#whenever I have a problem with something I make sure to write out exactly why its bad

[arbitrarykiwi]

*⁀➷ Parallel Play

Thanos / Choi Subong x Artist!Fem!Reader

This is a little self indulgent with the artist!reader but I couldn’t get it out of my head…sue me

Warnings: none , mostly sfw , suggestive at the end , despite being sfw this blog is 18+

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Thanos, who getting into a committed relationship, doesn’t realize that things really aren’t that complicated. He wasn’t used to this ‘locked down’ or ‘cuffed up’ life, he was used to being on his own and doing whatever whenever he liked. He did not know how this relationship thing worked.

Now he wasn’t stupid. Thanos knew about and had no problem following the main rules of a committed relationship. No cheating, no talking / flirting with other girls alllll of that. And that wasn’t the issue!!

The issue happened when you two made the decision to move in together.

Thanos loved being able to do things by himself- gaming, working on music, writing or even just doom scrolling with out having anyone judged him. But, relationships are about being together, right?

Like…doing things together all the time?? He didn’t know what the fuck to do in a relationship- they don’t exactly make how-to’s on this shit.

To him, girls like being with their boyfriend’s and all of his friends who were in relationships bitched and complained about never having time to themselves or never being able to just smoke and play video games because their girlfriend gets mad at them.

Thanos really liked you, he didn’t want to fuck this up. So, going off of the shit knowledge of relationships he has from his sleazy friends…the console sat untouched and gathering dust out on the TV stand in the living room.

It wasn’t bad at first- he didn’t need to play games with Nam-Gyu and his other friends daily! He could go without it! But as you two made a month of living together and he hadn’t even touched the damn console. He was going insane.

It genuinely did not occur to him that he could still be a separate person in a relationship and especially when living together. To him he needed to be a loyal boyfriend and spend every moment doing something with you.

You knew he liked his video games- hell, you’ve even played multiple with him online! Before you moved in together you’d FaceTime the dude and he’d have you set up on his TV stand while he played in whatever online lobby he was in at the time.

Sitting on the couch with him, you can practically feel the way his body twitches and his jaw clenches every time his eyes trail to the game console. Now that you think of it…you don’t think you’ve seen him play since you’ve moved in.

“You wanna…play online or something?” You ask looking up from your spot on his lap, reaching up to poke his cheek.

Looking down, Thanos shakes his head, “Uhh n-nah!! I’m good. I don’t think Nam-Gyu is on tonight anyway”

You give him an odd look and sit up.

“It’s Thursday. Nam-Gyu is off. The fucker does nothing else but get high and game on his day off. I know he’s gotta be on.” You counter, genuinely confused as to why he’s so weird about this.

“Well even if he is we’re doing stuff.”

“We’re watching Family Gyu re-runs…‘s not exactly important.”

Thanos runs a hand through his hair and thinks about it. This has to be a trick. A test!! You want him to play video games so it can be an issue later. (Poor thing has never been in a non-toxic relationship)

“Oh I mean yeah I guess he’s probably on but.. I’m good!! I mean I’m spending time with you! ‘S all I need.” And in part he wasn’t lying, you were one of the only things he’d ever need. Fuck- you were the only one that domesticated his ass.

You laugh, the sound laced with disbelief, “you realize I’m not going to get mad at you right…you can play the game, baby.”

Your tone takes on a gentler one, staring at him to make sure he knows you’re not trying to test him- you were serious.

“Well I don’t want to leave you to be bored.” He pouts, shifting awkwardly on the couch.

You’re busting out into giggles at how precious he could be- he was that worried about fucking this up and making you feel some type of way if he took time to himself.

Straddling his lap in a fluid motion, you’re cupping his face in your hands and smiling wide ate your purple haired boyfriend.

“Su-Bong.” You say, shaking his head just a bit.

Hearing you say his real name, something he truly only likes you doing- his heart is doing that weird thing it does anytime you do something cute. The same little skip or flip or whatever the fuck it did when he met you. (He never could decide what it was)

“I’m grown. You’re grown…” you begin, “I can entertain myself for a bit while you play with Nam-Gyu.”

Thanos looks at you bewildered, mouth agape as he thinks about what to say, “this isn’t a test right? Like one of those boyfriend loyalty things?!”

You laugh and shake your head, getting up off the couch and walking the couple steps to the TV stand, turning on the console and grabbing a controller.

You return to stand right in front of him, controller held out, “Not a test. Seriously. Play. You deserve some guy time y’know!”

He has to have won the lottery or has somehow gotten to be in a relationship with an angel. Taking the controller he’s pulling you down to press a slow, gentle kiss to your lips.

“Fuck, I love you so baddd~” He groans, lips brushing against yours as he speaks.

You giggle, pressing another kiss to his lips in return before you pull away, “come get me out of the office when you’re done, m’kay?” You’re ruffling his hair before padding off down the hallway.

Thanos feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulder, maybe relationships really weren’t as hard as everyone made them out to be! Or maybe he just got really fucking lucky with who he got in a relationship with.

He doesn’t know how many rounds he played- far too many because his eyes are starting to hurt. But, when Nam-Gyu finally gets off the game- Thanos looks to the clock and his heart sinks to his ass.

12am.

Fuck, was he really playing for that long?! Oh, he’s surely gonna get in trouble now.

Frantically, he’s turning off the console and throwing the controller to the couch. He’s padding down the hallway of the apartment, ass cheeks literally clenched waiting for the argument that’s about to ensue.

It’s silent as he walks down the hall, so silent he can hear the thrum of the AC. Did you fall asleep waiting for him?? Oh, he’s such a dick! No- the office lights still on!! You’re still awake.

The doors ajar, he can see the shadow of you and whatever you’re doing flicker in the crack of the door. Nervously chewing his lip and sucking in a deep breath, Thanos is placing a tattooed hand to the wood and pushing open the door.

He expected you to be sulking, maybe sitting there staring at the door and waiting to yell at him. But nope.

You were painting. Boxes that were piled up from when you two moved in now unpacked and opened- various art supplies strewn about the room and an in progress painting on an easel.

You had your headphones in- absentmindedly humming to yourself as your brush scratched against the canvas.

Thanos is frozen, you seriously weren’t trying to start a fight. You weren’t trying to pull one over on him and use it against him like he thought- you were happily entertaining yourself.

It was cute, seeing you in your natural habitat- so engrossed and in your own world. Thanos smiles to himself, watching as you lean in just inches from the canvas to add some detail, tongue poking out in concentration. Somehow, you even got paint on your face- various colors that you had mixed smeared across your skin.

As he takes a couple steps into the room, you see a flash of purple and turn to the doorway, focused look melting into a wide happy smile as you pull one of your headphones out.

“Hey, handsome!” You cheer, putting the paintbrush down.

“Hi baby girl…” he hums, sliding himself behind you expertly, arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you back flush against his chest. You sigh as his lips press against your shoulder.

“You done playing?” You say wiping your paint covered hands off on a towel, reaching a hand up to cradle his head, fingers threading into purple strands.

“Mhm…” another kiss, “‘m sorry I was on for so long…”

You laugh, not thinking he was on for that long “Nam-Gyu go to bed before 5am? That’s surprising.”

Thanos laughs against your skin, the fact you know him and his best friends gaming habits makes him feel all tingly.

“Yeah..but also I was already on for so long, I really didn’t mean to play that long.”

You realize he’s actually trying to apologize and you’re instantly turning to face him, “Hey!!! No apologizing!!” You tease, squishing his face in your hands and pulling him down to your height.

“You deserved some time to ya’self. Moving is stressful, you deserves to relax and play with Nam-Gyu for a bit.”

His body relaxes, finally understanding that maybe this whole relationship thing wasn’t as hard as he thought- you were genuinely telling him to play video games- no secret motive behind it.

He stares at you blankly for a moment.

“I’m going to fucking marry you. Hope you realize that.”

You’re laughing, loud and boisterous, a sound he could never tire of, “Okayyy~ that’s fantastic! We can start planning sometime soon” You say between giggles, “but, what’s got you saying this all the sudden?”

He doesn’t answer, between realizing he was finally in a healthy relationship, your cute smile and flushed cheeks covered in paint- god, you made him insane. instead he’s leaning down and throwing you over his shoulder, “Subong!! Put me down!!” You’re squealing, playfully kicking your legs.

Carrying you to the bedroom with ease he’s lightly patting your ass, “Nope. Sorry, no can do. If I can’t marry you right now I gotta do the next best thing…”

“Sooooo~~” he’s cooing kicking the bedroom door open, “The most amazing girlfriend in the world needs some insane head as a ‘thank you’”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Taglist: @namsgyu @nuttybeans @namgyucat @g1rlonthe3internet @reilapse @yuuumeee @thanosspills @thequeenbmulan @infinetlyforgotten @gothinlove @seaweef @lov3lycosmos @lunaryoongie

((Lmk if you’d like to be added to my tag list <3))

[ruinix]

recent walk in..sugar daddy quinn mad when he realizes you haven’t been using the black credit card he gave you for expenses

Hello, lovely. Of course, hehe.😏 You did not catch me writing this. I am just a ghost taking over the keyboard. I need to put this out before a new walkin comes out.... (edit not really fully sugar daddy!quinn. But he totally would pay for everything type of boyfriend)

Broken Promise, Broken Cards

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Spanking (pussy slapping??), Edging, Unprotected sex (protections, lovelies, they’re important), Squirting, Just Quinn being so angry that he became calm and he edges you coz he can.

Count: 3356 -> 3734 words (Edited) | Masterlist | Taglist

You’re sending him pictures of your shopping. One picture after another. One choice after another. Quinn helps you pick when you ask for his opinion. He has no problem answering your texts while he watches a replay of a game. The only problem is that Quinn has yet to receive a notification from any of your purchases.

With that, he can no longer focus on the game. It’s just white noise now while he refreshes his inbox.

Swipe down. Wait. Close the app. Open it. Swipe down.

Over and over again, whenever you send him a new photo of your successful purchase.

None. Not a single fucking one.

He is getting too agitated when he receives a photo of a paper bag of a particular brand of lingerie with your delicate hand holding it. You have your nails done earlier this morning. It’s so pretty with your favorite shade of pink and favorite flower designs. Just like how you described it before you went out. He can’t wait for your hands around him tonight.

‘Focus,’ he reprimands himself.

Shaking his head, focusing on the paper bag instead, locking in the brand, he gives the purchase a few minutes to process—or whatever the fuck—but again, nothing. He stares and stares into the screen, his eyebrows meeting. He remembers having every transaction on that card to be sent over his email too. He set that up long before. So, where the fuck are they?

Are you actually buying things or are you stealing them?

Did you bring cash?

Quinn didn’t give you cash for anything else other than your nails and the tip for its service today. His frustrations build up. He’s so close to calling the bank and making sure that the card is activated. When he receives another message, he takes a moment to calm down—he has to—before opening it.

He immediately gets distracted by how bright you look. You are grinning so much that the corners of your eyes crinkle, a blush flushing your face. Your nails are on full show once more as you hold up the bag next to your face. So beautiful.

After a solid five minutes, he remembers to refresh his inbox. Only then does it dawn at him.

Are you even using the card he gave you? No, that can’t be. You promised him to use that card today. You are definitely using it.

Aren’t you?

One last swipe down to refresh his email. Still nothing.

What the fuck.

You’re definitely not using the card.

Quinn paces. He’s getting angry for you breaking your promise, getting worried because you’re buying a lot of stuff today. More than you usually do. Didn’t you just complain about your depleting savings last night? It’s one of the reasons why he secretly transferred a few hundreds of dollars—exactly three thousand—into your account. He knows that you didn’t notice it, because you would’ve transferred it back to him after you lecture him about it. If it’s not that, did you suddenly replenish it in your own way? He quickly checks the date and confirms that it’s nowhere near payday, so that’s not it.

Where the fuck are you getting your spending money?

He refuses to acknowledge that you might be using your old credit card. The one with a fucking limit.

It can’t be.

There is no fucking way.

Something snaps in his head, pushing him to act. He rushes to your office, powers up your computer, and signs in without a hitch, because you’ve never put a password on it. If you do, he knows about your little notebook of passwords under your desk plant next to your monitor.

He never really goes through your stuff. He is content and trusts you with everything. Everything. He knows exactly how deeply you feel about him as much as he does with you. Although sometimes you hide your phone from him, that’s when you’re texting your friends about him. It’s obvious because you keep snickering while throwing glances at him. He doesn’t mind that. Not at all. You can talk to your other friends about other stuff. The fact still remains. He trusts you.

But, right now, he is losing it. He needs to see. He needs to look into your email. Just this one time. He’ll apologize for it later.

His eyes are locked on the notifications, the receipts, the confirmations. The account number on every single one of them is not the one on the black credit card he has given you. He had it memorized, and it doesn’t fucking match. You are not fucking using it. What the fuck.

An ache forms in his chest. It’s like a horrible backhand that could shake up his teeth, so horrible that he had to run his tongue over them, making a clicking sound to ensure his teeth are still rooted. He crosses his arms. His legs are spread wide as he slouches against the backrest, one leg bobbing up and down. He glares at the screen, trying to will the emails to disappear while he burns them one by one in his mind. He tries a different route to imagine the account number to change, but of course, nothing works.

He rubs a hand over his face. His head pounds at the start of a headache. His phone pings from another message. It sounds like a blaring siren, making his ears ring. After a few moments, a new mail pops up.

This is so much worse than you realizing the deposit in your debit. Because one, you broke your promise. Two, he feels useless. If you were not going to use the card, you could’ve let Quinn accompany you during this shopping spree that would at least appease his soul. But then, he can force his card into the hands of the cashiers. Realization hits him.

That’s exactly why you didn’t let him tag along. You know he’ll talk his way to overtake your payments. Exhaling, a chuckle escapes him. A smirk forms on his face as he gazes up the ceiling. You are such a clever girl, aren’t you?

He’ll give this to you, but you are in so much trouble when you come home.

As if on cue, you text him, “I’m on my way home.”

He turns your computer off, standing up. An eerie calm envelope him. He’s still so angry, yet instead of vibrating and burning outwardly, it settles deep inside his bones until nothing comes up. It’s an odd feeling. It’s not heavy. It’s not light. It just is. A calm before the storm.

He undoes his second top button. If you really want to use your credit card, you can. You’re your own person. Still, you should have kept your promise. Such a bad girl.

He walks back to the living room and sits down on the single seater, reaching the remote to close off every curtain, making his place dimmer and dimmer and dimmer.

Then he waits.

He waits until you come in with your impressive haul. Extremely impressive, because you have your arms full already. When you put them down, you only leave to get more of them until you get a little pile in the living room. It’s amusing how your grin looks so self-satisfied, not realizing that he’s sitting in the corner of the room, until your eyes land on him. Your smile turns sheepish, taking your hands behind you, not daring to come closer.

Truly clever.

“Hi, Quinny. Didn’t see you there.” You wave.

“My Love,” he greets, beckoning you with a finger, but you refuse to come, shaking your head. “What’s wrong?”

“I need to put these away.”

He watches you start with one bag with the little nightgown that looks so fucking sexy. You’re clearly distracting him and it’s working. Slightly. He obliges you, his amusement growing the more you ramble. You’ve enjoyed your shopping trip. You speak at a quicker pace than you usually do. You have a little bounce on your step. Your happy energy radiates from you in waves while you continue taking everything out of bags which you fold right after. He knows you’re aware that he knows. That’s why you’re taking your time.

Quinn’s aware that you are genuinely delighted that you distract yourself more than him.

He’s proud and happy that you enjoyed your day.

Truly.

It doesn’t erase the fact that he has already lost it. The calm that his anger turned is what’s keeping him from pouncing on you, from taking you over his lap and slamming his hand on your bare ass until you got handprints that will bruise and ache for a couple of days. Just like how you want them.

He still can’t believe that you’ve broken him just from breaking your promise.

It’s entirely laughable.

Yet heat streaks down his spine, down his lean abdomen, down to his cock.

He’s so fucking hard.

He stands up, stalking towards you while you’re crouching next to a pile of paper bags. You’re still rambling a pottery workshop you’ve come across. You’re saying that you want to go back there so you can make mugs for each other. When you’ve already successfully built a mug collection in one of his cupboards.

So adorable. So clueless about the danger prowling towards you.

He stops, his shadow looming over you. He counts the seconds, but you still don’t notice him, do you? Then he sees how your hands start to shake. You do. Silly girl.

A chuckle escapes him as he grabs your arm. He swiftly pulls you up then lifts you over his shoulder.

“Quinn!” You squeal, hitting his back a couple of times. “Put me down! You’re making me dizzy—”

You let out a moan when Quinn slaps the tender spot under your ass.

  “Quiet,” he orders, making you whimper like the dirty slut you are. “What did you say before you left?”

“Bye?” You sound so confused. “I love you?”

He spanks you on the same spot again, making you moan and whine. Even more when he slips his hand under your skirt, his fingers trail up and up, then he puts you down on the bed. Instantly, you flip over, looking at him like he has taken everything from you. He can already hear your protest that’s sitting on the tip of your tongue. He glares at you, daring you to speak them, but you don’t take the bait. You usually do.  Interesting.

“You bought a lot.” Quinn crawls over you.

His hand flattens over your sternum, effortlessly pushing you down.

Your pupils are so blown out when he levels his face with yours, his nose grazing yours, your breath mixing with his. He can smell the gum you chewed on before you arrived, the perfume you’ve sprayed behind your ears. Your eyes fall down his lips and up his eyes again, perfectly seducing him, but he refuses, moving away when you try to kiss him, your tongue darting out to entice him.

Not yet.

“Quinn,” you whine.

“Why’d you do it?” He asks. He kneels up, flipping you over your stomach, pressing a hand on your lower back to keep you from whatever you’re planning which is being  a brat.  

“I didn’t do anything,” you say with pout, shuddering when he slips his hand into your shirt. He unclasps your bra without exerting an effort, so used to your undergarments. “What are you doing? I haven’t showered yet.”

Quinn doesn’t fucking care if you showered or not. Since when did he care? He doesn’t care even if you come from a workout. He has fucked you like that. Many times. All sweaty and dirty. He already licked your sweat as he plunged deep inside your quivering pussy. You coming from a whole day of shopping is simple play for him. You’re just trying to get out of the inevitable punishment.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he rumbles against your ear. He slides his thick fingers under you so he can touch your tits. So soft. So perfect in his hands. Your nipples are so taut from anticipation and his attention. He pinches the sensitive peaks, your hips coming up to grind against him. He pulls away, receiving an unsatisfied groat. “Uh, uh. Answer me before you get what you want, you dirty slut.”

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp.

“That’s what you are, isn’t it?” He grits. He slides down one hand down your abdomen, down into the waistband of your skirt, down until he reaches and feels the wet patch on your panties. He presses and teases along your clothed slit. “See? So fucking wet. I barely touched you.”

“Quinn, please,” you plead, panting for more.

Why are you still not repeating your broken promise?

He’s getting so annoyed. He forces your clothes off, tearing every piece of clothing on your beautiful body. He ignores how much you complain, ignores your little ‘ouch’ because you’re full of shit. There’s no way it’ll hurt when he is tearing the fabric instead of pulling it against your fucking skin. Do you think he’s fucking stupid? Do you think he’ll hurt you that way?

He’s not a fucking rookie.

He keeps you down, spreading your legs by kneeling between them, watching how your pussy drips on the silk sheets, how your entrance quivers, begging to be filled. Languidly, he feels your folds. You feel so fucking good, so fucking soft, so fucking wet.

You gasp and moan like you’re already getting fucked. You’re just so sensitive, aren’t you?

Then he gives you a slap right there. On your dripping pussy. On your clit. His other hand grips your hip to keep you there when you attempt to crawl away, but he gives you another slap. Then another. Another.

You are moaning and writhing from the pain, begging him to stop, when you’re the one pushing your wet cunt against his palm. You keep seeking, even after briefly reeling away from every hit. Your eyes look over your shoulder, meeting his, begging and begging, mentally conveying, “More, more, more.”

Such a good slut.

His slut.

You’re his.

Quinn slides his middle finger into your heat, smirking at how your walls quivers around him. Your cunt is so red from his spanking. His thumb teases your other hole. You writhe, wantonly moaning, pathetically grasping the sheets for support.

You’re not running away now, huh?

Not when he is fingering you. Not when he pounds and puts pressure on that specific spot that has you screaming breathlessly. You want this so much. You’ve been waiting for a relief that he can easily give you.

He adds another finger, thrusting them into your pussy. Harder. Deeper. The squelching noises are music to his ears when it’s coupled with your moans and groans.

Then he feels the familiar pattern of your pussy walls. You’re going to come soon. He knows you so much. Knows your pussy more than you. Knows your little tells like how your thighs quiver, how your toes curl, how your back arches into the bed.

He knows it.

So, it’s so fucking easy to just…pull away.

You look back harshly. You look betrayed as your breaths come out choppy. Disbelief reflects in your eyes, not used to him not letting you come. He always makes you come. Not now though. Quinn takes his fingers from your arousal to his lips and slowly licks them, like he’s feasting on your pussy, groaning at how you taste. Fuck, you’re truly his favorite flavor.

“Quinn, I…” you call, your eyes tearing up. “You didn’t…”

He flips you over your back. He rests your ass over his thighs while your legs are spread out.

“Didn’t?” he mocks which you only process that as a question. You’ve already been dumbed by your pending orgasm, by your need for it.

“I didn’t come,” you whine, jutting your hips up the air, begging for another touch. “Please make me come.”

“Yeah,” he nods. That makes you smile, sighing in relief. Shaking his head, he silently says, “No.”

He doesn’t let you say another thing, plunging his fingers into your pussy. He fucks you fast and deep, thumb swiping over your clit just so perfectly, only to pull away when you’re on the verge of an orgasm.

By the third time, you finally understand what’s happening and you’re begging and begging.

Your pleas don’t reach him though.

They can’t. Not when he’s still not satisfied. Not when you still don’t say anything. However, the strange calmness that locked him is already dissipating the more he makes a mess out of you. The more beautifully and frustrated you cry.

Oh, his poor, sweet Love.

“Quinn, I’m sorry. I just wanna use my card.” You sob. “I’m sorry. Please. Please. I need to come. It’s been an hour.”

An hour?

You’re counting?

He pauses his torture, because you are finally talking.

You cover your face, hiding your fucked out face, hiding your beautifully blushing cheeks, hiding how your hair sticks to your skin.

“I saw you deposit money in my account again. I thought using my card would be a great revenge. Now, I know it’s not. This sucks! It hurts not to come. We both know you’re just going to pay the bill when it comes.” You sob, looking absolutely hurt and exhausted.

Quinn quickly pulls you up, soothing you with a hug. He sighs as you melt into his touch. You sniffle but your hand reaches between you two, tugging at his pants, trying to get to his cock.

“You have to make me come.” You beg, looking at him with your best puppy eyes. “Please?”

“You always beg so perfectly.” He tucks your hair behind your ears. “Wasn’t so hard to admit your wrongs, was it?”

“I know. I already said sorry—”

He cuts you off by pushing you back. He quickly tugs his pants down, pressing his dribbling cock to your pussy, shuddering at the feel of your trembling entrance. One swift thrust and he’s seated inside of you. Fuck. Your pussy is truly made for him. He perfectly fits. All of him. He can feel every crevice, every texture, every arousal that coats you deep inside. Shit. So good. He can come just by being inside of you, by feeling your tight pussy’s embrace. Did you know that?

But he knows that it’s not enough for you tonight.

You need him to fuck you, so he does. He fucked you hard and rough that your eyes are rolling up as you come. Even then you plead for more and more.

So he gives you everything. Changing the tempo here and there, going slow and deliberate, going back to a fast pace. He gives you everything because you deserve it.

Every time he feels that you’re about to come again, he whispers into ears, “That’s my good girl. Give me one more. That’s it. My good little slut. Take what you need. Come, my Love.”

Every time.

He draws out your fifth orgasm then he comes deep inside you, swearing loudly into your ear. He’s coming so hard that his eyesight dims. Your pussy milks every drop of his cum. How he still manages to flick your sensitive clit while he comes so hard is a mystery, but it doesn’t matter when you start to gush.

You’re making such a mess.

You always do.

“Quinn, oh my, fuck,” you cry out.

“It’s okay. I got you. Just let go, my Love,” he encourages, flicking your clit again and again, until you’ve successfully drench both of you. “No more?”

“No more. No more.” You shake your head, so he stops. “Kiss me.”

He obliges you, kissing you, whispering praises in between. You both spend minutes just kissing until you’ve calm down. Quinn gives you one last kiss before he stands to run a bath. He puts a few drops of lavender and chamomile oils in the tub. It’ll soothe you.

He comes back out to wrap you with a fresh and heated towel while the bath fills up. You look so spent, so Quinn holds you for a few more minutes, whispering more and more soft praises in your ear, because you’ve earned it.

When he hears the tub fill up, he takes you to it. He helps you in, tucking your hair behind your ears. “Just relax here. I’ll join you in a bit, okay?” He says as you settle. You nod at him as your eyes slowly blink. “I won’t take long. Don’t sleep. Not when I’m not here.”

“Okay, Quinny,” you say as you yawn. Your tummy rumbles. “Hungry.”

“I’ll get you a sandwich then I’ll make dinner after our bath. Sounds good?”

You smile at him.

His heart flutters, his stomach filling up with butterflies. He presses another kiss on your head, before he’s off, leaving you to have a little alone time. He got one thing in his mind.

He made his way to your bag that’s left behind on the floor. Humming a soft tune, he carries it to the counter, setting it down, as he takes out the ingredients for a sandwich. Just bread and your favorite jam. Washing his hands quickly, he fixes your sandwich, placing it on a plate. He also takes a fresh and cool bottle of water. It will do for a light snack before dinner, but he doesn’t take it immediately to you.

He sits on a stool, rummaging through your bag, finding your wallet.

He smiles at your photo with him there. It’s taken from a polaroid. He knows there’s another photo tucked behind it. It’s you and him in an ice rink that you had personally printed out. You’re truly cute.

He touches your face, heart pounding at how breathtaking you always look.

Even when you’re so fucked out, your beauty never changes. He can’t wait to grow old with you. He bet with everything he has and more that you will still look like the beautiful woman in the world, because you are.

Then he takes the credit card you’ve used today.

His smile never goes away as he stares at it for full minute.

Then he snips it in half and does the same to another and another.

Now, you only have one card left.

[im-so-normal-iswear]

Hi, I want to request a headcanon with SSS, with a human!reader (separately, this is not poly), reader is a friend of the trinity, based on this, reader has feelings for the trinity, but because reader is a human, and they are meanwhile mobians, she thinks that she is not attracted to them, since she is a human, and mobians may have different standards of beauty, plus, she does not want to seem like a pervert in their eyes, and ruin their friendship, but somehow SSS finds out about the reader's feelings, and they begin dating. Thanks in advance if you write 💙❤️🤍

A/n: my head hurts, sorry for posting this so late

triple s x Human!Reader

Sonic:

You had been friends with Sonic for years. From the moment you met him, you knew he was special, not just because of his speed or heroics but because of the way he made everything feel more exciting. He was a whirlwind of energy, always dragging you along on adventures, cracking jokes, and treating you like you were just as capable as any of his other friends.

But deep down, there was something you harbored, something that gnawed at you whenever he flashed that confident aura your way. You had feelings for him.

It wasn't supposed to happen. He was a Mobian, and you were human. Surely, his kind had different standards of beauty. Maybe Mobians found humans ugly? Off putting? The last thing you wanted was for Sonic to see you as some weirdo who had inappropriate thoughts about one of his kind.

You convinced yourself it wasn't possible, that he'd never see you the way you saw him. So, you swallowed your feelings and stayed his loyal friend, even when your heart ached to be more.

But Sonic wasn't oblivious. He knows a thing or two about crushes (being around amy is already more than enough to teach him) he noticed the way your eyes lingered when he was in vicinity, how your laugh was just a bit too strained when he teased you, he saw the way your shoulders tensed when he got too close. Sonic wasn't the type to ignore his instincts, and his gut told him something was up.

One day, after an especially intense adventure, the two of you collapsed onto a grassy hill, panting and laughing. The sunset cast a golden glow over you both, and sonic, never one for subtlety, turned to you with a smirk.

"You know, you've been acting weird around me lately," he said, propping himself up on his elbow. "Something on your mind?"

Your stomach twisted. This was it. The moment you dreaded.

"I... it's nothing," you forced a chuckle, looking anywhere but at him. "Just tired, I guess."

Sonic wasn't buying it. "Come on, you can tell me anything, y'know? We're friends!"

And that was the problem, wasn't it?

The words came out before you could stop them. "That’s exactly why I can't tell you."

Sonic blinked, caught off guard. His ears twitched, processing your words before a slow grin spread across his face. "Wait a sec... do you like me?"

Your heart stopped. Your face burned. You shot up in panic. "No! I mean- yes! I meant- ugh!" You groaned, covering your face. "This is exactly what I didn't want! I didnt want to make things weird, because your movian and im... Human..."

Sonic was silent for a moment, but then he started laughing. Not cruelly, not mockingly, just his usual, carefree laugh. "Wow, and here I thought I was the dense one!"

You peeked between your fingers. "...Huh?"

He leaned back, hands behind his head. "You seriously thought I wouldn't be into you just because you're human?" He turned to you, eyes twinkling with amusement. "Newsflash, I don't care about that. You're you, and that's what matters."

Your heart stopped. "You mean... you?"

Sonic grinned. "Yeah, I like you, dummy."

Your world tilted. The worries, the doubts, the fear of being seen as some creepy human crushing on a Mobian, all of it evaporated in an instant. Before you could even process it, Sonic was already standing, holding out a hand.

"Now that that's outta the way, how 'bout a date? Maybe a race, loser buys chili dogs?"

You laughed, shaking your head as you took his hand. "I’m going to regret this, aren't I?"

Sonic just smirked. "Oh, definitely."

And just like that, your fears faded away.

Shadow:

Loving Shadow was a quiet kind of torture.

Shadow was... different. He was distant yet ever-present. You weren't even sure how you had become friends with him, Shadow didn't really have many friends after all. But somehow, after some time, you had earned a place in his life.

That was bad.

Because along the way, you had fallen for him.

And that was unacceptable.

Shadow wasn't the type to tolerate foolishness, and what was more foolish than a human harboring feelings for a Mobian? It didn't matter that your heart flipped every time he stood close, that your skin tingled when his gloved hand brushed against yours, or that his rare smirks made your knees weak. It didn't matter, because you were human, and he wasn't.

He could never see you that way.

But Shadow wasn't blind. He saw how you hesitated when he got too close, how your heart rate spiked when he addressed you. Shadow didn't believe in coincidences, and he wasn't one to ignore anomalies, especially not when they involved you.

One evening, after a particularly grueling mission, he cornered you.

"You're avoiding me."

You answered quick, "I'm not avoiding you."

"Lying doesn't suit you," he said, stepping closer. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Shadow. Drop it."

He didn't. Of course he didn't.

"Tell me the truth." His voice was less intense now.

You looked away. "I can't."

Silence stretched between you. Then, so quietly you almost didn't hear it.

"You think I wouldn't want you because you're human."

Your entire body froze. Your eyes snapped to him. "...What?"

His expression was unreadable, but his gaze burned into you. "You think I wouldn't reciprocate." He took another step forward. "You're wrong."

"I... I don't understand."

Shadows eyes softened, just a fraction. "I don't care about species. I care about strength, about loyalty, about who someone is at their core." He paused. "I care about you."

Your world tilted. The fear, the doubt, the self-imposed barriers, they all shattered in an instant.

Shadow reached out, hesitating for only a second before brushing a hand against your cheek. "You're important to me," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "If you feel the same... I won't run from it."

Tears pricked your eyes. "I thought I wasn’t enough."

"You are," he said firmly. "Always."

And just like that, the walls crumbled.

Silver:

You never meant to fall for Silver.

He had been your friend for so long, always bright eyed and hopeful, always treating you like you were the most important person in the world. He was gentle in ways others weren't, encouraging you when you doubted yourself, listening intently to your dreams, and never making you feel like an outsider despite being a human in a world full of Mobians.

Maybe that's why it hurt so much.

Because even though you cared for him, even though your heart raced when he smiled at you, even though you wanted so badly to take his hand in yours, you couldn't.

He was a Mobian. You were human.

Mobians probably had different beauty standards. What if you were ugly to him? What if you confessed and he was disgusted? Worse, what if he pitied you?

Silver was too kind to outright reject you in a cruel way. He'd probably give you an awkward smile, say something about how he "values you as a friend," and then things would never be the same. You couldn't risk it.

So, you buried your feelings.

You let him ramble about the future, let him take your hand when he was excited, let him hug you when he was happy, all the while pretending that it didn't tear you apart inside.

But Silver wasn't stupid. Naive? Yes. Oblivious? Sometimes. But when it came to you, he always paid close attention.

One day, after an exhausting mission, the two of you sat on the edge of a cliff, watching the sky shift from orange to deep purple. The air was cool, and Silver, without thinking,rested his head on you.

Your heart stopped.

"You've been weird lately," he murmured, eyes on the horizon.

You swallowed hard. "I don't know what you mean."

Silver lifted his head, looking up at you with soft curiosity. "You don't talk to me the same way anymore. You don't look me in the eyes as much. Did I do something wrong?"

Guilt twisted in your gut. "No! You didn't do anything wrong, I just..."

"Just what?" He tilted his head, eyes shining with concern.

You couldn't tell him. You couldn't risk losing this.

But then Silver reached out, fingers brushing against yours, hesitant but warm. "You can tell me anything, y'know?"

The sincerity in his voice broke you.

"I like you," you blurted, eyes squeezing shut. "I’ve liked you for so long, but I thought-" You inhaled sharply. "I thought I wasn't right for you. Im human. You're Mobian. What if I'm... what if I'm not attractive to you? What if I ruin everything?"

For a second, there was silence.

Then-

"You idiot."

Your eyes flew open, as you turned towards him. Silver's face was flushed, ears twitching, hands gripping yours tightly.

"You think I care about any of that?" he huffed, voice shaking. "Do you even know how much I like you?"

Your breath caught. "You-"

"Yes!" He groaned, running a hand down his face. "I thought you didn't see me that way! I thought I was being weird for liking a human, but I didn't care because it's you! I don't care about species or looks or any of that stuff! I just wanted to be with you!"

Tears pricked your eyes. "Silver-"

"You're the most amazing person I’ve ever met," he continued, voice cracking slightly. "You're kind, strong, and you always make me feel like I belong. Do you really think I'd let something as stupid as species get in the way of that?"

You let out a shaky laugh, overwhelmed. "I'm the idiot, huh?"

Silver smiled, soft and warm. "The biggest."

And then, hesitantly, he leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. His hands squeezed yours, his tail flicking behind him.

"Can I...?" he whispered, breath warm against your lips.

You nodded.

And then, finally, Silver closed the distance

A/n: i dont know how to describe kissing, im sorry

[endursent]

- Biting Cold - Searing Warmth

【 content; sunday x reader , astral express sunday , mutual masturbation , blood and injury, hurt/comfort , huddling for warmth , handjob , self-destructive thoughts , NSFW 】

【 note; thank you for all the likes, comments and reblogs on through the dark, the overwhelming support means a lot to me and gives my souls strength. please enjoy this much longer piece.

as always, the reader's gender is never mentioned, i avoided describing their genitalia and left it vague so that you can imagine your preference. 】

【 word count; 8.075 | read on ao3 】

He feels slightly out of place among the Astral Express, it’s not that he doesn’t physically ‘fit in’, all of you look different, act differently and portray yourself in very different ways… but Sunday hasn’t been able to see himself as part of the crew despite travelling with you for four months. 

  He feels like he’s made of stone, every movement is stiff and he has to make excruciating effort into every little action, he feels cold and hard, like an observing statue as opposed to a member. 

  There are days where he forgets that cold, when what he has come to recognise as typical shenanigans drags him into situations where he’s either forced to use his brain to solve complex problems or empathise with someone in a situation he didn’t think was possible. Days where he is on his feet and his mind tunnels to the mission at hand. 

  And there are others where there is silent travel, two days of calm traversal through the cosmos where he retreats to solitude and sees the sky get further away behind closed eyes. He tries to write down his thoughts and understand them, understand what his goal has become… the path he has taken leads towards the cosmos, towards discovery of himself as well as the universe, but what does he search for in the distant stars? 

  Is he merely searching for redemption? Should he not atone for the wrongs his ideals did to others? 

  Dan Heng had told him that endlessly searching to right a wrong that has already been done will only wear him down to his bones and bring no closure. That it will be an endless journey of selfish fulfilment, he will never be able to touch every person that was drawn into the dream—and that he should start with the person he can touch, himself. 

  He startles when he bumps into your back, his mind having been completely occupied with thoughts and distracted—as usual. Sunday grasps your shoulder to push himself back slightly as he gives the back of your head a glare. “Why do you walk in front of me? There’s more than enough space.”

  You give a small shrug. “Just making sure you don’t walk into something, think of me like a cushion,” you wave your hand vaguely as you turn back around. The snow is getting deeper as you venture through the woods, at one point in the densest part, it reaches up to your knees as you practically climb forward, raising your knee stomach-high with every step. 

  Looking around, you squint through the all-white forest… there’s supposed to be a research facility out here, at least according to one of the locals that showed the group around. But all you see is snow and trees.

  Sunday pulls his coat tighter around himself, he doesn’t yet have a very varied wardrobe to properly adjust based on the world the Express goes to next… perhaps he should have searched in the small town for an extra layer, the biting cold makes his fingers stiff and toes tingle uncomfortably. His nose is cold and whenever you turn your back to him, he tucks his wings against the front of his face like a shield, hoping his warm breath might give some comfort to his red nose and cheeks.

  Finally, the trees spread further apart and the snow congested less, you take out your phone and unlock it… no signal. Well, at least you’ve been walking in a straight line, it’s unlikely you’ll get… lost…

  You see a line of snow that’s been walked through across the clearing, it’s halfway snowed up again… and it looks exactly like the line the two of you have been leaving behind—but how could it be through this same clearing? You swear you haven’t turned at all since you left the town! 

  Sunday spots it as well and his teeth clench together. “That’s ours… have we been walking in circles?” he, too, was sure the path had been straight the entire time. How could you pass by your own footsteps leading across your current path? 

  You both stand still for a time, the gears in your head spinning, trying to understand how this came to be—does it mean that the way you came from now is wrong? Is left or right the way back. You heard Sunday click his tongue and turn to look at him… he looks terribly cold. 

  Feeling a bit bad for him—and certainly not wanting him to catch a cold, you zip down your thick jacket and pull your arms out of it. Being that you’re the only moving thing in his line of sight, Sunday immediately frowns at the sight. “What are you doing? You’ll freeze if you take that off—” he blinks as you hold the jacked out towards him, and he hugs his own coat closer to himself, lowering his chin under the scarf around his neck. “I don’t need your jacket, it is my own fault that I’m underdressed.”

  “Doesn’t mean you should freeze,” you push it against his chest. “Come on, while it’s warm—we can take turns.”

  Reluctantly, Sunday unwinds his stiffly cold arms from around himself and accepts the jacket, it doesn’t fit him perfectly… but the relief it brings is far more valuable. It’s still a bit warm from when it was wrapped around your own body, and he can faintly smell your scent along the neck of it. You give a smile and reach for the hood on the back, you pull it over his head, the fur lining it tickling his cheeks as his wings get pushed against his head and poke out of it, halo bobbing behind his head with snow lined around its outline. 

  “... thank yo—wh—?” his thanks is interrupted as you poke the feathers of his wings that are sticking out and push them inside the hood before pulling it slightly further down. “Stop—it’s perfectly suitable,” he waves your hand away. His cheeks were red already, but now more so with an embarrassed warmth as well.

  You immediately feel the chill of the cold wind and shake your arms a bit before rubbing them for some friction. “Alright, alright—I’ll leave you be, come on. The sooner we find this facility the faster we’ll be out of the cold.”

  He makes a ‘hmph’ sound and hunches slightly so that his face is nestled nicely in the collar of the puffy jacket. If you’re to take turns, he should try and warm up as quickly as possible… he doesn’t want you to be cold either. He only accepted as easily as he did because he knew you would hold him down and force the jacket onto him if he didn’t…

  But the gesture resonates with him nonetheless. It would be easy for you to continue in comfort, the jacket doesn’t prevent cold entirely, but it brings a significant barrier to the wind and chill, especially with the hood protecting his ears and neck. Yet you still chose to share it with him… it almost brought more warmth to him than the jacket. 

  You have always been like this, he shouldn’t be surprised at this point… with every offer, every smile and nudge, his chest grows warmer. 

  His sleepless nights were never unaccompanied, you were usually in the kitchen past midnight—once because you ‘forgot to boil eggs for breakfast and are too tired in the morning to do it’, another time because you were simply thirsty, then it was the night before Welt’s birthday and you and March 7th were baking cupcakes at three in the morning. 

  It has become a habit when he cannot sleep, be it because his thoughts will not stop interrupting him, or because the deeds of the past pull his stomach down until he has to use a bathroom or he simply feels restless and has a need to stand and move… to go to the kitchen. It’s a separate carriage from the bedrooms and gives some peace and quiet, once when you were not there as he had become accustomed to, he had taken out his phone to send you a message and ask if you were awake.

  Of course… he didn’t, as his thumb had hovered over the send button, he set his phone down and turned back to his water. Spending the dark hours of the night alone. 

  Not that there is a true night and day on the Express, it operates on a 24-hour cycle where the lights dim and the windows are blocked to emulate night—but Sunday is far accustomed to strange hours or wake and deep sleep. 

  Sunday is once again taken from his thoughts as you stop for the second time, looking around with a focused expression on your face. He follows your gaze but sees nothing amiss, just more snow and now distant trees. The sky is grey and the ground white, the falling flakes of snow blending the two seamlessly to blur the distance between earth and sky. “What is it?”

  With a shimmer, your weapon appears in your hand, sturdy and warm against your cold fingers. “I heard something…”

  Out here? It was a miracle if anyone found you out in the chilled wilderness like this.

  “Remember what those kids said earlier? When we were in town?” your voice lowers, eyes still scanning your surroundings. 

  Sunday nods. “That… we should be careful because ‘kids who get lost in the forest turn into ghosts that eat people’?” he didn’t entirely believe them, it was most likely just a cautionary tale their parents tell them so they don’t run into the forest and get lost. No child will survive for long. 

  “I don’t much like ghosts…” you mumble, the shiver on your skin not only because of the biting winds. Your muscles are coiled, ready and tense… you’re no stranger to duking it out with a monster or two, or even people. But what if you can’t whack it away like you could anything else? 

  Sunday is equally on guard as you are, but less experienced with direct combat. He’s mostly relied on intellectual disputes in the past, as well as planning for conflicts ahead of time where he won’t have to directly face off against something. 

  You see something shift in the corner of your eye—it’s not a whole form, it looks like a misty shape that drags into the snow as it moves. You shift your feet towards it as it speeds towards the two of you. Sunday grasps your shoulder as if he’s about to pull you backwards, but before he can, you swing your weapon—and the misty form dissipates.

  “...” your eyes flicker around to search for it. “Was that it?”

  “I doubt it,” Sunday says quietly next to your ear, his voice clear above the cool brush of wind that’s been chilling your skin. “There,” he gestures to a shift between trees. “There is a flicker of blue between the shoulders, it must be the weak spot.”

  Weak spot, you can deal with that—it can’t be much different from the game machines in Penacony, whack the glowing part. 

  “Be careful if it—” Sunday’s warning went ignored and interrupted as you lift your leg and charge toward the misty apparition. “Wait—!” damn it, he knows you have a tendency for recklessness, but at least let him do what he’s good at and create a plan of attack!

  He struggles to wade through the snow to follow you, unfamiliar with navigating high snow. But he has no chance of catching up with you. You raise your weapon again and raise your hands to swing downwards—but the misty form moves and you miss, the body dissipating again, it’s already a pretty small form, but it’s mostly translucent too, it’s not easy to follow.

  You’re so damn cold, it’s difficult to move as quickly as you usually could. You see Sunday stop halfway towards you and look around for the elusive creature… you’re not sure what it’s capable of, but your prickling instincts are telling you it’s absolutely not friendly. “Come, stay closer,” Sunday calls to you. “It’s less likely to surprise us if we watch each other’s flanks.”

  He’s right. You start to wade through the snow towards him when something moves in the corner of your eyes to your right—the wraith-looking creature seemed more condensed than before, its form whiter as if the falling snow had blanketed its outline and made it more visible. The blue hue in it’s torso flickered and expanded as a sharp shard of ice formed inside its body, it wasn’t wide, but it was long and jagged—and it was facing Sunday, too far from you to be able to get to him in time if the speed at which the shard was made was anything to believe. 

  He seemed to see it as well, eyes widening only slightly in surprise at the sight—his gaze snaps equally startled towards you as you dash towards the wraith. What are you doing!? Sunday calls your name in both warning and surprise, concern clear in his startled gaze, the creature is clearly preparing an attack—you should be falling back on the defensive, and not charging right at it!

  You hop surprisingly easily through the snow, each large step eating at the distance between the threat and yourself. Swinging the bat at it did nothing but dissipate it and let it reappear elsewhere—and you don’t have the body heat or stamina to chase it around for twenty minutes. Maybe if you grab the blue centre, it’ll materialise enough for you to break it. 

  Sunday cursed the high snow, trying to stumble through it towards you as you ran at the enemy. He watched as you leapt at it and tackled it down—surprisingly, the wraith did fall with you, but the way your body jerked as you landed in the puffy snow made his skin itch. 

  As soon as you tackled the wraith down, the shard of ice it was conjuring short forward as if it had been held back by a tight bowstring—and impaled itself in your body. The sudden, violent pain that burst from your torso made you nearly double over in on yourself. But you persisted and jabbed the end of your weapon into the core.

  With a loud crack and sound of shattering, the core broke apart like a light bulb, as if it had been entirely hollow. The misty form dissipated once more, leaving only shards of blue on the snow under you. 

  Sunday calls your name again with more urgency, heart hammering in his chest as he finally makes it to you, he bends down to take your shoulders in his hands. “Are you hurt? You shouldn’t rush li—” his words stop in his throat once he sees blood padder onto the snow, the red colour a stark contrast to the pure white of freshly fallen snow. 

  For a moment, he doesn’t move, unsure what to do—does he tug you up into a sitting position? Onto your back? Where is it coming from? You’re on all fours already, so perhaps you can straighten slightly. “Let me see, let me see,” his voice is urgent as he sees the tremble of your hands and hears a strange sound, as if a thin sheet of ice was being stepped on. Sunday takes your arm that twitched towards your torso and sees frost hardening on your clothes and skin. 

  As soon as you had physically touched the wraith, your skin began to feel extremely cold, like you were perpetually laid against ice. Your entire torso prickled, but the worse of the pain was coming low in your abdomen, your eyes lower and you see the shard imbedded in your lower left abdomen, it was wider at the bottom and stretched the skin apart and cut your clothes where blood bubbled and dripped down into the snow. It felt like you had drunk ice cold water, the feeling of it leaking down into your stomach—except it was spreading from the ice, and every surface you had touched of the ghost.   

  “Let me see,” he says for the third time, firmer this time despite the small crack of his voice, whether it was from the cold numbing his nose and lips or the creeping anxiety at the back of his mind, it was hard to tell. 

  You gasp and cry out slightly as he tries to right you up, it feels as if the sharp shard in your body had just cut through the entirety of your torso with the small movement, tears bubbling at the bottom of your eyelids from the overwhelming sensitivity and pain. “S-stop—” you pant, voice barely audible between short, quick breaths, as if you were afraid that breathing deeper would hurt more.

  Sunday swallows, he’s not a doctor and though he knows basic first aid, his knowledge of what to do in situations like this relies heavily on the fact further help was on the way—but out here in the snow and wind with no signal… 

  He shrugs off the puffy jacket you had handed to him earlier and he lays it over your back, the biting cold already cooling his shivering body. “I’m sorry,” Sunday apologises quietly, his heart is racing, and though he seems calm outwardly, it’s a very practised and well-crafted front. His thoughts are racing, heart hammering in his chest and cold fingers trembling. All he sees and seems to be able to focus on is the puff of your breath and the drops of blood continuously leaking from you. 

  He’s afraid. Afraid that trying to move you will hurt you further, afraid that it might do irreversible damage—afraid that the damage is already so bad that there is scarce time to act. 

  The wind blows again and a shiver shakes both of your bodies and Sunday knows that just sitting around fretting will do more harm than good. “I am sorry,” he apologises again, more sincerely, because he knows this will only cause more agony. 

  He wraps his arms around you, and hoists you up to your feet. Your breath leaves you as you instinctively try to hunch back down, the stretch of your torso is blinding, your vision almost whites out in pain as you gasp and curse. Sunday apologises for the third time as he tries to drag you with him, pulling your dead weight is no easy feat—he isn’t particularly strong physically, he would struggle to hold Pom-Pom for long. “Hold on…” Sunday says quietly, his breath heaving from the strain of dragging both of you through the cold. “It’s alright, you’ll be okay,” he tries to reassure you, he needs to keep you awake.

  Sunday wasn’t sure he had ever felt so… anxious? Afraid? His skin felt like it was trying to tear away from his body, his hands and knees trembled and his heart clenched with every beat. 

  He is the one who should suffer, not you. 

  “Talk to me, you need to stay awake,” he urges, pinching the skin over your ribs. Sunday doesn’t want to create more pain… but if you fall asleep now, there’s no guarantee you’ll wake up again, and the thought makes his breath tighten. 

  Talk to him? No thought forms in your head, all you feel is pain. You want to throw up, your head is spinning and it feels like your ears are blocked out. “... o-okay,” is all you can manage. You can’t even move your legs to walk with him, he’s taking the entirety of your weight at this awkward angle. 

  “Good,” he peers into the distance. You need shelter—it would be a miracle if he found the town you departed from, or the facility you were looking for. But Sunday doesn’t consider himself so lucky. He looks down at you, slumped against him with sweat on your forehead despite the cold, he tugs the jacket closer to your body, trying to make sure you get some respite from the winds. 

  His legs burn, but he sees a raised part of the earth—there, it must be enough. “Almost there,” he murmurs your name, worry gnawing at his gut. “You’ll be alright, I’ll make sure of it,” he promises, holding you tighter.

  You groan as he sets you down in the small cave you found, your limbs shaking terribly—laying on your back doesn’t feel great, but it’s probably the best position you could be in, it pulls slightly on your wound… but it’s better than being hauled around. Blood has leaked more from the wound because of the movement, and the cold spreading from it, as well as your arms and chest where you touched the wraith has begun freezing your clothes in place.  

  Sunday presses his lips together, this cave isn’t large, but he could immediately feel the relief that the shelter brought. The snow gathered at the entrance shielded you from the biting wind, and that’s what’s most important. He takes his phone out of his coat pocket, his fingers stiff and numb from the cold… no signal, still. It might be the snow and wind, perhaps it will come around if it dies down.

  For now, there’s a far more important matter to tend to.

  Sunday kneels by your side, his throat tight at the sight of your pain. He had never been particularly good at facing the pain of others with a calm and straight face, his deep sense of empathy and compassion makes him wish he could take the pain from you and bear it himself. Not to mention that he’s come to actually care for you, he has never felt himself so shaken like this—not since he had heard of Robin’s injury. Very few instances will shake him so thoroughly to his core as that did. 

  He tugs your sweater up, a small whimper leaving you as more cold brushes against your bare skin. The shard isn’t wide, it’s similar to his thumb, perhaps a bit wider… but he realises the severity of it nonetheless. It’s long, and…

  Sunday hears the cracking again.

  You had only moved your hand, your breath trembling. He looks down at the shard again and sees frost spread from it, it’s cooling your skin and hardening on it—it has to be removed. Everything in his mind is telling him not to touch it, leave it there so that you don’t bleed even more profusely. But if he leaves it in, your skin and body will freeze.

  He says your name quietly. “I need to remove the shard,” he says slowly. Sunday reaches for your hand and holds your fingers in his palm. They’re ice cold, frost covering the gloves and threatening to freeze them in place. “It… it will hurt, and I apologise for having to do it.”

  You squint at him, swallowing thickly. You can’t imagine how it will feel, and you feel anxious to let him. “A-are you sure?”

  “Yes,” he nods, his hand slides up your arm and rubs it slightly, as if he’s trying to create friction and warm your skin. His wings are lowered, sitting against his shoulders as if saddened. He wasn’t entirely sure what the best course of action is, but surely you will have a better chance with an open, but dressed wound and not being actively frozen alive, than you will with the shard still inside of you and trying to actively kill you? 

  It’s a chance you’ll have to take. 

  He takes off his scarf but leaves his gloves on, he doesn’t want to touch the shard with his bare hands. “I will need to remove it slowly to ensure it doesn’t cut you further…” Sunday shifts on his knees next to you, the cave floor is just as cold as kneeling on snow. “I’m sorry.”

  You’re not sure how often he’s apologised at this point, and you’re unsure why he feels the need to, this wasn’t his fault. 

  Before you can examine the thought further, he grips the shard and you gasp—even just touching it makes you panic. “W-w-wait—” your heart races. Don’t, it—

  He pulls gently, and the shard moves. A scream tears from your throat and Sunday’s breath catches. He almost stops, but steels himself. If he stops now, it’ll be worse, he’s already started—he has to finish. He repeats his apologies like a mantra, your body jerks and he uses his other hand to press down on your left hip, trying to hold you still. 

  It only takes a few seconds, but they feel like minutes, minutes of tears and screams, of trembling fingers and gentle pulling. He has to pay attention to his movements perfectly, and has to make sure it doesn’t hurt you further. 

  And when it’s all over, he tosses the shard aside and bundles his scarf to lay over the wound as blood wells in the wound. His white scarf immediately colours red at the edges as tears slip down your temples. Sunday feels a rush of emotions after the ordeal, your screams and tears, the blood. Almost as if moving instinctually, he lays over you and wraps one arm around you, cradling your head into his shoulder as his other still presses against the wound. “I’m sorry, it’s over, you’re okay,” he whispers into your ear, his arms shaking equally to your entire body. “Focus on breathing, slowly. It’s over.”

  He tears up as well, the soft wings by his head touch your jaw as he holds you, his breath shaking. He hadn’t even realised how tense he had gotten, and while the danger hasn’t passed—and you could potentially be in more danger freely bleeding as you are, it brings a small relief that the shard it out. 

  Your head spins, the pain has been so agonising, the fear and anxiety of pulling the shard out that you feel like you passed out for a moment. But feeling Sunday so close, holding you so tenderly, as if he were cradling a delicate feather between his palms… your hand that feels less frozen solid slowly raises, as if to return the hug—but your fingers poke at his halo by accident and he near shoots up, wet eyes large. Ah, touching a halovian’s halo probably doesn’t feel good, you think. 

  He blinks a few times and takes a breath. “L-let me focus on your wound, then we need to find a way to warm you up,” Sunday says hurriedly, sitting back on his knees. 

  His mind races as he tries to focus on pressing down on your wound, hoping it starts to clot faster. Your body was so cold, even your neck and cheek. Sunday himself doesn’t feel particularly warm… but he’s afraid that you’ll die from hypothermia if he doesn’t warm you up quickly. Sunday looks up to see that your eyes have slid shut and he feels his heart tighten. “Open your eyes,” he reaches up and pats your cheek with his palm, he says your name urgently. “Stay awake, just a little bit longer, please.”

  He tries to keep you awake with encouragements and small pokes and pats, but your near violently trembling body needs more help. Sunday ties the bundled scarf to the wound tightly with a long ribbon from his coat—maybe this needlessly complicated outfit has its uses after all. He then focuses on trying to warm you up, he places his hands on either side of your arms and rubs them, creating friction. The frost that had built up on your clothes and skin hasn’t spread further, it was likely driven by the shard. Now he just has to warm you up.

  But friction can only do so much, after a time, you’re moaning about it hurting, and as he lifts your jacket he sees the already reddened skin from the cold is raw and sensitive. 

  Sunday’s eyebrows pinch in thought as he does as before. “Let me share my warmth with you,” he utters and lays over you, now using both arms to wrap around you—he doesn’t dare move you into a different position than on your back. He still tries to rub every surface of your skin for warmth, but it’s not retaining heat well enough. 

  “We need to create warmth—” he jumps as he feels your cold fingers slide under his shirt. His stomach is warmer than his hands, and your icy fingers on it makes his entire body shiver. “O-okay,” he doesn’t say more, he doesn’t trust his voice to form fully. 

  This might be the method you need, and Sunday is determined to warm you up in any way you require… though this doesn’t very much help him retain his warmth.

  As your fingers feel warmer and it’s easier to move them, you retreat them from his stomach and slowly raise them to his ears. Sunday blinks at you in surprise as your warmed fingers envelop his cool ears. “What are you doing?” 

  You give a weak smile, you’re still in pain, but you’re more lucid now that there isn’t a foreign object stuck in you. “We warm each other.”

  His cheeks redden slightly as your fingers rub the shell of his ears to warm them, your fingers aren’t exactly warm, but they’re not completely cold either.

  “It won’t be sustainable like this,” he says, still laying over you, just raised slightly with his elbows on either side of your head, his misty breath wafting over your cheeks. “We need to warm faster, more directly.”

  You squint at him, he sounds like he was trying not to explicitly say something, but you had an inkling to what it was. “Like… sharing body heat?”

  His head turns slightly, gaze avoiding you as one of his wings twitches, moving to his cheek as if to hide his face, you’re unsure if it’s a conscious movement. “... for example.”

  You don’t see why not, desperate times and all that. “Okay, your coat is pretty big, we can use it as a blanket, my sweater too,” he has an easier time taking off his coat by himself, but has to help you take your sweater off. You shiver at first, but as Sunday sets his coat and your sweater over the two of you, and lays closer to you—still wearing a thin shirt—you feel subtle warmth. 

  Sunday struggled to even talk to you as soon as you huddled together, though there were thin shirts separating you, he felt the skin of your arms and collar against him. He’s never been this close to the glimpses of your skin only previously seen from a distance, now he’s close enough to smell you, to touch you. 

  He’s careful not to touch your wound, but keeps an eye on it. Your breaths mingle together and you lay your cold forehead against his shoulder to try and absorb any warmth he gives. Unfortunately, it’s not quite enough to keep both of you warm. He tries to rub your arms again, and you try to breathe warm air on his skin, but the solutions are very temporary. 

  Darkness has begun setting outside, and there’s little light inside the cave. You can still see each other, but it’s clear that nighttime is approaching. You whisper in Sunday’s ear next to you. “You cried for me, earlier.”

  He doesn’t reply immediately, his hands that were rubbing your thighs for warmth halting for a moment. “... I did.”

  “Do you often cry when people are hurt?” you wonder.

  “Sometimes,” he continues to focus on warming you, trying not to think of your lips brushing against his collar when you talk. 

  He hadn’t just cried because you were hurt, because you were in pain… a thought had occurred to him as you screamed and shook as he removed the shard that it might kill you—that his actions might. He had done nothing but stand and watch as you had battled the wraith, he had moved slowly and been unsure how to help you after you broke its core… and he had brought you more and more pain. Even in trying to help, how can his heart not ache? 

  You who have always been so kind and patient, even when he sought to entrap the cosmos. Even when you stood on opposite sides of the grand theatre. You didn’t hesitate to include him, to make him feel welcome as he hesitantly stepped onto the Express. You sat with him during long nights and caught him when he experienced his first warp.

  He doesn’t want you to die, he doesn’t want you to be hurt.

  You seemed to sense that he had fallen deep into thought yet again, you raise your head from his shoulder and he turns his head to look at you. As he does, your cool fingers slowly raise and touch his cheek, it’s warmer than before. “You’re very kind.”

  His lips part slightly, his expression is difficult to read as he stares at you from above, his eyes flicker from your eyes down to your hand, to your eyes again and do a round of your face. He opens his mouth further, as if he wants to say something, but only a breath leaves him that warms your own cheeks. He utters your name and it’s almost too quiet to hear. Slowly, his head lowers and you meet him halfway—his lips are soft, despite not having eaten or had water in hours, stuck in the cold, they don’t feel stiff or chapped at all.

  As if he’d snapped out of a trance, it had only been seconds that your lips touched and he was pulling back, eyes wide. “I-I’m sorry, I should—”

  “It’s okay,” you breathe, hand still on his cheek as you try to guide him back towards you. “You’re warm, and…”

  He doesn’t need more of a reason, he’s been aching to be closer, his arms tremble with the strain of holding back. His body is so damn cold, and the inside of your mouth is warm as his tongue slips between your chilly lips. Your hand that rested against his cheek slides behind his head as he kisses you deeply, your head lowered against the cold floor, only cushioned by the fluffy hood of your jacket. His wings flutter and brush against your wrist as your other hand touches his shoulder. Sunday’s fingers that had tried to keep your thighs warm rise to your hips, one hand dangerously close to your wound. 

  Your mouth opens to warm him, your lips separating for a moment, but he presses on again. “I know,” Sunday assures you, and his gentle tone eases your wariness. “I’ll be careful.”

  His lips part in tune with yours, the sounds of your wet kisses echoing in the cave, his thumbs rub at your hips as if he can’t keep his hands still and the only way to have them put in one place was to at least soothe you like this. Your cheeks are warm from the deep kissing, it’s almost suffocating the way his tongue drags over your lips and traces the inside of them, as if he’s trying to taste every surface of your mouth he can reach. 

  It was too much, the taste of you, the warmth of your mouth and your tight hold on his shoulder and behind his head. He needs more warmth, needs to feel it radiate from you and bask in it like touching a bonfire. Your cold fingers and shivering skin, the frost clinging to your sleeves and collar—he wants to make you warm again, feel your warm fingers against his own, like when you handed him a cup of tea during a long night and your fingers touched. Even the brief brush of another’s skin had stuck with him for weeks. 

  He groans against you and his mouth slides from yours, his lips trailing warmth to your cool jaw and throat, the chilled skin shivering again when he closes his mouth over thin skin between the juncture of your shoulder and neck. Your breath trembles as he worries it between his teeth, tongue gently brushing over the tingling spot once he’s done. 

  “I…” his breath is deep and wanting. “Let me warm you, please. I-I wish to touch you, to ensure you won’t shiver with cold any longer.”

  You nod. “Help me,” the words are pleading on your lips. Your feet are numb with cold and your body has bouts of harsh trembling. You want him to touch you. 

  Sunday takes your lips again with his, as if he can’t get enough of your taste and the feeling of your mouth moving against his, he tilts his head to kiss you deeper as his hands lift your thin shirt to your collar, moving any barriers in his way as he moves the heat from between your lips and to your chest. Your body will quickly warm itself if he stimulates it appropriately, and he intends for the two of you to feel comfortably warm. “Wha—“ you weren’t expecting his mouth to seek there so quickly, and certainly were you not prepared. 

  His lips close around your left nipple, the warmth brought from it makes you inhale softly—but as the texture of his tongue drags over it, you nearly jerk in surprise, your wound aching from the sudden moment. Sunday’s hand holds your hip down on the side where there is no injury, his eyes looking to you from under grey eyelashes. “Please be still, I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” his breath fans over the moist point of your chest and you shiver again—for entirely unrelated reasons to the cold. He resumes his attention and you find that ‘being still’ is your greatest challenge today. Every single drag of his tongue, flick and suckle sends sparks through your body, it makes your fingertips twitch where they’ve claimed hold of his shoulders and your thighs flex. The most prominent tingles settle between your legs where you’re desperately trying to will down the rising need for attention. 

  Your cheeks and neck warm—and you make a high-pitched sound as his gloved hand moves to your other nipple, a poke followed by a pinch and his thumb sliding left and right over it makes your body instinctively squirm and tense. “S-Sunday��“ you breathe his name, unsure exactly what you want him to do or don’t, the sensations of his warm mouth and cold glove on opposite sides makes your head nearly spin. 

  “Do you feel warmer?” he looks up at you again, his golden eyes seem to glow in the darkening cave. 

  You nod again. “A little,” you’re still cold, especially on your stomach that’s bare And exposed to the cold air of the cave. Your left hand rises slightly to touch the wing above his shoulder—causing Sunday to tense as he blinks at you. You want him to be warm too, he’s been so diligent in trying to make friction against your arms and thighs, in hugging your coats together and huddling close… “Warm us both, together.”

  He licks his lips in thought. Warm you both at the same time? He can only think of one method. Sunday takes your hands from his shoulders and holds them in his own, he raises them to his lips and blows air onto them before he guides them between your legs—and a distinct warmth emanates from there. It shouldn’t be surprising, having your chest touched and licked like that definitely pools heat there, but the way Sunday’s hands are so careful and his gaze so focused, as if he were unearthing a grand treasure or under an important assignment…

  He buttons open and lowers your pants only as far down as needed, not wanting to expose your skin to more cold air than necessary. Sunday still holds your hands as he lays them over the radiating warmth of your crotch, he doesn’t directly touch you, only using your own fingers as a proxy to slowly slide and rub your cool fingers over yourself. You bite your lip as you twitch under your cold fingers, the stark contrast of temperature making your heart race more than it was already. But it does warm your fingers, the more he moves them. “This might be uncomfortable at first,” Sunday utters as he brings your hands up before guiding them into your underwear—with no barrier between your warm flesh and cold fingers, the temperature difference is even more stark. 

  His own cheeks are red now as well, and he releases one hand from you to lean over you again and bring your bodies closer. “Keep your hands there, move and touch as you can,” he says and fully lets go of your hands. He holds himself over you with his elbow on the floor next to your head—which you instinctively tilt your head towards to rest against, seeking his touch—while his other hand unbuttons his own pants and tugs them down only slightly. “I-if we… do this, then our bodies will warm… and so long as we huddle together, then—“ his body almost jerks as his cold fingers touch his own aching need. “—then th-the cold should subside somewhat.”

  You nod, the movements familiar to you as your breath deepens—you were so sensitive, perhaps it was your cold fingers, or it could be the prelude of having your chest touched like that. This is surprisingly effective, but you still struggle to pay attention to your own pleasure and movements while Sunday is only a hair’s width of you, doing the same. So much of a distraction that your movements stilled, gaze fixed on the way his breath heaved, his head lowered so that his forehead was almost touching yours, his wings raised and shuddering. 

  Sunday seems to notice that you aren’t moving anymore, he swallows thickly and squints at you. “Wh-what is it?” his voice trembles slightly. “Does it hurt?” 

  He’s worried about your wound—and it certainly does ache, but your attention is far from being focused on that. “No… ah, can I… can I touch you?”

  “What?” he doesn’t understand you at first, even though he’s been quite good at reading your expressions and words today. “You… want to touch me?”

  You nod, and your hands leave yourself towards him, your warmed fingers touching his wrists—and his hands almost fly out of his pants in surprise. “I do,” you confirm. “Can I?”

  He seems conflicted for a moment, eyes lowering before he nods. “Okay… I’ll take care of you too.”

  A smile touches your lips. “Alright, I think it will warm us much faster.”

  Your fingers slide under his underwear, his cock is already straining against his underwear, hard and hot to your touch. Sunday gasps as you touch him—your fingers aren’t nearly as cold as they were before, but he still tenses as if you had shoved snow into his pants. You grasp him gingerly, not sure what is too fast of an approach for him, but as his breath seems to slow at your gentle touch, you take it as a go-ahead. 

  With every stroke and movement, his hips twitch—as if they want to move with you but are held back by sheer will alone. Sunday can barely think clearly, all he feels is you, all he smells is your skin, mixed with sweat and blood that stirs something in him. He joins you, his hand touching you in return and immediately it’s like your entire body flares to life, your hand moves faster, careful still—and Sunday leans down again, his lips on your neck kissing and suckling, his cool nose brushing against your warmed skin. 

  “S-Sunday—ah—“ your breath shudders. “More, l-little bit down—mnh,” warmth was pooling in your belly quicker than you’re used to, the flexing of your stomach amongst the pleasure tugged on your wound a little, but the brief pain was just an enhancement at this point.

  He breathes out your name, once, twice—with every stroke of your hand. You don’t feel that you can properly take care of him when his cock is confined within his pants like that, you turn your hand and tug his length out of them—and he springs free to the cold air, making Sunday suck in a breath, your sweater over his back almost sliding off. “Hahh, y-you don’t need to…”

  “I want to,” you assure him, licking your lips as you have much better freedom of movement now, your thumb strokes over the head and Sunday whines. His hands redouble their efforts between your legs, pushing your pants and underwear a bit further down to give himself more room as well. “Fuck, Sunday,” you curse on instinct, the overwhelming feeling of liquid heat searing through your veins causing you to respond to his hands with your hips—you were getting closer, and with every touch and twist on the upstroke you make, he is as well. 

  “Ahh, please,” he presses his forehead into your neck, Sunday’s hips make no effort to cease their movements now, he fully meets your strokes, hips rolling with your hand—he’s pressed down so much that your stroking him against your stomach, his thigh pressing against his hand as he prays to bring you equal pleasure with his own fingers as you are doing to him. He makes a particular movement that you can’t describe—and the tight coil in your stomach that’s been spreading fire through you for minutes finally releases its tension. 

  You cry out slightly, both surprised by the intensity as well as the relief and soothing warmth that surges through you from his fingers and out to your fingers and toes, to your ears and behind your eyes. 

  Sunday almost seems to come undone simply at the sight of you doing so, he needs only a few ruts against your tightened hand, instinctively flexed with pleasure, to achieve his own, his entire body jerking and shuddering as a sticky wetness splatters onto your stomach. 

  It takes the both of you a few moments to to catch your breaths, but as soon as Sunday’s thoughts realign to a comprehensive read, he tugs his coat and your sweater that’s slid a bit askew over his back—somehow miraculously not fallen off—to huddle the warms built by your combined pleasures. He nearly jumps when he feels the evidence of his pleasure sticking to your stomach and quickly starts to dry it with his shirt. “I-I apologise, I should’ve—should have turned away,” he stutters slightly, his voice not entirely reliable yet. 

  But you only laugh softly, wincing slightly from the strain put on your wound—the worry in his eyes from only a mere wince makes your chest warm more. “It’s okay. We’re warmer now, and… it was good, you’re good with your fingers.”

  His cheeks redden further—somehow—and his gaze leaves yours, looking at the floor next to your head. “Th-thank you… you did… very well, as well,” Sunday mumbles awkwardly. 

  You open your mouth to speak again, and suddenly both of your phones ping. 

  It’s stopped snowing and the winds have calmed, Sunday fishes for his phone to see seven unread messages from the Astral Express group chat. They’re asking for both of your locations and whether you’re alright, it’s been hours. He sighs in relief and sends your coordinates to them, the sooner you get medical assistance, the better. 

  You watch as he sets the phone aside. “No time for round two?”

  Sunday looks at you as if you’ve sprouted two additional heads. “Round two? Already—? No, you—the injury, if—what?” he stumbles through three different sentences, and you only laugh softly. The halovian lets out a ‘hmph’ and turns his head away from you—his cold halo bumping into your forehead.

  “Next time, then,” you rub the spot between your eyes where the spiky point of his halo smacked against you. 

  A sigh leaves Sunday and he turns his head to you again, a soft, warm kiss blessing the corner of your mouth. “… once you’re healed.” 

[fairestwriting]

Could I please request Riddle with a Fem!reader/yuu (or gn! But fem! Is preferred) who tends to become triggered when people raise their voices due to some not-so-great past experiences? And if it’s not asking too much, I would like to ask for it to be in three portions: pre-overblot, post-overblot and pre-relationship, and post-relationship. Thank you very much! :3

YES!!! i love writing these kind of progressing hc stories hfhfs thank You for the request <3 i hope you like it!

𐙚 Riddle Rosehearts

Considering how Riddle is before his overblot, yeah, you're not really off to the best start with your relationship— He's too focused on mantaining that arbitrary sense of order in his dorm, too aggravated by the handful of people who never quite listen, even if he doesn't mean to, he'll end up raising his voice. And he can really get quite loud.

Riddle does treat you politely, if somewhat awkwardly, when you're talking one on one. He does get a feeling you're put off by him, or something like that, but concludes it's probably just from Ace complaining about how strict he is, something like that...

It'll really take some time for him to realize exactly what the problem is. He's so desensitized to yelling too, he probably doesn't even realize he's doing it, at this point. One day, you're having lunch with Ace and Deuce, and he walks up to your table to tell Ace off for forgetting one of the many rules of the dorm, again, and that's when he finally sees your reaction from up close. The way you flinch even though his voice isn't directed at you at all.

It makes Riddle falter for just a moment, even though he still feels like he's in the right at this point. Maybe he goes on for long enough that you end up leaving, or you were just already having a not-so-great day, and it sticks to his mind. He feels this spike of guilt that's almost like it's coming from within— And he feels like he understands somehow, because he does, he just hasn't thought it through yet.

You don't hear from him much until a few days after the overblot. The incident with Ace sticks to his mind, and it comes back when he sees how distraught the whole situation leaves you. He awkwardly comes up to you to offer an apology, along with an invite to the next Unbirthday Party. "I... I wanted to say, I'm sorry for getting you involved in... all that. A-And I didn't mean to upset you when I was talking to Ace that one time. I'll do my best not to do it again."

It has been a while since the specific situation with Ace, it might be surprising to you that he remembers it, let alone that he felt the need to apologize for the whole thing... Riddle says he understands if you're uncomfortable speaking to him, that he'll leave you alone if you'd prefer, the cautiousness really contrasts with his attitude from before.

Maybe you can tell that, deep down, he relates to it. Or maybe you're still just wondering that. You do end up learning a bit about his home life during the overblot incident, after all— But he definitely doesn't mention it during his apology, nor does he ask for any explanation on why you react the way you do. It's more like unspoken understanding than anything.

He's grateful you're willing to give him any second chance at all, and determined to make sure you won't regret doing it. The Unbirthday Party turns out pretty pleasant, even if he's pretty awkward and clearly unused to it. You may or may not notice him shushing any Heartslabyul members that are being a little too loud.

It's a lot easier for you two to connect, after that. He was curious about you from the start, and he always thought you were pleasant to talk to, but was too closed off for anything to come out of it— Your bond is a little slow and cautious on both sides, and then you can definitely tell that his nervousness really peaks when he starts developing feelings for you.

And, as promised, no yelling happens within your sight ever again. He just holds back whenever you're around, at first, but it soon turns to him stopping himself even when you're nowhere to be seen. Even with "troublemakers" like Ace, whenever Riddle feels the volume of his voice rising, he stops himself. It's just not really necessary, is it? All it does is upset people, it doesn't make anyone listen to him more...

Ace comments on it one day, how it's just so crazy that Riddle's changed so quickly, especially since you two started to get closer to each other, he doesn't even yell at people anymore! There's a little joke about how "love changes people" even if you're not dating (or at least not open about dating) yet... Well, little does Ace know, he's actually right for that one.

if you like my work you can support me by commissioning me or tipping me on ko-fi ── ᵎᵎ ✦

[sansuri]

𝐈𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 | 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐟𝐞

Arranged marriage | gojo x indifferent!wife | MDNI

WARNINGS: you guys have a child together, subtle smut MDNI, fem!reader, mentions of the reader’s body being different after having a child, bad writing bc I switch from third to second use pronouns interchangeably

Synopsis: Gojo and you were the product of an arranged marriage, undoubtedly hating each other, but after your first child together, Gojo begins viewing you in a different light.

Cont: Sea Glass

—————————————————————————————

You were arranged to marry the Gojo Satoru.

The man who belonged to one of the top three clans of Jujutsu, a man who was known for his arrogance and ridiculous amount of privilege. You knew him in your school days, and let’s just say that you two didn’t like each other.

So it was only inevitable that your marriage was definitely rough and you two hated each other, and I mean despised each other. You were required to bear an heir for Gojo, and although reluctant, that’s exactly what you did. Sex with no strings attached, only for the sake of an heir, but after birthing your first child together, Gojo starts viewing his wife differently. He begins to see her soft side and the way she tenderly cares for their child, and Gojo has never felt so jealous in his life. Who knew his usually quiet and distant wife could have such a domestic side, so slowly but surely, he falls hard for you.

And I mean hard.

He begins showering you with gifts and staying home more often, trying to be around you more in the house. He follows you around like a puppy, making sure that if you needed a break from your guys son, that he would be there to switch.

Gojo, however, notices your continued indifference towards him, and he only sits there, wondering how he can convince you to also love him back, not hate him because you were forced into this predicament with him. You loved your son so dearly, yet you never seemed to give any affection to your husband. You had no problem placing a chaste kiss on his jawline whenever there were clan parties, so why couldn’t you do so in the privates of your shared home?

Gojo decides to change this, and begins placing a soft kiss on your cheek each time he gets home, also making sure to place one on the little gremlin too, one that seemed to have taken on his appearance more than his wife, but that’s not a worry because he can always keep having children with you until one pops out looking like you too.

He beds his wife more often, not just during her ovulation period. Sex soon becomes a daily thing than a monthly thing. He beds you because he loves you, and you’re just so soft and tender from having just given birth to his child. He loves the way your body has changed, and he always makes sure that you know that you make him feel so good. He does this not for the sake of having another child, but for him to show his love for you.

He rolls his hips so nicely yet roughly into you, ensuring that you’re feeling just as pleasured. And you, on the other hand, only comply with his desire for you, only thinking that he was just needier than usual, something the Gojo men were all known for. You were merely satisfying his needs, only because you knew your role as his wife. Nothing more.

You begin noticing that after sex though, he stays in the bed with you, instead of leaving like usual, rubbing up and down the curves of your body, worshipping you as you two lay there together, basking in each other’s presence, eventually resulting in you snoozing off in his hold.

He begins asking you questions about your day, sitting with you for breakfast with your son, which he never did before. He starts helping you dress in the mornings, zipping up the cute sundress he bought for you to wear, admiring the way it fits so nicely on you. He always makes sure to feather soft kisses on your shoulder up to your neck, before he places a sweet, yet wet kiss on your jawline, nuzzling his face in your neck to smell the Tiffany & Co perfume he bought you as well.

His goal in mind is to get a kiss from you, but you seem to have no interest in that, which makes him sigh so deeply. You’ve never really kissed Gojo genuinely, and he wants to change that. Sure, you’ve kissed him on your wedding day, but even during sex, when his eyes become lusted and he stares at you so lovingly with desire, leaning his face down to get a kiss from you, you turn your head away, gently pushing his head into the crevice of your shoulder. He’s never been so deprived in his life, but Gojo respects you, so he waits for you to initiate it first. Yeah, you’ve had sex together, but kisses were a whole new level of intimacy for him.

However, just one day after he came home from work tired, you catch him off guard and come over, sweetly grabbing his face and pulling him down to press a soft yet delicate kiss on his jaw. In the privates of your home, not just at a clan party where you needed to keep show. Gojo has felt high before, but this was a new type of high.

It may not have been on his lips just yet, but there’s always next time, right?

[ferigrievous]

attractive things they do ; haikyuu ver . ⋆˚࿔

bokuto ; doesnt know personal space or manners when it comes to you. will wave to you in the middle of a test if he sees you passing in the hallway, or will yell your name if he spots you in the cafeteria. doesn’t matter if you saw each other five minutes ago, he still greets you like you’ve been gone a year.

akaashi ; has crazy fast reflexes. despite not being as muscular as bokuto, he still never wavers whenever he catches something, as seen when he caught him after he fainted. you dont even notice you dropped something before he’s handing it back to you.

aone ; waits for you to finish talking. never cuts people off, even when they’re rambling or slow. he’ll just nod and look at you like everything you say matters. he also doesnt stutter, and takes his time to speak. you dont mind it when people stutter, but you convince yourself its because he wants to think out every word he says (to you).

futakuchi ; worst teaser to walk the earth. says “yeah? and what if i did?” and “are ya’ gonna do something about it.” more than he sees his own mother. never oversteps, and knows what specifically to not bring up, but he knows you’ll always do something about it.

koganegawa ; says everything out loud. narrates his entire life and lets people know how he’s thinking, or what he’s doing. you usually find this annoying when other people do it, but somehow hes just funny and oblivious enough for it to cancel out.

ukai ; always smells good. could smoke up a whole room and down a whole bottle of whisky in an afternoon and he’d still smell good. you can smell him even after he’s left a room, but sometimes you think its just a placebo effect. you notice whenever its missing.

takeda ; watches the credit scenes of a movie. will clap, and will talk to other people about it like its just another thing. when people ask why, he says its because ‘someone worked hard on this!’ applies to other things too, but something as small as this gets you everytime.

kiyoko ; remembers everything you say. not in a creepy way, just in a soft, careful way. the kind of person who brings up something you forgot you even told her. you’ll offhandedly mention your favorite flower and a week later she’ll give you one.

yachi ; double checks everything. did you bring your coat? do you have your wallet and keys? did you do the homework?  she’s on it. says “just in case!” with this big worried smile like she can’t help it.

alisa ; takes the best pictures. most of her pictures are candid, ones you think are ugly but she’ll cherish like its made of pure gold. she rarely asks you to pose for a picture, but she always makes sure you look good. you almost never notice when she has her camera out until she tags you in a post later that night.

akane ; always has two extra hair ties. you never notice, because she always has her hair up, until alisa asks for it and you ask her why she has so many. she doesnt answer you, but you find out its because no one ever had hairties strong enough to hold her hair properly, so she makes sure no one else has that problem. not that youlll ever let her know you know this, of course.

konoha ; mimics people without realizing. picks up their slang, their hand gestures, the way they write their &s and ?s. whenever someone brings it up, he pretends not to notice because he’s too embarrassed. 

terushima ; stupidly smart. you hate it, how he’s not a high honors student, but a highest honors student, and has been for years. you never see him study, never see him struggle, and never even hear him talk about school outside of class, but he’s never had anything lower than a 90 on anything.

daisho ; always knows what you mean. when you’re struggling with words, he knows exactly what youre going to say before you even think of it. you usually hate it when other people do it because theyre almost always wrong, but he somehow knows what you mean every single time.

sakusa ; walks on the outside of the sidewalk. doesnt care about the sidewalk rule, doesnt care if the person/people hes walking with are 10x stronger and bigger than him. doesnt mention it, does it naturally, and if you purposely switch it, he’ll switch it back without you even noticing.

komori ; makes a big deal about small wins. big believer in ‘a little is better than nothing’. even if its something as simple like doing your bed or doing the dishes, he’ll grin and congratulate you anyway.

[beardedjoel]

pretty little wife | sorry, baby

joel miller x f!reader one shot collection

series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3 | ✨kofi ✨ summary: 4k words. Joel is stressed and busy with a big project at work lately. His pretty little wife makes it all better. warnings: 18+ MDNI! no apocalypse au, pre-established relationship/dynamic, sub/dom relationship, free use kink, oral sex (m receiving), cock worship (!! yes), unprotected piv, rough sex, dirty talk, pet names for reader, sir kink making a reappearance, bit of fluff mixed in, mention of food/eating, @ GOD WHY ISNT THIS ME a/n: I'M BACK. these two sick lovebirds are back 😭 i needed something sweet to write while working on smother so here's some cute domestic sucking and fucking from my favorite couple MWAH reminder i have no taglist anymore, follow @beardedjoel-updates to hear about my new fics!

Gonna be late again. Sorry baby.

Joel’s hurried text had pinged your phone a few hours ago, and you reassured him it was no problem, of course. You know that his company is contracting on a huge project in downtown Austin right now, and it required a lot of Joel’s attention. He’d been giving so much you were surprised that he had anything left in the tank when he came home to you. But by god, so many nights he sure did, coming home in a frenzy to fuck you, taste you, finding you where you were when he arrived home - cleaning up dishes from dinner, the shower, already curled up in bed with a book on one particularly late night.

You relished in him releasing everything into you - the stress of his day instantly melting with a simple touch of his lips to yours, drinking in your curves and soft skin with rough hands and frenzied yet controlled movements. It always seemed like the more stressed he was, the more he couldn’t get his cock in you fast enough, the more relentless he was in the ways he took care of you. He’d leave you spent, dripping, and aching, letting you talk softly about your day as he stroked your hair afterwards, all sweetness and hushed tones until you two fell asleep.

You peer into the living room from the kitchen to see Joel walking in, looking generally askew and you frown. When his shoes are yanked off and placed in the closet he looks up to see you leaning on the doorframe, lips full and pouting, finger sticking up with a patch of cookie dough stuck to it to taste test. You stand in a long, threadbare t-shirt of his and pink cotton panties, just what Joel had set out for you this morning, and he makes sure to thank his past self for such a wise choice this morning. You’d laughed at the lack of bra or any kind of pants, knowing it was no accident you’d ended up dressed without any bottoms on today. You aim to please, and the look Joel gives you whenever he sees you exactly how he envisioned you for the day always makes your heart soar a little higher. 

He finds his way to the couch, sprawling out and giving you an exhausted look. You stick the errant finger into your mouth, sucking the sweet, sugary cookie dough off and licking your lips. Joel’s expression changes quickly, his interest clearly sparked, but the wearisome look doesn’t leave his eyes. 

“Baby?” you ask, your brows furrowing further with worry. This wasn’t your husband, this wasn’t Joel, and you always hate to see him have a tough day. It makes your heart ache when he works too hard, gives too much of himself and winds up burnt out. You certainly don’t mind making it all better for him, that’s what you’re here for, after all, but it pains you nonetheless.

“C’mon over here, little wife,” Joel murmurs, running a hand down his weary face. When he pulls it away, he gazes at you with heavy lids before propping his hands behind his head. 

You saunter over to him, standing next to where he lays and reaching down to graze your fingers over his stretched bicep, trailing it inwards towards his face. He hums, fluttering his eyes closed for a brief moment and enjoying the way your gentle fingers work across his cheekbones and through his beard. 

His hand slowly moves from behind his head to curve around your waist, drawing you nearer, the front of your knees hitting the side of the couch cushions now. His silent signals are obvious to you at this point, so you don’t waste a moment swinging your leg around his body, tucking it in between his thigh and the back of the couch, settling in to straddle him. A hand runs gently down his chest as you tilt your head, studying his face in concern. 

“What’s my husband need from me?” you ask quietly, letting your other hand bury itself in his curls, scratching at his scalp. 

Joel lets out a pleasured groan, nearly shuddering at the feeling. “Fuck, baby.” You feel his body shift underneath you, already squirming with the sensation of your fingers doing their work on him. “Make me feel good.” 

“Let’s get you more comfortable, then,” you coo, fingers already moving on the buttons of his shirt, making quick work of the top few to let his chest breathe a little bit. You take only a beat to admire the top of his chest poking out, curls of hair sticking out wild and messy before getting to work. You slither down his body, giving yourself enough room to undo his belt before pulling it out of its loops and tossing it aside. 

“Lift, please,” you say, keeping up your gentle, soothing tone as Joel’s hips lift off the couch and allow you the space to pull down his dress pants, wriggling them down to his ankles and then over his feet. “Now that’s better, isn’t it?”

“Mmm,” Joel answers, a pleasant little hum from the back of his throat. You can feel how your ministrations have already gotten him hard as it brushes against your center when you settle back on top of his hips. A brief tease of your hips swirling on his sends Joel’s twitching, a sly little smile flashing on his lips. But you’re gone an instant later, moving down the couch and settling next to his feet, sitting crossed legged to face them before taking one into your lap. 

“What’s this, now?” Joel asks, a slight tiredness to his voice now. 

“Ever heard of a foot rub?” you reply with a lifted brow. He chuckles and you watch his body rumble with the sound. 

“Givin’ me mouth today, are we?” he asks playfully, the tired laughter still fading off as he speaks. 

“I could,” you retort, pursing your lips and looking up from his feet to find his eyes peeking open, looking down at your delicate, innocuous smile with a plethora of hidden meaning behind it. 

“Such a dirty girl…” he murmurs, neatly cut off by the groan he lets out when you press in on one of his arches with your thumb.

“See? I know what you need, baby,” you coo, working your fingers into the tender spots on his foot, being sure to use just the right amount of pressure. You prop his foot in your lap, letting it hang there as you gently rotate his ankle, loosening everything up. 

“Christ,” he breathes out as you start on the other foot. His breathing is a little labored, pain and pleasure mixing together as you continue to help his weary soles. You work each foot until he sighs contentedly, a good sign that your work is finished. 

At least on his feet, that is. You run your hands teasingly up his thighs, settling them on his hips as you work your way back up his body, hips straddling his again. You lean down and brush your lips against his neck, peering up to watch Joel’s eyes flutter shut as he sighs again. The sound is music to your ears, anytime your husband makes that content, soft little sound you think you’ve reached heaven. You suck and flick little patches all over his neck, starting a slow, steady grind of your hips. 

“Oh, pretty girl,” Joel starts, landing a firm hand along your hip. “I can’t today… I’m so fuckin’ beat. You know I’d give anything to fuck my cock into you…” He murmurs the words with a hint of frustration. You know this is hitting Joel harder than he’s letting on, seeing as his singularly focused task most days is to find a way to get himself inside of you.

“Who said anything about you fucking me?” you ask slyly, hands hooking into the sides of his briefs. You watch as Joel’s eyes pop open and look at you mischievously. “You said to make you feel good, so that’s what I’m doing, my darling.” You keep your tone even and calming as you continue with your teasing, deft fingers playing under his waistband. 

Joel’s smirk grows and he reaches a hand up to gently pet the back of your head before pulling you to his face, kissing you deeply. “Good girl,” he says as he pulls away, the words falling right onto your own lips. “Doin’ as you’re told.”

You slink lower, getting to the spot you know excites him the most, straddling lower on his legs to bring your mouth down to his clothed cock. You plant small kisses along the obvious bulge and Joel reacts immediately with a small hiss through his teeth. You kiss and lick and suck, letting the fabric tamp enough of the pleasure to drive him crazy. 

“God damn it…” he grunts quietly, hips shifting as they spasm up towards your mouth when you suck another spot on the fabric, taking your sweet time, only a small form of torture for Joel. “You tryna make me ask you to pull my cock out and get your pretty mouth on it? Cause you know, once I’m not dead on m’feet I might have to punish you ‘f that’s the case.” His words tumble out slow and thick with his accent - that Southern drawl always comes out more when he’s tired and mumbling.

Your mouth curls deviously and you lick your lips. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” you reply in a low lilt. 

“Mhm…” Joel teases, but you heed his warning anyhow, tugging his briefs down to free his cock, nearly enraged as it throbs and drips precum from the way you’d already been working on it. Your tongue finds the salty fluid at his head, lapping it with just the tip of your tongue and swirling it around. You start to practically nuzzle it, catching his cock in the corners of your lips, letting your tongue get a few tiny kitten licks on his shaft as you rub it along your cheeks. The smooth skin glides along your face and you start to get messier with it, letting his cock start to spread his precum and your saliva along your cheeks as you let the flat of your tongue run along it.

Joel lets out a loud, long groan, fingers gripping deep into the couch cushion. He can barely contain himself as your tongue licks a thick stripe up underneath his length, tracing the most prominent vein. His hips stutter forward as he gives himself to the moment. 

“God damn, honey…” he whimpers quietly, eyes shutting in the bliss of the moment.

Your hands rub his thighs gently, kneading into them as you start to bob your head on his cock, taking a little more each time until he’s at the back of your throat. You fight the urge to gag, a little noise coming out of you, sending Joel’s hand flying to the back of your head, his gaze watching the way his cock disappears inside of your warm mouth.

“That’s it, choke on it like I like, pretty girl…” Joel mumbles, eyes rolling back a little as his cock fills your mouth. “My pretty wife…” he whispers with a reverence and respect, despite the degrading way he’s about to fuck your mouth.

You move with a little more urgency, your mouth stuffed and aching already, one hand coming up to grip the base of Joel’s cock and stroking there while your mouth works on him. Joel’s hand pushes down on your head, sending you a little further and you sputter, spit flying all around his cock and lap but it doesn’t deter you. His hips start to move of their own accord into you, matching the rhythm of your mouth pumping on him. Your body gets hot and desperate for him, your praise loving nature alight just by seeing how much he loves the way you pleasure him. Your thighs wriggle as your cunt aches and drips now, begging you for relief that you know will have to wait.

“God, fuck,” he cries out, “Needed this…” Joel seems to be practically revived, a new energy filling his weary body as he grunts and pants, his cock sliding in and out of your mouth in faster strokes now. You can sense how close he is, you know your husband’s body like the back of your hand now, his balls tightening and cock getting even harder on your tongue.

He grunts with the effort of sitting forward, yanking your head off of his cock and swiftly sliding his hands to your waist, hauling your entire body upwards so that your hips are above his. 

“Need this needy little cunt, look how soaked you are,” Joel coos with a genuine pity for you as he sees the wet stain on your panties.. His fingers tear your underwear to the side, giving enough room for his cock to position itself at your weeping entrance, giving you no time to even process it before he forces your hips to bear down on him.

You cry out in a long, wanting moan as he fills you up, the stretch of him burning in that familiar way that you love and crave so much. Joel is an addiction - your husband the one thing in life you could never get enough of, never filling you enough, never fucking you full and deep enough times that you’re fulfilled. He never fails to leave you satisfied, of course, but you’re always wanting more in the next moment, practically wishing you could live just like this - his cock stuffing you and stretching your pussy to its limits, sending that pain you live for deep inside of you until it turns to the most blinding pleasure. Gratitude overtakes you as you sink down completely, whispering out a fervent thank you as you feel yourself clench around him, eyes shut and head thrown back. Joel reaches to your chin, pulling your head to look down at him. 

“What was that?” he asks teasingly, rutting his hips up into your as he speaks. You shudder again, pussy clenching around him as you feel his length pressing against your walls.

“T-thank you,” you breathe out. “Thank you, sir…” You’re unable to say anything else, only look at him with half-lidded eyes and cry out wantonly when he pushes all the way in again, seating himself inside of you only to lift your hips up and do it all over again.

“Yeah… knew bein’ stuffed full of my cock would make you my polite girl again,” Joel says arrogantly, sending a fresh wave of arousal right between your legs, gushing around his girth. You nod, blinking down at him, rolling your hips and chasing your pleasure. You lean down a little closer to Joel, bringing your chest more flush with his, the change in angle devastating the both of you. 

“So fuckin’ full of me,” Joel whispers in your ear, taking it upon himself to bend his legs and start fucking up into you. You moan in his ear, tears springing to your eyes as you feel him close to your cervix, each deep thrust sinfully delicious and bordering on painful in the way that makes your skin tingle in the best way. You want to be used, you want him as deep as he can possibly go, to feel you entirely wrapped around him.

Joel grunts, hot breath fanning next to your ear as he holds you close. Your bodies are intermingling with sweat now, your ass slapping down onto his thighs reverberating through the quiet living room. It’s just this - the two of you, your shared breath, your intertwined bodies, nothing else matters or even registers to you now. Joel’s hips shift the slightest bit in angle and you cry out, your g-spot now overstimulated with attention as Joel’s cock pounds into you harder, brushing the spongy spot with each new movement into you.

You pant, clutching onto him and digging your manicured nails into his shoulder, scratching them along to his neck where you hang on for dear life.

“Fuck…” you murmur, feeling your body tensing, legs like jello as they shake on either side of Joel’s thighs. “Let me come, p-please, sir,” you whimper, holding back with every ounce of strength you have as the tingling warmth spreads, heat in your belly threatening to burst at any second.

“Hang on f’me, baby, fuck, n-not yet,” Joel replies in a huff, clearly close to that high himself. “Wanna fill you up right when you’re comin’ so pretty f’me.”

You bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, holding back as your body screams at you with need. This wasn’t the first time Joel had you hold back your climax, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, but it never got any easier. You whimper, nearing a sob as Joel thrusts into you, your hips rolling and stuttering into his movements. “Please… sir…” you cry.

Joel grunts out a stern no and continues to slam his hips into yours, growing harsher by the second. You’re a whimpering wreck, your body nearly about to betray you as Joel hits your g-spot again. Tears leak from your eyes with the psychological effort of holding back, but you know it’ll be worth it. It always is.

“Now,” Joel says simply, “Come for me, little doll,” he adds, finishing the sentence with a grunt as you start to lose control, feeling like a dam inside of you is bursting, all the pleasure rolling over you in dazzling waves. You flutter around Joel’s cock almost as hard as you ever have, squeezing his length as he lets out a small whimper himself. Your breathy moans right in his ear send goosebumps along his whole body despite how stifling the air is surrounding you two.

“Fuck…” he moans, his hips jerking a few times before he starts to spill himself into you. You continue to shake, pulling every last drop from him as you ride out your own high, Joel’s name rolling off your tongue as you moan.

“God, yeah…” you whimper out, finally collapsing onto Joel’s chest as his legs go limp underneath you. You both lay in silence, chests heaving and small smiles on your faces. Joel strokes the back of your head and your smile grows. Neither of you seem set on moving, the combination of both of your climaxes a slick mess between the two of you as you settle into a more steady rhythm of breathing.

“Mmm…” Joel mumbles out the noise. “How’s my pretty little wife today, hm?” he asks quietly, fingers tracing down your cheeks to your lips.

“You’re late to ask,” you tease him with a laugh, typically hearing that question before anything else when he gets home. He uses his free hand to squeeze your ass cheek in warning at your bratiness and you grin. “But better now,” you answer in the familiar response to your favorite question from him.

“Thought so,” Joel says wryly, giving you ass a lazy pat before kissing the side of your head. He’s quiet for a few moments before lifting your hips off of his, your body immediately missing the sweet fullness of him as you both sit up. Joel brings your legs over his and you rest your head on his shoulder, feeling like the most natural fit in the world. 

“‘M sorry about all this, baby - all the late nights and bein’ stressed and probably bein’ a grouch,” Joel says, his voice laden with guilt. He circles on your bare thigh with his fingers and you shudder a little, snuggling further into him. One of your hands wraps around his cheek, turning his head to meet your eye line and you give him a soft smile.

“You think you just now started being a grouch?” you joke, knowing you’re pushing your limits on how much bratiness Joel will tolerate in one day before things escalate.

He growls deep in his throat and you giggle softly, scratching your fingers through his hair. “Thin ice, baby…” he murmurs.

“I love my grumpy husband,” you say sweetly, fingers moving down to run through his rough beard. “It’s okay though, Joel. Promise. I just miss you, but this busy and crazy time will pass like it always does, right? In the mean time...” you lower your voice, a finger trailing from his cheek to his neck and down his chest. “We can just do that anytime you need it.” 

Joel chuckles, giving your entire body a squeeze against him. “That’s my good girl. Always ready f’me.” You smile into his chest at his praise before he continues. “We’ll do somethin’ this weekend, the two of us an’ spend some time together, mkay? Make up for all this bullshit.”

You feel your heart squeeze inside your chest and your stomach flutter a little at the idea. Joel has typically been pretty good about planning dates over the years, but you know that it’s been hard with his extra workload lately, so you’ve been missing the romantic evenings he’d plan for you two. You’d tried to ask about planning one yourself, and Joel shut you down immediately in the sweetest way possible, claiming the responsibility fully for himself to do that for you.

“Ooh, yes please,” you reply excitedly, hugging him close.  

“‘S a date then,” Joel confirms, leaning his head back onto the couch while you stay resting on his shoulder. You both fall into a comfortable quiet again, Joel’s breathing steadying as he dozes off. 

“Do you want a cookie?” you ask into the silence, sitting up. Joel’s eyes creak open from where he’d been resting them and he glances down at you with furrowed brows. 

“That s’posed to be some kind of euphemism, darlin’?” he asks groggily. You laugh, throwing your head back a little and shuffling yourself to sit up on the edge of the couch. 

“Could be,” you giggle, “Real cookies this time, though. You can even sneak one before dinner.” 

Joel perks up a little, eyes opening a bit more. “Chocolate chip?” he asks, a boyish glint in his gaze. 

“Of course,” you nod, and Joel smiles tiredly, sitting up to join you on the edge of the couch. 

“You know you’re the best wife?” Joel says, nudging you with his shoulder and leaning over for a quick peck on your cheek before standing up and pulling his pants back on. He moans and groans while he twists his back and stretches his arms over his head for a few moments, and you know his knees must be flaring up as they do when he’s more stressed.

“Just one,” you warn Joel as you see him making his way to the kitchen trying to look like some kind of master sleuther on the hunt for fresh baked cookies. “I’m making dinner soon.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Joel tosses over his shoulder at you before disappearing around the corner. When you make your way to the kitchen, you watch him take a bite off of a cookie from the cooling rack and you stand with crossed arms, admiring him. His eyes look you up and down with a similar appreciation, landing between your legs where he sees your underwear completely soaked and stained from your recent rendezvous. He smirks as he chews, stepping towards you. 

“An’ don’t you dare think about changing your underwear,” he says in a low rumble, eyes flicking all over your face as he gets close to read if you’re going to keep up your bratty streak today. Instead, you give him a docile little upturn of your lips - he’s been through enough today - and brush past him to start working on dinner. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Part 2: It Is A Big Deal

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Dean Winchester xf!reader,

POV: Reader POV

Summary: Dean's in for a rude awakening when he finds out exactly what you did when you got stranded in another universe.

Tropes: Frenemies (Dean and the Reader), Awkward Situation, Multiverse Problems, ANGST

Word Count: 7.4K

Warnings: I'm gonna label this 18+ just to be sure. Cursing, Making Out, DEATH, Violence (only a little), Jealousy, Pining, Kinda Sad Vibes In Some Places, Sexual Innuendo, References to Sex, Feelings, Angst, Self Deprecating Thoughts? References to Past Sex (it happens quite a bit). References to Future Sex. Soldier Boy Being Soldier Boy (Everyone knows he’s a warning). Dean Winchester Being Dean Winchester (aka. being moody and super hot).

Listen While You Read: Jealous Again By The Black Crowes

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is no use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person

A/N: It was so fun to come back to this universe again! Thank you so much to everyone for all the love and support that you've gave me in writing the first part and thank you for all the encouragement to write a part 2! And also please don't forget to check out Stranded by @justagirlinafandomworld that inspired me to write this fic!💗

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

"Can the two of you stop playing find my tonsils and tell me where the hell it is I'm supposed to be driving to?" Dean grouses from the driver's seat while Sam leans over a road map squinting to look at the small print.

"Ready For Love" is playing over the speakers, barely audible over the thud of fat raindrops pummeling the windshield, blocking out the world around you, and sending the shadows racing across your skin where Ben and you are sitting in the backseat.

“Well, if you’d given me a few hours to fuck her at the motel instead of throwing a bitch fit-" Ben begins to say, turning his gaze your face to stare at the back of Dean's head with a lazy smile.

“Dean why do you care?" You interrupt Ben with red cheeks. "I know for a fact worse things have happened in the backseat of your car than Ben and me making out."

"Really? Because I can’t think of anything worse that you and him sucking on each other's tongues and helping the spread of mono." Dean's hands tighten on the steering wheel and his shoulders tense.

He’s more wound up than a tinker toy.

It has been exactly thirty three minutes since Dean's mental breakdown back at the motel when Ben showed up. Furthermore, despite how much Dean had screamed at you at the motel, it appeared that he was still going to act like a two year old who wanted a cookie before dinner.

Sam's suggestion for the four of you to figure out why Ben was here had been a welcome distraction from Dean's spiral. It had prompted all of you to pile into Baby to try and find where it was that Ben landed in your universe and find a clue as to why.

But so far the trip had been less like riding in the Mystery Machine and more like riding with the Griswold's on their road trip to Wally World…

Dean had been supportive of trying to find a solution to what he deemed the "Ben problem," but it appeared that Dean was going to spend every waking minute getting on your nerves.

Honestly, what's new?

You didn’t understand why Dean was so damn argumentative whenever you showed up, it was like he lived to make your life as difficult as possible.

It had always been that way. Since the first day you met Sam and him at Ellen's bar forever ago, Dean had never once said something nice about you or to you.

He always found some little thing to nit pick, whether it be your aim, your research skills, or your technique when hunting and you were sick of it. Each time the two of you worked together, it was Sam's job to make sure it didn't end in bloodshed. Even Cas noticed Dean's underlying hostility towards you and when he asked Dean what was wrong, Dean had brushed him off with a "not now Cas."

Worse was the time that you got hurt (only a minor injury) on a hunt a few weeks ago when you got thrown into a glass cabinet while facing down a poltergeist. Dean had chewed you out for a good twenty minutes and even with Sam's ability to intervene, you'd broken Dean's nose for speaking to you like that, and then rushed off to your room in the bunker before he had a chance to see you cry.

It was the one thing that you never allowed yourself to do in front of Dean Winchester, cry. He didn't deserve your tears, especially not when he was being a total grade A asshole.

When Sam came in later to help you get patched up, you asked him why Dean hated you and Sam tried to convince you otherwise, but you knew the truth.

Dean Winchester hated you, and you had no idea why. So you decided to stop trying to make him like you, because if he was going to act like a total dick he didn't deserve you being nice to him.

You knew that was why you liked Ben more. Ben appreciated you (sort of), he wasn't mean, he listened to you (sometimes), and he did give you compliments… well, they all revolved around the way you looked and that was nice, but just you wanted someone to give you a compliment that had to do with something else. Or maybe just a simple "I see you."

Is that so hard to ask?

Your few flings in the past hadn't been anything special. You didn't have the kind of stable lifestyle that prompted or supported long serious relationships, especially with non-hunters. Not to mention you'd always had this fantasy about meeting another hunter who understood exactly what you went through and what you had gone through over the years. It was often difficult to find a non-hunter who could understand that.

The bunker was the first permanent address that you'd ever had. Your mother had been one of the best hunters in the US, known by all, and you never met your dad, which meant that growing up on the road was the only life you knew. She'd died a year before you started working with the Winchesters which meant that you didn't exactly have anyone that you cared about or anyone who cared about you.

The thought often brought the feeling of loneliness stirring in your chest, but you pushed it down, throwing everything you had into hunting.

Healthy right?

Ben's muscular arm is wrapped around your waist, his hand splayed over your lower back to keep you tight against his chest so there is no space between the two of you, while your hands locked at the back of his neck. You didn't usually like PDA that much, occasionally yes, but you'll admit that you were only allowing yourself to give in to Ben a little more, because you liked how much it annoyed Dean.

Yes, you thought that it was absolutely ridiculous how Dean was acting, but you wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine. Because in all the years you'd known him, you’d never found one thing to hold over his head or one thing that really irritated him, and Ben was working like a charm.

It also felt really good to kiss him, but that was beside the point.

You understood that Dean was having a psychotic break with his constant proclamations that Ben "was him," but you wanted to at least understand why Dean was still hung up on it.

Ben isn't Dean. Sure they have the same face, but Ben is different… isn't he?

When you'd encountered Ben for the first time you had done a double take, but the more you were around him, the more you appreciated the way he treated you differently from Dean. Yes he was a little sexist, but Ben made you feel wanted and Dean had a way of making you feel stupid and often like a burden, as if you'd been plopped on his doorstep like a box of kittens and he was stuck with you.

There was only so much that you could take.

You didn't know what you'd done to earn such hostility. Dean was far from sexist, and you'd seen him interact with other people, it was just you he treated differently and it made you want to strangle him.

"Calm down kid-" Ben sighs.

"Stop calling me that!" Dean turns around to glare at the man next to you.

"Keep your eyes on the road." Sam says, not looking up from the map. He didn't need to.

"What a wonderful suggestion Sammy, but see I can't because I have no idea where the hell it is I'm going!" Dean snipes at his brother.

I swear at this point if Gabriel pops out of nowhere and tells me that this is all just a fucked up dream, I'd believe it.

"Stop being damn hormonal kid, and keep driving." Ben rolls his eyes and moves his lips to your throat, nipping and biting along the flesh visible over the top of your jacket, making you gasp softly and lean into Ben's warm embrace.

Your eyes meet Dean's in the rear view mirror and just for a second you see something flash through them that isn't anger, but it's gone just as soon as you clock it.

What was that?

Dean slams on the brakes and Ben tightens his grip on your body so you don't go flying forward into the bucket seat.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" You snap, curiosity gone, as you glare at Dean.

The tension in the car is high, popping and crackling around the four of you like popcorn. You still couldn't understand why Dean had such a problem with Ben. If anything you'd think that they'd get along a little bit.

"I am not being hormonal or whatever other chauvinistic shit that is about to come out of your mouth." Dean snarls, ignoring you, as he turns and narrows his eyes at Ben. "And I am not your chauffeur. So tell me where the hell it is I'm going so you can get the fuck out of my car and out of my life!"

Ben opens his mouth to retort something, no doubt that'll trigger Dean, but you speak before he can.

"Ben, do you remember anything about where you came through?" You ask him. You were trying to be more diplomatic even though Dean was making your blood boil.

Just because Dean is mad at me does not mean that he gets to take it out on Ben. Ben hasn't done anything wrong. He got sucked into this reality and immediately got pulled into Dean's soap opera.

Ben huffs out a sigh as he turns back to look at you. His gaze softens a little as his eyes meet yours, turning from a dark green to a jade. "There was a building-"

"Oh wow, how helpful!" Dean snarks. "Did you hear that Sammy? There was a building! Mystery solved!"

Ben whips his head in Dean's direction, the air in the car growing hot as Ben's skin begins to heat, but you gently lay your hand on his cheek to bring his gaze back on you. "Dean is an asshole. We all know." You say to Ben, reassuring him and ignoring the look Dean gives you when you say it. "Do you remember anything about the building?"

Getting Ben angry wasn't the way to get information out of him, he was, after all, more like Dean than you were willing to admit. And just as you'd seen Dean get worked over by numerous women, including Bella, sweet talking worked the best.

Well, it never worked when you tried to do it, because Dean refused to treat you any way other than an annoyance.

But two could play that game, especially with the way that Dean was acting right now.

Ben's jaw tightens and you know that he's biting back some remark to throw Dean's way, but you pull him closer, trailing your hand over his bearded cheek to keep his attention and gently bring your lips to his. You feel the tension shift from Ben's shoulders beneath the palms of your hands as he relaxes into the kiss, and this time Ben smiles when you pull away, giving your hips an encouraging squeeze. "It was a school or some shit. And there was a billboard for "World's Biggest Beer Can.""

"Okay. We can work with that." Sam says giving you a sympathetic look before pulling out his phone to type something in.

At least Sam is being normal about this whole thing.

Sam and you always got along, from the start he was the older brother that you never had, and it was refreshing. Not to mention Sam was your best and probably only friend. The hunter life was lonely and you found it difficult to make friends anyway, but something about Sam always stuck. He got your abnormal sense of humor, he gave the best hugs, and he stood up for you when things got heated between Dean and you. It was his idea for you to move into the bunker with him and Dean, and also him that convinced Dean to let you move in.

It had taken days for Dean to finally say yes. And when he did, he made you move into the bedroom next to his as if he wanted to keep an eye on you because he didn't trust you.

And as much as you hated living with Dean, living with Sam made up for it. You liked helping him research while Dean bitched and moaned about reading through dusty volumes, liked helping him clean up while Dean followed behind you as if you couldn't be trusted, liked helping Sam try to make dinner that ended up more burned than anything else until Dean stepped in and shooed the both of you from the kitchen so he could make something, and liked kicking back on the couch watching movies with Sam while eating copious amounts of popcorn.

Unfortunately, Dean didn't get the hint that you wanted him to leave you alone so he'd follow Sam and you, crack open a beer, and proceed to give a personal commentary on the movie the two of you were watching, occasionally throwing a look in your direction as if he was checking that you were listening to him. Weirder still was the fact that Dean would do that when Sam wasn't with you.

You noticed that sometimes, that no matter where you were in the bunker, Dean just happened to find himself in the same room. But that didn't mean he would speak, sometimes he would just be cleaning one of his guns or quietly reading through a dusty volume or writing something down in a notebook, but you swore sometimes you thought that Dean was looking at you. Each time you looked up though, he was looking down at whatever else it was he was doing.

It was those moments that made you think that things could be civil between the two of you, and then he'd get on your case for doing something he deemed "wrong" when you knew you did it right the first time as if you hadn't been a hunter as long as he had.

He probably does that because he doesn't trust me.

Dean grumbles something under his breath and turns his gaze back out the windshield, watching the wiper blades go back and forth over the glass, crossing his arms over his chest. Ben frowns and you know that he must have been able to hear whatever it was Dean said.

Why can't we all just get along for five minutes? Is that too much to ask?

"Alright I've got something." Sam says ending the uncomfortable silence in the car. "The World's Biggest Beer Can is in Northwood about ten miles ahead of us."

"Finally. At least someone is pulling their weight." Dean states before he hits the gas, the force throws you backwards into the seat.

Your gaze flicks up to the rearview mirror and notice that Dean is watching you again, but you turn away to Ben who smiles wide and pulls you back towards him for a kiss.

But deep down you can't help but wonder if Dean had been watching the two of you in his rearview mirror the whole time and why he cared so much.

The building that Ben remembers is in fact, an abandoned school.

The roof sags inward allowing rainwater to pool in the front lobby over black and white checkered tiles, the lockers are rusted and thrown to the floor at odd angles making you worry about the possibility of tetanus, and there is an ungodly stench that you can only describe as old gym socks, axe body spray, and unwashed feet.

Ben's nose wrinkles where he stands beside you, and you're sure that no matter what your sense of smell is experiencing it's a million times worse for him.

You press your lips into a tight line, toeing around a puddle of something gray and sticky that you can't identify, but know for a fact you don't want it in your shoes. Your eyes squint into the looming darkness that grows the more you stare down the forgotten hallways.

It’s always gotta be an old creepy building. Just once I want to get to investigate a donut shop or a burger joint or a Starbucks.

"Any of this looking familiar Captain Sexual Harassment?" Dean asks turning with his flashlight to point in Ben's face.

Ben shrugs and squints at the offending light. "I don’t fucking know."

"Enlightening." Dean huffs out a breath. "Well, guess we can split up and-"

Thank God I won't have to listen to Dean mutter things under his breath and freak out.

"Fine." You interrupt. "Come on Ben." You start to walk down one of the dark hallways, but Dean slides in front of you to block your path.

"No way. You're not going with him." Dean waves his flashlight in Ben's face again and you can see the twitch on the corner of Dean's mouth to see how much he enjoys blinding him.

Why does he always have to act like such a child?

"Why?" You demand.

"Because as soon as Sam and I get out the picture, Grandpa over there is going to pull you aside and fuck you in one of the classrooms." Dean says it without blinking, but it makes you flush red in embarrassment and anger.

"No, he's not!"

"Yes, he is!"

Dean is so close that you can feel his warm breath on your face. His eyes are narrowed in anger, but you can see another emotion flick through them so quickly you think you imagined it. It was the same emotion that you thought you saw in the car, but you can't identify it, not yet.

Ben's hand comes down on Dean's shoulder, a wide smirk on his face. "Look kid, I get it. She's fucking hot and I know you think I'm trying to horn in on your action-"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean exclaims shaking off Ben's hand.

"You're jealous because she decided to be with a real man instead of you." Ben shrugs. His gaze travels up and down Dean as if appraising him before he shakes his head with a chuckle. "I can't blame her. Someone like you couldn't handle her.

"I could handle her just fine!" Dean snaps back his face flushing as he forces his chest against Ben's, who only smirks back.

What did he just say?

Your entire body goes stick straight in surprise and you turn your head to stare at Dean. In all the years that you'd known Dean he's never once said something like that to you.

Sure there was the night you met…

You hadn't thought about it in years. You'd been back in town because Bobby had called asking you to help out some friends of his on a case and you'd stopped in to Ellen's bar to see Jo. Dean had come on to you and you'd splashed a beer in his face and also maybe pinned him down against the bar. It had been awkward the next day when you found out that Dean and Sam were the friends that Bobby wanted you to help out, but you pushed past all the weird feelings to help.

Dean had flirted with you that night and you will admit to yourself that you thought Dean was attractive before he opened his mouth, but since that night the two of you hadn't spoken about it. In fact, you were both perfectly happy pretending that it didn't happen.

Or so you thought.

Dean's dark green eyes flick to yours in realization. "That's not what I meant."

"Sure kid." Ben's smirk grows to Cheshire Cat proportions.

"Stop calling me that!"

The weird thing was, you'd seen Dean lose his temper, it always flared fast and hot broken up with sarcastic comments, but for some reason this felt different and you didn't understand why. It didn't feel like Dean just getting angry because Ben was getting under his skin, it felt like something else.

"Whoa!" You get between the two of them for the second time in an hour. "If you guys keep fighting like this I'm going to put you both in time out!"

"He started it!" Dean glares at Ben, who doesn't look the least bit upset.

"I don’t care who started it! You're grown men and you're still acting like toddlers. I shouldn't have to separate you." You snap waving around your flashlight at Dean.

"How about this?" Sam sighs from where he stands a few feet away. "I'll go with Ben and the two of you can try not to shoot each other."

"Why can't I go with you?" You sigh to your friend.

"You want to leave them together? Alone?" Sam raises his eyebrow.

Not really.

Sam takes your silence rightfully as confirmation, because the both of you knew if you left Dean and Ben together it would probably be a Thunderdome situation or a reenactment of the WWE.

"Maybe we shouldn't split up." Dean says looking at his brother.

"You scared kid?" Ben smirks. " No wonder she decided to fuck me instead of you. You’re acting like a little bitch."

"You son of a bitch-" Dean finally snaps and launches himself towards Ben, but your hand fists in the back of Dean's leather jacket to stop him from starting a fight that you know he won't win.

It wasn't that you thought Ben was a better fighter than Dean, it was that Ben had super strength and would have no qualms ripping Dean in half. And despite how much Dean annoyed you, you didn't want him to die. Sure he was a jerk, but he didn't deserve that after everything he'd been through, and Sam didn't need to bear witness to that.

"Fine." You say. "Ben please go with Sam."

Ben rolls his eyes and follows after Sam, leaving Dean and you standing in the lobby alone, the only sound the soft plop of water echoing down the empty hallway.

Great. Now I'm stuck with Dean in a creepy old building. It's a dream come true. The stuff of Disney movies.

"Why did you do that?" Dean snaps at you when Ben and Sam turn a corner out of sight.

"You should be thanking me! Ben would rip you in half without batting an eye!" You turn back towards the empty hallway and try to put as much distance as you can between Dean and you.

Distance is good, nice. It means that I can only partly hear his disapproval.

"You don't know that." Dean catches up with you, sweeping the path in front of you with his flashlight looking for holes in the floor.

"Yes, I do. I've seen him do it before."

By now you were aware that there was a chill in the air, it was unnatural, creeping down the hallway in a thin mist that made a shiver crawl down your spine. Dean must sense it too, because he pulls his gun at the same time you do.

That or he's doing it because he's about to go Rambo on Ben's ass.

Because that'll end well…

"If he rips people in half why do you like him so much?"

“He’s not a bad person if that’s what you’re getting at. Ben did it to save me.” You point your flashlight into one of the classrooms along the hallway noting the rotted desks tipped over onto the checkered floor. “He wouldn’t hurt me.”

Ben's world was filled with more than a few crazed individuals, and when you'd been in his universe Ben had stepped in when a supe threw themselves at you. Truthfully, even though Ben did what he did to protect you, watching him pull someone apart with his bare hands made you sick to your stomach. Given what you'd seen, that was saying something. But you knew that Ben wouldn't hurt you, he wasn't that kind of man, and you weren't afraid of him.

“You’ve known him for five days! How can you tell after five days?!” Dean nudges a cardboard box with his boot sending a family of cockroaches scuttling into the shadows.

"Because I can!" Your lip curves up in distaste at the appearance of the roaches and try not to imagine all the walls infested with the little bugs.

You didn't like roaches. Especially ones that all of a sudden developed the ability to fly in your presence as if it were a miracle.

The two of you continue to walk down the hallway, the sound of your footsteps masking the constant dripping noise that comes from the floor above.

Your temper was flaring all over again. You didn't think that you needed to explain any of this to him. Dean never felt the need to discuss his extensive history with women with you and you didn't feel the need to discuss the ins and outs of your and Ben's situation.

"Come on-" He begins to say, but you don't want to hear it.

"Dammit Dean just fucking drop it." You throw your shoulder against a door at the end of the hallway, putting everything you have into it and a little more. You were getting frustrated at Dean's continuous commentary on your life. "I don’t want to talk about this anymore or listen to any of the ridiculous reasons why you think that it's any of your business who I sleep with."

“I think it is my business because you were about to reenact the scene from Titanic in the back of my car!”

“Oh please. I’m sure that you’ve reenacted it billions of times back there. Mr. Saturday Night!” You roll your eyes hitting the door again with your shoulder.

“It’s my car!" Dean shouts, moving you out of the way in a surprisingly gentle way, before he savagely kicks down the door. "I can do whatever I damn well please!”

I wonder if Sam and Ben are having a better time than us. It wouldn't be difficult to.

The door opens with a snap under the force of Dean's kick depositing Dean and you into a large auditorium. The seats are a faded gray and the curtains that hang from the sides of the stage, once blood red, were more of a muddled pink stained with splotches of dark spots and filled with holes the size of the Impala.

Crawling vines and ferns have begun to tangle over the empty seats and over the floors, absorbing anything in their path. The wooden stage is dilapidated and caving in on itself, the boards jutting upwards instead of laying flat as they should in some places from years of water damage. The carpet beneath your feet is squishy and moth eaten, and each step sends another cloud of dust into the air making the room hazy and you cough into your elbow.

"Not to mention he's me!" Dean continues, tramping into the room behind you.

"How many times are you going to say that?" You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying your best to keep it together.

"As many times as I have to, to get the point into your thick skull!"

You whirl around and poke your finger into his chest. "You know what Winchester? You can take all your opinions and shove them right up your uptight ass!"

"The two of you don't get along at all. Odd given how you seem to get along with my fiancé." A bored voice says from somewhere behind you. "But it is a lot more entertaining than I thought it was going to be."

Dean and you both lock eyes and turn to look in the direction of the voice, but there's no one there.

"Um, did you hear-" Dean begins to ask.

"Yes I did." You reply clicking the safety off your pistol.

"Just checking."

"Though I will say, with the way today is going for you and if this is you having a psychotic break, I wouldn't be surprised that you're having auditory hallucinations."

"Shut up." Dean sighs.

"Hello?" You shout, looking around the empty auditorium for some answer, but it remains empty.

Dean snorts. "Now who's craz-"

"Hello?" The voice mocks in a nasally voice. "Wow you're pathetic. I don't understand what he sees in you."

"You call me pathetic, but you're the one hiding. So why don't you come out?" A chair from the front row plucks itself off the ground and hurls itself at your head. You duck and it sails into the aisle behind Dean and you.

"You're not even that pretty." The voice continues and you can imagine a pout on the end of its words like a petulant child who wishes to get their way.

This is so fucking weird.

"Thanks." You reply dryly. "I like to think I've got a great personality."

"You don't." Dean mutters, making you throw an elbow into his side.

A high pitched giggle echoes through the space making it impossible to identify where it came from, until finally a woman materializes on the stage. You blink your eyes to make sure that she's really there.

Her blonde hair falls over her shoulders in perfect ringlets, and she's wearing a bright pink fur trimmed dressing gown. The kind you'd see on an eccentric billionaire's trophy wife who spent most of her day drinking gin martinis poolside while being fanned by cabana boys or the kind that she'd be wearing when she heard of her husband's "untimely demise." There's a silver diamond crown perched on top of her head and she's smoking a cigarette from a long white cigarette holder, while she lounges back on a golden throne.

What. The. Fuck.

"Do you see her too?" You whisper to Dean out of the corner of your mouth.

"You mean Glinda the Good Witch the later years? Yeah I can." Dean replies looking just as confused as you do. "You thinking Gabriel?"

"I thought he was dead."

"He's pretended to be dead before." He shrugs.

"Fair enough. Any reason why he's making us see her?"

"Maybe your new boyfriend has a fetish."

"Hasn't anyone told you that it's rude to whisper?" The woman says, taking a drag from her cigarette.

"Sorry. Um. Who are you?" You ask.

"I don't speak to homewreckers." Her face contorts into a sneer. You watch her eyes shift from Dean to you. "But I'll answer for your friend. I'm Iris, Benjamin's Fiancé."

If pigs could fly right now an entire fleet of them would be taking flight around you. You tried to wrack your brain remembering a single time that Ben said that he had a fiancé or was in a relationship at all, and you can't find a single moment.

Well… today officially sucks.

"Wow. Nice." Dean looks at you with a scoff. "Real nice."

"Hey woah, I didn't know he had a fiancé." You hold up your free hand in surrender. "He never said anything about a-"

"Hey gorgeous. Did you find anything?" Ben says materializing behind Dean.

"You're engaged?" You shout.

"No?" Ben looks confused. "Who told you that?"

You point a thumb over your shoulder to Iris, who is still lounging on the stage completely in her element. She giggles and wiggles her fingers in a cute wave.

"Hey Benny Wenny, did you miss me?" Her lips curl up in a wide smile when she rises from the throne, her bright blue eyes crinkling around the edges. The air around her seems to sparkle, sending scattered light out into the broken seats.

Ben is still staring up at the woman, looking utterly confused.

"You know that freak?" Dean whispers to Ben who is now standing shoulder to shoulder with him.

"Fuck no."

"Well, congratulations Benny Wenny." Dean snorts. "Guess you're getting married."

"I am not-"

"And don't worry, of course I'll be your best man." Dean continues, holding back laughter.

"Shut the fuck up kid!" Ben snaps at Dean, before turning back to the woman on the stage. "Look baby, I don't know who you are but-" Ben begins to say to the woman, who only laughs.

She throws back her head, golden curls bouncing with the force of her body moving, laughing for an unnatural amount of time before she locks her blue eyes on Ben again.

“Stop being silly. We met a few months ago at Legend’s party. We had a few drinks and then you came back to my apartment where we made love for hours-“ Her cheeks blush. “It was sooooo romantic. What I always dreamed about!”

“Um-“

“My parents are so excited to meet you and my little sister said that she’s so happy to have a big brother!” She giggles. “I even made us matching t-shirts to wear on our honeymoon and a scrap book of our children!" She holds up a magenta colored bedazzled photo album that’s the size of a medium sized dog.

Wow she put a lot of work into that.

“Children?” Ben stutters, his voice cracking on the end a little bit. It's the first time that you've ever seen him look afraid.

“What they’ll look like, where we’ll vacation each year, where we'll live, where you'll work-” Her expression turns sour, eyes flashing a dark pink as she glares in your direction. “But then you met that little whore who took you away from me and poisoned your mind.” She points a perfectly manicured pink nail at you. “So I decided to bring you here so you could help me kill her.”

“I’m sorry rewind-“ You say holding up a hand. “You brought Ben here? How?"

"I found a website while I was looking at destination weddings." She shrugs.

"There are websites about traveling through different universes that show up in the search engine-" Dean begins to say.

"DON'T QUESTION ME!" The girl shrieks and the entire room begins to shake.

"And you wanted Ben to be here because?" You haven’t lowered your gun. Frankly you had no idea what her powers were. She looked more like she would start tap dancing down the yellow brick road rather than start hurling chunks of the stage at you, but you needed a plan.

“Because we’ll get to share this moment together.” Iris sighs looking over at Ben again, who is just as shell-shocked as he was a moment ago.

“Killing me?”

Iris nods enthusiastically. “We'll make love on top of your dead body and no one will come between us ever again!” 

Dean snorts under his breath and you elbow him again, trying not to think of the image.

Please let this be Gabriel messing around with me. Because if it's not my life is officially a joke.

The three of you stand there for a minute looking up at where she prances on the stage in mixed stages of disbelief.

And just as Iris takes a step forward, a sandbag falls on her head. She crumples to the floor like a sack of potatoes as Sam appears in the wings of the stage looking from her to where the three of you are watching.

"You guys okay?" He calls.

"Yeah." Ben shrugs. "Too bad about her though. She was hot."

He's kidding right?

"The crazies always are." Dean adds with a sigh, patting him on the back.

"I'm so happy the two of you are having this bonding moment, truly I am, but-" You begin to say, turning your back to the stage, but as soon as you do Sam goes flying across the room and into one of the fern plants.

"That was so uncool!" Iris squeals, hovering over the stage, her hands glowing an unnatural magenta color. "Ben and I are meant to be together, we're soulmates, perfect, fated, destined, and no one is going to stand in my way."

The entire room begins to tremble with the force of her anger, dust floats down from the ceiling as it begins to crack and crumble under her powers. You can feel the warmth of Ben's skin as he begins to power up the beam in his chest, burning through the air like a supernova.

There's a crackling sound that comes from above and you look up to see a giant piece of the ceiling falling in slow motion towards your body. Dean shouts your name, but he sounds far away, the sound ringing through the few seconds that you still have left before it crushes you.

But the hit doesn't come from above, it comes from the side.

Dean tackles you, just as the piano sized piece hits the ground where you had been standing a second ago, to the ground, cradling your head in his hands. Your bodies tumble into the moth eaten carpets as Ben explodes, the heat and power of the beam causing more of the room to fall around the two of you.

There's a terrible high pitched wail that's cut off abruptly mid scream and you don't need to be a genius to know what or rather who it was.

Dean covers your body with his and your hands come up under his arms to hold him tighter to you. You bury your face into the warmth of his coat where his throat and his shoulder meet with a whimper as everything around the two of you shudders and shakes. He doesn't pull away, his muscles tensing as he tightens his grip around you, his own face buried in your hair.

The room continues to shake and fall apart in the aftermath of the blast, dust and ash rising in clouds. But you can’t see any of it, Dean's body is shielding you from the room as it crumbles around the two of you, tucking you further beneath him the longer it goes on, making it impossible for anyone or anything to hurt you.

You could feel something curling in the pit of your stomach the longer you laid there under him, an odd feeling that you'd tried to push down whenever you were around Dean, a warmth that begins to spread like wildfire through your body everywhere the two of you are touching. His body is warm and heavy, but it's not oppressive, it lays over you protective and unyielding in the wake of the destruction.

The smell of him invades your senses, a mix of gunmetal, leather, and a spicy scent that tickled your nose. You'd smelled Dean's shampoo before, when it wafted out of the bathroom as you walked down the hallway, imprinting itself in your mind. It was how the impala smelled, always like Dean, and with it brought a feeling of comfort that you'd never known before.

It was odd.

"Are you okay?" Dean whispers, and you can feel the rumble of his words through his chest where it's touching you, his hips laying in the cradle of your thighs. He pulls back to look at your face, the rough grate of his stubble catching your chin as he does so. His eyes are wide with worry and it's the first time that you'd ever seen him look at you that way.

Dust and ash caught in his hair in graying clumps, sticking to the shortened brownish gold strands, the ones that were just a little shorter than Ben's. You longed to run your fingers through, to feel if it was as soft as it looked.

"I think so." You murmur, not used to the weight of his body on top of yours, but you're also trying not to notice how a part of you liked it. "Are you okay?" Your fingertips trail against the smooth leather of his jacket, working up to the back of his head, feeling just the subtle brush of the hair at the nape of his neck.

You don't miss the soft sigh that rushes out of Dean's chest when you do that, fueling the fire that was spreading in the pit of your stomach.

What is happening?

"Yeah." Dean's fingers brush your hair from your face, so quickly that you think you missed it, but the burn of his skin over your cheeks is the only reminder. You gasp softly with the movement, confused as to why Dean was acting this way, why he was worried about you, and why you liked it. Your arms are still wrapped around his body, fingers curled into the back of his leather jacket, but Dean makes no move to get up, he continues to look at you.

You'd never seen Dean look at you like that, look at you as if he wished to understand you, as if he saw you. No one had ever looked at you that way in your entire life.

"Dean!" You hear Sam yell from somewhere, followed by your own name.

It jolts Dean out of wherever his mind is and he gets off of you, but he helps you to your feet, one of his warm calloused hands taking yours to pull you up before dropping it as if he didn't do it in the first place.

The room is destroyed. The roof has completely caved in allowing the rain to soak through the remaining seats of the auditorium and into the musty carpets. The stage no longer exists, all that remains is a black blob of what you're sure used to be Iris, and although a part of you feels bad about the turn of events, you can't help but feel a little relieved.

She was going to kill me. You think to avoid the wave of guilt that washes over you.

"Ding dong the witch is dead." Dean mutters under his breath, but it doesn't make you feel better.

Fires burn over the edges of the stage, small and controlled, but sending rivulets of smoke into the air. You knew it meant that the fire department would be here any minute and that's the last thing you wanted to explain. That and the body on the stage.

Ben stumbles to his feet a few steps away from Dean and you, pushing off a piece of roofing that must have landed on top of him. His suit is covered in dust and drywall, but he looks okay. He's got that far-away look in his eye he always does after he uses his power.

You step towards him to make sure he's okay, but Dean stands in your way.

"Are you out of your mind?" Dean snarls at Ben.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Ben snaps.

"You almost killed us! Almost killed her!" Dean gestures towards you.

"I fixed the problem." Ben rolls his eyes and glances to you, as if trying to reassure himself that you're okay. You knew that Ben might have wanted to only have a physical relationship with you, but you knew that he did care about you in his own way. "You okay sweetheart?" He pushes past Dean, gently touching your face, tilting it up to his. "Did you hit your head?"

"No. I'm okay." You smile tightly at him, but a part of you can still feel the ghost of Dean's fingertips trailing against your cheeks to push away your hair and feel the weight of his body over yours. "Are you okay?" You ask, noting the way his eyes still are a little unfocused.

"Course I am." Ben scoffs. "Takes a little more than a building to bring me down doll."

You nod, while Ben's hand still continues to rest on your chin, and just as he leans down for a kiss, you see Dean's face in the corner of your eye and finally you're able to identify the emotion reflected in his gaze. It's the same emotion that you saw in the car when he stared at you in the rearview mirror. It's the first time that you've ever seen Dean look at you that way in all the years you'd known him.

It's hurt that flashes behind the green eyes you knew so well, shifting to jealousy on around the darkened edges the longer he looks at Ben and you.

And when Ben's lips touch yours, you feel guilt begin to creep along your skin and extinguish the sparks you'd felt moments ago in the pit of your stomach.

A/N: I'm not going to lie, I did not mean for this part to be a little sad... but oh my word 😭 BUT I also promise that the next chapter will have a happy ending ❤️

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are not required, but are always appreciated. I love hearing what y'all think! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for Part 3 please let me know!

Taglist:

@roseblue373 @mrsjenniferwinchester @livya99 @zepskies

@winchesterwild78 @ladykitana90 @spnfamily-j2 @whyyouegg

@suckitands33 @pizzagirlxnsfwx @s0uz4s @schinug @just-levyy

@xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @minas-fantasies @ladysparkles78

@mochminnie @peachhiz @impala67stellawinchester @nancymcl @lunaleah

@lightdancingwords @kamisobsessed @justwhisperingfantasies

@lunaleah @kamisobsessed @kmc1989 @djudy99

@bitchykittenconnoisseur

[impala666]

3 A.M & Quesadillas ~ John Carter x reader

I know, I know. I said I wanted more of Luka Kovac, and I've been working on a few things for him. But for some reason writing for John Carter is easier for me, I have no idea why. But I hope everyone enjoys this. Carter just needs someone to love him and be on his side for once, so that's what I did.

You found yourself waking up, at first you weren’t sure as to why. But then you felt the cold sheets on the other side of the bed. It had been a month since you and your husband John moved in to his grandmother and late grandfather’s house. It took some getting used to. Your whole life you’d lived in ranch styled houses or tiny apartments, kind of like the one you and John lived in before you moved. Now you lived in a mansion practically, and a staff that would try to wait on you hand and foot. However, you weren’t about to complain about the big bed and comfortable as hell mattress that you shared with your husband. But more and more you seemed to be waking up in the middle of the night to find John not next to you. Not that you could blame him after the trauma of the stabbing and losing Lucy, then his grandfather dying, the two of you working crazy hours at County Hospital, then of course his grandma falling ill. To which you knew the woman was practically his mother, because god forbid his mother from coming around at all to lend a helping hand or to even just to make sure that her son was okay. Then of course John had his insomnia on top of that, so he hardly slept.

Sitting up in the bed, you pushed the lush comforter off of you and moved to grab your sleep shorts from the floor to wear along with a t-shirt of John’s so you could go on search for your husband. Finally after slipping on your slippers you left the bedroom en route to the kitchen. Whenever John couldn’t sleep you could find him eating or drinking something in the kitchen, in the living room reading a medical journal, or sitting outside if it was nice. But this was Illinois, so of course it was raining. A tired smile grew on your lips when you found him cooking something at the stove. But as you quietly walked into the room you noticed the time on the stove clock, it was 3 in the morning. The two of you had worked 12 hour shifts not that long ago and the two of you had to be  up in another few hours to head out to go to your next shifts, however when you walked up behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist and felt his warmth that went out of your brain. 

“Hey, what’re you doing up?” John tiredly smiled down at you. He switched his spatula to his non dominant hand so his dominant hand could lace with the fingers of the hand that was wrapped around him.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? I woke up alone without my personal space heater, so I had to come find him.” You spoke into him softly as you pressed your face and nose into his back so you could embrace his warmth along with his scent. John let out a small huff of a chuckle as he took your hands from his waist so he would wrap his arm around your shoulders and bring you into his side. To which you again buried your face into once again.

“Well, you found him. He was just a little hungry, so he came down to make himself a quesadilla.” John smiled softly still as he played into the game you were playing with him. 

“A quesadilla? At 3 in the morning?” You finally took your face out of the warmth of John’s side to watch as he flipped the tortillas and cheese that were sizzling on the pan.

“Which is exactly why you should go back to bed. No sense in the both of us being miserable tomorrow. Well, I guess today, technically.” You shook your head as cheese flew out of the tortilla mid-flip, but also at his trying to take care of you. He was one to talk, the man took care of everyone else around him so that he would not have to face the problems that he was dealing with. Sure, he loved helping people, hell that’s why he became a doctor, but he also hid in it. But that was a conversation for another day. You just wanted to enjoy the quiet early, rainy morning with your husband before the two of you had to be your professional work selves.  

“Nope. No way.” You shook your head at him. “If you’re up then I’m up. So we’ll just be miserable together later. Now, scoot.” You demanded as you bumped your hip against his own to get him out of your way.

“What are you doing?” John asked in fake offense as he tried not to burst out laughing at you taking over.

“You are making a mess. Plus now I want one so I will take care of it, okay?” John just stood there with his arms crossed over his chest, not really believing that you just did that. But of course he believed it, because he knew what you were doing. You were taking care of him.

“I was doing just fine.” His voice rose an octave in defense.

“You literally just got cheese everywhere, Johnny.” You told him as you took his off of the pan and added a new tortilla to the pan to start your own. 

“ You like taking care of me don’t you?” Now it was John’s turn to wrap his arms around your waist and press a kiss to the top of your head

“It is one of my favorite pastimes.” You smiled at him. You turned yourself around in his arms and firmly put your hands on his chest. “Now, would you be so kind as to start a pot of coffee?” Asking him sweetly. 

“Coffee and a quesadilla, doctor?” Carter looked at you like he couldn’t believe the combination of food that you have chosen to have for breakfast. But it was you who was surprised. The two of you had eaten much weirder things with coffee. One of the things being sushi of all things. But when you need caffeine, you need caffeine. 

“Well I’m up now and I think you are too so we might as well start with it to keep us going.” You quirked an eyebrow up at him. 

“Hmm, touche.” John agreed with you and nodded before leaning forward to kiss your jaw before leaving your embrace to start his coffee duties. As the coffee was percolating he came back by you but you shook your head and gently grabbed his wrist. Which earned you a confused look in return.

“Sit down, relax, and let me serve you.” You said softly. John looked at you like you had grown a second head. He looked at you unsure, and a little bit like he couldn’t believe that you were doing this. 

“You know you’re not my mother right?” John asked as he took a seat on one of the bar stools that were placed at the island in the middle of the kitchen.

“I know,” you smiled to yourself slightly as you sliced both of your breakfasts. “And appreciate it that you say that, because most men just assume we’re here to fill that roll.” You placed the plate with the steaming in front of both of the seats before walking back over to the coffee pot to pour the both of you a cup. John didn’t say anything. He just sat and ate his quesadilla and stared at you like he could not believe that you were in the room with him at that moment. 

“But you don’t need to take care of me.” He finally said, very quietly while he helped you climb up into the bar stool next to him.

“I know I don’t need to, John,” you took a small sip of the hot coffee. The effects of the coffee waking you up ever so slightly. “But I want to, I mean you are my husband. Even before our wedding I wanted to.” John opened his mouth to say something, but before he could you put your hand on his arm to keep him from doing so. You needed him to hear this. “You have been killing yourself trying to take care of literally all of the adults in your life. Not just at work. You have been helping your grandmother; who might as well be your mother, considering she raised you. You have been helping her grieve your grandfather, along with her illness. Which you’re also medically helping her with also. Then your mother and father finally come back, drop the bomb on Christmas that they’re getting a divorce. Which they’re putting you in the middle, and don’t tell me they aren’t. I mean you had the worst thing happen to you last year. I mean, you were stabbed. Almost died, almost couldn’t walk again. But now they come back.” You were getting yourself all worked up thinking about his parents, you were beginning to lose your point. But John rubbed your back with one hand and put his other hand on top of your own hand to comfort you and calm you down. “So, no. I don’t mind taking care of you. Because I love you, and I want to.” You said much softer, not realizing until now that your voice grew in volume during your rant.

“Thank you for saying that.” John smiled and blushed all bashful as he reached forward to run his thumb over your chin and feel your face. You turned your head to place a kiss on his thumb before turning to start in on your food. “I love you, so much.” 

P.S- Note from author: TBH I don't know if this was finished or not. If it seems like it just ended out of no where, please let me know. It just felt done.

[chocolilies]

─── RING. ꒱

( ୨ৎ. gojo satoru x fem!reader. . .ᐟ

despite wishing he could, gojo isn't always there when you get hit on. which leads to him having to take measures to lay his claim.

◟ꪆ୧ sfw, bimbo-y reader, sort of loser gojo in the way that he's whipped for his gf and loves spoiling her. no use of y/n. my first time writing for gojo and my first work on this blog!!

w.c : 1.3k.

also on ao3!

“you’re so so so so sweet, ‘toru!” you clung to your boyfriend as he pressed kisses to your flushed cheeks, staring at the golden band he’d previously slipped onto your ring finger, trying to focus on the marksmanship as he continued to pepper your face in kisses.

“it’s nothing, baby,” gojo cooed, squeezing your side as you continued to admire the jewelry, “it’s pretty, right?”

“the prettiest!” you giggled, moving your body to wrap your arms around his shoulders, pressing his face into your neck so he could continue kissing you there. “it looks really expensive, though…”

gojo could hear your pout as you spoke, briefly stopping his kisses to rest his head on your shoulder, feeling your arm move away from him as you no doubt took another look at the ring.

“baby, it was nothing,” gojo sighed, rubbing his thumbs into your hips soothingly as you let out a huff, “nothing’s too expensive for you."

he wasn't lying. if gojo had wanted to, he would've bought out the whole jewelry store, but he didn't.

why? because you’d probably complain about it being “too much” for someone like you, unaware that if you were to ask gojo for the moon, he’d somehow find a way to bring it down just for you.

“hmph, i guess…” you huffed, letting yourself be moved as gojo ushered you both towards the sofa, helping you sit down carefully before kneeling on the ground, resting his head on your lap.

gojo sighed happily as your fingers immediately found their place in his hair, shivering in delight as your nails scratched at his scalp and tugged at his hair, his own hands finding their place on your plush thighs.

“you’re so sweet to me, ‘toru,” you cooed softly, leaning down to make sure he heard, “y’always get me the prettiest things.”

you were right.

gojo took pride in knowing that half your wardrobe and accessories were all bought by him, and even if that wasn't obvious to anyone but you, you never failed to make it so to everyone else by reminding your coworkers, friends, students or even strangers, whenever he gifted you something new.

which is exactly what he counted on happening with his latest present.

now firstly, gojo had no problem with the clothes you wore, hell, like mentioned, he'd bought half of your wardrobe for you, but he knew that some more specific items could be considered… revealing.

he, for one, loved it.

but he knew he wasn't the only one who did.

men would sometimes stop and stare at you, asking you for your socials in front of students and even himself if they were tough enough, but one mention of the boyfriend and a point in his direction would usually derail their pathetic flirting attempts, but sometimes… it didn't.

sometimes, gojo wasn't around when you got flirted with or just couldn't accompany you to the places you and many pervs frequented, and was forced to listen to you laugh about the men who approached you.

and that, had recently unfortunately happened.

normally, gojo wasn’t one to get jealous or possessive, since there was normally no reason to do so (i mean, look at him), but he just had to get this guy off his back and out of his mind.

“awe, look ‘toru! that nice guy gave me an extra cake!”

gojo watched as you pulled out the groceries, revealing three pastries instead of the two you'd both agreed on getting.

“nice guy?” he said with a confused look as he placed down the rest of the bags he'd helped you carry up.

“yeah! told me i looked pretty and complimented the hoops you got me!” you giggled, placing the cakes in the fridge before turning back around with a smile. “guess he was just in a giving mood.”

oh, that guy wanted to give you something alright.

ever since then, each time you came from the bakery, you came bearing gifts. be it an extra cake or a free cookie, you always had something. which of course... didn't sit right with him. he'd knew soon enough that you'd get disappointed when that perv revealed his true intentions, and that pissed him off to no end.

gojo thought back on that memory bitterly, though he couldn't let himself get too caught up in his misery when he had your fingers combing through his hair and his face squished against your thighs.

“you gon’ show that off for me, baby?” gojo murmured, voice muffled by the way he was deflating in your hold, heart fluttering as you let out a giggle.

“of course i will! it's too pretty not to!” you squealed, squirming out of excitement at the idea of boasting about your new possession, as small as it might be.

gojo grinned at the idea of poor nanami and shoko, as they would no doubt be the first ones you'd show the moment you got to work tomorrow, but that grin got even wider as he thought about who you would show later.

“you're going past that bakery tomorrow, right?” gojo hummed, running his fingers up your thighs and smiling as you squirmed with a giggle.

“yeah! you want me to get some of those cakes we got last time?” you asked, leaning back on the sofa with a smile at the thought of the sweets you'd treated yourself to for the past few months.

gojo knew you were a tiny bit of an airhead at times, but he could never hold that against you. it was part of your personality, part of you, and he loved that. plus… it sometimes came in handy.

“perfect.” gojo leaned up from his kneeling position, pressing his lips to yours with a hum and a weird passion you hadn't felt before, but as he pressed you down against the sofa’s cushions with a thigh between your legs, you couldn't find anything to complain about.

by the way shoko glared at him when he passed her in the school's hall, he knew you'd kept your promise from last night, which meant he had something to look forward to when he got back home.

“hey, we didn't get anything extra this time…” you pouted as you pulled the treats out of the bag, placing exactly two cakes down on the counter.

“huh? how so?” gojo slid in behind you before wrapping his arms around your waist, perching his chin on your shoulder as you unpacked the sweets, pressing kisses against your cheek. “was it the same guy?”

“yeah…” you mumbled, looking at the receipt as if you would find an extra free item listed on there that the perv who'd served you forgot to place in the bag. “that's strange… thought we'd get lucky again…”

“was he rude to you, baby?” he acted offended as if he didn't know what happened, moving to press sloppy kisses to your exposed shoulder and neck as you talked.

“no! he was sweet like before… asked me how my day was and complimented my jewelry again…” you whined, extending your ringed hand in front of you and staring down at the golden band. “even showed off my ring…”

bingo.

“hmph. maybe he just didn't feel like giving today, baby. you upset?”

a few seconds passed before you shrugged, turning around in his grip and staring up at him with a smile. “why would i? couldn't even finish that third cake before, remember? plus, i’m happy! got to show off my ring all day!”

god, he was obsessed with you.

you giggled as he leaned down to kiss you without a second thought, giggling against his lips as he pulled you up to sit on the counter.

as he continued to kiss you, he felt your fingers find their place in his hair again, feeling the cold metal of the ring against his scalp, an action he barely noticed.

after all, a ring was something tiny.

something any man could disregard if they were too busy staring at your pretty face.

maybe his next gift should be a necklace with his initials. that would send a clearer message than a tiny ring.

[revelboo]

You are honestly my fav transformer writer because i ALWAYS read all of your fics!! Not to mention, how fast you are at writing and eachs?? Thats crazy and awesome!! 😭

(Wonder if you ever take some break whenever you write a fic. Dont push yourself too hard tho!!)

Thank you! I’m actually taking a break from serious writing to do these because I got a bit burnt out. And I missed writing silly TF drama

Stop Talking Pt 3

Skywarp x Reader

• “You can’t really be that stupid,” you say and his optics narrow. “Do I look like a goat to you?” Gesturing angrily at the food he’d provided, before crossing your arms across your chest and scowling up at him. Like he’s the one being difficult. “That’s an azalea bush. I can’t eat that.” It’s a plant. Humans can eat plants, so he’s not sure what your problem is. But the angrier you get, the more it strings him tight. Tempting him to double down to see how angry you get. Because there’s something scandalously enticing about your temper that goes straight through him.

• And he’s just frowning down at you, slowly crossing his own arms to mimic you in challenge. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you needed a special diet,” he growls, leaning into your space. Like not wanting to eat a bush is being picky. Because he really is that stupid apparently. Shaking your head, you stalk off. “Where are you going?” He snarls, a hand landing on the desk to make you flinch. Turning to glare up at him as he looms over you.

• “Oh, I’m sorry. Lord Skywarp, may I please be excused?” Frag, why does your insolent sneer make his spark heat? Make him ache and want wholly inappropriate things? Like bending you over and fragging you until you can’t move, let alone muster the energy to be snarky. What is wrong with him? “Sorry I hurt your delicate ego.”

• That look on his face right then. Furious and promising retribution, it shouldn’t be as much fun as it is to provoke him. To goad him just to see how far you can push him. “Maybe you should make it up to me, then,” he growls. Rolling your eyes, you tense as he hooks a servo around your middle and drags you back to him. And the way he’s looking at you now, it’s not angry. It’s predatory and completely different, leaving you oddly breathless with anticipation. That look is dangerous.

• “Oh, yeah?” You challenge and his wings flare slightly. A low growl escaping him. There’s a lot more of you on display than Star’s human. Wearing just those skimpy coverings when he’d taken you. But now he’s wondering what’s under those. “Not happening, buddy,” you say, tone sweet and mocking. And he grins. Because you have no idea how persistent he can be when he wants something and right now? He knows exactly what he wants.

Previous

Next

[into-f0lkl0re]

Paige bueckers head cannons

I’m in the writing mood idk why

not spell checked (srry)

warnings: slightly nsfw at the end

enjoy!!

———————————————————————

sfw

* definitely liked you first. i feel like caroline probably introduced you guys and she was immediately internally freaking out because you were so nice and chill and polar opposite of her

* would literally do anything to impress you like would jump really high and than turn around to make sure you saw

* for example say yall are in target to get some tru fru (cuz yk she loves her tru fru. her and kk have a serious problem god damn) and you are just pushing the cart not paying attention and she is just like “babe look babe look” “ watch this” “ are you watching??” and you finally are like yes paige and she just does a run a jump to touch something really high and then just skips back to you like “did you see that? you saw that right? I jumped so high!!!!”

* whenever she is on live with kk will just constantly talk about you to the point where everyone else is so fucking annoyed

* like kk is trying to give a crumbl review in her room (that one live) and is like “this one’s mint, i don’t like mint so im not gonna try it but ice wants some” and paige is just like “did you guys know that y/n loves mint. her favorite ice cream is mint chip and like the other day we wer-“ and you just see kk roll her eyes and groan really loudly “paige let me rate this damn cookie” and paige is just like 😧 cuz she just loves talking about you sm cuz your her baby

* during games every time she makes a basket will search for you in the audience and then smile really big

* speaking of games best believe she wants you at every single game and when you can’t go to one she is like ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️

* and gives you the silent treatment ( not like literally) but she is just so pouty

* like “ babe wdym you have to study for midterms? I have a game tonight. you have to be there” if this is after she recovers from her acl injury she will be like “it’s bad luck if you don’t come. i’m gonna get hurt again” and then you end up going just to cheer her up.

* loves to play video games with you

* if you don’t like playing video games than she just wants to be in the same room as you

* very clingy and touchy especially when drunk

* gets very very pouty when y’all are cuddling and you have to get up to do something

* will follow you around like a lost puppy until you can’t sit down with her again

* if you are studying or working and can’t exactly talk to her or entertain her she will just sit next to you and watch what you are doing or play with your hair

* if you are doing something on the computer she will start braiding your hair while looking over your shoulder

* her love languages are physical touch and quality time together

nsfw

* dom like 95% of the time but loves when you take control

* like after a really hard practice or game or just a shit day in general she really just wants you to take care of her

* you guys do not have a stone top/pillow princess dynamic (sorry not sorry) ( like yk how a lot of times the mascs will get treated like men in the relationship. that is not your guys relationship) you both give

* she loves to please you but also loves being pleased

* strap ( that’s it)

* she likes using the strap on you but she loves to be eaten out or honestly sometimes a really heated make out session and she just gets off from grinding on you

* she leaves a bunch of hickies all over you (i mean every where)

* wishes you could leave hickies all over her but you can’t that often because of her basket ball uniform

* but best believe off season she is covered in them

* safe word!!! she doesn’t really do overstimulation to much because safe word is not the goal. a safe word is like an emergency stop button

* but y’all can give for a bit

* if you two ever got to a place where you had to use the safe word she would feel so bad

* like y’all wouldn’t have sex for the next couple days because she is so scared of hurting you

* it gets to the point where you have to be like “ i promise you will not hurt me what happened was a miscommunication you didn’t do anything wrong”

* y’all have a really long talk on consent and shit like that because your safety is her no.1 priority

* same goes the other way around

* just loves you smm and loves showing it in anyway she can

I hope y’all like this!! I want to write for other wbb/wnba people as well so please send in requests 🙏 of what y’all would want

i will def do more headcannons for other people as well just ask! I honestly have been having sm writing and i have a bunch of ideas in my notes app! ik the smut wasn’t very smutty (im srry) i don’t have a lot of experience writing smut but i am not against writing it so i will write more if wanted!

Big forehead kisses💕💕

-Faye

[chebyshevptera]

I have no idea how to characterise jay in writing sometimes so please, jay headcanons??

HI asrik……. i can’t promise that these hcs are exactly in characfer but i will try very hard for u

these r all gonna be pre ndr because we really don’t have enough jay content as of now for me to make some accurate hcs about him (enough for me to confidently post in a serious discussion, anyway………) ❤️

- he was homeschooled, focusing more on stem subjects such as science and mathematics, which led to him having a rather strange range for his vocabulary . his parents are older, so he speaks similarly to them , but he sometimes goes fuzzy on definitions for seemingly simple words (like prophecy and temporal).

- the reason most of his inventions seem to end in “failure” is because he has grown to give up after the first try , rather than attempt to tweak his designs to work . he makes simple mistakes that he doesn’t correct because he gets upset that he made them in the first place . (the mishap in his bounty security system was an easy fix, but he got angry over it instead of trying to find the problem, and he got upset with cole when his dragon mech wouldn’t fly…)

[i know there’s that “sixth times the charm” scene from s9 but . that was jay when he was younger , so i feel like he’s become way less patient…idk]

- he didn’t grow up with access to many video games, so when he joined the ninja, he became obsessed with playing them . he started out even worse than zane simply because he wasn’t used to gaming, but excessively sitting at the console all day trained him to be better, so by the time prime empire came along, he got the hang of the game even faster than cole

- he’s still a pretty compulsive liar but he’s been trying really hard to work himself out of it

- he definitely covered up his freckles when he was younger yeah…

- he’s really sleep deprived most of the day because he has specific sleeping circumstances that are rarely met . he’s a light sleeper (so kai’s snoring wakes him up), he shocks himself awake frequently, and he has to be hugging something to sleep soundly … when sleeping inevitably fails him he stumbles into the living room to game until everyone wakes up. caffeine only gets him so far (and makes him jittery and anxious, at that) so he exhausts himself faster than the others

- he’s a nail biter . so much so that sometimes his fingers start bleeding and he doesn’t understand why until he sees that he’s chewed them raw

- his metal arm on his zx suit is there to prevent him from breaking his arm when he’s swinging his nunchucks (though this might be canon? i can’t remember) . he doesn’t have great spacial awareness …..

- he actually has a really great sense of fashion , he just doesn’t go shopping often enough , nor does he do laundry much , so he scavenges through his clean clothes to find what he can .

- walks into walls so often he has random bruises on his body that he doesn’t even remember getting . similarly, he trips over stuff a lot. sometimes the air ??

- his physical pain tolerance is abnormally high . he once tumbled down an escalator while out shopping with kai and nya . got up and dusted himself off like it was nothing (embarrassment and adrenaline probably fueled it, too).

- he has really great hearing (even he’s actually paying attention) . whispers don’t sound like whispers to him . but his ears are so sensitive that even remotely loud noises can actually make him flinch and cry

- idk i hc that he was probably bullied in njc whenever he visited

- he likes most movies , even really bad ones .

- his poetry is … actually not very good . he just kind of writes what he thinks poetry is supposed to sound like . it’s eloquent , sure , but usually it lacks the emotional value that makes poetry so meaningful

- he can’t bake . he can cook , because his mom taught him , but he’s awful at baking . he never got the hang of it . he’s good at creating recipes and designs and such , but not following them

- baggy, soft fabrics all the way for him

- he’s an artist through and through … inventing is a way for him to express that , and he loves it , but he loves art in general . he’s probably got chunky sketchbooks piled high in his room and lots of unfinished woodworking projects …

- like mentioned earlier , his ego is what gets in the way of his success (he and nya are actually similar in that way, i feel). he’s the fastest learner on the team but he’s quick to give up where the others don’t , even if his advice actually helps them

- he doesn’t think he is, but he’s actually really helpful to his loved ones . he does anything and everything he can to make them happy . he’ll cook for them or build them new contraptions , draw them things , fix anything they want him to … he kind of sucks with his words because he’s so used to lying that acts of service are his go-to when he wants to show how much he loves someone

- this is a relatively common one , but the team didn’t drop him as an engineer because the others were better than him or anything like that . they all have their strengths . they dropped him as an engineer because it became clear that he didn’t like it anymore . he was burnt out . with everything going on and his favorite hobby being reduced to a chore , it just became stressful and upsetting

- he doesn’t consider himself to be sacrificial but he genuinely is . which makes it even more dangerous , because he doesn’t know that what he’s doing is unhealthy. he just deems it as something he’ll always do for those he loves (… which is why i think he’s the only one who hasn’t truly died yet . his friends know this about him and choose to protect him specifically the most)

- he honestly regrets never trying to visit his biological father when he found out that he would be dead soon . he couldn’t bring himself to do it , but now it haunts him . he’s waiting on a letter that will never arrive in the mail , just so that he can have some genuine piece of cliff in his life

- he collects seashells : )

[diorgirl444]

seven minutes of hell or dallas winston and his soc! rival are stuck playing seven minutes of heaven together

warnings: bad writing! (girlies i’ve never kissed anyone or flirted so my expression only comes from writing fanfiction so it may not be the most realistic i’m afraid), fem! reader, very self indulgent, i’m also aware that realistically socs and greasers probably wouldn’t be round the curtis brothers house together but like if you wanted realism you wouldn’t be be reading dallas winston fanfiction would you considering he’s canonically dead lol 😭, weak ending, 903 words <3

you’re going to strangle Cherry Valance after this. when she invited you and your other friends out for the evening not once did she think to mention that you were going to that side of town…

not that you have anything wrong with the Curtis brothers, they’re all lovely and very nice-looking. nor do you have a problem with any of their other friends who despite what you might think are all very sweet apart from the insufferable Dallas Winston. and you suppose it makes sense because if she had said that he was going then you would have spent another night reading shitty romance books alone in your bedroom. but still, there is no one you can’t stand more than Dallas Winston. he’s snarky and callous and violent - and beautiful.

yes, you’re not blind even you can recognize that he’s exactly your type but he pushed your buttons like nothing else with the way he patronizingly calls you “princess” and takes every opportunity to drive you absolutely up the wall. you two bicker like night and day whenever you cross paths so you honestly don’t know what Cherry was thinking. and despite that, you assumed it couldn’t get any worse. what could be worse than a party with the boy who makes you red in the face and with a desperate urge to wrap your arms around his neck and - let's not go there?

well, you were wrong anyway it can get worse and it did. because as Daryl’s taking Ponyboy to bed some wise guy (two-bit) suggests that the rest of you play seven minutes of heaven. it is quite possibly the most juvenile thing you’ve ever done and you and every intention of sitting out till surprise, surprise Dallas makes a snarky comment.

“what too good to kiss a greaser is that it princess?”

you flush angrily clearly the fact that you’re at this stupid get-together should prove that you don’t harbour any of that foolish class nonsense. you roll your eyes as you take a seat. fine, you’ll play one stupid round of this silly game you think as you spin the bottle hoping to get it over and done with. with any luck, you’ll get Johnny or something who won’t want to do anything but talk.

but no that would just be so easy so instead the Coca-Cola bottle reaches its final spot right in front of the worst person it could ever be. even he has the decency to look embarrassed with the tips of his ears tinging themselves red and taking a long swig of his beer.

“I can spin again” you shrug awkwardly not wanting to make him uncomfortable.

“you can’t cheat the bottle girly” he tells you as he sets his drink down and stands up expecting you to follow after him. you can feel everyone’s gaze on your neck as you silently walk into the small cupboard with him. you hear the click of the lock and you're plunged into total darkness. your back presses up against the wall and his tall frame awkwardly clashes against yours. you can hear him muttering various expletives under his breath. god, you’re not that bad surely. the silence is loud and awkward. you swallow heavily before speaking.

“Why do you hate me?” you ask softly before you think it through. cheeks flushing so you’re grateful for the dark.

he scoffs “You think I hate you…” he says it as if it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.

you feel insecure as you speak again, voice small and weak as you try to explain why. “well like you call me stupid things and you make fun of me and-“

he interrupts you before you continue “I call you princess 'cause you remind me of one. I wind you up because it means you look at me and you get this cute little flush on your cheeks. I don’t hate you and man I hate all that sappy stuff but I do seriously like you doll”

“wow” is all you can manage, taking in what he’s saying.

”you know this is the point where you say that you like me too sweetheart” he teases you but you’re sure theres a small twinge of insecurity in his voice and you haven’t heard a more wonderful thing in your life. he likes you.

you kiss him of course. you pull him down by the collar of his leather jacket and press your lips against his and it’s perfect. his hands wrap around your waist and he tastes like the beer and it’s perfect. you want to stay like that forever. you can hear the beach boys playing on the record play in the other room and idly you wonder why it sounds like it’s getting louder and why the room seems to have gotten brighter.

”seven minutes is up lovebirds” you hear Soda’s teasing voice ring out.

immediately you jump out of Dallas's grip like you’ve been burnt.

all your friends are gathered by the doors and are watching as Two-bit hands a dollar over to Cherry who is saying “told you they wouldn’t be able to keep their hands off each other”

before you can say anything else Dallas snaps at them that the games are over and he shuts the door plunging you into two obscurity again as he pulls you in.

“eager are we?” you say laughing against his lips.

“very” he says faux seriously before kissing you again.

you decide that you’re eager too.

hope you like it! xoxo, flo <3

[vividraft]

fading remembrance ✧˖*°࿐

⇢ ˗ˏˋ gn!reder x xiao, wanderer, kazuha (seperate)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ summary: he was there with you when you spent your last moments on earth. but living without you was never something he could have ever imagined

⇢ ˗ˏˋ important notes: this is a repost from my old account (@/rainstops)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ a/n: I reformatted this post while i was watching aitsuki nakurus life stream... her speaking voice is so nice she sounds like kiritani haruka

old posts masterlist tba !

whenever xiao ordered almond tofu at any restaurant, it always tasted the same. even when he cooked it himself. it always had the same taste. The tofu being as bland as tofu usually is, and the dish tasting sweet and like almonds. just what you would expect almond tofu to be. nothing more and nothing less.

but when you appeared in his life, xiao found out you liked cooking. and when you found out that almond tofu was his favorite dish, you immediately went out of your way to learn how to make almond tofu. knowing that xiao ate it a lot, you asked him if he could taste it. xiao did what you asked him to. but what he did not expect was that the almond tofu tasted different. not in a bad way, but whenever you cooked it, it tasted like you had put your emotions onto a plate. like a little piece of joy, you served xiao. It was the first time, xiao could for sure say that he enjoyed something. but the word 'enjoy' did not feel like it was enough to describe the way he felt. 

He loved the dish, he loved how skilled you were at cooking it, but most of all, he loved you. 

and you loved him too. 

you loved him as long as you could. you loved him, before the passing of time took your life. xiao loved you a lot longer than just that. He loved everything about you. He loved the way you would smile at him, because you gave him a different smile you gave your friends, your family or strangers. 

When his immortality kept him right where he was, he realized how frozen in time he felt. for you everything moved on so quickly, and soon it was over. xiaos days remained the same old and blank routine before you showed up, and it returned to being the same when you left. but after your death, everything seemed to be so heavy. his eyelids, his arms, his legs, his head, but especially his heart. 

He searched all across teyvat, for a person, a restaurant or anyone, who could cook almond tofu the exactly way you did. He wanted to taste it again, even if it was just once more. 

he despaired when he couldn't find a way to make his favorite dish taste the way you made it taste, but his whole world crumbled only then, when he realized he couldn't remember how it tasted. he stopped counting the days and the nights he spend living, because why would it matter if he was slowly forgetting you?

he used to do it, so he could remember your birthday, or your anniversary, or any day that was special to you. but now you are gone, and xiaos memories are leaving as well.

-

venti wrote many songs in his life. many of them telling stories, but just as many of them just there to sound pretty. 

but then when you showed up, he had someone to write songs for. He wrote them about you, and for you. and you sang the songs together. 

venti loved your voice. your voice was the best part of his songs. to him, it sounded like an angel's voice.

not only your singing voice, but your voice in general. it made his heart beat so fast, it nearly sprang out of his chest. Whenever you greeted him with a smile on your face, it was like all his worries and problems disappeared into thin air.

maybe he took it for granted. Maybe he expected to be able to wake up everyday and sing in the kitchen with you while preparing breakfast together. Maybe he just thought you could sing him to sleep every night.

Well it so happened that that was not the case.

a member of the fatui took your life, and your angelic voice right with it. venti was there. venti was there, when the knife of the fatui found your back. the next moments were a mere blur to venti. He remembers getting rid of the fatui, and in the following moments, he held you in his arms, pleading to be able to hear your voice again.

he mumbled something along the lines of healing you, but you told him that it was too late. it was you who spoke those words, with the voice he loved so much. you lifted a hand to his cheek, and said the three words he loved hearing from you so much. a tear left his eye and fell right under your eye, on your cheek, making it look like it was a tear of your own. He held you in his arms tightly, like it could prevent you from leaving the world.

That was when you spoke your last words. 

'Thank you' they were. 

thank you? What were you thanking him for?

your eyes closed, and the smile you had on your face the last moments before your death left. your hand slowly sank from his face, and he held your hand. 

your hands were usually cold, but this time it bothered him. this time it felt like it was only pointing towards your death.

-

The wanderer never held much appreciation for the people around him. that was until you came around. it was like you could see right through him, and his facade. like you could see the way he crumbled on the inside, not knowing how to handle his own emotions.

He loved the way you held his hand. your warm hand felt very relaxing against his usual cold one. often you would play with them as well. whenever he was having an especially hard day, because some people kept annoying him, you'd sit down with him. his head in your lap while you were massaging one of his hands. you'd listen carefully as he talks about the people that would annoy him throughout the day. at the end, you would give him a kiss on the forehead. although often enough he'd already been asleep by then.

but you seemed to know him better than he knew himself. you knew what he needed and when he needed it. Whenever he was about to explode from anger, you hugged him, since you seem to very well know that all the anger is built up from all the things that happened to him.

a tear fell as you held scaramouche close to you. one hand around his body, and the other on the back of his head, as his head was resting on your shoulder. the tears were wetting your shoulder but you didn't mind. you would do anything to make scaramouche happy again.

another tear fell, another one, and another one. but this time it was the day you died.

with widened eyes you dropped to the floor on your knees, scaramouche caught you before you could drop to the floor. a singular tear fell from your eye as well.

scaramouche held your body tightly against his, as if you would disappear if he would let go. In this scenario, this was the case, but no matter how close he'd hold you, there was nothing he could do.

he held you the way you did it, everytime he was upset. with an arm around your body, and a hand on the back of your head, while your head was laying against his shoulder.

'i can't breathe scaramouche. i'm scared'

were the last words you spoke, before your eyes slowly closed.

scaramouche had never cried that much in his life. not when he was betrayed so often, not when his mother threw him out like he was nothing, and not whenever you would comfort him.

scaramouches chest filled with regret. he wishes he would have been there for you at least as much as he was there for you. he wishes he bought you more presents for even just putting up with him. he wishes he would have just gotten over his ego and thanked you. he would do all those things and so much more, just so he could repay you.

-

you remember the day so clearly, when kazuha confessed his love to you. his usually so casual demeanor was all gone, as his hands were shaking while holding a piece of paper. his face was bright red and his voice was shaking and cracking up, as he recited his self written poem for you. When he was done he wished for the earth to open up and swallow him whole.

when you started giggling he thought you were laughing at him. he didn't dare to look up at you, his gaze was only burning holes into the floor.

but when he really tensed up was when you jumped at him and threw your arms over his shoulders.

ever since then, kazuha had written so many poems for you, and you had stored them all very carefully. one after another.

one time for his birthday, you tried writing him one, and although it wasn't the best, he treasured it like nothing else.

but also he treasured you.

for your one year anniversary you gifted him an old gramophone. you weren't sure if he was really going to like it, but he adored it.

ever since that day, most evenings were spent dancing to music, time passing so much faster than it seemed. your hands were locked and one of kazuhas hands was resting on your waist. one of his hands went through your hair.

On the first day you danced with him, he realized how much he needed you. you were his light, his hope, his everything. it's why he calls you 'his star'

Unfortunately, every star dies one day.

if you would ask him, his star died way too early.

On the night your light faded, a shooting star crossed the sky. kazuha knows you're only supposed to make one wish, but all of them crossed his mind at once. he wished he could dance with you again, he wish his fingers could make his way through your soft hair once more, he wished he could gift you more poems he wrote, and watch your eyes light up like the night sky does when the stars start glowing.

his breath hitched when he felt your hand touch his cheek once more. you gave him a last smile, and a tear rolled down your cheek. your hand fell from his cheek, but kazuha caught it mid air, and he held it to his chest.

later, a poem could be found on your grave.

in a moment of sorrow,

please let me borrow, 

your healing light once more,

before i am found at our seashore.

It was the last poem he ever wrote.