared hotel room. “So the two guards will be posted by each door in uniform, but two guards in disguise as waiters will be standing by these two entrances.”

“Barnes, I know, we’ve gone over the plan three times tonight, we know the layout backwards and forwards. You can take a break.”

He sighed heavily as he rubbed at the tightness in his shoulders. You stared, watching his arms flex with the movement, the expression on his face altering the chemicals of your brain.

“Thanks (y/n),” he said, taking the plate you had set in front of him.

You shook yourself out of your thoughts, reminding yourself what was important here. “Anytime Barnes.”

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Call me Barnes, what are you, my sergeant?” He laughed playfully. You hadn’t ever heard him laugh like that, his usual attitude toward you didn’t allow for that type of light heartiness.

“Oh, because you just love when I bark orders at you.” You laughed while taking a sip of your drink.

“Who says I don't?” He gave you that 1940s smile you just know won so many girls over back in the day.

You tried not to choke as you looked away from him, hiding the heat that crawled up your neck. “Well, I guess I just figured Bucky was reserved for your friends, like Steve and Sam.”

“Are we not friends?”

You studied him, you couldn’t tell if he was being serious. “Are we?”

He leaned back in his chair, “do you want to be?”

“Do you?”

The room filled with silence as you both settled without an answer. Neither of you had an answer.

No, you would rather not be his friend, you didn’t think you could handle any more nice things coming from him. His smile made your stomach flip, and his proximity made your hair stand up, it was killing you the amount of alone time you were getting with him. But even worse the idea of it all being gone in 24 hrs and things going back to how they were made your chest hurt.

“I think I’m going to go to bed now, big day tomorrow.” You said excusing yourself from the table.

“Yeah” He sighed, taking a sip of his drink.

You paused at the door to your room before turning back for just a second. “Goodnight Bucky, get some sleep.” You smiled softly as you left him.

You didn’t run into Bucky much the next morning. He left a note saying he needed to double-check some things before getting ready for the gala tonight, but he promised to meet you in the lobby on time.

That leads you to now, standing in front of the mirror looking at the damn dress. Your heart pounded in your chest, you had forgotten about the dress. Originally intended for one of Tony’s galas that was canceled, you had never had a chance to wear this one. You had been excited to bring it along for the gala, but now it taunted you. It taunted you with its silkiness, its low cut, its backlessness.

All you could think was, would Bucky like it? It made you sick with nerves. This was not relevant. There was a high-profile target at tonight's gala, there were a weeks worth of snooping, and stake outs, and gathering information, months of research and tracking at stake here, but you were thinking of his hands on your back in that stupid dress if you were lucky enough to find an excuse to dance tonight.

You shut the thoughts out of your head and did your best to cool yourself down with some water to get your mind out of the gutter. This was just the two of you playing nice, being professional, this man despised you outside the walls of this hotel, outside of this mission.

You mentally slapped yourself as you got in the elevator heading down to the lobby, preparing yourself as you walked down the hotel's grand staircase.

You met Bucky's gaze from where he stood waiting for you at the bottom of the staircase. Damn he looked good. You could feel his eyes on you, every warning thought about the consequences of getting carried away leaving your brain. Was it getting hotter in here?

“Wow, that’s a good look on you doll.” He smiled playfully.

DAMN.

You laughed, shaking your head, “Well I have got to say Barnes, you clean up surprisingly well for a man of your age.”

He scoffed, “It’s called having some class, they don’t teach it anymore.” He offered you his arm as he walked you out to the car. “And besides what did I say about calling me Barnes. We’re not here for you to bark orders at me anymore, we’re here to play civil.”

You smirked as he opened your door for you. “Is that what you said? All I heard was that you like it when I boss you around.” You could hear him choke a little bit as he shut the passenger door before getting in on the drivers side.

“Now remember, we’re Mr. & Mrs. Laker, the rich real estate investors who just moved here from LA. We’ve been married 8 years now.” He said switching focus on getting to the gala.

“Kids?” You asked teasingly.

He smiled, “No, we're just waiting until things settle down with our work.”

“Aw I was hoping for a James jr.” He just shook his head. Your gaze shifted to his grip on the steering wheel where you almost lost yourself in THE thoughts again.

Damn get it together.

“Now you remember the layouts right.”

“Yes, I reviewed them this morning.”

“Good.”

He stopped as he pulled up in front of the venue you had scoped out just a few days prior. He put the car in park before walking around to your side opening the door for you and extending his hand for you to take. “Mrs. Laker.”

“Thank you, Mr. Laker.” You instinctively played your part and locked your arm in his.

“Here,” He tossed the car keys to the valley. “Not a scratch on it.” He added before leading you inside

As you entered the gorgeous high-class event waiters swarmed around you offering different champagnes, wines and finger foods, the room alive with rich people's conversations and music.

You smiled with your best rich lady smile as you let Bucky lead you around the party, choosing a table where you had a clear view of the event you set down grabbing a drink as you did so. You could feel your death grip on the glass as you forced yourself to keep your eyes on the dance floor where a few couples swayed and not on the very handsome man beside you.

Bucky placed his hand gently on your thigh as he took the glass out of your hand. He leaned in his face close to your ear in a way that made your brain short circuit. “We’ll have a better chance of bumping into Lestrade if we don’t stay in one place.”

You swallowed hard, “What do you suggest?”

He pulled away so he could look in your eyes, and you have to stop yourself from staring at his lips. “How about a dance,” He paused, offering you his hand and making sure the surrounding others could hear him. “Sweetheart.”

“Of course dear.” You smiled, kicking yourself for forgetting it all for the image of playing a married couple.

As you reached the dance floor his arm slipped around your waist, his hand on the small of your back causing you to stiffen. His metal hand gently held your right hand while your left hand rested on his bicep.

His steps were smooth with years of practice, his subtle pushes and pressure on your back letting you know where to step next.

“Now where did the soldier learn to dance?” You smiled as he shook his head.

“Like I said doll.” He licked his lips looking down at you with an ease in his eyes, you hadn’t seen before. “It's called class, they don’t teach it anymore.” He leaned in, pulling you to his chest so that he could whisper in your ear. “Trust me you won’t find anyone else who can do it like I do.” You could feel his smirk, “dancing that is.”

“Yeah, is that so Barnes? Show me your moves then.”

He didn't hesitate to spin you out and turn you around so that you swayed with your back to his chest. The heat pulling in your stomach where he now rests his metal hand over top of yours. You felt his lips on your ear. “Oh I’ve got plenty of moves.” You held in a sigh as you let yourself get swept up in the closeness.

“Lestrade, 10 o'clock, mingling at the drink table.” Your brain turned back on as your focused turned back to the mission, the song you had been dancing to fading out as it ended.

You pulled away from him, trailing off the dance floor. “You know sweetie, I think that dancing made me fairly thirsty. I need another drink.”

“Anything you want sweetheart.” He called as he followed suit.

It was going to be a long evening.

Part 2

[foolishlovers]

With 2024 coming to an end, I just wanted to give a quick shout-out to my favourite fics I (re)read this year. I have so so much appreciation for all writers creating beautiful works about our beloved angel and demon pair. Reading these sometimes funny, sometimes heartbreaking, sometimes sappy, sometimes deliciously filthy stories has been a constant source of joy. I truly can't even begin to describe how thankful I am to be part of such an incredibly creative and loving fandom. So so much gratitude for all the different versions of them, all the genders, all the tropes, all the canon fics, and all the human AUs. There are so many more amazing fics I read this year and there are so many more to explore in 2025, but the following few have made themselves a home in my heart. I promise they're worth a read! 💜 [I do fic recs all year long, check out this tag for more.]

Date by @ddagent (2.5k, T)

Every year, Aziraphale is spoiled on his birthday. This year, he decides to do the same for Crowley. There's only one problem - he's not actually sure when Crowley's birthday is.

Roller Derby Queen by @summerofspock (2.5k, M)

Crowley skates for Hell on Wheels and she's pretty good at it too. She'd be better if she weren't so distracted by the new skater on the opposing team.

Sweet Nectar of the Eldritch Gods by @brenna (3.2k, G)

Azira writes a letter to the purveyor of her favorite honeys and sweetness ensues. No offence, but who says “by the by,” by the way? It’s adorable? By the by, do you like wine? Crowley

Poor Men by @why-not-go-with-style (3.9k, G)

What To Do When Two of Your Professors Are Hopelessly in Love With Each Other: an instruction manual by Adam Young (featuring Pepper Moonchild because someone has to be the voice of reason here).

!False (It's Funny Because It's True) by @mirjam-writes (6.4k, E)

Aziraphale drew a long breath through his nose. Crowley, of course it had to be Crowley. The new guy in the sales department, who would promise potential customers just about anything to close a deal. Arrogant, annoying – and wildly, stupidly attractive. Aziraphale hated him.  Aziraphale is a stellar software architect and a project manager, who is so done with the sales department selling unrealistically scheduled and budgeted projects. And he definitely doesn't have a crush on anyone, thank you very much.

Show me where the Nightingale sings by @sabotage-on-mercury (6.5k, G)

After settling into their new home in the South Downs there are still things to process for Aziraphale and Crowley before they can start a new chapter of their life. But winter is turning into spring. There is magic abroad in the air. And finally, the nightingale is back.

The Art of Human Nature by @ineffable-doll (6.5k, T)

Crowley is a painter who has only ever had an eye for nature. That is, until a client named Aziraphale commissions her for a painting to boost her self-confidence, and Crowley discovers that her client is as beautiful as the Earth itself. Then she goes and catches feelings, because she’s a disaster.

Lit by @fellshish (12k, T)

Crowley takes a university course on literature and surprise! The book they’re discussing is Good Omens. Uh oh.

Paradigm Shift by @hakunahistata (13k, E)

“Apologies, apologies! The time got away from me.” Aziraphale Fell entered the room brightly, a binder in one hand, tea mug in the other. Crowley’s languid sprawl went rigid as the senior accounting analyst who had been the indulgent secret in the back of his mind took the seat opposite him.   Or, Crowley Pines at the Office: An AU.

Feast by @ashfae, mostlyjustgoose (15k, E)

Crowley's spent the whole of lockdown asleep. Aziraphale has spent the whole of lockdown baking, cooking, and becoming increasingly frustrated with his solitude. Which eventually leads him to the perfect way to solve all his problems at once... Or, Aziraphale attempts to seduce Crowley with a truly excellent meal, and Crowley is amenable.

Ever-Fixed by @hkblack (19k, E)

Aziraphale Fell had a plan. Go to school, get his degree, and start his life with his beloved at his side as man and wife. Until one day Crowley disappears. Decades later he meets a man, and finds the love of his life again. Anthony J. Crowley, suave, cool, masculine, in control, unflappable, has spent decades building himself up. He refuses to let his confident facade disappear for Aziraphale, who once almost tumbled down the stairs to certain death because his nose was stuck in a book. It’s just sex, and they’ve been dating for months, this time around. There’s no need to get his knickers in a knot. But the past isn’t easy to let go of, even if you’re both avoiding it. A story about love, intimacy, and finding each other again. (Alternatively: Tender smut, but then I wrote love story flashbacks, and now it's just emotional and there's plot in my pornography)

Fireworks by @optimistic-starlight (19k, E)

He had to get himself under control. Aziraphale needed him. That prick boyfriend of his drained so much of Aziraphale's time and energy, dampened so much of the gentle, beaming happiness that Crowley had always adored about him. He needed Crowley there to support him, to do the things a best friend should be there to do. And, well, if Crowley needed him too, if he had to subsume his own pain to focus on making Aziraphale happy, that was something he could bear quietly. He could do it for his angel. Crowley groaned and dropped his head against the tiled wall of the shower. His angel. He had to stop thinking of him like that.

Maybe Next Christmas by @flamingbentleyy (21k, T)

Airports were tricky business, but waiting in airports was as close to hell as one could possibly get. Nobody knew it better than Aziraphale, whose luck had made him end up in one right on Christmas Eve of all days. Although his airport experience turned a little less hellish and a whole lot more entertaining after he ran into an old college friend in that same airport. And then again. And again…

The Small Ad by @theladydrgn, @sylwritesstuff (32k, E)

WORK WANTED: Partner For Hire. Tall, lanky ginger of arguable gender available to be your significant other to keep pesky relatives, nosy coworkers, or well-meaning friends at bay. Able to be as annoying or as polite as you like. Causing a fight over Christmas dinner with your odd, bigoted uncle/aunt/cousin will require an extra £200 up front. £50 for the first hour, negotiable otherwise. Ciao.   It isn't the sort of advertisement Aziraphale usually paid any attention to, but desperate times do indeed call for desperate measures.

Heavenly Wicked Cafe by @waitingtobebroken (33k, T)

There is a terribly rude barista that makes amazing coffee and a saint of a barista, whose coffee tastes vile. And they are in love.

Petrichor & Parchment by @katnoggin (33k, E)

“Mr. Crowley, I presume?” Aziraphale asked in lieu of an introduction, which was not forthcoming. The guy hadn’t even removed his sunglasses. Oh God, he had a tattoo on his face. Aziraphale wasn’t one to judge, but… what kind of gardener had a snake tattoo on his face? Now also available as a podfic from Literarion  [Huuuge recommendation for the podfic!!]

The Heart of the Forest by Kalimyre (33k, E)

Retired librarian Aziraphale moves into a small, isolated cottage deep in the forest with a strange history. He soon realises he's not alone in the woods; a presence watches him. But as he begins to befriend the stranger that lurks in the trees, Aziraphale comes to understand there's more to him than appearances suggest - and Aziraphale's own destiny may be tied to the mysterious creature with the golden eyes.

in your own time by @ineffabildaddy (33k, E)

Aziraphale and Crowley grew up together as next-door neighbours on Hogback Lane, classmates at the local Catholic school, and inseparable best friends. By the age of eighteen, both were hopelessly in love with the other, despite the knowledge that they were doomed to live apart, as Crowley aimed to pursue university study in London and Aziraphale committed himself to remaining in Tadfield, dedicating his life to the Church. After almost twenty years spent away from his hometown, renowned botanist Crowley decides to come and visit Tadfield again at a moment's notice; the purpose of his visit is to speak at a Careers Day for the school he and Aziraphale, now a beloved priest and a frequent helper at the school, attended. The twenty-four hours that follow will change both of their lives for ever.

Between Comfort And Chaos by anathxmadevice (45k, T)

“And how long have you two been a couple?” “Oh, I—” Aziraphale panics. “Ha, well, that’s a funny… We’re not actually—” “We’re just friends.” Crowley says, their voice clear and calm and lightly amused, either because of or in spite of Aziraphale’s flailing attempts to divert the conversation. “Ah, yes, quite.” Aziraphale says, then takes a sip of his drink just for something to do, instead of focussing on the way Crowley said just friends, and how it causes a painful throb in his chest that he has never fully got used to. His memory can only scrabble at the edge of a time where being just friends with Crowley didn’t feel like a particular form of torture. * Or, Aziraphale has been desperately in love with his best friend and housemate Crowley since they were students, but is too scared to do anything about it.

Loving You Slow by @tawnyontumblr (46k, E)

Crowley just wants to dance, but he's not prepared to sell his soul (and other things) at Mayfair's Hellfire Club to do it. Tending bar at The Bookshop in Soho is just the escape he needs, providing Crowley can convince the club’s owner he really belongs on the stage. Unfortunately Aziraphale Eastgate is not quite the generous guardian angel Crowley has been led to believe. Welcome to The Bookshop, where it always pays to look under the covers.

A Billion Points of Light by akitsuko (50k, E)

The firefighter lifts the visor on their helmet, and Crowley may not be able to see very well, but those are the most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen in his life. Crowley has never been one for the whole 'love at first sight' business, but he may need to reassess after Aziraphale - a gorgeous firefighter - saves his life.

More Than by @naromoreau (55k, E)

Crowley would like to spend another year without marrying, especially when thrust-forced to pick a husband. She refuses to cave in on a matter of principles. She refuses to cave in specifically on a matter of not wanting to be married to Lucien Morningstar. But she might need a hand to break free from such a burden. And who knows? She might even find something else along the way.

Lavender Apiary Of Your Honey Eyes by @snek-of-eden (66k, E)

The first thing Aziraphale registered was fiery red hair matted with sweat. The second thing was the man’s face, sharp and intelligent and a little guarded, sunlight dappling a spray of freckles. Upon seeing this, two contradictory thoughts crossed his mind: ‘Gosh, he’s pretty’, and ‘I don’t believe I’ve ever heard a man use that many expletives in the space of a minute’. “Oh,” he said, swallowing hard. “Hello, then.” __________ When Aziraphale inherits a small, cosy cottage in the countryside, he finds unexpected company in a gardener he didn't even know he had. Crowley is sweet, and strange, and about as foul-mouthed as you can get. Before he knows it, he's falling pretty goddamn hard for a man whose friendship he's terrified of risking. Ah, the foils of love.

Old Vines by @sevdrag (189k, E)

A.Z. Fell, one of the most respected names in wine and food blogging, has been sent on assignment with his assistant Warlock Dowling to spend six months in California Wine Country. Under direction (by his boss, Gabriel) to use this experience to double his blog followers and write a novel, Aziraphale is both excited and anxious about the opportunity. Anthony J. Crowley is the owner and viticulturalist of Ecdyses, a winery that unexpectedly fell into his lap eleven years ago when he hit rock bottom. He may be in debt, yeah, but he’s paying off his loans — and despite pressure from his lenders and their team of inspectors, Crowley has found a kind of contentment tending his little corner of terroir and producing extraordinary wine. Crowley’s old vines are the heart of his vineyard, and he’s never let anyone in. Crowley finds Aziraphale intriguing; Aziraphale finds Crowley enthralling. Turns out a famous wine expert and an experienced viticulturalist can still learn things from each other. The summer of 2019 unfolds. [Big recommendation for the podfic here too!!]

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for S; the puzzle trap sex-room. tw: discussion of past dubcon/underage sex, past grooming, unhealthy coping mechanisms. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

"It's fine, Jesus," Superboy says, more than a little frustrated with literally every-fucking-thing at this point. "I mean the pollen and the livestreaming and the deathtrap were all extremely fucking shitty but for, like, the millionth time, it was just sex." 

"Sex with someone that you aren't attracted to who is a gender that you aren't attracted to," Robin says tightly, clenching his fists down by his sides. Superboy does not look anywhere near Superman. 

Goddammit, he thinks. 

"No," he says, just pretending they're alone in this stupid cave because it's not actually cool to make Robin think the situation is any worse than it already is, and Robin's the one who already got upset enough to fucking puke over the situation, so . . . "Like I was kinda annoyed over the hair-pulling thing and you were pretty pushy and I definitely did want a condom involved, but–just, look, that problem is not a problem, alright? Neither of those problems are, uh . . . problems. And what do you care, anyway, nobody's gonna think you're into dick just because you got roofied into oblivion and fucked the only convenient mouth in the room." 

God, though, only he could ever possibly be enough of a fucking loser to end up having to confess to the stupid sexuality crisis he's been having in the fucking Batcave. In front of Batman. In front of Superman! Like–sure, why not, this might as well happen. Why not! 

Robin stares at him. 

"You have a crush on me?" he asks in obvious disbelief. 

"I didn't say I had a crush on you, Jesus," Superboy grumbles, re-folding his arms and very, very firmly still not looking anywhere near Superman. Or anywhere near Batman either, just while he's at it. But admittedly it's mostly Superman he's not looking at. "Ego much, birdboy?" 

"You have a crush on me," Robin repeats, covering his face with his hands again, and Superboy scowls at him and does not blush. "You have a crush on me and I made you go down on me in a deathtrap without even kissing you first." 

"Brush your teeth and we'll talk," Superboy says with a dismissive shrug, since Robin again did very literally just puke in that trash can and all. And like, yeah, the guy doesn't even like guys, but the flippancy is just a reflex at this point. 

Robin splays his fingers and stares at him. 

"Go to therapy and we'll talk," he says. Superboy scowls at him again. Rude. 

“Look who’s fucking talking, Bat-boy,” he says. “Are we all done freaking out about nothing now? Can I go get back to my life, please?” 

“Superboy, if you would be willing to talk to . . . someone . . .” Superman starts in a very careful tone that Superboy immediately hates the sound of. 

“Yeah, no,” he says in exasperation, just–not looking at him, still. “Therapy is for supervillains in Gotham and civilians fresh out of crisis situations, not for perfectly fine active duty superheroes who are just bad at problem-solving under pressure.” 

“You solved the puzzle perfectly, actually,” Batman says, just as neutral as before. 

“How are you making that sound like a bad thing?!” Superboy demands, shooting him a dirty look.

[plor-bindery]

Bound: Truth to Materials

It’s done!

I have a colour printer now. Can you tell? Lol.

This is, of course, a bind of my own co-authored fic with lately, who is not on Tumblr much/at all, and not under that name. (Apparently I continue to have the idea that I must try out new techniques on my own work first?)

The fic features artist Draco, so I went with that theme for the book design. I also used Canva for the first time, which was a mix of frustration (“whyyyy doesn’t it do this thing Illustrator does???”) and joy (so! much! stock! art!!!) I actually wound up banging the cover doc back into Illustrator because I didn’t trust the lack of guides and dimensions for measuring the cover, but the export was fairly seamless, so that was fine.

Back cover blurbs feat. @moonflower-rose because their comment made me lol so much when I went digging for gold in the comments. Also @thehoneybeet! (I feel weird putting my own reviews on the cover but I’m pretending they’re all directed at lately.)

More blathering under the cut.

For the wrap cover: glossy legal photo paper laminated in a matte legal 3mil pouch — two covers back to back so only the front gets laminated. I actually tried this first on plain paper but the ink bled in spots from the glue moisture and the whole thing delaminated as the glue struck through. I think the glossy coating provides a better barrier between ink and glue. I also used straight PVA on the second go, reasoning that it carries less water. Seemed to work?

Ran into some troubles with hinges delaminating, though, I think more from flexing and the bone folder than moisture? I can see why the IG Dramione binding girlies use the soft touch laminate — less than half the thickness. I haven’t bought any yet though, not sure I am that keen?

The endpapers are foiled but I was annoyed with the folding obscuring the words — might have to be more cautious with that in future.

All the chapter headers are artworks pulled from the bestmuseumbum hashtag on the bird site. It was very fun finding them. (This fic started with a Louvre visit in which lately and I very maturely admired many sculpted arses so there’s a theme.)

Endbands are sewn with embroidery floss and they came out sooo shiny and neat. One strand of floss per wrap is the way to go, even though it’s slow and fine work.

The rest of the bind is unremarkable — legal quarto, sewn French links, bradel-style case.

The cover came out quite 90s which I kind of love. As I’ve said before, and at risk of dating both of us, co-author lately and I met in our young teens, and that was…in the 90s. The earlier part. So a 90s vibe cover for the first fic we managed to co-write since that time? Perfect. Saved by the Bell goodness.

So… cover wraps… I am not sure! I think it’s probably cheaper than even homemade book cloth, but I imagine the archival quality is not great with all the plastic involved. But then same with HTV. I will almost certainly do it again, especially if I want to do something like a book that’s disguised as a textbook or magazine. While I love the artwork available in Canva, I definitely felt like my own creativity was less present? Hard to describe.

One little technical problem that I’m solving: endpapers didn’t stick to the hinge insides fully, not sure if the wrapped spine is too wide or it’s a lamination not liking glue thing or… but the problem is minor. Something to troubleshoot next time.

[evilzsat]

Addressing the "drama"

Before I start, I never wanted to make this post because I was scared of being harassed by people. But that already happened, so I got nothing to lose! I'm sorry for those people who are annoyed by this drama already but I need to address some things because it seems like DREAMING-OF- BARBI and his fiance kiskii are spreading misinformation and kiskii is trying to make it seem like Elliot is the victim. Name dropping? Yeah I don't care anymore, harassing a kid and other people in the outlast community is too far so I don't care if you call this "witchhunting" or whatever.

So here's the stuff they have done in a server which had MINORS.

I'm gonna split some stuff apart so you'll understand better

ELLIOT'S SERVER

Dreaming-of-Barbi aka Elliot made a server for Outlast ocs and he shared the link on his tumblr. Only mutuals could join and people who asked for the invite. Since it didn't say it was a 18+ server or not I joined, and I actually got in so it wasn't one. He followed me and saw that I'm a minor because I HAD IT IN MY BIO.

The server was still new so I offered to help making the roles because I have experience and I really liked how the server was so far. I became a mod immediately, even though I was confused because I was a minor and I thought I couldn't become a mod.

THE IMPORTANT PART: After a few days there was an argument happening in the server because we found out one of the members is a pr0shipper. Now I don't wanna get into this whole topic, there were minors in the server so you know what I'm trying to say! It's dangerous! I know it is. I was harassed by one of those people and it made me suicidal for a long time. I struggle with trusting people because of it.

Elliot was present during the argument but HE LEFT and before that he said "I'm not in the mood to deal with this right now" or something like that. I can't provide proof for this because the server was deleted. He left us alone, so we had to deal with the problem and we did. I banned the pr0shipper for obvious reasons. MINORS WERE THERE.

We had a groupchat for mods only. After I banned the pr0shipper Elliot was angry at us because he "couldn't see what happened" he was present. he did see what's happening but he left because he is not a responsible owner.

Now this message wouldn't even be a problem because it's understandable. The red lines show what's the problem, HE WAS PRESENT. He knew something was happening! But he didn't do anything about it because "he was shaken up". Why are you an owner then? And have a problem with your mods doing YOUR job.

My response to his message. I agree I should've not deleted the messages, that was dumb of me. But that's not the problem here.

Here's Elliot defending pr0shipping. He is dismissing the problem and he DOESN'T CARE about pr0shippers being around minors. This just straight up confirms he is one of them which I wouldn't care about if he didn't become friends with minors and let them be in his server. I'm not gonna explain the red lines because hopefully you can see what's wrong.

Again, the same problem. Dismissing the problem and saying that ONLY RACIST PEOPLE AND HOMOPHOBIC PEOPLE SHOULD BE BANNED IMMEDIATELY.

At this point I was freaking out because I didn't feel safe anymore. I didn't know who am I talking to.

"You shouldn't be a mod if you are a minor" Like I said, I had it in my tumblr bio. My instagram bio. My mod intro in the server WHICH ELLIOT REACTED TO.

I meant to say "Learn to read bios"

"Moonweaver" is kiskii

This again provides my point. They don't care about minors safety, they are exposing them to content they shouldn't see and think "blocking" and a "blacklist" is gonna solve the problem Spoiler: IT WON'T. THEY ARE IN THE SAME SPACE.

After this, Jollytarp asked Elliot if he knew what Pr0shipping means because at this point even though the "argument" ended we all felt unsure and unsafe. We thought maybe it was a misunderstanding.

HE DOESN'T CARE ABOUT THE POSSIBILITY OF MINORS BEING GROOMED BY HIS OWN SERVER MEMBERS. I'm not gonna repeat myself, hopefully you see the problem.

"Witch hunt" there was no witch hunt. I banned someone who was making people feel unsafe, they don't want to be in the same space as them for obvious reasons.

"People I know being hurt because of pettiness" Again, not gonna repeat myself. Those type of people hurt me and many people, this is not pettiness. AND LETTING THEM INTERACT WITH MINORS IS DANGEROUS.

ELLIOT HARASSING ME

Elliot blocked both of my accounts. I could not see his posts. One of the people I know sent a post which said that Franco did nothing wrong and that he's a victim.

I always block and scroll, but one thing I can't stand is people being misogynistic EVEN TOWARDS FICTIONAL WOMEN. Women face enough shit in real life.

This was not witch hunting, I was stating my opinion on this topic since I already felt overwhelmed by some Franco fans who were "babying" him and I did it BECAUSE I can, it's the internet. FREE SPEECH.

I made my post, then you all know what happened. Elliot started pretending that I'm harassing people when it was all him.

Here is him trying to make it seem like I'm the anon.

"I'm not worried because I know I haven't done anything wrong" Yeah okay. "I don't care" He did care because he spent a whole day harassing me with his fiance.

Also, here's his fiance saying that Elliot is the one getting "harassed." THERE IS NO WITCH HUNTING. At this point I'm just repeating myself.

I'm not gonna start talking about this person's post because, I'm gonna be blunt, but it's bullshit. Using "minor" as an insult because you can't say anything else is honestly embarassing.

THESE PEOPLE ARE ADULTS PUTTING MINORS IN DANGER AND ALSO HARASSING ME AND THE OUTLAST COMMUNITY. PLEASE BLOCK THEM AND SPREAD THIS POST.

@ramontism (Ramoro) @crispy-dib (Jollytarp) the mods on the screenshots.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

What did you think about Jade's role in the latest book 7 chapter? I found it hilarious how between the tweel's dreams his was more chaotic. It was also funny how they brought up Jade's motion sickness since I think the only moments it's been shown was in flight class and I think in Vil's playful land vignette after a rollercoaster ride. I'm really curious about your own highlights ^~^

Honestly, I felt pretty meh about Jade’s involvement in the Octavinelle update 😅

***Book 7 part 10 spoilers below the cut!!***

His own dream segment was alright, it got a few chuckles out of me (though as expected, we didn’t really learn anything significantly new about Jade because of the shallow nature of the dream). Jade’s crybaby dream!Azul was about what I expected, but his dream!Floyd certainly wasn’t. The goofy face on his twin… It made me wonder how Jade truly sees Floyd. Does that weird face mean Jade sees his brother—who comes off as imposing to many others—as cute and harmless? Or does that mean Jade actually looks down on Floyd and thinks of him as a simpleton who likes to eat…? It’s hard to tell (personally I like the former interpretation), but it’s been fun looking at the different perspectives of the same information.

Something I find interesting is that the twins’ moments of waking mirror each other’s usual approaches to a task. Floyd usually foregoes a plan and prefers to use his fists to get the job done. However, he is slowly roused by reminiscing about his memories at NRC and the promise of being presented with a challenge. The final blow that shocks him awake is the presentation of a dream!Azul and dream!Jade who attempt to lure him deeper into the dream. Floyd doesn’t fall for it; in fact, he gets mad instead, and that fury, so biting and clear, snaps him awake. The opposite is true for Jade. He is someone who meticulously plans before acting, and would rather control the circumstances and use other roundabout methods before resorting to violence. But ironically, the master manipulator Jade is the one who falls for his own dream’s manipulations—all because he trusts himself above all else. He only wakes up because of a very strong physical force (ie Sebek’s UM) striking him. Prior to this, Jade was putting up a very good fight and the blows be was taking were not sufficient to wake fully him. So… Floyd, the brother who prefers brawns, woke up after reflecting and experiencing strong cognitive dissonance between his fake reality and bis true reality. Jade, the brother who prefers brains, woke up after being smacked the right amount. They woke up after experiencing an intense shock related to what is essentially the opposite of their preferred problem solving strategies.

I liked seeing Jade and Floyd fight! Book 7 is showing us a lot of things that were brief off-handed mentions elsewhere (like how Rook used to be in Savanaclaw, how Lilia is a war vet, etc.). The twins having violent brawls was previously brought up in Floyd’s Beach Wear vignettes, and it’s nice to be able to view the full extent of it ourselves. Floyd was NOT joking when he said they got into serious fights…

I have mixed feelings about Jade’s behavior within Azul’s dream. I’m NOT saying any of this is out of character or that all of his moments were bad. There were lots of little standouts (like Jade’s motion sickness, the passive aggressive “Azul-san”, smashing up the restaurant, and, of course, him and Floyd grabbing onto Azul and then trusting him to make it out on his own before choosing to let him go). Unfortunately, there were just as many examples of Jade wasting time and meandering, which I was a little annoyed about. The world might be done for if y’all don’t hurry it up 😭 You do NOT have the time to casually smash plant pots or to sit idly by and go “…………” while you watch Azul act like an idiot. I know you have a bigger brain than THAT, Jade. If you already knew what Azul’s weak point was, then you should be acting on it much sooner, not wasting my time like this.

I can see the reasoning for some of this to an extent. Jade is the type of person to drag things out; he wants to enjoy the show as others struggle to attain what they desire. The problem is that this segment still feels… forced or artificially drawn out simply because of the already established pattern of “well we gotta dedicate more time to the OB boy, we have so many other novel assets and scenarios to show off!!” There continues to be so little urgency while prioritizing showing off new assets or even things that seem cool in concept but may be lacking in execution because of how fast new stuff is being thrown at us. It’s just so frustrating because it creates this domino effect where the implication is that Jade doesn’t seem to be taking the situation seriously even though he, as an individual who is skilled in reading others + pinpointing their weaknesses AND as one of Azul’s close aide, should automatically clock what would reasonably wake him. But nooooo, Jade doesn’t do it right away because HEY, we need to create contrived scenarios where he, Floyd, and Azul have to use their UMs once each. Why? Because we have to follow the patterns we’ve already established in the updates before theirs! No other reason, we’re not allowed to stray from the formula! This is even worse when you think about how Jade was somehow unable to deduce that Azul would have moved the contracts to his own room… Like shouldn’t that be the FIRST place you think of, Jade????? No??? Is this an excuse so you can waste time using your Mouse mandated UM on dream!Jade to get the location??? 🤡 Okay, I guess…

The one last thing I have to note is that I’m so glad his and Floyd’s Groovies don’t show them crying. I feel like a lot of people were anticipating that because we previously had Kalim and Rook breaking down… However, it would be remiss to equate all the characters as being as emotional as those latter two are. (Lilia, Sebek, and Ortho were also limited story cards and none of them featured crying.) That’s not to say that I think the twins are incapable of expressing intense sadness, it’s that I don’t think they’d shed tears while attacking each other or Azul. Not crying doesn’t make Jade and Floyd “worse” or “less emotionally available”. It, in fact, alludes to the strength of the trio’s bond. It means they trust the others to be strong enough to take the hits, to fight back and to survive. The same thing is demonstrated when Jade and Floyd willingly let go of Azul and allow him to sink into the darkness, even wishing him well before they do. And to that, Azul just says the same to them (in a smug tone). These three trust each other, and that is why the twins don’t shed tears; how can they cry when they fully believe the ones they’ve chosen to spend their time with are strong enough to make it out on their own?

Overall, I just 💦 do not like the rigid skeleton of these dreams… (which I’ve already expressed before here!) I’m so tired of the same thing back to back, and no matter how many details they try to change to make it cool or feel unique, it always comes at the cost of pacing or, in this case, some character integrity being removed. xbjsvskwjekw Maybe I’m just more sensitive about this since I hate it when a smart character has to actively be dumbed down in order to progress the plot in a certain way. This is a much more subtler of a dumbing down than what book 2 did with Leona, but… It still doesn’t leave me feeling very good 😔 If anyone has played the first Ace Attorney game, this feels a LOT like that part in case 2 where Phoenix is too dumb to check the back of a receipt until Mia literally tells him to. The character has to actively be made stupider because the scenario calls for it, and that really rubs me the wrong way.

[eydi-andrius]

BIG BULLY

PAIRINGS: GOJO SATORU x READER

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI, NON CON, BULLYING, IMPLIED LOSS OF VIRGINITY, DELUSIONAL!GOJO, IMPLIED BULLY!GOJO, --- JUST A DRABBLE

A/N: I wrote this on my phone cuz I need to! Nothing crazy but I hope you enjoy some Gojo! 🥰

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

"Don't give me that," he said, annoyed when your body flinched, involuntarily, when he touched your knee.

You pulled yourself backwards and shuddered when you felt the headboard against your back. You need to be as far away from him. Just being this close makes you want to die.

Why are you so stupid?

Tears frozen and sticky on your cheeks, fresh ones joined them as you felt him dripping out of you. You choked on your own hiccups as you felt his seed oozing out of your sensitive flesh due to the sudden shift of your movements. The evident red stain on his white sheets, made your hand pull tighter on the blanket you used to keep your modesty.

You were so naive.

You should have said no. You should have stayed home. Or maybe you should have known better and prepared yourself to just be bullied next time. Who even told you that confronting your bully will solve all of your problems? If it does, bullying will cease to exist. You should have shut your mouth instead of asking him to meet you and convince him to stop tormenting you further.

Now, you regret everything.

Your body is sore and bruised all over. You don't even need to see it in the mirror to check the damage he has done. You can feel it. Especially, down there. He wasn't gentle at all. He was rough and mean; as if wanting to brand you. To make you feel him all over your body. Deep inside you felt his possessiveness to mark you.

He stood up and stretched. Lithe body betraying his rotten personality. He looks satisfied. Calmed, even. His actions lit a fire within you and without thought, your hands pulled the sheets too strongly. The next thing you knew, the force of your pull destroyed the thin piece of cotton, ripping it into two, and causing the white sheet to bunch up on your stomach and involuntarily, showing your still swollen pussy at him. Giving him another free sight of what he did.

A shame to you. An achievement to him.

In panic, you did your best to put it back on. To cover you again. But before you could put the sheet back down, he was unto you, and he held your legs tightly, showing your still sensitive flesh in front of him. Closer. Personal.

He was frowning as he stared at it. He looks annoyed by something he saw down there.

With a surprised gasp, your body went cold when he did the unthinkable.

"Geez! Babe, you're moving too much. See? You made it fall out of you. Do you know how many women want my seed inside of them? They begged, they cried and they threw tantrums but it was only you I have chosen! Be thankful that it was only you, I did it raw." He tsked as he scooped the still warm cum and put it back within you. Your gummy walls squeezed his digits. They were too big and you were still sensitive. But he groaned when he felt you tightened, mistaking the gesture for your approval.

"God. I should have taken you sooner. This pussy is obviously made for me. I was naive and stupid, babe. I'm sorry." He looked down and moved his face closer to you. You froze in fear, but when he finally touched your bruised lips, you did not hesitate the bloody scream you let out. With renewed strength, you tried to push him away. However, this is Gojo. And he had always been too strong.

Your voice echoes throughout the room as he maneuvers his body again to fit into you. He is delusional. And you invited the insane. When he finally placed his tip near your entrance, he did not feel any remorse as he dipped his girth all the way in, deeply, using his previous seed as a lube, to easily move back and forth within you. You felt all of him. His veins and muscles twitching inside with excitement. He groaned with fervor.

That night, he showered you with praise, clung to you like a lover should. Acting as if what he did was the norm. As if you two were together before all of this.

What you did was a mistake and you won't be able to recover from now on. He branded you as his and you know he has you by the neck.

[viciousvortexx]

My headcanons about Vergil's bad traits

♥ because life is not a bed of roses

just my silly hc about the bad side of his personality or things i think he can't do, anyways, we love him the way he is <3

★ He used to shut out people a lot and avoided talking properly about problems, Vergil wanted to show his superiority and power trying to make the others think about the situation without properly solving it, and also, it's damn hard for him to say out loud when he's wrong.

★ Hides his emotions a lot, Vergil won't admit what he's feeling because he's afraid of getting vulnerable and weak, sometimes this also goes for good emotions, these are probably the ones he consider to show more vulnerability.

★ Professional in the art of the awkward silence, it's really complicated for him to pull up conversations or keep them going, Vergil will start to look around, avoid eye contact and clean his throat constantly in a casual conversation.

★ If Vergil is too deep into something that's he's doing and failing, he won't stop till he get it right, even if it drains all his patience, he won't give a break, this also makes him a overworker, trying to finish things all at once.

★ He's insecure, Vergil can be a master at fighting demons, but all the time he spent isolated made any kind of relationship with other people a challenge, after all, he'll secretly think he's ruining all the fun by not being so active like the others.

★ BAD AT COOKING, my man spent years trapped in hell, never touched a pan this whole time, you really think he knows what he's doing inside a kitchen?

★ Overprotective, Vergil will always be afraid of loosing the things or the people he cherish, this can lead him to think he's the only one that can protect something.

★ (DMC3 Vergil specifically) Thinks he's better and superior to anyone, but doesn't realize how naive this is.

★ His awareness can be a bit dangerous sometimes, since he can pull the Yamato really quickly and end up hurting someone he thought it was a threat.

★ Won't ask for help to do something he knows won't be able to finish or learn by himself, he'll wait for someone to offer support. “Alright, I suppose I'll allow you to join me this time...”

★ Vergil is a jealousy person, and like most of his emotions, he'll reprehend it and won't talk about it, getting afraid of loosing something will lead him to get jealous very quickly.

★ If you get yourself in trouble, he's going to save you and then scold you, talking about how you shouldn't have done this, listened to him and how dangerous that was, maybe that's just his way to show he's concerned and cares.

★ Extremely hard headed, this makes him kind of a stiffy person, he won't see a second option for certain situations even if there's another, though, this also means he'll always fight for his his ideals and defend his opinions, it's not easy to change his mind.

★ Struggle to rely on others, this leads Vergil to push people away or refuse new connections, things are going to be fine if he stays in his social comfort zone.

★ Difficulty to react to certain things people say, I feel like at a specific point in his life, Vergil would get full of himself when receiving compliments because he thought that was a good reaction, while he got older, realized that being overconfident it's annoying and actually push people away, so now he doesn't know how to react to compliments and can act all awkward that doesn't express his genuine feelings.

[1didofest]

1D I Do Fest - Masterpost 2024

Thank you to everyone who supported the fest and to all the authors who gifted us with these wonderful stories.

Twist of Fate by @freakingmeout28 / freakingmeout

Some marriages don't start with love… When his parents tell Harry that they expect him to marry Louis Tomlinson he's more than just against it, he hates them for thinking it would magically solve all his problems and make him their dream son. Louis on the other side isn't keen to marry someone like Harry either, but since it's his only way to save his family's name, he goes for it. Against their own will they get married and are sent on a honeymoon together where they don't have a chance to avoid each other. Their marriage doesn't start with love, but while Louis helps Harry fighting his alcohol addiction they find something in the other that they both needed. Through trials and tribulations, their bond strengthens, transcending the confines of tradition to blossom into a profound love story of resilience and redemption. A story for the 1D I Do fest, a very free interpretation of the following prompt: Arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, preferably larry, forced proximity. Sent on a honeymoon but it’s at the room in the Maldives thats in the middle of the ocean only accessed by boat. Featuring sharing of beds, secret pining, awkward morning wood, arguments but you cannot escape the other.

Guess What by @elmeiko88 / Elmeiko88

Harry should have done a better job of checking out the restaurant where he had decided to get down on one knee.

We Should Be Shooting For Them Stars Of Gold by @babyhoneyheslt / babyhoneyhslt

To make his dream of becoming a tour photographer come true, Harry reluctantly agrees to marry his annoying ex. Louis Tomlinson might be a big name in the music industry, but his reputation needs some polish. Neither of them expects this to end well, but maybe a two week honeymoon in the Maldives can change everything.

Who would have guessed? by SweetieR

“So why don’t we just shag?” “Like what? Like an enemies with benefits kinda shit?” blue eyes lit up in amusement, “Is that even a thing?” Harry shrugged. “It could be.” “But they always end up married when that happened in movies.” Louis made a face, clearly disgusted at the idea. “Don’t worry Louis,” Harry said, shaking his head in amusement. “I’m never ever gonna marry you.” “Trust me, the feeling is very mutual, Styles.” and then, “You’re only like an advanced sex toy.” Harry laughed at that, a genuine laugh. “Look at that.” he elbowed him, “We’re already agreeing on something.” Or - Prompt 2 / “It’s funny how I said I’d never marry you but here we are.”

he bought a ring (and he found the one) by @thefootnotes / whateverthecalamity

All Harry has ever wanted was the big white wedding with someone he loves; and he thinks he’s finally landed on it. That is, until a certain pair of bright blue eyes are looking up from the back of the chapel. Or the one where Harry Styles is looking for marriage, Louis Tomlinson is looking for closure, and both find something unexpected.

If I could Fly by @super--noah / SuperNoah

Just around the one year anniversary of their fake getting back together date, and what most people believe is their three year anniversary Louis has planned to pop the big question for real. It's his first evening off in several weeks and him and Harry had a date night planned. Plans change when Louis returns home to see Harry looking stressed about going out. Even if the evening has a few more non-happy tears than planned, the question is asked and answered. Which is how Harry and Louis ends up spending the summer holidays arguing over colours and food choices. Disagreements, hardship and tears eventually leads to I Do's and more, but very welcome, tears.

[mostlymarvelgirl]

Imagine If Magneto's *Private Moment* With You Was Released Into The Internet (Fem! Reader)

WARNING: MATURE CONTENT IG?

Erik sighed. This wasn't supposed to happen at all. On one hand, he really didn't mind, knowing that at some point, this would happen due to his fame in mutant politics, but on the other hand he didn't want you to be shown to the entire world like this in a private scenario.

The things you would have to face in public, what you would have to go through. While being deep in thought about how to deal with the scenario, a door with you running inside crying angrily. The door was slammed closed.

"Did you know? Did you know that someone motherfucking asshole recorded us having sex and released it? It's apparently the hottest sextape released in the century.', you screamed at him as if you were accusing him.

He felt guilty. Of course, he would never show that, but he ended up with a comment catastrophic enough to ruin the rest of his personal life. Not that he meant what he said, but clearly not thinking through.

"Well, I warned you not to try anything new and kinky. You should've listened.", Erik said immediately, regretting what came out of his mouth.

"What?", your voice became small, not being able to believe what he said.

Before he could apologize and explain, and your anger clouded mind lost patience, the ring from your was thrown into the sink, and you turned your heels walked out the door.

****3 Months Later****

"As we recall the recent steamiest s*xtape of magneto and his wife released into internet which gained over 3.8 billion views has been deleted by the cyber crime from all platforms. The culprits had been caught but died in an accident. Was it planned by Magneto? Or was it just an accident? I'm Sarah Moon reporting in six o clock evening news and I'll see you tomorrow."

The TV was switched off.

Y/N sighed. She knew who killed them and knew Erik wouldn't be arrested. She should've known that Erik was not good expressing and should've seen the expression. She regretted throwing the ring he made for her. She regretted what she had done.

"Regretting some past actions, I suppose?", the sarcastic voice spoke up.

Of course, it would Charles Xavier showing up behind her. That annoying British accent.

"For the record, my accent once wooed your husband to my bedroom, so I would take it as a jealousy or compliment coming from you.", Charles replied while sticking his hair back.

"What do you want?", you ask him with annoyance. You didn't want to aggravate your guilt more than it already was.

Charles smiled. That bitch. You knew, well, everyone knew, if they were in trouble and needed to solve the problem quickly, Charles would do the *smile*, and it'll be like it never happened.

"You're not wiping the entire world's memory about this, that's damn near impossible and dangerous.", you replied to his reaction.

"Well, it is for the better. Think about it. Or well, I should say actually, discuss about it.", Charles wheeled back slowly and opened the door.

"What are you-", you were cut off with Erik standing outside the door soaking wet with...............blood.

Silence.

There was no sound. All, the both of you wanted to do was to reach to one another and cry, Apologize, and comfort, but, the ego and guilt in both of you prevented all the bottled emotions and feelings of 3 months.

"Well, I will be leaving and give the both of you sone privacy. I'll be waiting right outside. Let me know when you've decided.", Charles said while wheeling out and closed the door.

"Hi."

That was it to pull the trigger inside you.

"WHAT THE FUCK YOU MEAN BY SAYING HI???!!! YOU COCK-SUCKING, TWAT-WAFFLED SON OF A MOTHERFUCKING BITCH-ASS- HATTED CUNT! YOU'RE FUCKING KILLING AGAIN???!!! HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED CLEAN THIS MESS UP?!!!", you blasted at him.

"Listen i-", Erik was cut off.

"NO. YOU LISTEN, YOU LITTLE DICK! I DON'T FUCKING CARE ABOUT THE TAPE. OKAY?!", you stated before he could ask.

You started to tear up and your voice broke and became small and vulnerable.

"I don't want you to kill around people. We could've done this together. I don't care what other say about me. Please j-just stop.", you started to cry.

Erik walked near you and hugged you tightly as you hugged him back.

He apologized to you and held you. You felt a something slip in your ring finger. You smiled and cried more realizing how horrible you must have looked.

"Y'know, you smell really bad like some old metal furniture. You need to get showered.", you pushed him away for fun.

"We could shower toge-", Erik got cut off.

"NO. Absolutely not.", you stated while laughing.