#what does that mean? i don't know man i don't know.

[jungwildeandfree]

I recognize silley fun post but I am going to add to it with real RPG thoughts as though this were a real person.

First of all, if the DM has just fully invented the name "Sam Smorkle" out of whole cloth, this DM rules. That's a hilarious name and it has a lot of character. No wonder the players want to engage!

We got a lot of description of the other person--but no name at all (probably because the DM wants the party to Engage With This Mysterious Guy). But we don't know him as well as this goblin whose name we've just heard and now fallen in love with.

Second of all: Clearly the man "wearing a crown of bone and blade with three sentient rings of fire and an arm made of steel" is meant to be the quest-giver NPC.

Probably, given his vibe, some kind of badass who recruits the party into the fold to help him carry out some minor task while he takes a break from murdering demon lords. That's awesome. Good for you. However. The party is not interested in that guy. The party is DEEPLY interested, right from the jump, in Sam Smorkle.

This is presented like it's a problem, but it's absolutely not. The story hack here is--quest givers, and the interested parties in quests, are all fungible. They can be perfectly exchanged without losing the original quest. This means that if you are paying attention to your players, you can turn the whole campaign 90 degrees in a second without having to give up any of your prep.

Let's assume my guess is right, and Mr. Crown Of Fire is there to give the party some eldritch quest. Let's say he needs to steal a magic item from a local wizard, but his magic is SO powerful that he can't even enter the wizard's tower without all the wizard's enchantments exploding simultaneously, so he needs a bunch of level 3 schlubs to go in and steal it for him.

It's REALLY important that the PCs get the quest from this guy--because all I (the DM) have prepared today is a four-story vertical dungeon crawl in a wizard's tower. I'm new and I'm not ready to go off-book. I don't have the stats! I don't have the prep!

Not a problem. We've got this.

Step one: fuck that crown guy. Uninstall his admin privileges from the campaign. He's now a random NPC who happens to also be in the bar. Why? We don't need to know. All the attention is on our new hero.

SAM SMORKLE is now a goblin who needs to steal a magic item from a local wizard. Everything else about him is instantly all the plot-relevant stuff from the edgelord at the bar. Sam's incredibly powerful. He's willing to pay a substantial sum of gold, which he carries on his person in even the sketchiest bars. He's the true king of Avernus.

But JWF, you say, there's something else about the bone crown boy specifically which is HIGHLY plot relevant! The crown of blades he wears is the key to the NEXT quest, which I also already prepared! His three rings of fire are ESSENTIAL clues to the endgame! No problem. Let's hook him back in.

The guy with the metal arm is now related to Sam in some capacity. Maybe he's Sam's bodyguard, or his husband, or his adopted son, or his father-in-law. They are now inextricably entangled--they are both the questgiver.

What does this accomplish? Well, most importantly--you've taken note of your players' interest. You have to at ALL times be tracking what your party is interested in. That's where fun is happening. But that's only maybe 70% of the fun.

The other part, which is less important for pure fun but no less important for an RPG, is that you've now hooked up your story to the player's attention. They're invested in Sam Smorkle, and by extension, they're invested in whatever he has to say next.

Moreover! Simply by changing the name of your questgiving NPC, you've not only kept their attention--you've instantly made your world unique! The campaign module might have bone crown guy. We've all seen fantasy stories that have bone crown guy. But only YOU, the DM, have a campaign where SAM SMORKLE is willing to pay you to punch a wizard.

You can do all the prep and worldbuilding you want--none of it is going to make your players be interested. So wherever their attention goes, you follow. And the good news is--while that's not always as easy as in this example--it's also not hard.

So go into your notes, Ctrl+H to find and replace every appearance of "LORGAZAR THE MERCILESS KING," write "Sam Smorkle" there instead, and get back in the game.

[chimielie]

unicorns and pomegranates

summary: Suna x F!Reader. "Do you ever feel like you were born to serve and die for someone in glorious battle," Suna says, valiantly failing not to flick his eyes back to you. You're frowning at your drink, trying to pick a particle off its rim with a nail. "Sexually, I mean."

"You are not normal," Atsumu tells him.

word count: 1.4k

cw: angst to fluff, friends to lovers, mild objectification, suna has strange inclinations, intoxication, one or two references to sex, …hand mention

a/n: i almost titled this "stop picking fights with knights and come wear tunics with the eunuchs"

You can't believe you were actually looking forward to this team dinner. It's the stupid fancy gala EJP Raijin puts on annually, in a stupid beautiful venue covered in white marble and stupid crystal chandeliers. You'd been so excited when Suna said, offhandedly, I get a plus-one, you wanna come with?

You should've known it would end up like this, feeling self-conscious in your expensive clothes while Suna stands far away and doesn't pay attention to you at all. He's not your date, you're his plus-one, gifted a glimpse into the world of professional athletes for one night only. He expects you to mingle with his friends, maybe even get yourself a real date to the next team event. It's such a stupid, cruel joke of the stars that he's the only one of these talented, handsome men that you want.

You take a sip of champagne and try not to think about it. He'd come to pick you up in his ridiculous fancy red car and stared at you with his inscrutable features and said I don't know, I'm sure it's fine, when you asked what he thought. Glowing praise, you thought, sitting among models and Olympians.

Across the room, Suna is trying to pretend that he is a eunuch. Eunuchs don't throw their best friends over their shoulder and carry them home and make sweet, sweet love to them all night long.

"There's something wrong with your face," Atsumu says.

"Do you ever feel like you were born to serve and die for someone in glorious battle," Suna says, valiantly failing not to flick his eyes back to you. You're frowning at your drink, trying to pick a particle off its rim with a nail. "Sexually, I mean."

"You are not normal," Atsumu tells him, "but yeah, I get the feeling."

They lapse into silence for a moment. One of the guys who came stag walks up to you and jumps into conversation. Suna imagines spiking a ball into his face several times.

"Are you feeling like that because of—" Atsumu starts, but Suna cuts him off with a violent slashing motion across the throat.

"If you say the words out loud, they become true," Suna says. "Shut your fat mouth."

"She does look good," Atsumu muses. "Nice necklace."

"Don't look at her," Suna says. "I actually don't even know who you're talking about. She's wearing a necklace?"

He glances back. You aren't, which soothes his concern that he'd been so distracted by the generous amount of décolletage revealed by your top he'd missed major details of your appearance, which he planned to burn into his memory and then never speak about until he died. His last words were probably going to be "the top button was undone."

"Maybe you would be failing less miserably if you actually talked to your date," Atsumu says. "How did you ask her to be your date without actually dating her?"

"It takes a lot of skill to put yourself this deeply in the friendzone," Suna says. "Someday you'll understand."

"I hope not," Atsumu says with feeling. "Hey, look, they're doing shots."

The rando who’s talking to you is clinking his glass against yours, making unnecessarily intense eye contact. Suna frowns; staring at you like a weirdo is his job. You glance away from your drinking partner for a second, your gazes connecting, and that’s all the invitation Suna needs to cross the room in the space of a split second. He snatches your shot from you with two long fingers and tosses it back, grinning widely at the other man when he’s swallowed.

“That was mine,” you say without vitriol.

“That was vodka,” he says, feeling the warm buzz of it in his belly. “You’re allergic.”

“Not allergic,” you roll your eyes, “just a lightweight.”

It’s true. Vodka gets you way too drunk, way too fast. Why hadn’t you said anything to this other guy? You only ever drink such hard liquor when you’re upset.

Are you upset?

“I’ll buy you another drink,” he promises. He’s glad he took the drink from you. It’s having a strange, dizzying effect the longer he looks at you, your darkened eyes, your parted lips. He reaches up and sweeps the back of his hand just over the curve of your neck, a light touch. He’s pleased when it leaves goosebumps in its wake, a short-lived mark he can leave on you.

“It’s an open bar, dummy,” you roll your eyes. The guy you were talking to has faded into the distance, though you don’t even notice.

He’d meant to stay away from you tonight. He’d meant to be a respectful friend, one who didn’t steal glances at you that he shouldn’t, one who didn’t want to punch out anyone else who looked at you with lust on their face. Every time he steps away, though, you seem to be tossing back another drink, giggling and leaning on a new shoulder, and he’s back at your side, plucking your hand away and glaring at whoever tries to talk to you.

Finally, he follows you down the hall to the bathroom, where you spin and lean heavy on the wall, facing him. Your eyes are bright and teary, all the gloss rubbed off your downturned lips, but he still wants to kiss them, for some reason (because he’s a creep, he scolds himself).

“What are you doing,” you sigh, and he blinks, taken aback.

“Just watching out for you, I guess,” he says. You pout.

“You don’t even care,” you say, voice catching. “You’re hovering like a jealous boyfriend and I don’t even know why.”

“I’m not,” he protests lamely.

“I know!” You explode, pushing away from the wall and wobbling dangerously. He clamps a hand down on your arm and supports your body with his; you are a bamboo shoot and he’s the stake. “I know. You think I’m ugly, you’ll never like me. I get it.”

“What?” Your skin is warm to the touch, and you smell a touch sweet, a touch spicy. He wants to lick the skin behind your ears, where your perfume is spritzed strongest. You couldn’t be more wrong if you declared that Atsumu was going to win a prize for scientific achievement.

“This is stupid,” you say, and oh, oh, no, there are tears welling up and streaking down your face. He pulls you in firmly, playing with the short hairs on the back of your neck. You cry into his chest, even though he’s the reason. “I want to go home. I just wanted to have fun.”

“I know,” he says, voice low, like he’s talking to a wounded animal, “I’ll take you home.” For some reason this encourages a fresh bout of sobbing. “I’m sorry I ruined your night.”

“I just wanted you to think I was pretty,” you hiccup on the last word, and his heart stops.

“I think you’re so pretty,” Suna says. “I think you’re gorgeous. You don’t think you’re pretty?”

“I know I’m pretty,” you say, and he keeps trying to step back, walk away, pull himself out of a situation he has to be misunderstanding. “I thought you did, too, enough to invite me to this stupid thing, enough that I was so excited to pretend we were together or maybe that we would be together for real someday. Fuck, I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not,” he begs you to believe him.

“I thought just because you’re beautiful and you look at me—sometimes—like you want me or something and you touch me all the time, it might mean something. I am an idiot. And a bad friend. I even like your hands, Suna, you’ve made me so crazy I can’t even look at your hands without thinking about your fingers��”

Suna grabs you before you can finish a sentence that will surely land you pressed up against the wall with one of the hands in question in your pants. He says your name, serious, voice grating against all his instincts.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I do,” you insist, looking like you’re going to start crying again. “I—fuck. I love you, Rintarō.”

It’s the final nail in the coffin.

“I’m going to enter noble and valorous combat to prove my worthiness,” he says instantaneously. You peer up at him, expression simultaneously baffled and cutting.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Suna says hurriedly. “Let’s go home. You should lie down, and tomorrow I need to clear some things up, repeatedly. Possibly for the rest of our lives.”

[landoughnut]

Green Light, Red Flag

♡ masterlist - request

♡ pairing - max verstappen x fem!reader

♡ summary - max likes you, but it takes the strong feeling of jealousy to admit it

♡ warnings - jealous max, angry-ish love confession, fluff

♡ w/c & a/n - 1.1k | du du du du

"To Super Max!"

The cheer echoes through the private room of the Monaco nightclub as champagne flows freely. Another win, another celebration, and you can't help but smile as you watch Max try (and fail) to dodge the shower of bubbles from his teammates.

"Honestly, you'd think they'd be tired of spraying champagne after the podium," you mutter to your friend, Hannah, who's watching the chaos with amusement.

"Bold of you to assume they ever get tired of it," she laughs.

You've been part of the Red Bull team's PR department long enough to know she's right. Your eyes drift back to Max, who's now arguing with Checo about something, gesturing wildly with his hands the way he does when he's excited. His face is flushed from the champagne and victory, hair still messed up from his helmet, and you ignore the familiar flutter in your stomach when he catches your eye across the room.

"Oi!" He calls out, making his way over. "Why aren't you celebrating properly?"

You raise your barely-touched glass. "Some of us have to work tomorrow, Verstappen."

"Tomorrow's problem," he says, dropping into the seat next to you. His shoulder brushes yours, and you pretend not to notice. "Today we celebrate."

"You mean you celebrate. I just watch you lot make fools of yourselves."

He clutches his chest in mock offense. "I'm wounded. Here I am, trying to include you in my moment of glory—"

"Your fifteenth moment of glory this season," you correct.

"—and you're just standing here judging me." But he's grinning, that competitive spark in his eyes that you've come to know so well.

"Someone has to keep your ego in check."

"That's what I keep you around for," he says, and something in his tone makes you look at him sharply, but he's already being called away by Christian for photos.

You watch him go, trying to ignore Hannah's knowing look. "Don't start," you warn her.

"I didn't say anything!"

"You were thinking it very loudly."

The night progresses in a blur of music and laughter. You're in the middle of a conversation with GP when you feel someone tap your shoulder.

"Excuse me," says a voice you don't recognize. You turn to find a rather handsome man in an expensive suit. "I couldn't help but notice you from across the room. I'm James."

"Oh, um, hi," you manage, caught off guard by his forward approach.

"I'm with the Mercedes hospitality team," he continues smoothly. "Would you like to dance?"

Before you can respond, you feel a presence behind you – familiar, solid, radiating tension.

"She's busy," Max says flatly.

James raises an eyebrow. "I believe the lady can speak for herself?"

You turn to give Max an exasperated look, but the words die in your throat. You've seen every version of his competitive face – the focused pre-race stare, the triumphant victory grin, the frustrated post-DNF scowl. But this? This is new. His jaw is set, eyes dark with something that looks suspiciously like jealousy.

"Max," you say carefully, "I can handle this."

"Can you?" he snaps, then immediately looks like he regrets it.

James glances between you two, understanding dawning on his face. "Ah, I see. My apologies, I didn't realize—"

"There's nothing to realize," you say quickly, at the same time Max growls, "Yeah, you should apologize."

"I'm just going to..." James gestures vaguely and makes a tactical retreat that would make Toto proud.

You round on Max. "What the hell was that?"

"What was what?" He's doing that thing where he pretends to be completely oblivious, which might work on journalists but has never worked on you.

"That whole caveman routine! Since when do you care who I dance with?"

"I don't," he says, but he won't meet your eyes. "I just... don't trust that guy."

"Right, because clearly I can't make that judgment for myself?"

"That's not what I—" He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. "Can we not do this here?"

You glance around, suddenly aware that several people are trying very hard to pretend they're not watching this exchange. "Fine. Outside. Now."

The Monaco night air is cool against your skin as you step onto the club's terrace. The city glitters below, the same streets Max was racing through just hours ago. He's standing at the railing, knuckles white where he grips it.

"Max," you say softly, "what's really going on?"

He's quiet for so long you think he might not answer. Then: "I don't like seeing you with other guys."

Your heart stutters. "Why?"

"Because!" He turns to face you, and there's that intensity again, the one that makes him such a force on track. "Because every time some guy looks at you like that, I want to... I don't know. Put up a safety car or something."

A laugh bubbles up despite yourself. "Did you just make a racing analogy about your feelings?"

"Shut up," but there's a smile tugging at his lips. "I'm trying to be serious here."

"Sorry, sorry." You step closer. "Please, continue with your vehicular emotions."

He groans. "This is why I never said anything. You make everything into a joke."

"Says the king of deflection." You're close enough now to see the flecks of gold in his eyes. "But if you're being serious... I don't like seeing you with other people either."

His breath catches. "No?"

"No." You reach up to straighten his collar, letting your hand linger. "Kind of ruins my plans to eventually marry you and steal all your trophies."

The tension breaks as he laughs, real and warm, his hands finding your waist. "That's your master plan? Bit obvious, isn't it?"

"Well, I was going to be subtle about it, but then you had to go and get all jealous and dramatic—"

He cuts you off with a kiss, and oh – this is nothing like the Max the world sees. This is soft and sweet and just a little desperate, like he's been holding back for as long as you have. You melt into it, fingers curling into his shirt.

When you break apart, he rests his forehead against yours. "Just so we're clear," he murmurs, "this means you're not dancing with anyone else tonight."

"Possessive much?"

"You like it."

"Maybe." You steal another quick kiss. "But only because you're cute when you're jealous."

"I wasn't jealous," he protests automatically.

"Sure, and you also 'don't care' about breaking Seb's record."

He pinches your side playfully. "You're impossible."

"Yeah," you agree, sliding your arms around his neck. "But I'm your impossible."

His smile – soft and real and just for you – is better than any podium celebration. "Deal."

When you eventually return to the party, hand in hand, no one looks surprised. Checo hands Hannah what looks suspiciously like betting money, GP just rolls his eyes fondly, and Christian mutters something that sounds like "finally" into his drink.

Max doesn't leave your side for the rest of the night, and if he holds you a little closer when James walks past, well – you're not complaining. After all, some victories are worth celebrating more than others.

[bitchimasnake-sss]

☆ HELP: i think my flatmate's a pervert...?

— a bllk fanfic // where a mistake in your lease gives you... yuukimiya kenyu as your roommate?!

synopsis: [college au!] someone as smart, capable, and self-sufficient as you could never make the mistake of not reading the fine-print of your new apartment's lease... however, just this once you made this mistake, and now, your uni's (possibly maybe definitely perverted) star-striker's housing with you! how fuuun! pairing: afab!reader x pervert! yukimiya kenyu [aged up.] cw: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. NOT PROOFREAD, BABES. yukimiya is a MAJOOOR pervert. includes: dub-con. manipulation. dark content. panty-stealing. penetration, fingering, mirror sex, praise, cock!drunk, slight bimbofication. m.list

"okay, no! this is not okay!" your voice shook ever-so-slightly and you hated it — hated how your hands tightened around the papers you were holding, how your eyes fidgeted between your two brokers standing in front of you, haaaated how you could be so fucking stupid.

"okay, listen..." you tried again, "i really didn't know i'd be housing with a-" your eyes scanned the broker's face once, "a guy. not that it's a problem, it's just— i didn't read the conditions... and—"

"—ma'am," one of your brokers rubbed his temple, "i understand your concern but the entire process has been done. you've signed the papers, the lease has been made in your name — everything's done. you cannot back out now... i mean, unless you want to lose your security fee."

right. the goddamn security fee.

the owner had asked you to pay up three months' rent in advance, claimed it was security fee so you wouldn't cancel last minute. you had given it little to no thought and complied. now that same security fee was biting your ass.

"but i don't even know him!" you cried out in frustration, "what if he's a pervert, or a serial killer— or worse, like a finance dude-bro?! aren't you concerned for my— a-a woman's safety?"

"ma'am," the shorter, older broker spoke up, "we've run a security check on this guy. his background's clear. infact, he comes from a very good family. he's in your university too, so, you would be able to bond!"

great, your roommate was also in your university! what was next, he was the most popular jock on campus or some shit?!

you huffed one more time, trying out your doe-eyes in a last-ditch effort for salvation, "there's seriously nothing you guys can do?"

"not for another three months, i'm afraid." the taller one clasped his fingers and the short one nodded, "once you make it through these first three months, you may evacuate."

three months? lord. these were going to be some long, loooong three months.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

✩ investigation open: is my new flat mate a... pervert? evidence #1: did he really mishear you?

"yukimiya kenyu." the man standing at your door gave you a charming smiled, the kind where it seemed like all of the muscles in his face were being used. pushing the rim of his glasses up with his fingerpads, he nodded at you, "i'm- i'm your new flat mate!"

good posture, tall, a mop of curly brown hair atop his head, round glasses, god — greeaaat physique, and polite. overall, cute. he was kinda cute.

well, wait... you shouldn't be saying that about your flatmate before he even walked in.

but well, fuck ethics, i guess?

"—um..." yukimiya paused for a second, and an unruly, weird silence filled the living room till it buzzed in your ears sporadically.

both of you stared at each-other a second before you realized you should probably introduce yourself back.

"hi!" you spluttered, "sorry, i kind of spaced out." you chased the formalities with a smile, "uh, nice to meet you yukimiya—"

"just yukki's fine." he smiled politely and you repeated, "okay, yukki... uh, well your room's down the hallway to the left, okay? i have the one on the right... and um, if you need anything, just let me know."

"yeah, i will." the man dragged his suitcase in, "thank you so much."

the next you heard from yukimiya kenyu was a loud shriek.

you found yourself running, your footing on the wooden floors a quick pitter-patter as you made it through the living room and into the hallway that contained both of your rooms.

your mind felt scattered; did he fall down? did he find some sort of pest? was he having some kind of an emergency medical thingy first thing as he showed up?!

"what's wrong?!"

your eyes widened when you saw yukimiya standing on the door to your room rather than his. his eyes were transfixed on something inside your room, and his hand was frozen on the doorknob. he seemed... dazed.

"yuki-miya?" you called out experimentally, and found that the man appeared to give no signs of being cognitive. stepping closer, you put a hand on his shoulder and called out again, "yukimiya..?"

and then, it clicked.

"that's uh—" you gulped, suddenly remembering that all the lingerie you had just washed and dried were probably still sprawled on your bed haphazardly... and your cutesy vibrator that you had used last night and not tucked back in your drawer.

you laughed, trying to mask the obviously awkward situation, "that's um... my room."

"i—" you found yukimiya unable to meet your eyes, "i... sorry, i thought you said my room's on the right. i must have... misheard."

"it's um- all good." you nervously laughed, tittering-tottering your way to your door to pull it shut. pointing to the room directly opposite to yours, you nodded, "that one's yours, yukimiya."

and you may not have noticed in your panicked state, but yukimiya kenyu's breath seemed strained... his gaze never met yours as he quickly shifted his pants and hastily dragged himself to his room.

how odd.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

"oh my god, not only are you flat mates with the fucking striker of the uni's football team but he also saw your panties—?"

your eyes widened at your best friend as you snapped your neck to see if anyone around you heard you, "—anri, shut up! there are people around."

your voice grew feeble as you mindlessly scrolled through your phone, "and i didn't know he was the striker, okay? i'm not a football nerd like you."

"i know, i know." she grinned, "but this is fantastic. he's totally hot! aaand single, i've heard... i think karasu mentioned it once."

"let's not jump ahead of ourselves." you looked up at her from your phone before drawing your gaze back to your instagram, "he's polite, he keeps to himself, and i don't think he is interested in me like that."

"hush, it's been like what? two days." anri grinned again, your love-life akin to a game for her, "give it time. who knows maybe he'd fall head over heels for you...? ooh, maybe he's like possessive?"

"ugh, you gotta stop reading all those stupid books." you rolled your eyes, "you sound insane."

"just saying!"

possessive? hah, right!

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

✩ investigation resumed: is my flat mate a pervert? evidence #2: do we have the same preferences..?

smack! you hit the shampoo bottle against the palm of your hand, and again, and again and again once more for good measure.

"oh my god," you hissed, your shower growing cold with each passing minute, "i swear to god this had some left the last time i checked."

or did you misremember?

you smacked it once more, but to your dismay, there was no more than two lonesome droplets left.

you sighed, finally giving up. "guess i gotta go shopping later."

when you stepped out of the shower, you found yukimiya sitting in the living room, scrolling on his phone. his bicep flexed mindlessly as he stretched an arm over his head and yawned.

"hey, yukimiya?" you called out and he looked up, "oh, hey."

were you hallucinating or did the star-striker yukimiya kenyu scan your towel-clad body up and down through his glasses...?

you gulped, trying to change the topic before your mind raced to unbearable fantasies, "i... i was thinking i'd go to the supermart tonight. gotta restock on a few things. do you want me to get you something?"

"oh," his brows furrowed, his speech slurred as if he was breaking out of a fantasy of his own. the player stuttered, "i don't know— oh. yeah, can you get me one of those uh- lavender diffuser things? i like that fragrance a lot."

"oh? lavender?" you repeated, "okay, sure."

and when you realized — while restocking on your favorite shampoo — that it was also lavender scented, you grew a bit confused. oh, maybe you and yukimiya just had similar taste?

what a coincidence!

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

✩ investigation resumed: is my flat mate an actual pervert? evidence #3: um, my thong's missing.

"okay," you mumbled, looking through your drawer the nth time, "one, two, three, four..." you sighed, growing wary of the same outcome, "one's still missing."

now, it could be very well that you just misplaced one pair of thongs, or that you left it at the laundromat. or... well, maybe your roommate had it?

no. you shook your head. no.

yukimiya kenyu was a perfectly well-adjusted individual! he came from a good family, he was the star-striker for your university's football team, and he even modeled on some occasions! he was a polite, well-adjusted man and it was rude of you to think that lowly of your flat-mate!

but... what if?

no. you steeled your thoughts. he never even looked at you inappropriately! and never did he ever make you feel uncomfortable! it was wrong to think he could do something as lowly as panty-stealing.

yeah, you definitely just misplaced that pair.

but then, three weeks later — another went missing.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

✩ investigation resumed: i think my flat mate is a pervert! evidence #4: my fav crop-top's gone missing!

"hey, anri." you put the call on speaker, tossing the phone to your bed as you crouched down in front of your wardrobe. pulling out the pieces of fabric hastily, you called out to your best-friend on the other side of the phone call, "uh, did you- fuck..! did you take my top?"

anri seemed to speak through a mouthful, "mhm, which top? your white tank top? yeah, i have that."

"no, no." you stood up, now rechecking the top layers of your cupboard where you kept all your clothes, "my black crop top! my favorite one— it's the one i wore to aiku's party a week back."

"oh that one?" anri hummed in defeat, "nope, don't have that."

"you sure?"

"yeah," she finally stopped chewing on whatever she had been eating, her interest piqued, "did you lose it?"

"seems so." you looked through the giant pile of clothes on your floor once again, growing more frustrated with each shove, "i've checked everywhere and i still can't find it."

"maybe you gave it to someone else? koyuki maybe? oh, maybe sae's cousin that came to visit—?"

"—don't know." you mumbled in defeat, throwing the clothes haphazardly at last, "but that was my favourite top, goddammit."

the woman on the other grew silent, and when she spoke up, she sounded hesitant, "i mean- maybe ask yukimiya? a lot of your stuff's been going missing lately."

"he didn't take it—" but anri cut you off before you could defend the man, "i know but maybe you left it somewhere in your flat? maybe he saw it? just ask him once."

"maybe... okay." you nodded with some semblance of resolve, standing up and walking upto your door, "i'll go ask him. talk to you later, anri. love ya!" beep.

you twisted the doorknob, only to find the door already open... and though you didn't notice this, but your door was just a little bit ajar — enough for someone to peek in without you noticing.

"hey, yukimiya?" you knocked on yukimiya's door and waited.

after a few seconds, the door opened and wafts of thick, lavender air seemed to seep out. your brows furrowed at the familiar smell, his room smelled a lot like your perfume combo.

but before you could ask him about his olfactory preferences, you came face-to-face with a shirtless yukimiya. his face was flushed, no glasses, hair pushed up hastily. he seemed like he had been... busy.

he heaved, "hey, sorry. um, jus'... just was working out." the player gave you an easy smile, "what's up?"

"i—" you solely focused on his flushed face, trying not to gawk at his defined chest and milky skin, taut with muscles you couldn't even name. you swallowed, "i can't find my black top, have you... uh, maybe seen it?"

"sorry," yukimiya gave you a charming smile, his full lips stretching all so prettily, "which top?"

"i wore it aiku's party last weekend..." and you hoped that you reminding him of his teammates party would jog up his memory but yukimiya kenyu was still just as clueless. he shook his head, stretching his hand to lean on the doorframe, "can't recall, sorry."

"oh, well, it's okay." you gave him a tight-lipped smile, "but if you find it, would you tell me?"

"yeah, course."

and obviously, you couldn't see it with the way he was shielding the door to his room, but somewhere between his duvet covers and pillow, there definitely lay a black fabric somewhere.

oh, but who knows? maybe that was one of his shirts.

black is a popular colour, of course.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

✩ investigation resumed: okay... my flat mate's a pervert. evidence #5: all these... strange noises?

tick, tock, tick, tock.

you tossed on your bed once more, dragging the blanket over your body before your body got too hot and you felt like you were being baked alive. throwing the blanket off your body, you found your shirt stuck to your back uneasily.

groaning, you picked up your phone just to see the time to be: 3:07 a.m.

oh you were definitely getting late for the 9 a.m. lecture tomorrow.

"fuuuck," you groaned, finally dragging yourself upwards to sit on your bed. looking around the room, your eyesight adjusted to the darkness and you swung your legs to get off your sprightly mattress. "hm, maybe some water will help?"

walking to your door, you found the door to be closed but not locked; one turn of your metallic doorknob and it'll open to reveal you sleeping inside.

you raised your eyebrows in wicked surprise, you closed it... right?

well, maybe you forgot.

stepping out, you found yourself in the dark hallways and you swear you were just about to take a sharp left to walk to the kitchen when... you heard something.

the sound seemed to be coming from yukimiya kenyu's room and you inched closer to his gate not because you wanted to spy on him or something! no... you just... it was late and he usually had early morning practices... so, shouldn't he be asleep?

usually, he was tucked in and out before you were, so, why was he up at three in the goddamn morning?

placing an ear to his door, you could hear some strange sounds from his room.

"haah, fuck." his muffled voice kissed your ear through the wooden barricade. although the words were smushed, you could make out some things. things along the line of, "god, yeah— fuck, like th-that."

and then, you heard your name.

your eyes widened and you brought up a hand up to your parted mouth. your frenzied gaze ran from the door to the floor and then back to his closed door.

your name?!

no fucking way! you stepped back. was he masturbating?! to... your name?!

you stepped back again, suddenly conscious that yukimiya kenyu could just swing his door inwards and catch you lurking outside his room like some sick, sick pervert!

you took a sharp left, walking to the kitchen as fast as your two jelly-like limbs would allow you. once there, you brought a tall glass of cold water to your lips, drinking down the liquid to parch your throat and your rancid thoughts.

you definitely misheard it! it wasn't your name!

you filled the glass with water again, your face growing warmer despite the cold water past your throat.

it wasn't your name! you rationalized, it was hard to hear through the door, after all. and yukimiya... he wasn't this type of guy — a pervert!

you should probably just forget about this. two weeks more and you could just move out of this place, anyways, right?

he wasn't like that... right?

yukimiya kenyu was not a pervert, right...?

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

✩ investigation continued: yes! my flat mate is a huuge pervert! evidence #6: what the fuck?!

"heyy, sae?" you smiled, hoping your politeness was evident enough through the phone call, "do you guys have practice in the evening— like right now?"

the redhead was dry like always, "yeah, why?"

"do you have any idea how long it'll run for?"

"i dunno," the man replied, "maybe like till nine? the championships are about to start, so, it'll drag on."

"oh... and yukimiya's there right—?" but sae quipped up again, "yeah, but why'd you ask?"

"oh, i just had to go out with anri." you laughed mechanically, "and uh, yukimiya's not picking up my calls so, i just needed to know when he'd be back."

"oh? okay."

you laughed again, praying your desperation wasn't on display for the overtly observant older itoshi, "hey sae... uh, don't tell yukimiya i called you, right? he may think it's something serious when it's not."

"yeah, cool." and you could imagine the redhead more than happy to end your conversation, "see ya, bye." beep.

you looked at the time: 7:53 p.m.

you had over an hour to snoop through yukimiya's room without him catching you. perfect!

and it's not like you were enjoying this — this was a necessity!

after that night, you couldn't quite look yukimiya kenyu the same. somehow, everything he did seemed... sketchy.

your door was always open even when you locked it, your shampoo and conditioner somehow ran dry a few uses in, even one of your bras had gone missing — and it was good, expensive, frilly kind!

if yukimiya kenyu was innocent, then, you'd repent for your actions till the end of your mortal life. but if he wasn't... well, you didn't know what you'd do then.

tip-toeing to his door as if he was still home, you turned the doorknob just to find the door close. you breathed in slowly. okay, you prepared for this.

you had noticed that he took one key of his room with him and another, well, that was in a jar kept in the kitchen. technically, you weren't supposed to know this but a little snooping never hurt anyone, right?

once you had produced the key, you tip-toed back to his room.

8:15 p.m. okay, not bad. forty-five minutes to snoop wasn't bad at all.

as you jabbed the key in, and felt your heart thundering within your chest. one twist of the doorknob, and then you were in.

his room smelt like you — lavender with a hint of sweetness intertwined. but that was probably cause he just liked lavender, right?

at the first glance, his room felt like nothing from the ordinary. his bed was made, the blanket and pillows perfectly placed. right in front of the bed — perched against a corner — was a long, full-body mirror. there were a few dumbbells and restraint bands kept against one wall. and well, his walls were barren except for a plastic hook that held up his previous medals.

no decor, no pictures... what a psycho?!

still tip-toeing, you first made your way to his laundry basket, sifting through his pile of clothes for if you could find anything familiar. even though you sifted and sifted and sifted, you came up empty-handed.

groaning, you walked up to his beside tables next. going through one drawer after the other, all you could find were some prescribed set of lenses, random junk and pennies collecting dust.

last, you walked to his wardrobe. pulling open the doors, you looked through the neatly arranged rows of clothes and jerseys and whatnot, still to not find anything.

with each place devoid of your thongs, or your clothes, your chest felt a little bit lighter.

see! your pysche cheered, yukimiya wasn't a creep! told ya!

once you were done with your inspection, you found one last place to check — under his bed.

the underside of you bed was used to store nonsense. you sometimes chucked your shoes under those, or dirty laundry on days you were feeling particularly lazy. it also had a box full of your old memories — mementos, pictures, slam books, old jewelry for sentiment's sake.

you assumed yukimiya's would be much the same, or barren — like the rest of his room.

and so, you crouched down on your knees.

the wooden floor was cold against your skin, and you grimaced as you bent down and turned of the flashlight on your phone to check the underside.

ding ding ding! a cardboard box. it was the only thing kept under yukimiya kenyu's bed and you assumed that it'll be something personal, like it were for you.

"uh-huh," you nodded as your palms pawed desperately at the cardboard box to pull it outwards.

you finally pulled it out, only to find—

"—what the fuck?!"

your fingers shook as your body settled all of it's bodyweight on your toes. commanding your shaking digits, you put your hands inside the box as if going to pet a rattlesnake.

except there was no rattlesnake in, or even a hamster. oh no, it was just your stuff!

the thongs you had displaced, your frilly, expensive bra that went missing, your lipgloss that you were so sure was stolen at uni! at the bottom of the box sat the black crop top you had come asking yukimiya for... oh god.

"tch, you weren't supposed to see that."

your neck snapped upwards, and your jaw sagged open at the man that stood at the door.

"y-yukimiya..." your mouth felt awfully dry, like each breath had been traded for a spoonful of sand.

"awh, why'd you look so scared?" the man asked in a sickly, sweet tone as he closed the door behind him, "it's my room, darling. did you not expect to see me here?"

"i-" your eyes shot to your phone that lay on the floor next to you, 8:43 p.m.

you gulped but there was no relief to your arid mouth, "y-you weren't supposed to come till—"

"nine?" the man hummed, dropping his duffel bag at the edge of the bed, "yeah, no, i figured i'll come home early. had a feeling you were upto something."

instinctively you pulled your phone up and crawled backwards, "i-i'll tell the police you're s-stalking me."

"oh?" yukimiya smiled and the sweetness in his actions were a stark contrast to the malicious storm that brew in his eyes, "try that, sweets. tell them that your flat mate's got your thongs 'n stuff, right?"

"i r-really will!"

and yukimiya kenyu laughed, stepping closer, "yeah, you should. go ahead, call them."

you flinched as he took another step closer, your bleary gaze shooting up to his face, "wha-why'd you? yukimiya—"

"oh c'mon," he cooed, bending down to meet you at your eye-level, "don't be so scared, dove. i'm not gonna eat you."

a vulnerable whimper fell past your wobbling lips, "y-yukimiya..."

"darling," he brought up a broad palm up to your cheek, "don't act like you don't fuckin' fantasize about this shit, yeah?"

the tears grew heavy against your bottom lash line, "wh-what?"

"i've seen you," he smiled softly, his voice so soothing except it was jabbing you like needles with each accursed word, "i've seen you fucking yourself on your fingers so, so pathetically while crying out my name."

a tear drop fell past your doe eyes and yukimiya leaned forward, catching the drop on his tongue. he hummed at the salty taste and your skin burned where he had licked you.

"wh-when...?" and your cheeks flamed at the thought of him catching you like that.

it had happened a few times... a few nights when you thought he was asleep, you had guided your vibrator to your plush cunt and pretended that the silicon molded toy was him instead. but it was just an innocent fantasy! you didn't... you didn't want him to find out.

"i've seen you." he hummed, satisfied with your expression of pure shock, "c'mon, do you think i'm dumb? so many nights when you couldn't sleep — you called my name, and i heard."

slowly rubbing your cheek, he continued, "and you're not a kid, love. you had your suspicions with the thongs, and the top, right? and yet, you never once actually looked for them."

a cashmere smile, "were you hoping i was the one who had them?"

embarrassment sewed itself against your features, "n-no... 's not like that."

he dragged his thumb from your cheek to your lips, pulling open the plump lips apart, "it's not like that? then, are you actually so dumb that you left the main door unlocked while you snooped through my room?"

a pause, "or did you want me to find you?"

you shook your head, your wet tears falling down in fat plops! down your pretty face. yukimiya kenyu slowly inserted his thumb inside your warm, melty mouth, and instinctively, you sucked at his digit.

yukimiya grinned, "awh, such a good girl but such a terrible fucking liar."

"now, tell me." the man pushed another digit in your inviting mouth, "do you want me to fuck you? or, do you want your stuff back?"

"i-" you couldn't speak and yet yukimiya smiled as if he understood you, "yeah, our lease is gonna be up in a week, right? i'll leave, angel.... unless, you want me to stick around and fuck you like you want me to?"

he paused, a slow, maddening grin on his handsome features, "do you want me to, love?"

and you nodded.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

✩ investigation continued: my flat mate's a 100% perverted! evidence #7: [redacted]

"yukimiya—" you batted your lashes at the man perched behind you.

his hot chest was flush against your back. one broad hand of his held your thighs wide apart while his other digits teased your hot core. his slender fingers hovered right above your drenched cunt.

"it's yukki," each word of his was a hot pang! against your throbbing neck, "i told you, love. it's yukki for you, yeah?"

you swallowed, "yeah... y-yukki."

he licked up a fat stripe from the middle of the neck to the shell of your ears and you shuddered against him.

"now," he exhaled softly, "keep looking at your pretty face as i ruin you, yeah?"

you met your shaky vision in the mirror — where yukimiya kenyu had you spread open for him like some exquisite modern art.

you chest rose and fell erratically as the man brought his fingers to your cunt and rub against the rosy, quivering bundle of nerves. his fat girth pushed past the weak resistance of your pussy, your greedy hole gladly accepting each one of his inches graciously.

"oh my god—" heavy tears stung at your lashline as the player brought down your erratic pelvis down, down, down his achy cock. your body buzzed as if yukimiya kenyu was your personal brand of heroine. you bit down you wobbling bottom lip in an effort to control your obscene, animalistic moans, "y-yukki 's so big."

"awh? s-so big?!" the man cooed, his mucles biceps still tugging your pliant body down till his heavy balls twacked! against your supple skin.

"shiiit feel me?" the man grinned and you caught the lewd sigh in the mirror — his index and middle finger circled your clit in frenzied, haphazard figures as his length curved and molded your insides with each salacious thrust. he groaned, "feel me all the way in, hah?"

"yeah..." your eyes caught against the obscene imagery — your roommate sinking his milky, heavy length inside your gaping, bulging cunt with ease.

a hand snaked around your waist, his taut muscles so tightly pressed up against your simmering hot body. leveraging the hold, the man pulled your doughy hips up 'n down his length harsher, faster.

"y-yukki—!" your heart seemed to be stuck in your throat, it's sweet ba-dump! ringing in your ears as the man impaled you on his length.

but the man under you did not care.

his perspired skin clung against yours like it was second skin, his erratic gaze staring at your unkempt reflection in the mirror as if he was stalking you — well, he was.

as your muscles spasmed against the ridges of his lengthy dick, his plump lips parted to let earthy groans that poured over your body like molten fire, "fuuck, y'know— you don't know how long i've been waiting for this."

his thumb pressed against your silt, collecting the syrupy slick on his finger-pads with each rough swipe. you clawed at the forearm against your waist as your eyes rolled back to the back of your skull, "god— i'm gonna haah! cummin'- i-m cumming—"

your irises were practically molded into hearts, pretty lips almost slathered with your drool as yukimiya kept ramming his tip against your gooey, kryptonitic spot — undeterred by your flimsy scratches against his milky forearms or your cries of pleasure.

"c'mon, c'mon." he hummed, and you may have been in a crazed state but you swear you felt the player take in a hefty, hefty sniff of your hair, "smell so sweet... like candy, you 'n your pretty pussy—"

and smell reminds you!

"do you a-actually like lavender?" you tried looking at his face in the mirror, but each messy thrust into your cunt left your shaken, left each muscle spasming, left every inch of your skin buzzing as if bugs were crawling all over.

and though you couldn't quite see him, you heard his laugh. the hot air was hotter against your nape, his voice so smooth that the richness of the baritone set your cunt spasming in feverish quivers, "d'you like lavender, hm?"

you thought for second, well, tried to but it was hard with the way his leaky tip bulldozed it's way into your velvety hole. you swallowed down the thick build-up of drool in your mouth, "y-yes, i do."

"then, so do i."

and though it was childish, you pouted at his twisted answer, "you're hic— you're copying me—!"

"hm?" he grazed his sharp jaw against yours, still rutting into you like an animal in heat, "silly girl."

"'m not si-lly!"

and you were sure your mind was broken because you giggled, feeling the sound reverberate against the gooey puddle in your stomach that simmered with the anticipation of another orgasm.

"since we're playing question 'n answer," the man used his experienced fingers to pry open your syrupy folds again, pressing his fingerpads against every spot of you that could coax out heated whispers of his name, "tell me something, too."

you nodded, your eyes zeroing in at the blurry vision of you getting ruined by yukimiya kenyu.

"you knew i had your panties, right?"

"no..." you bit down your lips, stifling another broken giggle down your throat, "hah... maybe?"

"huh?" and his plump lips stretched to show a lecherous, devilish smile, "and you didn't want them back?"

"i thought you'd—yukki!" you chirped at the sudden thrust up your abused cunt, his tip yet against massaging your deepest, most sinful muscles in such a downright hypnotizing manner.

his deep voice rumbled through every sensitive cell of yours, "finish what you were saying', pretty."

"thought you cou-could use them," you hiccupped, the delirious smile still playing against your misty features, "y'know to... jerk it off t'me."

"ah?" the man cocked up an eyebrow, never halting his pounding even as he pressed a chaste kiss to your pulse before he nipped at the same point, possessed by the animalistic need to mark you as his own, "how fucking kind, darling."

you gasped at the harsh tug against your sensitive skin. his canines delved into your supple skin, leaving indents behind that he soothed with a hysteric drag of his sultry tongue.

"say..." the player dragged on the word, his bruised lips still against your racing, kiss-bitten pulse "what if i return the favor?"

you met your figure in the mirror — your reddened, scrunched up face, you dilated pupils, parted lips, "h-how?"

and yukimiya kenyu gave you a charming smile, the same kind he had given when he had walked in through that door, "fuck you till you cannot walk, yeah? till all you remember is hngh—"

a harsh thrust into your cunt had you cry out, "yukki—!"

"yeah," he grinned, feral, "exactly that. jus' me, juuuus' yukki, yeah?"

you nodded delirious, "fuuck mhm— yukki—"

turns out, your flatmate was a pervert but... so were you?!

✩ investigation concluded: i was right! my flat mate is a fucking pervert! evidence #8: not needed... cause he's rearranging my guts?!

a/n: live, laugh, love yukimiya kenyu! was this fun to write? yes. did i write this one in a single seating? yes. would i do this again? yes. haha enjoy the filth! mwuah mwuah <3 tagging: @moodswing101 @5hoe1 @scara-simp69 @kleosheart @localdumbassinthecorner @gyubeoms @koalaflower @pvrokinetic @spacegyaru @t0mi33

[celestetumbledryer]

i think batgirl would be somewhat of a mediator in this..

obviously, she believes killing is the worst thing you can do to someone. i don't oppose this idea, i think it's just a significant part of her character, like batman, not to directly kill people. characters such as barbara and kara do not believe killing is always the right path to go, but don't have a strict rule against it (see your reference and tom king's[yes, i know, terrible source.] "woman of tomorrow") despite her morals, cassandra understands why people believe that some people must face death, she doesn't kill people herself, however, she does not stop people from dying in a way. in a storyline of batgirl(2000)[i love batgirl2000......], she attempts to stop the sentence of a murderer on death row, she faces to victim of the felon's crimes. cassandra argues that "maybe he will change". as she herself had killed someone and changed her views. my memory is like a stereotypical goldfish so i don't know if this was before or after she died and came back,, but i think she knows what she is saying. in the end, she considers the other party's perspective and lets the sentence go on. however, in the same comic run, cassandra isn't in a great headspace you know, lady shiva and perfect for a year and all that. she reads a man's body language and tells him that "it's not worth it" for his suicide, thus leaving a man shocked how this random 17 year old girl knew of his intentions. in a way, she saved a life. batgirl is her own character with her own unique ethics. she has great belief in the bat symbol and what it represents ("don't kill") and refers to it often. however, she was closer to barbara before she even knew batman as a person. oracle "was like a mother" to cass. she was the first person to be addressed while cassandra was recording her goodbyes regarding the first major fight with lady shiva. so there is some bias there and also a possible ethical dilemma? cassandra loves her found family very much, but like everyone, they do not share some thoughts, but can entertain them. disliking killing doesn't mean she does not engage in battle however. batgirl will go out of her way to fight someone. she is also one of the most skilled human combat fighters in dc, able to read body language to perfectionism while being raised as a weapon. so i guess she'd support beating up joker lol/hj usually i would add scenes for proof to a post like this but my inifinite subscription ran out and a certain panel finding website is down, so i encourage you all the read actual comics!!!!!! Batgirl (2000) by Kelley Puckett and Scott Peterson!!!! uh,, and maybe something by tom king.... Woman of Tomorrow(2022)!!!! if i got anything wrong please tell me i need to catch up on comics lore and my sleep hours. thanks ! ٩(രᴗര)ᵇʸᵉ

There are so many Dick, Bruce, or Tim kills the Joker fics on AO3, meanwhile Barbara was the one talking about how The Joker should be the exception to the No Kill Rule years before Red Hood Jason even existed.

[bumblingbabooshka]

I love Vulcans we need to get more into the emotional lives of Vulcans without imposing Human standards onto them. "The way you feel is wrong/repressive because it's not the way it's "supposed" to be from my perspective as an alien called Human" is boring to me especially when it's treated as correct. I wanna know how the aliens feel about their alien way of life. Vulcans are so interesting to me when written AS aliens and not as analogous to repressed Humans. I think about Tuvok's description of attachment to his family and how that isn't the emotion 'love' but something else, something that he feels no shame about having and sees as normal, as naturally Vulcan and I love it and I love it because there aren't any Humans there to go "Um actually checkmate you Vulcan s.o.b - that's emotion!" and he isn't being influenced by anything. These are his authentic thoughts. He sees his children, his family, as part of him. They were at times illogical, incomprehensible, and it was extremely rewarding to be in their lives. He thinks about them every day. They were well behaved. As teens they were contemptuous of authority and convinced of their own superiority. His youngest son loved one 200 verse story so he sang it to him. He'd rather die than betray his wife even in spirit. He's incomplete without them. It's obvious through Tuvok that Vulcan life is not inherently devoid of pleasure, comfort, or love and thus Human life (I think) should not be portrayed as inherently having something greater, deeper, more meaningful. I'm not talking here of society but of...emotional life. Interiority. There's this sense that all Vulcans are the same and miserable for it. That they hold themselves back and are indistinguishable and antagonistic to the self, repressed and wrong. That to be Vulcan is to suffer endlessly and Humans are all about Freedom Man and I don't know, I like that Tuvok's existence sort of challenges this as much as I acknowledge that Vulcan society is in fact repressive and unwelcoming to those who don't fit neatly into it. I'm not saying Vulcan society is a utopia, I'm questioning the perception of Vulcan emotional control - that way of life - as being inherently bad, devoid, or lacking. That Vulcans walk around with 'empty cups' and are only deluding themselves that to be that way is good. If only, Humanity moans, they could taste how delicious life could be! Tuvok is an average Vulcan. He does not struggle with emotion, he is not mixed species, he was not raised atypically, and yet he has a family he cares about and a wife he's loyal to and friends he values and none of these things seem to be Un-Vulcan to him. If Vulcan life was truly devoid of love and care, Tuvok wouldn't think of his family. They're not here, so why bother? When his pon farr came, he'd be trying to find the most compatible mate rather than risking his life by trying to meditate through it out of loyalty to T'Pel. T'Pel would also have just given Tuvok up for dead instead of waiting and his children wouldn't have traveled all the way to the most holy temple on the planet to say prayers for his safe return. I think these things are interesting and I wish they'd been explored more. The fact that caring about your family, caring about your friends, is not Un-Vulcan. The fact that Tuvok at no point longs for Humanity, sees nothing better or of interest to him in it. (Even in his teenage rebellion he only says he's sorry he was born Vulcan which reads less as Vulcan v Human and more like 'I hate this goddamn family' ykwim?). I want to know more about how Vulcans interact with each other, how they care for one another, what it means and what it's like to be Vulcan in more of an everyday way rather than what it means to be Vulcan vs Human.

[bitchface24-7]

Could I request smut headcanons for Arcane Viktor, Jayce, Steb, Vander, Silco, and Ekko reacting to his female s/o accidentally turning him on please?

HEADCANON - ACCIDENTALLY TURNING THEM ON

ft. Viktor, Jayce, Steb, Vander, Silco, and Ekko

synopsis: you didn't mean to. Honestly! You weren't doing anything special, anything intentionally, it just… kind of happened? It’s not your fault your boys are obsessed with you!

warnings: accidental teasing, purposeful teasing, banter, semi-public sex, fingering, oral (m/f receiving), dry humping, thigh/ass kink, wearing his clothes, praise, degradation, cumming in pants, squirting, marking, smoking, argument (not between R or the boys, some random dude), voice kink, Grammarly as my beta

genre: m/f

p.s. Thanks for being the first request for headcanons! A few of these characters I haven't written for before so I hope I get their characterization down. Love ya! Xoxo

VIKTOR

He's never had the biggest libido. Being so focused on his work he forgets basic necessities. Eating, sleeping, the whole shebang.

But when he does remember… oh boy you're in for a wild ride.

Literally.

You don't know what the hell happened. All you know is you went to the lab to drop off a packed lunch for Viktor. You're certain he hasn't eaten breakfast so he must be starving, even if he himself hasn't clocked it yet.

You wore a simple sun dress in your favourite colour, highlighting your beauty. Your hair was up and out of the way, and you can't t remember if you have any makeup on or not. Simple flats dawn your feet. You're comfortable.

You're insanely beautiful to Viktor.

He didn't hear you enter the lab, but he saw the lunch pail lightly drop down onto his desk, and when he lifted his gaze, all he saw was your cleavage.

Soft skin he's intimately familiar with. Skin that bruises wonderfully and that makes you gasp in a way that makes Viktor's ears warm.

He sees your mouth moving, but doesn't hear anything coming out of it. Oh your lips look so lush. So soft and biteable. Glossy too. He wonders if they taste like your favourite fruit.

Before he knows it, there's a tight feeling in his pants and his cock aches against the restricting fabric.

One thing led to another and here you are; spread out across his desk. Your panties in his pocket as he eats you out viciously. The tip of his nose, his lips, and his chin covered in your essence.

You gasp and moan at the familiar sensations. God. You two may not have a crazy sex life, but it is always mind-blowing.

You can see one of Viktor’s arms moving up and down desperately as he eats you out, he's jerking himself off as he devours you.

That realization is what sends you over the edge as you cum on Viktor’s tongue. Your thighs clench against his beautiful face and he moans brokenely into your sex. A slight whimper escapes him when he's done.

You're left panting on the desk as Viktor casually states, “Thank you for the meal. I greatly appreciated it.” as he wipes his mouth clean with the back of his hand.

You laugh incredulously as he takes the lunch pail off the desk to see what you brought him.

What the fuck just happened?

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

JAYCE

Jayce is a simple man. Everything about you is jaw-droppingly gorgeous. He's surprised he has enough blood in his body to keep him functioning with the amount of times you've made him hard.

This morning is no different.

Jayce wakes up alone in bed and pouts at the cold spot you left behind. There's a whisper of warmth, indicating you got up maybe ten minutes ago.

He drags his feet to the kitchen, his slippers sliding against the floor as he yawns and scratches his bare stomach.

The yawn gets caught in his throat when he sees you humming lightly in the kitchen, casually making two coffees to start your day.

Your hair is a bit messy, but that doesn't bother Jayce. It’s what your wearing that gets him.

Jayce runs hot. He always has. So when it’s time to go to bed, he takes his pyjamas off and sleeps in boxers. When he wakes up he puts the pants back on, but he was wondering where the shirt was.

It’s on you. It’s way too big, coming down to about mid-thigh on you. It’s a rich red colour with some gold embroidery. On the chest pocket is the symbol of House Talis.

You need something on the top shelf and get on your tip toes to get it as you reach up, and with that, Jayce sees the entirety of your thighs and your ass. Your underwear leaves very little to the imagination.

Jayce feels as if he got punched in the gut as all the blood in his body rushes to his dick.

He comes up behind you quietly and puts a hand on your hip, the other reaching up to grab the other mug for you. Jayce likes putting your favourite cups too high up so you have to ask for his help, it's working in his favour at the moment.

“Jayce!” you gasp, a smile painting your pretty face. He can't help but grin back at you and kiss your cheek as he places the cup down on the countertop.

You tilt your head to the side to give Jayce more room, he takes it gladly. Kissing down your neck, nipping as he goes. You moan quietly.

Your moans amp up when you feel his massive hard on rubbing against your ass incessantly, “Really?! Jayce!”

He moans out a laugh, “Don’t judge me! I can't help it, you're so beautiful.”

You turn around and kiss him properly, a hand cupping his erection, he whines into the kiss.

Your coffee is forgotten as he pins you down onto the countertop, his pyjama pants lowered just enough to release his cock.

He ruts agaisnt your clothed pussy, the underwear giving great friction for the two of you.

You can't help but moan at the feeling. Your panties are ruined with your slick and Jayce's precum. The tip of his cock bumps against your clit deliciously, and his length keeps the pleasure going.

Before you know it you're cumming, soaking your underwear, and Jayce follows suit, ruining your underwear even further.

Your thighs and ass have fingerprint-shaped bruises. They'll be there for the next few weeks.

Guess you'll have to start wearing Jayce's clothes more often…

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

STEB

Steb is a sweetheart. He's very kind and caring, if a bit quiet. He doesn't speak often, but his facial expressions and body language give him away easily.

So imagine his surprise when he wakes up with a raging hard on and you none the wiser as you continue to drift off in dream land.

His face heats up in mortification as he tries to pry you away from him. Gently detangling your bodies, in doing this, the nightgown you wear to bed has shifted as well.

Your breasts damn near spill out— wait you moved again your tits are out. A clear shot of your soft breasts and lightly pebbled nipples is all Steb can focus on. Then his gaze shifts against his will.

His eyes trail your waist, your barely covered hips and there she is. Your pussy is out and playfully saying high. Your pubes are a bit bushier than normal due to the amount of tossing and turning you do.

God you're displayed like a delicious feast and Steb wants to sink his teeth into you.

But you're sleeping, and you work long hours. He doesn't want to bother you.

So he uses your image to jerk off.

He's a bit clumsy, and he tries his best to not make noise. He's unsuccessful.

Pants, moans, and whines escape the pretty fish boy. He gets loud enough that you wake up, and what a sight he is!

Face flushed, lower lip bitten in desperation, a large hand pumping his cock, fingers deftly playing with the ridges on his shaft.

You moan lightly at the sight and Steb freezes. “Don’t stop on my account darling. I was just starting to enjoy the show.”

Steb’s face erupts into a bright red as a shuddery moan escapes him. You bite your lip at the sound, Steb very rarely speaks, so hearing his voice all debauched has made your pussy dripping wet.

You open your legs wide and start to play with your pussy, dragging a finger through your wetness, three fingers rubbing casually rubbing your clit.

A look of astonishment is what you get from Steb, especially when you take his free hand and bring it to your breast, squeezing it harshly. Steb’s motions speed up, as do yours. Seeing him so ruined at the mere sight of you is ramping up your ego you're not going to lie.

Eventually, the two of you cum, it happens when the two of you kiss sweetly enough. Steb’s panting in exhaustion as you just lay him on your chest, tracing his features with your fingertips.

“… Thank you.” Steb says quietly, his voice smooth and sweet. You smile at your handsome boy, “No problem sweetheart. Now, shall we go back to sleep for a bit? Your shift starts in a few hours.”

Steb groans and buries his face deeper into your chest and you can't help but laugh at him.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

VANDER

You've been helping Vander out at the Last Drop ever since you were a teen and he was in his twenties.

You helped look after the kids, and helped count inventory. Vander is the face of the bar, both as the bartender and as the owner.

Now the kids are teens themselves, you're in your late twenties and Vander is pushing early forties. The eleven-year age gap now not as obvious as it once was.

You've always kind of had a crush on him. He's gorgeous, kind, caring, and has this gentle dominance about him. He's never scared you— he's the one you go to when you're scared.

Especially now that you bartend with the man. “You're family” he said, “The kids don't need an eye on them 24/7 now, let them grow a bit on their own. But I still need you. Come bartend with me. I'll teach you all the tricks.”

Now, how could you say no to that?

You couldn’t, so now you’re a well known face at the Last Drop

A very well known face

A very pretty one

But there’s an unsaid rule, You’re Vander’s Girl. No if’s, ands, or buts.

Some patrons don’t understand that.

One in particular is making you want to commit murder. He’s rude, touchy, and disgusting to look at.

At one point when you turned around to grab a bottle of booze, the son of a bitch slapped your ass, in retaliation, you swung around and smashed said bottle of booze into his face.

He fell flat on his back, glass stuck in his face as it bled profusely. Other patrons of the bar became silent. A pin drop could be heard in the once lively bar.

“You Bitch!” The man gargles out, oops looks like you broke his jaw. You sneer down at him, “You’re lucky I’m the one who hurt you, instead of Vander.”

“The ladies right. Now get the hell out of my bar.” Vander states as he enters the bar from the back room, wiping his hands with a towel, before tossing it onto his shoulder.

The hurt man stumbles up and leaves, his tail between his legs. Your anger hasn’t subsided, as you pant in frustration. You want to rip your hair out, destroy the bottles of liquor lining the wall. Stab someone. Anything to get this anger out.

Vander clears his throat, “Benzo, you mind watching the bar for a bit? Gotta calm the Little Miss down.”

Benzo just nods silently as Vander takes your hand and drags you to the back of the bar, into the stock room. There’s a multitude of bottles, barrels, cold fridges, and a table with a few chairs, so that you can count inventory comfortably.

Vander sits you down before sitting next to you. There’s a small silence between the two of you, but it’s a comfortable one.

“I’m proud of you.” At that statement, your head whips around to look at the handsome man. “What?”

“I’m proud of you. A decade ago you would’ve let it slide, not this time. You stood up for yourself. I’m proud of you.”

You snicker, “A decade ago I was seventeen and worried about how others thought of me. Not anymore. Who gives a shit if some people don’t like me? I can’t please everyone.”

“I forget how young you are sometimes. The Lanes… they change you. They change everyone.”

A small smile erupts across your face, you hand coming to rest on top of one of Vanders. God damn his hand is so much bigger than yours.

“You’re young too you know? You’re only thirty-eight. Oh the horror, you’re almost forty!” You tease, a giggle in your voice. Vander rolls his eyes, “I was eleven when you were born.”

“Now I’m a grown woman.”

There’s a silence between you two again, but this time it’s not as comfortable. There’s tension there. Undeniable tension.

Vander clears his throat after some time, “So, you feeling better? Not gonna kill one of my patrons?”

You purse your lips, “Honestly. No. I’m still angry, and I know if I go out to bartend again without dealing with it, I probably will snap, and at someone who doesn’t deserve it.”

With that, you stand up and place yourself in Vander’s lap. The older man gasps at your audacity. You smirk, “One thing that’s always helped me calm down is a good orgasm.”

Vander’s hands go to your hips, they completely encompass them. “I can’t Lass. You’re… you’re too young.”

“I’m twenty seven. Like I said before, I’m a grown woman.”

“I’ve known you since you were a teen.”

“And I’ve wanted to fuck you since then. Be happy I’m seducing you now rather than when I was a teen.”

Vander says your name sharply when you start to rub yourself in his lap, “I know you want this too Vander. I see how you look at me. At my ass when I bend over, at my tits when I lean against the bar, at my lips when I bite them. I see how much you want me, and the guilt that follows.”

A groan escapes him, “We shouldn’t… it’s wrong.”

“Then why does it feel so good?”

Vander smashes his lips against yours and you moan at the feeling, the very large bulge rubbing against your pussy isn’t helping.

You both pull apart from the kiss, panting as you stare at one another, “We can’t fuck here. I need time to prep you. My fingers good enough for now lovely?” Vander asks, eyes dark with want. You nod desperately as you lick your lips, god you taste just like him now. His pipe, his favourite whisky, and mint from when he brushed his teeth. Its addicting.

Vander pushes your pants and panties down easily, your bare pussy soaking Vander's pants. His fingers are huge, god they're gonna feel so good fucking your pussy.

And they do. They're massive. Curling against your g-spot effortlessly. They even bump lightly into your cervix which sends a zing of pleasure down your spine.

You have to cover your mouth with your hand so as to not let Benzo or he patrons know what’s going on.

Before you know it, you're cumming aggressively. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you squirt. A squeal escaping your parted lips.

Vander hushes you as he prolongs your pleasure, almost pushing to overstimulation.

A sweet kiss is places onto your temple as Vander gets you presentable again. He pops his fingers into hai mouth and you groan in embarrassment.

“What? You taste as sweet as you look.”

A shy smile is what he gets in return, “What about you?”

Vander smirks at you, “I'll get my fill when the bar closes. That way you won't have to hold back your pretty moans.”

The large man then leaves the storage room and you're left there panting in satisfaction. You can't wait for the bar to close.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

SILCO

You and Silco have a give-and-take relationship. It’s worked well so far.

As a madame of a brothel, Silco ensures security is at your house— both for your girls and yourself. In return, you gift Silco multiple things.

The finest cigars, bourbon, and the greatest gift of all.

Yourself.

You're Silco’. No-one questions you. Not when you want into his office, not when you go places others are prohibited, not when you input your opinion on one of Silco’s plans.

It's especially apparent as Silco casually smokes his cigar as you enter his office in a blazing glory. All you get to your entrance is a quirked eyebrow.

“Where’s Allistar?” You snarl, your eyes blazing and hands clenched at your side. Silco sighs out a ring of smoke, “He’s guarding the club patrons.”

You roll your eyes and push your tongue into your cheek, “Get him up here. He hurt one of my girl and decided not to pay.”

All Silco does is nod once, calling Sevika over and whispers something to her. She looks at her boss, at you, and then silently leaves the office. In no time, the little weasel is inside The Eye of Zaun’s office, trembling.

Before he can do anything, you twirl one of your knives from their holster on your thigh and slash across his face; a nice clean cut from a corner of his forehead, across an eye, his lips, and to the opposite corner of his jaw.

A shout of pain is all that's heard in the silent office as you snarl, “That’s for hurting one of my girls! I'll make you hurt a lot more if you don't pay me my owed money.”

He scoffs at you, and you see red. In a flash, you've got him on his back, you've slammed your foot into his crotch, and you lean over, the tip of your knife digging into his throat.

His cries have turned into whimpers, you're quite certain you've popped one of his balls. Oh well.

He shakily pulls out a pouch of coins and hands them to you, “Thank you darling.” you say, your words a smooth purr.

Allistar just nods quietly before looking at Silco, who just sighs and states, “You may go now.”

He runs as fast as he can out the door. It's more like a frantic limp but you get the idea. The door slams behind the rat and the office is plunged into silence again.

You’re cleaning your blade casually before Silco calls your name. You look up and smirk at the sight. Silco looks hungry. His one blue eye darkened, his pupil overtaking his iris. His jaw is clenched and his hair is a bit messy, as if he was running his hand through it as you cleaned your knife.

He ushers you to him silently, a single crock of his fingers. You sashay to his side and your smirk widens when you see the substantial bulge in his pants.

“Oh Silco… did my violence excite you?”

“Get on your knees.”

You do so without hesitation.

In a few short moments, Silco’s cock is down your throat and his head is thrown back in pleasure.

“Fuck, look at you! A dangerous woman who most people in the Lanes fears, on her knees sucking my cock like one of her working girls. Such a whore for me.”

You moan around his cock, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Silco chuckles at your reaction, “You like this. You like defiling yourself for me. You like being my personal cock sleeve.”

Your hips speed up on the tip of Silco’s shiny leather boots, and you shudder as you cum in your panties. You shove your head down until your nose is tickling the trimmed pubes at the base of Silco’s cock and swallow.

Silco groans deeply in his chest. A rumbly sound that makes you shiver as he cums deeply down your throat.

You pull away and inhale deeply, wiping your mouth and nose and you catch your breath. You sniff lightly as you put Silco's cock back into his pants. You crawl up from the floor and Silco kisses your cheek.

“So… should I be more violent in your presence?”

“You should just be in my presence more often.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

EKKO

Being Ekko’s right hand woman as leader of the Firelights can be very difficult.

It can also be very rewarding.

When Ekko found out you saved not only your team of firelights but all the zaunites from the enforcers trying to cause trouble to illegally put them into Stillwater, he never loved you more.

Seeing you tired, dirty, and bruised caused an unintentional pulse in his cock. Oh no. No. No. No! This can't be! No!

Fuck you look amazing.

Knowing the reason why you're so dishevelled and seeing you so unbelievably gorgeous makes him want to drag you away to a random private room and give you all the pleasure you deserve.

He doesn't even let the firelight team debrief the mission, he doesn't hear anything as he drags you away to his room.

“Ekko! What's gotten into you?” You squeal, you voice light and full of confused happiness.

The handsome boy just stays quiet as he whips open his bedroom door, slams it, and locks it.

All the firelights look to one another before coming to the same conclusion. Leave those two alone for a while unless you want to be traumatized.

As your firelights warn one another, you and Ekko are just passionately making out. Grunts, groans, moans, and whines are all that’s heard in the room. Ekko pulls you desperately into his lap and ruts against your clothed sex. You whine loudly into his plush mouth.

“Ekko! Seriously, fuck what's gotten you so revved up?”

Ekko groans that you stopped his kisses, “You did. You're amazing, I'm so lucky you're mine and fuck you look so good.”

You go back to kissing and the rutting intensifies. You're tempered to strip down and get Ekko’s lovely cock inside you but the rutting is too good. The layers of clothes causing amazing pleasure to your pudgy clit and Ekko’s engorged cock.

You two paw one another like horny teens rather than young adults, but it feels too good to stop.

In no time you cum harshly into your pants, your underwear sticky and soaked to your sensitive pussy. Ekko groans deeply and you feel him rutt desperately into your pussy as he cums too.

The two of you pull away and pant deeply.

“Did that just happen?” You ask, tone full of disbelief. Ekko laughs and nods.

There's a small bitog silence between the two of you before you calmly state, “Can my team and I debrief you now?”

The look of embarrassment that crosses Ekko’s face makes you laugh so hard you snort, and Ekko punches you in the shoulder.

All you can hope is that the other firelights didn't hear you…

(they did. Oops.)

I hope y'all liked this! I accidentally made Vander’s longer than the others due to exposition. It was a bit hard to write for this many characters but I think I did well! Love ya xoxo ❤️

[yanderedrabbles]

Helloooo! I just loved the old west gang. Traumatized? Yes. Curious? Yes. But specifically the Lakota wrangler caught my attention, and oooh this part:

"""Don't be. You're my reward, my reparation." He brushed his knuckles across your cheek again.

"I've waited my whole life for you."

You wanted to ask why. What made you so special? Why did he want to keep you? ""

VAL, TELL ME WHAT DOES THIS MEAN? WHAT'S HIS STORY? WHAT'S HIS DEBT?

OH MY GOD HIS PART IS SO 💕💕💕💕

TELL US THEIR BACKGROUND PLEASE 🥹🥹🥹

Yandere Outlaws - The Wrangler's Past + the gang hearing about you for the first time

I think the wrangler probably has one of the most interesting backgrounds. We all know that the Wild West era was no fun at all for Native American tribes. Manifest Destiny and all the terrible things done in it's name saw Native tribes being confined to smaller and smaller reservations, with stricter and stricter rules. Bison were disappearing, the railroads were cutting across hunting lands, and permanent settlers were coming west in droves.

I think in the face of all that, the wrangler felt like he had to adapt or die. Set out on his own and try and make it in the white man's world.

I reckon he falls in with the boss after a nasty bar fight. Him against some cowboys who feel like a Lakota on "their" turf is blasphemy.

Things don't look good at all. He's a strong fighter but numbers almost always trumps skill. He's going to end up dead in the mud and no one will give a damn.

Well, until the boss arrives. Maybe the boss is an old quick draw and when the smoke settles the cowboys are down for good. Or maybe the boss just has that look to him, that keen eyed glare that makes dumb cowhands think better of their bravado.

Either way, he hauls the wrangler out of the mud and offers him a job.

"Need a man for my horses. I'll pay you good to stick with us for coupla weeks."

The wrangler agrees. Because hell, what else is there to do? And if the older man looks hard edged and hard eyed, how much does that really matter? This is the West. You either get tough or get buried.

I think one way or another, the boss earns his loyalty. He gives him a sense of belonging he hasn't felt since he set out on his own. Gives him a purpose. And well, robbing banks and derailing trains and sticking it to old Uncle Sam is about the best he can do to make up for what his tribe has been through. Just one more outlaw pricking Washington in the thumb.

And as for you, sweet thing that you are, oh, you're what he's waited for all his life.

A girl to call his own. Soft and kind, to keep the cold away. Looking in your eyes makes it so easy to forget all the shit he's been through, all the shit he's done. He's been through his share of trouble and then some. He deserves a place to rest his head, a person to call home.

So what if you aren't willing? The world has gone out of its way to take what should have been his by right. The bison, the land, the open sky and flowing water. All of it divvied up and fenced off. He's not letting anyone get in the way of the one good thing he can finally call his own.

I think the thing that initially attracts him to you is the story of you and the second in command. The second is Chinese and he hasn't had it easy either. He could either work the railroads or die in a ditch. Not the best options, but just about the only ones open to an immigrant's son.

If you were anyone else, you'd have screamed your head off when you found him bleeding in your barn.

You didn't. Instead, you put him back together and kept him safe from your pa.

When he first heard the story, it was a cold night out on the planes. They'd just pulled off a job and were sleeping rough, trying to throw the law dogs off their trail.

The second kept looking out to the west. Maybe he was keeping an eye out for pursuit, but they'd pulled their job off back east. Marshals would be coming from that direction, if at all.

Finally, he gave in to his curiosity and asked the man what the hell he was looking for.

"My girl," he said simply. "My girl stays out that way."

The outlaws grew quiet around the fire.

"I didn't know you had one," the boss said, elbows on his knees as he sharpened his boot knife. "Is that where you go off to when we're in town?"

"Mm-hmm. I like to check in on her."

The gunslingers leaned forward then, as in sync as coyotes.

"She must be one hell of a girl, if she can put up with your ugly mug."

"Is she pretty? Got those nice eyes that look up at you all sweet?"

He ignored them and went back to looking west, like he could somehow see over all those miles.

"Do you love her?" the wrangler asked suddenly. He didn't know why he asked that, just that it seemed important.

"More than I thought possible. Every time I see her it's like my heart is breaking. If I can't have her, I think I'll go mad."

The boss looked up for a second, blue eyes catching the firelight. "You gonna marry her then?"

The second laughed, uncharacteristically nervous. "She doesn't even know I exist."

The boss stopped sharpening his knife. "How do you know you love her, if you ain't never talked to her?"

"She saved my life. That's how I know."

The wrangler looked up at the sky and wondered who would go out of their way to save an outlaw.

The boss stuck his knife in his boot. "Tell us the story."

Maybe if anyone else asked, the second would have refused. You were his girl. He didn't want to share even the memory of you with other men.

But you don't say no to the boss.

When he was done telling it, the outlaws were quiet. Lost in their own thoughts. All of them thinking how sweet it would be to have a girl like that. Feeling for a second what he felt every time he thought of you.

It was the wrangler who broke the silence, only half aware he was speaking. "I'd do anything to have a girl like that. Someone so kind..."

The dark skinned outlaw leaned forward, eyes narrowed. "She sounds too good for either of you."

"And you're any better?"

He didn't get to answer. The green eyed gunslinger cut in, his voice low and mean.

"She sounds real innocent. Kind of girl who'll cry when you fuck her for the first time."

The second in command stood with a snarl, already reaching for his rifle.

"Don't."

The boss, quiet but no less dangerous for being so.

"We're all men here. We're all gonna think somethin' like that when you tell us 'bout a girl so...untouched."

The second sat back down stiffly, his jaw clenched tight.

The boss continued, "Ain't like we're gonna steal your girl from you. Let it go."

The wrangler didn't let it go though. Not even when they were back in their hideout, a whole lot richer than they were a week ago.

He stopped the second in command when he was saddling up his mustang.

"Take me with you. I want to see this girl of yours."

If it was anyone else, he'd have said no on the spot. But the wrangler had a quiet gentleness about him that made the second agree.

They watched you from a hill overlooking your father's ranch. Just two shadows against the setting sun.

One of your horses had taken sick and you were walking it around the corral. Stopping every little while to stroke its neck or rub its nose, whispering encouragement. You were patient, gentle. The hem of your skirt tucked into your belt and showing off a sliver of thigh as you moved.

The wrangler sighed and stroked his horse's neck.

"I understand now."

"Understand what?"

"Why you keep looking for her, even if you're a hundred miles away."

As they rode home, he found himself doing the same thing. Looking over his shoulder like he could somehow see you one last time.

And the first time he saw you up close? Backed up against the kitchen table, corned like a vixen at the hunt? That's when he realised exactly what you were.

You were his reward.

The one good thing he'd struggled all his life to find. You were going to be his peace. His home.

And the first time he had you? On your knees, kissing his cock, your eyelashes still wet with tears? That's when he decided he'd keep you, no matter how cruel it was. No matter that doing it would strip him of any claim to goodness. A good man wouldn't get hard seeing you cry. A good man wouldn't fuck you when all you wanted was to go home.

But then again, how could he stay a good man in a world that hated him? That wanted him dead and gone?

When he kissed you, he signed away his last bit of honour. It doesn't matter that he holds you so gently, that he touches you like a lover.

He'll never let you go. And ain't that just a bitch?

[differenteagletragedy]

Part two of this one where Price is your neighbor and falls in love with you but whoops you have an awful gross boyfriend :/

John is a man who embraces his flaws. He knows each and every single one of them by heart, and if he doesn't put time into fixing them, he works long and hard to make them into something useful.

And thank goodness he does, because it turns out that his competitive streak and his slight obsessive tendencies -- the urge to devour the things he loves, to feast on them endlessly until he's either consumed it all or been consumed himself -- would come in handy in his mission to win you over and away from your useless leech of a boyfriend.

For days, every time he sees you, the boyfriend is attached to your side, a parasite sucking all the light and life from you, and it almost hurts John to watch. To see such a pretty little thing like you get used -- because it's obvious to him, from the heart-to-heart you'd had all those weeks ago, as well as just from simple observation, that that's what was happening -- when he could be making you smile, making you happy ... it's a struggle.

But he wants to bide his time. He knows if he comes in to your rescue, guns blazing, it could backfire, that even if he knows in his bones that you are meant to belong to him, it might seem overwhelming and presumptuous at best to make such a declaration so early.

"I'm glad he's back," you tell him the first time he gets you alone -- a Wednesday night in the laundry room of your shared apartment complex. "I think things are working out better this time, I really do."

"Is that so?" he replies in a carefully measured tone. He shoots you a tight grin that he knows good and well doesn't meet his eyes as he moves his clothes from the washer to the dryer.

You give him a look, one that tells him that you know he knows you're bullshitting, and he lets out a small laugh.

"I don't mean to rain on your parade, love, truly, I don't," he tells you. "But I seem to remember you being none too happy about the man. You didn't exactly paint a happy picture when you spoke of him, yeah?"

You sigh as you take each individual piece of clothing from the dryer, folding it neatly and placing it in your basket, and he tries not to notice how much it gets under his skin to see your lovely, careful hands smoothing out your boyfriend's clothes before mixing them in with your own.

"I know," you admit softly. "But he's here, and he's trying ... well, trying for him. And maybe that's better than being alone."

John wants nothing more than to pull you away from the machines, to press you against the wall and kiss you until all that sad resignation was gone from your voice. He wants to hold you until you understand that you deserve more than the scraps of a pathetic man too stupid, self-involved or both to realize what a treasure he had in you.

But he's playing the long game now. So instead, he hums thoughtfully, then says, "You ever think that there's another option?"

You grin, and it's a shot of warmth to his chest, a cozy little feeling that spreads out and over him and god, he wants so much more of that.

Before you can respond, a buzzer goes off -- your second load of laundry, ready to be dried. It breaks the moment, but that's all right. John is a patient man. He can create another.

A week or two later, he's heading out for a bit, a quick trip to the shops to pick up some groceries. As he's walking to his parking spot, he hears raised voices, and when he pinpoints one of them as yours, he walks faster.

He sees you standing by your car, looking as cute as ever wrapped up in your winter coat, and your boyfriend kneeling on the ground by your rear right tire. It's flat, and there's a jack and a tire iron lying on the pavement near it, but no real work done on repairing the situation.

"Look, it's not a big deal," John hears you tell your boyfriend, the frustration apparent in your voice like this is your fourth or fifth time repeating this same line. "I'll call someone to come fix it, it's --"

"I can fix the fucking tire, Jesus Christ," the boyfriend barks, and for John, that's quite enough of that.

"There a problem?" he asks, a bit of the Captain coming out in his tone as he glares down at the other man.

"Just a flat tire," you tell him. "Someone is pretending they know how to change it, but --"

"For the last time, I know how to change the goddamn tire, your piece of shit car is just --"

"Let me have a go then," John interrupts, his lips in a tight line.

The boyfriend rises, moving to stand in front of John. He has an inch or two on him, and he clearly tries to use them to intimidate John, which is a ridiculous enough move that both men can hear you bite back a laugh.

It's a pissing contest, pure and simple, but John is playing to win. He stands his ground, staring steady until the boyfriend sighs and gestures to the tire, inviting him to take over.

As John goes to take over the job, the boyfriend purposefully brushes against his shoulder with his own, leaning in to growl, "She's not going to fuck you for changing her tire, old man."

The remark was just low enough for you to miss up, but pointed enough for John to imagine a number of scenarios in quick succession, most of them involving the tire iron and shutting up the boyfriend's rotten mouth for good. But again, John is all smooth control, so he just pats the man's shoulder before he gets down on his knees and begins, with little trouble, the process of changing the tire.

It's at some point before the new tire is put on that the boyfriend storms back inside, muttering some feeble remark about not feeling like going out anymore. When he leaves, you move closer to John, watching him as easily continues the job.

"Thank you," you say softly. "You didn't have to do this."

He smiles up at you quickly before his eyes go back to the tire, and says, "Quite all right, sweetheart. No trouble at all."

When he's done, he packs everything back up for you, tucking it all in your trunk. You protest, trying to grab the tools from him, but it's easy enough for him to out-maneuver you. He holds the tire iron up high, out of your reach, and you laugh easily, all earlier tension gone, and the difference in you when you're with him, when it's just the two of you, is almost enough to make him ache with longing.

You thank him again, tell him again that he didn't have to help, and a bit of his resolve snaps. He doesn't want much more time to go by without you knowing that you deserve that kind of help, those simple, easy little acts of kindness.

"Tell you what," he says, lowering his voice in a conspiratorial tone. "If it makes you feel more at ease, you can pay me back for the labor."

"Yeah, sure," you reply earnestly. "How much?"

"One cup of coffee. That's my rate."

You gift him with another bright smile as you pick up on the offer, but he sees your eyes glance towards the apartment building.

"I maybe shouldn't," you respond. "My boyfriend is --"

"Not here," John finishes the sentence for you. "And I, the man who just slaved away to do a repair on your vehicle, am."

"... So you are."

He grins, lowering his voice just a smidge more, adding "Quite thirsty too."

You laugh, then gesture for him to get in your car -- an agreement, for coffee, at least.

It's a small victory, but as John well knows, that's how wars are won.

[lily-jaxk]

MC Twin AU - SYLUS'S Darling

"Pretty Dragon, do you have a name?"

". . . Does it matter?"

"Well, since I'm officially a damsel in distress, I should at least know what my cager's name is no? It's only fair!"

The young woman gives the dragon a dopey smile, raising her legs up so she could place her chin on it as she watched him. The dragon's tail idly swayed behind him, until a somewhat familiar word left his lips. "Stayrus."

"Stayrus...." She murmured, allowing the familiar words to fill her mind for the first time in years. She hadn't heard that name since █████. "Stayrus....I like it." A soft sigh leaves her lips and she stretches her legs out. "It's a bit hard to pronounce though. Can I call you a nickname?"

The dragon rises, and his unseen wings stir up gusts around him. "Call me whatever you want. But don't expect me to respond."

A grin grew on her lips. "In that case, Sylus, can I play with the silver tiara I spotted back there?"

"If that's what you wish."

The next time you woke up, you found yourself on a bed.

A very, very, comfortable bed.

You blink up at the ceiling, confusion clouding your mind. What happened? You remember being kidnapped, you remember finding out that it was Luke and Kieran who had kidnapped you, you met Sylus.

. . . . Wait.

You met Sylus.

Meaning. . . . . . .you were currently at Onychinus's base.

You sit up in a panic, wide eyes glancing around the room. Black walls, dark bedsheets, a soft light shining down on you, was that a gun on your bedside???

Yep. This was definitely Sylus's room.

Holy shit, how did this happen?

You hum and place your hand underneath your chin in thought. Ok, so, what even happened before all this? You were on your way home, you wanted to get a little midnight snack, someone grabbed your arm in a flash, and boom you were kidnapped.

What in the cliche gods was this!?

You groan and fall back on the bed. Why you? Did Sylus kidnapping you mean you had an Aether Core in your heart? That didn't make any sense though, you didn't have a heart condition. . . . .last time you checked at least.

Wait. Didn't he say something before you passed out again?

"Hello, darling. I'm glad to see you again."

A giggle starts to bubble out of your lips, and a dopey smile forms on your face. He called you darling! He called you darling!!!

. . . Why? He said you had met before, when? You would have remembered meeting a stunning man like him before.

So . . . . what in the world was going on?

"Hello, darling."

"Holy FUCK-" you yelp, snapping your eyes open to sit up straight again, turning your head to stare at the white haired man who was leaning against the door. Ok, so you had a few options. Option 1, act scared and hope he leaves. Option 2, act like MC.

. . . . Option 2 was a bad idea, so never mind.

Option 3! . . . . Flirt with him.

Yes yes, option 3 also wasn't a good idea, but honestly, maybe it was because you knew so much about Sylus, that the scare factor has worn off the moment you realized where you were. Also, he couldn't even kill you because you were MC's twin! Yay sibling perks!

So you make a smirk grow on your face and give Sylus a wink. "Hello, handsome kidnapper~"

This will be an interesting interaction.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | Sylus | 18+

Shorter chapter because instead of the 5 parts like Caleb and or Rafayel, this will have 8 parts plus Sylus and the 18+!

Tag list! - @young-adult-summer @sleepydang @rafayelsbeloved @fayy126 @huuvu @codedove @junrui @animecrazy76

[taegimood]

— nudes?! (c.bg) ♡

pairing: choi beomgyu x fem!reader genre: best friends to ?, non-idol au, suggestive rating: nsfw, mdni wc: 1.2k warnings: mention/description of reader’s nudes, beomgyu imagines Doing Things and gets hard, implication of sexy time at the end, they’re both horny for each other synopsis: what happens when your best friend who secretly has the hots for you accidentally sees your nudes?

requested forever ago by @mapofthemazeinthemirror <3 [blog status: semi-hiatus, requests closed]

| yeonjun ver. | soobin ver. | taehyun ver. (coming 3/21) | kai ver. (coming 3/24) |

masterlist

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beomgyu is often not too hard to read.

your goofy best friend who'd rather cause mischief than let a situation turn boring, who loves to stir things up and watch the chaos unfold around him.

but one thing that you just can't seem to get a grasp on... is how he really feels about you.

as well as you can confidently say that you know choi beomgyu, the never-ending mixed signals he throws at you may just be your downfall in that department, from the outrageous flirting towards you on one end of the spectrum to the bragging of his latest phone number acquirement on the other.

i mean, what are you supposed to think when he's sweetly tucking your hair behind your ear one second and then commenting on how pretty that passing girl is the next? (unbeknownst to you, he's actually just trying to gauge your reaction).

but at this point you've had enough of the guessing games. you're gonna take things into your own hands and find out exactly how he really feels.

...or at least... that's what you told yourself, when you'd laid out across your sheets and took those coy little pictures, fully nude and fully ready to "accidentally" send them to your best friend to see what he would do;

but now, you release a resigned sigh as you set your phone aside untouched and tug your — his — sweater further over your shoulders in the chilly air of your room.

"stupid beomgyu," you grumble. "stupid me... stupid idea."

your lost confidence seems to mock you as your phone suddenly buzzes with a text from none other than the exact man of the hour, and you huff as you read it.

— hellspawn 🙄🤎: i'm coming over

his contact name feels as fitting as ever. "right, just invite yourself on in," you mutter to yourself (as if that's not exactly what the two of you always do anyways).

you have half a mind to respond with something snarky, but instead you just leave it be as you stare down at the nudes still sitting hauntingly unsent in your end of the message box, and with a shiver you resort to sticking your tongue out at his contact picture and leaving the text unanswered as you punch the air in a mini fit and toss your phone away into your pillows.

"i hate boys."

and with that, you grouchily trudge your way into the living room to start up the show that you've been binging together, phone and pictures forgotten.

unfortunately.

because what you don't know, but what you're soon about to find out, is just how crazy your best friend actually is about you — and as beomgyu stands frozen outside of your apartment building, staring down at his phone with a short-circuiting brain and eyes growing blurred from lack of blinking in the chilly night air, convenience store bag full of snacks falling forgotten to the ground — well.

he didn't even buy a lottery ticket, but it seems he's just won.

your naked body glows back at him from his screen as he fumbles back into motion, urging his fingers to remember their own mobility as he gulps and swipes hungrily through the array of photos that you'd sent.

hurriedly he brushes his long hair out of his eyes as it falls forward, his hunched frame in the middle of the sidewalk probably resembling that of a homeless man as he holds his phone close, shielding the sight of you from any prying eyes (there are none) while his thoughts suddenly erupt into every possible direction.

is this really happening? is this real life? what does this mean? is this a confession? she obviously wants me too, then, right? shit, should i have dressed better? do i smell okay? should i run back home and — oh god, what if these were meant for someone else? did she really mean to send them? what if she never speaks to me again? oh god, she's so.. she's so.. holy fuck.

beomgyu is breathless as his eyes roam across your soft skin, your pretty curves, the sly hint of a smirk peeking from your lips as your finger slips between them —

he feels his cock straining tighter against his pants the longer that he scrolls.

relishing in the sight that he's been dreaming of for so long, he imagines it were his hand wrapped gently around your throat instead of your own, his fingers caressing your bare tits and sliding down beyond the camera where his imagination is left to run wild — fuck, he's gotta get up there.

forcing himself to tear his eyes away, he quickly gathers the scattered snacks and stuffs them mindlessly back into their convenience store bag as he hurries towards the entrance of your building, not even needing to think twice as he inputs the code and all but lunges for the elevator.

"alright, be cool, be cool, be cool."

the deep breaths he's been taking and mini self pep talk he's been mumbling all but crumble away meaningless when he types in your apartment's passcode and opens the door to see you standing there by the couch wearing his sweater, so big on you that it's easy to pretend that your little pair of shorts underneath aren't even there;

and he's suddenly grateful for the long length of his hair as he feels the way his ears burn red underneath, but the inevitable flush on his face doesn't escape your notice as you glance up at him for a moment before turning your attention back to the tv remote in your hand.

"why do you look like you just ran a fucking marathon?" you scoff. "did the ahjumma downstairs hit you with her grocery bag again?"

but beomgyu is far beyond saving as images of you underneath him flicker across his mind, now no longer fueled by his imagination but by the real thing that you'd just graced him with minutes before.

"those for me?"

you pause. his voice is raspy, strained, almost breathless.

you glance back up at him. your brows pull together in confusion.

"huh?"

beomgyu barely breaks eye contact with you as he unlocks his phone, wordlessly holding it up to show you, eyes raking over your face for your reaction;

the remote falls to the floor with a thunk as your eyes widen and hands fly up to clap over your mouth in shock.

what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck- I SENT THEM?!?!

you rip your eyes away from the sight of your own body on his screen to meet his burning stare, and when you do — all excuses fizzle away as a shiver runs along your spine and straight down to your core.

the desire pooled in your best friend's eyes is unlike any look you've ever seen on him before, breaths coming out labored from his chest though he tries to control them; and when he takes a step forwards and asks again, voice deep and words punctuated,

"were those for me?"

you're nothing but a goner as you answer him with shaky legs and a nod.

the triumphant grin that spreads across beomgyu's blushing face is downright sinful as his bag of snacks once again meets a forgotten fate on the ground — along with his jacket that he immediately shrugs off of his shoulders, already reaching for the hem of his sweatshirt as he moves towards you with well-mustered boldness and says,

"should've waited for me, sweetheart. we could’ve taken them together.”

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— taglist: @razsberrie, @saejinniestar, @hyukalyptus, @florestalio, @beomiracles, @kiss4baku, @hyukascampfire, @kejingken, @cherr4es, @stawmerry, @choikanghuening, @dawngyu, @soo-blue, @paradigms13

if you want to be added to my taglist and get notified whenever i post any writing, drop a comment or an ask and let me know! ♡

[donovan-desmond-official]

So, according to Damian, his dad stopped the war... very interesting,,, very interesting indeed.

It's a small line, but it says a lot about Damian, his values, and why he looks up to his father. Damian, likely with a limited understanding of politics, believes that his father was responsible for at least the end of the war. Whether or not that is true (to be addressed later), it still helps to clarify why he would look up to such an "evil" man.

Donovan has long had the reputation of being a war mongerer, and Damian is essentially the only character who has anything remotely positive to say about him. It's clear that the reason Damian idolizes his father is because he doesn't really know who his father is. As a result, he idolizes his father based solely on action, not ideology.

And this is where it gets interesting. Damian looking up to his father for stopping the war means that to Damian, the heroic thing to do in this situation is to stop the war. This implies that Damian is, of course, anti-war.

This also indicates that despite his open adoration for his father, no one actually talks to him about him. He only has second-hand information that he was left to interpret by himself; drawing the faulty conclusion that his father stopped the war.

Damian doesn't know his father. He knows a very vague and disjoint version of him. Most of he loves probably isn't even true, and it's just things he projected onto his father to fill the gaps. At his core, he wants to love his father and therefore will find any reason to.

This helps to better explain the disconnect between him and his family. Demetrius is old enough to know and understand his father's role and beliefs with regard to war, and for that reason, he looks down on him. Melinda knew her husband, but at some point, he changed in such a way that he is borderline unrecognizable. With that change comes fear and distrust.

Now for the big question: did Donovan stop the war?

Answer: Assuming Donovan was in office at the time, yes.

Although I don't think the exact conclusion to the war was ever shared, my best guess is that it was some form of mutual agreement, possibly due to an external force. Given the timing of the story, this would be around the time when the UN was formed, and that could have pressured the countries to go about the warfare in more discreet and less destructive ways. Alternatively, there could be a shift in an environmental factor that caused both countries to pull back (eg, limit weaponry, natural disaster, etc).

(It's hard to say how much influence an organization like the UN would have as we still have no context and the political forces that drove the war. But then we will be getting into discussions about colonialism and imperialism, which is such a drag.)

What we do know for sure is that nobody truly won the war. Hence, why they are currently in a cold war.

Leaning more into a treaty or agreement of some sort being used, we can see why the SSS and WISE are still active. Westalis does not trust Ostania to uphold their side of the bargain and therefore are prompted to keep spies in the east to ensure nothing goes wrong. The SSS is reaction to their presence, seeking to pick them out and stop them from reporting back. This might seem suspicious on Ostania's side, but again, we do not know the true intentions of Westalis.

Without any proper understanding of why the two countries fought, it's hard to define "peace" on either side. The story is told from a biased perspective, so I refuse to simply take Twilight's word on the situation.

That being said

Donovan likely was forced to stop the war by signing whatever treaty or agreement was presented to them. So, even if he didn't necessarily want to, he still did. Therefore, he did stop the war. However, the detail that Damian is missing is the why. We know he didn't want to war to end and is clearly up to something in that space ship of his.

We can always refer back to his very not creepy debate from the 17th century:

He does not believe that humans have the capacity to genuinely stop fighting. According to him, someone is always lying, and therefore, no one can be trusted. A deranged take for a 7th grader, but that does explain his behavior. Ironically, he is now the liar who can not be trusted. His own anxiety turned him into the very person he resented.

At least according to Twilight.

Now i can go on and on about the parallels between Twilight and Donovan, but no one cares, so I'll make it short. Twilight is functionally no different from Donovan. They both aid in the cycle of war.

Although I don't think sxf is sophisticated enough to pull this kind of twist, it is still interesting to think about.

In the same way, we as an audience blindly assume Twilight is right, the same way Damian blindly assumes his father is right. In the end, we don't actually know what Donovan wants. The whole point of the mission is to figure it out. And man is he dragging his feet on it its been 100 chapters Twilight...

[tofics]

ANOTHER DEAN FIREFIGHTER FIC?!?!

Oh, don't mind me. Just me having a fangirling moment over my favorite Dean!AU, by @zepskies no less! 😭 And I have things to say about it! 😌

Okay, first of all - love love loooveeee @redhoodieone for requesting this and @zepskies for bringing it to life. Firefighter!Dean just does things to me. And yes, Alex, it's all your fault. (Thank you!) And now the reader is an ELEMENTARY TEACHER? ARE YOU KIDDING ME! That only happens to be what I'm studying! It's like this trope was written for me 😭

Now. I know I've said it before, but as a plus-size girly myself, reading fics where the reader is plus-size herself not only helps with the immersion, but also becomes even more of a delight when they're pictured as desirable. And you did such a good job with that. The repeated slaps on reader's ass, his obvious attraction to her, but most importantly, his outrage when she calls herself fat. Like he can't even believe she'd think of herself that way, because that title simply never occurred to him. Such a rewarding and healing thing to read! 🥹

And god, all those feelings of comparing herself to Lisa and Jo. I wish I didn't know that sinking feeling in her gut when she talked about how she had to slim herself down to fit into the dress, while Lisa and Jo do it so effortlessly. Or the absolute gut-punch that was Lisa's talk about "sticking to a clean diet for the baby" - as if she gives two shits about the little one growing in reader's belly 😒 Ten bucks say she secretly wishes there was no baby to begin with (which, honestly, theoretically I can't blame her for...), nor that she cares about the reader's "health". Fat shaming packaged as "caring". 🤮 Ugh, it made me so mad just reading it! (You wrote it so well 🥲)

Okay, but back to Dean. Dean, Dean, Dean.

“Ready for more, baby? Or you want to call it a night?” he asked. His tone was playful, but it was actually a serious question. You blinked in surprise. You’d never had a guy be this, well…generous, and not expect anything in return, especially not for just a hookup.

GIRL. Now why was this so freaking hot. Jesus Christ. And then his admiration when she's on top next morning 😭

“Goddamn, baby. Givin’ me quite a show,” he says, in a panting voice that’s deep as sin. You utter a breathy laugh. Dean means it though. He’s enjoying the way you brush your hair out of your face, your beautiful tits in his face while you truly let loose for him.

*dreamy sigh*

And this. THIS. The moment where he catches her disappointment. (Cause, ngl, I would've been uncertain as hell myself if I'd just slept with this guy for the third time in one night and suddenly he's scrambling to leave...)

Your smile barely reaches your eyes. He’s pressed for time, but he still notices. He slows himself down and cups your cheek. “Hey.” He gets your pretty eyes looking up at him, and he gives you a real kiss, nice and slow. He cradles your cheek and brushes his thumb across your skin. “Thanks,” he says. His now familiar grin manages to make you smile. “And I mean that.”

Oh, Dean Winchester, the man you are.

Alex, I can't wait to see where this goes! Lisa as a more bitchy version is quite the interesting read, and their little unintentional three-way set-up is bound to cause some drama 👀 And I'm here for it!!! Can't wait for the next chapter - coming out on here just one day after my birthday! Can't wait to read it 💓

IF I STAY - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized!Reader

Summary: Your dream is to work with kids as an elementary school teacher. Dean is well on his way to becoming a firefighter, keeping things light and “strings unattached” as he goes. After a one-night stand you never saw coming, you and Dean are forced to deal with the consequences…and figure out if the connection between you is worth fighting for.

AN: Yes, here’s another firefighter AU! Based on a request from one of my lovely Patreon members: @redhoodieone. She requested pretty much all the major beats of this story, so hopefully I did her request justice! This is also partially inspired by Fools Rush In, a beautiful movie with Salma Hayek and Matthew Perry (Rest in Peace, King).

Song Inspo: “I Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Elvis

Word Count: 8.7K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, thick thirty, hints of body insecurity, but also body appreciation, angst, and hurt/comfort.

❤️‍🔥 If I Stay Masterlist

Part 1: Fools Rush In

Slowly, your eyes slide open into the waking world. Your head is resting on something warm, firm…and a little sweaty. You pick your head up, despite the disorienting, muddy feeling of a slight hangover.

A groan bubbles in your throat. Your gaze travels downward, and you realize that what you’re looking at is more of a who.

Your eyes widen. Oh…my…God…

Not only are you very naked, but your firm pillow is too. It happens to be your best friend’s brother.

Yes, holy fucking shit! You slept with your best friend’s brother.

Biting the inside of your lip, you can’t help but take him in, here in the raw light of day as he lays peacefully on his back. His head lolls to the side on your usual pillow. Your eyes roam over the bow of his lips, the dark eyebrows, lightish brown hair that's softer than it should be between your fingers.

He’s painfully handsome. There’s a slight hesitation in your touch, but you softly trace the cut of his jaw and the stubble spread across it. That roughness feels familiar, and not just under the pads of your fingers, though the thought makes you blush. You begin to remember the night before, almost like a movie reel through your mind… 

Ooooh, right. That’s what happened.

It starts at Sam Winchester’s joint bachelor-bachelorette party at a nice hotel downtown. He and Eileen aren't the "strippers and coke" kind of party couple. They're more the "wine and brie en croute with pickled olives" on the expensive crackers you can't afford—kind of couple.

They look perfectly in love, if a bit long-suffering while Dean gives a hilarious, somewhat inappropriate, but still ultimately heartwarming toast to their happiness. After lowering the glass of champagne from his lips, his gaze catches on yours in the crowd. You suck in a subtle breath. 

Technically you’ve met him already, being one of Eileen’s bridesmaids, but there’s something about his green eyes that pin you to the floor. When he hands over the mic to Lisa Braeden, Eileen’s Maid of Honor, his head turning away from you to offer her a smile breaks the spell. It allows you to breathe.

Dean later finds you by the bar. You’re drinking a rum and coke with your slice of cake, trying not to get a single crumb on your dress. You've put a lot of work into affording it, let alone fitting in it. He leans his elbows casually on the counter and looks over at you.

“Hey, how’s it going?” he nods at you with a smile, subtly taking you in first. Then, his eyes go to your plate. “Ooh, red velvet. Gotta get me some of that.”

You smile back at him. “It’s pretty good.”

“Yeah, looks good in your hand,” he says, adding a teasing wink for good measure.

You don't know why that does it for you, but a half-flattered, half-nervous laugh tumbles out of your mouth. Sam has warned you before about Dean. Apparently his older brother is a bit of a flirt; a ladies’ man.

A man whore, are the words Eileen used.

You’re honestly surprised he’s talking to you when Eileen’s other bridesmaids, Lisa and Jo, are sipping martinis together down at the other end of the bar. Guess they didn’t want cake.

They look beautiful in their lithe, strapless little cocktail dresses. You’ve had to give up chocolate, bread, and cheese for three months straight to fit into this dress, something slinky and red that drapes over your thicker, curvy figure. But you’re proud of the fact that you’re letting yourself eat cake tonight, even though you’ve often felt like Mrs. Doubtfire while standing for pictures next to Lisa and Jo.

They’re Eileen’s friends, not so much your crowd. No matter how much you’ve tried to get to know them while helping the wedding planning in whatever way you can, you still get a high school clique vibe from the women, if with more “polite smiles.” Then they’ll typically go back to talking about crystal centerpieces—or whatever in-depth conversation they were having before you were there. 

But right now, Dean’s focus is on you. When he asks you more about yourself, you tell him about recently earning an elementary education degree.

“Ah, but you already knew that, because Sam told you we graduated college together,” you realize, with warmth tingeing your cheeks. That subject came up pretty quickly when he introduced you to his brother.

Dean’s smile confirms your suspicions, so you just keep filling the silence on reflex.

“Well, I actually just started teaching my first ever semester of second graders. They’re a bit of a handful, but overall, they’re really sweet.” Your smile falters. “Except for this one kid who likes to put little tacks on my chair. He’s kind of a menace, but I think if I bribe him with enough lollipops, he’ll give it a rest. I mean, it’s a behavioral issue and I should probably call his parents. But it's kind of hard to tell them their son is trying to make my ass into a pincushion."

Dean's laugh comes out in a sharp burst, like he wasn't expecting what just came out of your mouth. You didn't either, honestly. You giggle more out of embarrassment, ducking your head.

"He’s in second grade, you know?" you say, in between laughter. "I don't think that little footnote needs to end up on his permanent record. But then there's Micah. He's so friggin' smart. He can read at the fifth grade level already. Can you believe that? And I know I'm not supposed to have favorites, but his grades on his spelling tests get him a spot in the comfy bean bag chair pretty much every Friday. Honestly, I think that's what I like about working with kids. I get to see that spark on their face when something just finally clicks for them. Their little faces get all bright and happy and…ugh. God, I'm sorry. I'm rambling, right?”

You stop yourself with a hand sliding over your mouth, not quite covering your smile of embarrassment.

Dean’s grin just widens, making the corners of his eyes crinkle. 

"It's okay. I kinda like it," he teases.

You duck your head, biting your lip against a groan. He chuckles and reaches out for your hand, earning your nervous glance. He quirks his head.

“Hey, you're passionate about what you do, helping kids. That's nothin' to be ashamed of,” he says, brushing his thumb over your hand. “But sweetheart, I gotta ask. Am I making you nervous or something?”

God, yes, you think, especially at that sweetheart thing. It’s making your heartbeat tick up a syncopated rhythm, but you shake your head, biting the straw of your rum and coke.

“No, not at all,” you say, in a hopefully “breezy” kind of way. You touch your fingers to his wrist. “Tell me about you though. Sam mentioned that you’re a firefighter?”

“Ah, yeah. Firefighter in training,” he says, with a more genuine smile.

He just started at the Fire Academy, and he tells you about all the drills he’s had to learn and all the training he’s had to do to be able to keep up with his classes. You subtly eye him while you sip at your drink, and you notice the crisp cut of his buttoned-down shirt and leather jacket, the definition of muscle across his thighs under the slacks, even while he casually sits.

Your gaze subtly travels down his long bowed legs, smart dress shoes. His cologne is woody and masculine, but not overpowering; maybe bergemot and sandalwood. It pleasantly wafts under your nose every time he gestures with his hands while he talks.

“Aw man, I can’t hold out anymore. I think I need to get me some of that cake before it’s gone,” he says, getting up from his chair.

You’re a bit disappointed that he’s leaving, until he stops short.

“You want another piece?” he offers, gesturing at your empty plate that’s been resting on the counter.

You blink in surprise, but you shake your head. “Oh, no. I probably shouldn’t.”

“Why not? It’s a party,” Dean reasons. His grin is too damn infectious. It has you smiling, and begrudgingly agreeing.

Not only does he bring you more cake, but you watch him eat three whole slices before he asks you to dance.

The rest of it flashes through your mind like strobe lights—the way he’d started small and respectful with his larger hand closed over yours and the other along the curve of your waist. He guided you closer and closer, until you were turned around into his arms, and you could feel his warm breath on your neck.

You felt his lips teasing your skin. Then those hands tantalizingly drifted down your every soft curve, as if showing you a preview of everything he could do to you, and every way he’d make you come apart. You believed him.

And when he whispered in your ear, asking if he could take you home, you let him.

You let him drive you in that big black piece of history he drives. Used to be my dad’s car, he said. A Chevy something. You couldn’t really remember much when his hand was drifting up and down your thigh like that.

His presence burned hot at your back when you two eventually got to the front door of your apartment, your hands just barely shaking as you got the key in. Twist and click—

He waited until you flipped the lights on. Then he turned you around slowly in his arms and pulled you in close, all the while asking you with his eyes and raised brows. This okay? You want this?

“Do I still make you nervous?” he asked, his lips twitching at a smile when yours do.

You nodded, uttering a small giggle. “In a good way.”

That was when he finally kissed you, hot and slow, like he meant to devour you whole. He moaned at the taste of you, at the feel of your ass squeezed in his hands. You clung onto him strong, breathing into his kiss and trying to meet every single demand of his lips.

It soon became a fiery tear to your bedroom, one lamp flicked on, hot breaths and nice clothes crumpled to the floor. You didn’t feel self-conscious even once when he guided you under him on the bed, because he wasted no time in taking you apart, inch by inch.

His lips kissed and licked and sucked a burning trail down your neck, over your collarbone and between your breasts. You felt his hardened length trapped between your bodies while his hands explored you, teasing your breasts and sensitive nipples, and he mapped his way down with his lips.

You explored every part of him you could—every dip of muscle, firm shoulders and the slopes of his back, and then back up to tangle in his hair. Your heated gasps and whimpers filled the room when his sinful mouth found what it was looking for between your legs.

It wasn’t often that you had a strong pair of shoulders to rest your thighs on, but Dean’s grip was hard enough to leave deep fingerprints of pressure on each thigh while he slipped his tongue through your folds and feasted on you.

“D-Dean, oh God,” you gasped. Every sound you made was a sensuous symphony in his ears, washing over his skin and making the well of his desire churn hot in his lower belly. He had to roll his hips into the mattress for some relief for his aching cock, even while he moved his mouth up to your clit, circling the swollen bud with his tongue. He had enough room to slip two fingers deep inside your sopping wet channel, exploring you deeply, stroking and twisting to find what you needed.

Your thighs trembled and squeezed tight on either side of his head. When he sucked your clit tight between his lips, you uttered as gasping moan as that coil snapped its release. Your inner walls fluttered around his fingers. Yours clenched tightly in his hair, threatening to rip out a few strands.

Dean stroked you all through your first orgasm, giving slower licks to your clit. He seemed to sense when you couldn’t handle anymore though. You tugged more sharply on his hair, and he finally pulled away, moving back up your body to gauge your reaction.

You’d collapsed boneless against the bed, but you still managed to smile up at him as you caught your breath.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked. But his self-satisfied grin almost made you laugh. You took his glistening face between your hands and pulled him down for a grateful kiss.

After a moment to savor your lips, he broke away for a second to catch his breath himself. You stroked his back all the while.

“You know, for a minute down there, I thought you might not let me come back up,” he teased.

You choked on a laugh, covering your face in embarrassment.

“Honestly wouldn’t have minded if you did suffocate me,” he chuckled, accompanied by a slap to your left ass cheek. You squealed, and blushed hotly at the way he was grinning down at you.

“Ready for more, baby? Or you want to call it a night?” he asked. His tone was playful, but it was actually a serious question. You blinked in surprise. You’d never had a guy be this, well…generous, and not expect anything in return, especially not for just a hookup.

But you shook your head and sat up, slipping a hand behind Dean’s neck. After a beat of hesitation, you guided him down to you for a slow, sensuous kiss.

“No, I don’t want to call it a night,” you whispered. Your hand drifted down his bare chest, and lower still. You showed him just how well you could return the favor.

And now, come the morning, you’re blushing down to your neck as each scene flashes through your mind. You feel the ghost of his hands all over your body, and how you’d never quite felt quite as bold and sexy and beautiful with a near stranger as you had with Dean effing Winchester. Your best friend’s brother.

You begin to worry your bottom lip with your teeth. How the hell are you going to tell Sam? Especially after he warned you about exactly this. Plus, there’s a reason you don’t typically do the one-night stand thing, and this has the potential to become something very complicated.

You know what, it’s fine! you think. We’re two consenting adults. We’re both single. And maybe…maybe it could be more than a hookup. Maybe we can see each other again, see where it goes.

“What’re you thinking so hard about?” Dean says, his voice croaking with sleep.

You look down at him in surprise. His eyes have cracked open and he has your hand captive, stopping you from continuing to idly trace patterns on his bare chest. You smile in embarrassment.

“Sorry,” you say. Again, you bite your lower lip. “Um, good morning.”

“Morning, sweetheart,” he grins lazily. “You sure wore me out last night.”

Your smile becomes more genuine, even if you turn your face away somewhat shyly.

“Aw, don’t do that,” Dean says. He slides his hand up your arm and behind your neck, tangling into your already tangled hair when he guides you down to his lips for a kiss. “You were awesome.”

You giggle against his lips. “Really?”

“Hell, yeah,” he says, kissing you again.

You shake your head a little. “You were…”

Amazing. Unbelievable. Probably the best night I’ve ever had.

“Perfect,” you decide. Because it’s the truth. The word comes out of your mouth before you can filter yourself though, making you pause. Dean does too, but after a beat, he slowly smiles.

“Oh yeah?” he asks.

You lick your lips, and you nod. “Definitely.”

“Well, then,” he says. His hand moves down to squeeze your hip. “You down for a repeat performance?”

You smile. “Only if I get a turn.”

Bracing your hands on his chest, you slide your thigh across his lap so you can straddle his hips. Dean grins and goes along with your idea. He gets a nice healthy handful of your thighs and helps settle you on top of him. But first, he reaches over into your nightstand drawer and finds another condom, ripping it open with his teeth.

Just like you did for him last night, you take the packet, as well as his generous length in your hands. You gently stroke him to full mast, smiling pleased at his groan of pleasure. Then you carefully fit the condom over him.

“You’re so gentle with me,” he teases. 

“Just returning the favor,” you quip, just before you position him at your wet entrance. Slowly, you sink down over his cock.

You both moan at the feeling of him stretching you again, warm and thick and fitting perfectly nestled deep inside. There had been moments last night where he wasn’t all that gentle, actually, but his passion had only spurred yours on more. You know you’ll probably find fingerprint marks on your thighs and ass, but it’s fucking worth it, you think, as you begin to bob a rocking rhythm that serves you both.

Dean arches his back underneath you, his knees coming up to press against your ass.

“Goddamn, baby. Givin’ me quite a show,” he says, in a panting voice that’s deep as sin.

You utter a breathy laugh.

Dean means it though. He’s enjoying the way you brush your hair out of your face, your beautiful tits in his face while you truly let loose for him. He guides you by the stronghold he has on your hips, his fingers pressing into your soft flesh as he ruts up into you, meeting your thrusts.

Your breath quickens, your nails digging into his chest on reflex, and your heart races as that delicious pleasure builds. But when Dean snakes a hand between you and further parts your folds to massage tight circles over your clit, your vision flashes white. You utter a scream of pleasure on his name, your inner walls choking him tight as you throb around his cock. His release hits him like a goddamn freight train.

“Aw, fuck,” he grunts.

He slams your hips down hard, making your thighs slap against his. A ragged groan escapes him in a rush. His hands move to your thighs just under your ass, where his fingers press into flesh hard enough to leave forensic ID, giving him leverage to bury himself deep into your pussy as he spills a hot release into the condom.

Goddamn…

He can almost imagine that he’s coming free inside you, that you’re milking his cock for every drop, until there’s nothing left for him to give.

The thought surprises him. It almost takes him out of the moment, honestly. That’s not a thought he’s ever had before—not with a woman he barely knows (which is most of his hookups, if he’s honest).

In that delicious, fractious moment just after it hits, it’s like those few seconds are suspended in zero gravity. Your arms are shaking, and your forced to collapse against his chest. Dean welcomes you there for a little while, letting you come down while he smooths a hand over your hair.

Though he can't help the urge to let his big hand drift down over your dewy skin, down the gentle slope of your back and over the curve of your generous ass. He gives one cheek a teasing slap. The sound echoes in the room.

"Goddamn perfect ass," he says roughly, smirking at your squeal. You end up grinning hard against his neck.

"'S that my new nickname?" you quip.

He chuckles deeply, moving you along with his chest. "Hell, sweetheart, if you want it to be."

Eventually, you lean back to give him a smile and one last kiss before you pull away from him. You slip off his lap to find your robe, at least. You definitely need a shower.

“So I’m thinking, after we get cleaned up, I could make us some breakfast,” you offer. “Or if you want, maybe we could go somewhere. I know a little diner down the block.”

“I like the sound of food,” Dean agrees with a smile. Ge reaches over for his phone on the nightstand, to check the time. His eyes widen. “Oh, shit.”

He has to get his ass over to the Fire Academy. He has class in barely twenty minutes.

He tears out of bed and nearly trips on the coiled sheets.

“Sorry. Gonna need to take a raincheck,” he says. He hurries to find his clothes strewn all over your bedside floor.

“What’s the matter?” you ask with wide eyes. You cross your arms under your breasts, but it’s more like you’re hugging yourself over your robe. You watch him tear through your bedroom in a tempest of movement.

Dean spares you a glance, but not much else as he yanks up his slacks and belt and dress shirt.

“Gotta get to class,” he confesses. Thank God he has his uniform in the trunk of his car for exactly these kinds of emergencies. He grabs his phone, wallet, and keys, and quickly kisses you on the cheek. He gazes down at you apologetically. “Sorry I gotta cut and run, sweetheart, but it’s been fun.”

Your smile barely reaches your eyes. He’s pressed for time, but he still notices.

He slows himself down and cups your cheek. “Hey.”

He gets your pretty eyes looking up at him, and he gives you a real kiss, nice and slow. He cradles your cheek and brushes his thumb across your skin.

“Thanks,” he says. His now familiar grin manages to make you smile. “And I mean that.”

You shake your head at him. “Okay go, Mr. Future Fireman. Be safe out there, okay?”

He gives you a playful salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

You can’t help but laugh. This guy’s too much. But you don't think you've had this much fun having sex in...

All right, let's not put a timeframe on it.

You watch him leave your apartment, even though you have a sinking feeling in your chest. You knew this was just a hookup for him, for both of you. Part of you just couldn’t help hoping that it could’ve led to something more. 

Dean means to call you.

He really does.

After that truly awesome, you shook me all night long, kind of a night, he thinks about you more than he’d like to admit over the next few weeks. However, he finds himself locked into his training. He’s so close to finishing strong and earning his badge, he just can’t afford any more distractions.

Still, he should’ve known that Sam would find out—either through Eileen, or through you directly. He also should’ve expected the way his brother let him have it.

“And you didn’t even fucking call her. See? This is why I don’t set you up with any of my friends anymore,” Sam bitches at him from his side of the small two-seater dinner table. They still share an apartment, though in just a month and a half, Sam’s going to be moving out. He and Eileen already found a house that they’re moving into after the wedding.

“Look, I was going to call her, man. They’ve just been bustin’ my ass at the Academy!” Dean argues.

“Bullshit.” Sam levels him with the same finger that holds his beer.

Dean’s brows raise, high and annoyed. “Oh, really?”

���Yeah, I’m calling bullshit. Because if you really liked her, respected her, and respected me, you would’ve made the time,” Sam says.

That falls heavy between the brothers for a moment while they eat their pizza.

“Look, I know her. She doesn’t do hookups that often, which means…she probably liked you,” Sam adds. “And honestly, when are you going to give it a real try with someone? You can only visit that free clinic so many times.”

Dean shoots him a glare. He’s had a clean bill of health from said clinic for six months straight.

“Jesus Christ. Enough, all right?” he grouses. “What’re you, Mom?”

“I’m just saying,” Sam says, lowering his crust to the plate. He levels his brother with a more earnest look, lightening up from his anger. “Look, if it’s about what happened to Dad—”

“What, you mean the way he drank himself to death after Mom died?” Dean says. His voice cuts through whatever softball glove Sam is trying to handle him with. “You think that’s the kind of thing I should be looking for in my life?”

“Oh, and what, do you think I’m making a mistake marrying Eileen?” Sam counters.

Dean sighs, shaking his head. “Damn it, don’t put words in my mouth. That’s not what I’m saying, it’s just…I don’t know. Maybe that kind of life—the house, the wife, the 2.5 kids and the dog. Maybe that’s just not my life, okay?”

Sam gives him a long look. He lets go of a deep breath, and he shrugs.

“Okay,” he says. “If you think hooking up night after night for the rest of your life is going to make you happy, then fine.”

Dean nods, glad that they can put an end to this little After School Special.

“Okay.”

Still, he can’t finish his third slice of pizza. He keeps picturing your face when he left you that morning. No matter how you tried to hide it, he still saw the tinge of disappointment in your eyes. It brews something uncomfortable in his stomach, and a sting in his chest.

You’re eating lunch alone in your classroom, finally on your break, when an unfamiliar number flashes across your phone screen. You look down at it in confusion, but with all the caterers and florists and things you’ve helped Eileen with on the wedding, you figure it could be important. You pick up the call and greet whoever’s on the line.

“Hey, sweetheart. How are you?”

You drop your ham and cheese on your keyboard, gaping in surprise.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” he chuckles slightly. “Sorry, I know it’s been a minute.”

You frown, because you’re confused more than anything.

“Yeah, like almost a month,” you reply. You put the call on speaker so you can grab up your sandwich and quickly brush off the crumbs from your keyboard. You struggle to say something cool, clever, sexy even. “I’m okay. Just, um…what’s up?”

Smooth, real smooth. You cover your eyes with your hand.

“Nothin’, I was just thinking of that night,” he says. “I had a good time.”

Your frown deepens, despite the beginning of a blush warming your cheeks. If he’s calling you just for another hookup…

“So I just thought maybe you and I could do something again. Maybe you wanna come over my place this time.”

And there it is. You deflate at his words, shoulders sagging. The "convenient booty call" proposition.

“I could make us some burgers, toss in a couple of beers and a movie night,” he adds.

That part throws you though, you’re not going to lie. What, is this a Netflix and chill situation—with a side of fries?

You consider it. You weigh pros and cons at a frightening speed in your mind, almost like Sherlock Holmes contemplating the layout of a dead body and deducing within moments that his wife committed the murder, despite the man no longer wearing a ring.

You want to let yourself be bold and spontaneous and carefree...but it's just not who you are at your core. You're a planner, a cautious person who looks three ways before crossing the street. Letting Dean take you home that night was certainly one of the most spontaneous, wild things you've done since your friends took you out to a strip club after you aced your final round of exams back in college.

(Sam hadn't been there that night, but he did get an embarrassing drunken text from you at 3:00 a.m., along with a few shame-ridden pictures fueled by questionable substances. Yes, he still had the evidence.)

You just don't know if it's smart to let yourself hookup with Dean again. Mostly because you know your heart has the tendency to get attached, no matter how much you warn it not to.

“You know, Dean, I’m pretty busy with my job right now. I just started here a couple of months ago, and I think I just need to focus on that right now,” you say. Part of it isn’t a lie, even though your soft heart is stinging.

“Ah, okay. Yeah. I get that,” he says. You hear his disappointment too. “But I just need to say, I really am sorry for not calling you sooner.”

Your lips tug at a smile. “It’s okay, Dean. Look, you’re Sam’s brother. I just feel like, maybe it’s better if you and I stay friends.”

“Friends, huh?” Dean says wryly. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I don’t have three rounds of steamy hot sex with any of my friends.”

Your blush comes swiftly again, burning in your cheeks.

“Be that as it may,” you say, “I just don’t want to do anything that will distract from Sam and Eileen’s wedding.”

“Oh, I’m a distraction, huh?” Dean says flirtatiously. 

You begin to smile in earnest. “I think you know damn well what you are, Dean Winchester.”

His deep chuckle practically resonates through the phone and into your chest, going straight down to your pussy. You clench on nothing just at the sound of his voice, making you cross your legs under your skirt. Dear God…

How are you supposed to be even remotely normal around this man now? 

But for Sam’s sake (and your own), you’ll have to try. 

Two months later, Dean has taken Sam’s dating advice to heart. A week or so after you turned him down, he ran into Lisa Braeden, Eileen’s Maid of Honor, while he was at the grocery store buying beer and Twizzlers. She was a smart, sharp, sexy brunette. A yoga instructor, he soon found out. So he took a chance on asking her out. They’ve been going slow and steady ever since. 

Dean hasn’t heard from you since the rehearsal dinner, but he sees you again at his brother’s wedding. All the bridesmaids are wearing long, royal blue dresses that drape off the shoulders and hug the bust and waist, flaring gently at the skirt. Lisa and Jo wear it beautifully, their hair perfectly smooth and coiled. 

But when you step out into the hall outside the church ballroom to join them, Dean actually pauses in what he’s saying to his brother. He nearly double takes when you enter his line of vision—mostly because he hasn’t seen you in a dress since that night. You were sexy as hell then, a lady in red. 

Today, you’re absolutely stunning. 

After greeting Sam with a warm hug, you turn to him with a nervous kind of smile. “H-Hey, Dean.”

With that, he snaps out of it. Dean smiles, eyes crinkling, and goes over to give you a hug as well.

“Good to see you,” he says, trying not to inhale too much of your nice perfume. It’s even in your hair.

“You too,” you reply. Your smile is a little brighter, more genuine. Though there’s something behind your eyes that he can’t quite place.

What he doesn’t notice is the way Lisa is watching you and her boyfriend, a hint of suspicion on her face.

You do though. You pull away from Dean and assemble into a line with Lisa at the helm. As the Best Man, Dean stands with her, followed by Jo and Brady, another one of Sam’s buddies. You and Benny bring up the rear. Benny’s dad used to work with John, Sam and Dean’s father, on the police force.

According to Sam, John Winchester worked a beat for twenty-six years before his liver finally gave out on him. Dean almost went to the Police Academy to follow in his dad’s footsteps, but Benny, already working his way up to Lieutenant, suggested Dean become a smoke eater instead. The suggestion stuck.

Benny Lafitte is slightly shorter than Dean, but just as broad-shouldered, his auburn beard neatly trimmed. Even though you might’ve thought he was rough around the edges at first, his kind blue eyes spoke the contrary. He offers you his arm like a gentleman.

“Well aren't I lucky, getting the prettiest girl on my arm,” he says, with a charming smile.

You smile, and even begin to blush at the way he subtly takes note of you from head to toe.

“Well, thank you. You’re very handsome yourself. Although, hold on.” You slip your arm out of his for a moment so that you can fix his tie. It’s slightly crooked. You make sure that it lays flat under his collar, smoothing down all the edges and picking off any small dust particles that landed on his collar. Benny watches you with an indulgent smile.

“Am I good?” he asks.

“Very,” you reply.

“I appreciate it, thank you,” he says. You don’t know if he means to sound flirtatious, but his voice is a deep drawl that washes over you pleasantly. You find yourself blushing down to your neck as you slip your arm back around his.

You also don’t notice how Dean glances at you and Benny over his shoulder.

As much as you love Sam and Eileen, it’s difficult for you to keep your mind from spinning into fractals as the ceremony goes on. You can’t help but glance at Dean. He stands there behind Sam dutifully, but you see brotherly pride in Dean’s eyes, in his smile. It makes you smile too. You too love Sam like a brother, and it brings a well of happy tears to your eyes to watch him have his moment with his new wife.

It just also reminds you of what you need to do.

After the ceremony ends and the bridal party files out behind the bride and groom, you excuse yourself from Benny apologetically. You wait until Lisa and Jo go off to take pictures with Sam and Eileen, and you grab Dean’s wrist, pulling him aside.

“I need to talk to you,” you whisper.

Dean gives you a confused look. “They’re gonna need us for the pictures.”

“I know, but this is important,” you say. Your voice trembles with nerves, and so do your hands. Dean notices, frowning in concern. He grasps your arm to try and steady you.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Just come with me,” you implore him. You take his hand and lead him into the women’s dressing room attached to the church sanctuary you all just came out of.

Dean raises his brows at the mess you and the rest of the bridesmaids have made of the room—pantyhose and makeup and clothing litter the floor and most available surfaces, while leftover breakfast sandwiches, grapes, salami, and cheddar cheese cubes are splayed out across one of the vanity counters. Dean is tempted to steal a morsel, but he focuses on you first.

You close and lock the door, which makes his brows raise high again. You know he has a girlfriend now, right?

“Uhh, look, I’m not sure what’s going on here, but—”

You heave a sigh. Again, you take his hand and guide him to sit with you at the vanity. The old stools squeak, the overhead lights a bit too bright. This is not where you want to do this, but you can’t hold it in anymore.

“Dean, I’m pregnant,” you confess.

He freezes. His breath stills in his lungs. His eyes slowly widen as the words click in his brain.

“What?” His head tilts, as if he didn’t hear you right.

You squeeze his hand; to ground him or yourself, you’re not sure.

“I’m about two months pregnant. I found out last week.”

Dean swipes his free hand over his mouth while he tries to compute. He squeezes your hand, tighter and tighter. He points to himself.

“It’s…it’s me? It’s mine?”

You give him a weary smile. “You’re the only one I’ve been with in the last few months. It could only be you.”

Oh fuck. The man’s face begins to pale as he descends into shock.

“But we…I used a condom,” he reasons. “All the—all the times!”

You bite your lip. If you weren’t freaking the fuck out yourself, you’d probably be laughing right now. Granted, you’ve had a bit more time to process this than Dean.

“I know, I was there,” you reply, releasing yet another sigh. “One of them probably broke. That’s all I can think of… Honestly, Dean, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I just didn’t want to disrupt the ceremony or cause a scene before the wedding. But now you know.”

Dean falls silent then. He hasn’t let go of your hand, which you think is a decent sign. He’s likely forgotten that you’re still holding it as he stares off into the middle distance for several seconds.

Eventually, he shakes his head and returns his gaze to yours. He looks uncertain, his handsome face the true epitome of holy fucking shit.

You know the feeling.

But he asks the most important question.

“What do you want to do?”

Briefly you close your eyes as you take a breath. You squeeze his hand before you let go of him.

“I’ve thought about this a lot, and…I’m keeping the baby,” you tell him, though you raise placating hands. “I don’t want money, or anything like that. I just wanted you to know that it’s yours. How much you want to be in his or—or her life, that’s up to you.”

Dean takes a beat before he answers, but you don’t have to wait so long holding your breath.

“Okay. Okay, yeah. I’ll help you. Don’t worry,” he says.

And just like that, all the time you spent giving yourself pep talks for this, telling yourself that you’ll need to be strong no matter what he says, all of it crumbles into relief. Your lower lip trembles, and your body shudders as you break into tears. You try covering your face to hide your shame, but Dean grasps your shoulders.

“Hey, hey. It’s all right,” he says. He tentatively pulls you into a hug. “It’s gonna be okay.”

You nod into his dress shirt, probably staining him with your running makeup.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “Thank you so much.”

He holds you a bit tighter in response.

You and Dean agree to keep this to yourselves for now, at least until Sam and Eileen get back from their honeymoon. It’s difficult to explain why your eyes are all red and your makeup is smudged, but you promise Sam that you’ll tell him later. You know it’s pointless to lie to him though. As a lawyer, his bullshit meter is far too high.

However, you also know that he’s half guessed it by the time you all make it to the reception. When you and Dean came out of that dressing room to join the bridal party for pictures, you're sure that you looked emotionally wrecked. Dean had looked pale as a sheet, his body coiled and tense, as willing himself to seem normal. Sam had clocked both of you with a raise of his brow, but he didn't say anything then, especially after you gave him a pleading look.

While Eileen greets her family without him for a moment, Sam pulls you aside. He notes your glass of diet coke, in a moderate sea of guests drinking champagne and cocktails.

“Are you okay?” he asks knowingly.

Tears well up in your eyes again. You don’t know if it’s your damn hormones going haywire, or just the way Sam asks you, with the love of a friend in his eyes. He squeezes your shoulder gently, prompting you with your name.

“Yeah, I think I will be,” you say.

"Is it the same reason you're not drinking?" he asks. "You and Dean earlier..."

You hesitantly confirm with a nod. Sam blows out a harsh sigh, raising folded hands to his mouth as he processes. You begin to look around on reflex, trying to see if anyone's watching you and Sam have this conversation in the middle of the reception. To your relief, everyone around you seems occupied with drinks, hours d'oeuvres and conversation.

“What did he say when you told him?” Sam asks. His gaze is firmer. You get the idea that if he doesn’t like what you tell him, then he’s about to go grab his brother by the ear himself.

You grab his wrist and give a placating squeeze. “He said he's going to help me, be there for me.”

“Damn right. So will I,” Sam nods, and glances back at Eileen, his new bride, with a smile. “We both will.”

“I know,” you nod as well. “I’ll be okay, Sam. You don’t have to worry so much. Just enjoy your wedding day. It’s the only one you’re gonna get. Well, you know…hopefully.”

You tease him with a wink.

Sam laughs, cupping your cheek. He kisses your other cheek.

“I love you, you know that right?” he says.

You give him a trembling smile through your tears.

Meanwhile, Dean has a beautiful woman in his arms. He turns Lisa on the dancefloor, trying not to trip on his own dress shoes, all the while knowing that his brain isn’t here in his body. It’s across the ballroom, watching you talk to Sam. Dean can tell that he knows, just in his Big Bird body language. He’d also recognize that accompanying Bitch Face anywhere.

“Dean, what’s wrong,” Lisa asks him, and not for the first time. She’s getting annoyed, he can tell. She finally looks over to where he keeps glancing, and she notices you with a frown. It’s also not the first time she’s caught him staring at you tonight.

“What was that earlier in the dressing room? She didn’t really get food poisoning, did she?” she asks pointedly. “What, did you two used to date or something?”

He gives a wan smile. “Yeah, kinda. We…had a thing once.”

“What kind of thing?”

Dean closes his eyes and tries to keep himself calm. He’s pretty sure if he tells her the truth right now, she’s going to find the nearest cocktail and dump it over his head.

But shit, here it goes.

“Well…”

After a long day at school, you drive over to Dean’s apartment. You’d agreed to meet there and wait for him to get off his shift at Firehouse 83, where he just started as a full-fledged firefighter on probation. When he gets home, he’s supposed to go with you to an important appointment with your OB-GYN. 

You were hoping he’d already be done with work by the time you got to his place, but Lisa's there to open the door for you. Apparently, he’d already given her a key.

Moving kind of fast, but okay, you think. A second later, you could’ve rolled your eyes at yourself. Pot, kettle, me. Got it.

Lisa greets you with a “polite” smile at best, but she does offer you water at least. You really can’t blame her for not liking you though. She found out her boyfriend got another woman pregnant right before he started dating her. Really, she has more balls than you for staying with him. You wouldn't put it past Dean to somehow have smooth-talked her into giving him a chance.

Or she really loves him. The thought sobers you as you lower yourself down to the couch beside her. Both of you sit there in silence for a moment, trying to figure out something to talk about.

“So, you’re what, six months pregnant?” she asks.

You correct her in thinly veiled annoyance. “Three months, actually.”

“Oh, wow. I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t know why I thought it was six.”

You have a feeling her awkward chuckle is fake, however. She knew good and damn well that you’re not six months pregnant. In her eyes, you must be the size of a parade float. 

“If you want, I can recommend a holistic diet to help you get your body back after the baby’s born,” Lisa offers. “No pills, no chemicals. Just good clean weight loss.”

You feign interest. Honestly, you’d like her to cram that offer right up her hooch.

“I can even give you a discount if you want to try out yoga,” she says. “It’s low impact, but you burn plenty of calories. I have a beginner’s class, not too strenuous. Even my least flexible clients manage to do the poses.”

Is that why Dean likes you? Because you’re bendy? Bet if I sat on you, you’d pop like a fucking balloon.

You hide all of these thoughts behind a “polite” smile of your own.

“That’s really nice of you, thanks,” you reply. It’s non-committal enough, but hopefully it’ll get her off your back.

No such luck.

“You know, maintaining a healthy diet is really important for the baby’s health too,” Lisa adds. “It’s not just about avoided raw fish and dairy products. Oh, and processed food is obviously a no-go. Like, I’m sure you haven’t been hitting Taco Bell and all that stuff, right?”

As a matter of fact, you’ve been eating clean since long before you got pregnant. Not that it’s any business of hers whether you enjoy the occasional quesadilla or not.

Your temper snaps at its leash. You open your mouth to reply, when the front door unlocks and opens to Dean, stepping in through the threshold.

Thank God, you and Lisa both think. She gets up quicker from the couch than you, greeting her boyfriend with a kiss. You avert your gaze while you begin to get up yourself.

Dean reaches out to help you, grasping your arm in support. You shoot him a smile.

“I can still get up by myself,” you snip.

“Yeah, all right. Just in case,” he says with a smile. “Ready to go?”

“Oh, yeah. Let’s rock and roll,” you say, trying to hide your worsening mood. You’re exhausted, and irritated, and probably more than a little hangry. Except now, the idea of food just has you feeling guilty for even being hungry.

“Bye, hun. Hope you have a good appointment,” Lisa says, giving your shoulder a pat. You give her the most genuine smile you can muster as you thank her. It's possibly that she's one of those women who don't realize when they're being cunty, but you find it highly unlikely. She's too smart for that.

You follow Dean out the door and over to his car, big and black and sleek as you remember. You settle into the passenger seat with your arms crossed in silence. Dean switches the cassette to one of his favorite Led Zeppelin albums, though he notices your grumpy face.

“Something wrong?” he asks.

You give him some side-eye, but you’re reluctant to say anything. You just shake your head. As irritated as you are, you don’t want to be the friend who badmouths his girlfriend.

God, are we even friends? You wonder. Or am I just his knocked-up baby momma?

And again, you realize that this whole situation is probably hard for Lisa. You just don’t know if she’s jealous, or if she just…doesn’t like you.

“I’m okay,” you tell Dean.

He raises a skeptical brow. Looks like Sam isn’t the only one with a finely tuned bullshit meter.

“All right, how about this,” Dean says. “Let’s grab some burgers after this, huh? From your favorite spot. Shake Shack, right? Side of fries, frozen yogurt. I think I’ll get chocolate this time… Hmm, I doubt Lisa will want anything. She’s gone on an all-vegan kick or something.”

For one shining moment, you were happy and touched at his consideration. But now your body stills in your seat when you remember Lisa’s words. Tears well up in your eyes with a hot sting, and a sob escapes your throat.

Dean is cut off from thinking about getting extra bacon on his burger. He looks over at you in alarm. “H-Hey, what’s the matter?”

You scoff at him through your tears. “Are you kidding me? I can’t eat burgers anymore, Dean. I was already fucking fat. Now it’s just gonna get ridiculous.”

“What?” Dean’s brows knit together in confusion, along with his deepening frown. It gets worse as he tries to watch the road ahead, while at the same time, watching you continue to crumble.

“And after the birth, I’m just going to be an even fatter slob who can’t take care of her baby,” you sniffle and weep, trying in vain to wipe your eyes and get ahold of yourself.

Dean grits his teeth, his jaw twitching. Fuck it.

He turns the steering wheel sharp enough to startle a gasp out of you.

“Dean!”

He pulls the car over onto the side of the road, ignoring the honking SUV behind him. He shifts into Park and shuts off the radio—a big red flag, in your opinion. He’s upset too, and fucking serious, more so than you’ve ever seen him. You stare back at him with wide eyes.

“I’ve never once heard you say that you’re fat,” he says.

You blink at that, but eventually, you’re able to get your tongue to unstick from the roof of your mouth. You wipe the remnants of tears from your cheeks. Your face is already hot from your upset, now tinged with embarrassment.

“You haven’t known me very long,” you say quietly.

It doesn’t help. Dean’s jaw ticks again.

“Well, I’ve never thought it. Not even once,” he says. His jade green eyes are firmly set on yours, and he gestures between you and him with a pointed finger. “The reason you and I are here right now, is because the minute I saw you, I wanted you.”

One corner of his lips kicks upwards. “And that night, you didn’t disappoint.”

Your mouth falls open slightly. You don’t know how to respond, but you do know that a full blush is warming your face and neck. His words have power, and unbidden, they bloom a similar warmth between your legs. You swallow a bit nervously as you bite your bottom lip.

Dean glances down at your mouth when you do. He can remember what your pretty mouth did for him that night. Oh, he remembers all too well. He even had the shade of your lipstick streaked across his skin until he showered up at the firehouse.

He locks that all away when shifts the car back into Drive. If you’re going to make it to this appointment on time, he needs to get going.

And you both have to leave whatever that was right here by the side of the road.

AN: Woo! 😮‍💨 Yep, this is only Part 1, friends. Lisa is a bit different in this. My take was that without Ben in her life, she might be less mature and a bit more catty. As we get into Part 2 I'll leave it up to you to decide why she decides to stay with Dean, and perhaps more importantly, where the reader and Dean can go from here as co-parents. 🤔

If you enjoyed Part 1, please let me know!~

Next Time in Part 2:

“Hey, you okay?” you say, resting a gentle hand on his arm.

Dean shakes his head. “Look, I…I’m sorry for tossing a giant friggin’ monkey wrench into your life. I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”

If possible, your heart softens even more. You slide your hand down to grasp his.

“Dean, this baby wasn’t planned, but he’s not a mistake,” you say. “I don’t regret anything.”

Dean stares back at you incredulously. He can’t believe you could really say that to him. He doesn’t know what to say. He only knows what’s in his mind, and what he feels compelled to do in that moment.

He leans over and kisses you. It’s a firm meeting of his lips to yours, and achingly familiar.

⋆˙⟡ Read Part 2 on Patreon now!

⋆˙⟡ Coming to Tumblr/Ao3 on 3/23

Join My Patreon 🌟 Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Series List

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester Tag List (Part 1):

@luci-in-trenchcoats @lamentationsofalonelypotato @winchestergirl2 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl @kaleldobrev

@globetrotter28 @midnightmadwoman @chevroletdeanwrites @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78

@waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse @twinkleinadiamondsky @my-stories-vault @kayleighwinchester

@rizlowwritessortof @k-slla @jackles010378 @alwaystiredandconfused @nancymcl

@this-is-me19 @spnwoman @illicithallways @pieandmonsters @deansbbyx

@mimaria420 @stoneyggirl2 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @cheynovak @jollyhunter

@deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @leigh70 @aylacavebear @jessjad

@kmc1989 @siampie @rubyvhs @masked-lost-girl @spnbabe67

@deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused @supernotnatural2005

[angelluv16]

The Chorus of Us

ex lando norris x Ginger Spice's daughter!reader x harry styles

✩: They broke up and wrote a heartbreaking song. Through this process, her old friends from F1 were with her. With one specific boy band member getting closer and closer

fc: Crystal Leigh, girls from pinterest

pairing: ex lando norris x Ginger Spice's daughter!reader x harry styles

warnings: swearing, cheating, Lando is an asshole in this

Wanna be added to the taglisg? Click Here

(We shall pretend Harry is on tour, I miss him. Also, Reader is not using horner or her mom's last name, she's using her grandparents )

masterlist

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*few months later*

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yourusername

liked by kellypiquet, maxverstappen1, alexandrasaintmleux, harrystyles and 2.3M others

yourusername: Was only going to post my natural hair, but why not give you guys a dump😘

tagged: @maxverstappen1 @kellypiquet @alexandrasaintmleux

view all comments

username33: The brown hair Omfg I never knew I needed it.

username34: Uhhhhh who's that man on slide 5 and 7 🤨🤨

yourusername: I don't know what ur talking about🤷‍♀️

christianhorner: 💕💕

username35: Not you casually soft launching on main 😭

username36: I just KNOW Lando is punching the air rn 💀

username37: The brown hair is everything. I’m obsessed. 😩

username38: One Direction vinyl, flowers, and a mystery man… this is a Wattpad plot fr

username39: Not me zooming in on slide 3 like a detective

username40: Not you trying to gaslight us in the comments 💀 we see the TEA

yourusername: I do not know what you mean I've been a saint

username41: 1D vinyl and pasta dates… oh she’s in her healing era 🫶🏽 (or her delulu era idk yet)

yourusername: I'm already healded girlie poo. and rude i'm not delulu

maxverstappen1: The only good Photo on this dump is of me and Kelly

yourusername: Tbh You ruined the photo but oh well

kellypiquet: You look beautiful as always ❤️

yourusername: Have YOU seen Yourself

username42: Not you moving on that fast 💀💀 girl be serious.

username43: Girl it's been months just because she's posting the oppisait gender doesn't mean she's moved on maybe she's going on dates perhaps she's seeing if she can trust someone and plus lando's moved on clearly an no one is talking about that but once she does it's a huge problem. babe get a fucking life and let my girl live her own ❤ by yourusername and harrystyles

alexandrasaintmleux: Miss you pretty girl

yourusername: Miss you more bbg, Meet up soon?

alexandrasaintmleux: Yes yes yes yes yes

usernamer44: You stay acting like the victim when YOU were the problem.

username45: Girl be fucking for real Lando CHEATED ON HER Not the other way around

oscarpiastri: I’m just here for the comments 🍿

yourusername: We stand by that

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liked by harrystyles, kellypiquet, zayn, charlesleclerc, carlossainz55, 2.1M others

yourusername: Happy to announce that after a year of no music (for you) My New single "Tolerate It" is out now everywhere. A big big Shoutout and thank you to @charlesleclerc for playing the piano, love you lots

view all comments

charlesleclerc: Thank YOU for Allowing me to Play the piano for this incredible song. Love love you

username46: I’M SOBBING. This is the breakup anthem I NEEDED

username47: The way Charles is supporting you >>> everyone else 😭

username48: Harry liking this post… yeah, we won today

kellypiquet: This song is pure magic. So proud of you ❤️✨ ❤ by yourusername

username49: Me, a single person with no recent breakup, sobbing like I just got left at the altar 😭

username50: The lyrics???? The vocals????? The pain????? You cooked and left NO crumbs

username51: Why did you personally attack me with this song? What did I do to deserve this??

maxverstappen1: Unreal. Your talent is insane. Congrats!

zayn: This one hits deep. Beautiful work 🙌

alex_albon: On repeat. Over and over

lilymhe: can confirm

username52: you’re only famous because of who you know, not because of talent. Mid at best

username53: Charles playing the piano for this? Thought would play for other artists not this slut

username54: So we’re just not gonna talk about the lyrics that SCREAM Lando??????

harrystyles: ❤️❤️

username55: Lando somewhere punching the air rn

username56: Me pretending this song was written about my imaginary ex 😌

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yourusername

liked by kellypiquet, harrystyles, gerihalliwellhorner, maxverstappen1 and 2.5M others

yourusername: Family time ❤️

view all comments

username57: You radiate happiness here 😭❤️ love seeing you with your people!

username58: Family time >>> everything else. You look so happy, my heart

kellypiquet: I missed you, but I think P did more, she literally did cartwheels when she saw you

maxverstappen1: wow no photos of me?!?

yourusername: I already didn't want to see ur face, what makes you think I want you on my post?

gerihalliwellhorner: Nothing better than being surrounded by love and laughter

yourusername: Love love you lots mama

username59: This is either a PR move or the most effortless flex I’ve ever seen

username60: Meanwhile, I’m in my bed with 3-day-old leftovers. Love that for me

username61: Every single picture is just aesthetic perfection

username62: Your ‘family time’ and my ‘family time’ are NOT the same thing

username63: The way this post could be used as a tourism ad

username64: We get it, your life is perfect 🙄

harrystyles: ❤️

username65: I just cried in my 2008 Honda Civic. Thanks for this

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harryupdates

liked by username1, username20, username41, username100, and 21,785 others

Harry Updates: Singer-songwriter YN YLN was seen at the Harry Styles show in London with four-time world Champion Max Verstappen and his girlfriend, Model Kelly Piquet. Then YN and Harry were spotted entering a restaurant alone. What are your thoughts?

tagged: @yourusername @harrystyles

view all comments

username66: If I don’t wake up to ‘sources say’ articles tomorrow I will be disappointed

username67: Me watching this like it’s a Netflix Original Drama

username68: I know lando is crying in a corner rn

username69: He fumbled the baddest bitch fr

username70: The F1 girlies and the Harry girlies are about to FIGHT in the comments

username71: Meanwhile I’m here struggling to get a text back

username72: If Harry and YN start dating, the internet is going to BREAK

username73: Not me refreshing Twitter every five seconds for updates

username74: I don’t trust Hollywood at all, this is definitely PR

username75: Max and Kelly must have been like, ‘So, should we just… leave them to it or?’

username76: ynis literally living the fanfic life we all dreamed of and I respect her for it

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lnupdates

liked by username100, username783, usernam73, username66, and 12,832 others

lnupdates: In a recent interview, Lando Norris was asked about his past relationship with YN. When questioned if he regrets how things ended, he scoffed before saying, "Regret? No. I mean, I don’t sit around crying about it. Things end for a reason. People move on." When the interviewer pressed further, asking if he ever felt like he let a good thing slip away, Lando shrugged and added, "Maybe she was a great thing. Maybe not. Doesn’t really matter now, does it?" Read the full interview at the link in our story!

view all comments

username77: The way he said ‘Maybe she was a great thing. Maybe not.’ like bro, you sound bitter for someone who doesn’t care

username78: No because the audacity? The nerve? The sheer gall? I just KNOW YN is somewhere sipping her drink, unbothered, while he’s out here pretending he doesn’t regret it

username79: You mean to tell me the boy who wouldn't let her go when she was with him at races or would always say he missed her now "regrets" the relationship and doesn't matter okay dude

username80: He’s acting like he didn’t look at her like she hung the stars every time they were together. This is just embarrassing for him tbh

username81: YN please drop a fire Instagram post ASAP we need to finish this man.

username82: he acts like he wasn't the one cheating lol

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yourusername

liked by harrystyles,kellypiquet,gigihadid,carmenmmundt,christianhorner 12m others

yourusername: Growth looks good on me. Can’t say the same for everyone. 😉

view all comments

username83: holy shit she saw that one comment and said bet

username84: the caption 🤣🤣

username85: Mother is MOTHERING as always!!!

username86: THE SHADEEEE OMG I LOVE IT

username87: She really said ‘I won’ without saying ‘I won’ LMAOOO 😭

username88: If I were him, I simply wouldn’t show my face for months

kellypiquet: What a beautiful human

maxverstappen1: uhhh... what about me

yourusername: bitch get out of here she don't like you

yourusername: thank you ml let's run away together with P

username89: Why do you always have to be shady?? Just be mature

username90: Growth but you’re still posting about the past?? Okay

username91: Oh, she woke up and chose violence but in the most elegant way possible

username92: Healing, glowing, moving on… some people could never

username93: Growth looks good on you, regret looks good on him. Balance

username94: SOMEONE CHECK ON LANDO RN LMFAOOOO

oscarpiastri: He's crying in a corner

carlossainz55: he locked himself in his drivers room

charlesleclerc: Already on it

pierregasly: he's just staring at his phone

maxverstappen1: he doesn't talk to me anymore which I love

lancestroll: he's giving us a death glare I'm soooo scared

username95: WTFFFFFF HAHAH I CAN'T THIS IS ICONIC

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ynharrynews

liked by kellypiquet, username672, username81, maxverstappen1 and 4,793 others

ynharrynews: Y/N and harry styles were spotted getting cozy last night 👀 Sources say the two were ‘inseparable’ all evening.

tagged: @harrystyles @yourusername

view all comments

username96: Omg Are they officially a thing now or just hanging out?

username97: This is giving couple goals but like low-key

username98: Seeing Harry happy makes me happy but also… not ready for all the fans who will lose it

username99: Okay but are we going to ignore the fact that they’ve been hanging out so much recently? It’s gotta be more than casual by now!

username100: Not Kelly and Max Liking this

username101: Honestly, they look so happy together! I’m here for it!

username102: after everything these two have been through, I'm happy they found each other

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yourusername posted a story

{caption 1: ready for the day}

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yourusername

liked by harrystyles, kellypiquet, carlossainz55,oscarpiastri and 2.2m others

yourusername: My Lover boy 🥰🥰

Comments are turned off

Note: Sooo I decided to post this today instead of the 6th chapter for rumor has it because well I haven't written it yet lol But I will start tomorrow and hopefully post it soon. So here is this one meanwhile

Taglist: @anamiad00msday @fulla02 @lottalove4evelyn @greantii

[purpurussy]

everything Dan said about labels in BIG was so extremely real and personal to me and people really gloss over a lot of it sometimes I need to talk about it more about it when I'm not exhausted

[c-e-d-dreamer]

Idk what is in the water over on the TikTok side of the fandom, but I am so tired of seeing video after video about how "unrealistic" the Valkyries in the Blood Rite is this week. Besties, this is a fantasy series. There are plenty of "unrealistic" elements of the story. Why are we so focused on this one?

I mean, I know why. But just say you hate Nesta and/or Gwyn for whatever reasons and move on....

And on top of that, is it actually that unrealistic within the confines of the world building??? People act like the Valkyries were training for like a week (and I do think SJM's pacing is part of the problem), but canonically, they were training for close to a year!

And sure, that's not as long as some of the Illyrians, but everyone acts like the other Illyrians were training for 500 years when in actuality the Rite is completed at like 18/19/20. And yes, I recognize that's still a difference, but fun fact! Someone who does the "run a marathon in 3 months" training program and someone who trains for 3 years can both run and complete the Boston Marathon if they both qualify!

And the Valkyries did qualify! They completed the qualifier after getting the best training from the best warriors in a regimented, daily routine for a year.

And they follow the same strategy that Cassian teaches them. He tells them that the secret to him, Az, and Rhys winning was that they worked together. That so many Illyrians make the mistake of going in with the "every man for themselves" mentality and spend most of the time killing each other and settling scores rather than working on getting to Ramiel. So the Valkyries do the same thing. They find each other. They work together and use their strengths to survive.

And yes, they do have advantages on their side. Their bracelets are what allows them to find each other so they can work together. The three of them don't have to deal with the steep learning curve that all the other Illyrians do of having their wings bound/losing their aerial abilities. Nesta and Gwyn aren't Illyrian so the beasts that roam every night aren't interested in them and the two of them are enough to mask Emerie's scent. And of course, simple luck has Nesta and Gwyn waking up first so they can escape and avoid the initial bloodbath.

But does that all not just add to the realism within the world building established?

Anyways, I was feeling pissy after scrolling TikTok this morning so please enjoy this rant. Or don't. Idc