#yeah let’s shake things up a little more

[ari-ana-bel-la]

omg can you write one for Lewis where he makes a special helmet with some of the drawings his daughter has made for him, his helmet ends up having stars rainbows etc

A Helmet full of Art

The moment Lewis became a father, he knew nothing would ever matter more to him than his little girl, Yn. At just three years old, she had already captured his entire heart, filling his life with laughter, tiny hugs, and endless chatter about her favorite things. She was a bright little spark—curious, loving, and always eager to create something new.

And lately, that "something new" had been drawings.

Lewis had first noticed it when Yn would sit at the coffee table, her tiny tongue sticking out in concentration as she held a crayon in her chubby hands, dragging colors across the page with uncontainable enthusiasm. At first, her drawings were just a mix of squiggles and chaotic rainbows, but over time, they started to resemble actual things—flowers, cats, and even an attempt at drawing both of them together.

"Look, Daddy!" she'd exclaim every time she finished. "This one’s you and me!"

And every single time, Lewis' heart melted.

He was the kind of father who supported Yn in anything she wanted to do. If she decided tomorrow that she wanted to be an astronaut, he’d find her a tiny space suit. If she wanted to become a ballerina, he’d be at every recital. So when he saw how much she adored drawing, he went all in—buying her the best colored pencils, sketchbooks, and even a little artist’s apron.

But what he hadn’t expected was how much her drawings would come to mean to him. He kept every single one. The rainbow she had drawn with colors that didn’t quite follow the traditional order. The cat that had oddly shaped whiskers but still looked adorable. The one of them together, with his curly hair drawn way too big and Yn’s little stick-figure self holding his hand. The flowers and bees that she had proudly declared were for him because "you like flowers, Daddy!"

So when the time came for his first home race as a Ferrari driver, Lewis wanted his helmet to be special.

And there was only one thing that felt right.

The paddock was buzzing with anticipation. It was Lewis’ first home race wearing Ferrari red, and everyone knew he’d do something big. But no one expected what he revealed when he stepped into the garage on Friday.

"Alright, guys," Lewis said, grinning as he pulled the cover off his new helmet. "Meet my new favorite helmet ever."

The garage fell silent for a moment. Then—

"Oh my god," Charles breathed out, stepping closer. "Are these… Yn’s drawings?"

Lewis beamed. "Yep."

The helmet was a masterpiece. Instead of his usual bright yellow, it was now a canvas filled with his daughter’s art. Her rainbow stretched across the top, her wobbly cat drawing sat proudly on one side, the flowers and bees covered another part, and right at the back, a big, bold drawing of them together. It was messy, colorful, and absolutely perfect.

"You actually put them on your helmet," Carlos said, grinning. "Man, that’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen."

"She loves drawing," Lewis explained, running his fingers over the helmet. "And I love everything she makes. I wanted her to be part of this weekend somehow, and this felt right."

Oscar, who had just arrived, let out a low whistle. "This might be the most wholesome thing I’ve ever seen in F1."

Pierre nudged Max. "Admit it, even you think this is cute."

Max rolled his eyes but smirked. "Yeah, yeah, it's cute. Not as cute as my cats, though."

Lando burst out laughing. "I swear, you and your cats—"

"But seriously," George interrupted, shaking his head in admiration. "This is incredible, mate. I bet Yn’s gonna freak out when she sees it."

"She hasn't seen it yet," Lewis admitted. "I wanted it to be a surprise."

And oh, he couldn’t wait to see her reaction.

Later that afternoon, after all the practice sessions, Lewis finally had time to call home. He was sitting in the Ferrari motorhome, holding his phone in his hands, waiting for the call to connect.

The moment the screen lit up, Yn’s bright little face appeared, her curls bouncing as she gasped.

"Daddy!" she squealed. "Hi hi hi!"

"Hey, baby," Lewis grinned. "I’ve got a surprise for you."

Yn's eyes widened. "A 'prise? For me?"

Lewis laughed, turning his phone camera around to show his helmet. "Look at this, baby. Do you recognize these drawings?"

For a second, there was silence. Then, an excited shriek.

"THAT’S MINE! THAT’S MY DRAWINGS!" Yn shouted, practically bouncing. "Daddy, you put them on your hat!"

"Helmet, baby," Lewis chuckled, his heart swelling at her excitement. "But yeah, I did! Now, when I race this weekend, I’ll have you with me."

Yn clapped her hands together, eyes shining. "I love it! I love it, I love it, I love it!"

On the other side of the call, Yn’s grandmother laughed. "Lewis, you’ve just made her entire year."

"That was the plan," he said, winking.

Yn leaned close to the camera, her tiny hands gripping the screen. "Win with my pictures, Daddy!"

Lewis smiled softly. "I���ll try my best, baby girl. Just for you."

When Lewis walked into the paddock on Saturday with his helmet under his arm, the cameras instantly caught sight of it. And within minutes, social media exploded.

@F1: Lewis Hamilton’s helmet this weekend is covered in his 3-year-old daughter’s drawings, and we’re not crying, you are.

@SkySportsF1: Lewis dedicates his home race helmet to his daughter Yn, featuring her personal artwork. A touching tribute from the seven-time champion.

The media went crazy over it. Every journalist wanted to ask about it, every interview started with the same question:

"Tell us about your helmet this weekend, Lewis."

And every time, Lewis proudly explained.

"Yn loves drawing, and I love everything she makes," he said during a press conference. "I wanted to do something special for my first home race with Ferrari, and there was nothing more special than this. It’s my way of carrying her with me on track."

The fans adored it. In the grandstands, they held up signs with her drawings, and Ferrari even arranged for a little sketchbook to be placed in the garage for Yn to "design" future helmets.

By Sunday, it wasn’t just a helmet—it was a symbol of love.

As Lewis strapped himself into the car, he ran a hand over his helmet one last time.

"For you, baby girl," he murmured.

And then, with the whole world watching, he raced.

He raced with his daughter’s rainbow on his head, with her flowers and bees bringing color to the Ferrari red, with her little cat keeping him company through every turn.

And when he crossed the finish line in P1, the first thing he did after climbing out of the car was point to his helmet.

That night, when he called home again, Yn’s excited squeal nearly burst his eardrums.

"You did it, Daddy! My pictures won!"

Lewis laughed, feeling his heart swell. "Yeah, baby. We did it together."

And as far as he was concerned, that made this the most special win of his career.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-💙🦋

[rafes-slut]

Making It Better

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Pregnant!You

Summary: You were almost at the end of your third trimester, and the hormones were making you insatiably needy. No matter what you did, you just couldn't get the relief you so desperately craved. With Rafe out of the house, you tried to take care of yourself, but nothing worked. Frustrated and on the verge of tears, you were ready to give up—until he came home. And when he saw the state you were in, there was no way he was leaving you unsatisfied.

Warnings: Smut, fingering, gentle pregnancy sex, overstimulation, dirty talk, mild frustration, Rafe being extra attentive, soft!Rafe moments, mild language.

You let out a frustrated sigh, your head dropping back against the pillows as you stared up at the ceiling. Your skin was hot, your thighs clenched together, and no matter how many times you tried, you just couldn't get yourself off. It wasn’t for lack of trying—your fingers had been between your legs for what felt like forever, rubbing, pressing, circling, but nothing was working. You were desperate, needy, and irritated beyond belief.

The hormones were ruining you.

Your belly was swollen, stretched with the life you and Rafe had created, and while the idea of being this close to meeting your baby should’ve been the only thing on your mind, all you could focus on was the throbbing between your legs.

Tears of frustration welled up in your eyes as you let out a small whimper, rubbing your thighs together. It was killing you.

Where the hell was Rafe?

You reached for your phone, checking the time. He said he wouldn’t be gone long, but it had been over an hour. You considered calling him, but what were you supposed to say? Come home and fuck me because I’m about to lose my mind?*

You sighed again, tossing the phone aside and shifting on the bed, trying one more time. Your fingers slipped between your legs, pressing into your soaked heat, but it still wasn’t enough. Your body craved something more—stronger, deeper, something only Rafe could give you.

And as if the universe had heard your plea, the front door opened.

You barely had a second to react before you heard his footsteps, heavy and sure, making their way toward your shared bedroom. You quickly pulled the covers up over your body, biting your lip, but it was too late. Rafe pushed the door open, stepping inside with a cocky smirk.

“Hey, pretty girl—” He stopped mid-sentence, blue eyes narrowing as they swept over you. His gaze flicked from the slight flush on your cheeks to the way you shifted under the blankets. His smirk widened, and you knew immediately that he knew.

Rafe knew you too damn well.

His head tilted, eyes darkening as he walked closer, dropping his keys on the dresser. “What were you doing, huh?” His voice was teasing, but there was an edge of amusement there too. “You look a little… frustrated.”

You turned your face into the pillow, groaning. “Rafe—”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” The bed dipped under his weight as he crawled onto it, pulling the covers down before you could protest. His gaze dropped to where your thighs were pressed together, and he let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Poor baby,” he murmured, reaching out to stroke a hand over your belly before trailing it down between your legs. “Can’t get yourself off, can you?”

You whimpered as his fingers pressed against your soaked panties, teasing you through the fabric. Your hips lifted instinctively, chasing the touch, and Rafe let out a low groan.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he muttered, pulling your panties down in one swift motion. “Been laying here like this all by yourself? Getting all worked up with no one to take care of you?”

You nodded weakly, already panting as his fingers slipped through your folds, spreading your wetness. “It—it wasn’t working,” you admitted, voice shaky.

“Mm,” Rafe hummed, leaning in to press a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. “Good thing I’m here, huh?”

You barely had time to respond before his fingers found your clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles. A gasp tore from your throat as your body jerked, relief crashing over you like a tidal wave.

“That’s it,” Rafe murmured, watching you closely. “Feels better when I do it, doesn’t it?”

You nodded frantically, hands gripping the sheets as he worked you over with practiced ease. His fingers dipped lower, slipping inside you, stretching you gently as he curled them just right, hitting that spot that had you seeing stars.

“Rafe—oh my God—”

“That’s my girl,” he praised, pressing kisses along your jaw as his fingers moved faster. “So fucking tight. Can’t wait to be inside you.”

The build-up was fast—faster than it had ever been when you were trying to do it yourself. Your body was desperate for release, and Rafe knew exactly how to push you over the edge.

And when he did, when your orgasm finally hit, it was like a dam breaking. Your body tensed, then shattered, pleasure washing over you in waves as you cried out his name.

Rafe groaned, pulling his fingers from you and sucking them into his mouth, his eyes dark with hunger. “Fuck, baby, you taste so good.”

You barely had time to recover before he was positioning himself between your legs, gripping his cock and running the tip through your soaked folds.

“Think you can take me?” he murmured, rubbing the head against your sensitive clit.

You whimpered, nodding. “Please, Rafe.”

That was all he needed.

He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you in the best way possible. You gasped, back arching, and Rafe groaned, gripping your hips.

“F*ck, you feel so good,” he muttered, pressing kisses along your throat. “So tight—taking me so well.”

He kept his movements slow, deep, making sure not to put too much pressure on your belly. His hands caressed your body, soothing and possessive, holding you close as he rocked into you.

You clung to him, moaning into his shoulder, your body already on the verge of another orgasm. The pleasure was overwhelming, heightened by how desperate you had been, and it didn’t take long before you were falling apart again.

Rafe groaned at the way you clenched around him, his movements faltering as he reached his own peak. He buried his face in your neck, letting out a low, breathless moan as he spilled inside you, holding you impossibly close.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Then Rafe lifted his head, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “Feel better now, pretty girl?”

You let out a contented sigh, nodding as you nuzzled into his chest. “Much better.”

Rafe smirked, brushing a hand over your belly. “Good. ‘Cause next time, you call me before you get all worked up like that, got it?”

You laughed softly, already feeling sleep creeping in. “Got it.”

Rafe kissed your forehead, pulling you close. “That’s my girl.”

[odileeclipse]

In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 6

<<<Previous Next>>>

The sun felt like it was shining more brightly today, you hadn’t even realized you were smiling.

Professor Almond Cookie’s voice droned on, his chalk tapping rhythmically against the board as he worked through another intricate magical theorem. Normally, you would’ve been struggling to keep up, your notes a frantic mess of half-understood scribbles and desperate attempts to make sense of it all. But today? Today felt… different. Maybe it was the fact that, for once, you actually understood the material. Or perhaps it was the lingering satisfaction of yesterday’s study session the way Shadow Milk Cookie had walked you through his research, answering your questions without outright dismissing you. Or it was just the sheer novelty of not feeling completely lost in class for once. Whatever the reason, you found yourself nodding along, absorbing the lesson with a sense of ease you hadn’t experienced before. You weren’t just bracing for the inevitable wave of confusion. You were actually following along. It was such an unfamiliar feeling that you hadn’t even noticed the small, contented smile on your face. At least, not until Professor Almond Cookie’s voice suddenly cut through the lecture. “Well, someone looks rather pleased with themselves today,” he commented, his sharp eyes flicking toward you. Your entire body tensed. The murmuring of students around you made it clear that you weren’t the only one who had noticed. A few curious glances were thrown your way, some amused, some confused. You could practically hear Chai Latte Cookie stifling a giggle from somewhere behind you. Heat crept up your face as you quickly tried to school your expression into something more neutral. “I-uh-um…just” you stammered, scrambling for an excuse. “It’s a nice day?” A few students chuckled. Professor Almond Cookie gave you an unimpressed look before sighing. “As long as that ‘nice day’ includes understanding this formula, then by all means, continue smiling.”

You gave a weak, awkward laugh. “Y-yeah, of course.” Professor Almond Cookie shook his head and returned to the lesson, and the class gradually settled again. But for the rest of the lecture, you found yourself a little more aware of the way your expression betrayed your thoughts. Not that you could help it. Because as much as you tried to brush it off, you couldn’t quite shake the satisfaction of actually knowing what was going on for once. As soon as class let out, you barely had time to gather your notes before Chai Latte Cookie sidled up beside you, her eyes practically gleaming with mischief. "So," she began, stretching out the word as she leaned in ever so slightly. "Are we going to talk about that?" You blinked, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder. "Talk about what?" Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie, who had been lazily packing up his things, let out a small huff of amusement. "You were grinning like you’d just discovered the meaning of life." "I was not grinning," you defended, though even you weren’t convinced by your own words. Earl Grey Cookie, ever the composed one, simply adjusted his glasses and gave you a thoughtful look. "You did seem rather… pleased during the lecture. A stark contrast from your usual expressions of despair." You frowned. "Wow. Thanks for that." Chai Latte Cookie giggled, linking her arm with yours as you all made your way toward the hallway. "Oh, don’t be so grumpy! It’s cute seeing you happy for once." You groaned, rolling your eyes. "I was just… following along with the lesson, that’s all. I actually understood what was going on for once. Isn’t that enough of a reason to smile?"

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie raised a skeptical brow. "I mean, yeah, but this-" he gestured vaguely toward you "was something else." "I don’t know what you’re talking about," you muttered, picking up your pace slightly. "Oh, I do," Chai Latte Cookie chimed, a grin spreading across her face. You froze for a half-second before cautiously glancing her way. "…What are you implying?" Chai Latte Cookie’s grin only widened. "I’m just saying," she began, voice light and teasing, "that someone has been spending a lot of time with a certain very renowned scholar lately." Your stomach dropped. "No." "Yes," she countered immediately, her voice practically dripping with glee. "Absolutely not," you insisted. "Absolutely yes." You groaned again, face heating up against your will. "That has nothing to do with this!" Chai Latte Cookie feigned deep contemplation. "Hmm. I don’t know… You have been smiling a lot more ever since your little tutoring sessions started. And we all know how captivating the Sage of Truth can be…"

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snorted. "He is kind of hard to ignore." "You guys are ridiculous," you said, pressing a hand to your forehead. Chai Latte Cookie merely gave you a knowing look. "Oh, come on, I’m just teasing! Unless, of course…" She trailed off, watching you expectantly. You let out an exasperated sigh. "I am not smiling because of him." Earl Grey Cookie chuckled, shaking his head. "They do protest quite a bit, don’t they?" "Right?" Chai Latte Cookie beamed. You groaned for what felt like the hundredth time, covering your face with your hands. "I swear it’s just because I actually understood class today! That’s all! No great mystery, no hidden meaning, just me finally grasping something for once in my life!" Chai Latte Cookie patted your arm sympathetically. "Mhm. Whatever you say." You huffed, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a response. But even as the conversation shifted and your friends moved on to other topics, you couldn’t quite shake the tiny flicker of warmth in your chest. As you all walked through the winding halls of Blueberry Yogurt Academy, the conversation drifted from playful teasing to more mundane topics, assignments, upcoming exams, and rumors about the latest bizarre experiment gone wrong in the Regretful Alchemist’s laboratory. Still, no matter how much you tried to push it aside, that warmth in your chest lingered. The memory of Shadow Milk Cookie’s measured voice, the way he had indulged your questions rather than dismissing them, the rare glint of amusement in his eyes when you had stumbled over your words, it all lingered in your mind far longer than you were willing to admit.

You weren’t smiling because of him. You weren’t. You were just… relieved. That was it. Relieved that, for once, you hadn’t felt completely lost. That, despite your missteps and distractions, Shadow Milk Cookie had still guided you back on course, patient as ever. That his words, refined and precise, had somehow begun to make sense to you in a way they never had before. It was just relief. That’s all. "And there they go again," Chai Latte Cookie murmured, breaking you from your thoughts. You blinked, looking up to see all three of your friends watching you with varying degrees of amusement. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie leaned back slightly, arms crossed. "They were definitely thinking about him just now." "I was not!" Earl Grey Cookie sighed, adjusting his glasses. "Perhaps we should focus on more pressing matters. Like the essay due at the end of the week?" You latched onto the change of subject like a lifeline. "Yes! Exactly! That’s important!" Chai Latte Cookie gave you a look that made it clear she wasn’t fooled in the slightest, but mercifully, she let it go. For now. "Fine, fine," she relented with a dramatic sigh. "But one day, you’re going to admit it." "There’s nothing to admit," you shot back immediately. Chai Latte Cookie merely smiled knowingly. You quickened your pace, pretending not to hear the quiet laughter behind you. Getting to the alchemy lab was not difficult Hazelnut Biscotti and Earl Grey parted ways with you. Chai latte clinging to your side.

The alchemy classroom hummed with quiet anticipation, the scent of charred herbs and alchemical residue thick in the air. You barely registered the professor’s words as you copied down the instructions written on the board, your focus narrowed to the familiar rhythm of ink against parchment. Today’s lab was supposed to be more dangerous than usual, some kind of volatile reaction that required extra precautions. You understood that much. But beyond that, your attention remained fixed on transcribing formulas, ensuring you didn’t miss a single step. If anything went wrong, it wouldn’t be because of careless note-taking.

Chai Latte Cookie, sitting beside you, nudged your arm lightly. "You should look up," she murmured. You frowned, still writing. "Why?" A pause. Then, quieter, almost careful  "Because you’ll want to see this." Something in her tone made you hesitate. Slowly, you lifted your head. The doors to the classroom had opened, and a procession of scholars entered, their presence commanding immediate attention. Their robes were fine, embroidered with sigils of knowledge and alchemical mastery, their movements fluid with the quiet confidence of those accustomed to the pursuit of truth. Even without knowing their names, it was obvious these were not ordinary visitors. And then you saw him. At the center of them all, standing as if he belonged to a world just slightly above this one, was the Sage of Truth. Ornate robes of pale blue and gold draped over his frame, each fold and embellishment arranged with deliberate elegance. The patterns woven into the fabric seemed almost celestial like the swirling paths of constellations mapped onto cloth. His hat, large and elaborately designed, cast a subtle shadow over his face, but it did nothing to diminish the intensity of his gaze.

Your breath caught in your throat. Shadow Milk Cookie had an undeniable presence, one that didn’t need to be announced. The scholars beside him seemed almost secondary, as though their prestige dimmed in comparison to his quiet authority. He wasn’t speaking, wasn’t even moving much, yet you could already feel the weight of his scrutiny, the sheer depth of knowledge that followed him like an unspoken force. You swallowed. Chai Latte Cookie gave you a sidelong glance, but she didn’t tease. "I told you," she simply said. You barely heard her. Professor Star Anise cleared his throat, drawing the class’s attention back. "Today, you will be paired with one of these esteemed scholars for guidance. I expect your full cooperation." He glanced at his list. "Now then…" Names were called. Students hesitantly stepped forward to meet their assigned mentors, each movement charged with restrained nerves. And then "Ah." The professor’s gaze landed on you. "You will be under the Sage of Truth’s supervision today." A quiet stillness settled over you. You didn’t move, didn’t react right away. You only felt the weight of the words settle over you like an inevitability one you weren’t quite ready for. Chai Latte Cookie exhaled softly. Not in amusement, but in something gentler. Understanding. You swallowed again and slowly rose to your feet.

Your fingers curled around the edge of your desk as you willed yourself to speak up again, despite the nervous weight pressing down on your chest. “Professor?” Your voice was quiet, but it still managed to carry through the murmurs of the class. Professor Star Anise glanced up, his expression patient. “Yes?” You swallowed, forcing yourself to push past the hesitation. “If-If we’re working with the scholars, does that mean we won’t be with our usual lab partners?” The professor gave a thoughtful nod. “That’s correct. Given the complexity of today’s reactions, I’ve assigned you to scholars who can best assist you.” You hesitated, shifting slightly in your seat. “Would it… would it be possible for my partner to stay with me? We usually work together, and-” You hesitated again, feeling the weight of eyes on you. “I just think it might be easier that way.” Chai Latte Cookie, seated beside you, offered the faintest reassuring smile. Professor Star Anise regarded you for a moment before exhaling through his nose. “I understand your reasoning, but I’ve made these assignments carefully.” His tone was kind, but firm. “I trust you’ll be in capable hands.”

Your stomach twisted. You already knew the answer, but hearing it confirmed made your shoulders sink slightly. “I… Okay,” you mumbled, staring down at your desk. A quiet pause. Then, a voice, smooth and unwavering. “I assure you,” The sage of truth said, his words carrying the effortless certainty he always spoke with, “you will be quite alright.” You stiffened, hands tightening slightly. You had barely even looked at him yet, too caught up in your own worries, but now there was no avoiding it. Slowly, hesitantly, you forced yourself to glance in his direction. He stood poised as ever, the flowing blues and golds of his ornate robes unruffled, his expression calm and composed. The golden key at his side caught the light as he tilted his head slightly, studying you with an unreadable gaze. The assurance in his voice wasn’t forceful, nor was it dismissive. It simply was as though any other possibility was unthinkable. Chai Latte Cookie gently nudged your arm, and you let out a quiet breath. “…Right,” you murmured, barely above a whisper. There was no room left to argue.

As you followed Shadow Milk Cookie to the designated workstation, you tried to steady your breathing. The weight of the situation pressed down on you the unfamiliar setup, the intricate formulas written across the chalkboard, the hushed murmurs of students pairing off with scholars. And, most of all, him. The Sage of Truth moved with a deliberate grace, his ornate coat trailing slightly behind him, the golden key at his side swaying with each step. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t falter, didn’t seem the least bit burdened by the sheer pressure of expectation that always seemed to surround him. Meanwhile, you could barely keep your hands from fidgeting. As the two of you arrived at the workstation, your eyes flickered to the various alchemical components laid out before you. Vials of shimmering liquids, delicate crystalline powders, and enchanted catalysts glowing faintly under the laboratory’s light. The experiment ahead was clearly complex. You exhaled slowly, then, before you could stop yourself, muttered, "Did you choose me for this, or is fate just playing some kind of sick joke on me?" Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t react immediately. He carefully adjusted the sleeves of his robe, ensuring they wouldn’t interfere with the materials before him. Then, in that same measured, ever-assured voice, he replied, “Ah. An inquiry about destiny’s hand in our arrangement.” He turned slightly, and for the first time since you’d been paired together, truly looked at you. His gaze was unreadable somewhere between amused and thoughtful. “Do you believe fate conspires against you?” You hesitated, suddenly regretting asking at all. “It certainly feels that way sometimes.” He hummed, as though considering your words carefully. Then, with the smallest trace of something almost teasing though still draped in his usual scholarly refinement he added, “If I had chosen you, would that be more or less distressing?” You nearly choked on air. “That’s-” You scrambled for a response, heat creeping up your neck. “That’s not…I just meant” Shadow Milk Cookie let out a quiet, knowing hum. “I see.” Then, as if the conversation had already been neatly wrapped up, he gestured toward the materials before you. “Come. We have work to do.” You swallowed hard, trying to push past the lingering flustered feeling. Whether fate was playing a cruel joke or not, you had no choice but to endure.

You hesitated for only a moment before stepping after him, keeping just a half-step behind as he guided you toward the workstation. The weight of the situation should have been pressing on your mind the delicate nature of the alchemical reactions you’d be performing, the risks involved, and the sheer importance of today’s lesson. Yet, all you could think about was him. How he carried himself with the same composed elegance as always, his long, ornate coat flowing effortlessly as he moved. The golden key at his side gleamed under the soft glow of the alchemical lamps, and his presence calm, assured, and unwavering. It was enough to make your stomach twist with nervous energy. You bit your lip before finally mustering the courage to speak. "So… you never answered my question," you said quietly, keeping your eyes on the floor as you followed him. "Did you choose me for this?" Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t falter in his step. If anything, he seemed to have anticipated your persistence. “What an intriguing notion,” he mused, tone as measured as ever. “Does the possibility unsettle you?” You frowned slightly. "That’s not an answer." He let out a soft hum, pausing briefly as he reached your workstation. Only then did he turn to face you, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "Would you prefer if I had?" he asked, his voice carrying the same careful curiosity he applied to his scholarly inquiries. “Or would the idea trouble you further?” You opened your mouth, then closed it again, unsure how to respond. Because, really what was the better answer? If he had chosen you, that meant he had seen something in you. But if he hadn’t, then that meant you were just some unlucky student swept up in an arbitrary pairing. Neither option felt particularly comforting. You swallowed. "I just want to know why." Shadow Milk Cookie studied you for a moment before finally offering a small, knowing smile. "Perhaps," he said, turning his attention to the alchemical components laid out before you, "this is an opportunity to uncover the truth for yourself."

You stared at him, feeling somehow even more flustered than before. "…That’s not an answer either," you muttered under your breath. His quiet chuckle sent warmth creeping up your spine. "Ah, but it is an invitation," he countered smoothly. "Now, shall we begin?" You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to focus. Whether he had chosen you or not, you were stuck with him now. And something told you that no matter how many questions you asked, he would always find a way to leave you with even more. You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck before finally admitting, “It’s nothing against you. It just… feels like more eyes are on me because you’re here.” Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you with quiet amusement, tilting his head slightly. “Oh? And why might that be?” You gave him a look. “You do realize you’re you, right?” His expression didn’t change, but the slight upward twitch of his lips betrayed his amusement. “An astute observation. I am, indeed, myself.” You exhaled sharply through your nose, not quite a laugh, but close. “That’s not what I meant.” You shifted uneasily, glancing around before lowering your voice. “You’re one of the most respected scholars in the Academy. Everyone looks up to you. Of course they’re going to be paying more attention.” You hesitated, then admitted, “It makes me nervous.”

Shadow Milk Cookie was silent for a beat, watching you with an unreadable expression. Then, in a tone softer than before, he said, “I see.” You weren’t sure what you expected him to say after that, but he didn’t push further. He simply observed, waiting for what, you weren’t sure. Maybe for you to say more. Or for you to process your own thoughts. And against your better judgment, you did say more. “…But,” you continued hesitantly, eyes fixed on the alchemical components before you, “if I had to be paired with a high-ranking scholar… I think I’m a little glad it’s you.” That seemed to surprise him, if only slightly. “Oh?” You nodded, though you still couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. “Anyone else would have been way more intimidating. At least” You hesitated before forcing yourself to say it. “At least I know you’re patient.” A brief silence stretched between you, and for a moment, you worried you’d said too much. “Patience is merely the willingness to uncover truth at its own pace,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “And if truth requires time, then who am I to rush it?” You finally glanced up at him, unsure what you’d find in his expression. But there was no judgment, no unreadable amusement, just quiet understanding. You exhaled, some of your tension easing. “…Alright,” you murmured, glancing at the alchemical setup once more. “Let’s get started.” At least the weight of the watching eyes didn’t feel quite as suffocating.

You took a steadying breath as you turned your attention to the experiment before you. The alchemical setup gleamed under the warm glow of the enchanted lamps overhead. Delicate glassware, vials of shimmering liquids, and carefully measured ingredients laid out with meticulous precision. Shadow Milk Cookie moved with practiced ease, adjusting a few instruments before glancing at you. “We will begin with the base mixture. Would you care to measure the powdered lunar salt?” You hesitated, then nodded, reaching for the container. Your hands were steady, mostly, but the weight of expectation still pressed on you. Carefully, you scooped out the precise amount, adding it to the main flask where a pale, viscous solution swirled. A quiet hum of approval came from your partner. “Good. Now, we must introduce the catalyst.” You watched as he retrieved a small vial of deep blue liquid…something rare, no doubt. When he uncorked it, the scent of frost and starlight filled the air, tinged with a metallic edge. “The key is controlled diffusion,” he explained, lifting a delicate stirring rod. “Too much at once, and the reaction will destabilize.” You swallowed, watching closely as he poured the catalyst in a slow, deliberate stream, swirling the mixture with measured movements. The liquid inside the flask pulsed faintly, then settled into a mesmerizing gradient of gold and blue. “Your turn,” he said, stepping back slightly to allow you space.

You reached for the rod, hyper-aware of how close he was as you mimicked his motions. The swirling liquid responded in kind, shimmering under the alchemical lights. For a moment, you forgot the audience. Forgot the weight of being watched. It was just you, the experiment, and the guidance of the scholar beside you. Then a sudden shift. The mixture in the flask flickered, deepening into a shade it shouldn’t be. You stiffened. “…That’s not right, is it?” you asked, barely above a whisper. Shadow Milk Cookie’s gaze remained steady. “It is… unexpected,” he admitted. “But not unmanageable.” Your breath caught as the flask began to vibrate slightly, unstable energy coursing through it. Your instinct was to pull back to stop but his voice, calm and unwavering, cut through your panic. “Focus,” he said. “Balance the reaction. Slowly, now.” You nodded, heart hammering, and adjusted your movements just as he had shown you. Gradually, the instability eased, the mixture settling back into a controlled glow. You exhaled deeply, barely realizing you had been holding your breath. Shadow Milk Cookie studied you for a moment before offering a small nod. “Well done.” You blinked at him, still processing. “I… almost messed that up.” “And yet, you corrected it,” he countered smoothly. “That is what matters.” You hesitated, then let out a breathy, nervous chuckle. “…Thanks.” A flicker of something passed through his expression approval, perhaps? Whatever it was, he merely inclined his head before turning his focus back to the experiment.  You took another steadying breath before glancing at Shadow Milk Cookie. “What next?”

He studied the flask for a moment, the swirling colors reflected in his golden eyes. Then, with the same measured composure he always carried, he gestured toward a small container filled with crystalline fragments. “Next, we introduce the stabilizing agent. Starshard resin highly reactive, but essential for balancing the mixture’s volatility.” You nodded, reaching for the container. As you did, you hesitated, glancing at him for confirmation. “How much?” “A single shard will suffice,” he answered. “Too much, and the reaction will become inert. Too little, and the previous instability may return.” Right. No pressure. You carefully selected a shard, its surface glittering under the light. Holding it between your fingers, you hovered it over the flask, nerves prickling under your skin. You’d already nearly thrown the entire reaction off once…what if?... A gentle movement caught your eye. Shadow Milk Cookie had inclined his head ever so slightly, watching you with quiet patience. There was no exasperation, just that ever-present expectation that you could do this. You swallowed and dropped the shard in. The liquid shimmered, a soft glow pulsing outward as the colors settled into a stable gradient. The mixture no longer wavered or flickered unpredictably; instead, it swirled with a controlled, mesmerizing luminescence. A slow nod from your partner. “Excellent.” You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “That’s… good, right?” He offered the faintest smile. “Very.” Relief flooded your chest, and you allowed yourself a small, triumphant exhale. Maybe this experiment wouldn’t end in disaster after all. As the final step of the experiment settled, the solution in the flask transformed into a breathtaking metallic blue, shimmering as if tiny stars were suspended within. You stared, entranced, as the light caught the swirling liquid, making it look like an entire night sky had been condensed into the glass.

“Whoa…” The word left you in a quiet breath, eyes wide with awe. “That’s… beautiful.” Shadow Milk Cookie observed the reaction with a satisfied nod, the glow reflecting in his golden eyes. “A most pleasing result.” You hesitated for a moment before glancing at him. “What was the point of this experiment, anyway?” He tilted his head slightly, as if amused by the question. “A lesson in balance,” he said. “The components we used were all volatile in their own right. Alone, they would break down, scatter, or collapse under their own instability. Yet together, in precise measure, they created something stable something greater than the sum of their parts.” You looked back at the flask, mesmerized. “So… it was never just about creating this solution?” A quiet chuckle. “Not entirely.” Your fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the table. You weren’t sure why, but something about his words lingered in your mind, heavier than they should have. You traced a finger along the glass, watching the swirling glow. “I think I get it,” you murmured, though whether you meant the experiment or something else entirely, you weren’t sure.

You glanced around the laboratory, noting that several other groups were still deep in their experiments, some struggling with their mixtures while others cautiously double-checked their notes. You, on the other hand, were done. The shimmering blue solution in front of you felt like an accomplishment, yet now that the task was over, a strange uncertainty settled in your chest. Shifting slightly, you turned to Shadow Milk Cookie. “So… when can we go?” you asked, keeping your voice low. “Do we have to wait for everyone else to finish?” He hummed thoughtfully, glancing toward the professor, who was making rounds to observe the other students. “We have completed the task, and our results are satisfactory,” he mused. “However, it is customary to remain until the session is dismissed. There may yet be additional instruction.” You deflated slightly, though you supposed it made sense. Still, sitting here under the weight of so many glances your classmates sneaking looks at him rather than you made your skin prickle with unease. You hesitated before speaking again. “Right. Makes sense,” you said, fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve. “Guess we just… wait, then.” He glanced at you, seemingly taking note of your discomfort. “Patience,” he said, his tone lighter than usual, “is a virtue in both alchemy and scholarship.” You sighed, resting your chin on your hand. “Yeah, yeah. I’m working on it.” You exhaled softly, letting the tension in your shoulders ease as you traced a finger along the edge of the worktable. Despite the lingering weight of the classroom’s watchful eyes, you found yourself… comfortable. Maybe not entirely at ease, but far from the nervous wreck you had been when these tutoring sessions started.

Your gaze flickered toward Shadow Milk Cookie, who stood beside you with his usual composed air, observing the finished experiment with satisfaction. Your eyes drifted upward, and before you could think twice, the words slipped out. “So… your hat.” He turned to you, one brow raising ever so slightly. “My hat?” You nodded, the corners of your mouth tugging up just a little. “Yeah. It’s, uh… it’s kinda goofy.” His expression didn’t change at first, and for a split second, you wondered if you’d made a mistake. But then soft laughter. Amused, almost entertained by your observation. “Goofy, you say?” he repeated, tilting his head slightly, as if considering the idea. You nodded again, a bit bolder now. “I mean, it’s a lot of hat. But, somehow… you make it work.” His hand rose to the brim of the ornate headpiece, as if weighing your words. “A scholar’s presentation is part of their presence,” he mused, voice still carrying the traces of laughter. “A symbol of the knowledge they carry. But I admit, few would dare to call it goofy to my face.” You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head. “Guess I’m just special, then.” He regarded you for a moment, and there was something unreadable yet pleased in his expression. “Indeed,” he said softly. “You are.” The warmth that flickered in your chest caught you off guard. 

Your breath caught in your throat.

It wasn’t just the words…though those alone were enough to leave you stunned but the way he said them. So certain, so matter-of-fact, like it was the simplest truth in the world. Like you being special was something undeniable. You had admired him for so long from afar, from behind the pages of scholarly texts that quoted his insights, from lecture halls where his presence was spoken of with reverence. And now, here he was, standing beside you, speaking to you, as if you had always belonged in this space. Your lips parted slightly, but no words came. What could you possibly say? That you had spent so much time struggling, thinking you would never measure up? That you had feared he would see you as just another lost cause? That hearing those words from him made your heart stutter in a way you weren’t prepared to face? Instead, you simply stared, awe-struck, your mind blank yet full all at once. Shadow Milk Cookie observed you with quiet patience, his expression unreadable yet steady. He did not press you for a response. He did not look away. He simply waited, as if he had already seen the truth resting in your silence. And for once, silence didn’t feel like failure.

You blinked rapidly, snapping yourself out of your stunned silence. Heat crept up your neck as you scrambled to ground yourself in something anything that wasn’t the overwhelming weight of admiration threatening to root you in place. Right. Your study session. That was something normal, something expected. Something safe. "Um-our study session," you blurted out, your voice coming out a little more rushed than you intended. "We were supposed to meet today, right?" Shadow Milk Cookie tilted his head slightly, as if considering your words before offering a small shake of his head. "Not today," he said, his tone smooth but not unkind. "I am overseeing this lab throughout the day. You are not my only partner in this endeavor." For reasons you couldn’t quite place, your chest tightened at that. It made sense, of course he was an esteemed scholar, not some personal tutor at your beck and call. But hearing it phrased like that, a small, silly part of you felt… disappointed? You weren’t sure. "Oh," you said, shifting your weight slightly. "Right. That makes sense." Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you for a moment before offering something almost resembling reassurance. "Worry not," he said, clasping his hands behind his back. "We will resume our studies soon enough. But for now, I am needed here." You nodded quickly, as if to dismiss the feeling gnawing at you. "Of course. I wasn’t- I mean, I just wanted to make sure I didn’t forget or anything." The Sage of Truth hummed in acknowledgment, his gaze lingering on you for a beat longer than expected before he finally turned his attention back to the shimmering solution before you. You followed suit, exhaling quietly. You were being ridiculous. This wasn’t anything personal. You weren’t special. And yet, some irrational part of you wanted to be.

As the last group of students wrapped up their experiments, the professor strode to the front of the room, clearing their throat to signal the beginning of the lecture. The bubbling conversations and the occasional clinking of glassware died down as everyone turned their attention forward. You did the same, quickly straightening in your seat and focusing on the professor’s words. Or, at least, you tried to. As the professor began their lecture, you did your best to focus, keeping your eyes trained forward and your hands neatly folded on the desk. You had made it through the experiment without completely embarrassing yourself now you just had to survive the rest of class. Everything was going well. That is, until you noticed the faintest movement in your peripheral vision. You ignored it at first. Then, the movement happened again. A slow, deliberate flicker of motion from across the room too calculated to be accidental. Against your better judgment, you risked a quick glance. Chai Latte Cookie, seated innocently in her spot, was doing absolutely nothing suspicious. Her hands were primly folded on her desk, her expression perfectly neutral as if she were deeply engaged in the lecture. You narrowed your eyes slightly. That was when you saw it the tiniest, most imperceptible tilt of her head in your direction. You frowned. Then, she very subtly flicked her gaze toward Shadow Milk Cookie beside you. Your stomach dropped. You quickly looked forward again, pretending as though you hadn’t seen anything. She wouldn’t try anything else. Not in the middle of a lecture. Right? Wrong. A moment later, you felt something gently brush against your arm. Your breath hitched. Slowly, carefully, you glanced down. A tiny, folded scrap of paper. You shot a sharp look across the room, but Chai Latte Cookie still looked perfectly composed, her gaze fixed on the professor as if she hadn’t just somehow slipped a note across the distance between you. How did she even do that? Right teleportation magic. Something she was able to grasp so easily, you however struggled. For a few moments, you debated whether to open it at all. But, ultimately, your curiosity got the better of you. With careful fingers, you unfolded the tiny note beneath the desk. Inside, in her neat, playful handwriting, was a single sentence  So… is he even more impressive up close? Your face burned instantly. Horrified, you clenched the note in your fist and desperately resisted the urge to look in her direction. Chai Latte Cookie did not need to see your reaction. She absolutely did not need that satisfaction. Instead, you kept your eyes forward, forcing yourself to focus on the lecture, even as you knew that Chai Latte Cookie was grinning to herself across the room.

You took a slow, steady breath, keeping your expression neutral. It’s just admiration, you told yourself firmly. That’s all it’s ever been. Shadow Milk Cookie was a renowned scholar, a beacon of knowledge of truth itself. Admiring him was only natural. Anyone with an appreciation for wisdom and discovery would feel the same. Chai Latte Cookie was just being her usual self, always reading into things that weren’t there. With quiet determination, you smoothed out the crumpled note beneath the desk and discreetly tore it into tiny, unrecognizable pieces before slipping them into your pocket. If she thought she was going to get a reaction out of you, she was sorely mistaken. You squared your shoulders, fixing your gaze firmly on the professor as they continued their lecture. Nothing more. Nothing less. Just admiration.You kept your eyes trained on the professor, feigning complete focus, though you could practically feel Chai Latte Cookie’s mischievous energy radiating from across the room. It was only a matter of time before she tried something subtle enough to avoid outright scolding, but persistent enough to drive you to the edge of your patience.

And sure enough, just as you began taking notes, the first attack came. A small, folded scrap of parchment landed neatly beside your hand, so precise in its trajectory that you knew it had been aimed with great care. You hesitated. A second passed. Then two. You could ignore it. Act like you hadn’t noticed…Another piece of parchment followed, this time making a soft, deliberate tap against your elbow.

You sighed, unfolding the first one under the desk with as little movement as possible. "So... are you going to admit it yet?  ;)" You rolled your eyes and immediately began tearing the parchment into tiny, unrecognizable shreds before stuffing them into your pocket. A second later, another note landed. "Don’t think I didn’t see that smile earlier. You liiiiike hiiim~" You nearly choked on air, snapping your head up in alarm before forcing yourself to feign normalcy. Across the room, Chai Latte Cookie offered you an innocent, almost angelic smile, resting her chin on her palm like she was simply daydreaming. You shot her a glare. She only grinned wider. The worst part? You knew she wasn’t going to stop. Just as you turned back to your notes, another note slid into your peripheral vision. "It’s okay! He is very charming. Wise, elegant, strangely handsome in that ‘all-knowing scholar’ way… And that hat! Don’t even get me started on the hat" You shredded this one even faster. A soft hum of curiosity beside you made your stomach drop. "You seem rather preoccupied," Shadow Milk Cookie observed, his voice smooth and thoughtful as he turned toward you ever so slightly. "Yet I do not recall the professor’s lecture containing anything so… perplexing." Your whole body tensed as warmth crept up your neck. Oh no. Chai Latte Cookie was going to love this. "Just, uh… reviewing my notes," you lied through your teeth, quickly scribbling something down in a desperate attempt to look studious. Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you for a moment, his keen gaze unreadable beneath the brim of his elaborate hat. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Ah. Ever diligent," he mused, though there was something knowing in his tone, as if he were filing this moment away for later contemplation. "A fine quality, indeed." You forced a small, tight-lipped smile, desperately hoping that would be the end of it. It wasn’t. Because the second Shadow Milk Cookie turned his attention back to the lecture, another note landed on your lap, as if Chai Latte Cookie had been waiting for the perfect moment. "Did he just call you diligent? Ohhh, he totally likes you too." You buried your face in your hands, mentally preparing for the longest lecture of your life. Sometimes you wished she would lose the ability to read lips.

As the professor dismissed the class, you took a moment to carefully set down your notes, stealing a glance at the shimmering blue solution you had created under Shadow Milk Cookie’s guidance. The way it caught the light, glimmering like stars, still left you in awe. You turned to Shadow Milk Cookie, hesitating for just a second before inclining your head respectfully. “Thank you for your guidance today, Sage of Truth.” He regarded you with that unwavering composure of his, but there was a flicker of something in his gaze, curiosity, perhaps? It was always difficult to tell with him. “There is no need to thank me,” he said smoothly, folding his hands behind his back. “Knowledge is meant to be shared, after all. Though, I must admit, you performed admirably today.” Your breath hitched slightly at the unexpected praise. “Oh…I, um. I just followed your instructions.” He gave a thoughtful hum, tilting his head slightly. “Many can follow instructions, yet still falter in execution. But you” He gestured ever so slightly toward the completed experiment. “proved otherwise.” Your face grew warm at the compliment, and you quickly busied yourself with adjusting the strap of your bag. “Well… I had a good teacher.” At that, the Sage of Truth let out a soft chuckle, a sound so rare and fleeting you almost wondered if you had imagined it. “Flattery will not change the truth, but it is noted nonetheless.” Your heart did something strange at his words, and you nearly forgot why you had been so eager to leave the classroom in the first place. Right. Chai Latte Cookie. You straightened up, taking a small step back. “I should be going now. Thank you again, Sage of Truth.” “May the pursuit of knowledge guide your path,” he replied, his tone as composed as ever. You nodded quickly, then turned on your heel and made a beeline for the door, only to catch sight of Chai Latte Cookie already watching you with that look as she leaned against the hallway wall. Oh. Oh no. You barely had time to brace yourself before she wiggled her brows and grinned. “Soooo… how was that?” You groaned, already regretting every choice that led you to this moment.

You huffed, crossing your arms as you came to a stop in front of Chai Latte Cookie. "What was that?" Chai Latte Cookie’s grin only widened. "Oh, you know what I mean. That little moment back there." You frowned, feigning ignorance. "I have no idea what you’re talking about." Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie, who had just strolled up beside her, scoffed. "Please. What is going on now…Chai you have to stop overanalyzing everything." Chai Latte Cookie cut in, tapping her chin in mock contemplation. "let’s see…they looked awfully flustered when the Sage of Truth complimented them." You stiffened. "I was just surprised! He doesn’t exactly go around handing out praise like candy!" "Uh-huh," she said, clearly unconvinced. "And what about that tiny, little moment where you got all nervous and started fumbling with your bag?" Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snorted. You pressed your fingers to your temple, inhaling sharply. "I was just trying to be polite. It was a normal conversation, nothing more." Chai Latte Cookie gasped dramatically. "Oh, so you’re saying that anyone can make the Sage of Truth chuckle like that?"

Your stomach twisted at the reminder. He had laughed, hadn’t he? A quiet, fleeting chuckle but still. You swallowed. "You’re reading too much into this!" Chai Latte Cookie hummed, unconvinced. "Mmm. If you say so." You felt your face grow warm…but only because she always had something outlandish to say."I do say so."

A/N as promised another part...

Remember to follow and reblog for more bangers 😎😎😎🔥🔥🔥🔥

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[cameronsbabydoll]

SUGAR-COATED CHAINS — PLUSHIE INTRODUCTION

WARNINGS — none! just fluff

The penthouse is quiet, except for the low hum of the city outside and the occasional click of Rafe’s laptop keys. You’re curled up beside him on the couch, your legs tucked under you, a plushie nestled against your chest.

Rafe hasn’t been paying you much attention, too caught up in whatever business he’s handling, but every so often, you feel his eyes flick toward you. Eventually, you shift, hugging the plushie a little tighter as you scroll on your phone.

“You really sleep with all those?” Rafe’s voice breaks the silence, low and amused.

You glance up, blinking. His attention is fully on you now, the laptop abandoned. You follow his gaze to the small collection of plushies scattered across the couch—ones you must have subconsciously grabbed from the bedroom when you came to sit with him.

You nod slowly. “Yeah… why?”

Rafe smirks, reaching out to flick one of their little ears. “Didn’t expect this when I moved you in here, angel. You’re really sleeping in my bed with a whole army of stuffed animals?”

You pout, shifting slightly. “They help me sleep.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re something else.”

You hug the plushie closer, running your fingers over the soft fabric. “They all have names, you know.”

That gets his attention. His smirk deepens as he shifts, resting an arm along the back of the couch. “No way. All of them?”

You nod, suddenly feeling shy. But Rafe is looking at you expectantly, so you hesitantly start pointing them out.

“This one is Benny,” you say, lifting a soft brown bear. “And that’s Cupcake—she’s my favorite.” You gesture to a pink bunny with floppy ears.

Rafe snorts. “Cupcake? That’s fitting.”

You ignore him and continue. “This one is Pudding, and that’s Mr. Wiggles.”

Rafe actually laughs at that one. “Mr. Wiggles?” He leans over, plucking the well-worn plush from your arms before you can stop him.

“Rafe—”

He holds it up between two fingers, inspecting it like it’s some strange artifact. “You’ve seriously been sleeping with this thing?”

Your face heats up as you reach for it, but he keeps it just out of reach, his smirk growing. “He’s been with me since I was little,” you explain, trying again to grab it.

Rafe hums, rolling the plushie between his fingers. He’s teasing you, but there’s something else in his expression too—like he’s piecing something together.

“Didn’t take you for the sentimental type,” he murmurs.

You huff. “Just give him back.”

But instead of handing Mr. Wiggles over, Rafe tugs you onto his lap, his grip firm as he presses the plushie against your chest. His other hand slides along your jaw, tilting your face up until you’re looking at him.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he mutters, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “But if Mr. Wiggles ever gets more attention than me, we’re gonna have a problem, angel.”

You clutch the plushie tightly, lips parting, but before you can say anything, Rafe is pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple.

It’s possessive. It’s a reminder.

You might have your plushies, but at the end of the day, he’s the one taking care of you now.

And he’s not about to let you forget it.

[rosiecosy]

pass the baby˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

(mingyu x reader) — fluff — part of the find the baby series

a/n — im alive !! i missed u guys fr🤍 thanks for being patient, here's a little sumn sumn. a little different from sleepy baby

long car rides always make you sleepy. something about the gentle hum of the engine, the way the road stretches endlessly outside the window, and the warmth of being surrounded by your members—it all makes your eyes droop no matter how hard you try to stay awake.

you don’t even remember when you fell asleep, but when you stir slightly, shifting your head, you realize you’re not leaning against the window anymore. instead, you’re pressed against mingyu’s shoulder, his hoodie soft beneath your cheek, his warmth making it impossible to pull away.

not that you’d want to.

mingyu shifts a little, careful not to wake you, adjusting his arm so you’re more comfortable against him. he glances down at you, his lips curling into a small smile at how peaceful you look, breathing softly, completely knocked out.

jeonghan, sitting in the front seat, catches him staring and smirks. "you're gonna burn a hole through her face if you keep looking at her like that."

mingyu blinks, snapping out of his daze, but the soft smile never leaves his lips. "can't help it," he mumbles.

dk, sitting across from you two, grins. "she's drooling on you."

mingyu just shrugs. "so?"

"so... that's kinda gross?"

"nah, it's cute," mingyu says without missing a beat, wrapping his arm more securely around you. "she's tired."

jeonghan snickers. "or maybe you're just whipped."

mingyu rolls his eyes, but there's no denying it. he is. he knows he is. it's not his fault you always fall asleep on him like this, like he's your personal pillow. not that he minds—if anything, he’s always ready for it, making sure to wear his comfiest hoodie on days when he knows you’ll be extra sleepy.

"should we wake her when we get there?" dino asks, peeking over from the seat behind you.

"no way," dk says immediately. "if we wake her up, she's gonna be grumpy."

"and clingy," jeonghan adds.

mingyu just smirks. "exactly. i win either way."

when the van pulls up to the dorm, seungcheol is already stretching in his seat, rolling his shoulders before reaching for his seatbelt.

"alright, you guys go first. i’ll carry her up."

mingyu immediately frowns. "i got it."

seungcheol raises a brow, pausing. "it’s part of the routine, mingyu."

"yeah, well. new routine," mingyu says smoothly, already adjusting his hold on you before seungcheol can protest.

jeonghan watches the exchange, thoroughly amused. "you’re so obvious."

"shut up," mingyu mutters, but he doesn’t let go. instead, he moves carefully, sliding one arm under your legs and the other around your back. lifting you is effortless—you're practically weightless in his arms, and he carries you like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

"you guys act like she’s a baby," jeonghan teases, following closely behind.

mingyu grins, adjusting his hold as he steps out of the van. "she kinda is. my baby, at least."

dk pretends to gag, while dino just shakes his head, clearly used to mingyu's antics by now.

the dorm is quiet as they step inside, the soft shuffle of footsteps the only sound. dk rushes ahead to open doors, dino makes sure no one gets in the way, and jeonghan—well, jeonghan just follows along with his phone out, recording everything like he's narrating a documentary.

"this is ridiculous," jeonghan whispers into the camera. "our youngest member, everyone. too spoiled to walk on her own."

mingyu just smirks. "you’re just mad because she didn’t fall asleep on you."

"obviously. i would've filmed it."

"you’re filming it now!"

jeonghan shrugs. "gotta capture the moment."

just when mingyu is about to step into your room, jeonghan suddenly stops him. "wait, wait," he says, eyes gleaming mischievously. "let’s play pass the baby."

"pass the what?" dino asks, looking between them.

"pass the baby," jeonghan repeats, nodding toward you. "let's see how many members it takes to get her from the van to her bed."

mingyu glares. "are you insane?"

"what? she's literally asleep. she won't even notice," jeonghan argues, grinning. "come on, just once!"

seungcheol sighs, rubbing his temples. "why do i feel like this is going to end badly?"

"because it always does," dk says, laughing.

mingyu exhales sharply, but before anyone makes a move, you shift slightly, groaning sleepily.

"what…?" your voice is groggy, barely above a whisper.

"you're awake?" jeonghan pouts. "man, we were gonna have fun."

you rub your eyes, still disoriented. "fun…?"

"we were gonna play pass the baby," dk supplies helpfully.

you blink at him, then at mingyu, then back at jeonghan. "...pass the what?"

"it’s exactly what it sounds like," dino explains. "we pass you around like a baby."

you stare at them for a long second, then sigh. "i'm too tired for this."

jeonghan grins. "so that’s a yes?"

you yawn, resting your head back against mingyu’s chest. "only if mingyu goes last."

mingyu smirks in triumph, shooting jeonghan a smug look. "you heard her."

you hum sleepily, nodding. "just don’t drop me."

"no promises," jeonghan says, laughing as mingyu reluctantly passes you over.

one by one, the members carefully hold you, making a show of dramatically cradling you like an actual baby. dino even rocks you back and forth, earning a sleepy giggle from you.

but when it’s mingyu’s turn again, he takes you back effortlessly, holding you securely against him. "game over," he declares, already walking towards his room instead of yours.

"that’s cheating!" jeonghan protests.

mingyu ignores him, kicking the door shut behind him as he lays you down on his bed. as soon as your head hits the pillow, you let out a soft sigh, nuzzling into the blankets that smell like him.

mingyu watches you for a moment before leaning down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"night, baby," he murmurs.

you hum sleepily, shifting closer to him.

mingyu chuckles, wrapping an arm around you, holding you close. "such a baby," he murmurs again.

from the other side of the door, jeonghan’s voice rings out.

"you guys are disgusting."

[isaadore]

FOCUSED ON YOU CONNOR BEDARD

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎ ‎pairing connor bedard x reader

SUMMARY working as a photographer for the chicago blackhawks meant keeping things professional. but when connor starts seeking you out after every practice, your carefully built boundaries begin to blur. he was two years younger, driven, and infuriatingly charming. and maybe you were starting to fall for him. word count 1.1k

warnings fluff, slow burn, mutual pining, workplace romance, slight age gap, reader is (barely) a cougar

note thank you anon for requesting! i accidentally deleted your ask, but i had a lot of fun writing this <3 and sorry guys, i promise my next post will be for my 1k celebration 🙏

CB98 MASTERLIST MAIN MASTERLIST

YOUR CAMERA WAS heavy in your hands as you snapped another series of shots, the shutter clicking rapidly as Connor flew down the ice, his speed almost impossible to capture. You’d been photographing practices for a while now, but no one moved like him.

He deked around a defender, his movements fluid and precise, before sending a wrist shot straight into the top corner of the net. The puck hit the mesh with a satisfying snap, and Connor’s face lit up, his grin visible even from behind the plexiglass.

You barely managed to catch the moment, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as his teammates hollered in approval. He was something else, a rising star who was already living up to the hype. You couldn’t help but admire his determination, his focus. Not that you’d ever tell him that.

The whistle blew, signaling the end of practice, and the players began filtering off the ice. You stayed in your spot by the boards, scrolling through the shots to pick out the best ones for the team’s social media. You were so focused that you didn’t notice him approaching until he spoke.

“Did you get my good side?”

You jumped, your head snapping up to find Connor leaning on the boards right in front of you, his hair damp and sticking up messily, his grin playful.

You tried to ignore the way your heart skipped. “I don’t think you have a bad side.”

His eyebrows shot up, clearly not expecting that. You cursed yourself internally for letting that slip. “Well, I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, his eyes sparkling. “Mind if I see?”

You hesitated but turned the camera his way. “They’re not edited yet, so don’t judge too harshly.”

Connor leaned closer, his face just inches from yours as he squinted at the screen. You could catch the faint scent of his cologne, clean and subtle, and you did your best to keep your focus.

“These are awesome,” he said, genuine admiration in his voice. “You make us look better than we are.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking off the flutter in your chest. “I just capture what’s there.”

His gaze lingered on you a little too long, his voice softening. “You’re really good at it.”

You felt warmth spread through you but kept your tone light. “Flattery won’t get you free prints, Bedard.”

He laughed, his eyes crinkling. “Good to know.”

You turned back to your camera, pretending to adjust the settings, but his presence was impossible to ignore. He didn’t leave, just stood there, casually leaning on the boards as he sipped from his water bottle. It was distracting. It always was when he was around.

“You’re always here early,” he noted, his voice casual. “Don’t you get tired of taking the same shots every day?”

“Don’t you get tired of skating around in circles?” you shot back, raising an eyebrow.

He chuckled, his shoulders shaking. “Touché.” He paused, his tone more thoughtful. “I just meant… you’re always here before most of the team. You work hard.”

You blinked, not expecting the compliment. “I like getting the candid moments. The behind-the-scenes stuff. It’s more real than the action shots.”

He watched you with a curiosity that made your cheeks warm. “Yeah, I get that. You’re good at catching those moments. Makes everything feel… I don’t know. More alive, I guess.”

You looked away, your heart doing that annoying fluttering thing again. “Thanks.”

He smiled, his eyes softening. “You’re welcome.”

You busied yourself by packing up your equipment, desperate to break the tension. “I should get these edited and posted. Coach wants the social media updated before the end of the day.”

Connor’s expression shifts, almost like he didn’t want the conversation to end. “Right. Of course.” He hesitated, then asked, “You got plans after?”

You froze, your heart stuttering. “Why?”

He shrugged, trying to sound casual but not quite pulling it off. “I figured you’d be hungry after working through practice. We could grab food. If you want.”

Your mind screams at you to say no. You were two years older, you had a job to do, and getting too close to the players was definitely not professional. But he was looking at you with that hopeful, lopsided grin, and you found yourself saying, “Okay. But just this once.”

His face lit up. “Sure.”

He waited while you packed up your camera bag, walking with you out of the arena. The Chicago wind was brutal, biting through your jacket as you made your way down the street to a diner he swore had the best burgers in the city.

Inside, it was warm and cozy, the windows fogged up from the heat. You settled into a booth, trying to ignore the curious looks from other patrons who clearly recognized him. Connor didn’t seem to care, his focus entirely on you.

“So, what got you into photography?” he asked, leaning forward with genuine interest.

You fiddled with the edge of your menu, feeling unexpectedly shy. “I’ve always liked capturing moments. The way a photo can tell a story… I don’t know. It just clicked for me.”

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “I get that. You’ve got an eye for it. Makes sense you’d be good at something you love.”

Your cheeks warmed, and you quickly looked away. “Thanks.”

The conversation flowed easily after that, his charm disarming you despite your best efforts. He was surprisingly down-to-earth, his stories filled with humour and humility. You found yourself laughing more than you had in a long time.

When you finally glanced at the clock, your eyes widened. “I didn’t realize it was this late. I should get going.”

Connor’s smile faltered just for a second. “I’ll walk you back.”

You tried to protest, but he wouldn’t hear it, insisting on making sure you got to your car safely. As you reached the parking lot, you turned to thank him, but the words caught in your throat.

He was standing closer than you expected, his eyes searching yours. “This was fun,” he said, his voice soft. “I like talking to you.”

Your heart thudded, and you cursed the butterflies in your stomach. “Yeah… it was nice.”

His gaze dropped to your lips for just a moment, and your breath hitched. But he took a step back, his hands shoved into his pockets as he looked away. “I’ll see you at the next practice?”

You nodded, struggling to find your voice. “Yeah. See you then.”

He hesitated, then flashed you one last smile before turning and walking away, his figure fading into the night. You stood there, your heart racing, knowing that things would never be the same.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎ CB98 MASTERLIST ✷ MAIN MASTERLIST

© 2025 ISAADORE

[izumkay]

YOUR FREAKY BOYFRIEND—

♡Gojo is literally addicted to you. And I don’t mean clingy cute boyfriend shit. I mean full-blown withdrawal symptoms if he doesn’t get to touch you every five minutes. You move an inch away? He’s already pulling you back.

♡He can’t keep his hands off you. Sitting beside him? His fingers are creeping up your thigh. Lying in bed? He’s already wrapping himself around you. Cooking in the kitchen? He's hugging you from behind, pressing against you, "accidentally" grinding on you. The man is shameless.

♡Obsessed with your scent. If you ever catch him sniffing your clothes, no you didn’t. His face is buried in your pillow when you’re not home. He steals your hoodies just to drown in your scent. You think he just “likes” your shampoo? Nah, babe. It’s a fucking drug to him.

♡A TOTAL menace in public. This man has zero shame. Whispering the filthiest things in your ear, palming your ass in crowded places, daring you to keep a straight face. You say you’ll punish him later? That’s what he WANTS.

♡Loves it when you ride him. But also? A whiny little shit about it. "Ughh, you feel so good—fuck, go slower—no, faster—wait, wait, just like that—oh my god, baby, you're killing me—" He’s in absolute heaven.

♡Mouthy as hell. Never shuts up during sex. Moans, whimpers, filthy praise, teasing, begging—he’s got it all. "You’re so tight, baby—fuck, you’re squeezing me—are you doing this on purpose? God, I love you—" He says it all in one breath.

♡Has the worst self-control. Like, if he wakes up hard, he’s not letting you sleep. If you kiss him too deeply, you're not leaving that bed. You wear something revealing? Guess who’s getting pinned against the nearest wall.

♡Loves watching you break. That moment when you're shaking, whining, sobbing his name—he lives for it. Gets off on the way you fall apart for him. And the best part? He’s not stopping till you’re fully wrecked.

♡Kicks his feet and giggles whenever you praise him. "Good boy?" dead. "You feel so good, Satoru." brain empty. You run your fingers through his hair while he's between your legs? pure bliss.

♡Has a corruption kink. You could be the sweetest thing ever, and he’d still ruin you just to make you as nasty as him. "C’mon, baby, say it. Say how bad you want me." "No? Well, guess I’ll have to make you beg for it then."

♡Absolute menace in the shower. "We’re just gonna wash up, promise!" LIAR. The second you step in? He’s already pushing you against the tiles. "Might as well take advantage of the water, huh?" Yeah, good luck getting out anytime soon.

♡This man is a chronic rule-breaker in bed. You tell him "one more round" and suddenly it’s three more. You tell him "keep it quiet" and now he’s moaning like a pornstar just to hear you shush him. He’s so unserious but also so fucking good at it.

♡NEEDY. AS. FUCK. He’ll literally whine if you don’t give him attention. Lays on top of you like a giant cat until you pet him. Nuzzles into your neck, mumbles "babyyyy, I need youuu," drags his fingers up your thighs like it’s the end of the world. The most dramatic boyfriend ever.

♡You wear his clothes? BIG mistake. He’s throwing you onto the bed in under five seconds. "You can’t just wear my shirt and expect me to behave, baby." You try to leave the house in it? Nah. You’re getting bent over the nearest surface first.

♡Literally gets off on just touching you. If he’s fingering you? He’s groaning like he’s the one getting wrecked. "God, baby, you’re so wet, I can’t—fuck, let me hear you more." You ride his thigh? Yeah, he’s whimpering before you even come.

♡If you wake up before him? BIG mistake. You move? He pulls you back. You sit up? He drags you under the blankets. "Babe, it’s too early, let’s just stay in bed a little longer—" —Translation: he’s hard, and you’re not going anywhere until he fixes that.

♡LOVES when you suck him off but is so overwhelmed by it. He’s gripping the sheets, rolling his hips, pushing up into your mouth like he can’t help himself. Moaning your name like a prayer. If you look up at him with those innocent eyes? He’s losing his fucking mind. "Ohhh, fuck—baby, don’t look at me like that—I’m gonna—shit—" A whimpering, ruined mess.

♡Your thighs are his weakness. He sees them? He’s biting them. You sit in his lap? His hands are already sliding up. You squeeze them around his head? He’s moaning like it’s his last day on earth.

♡Literally CANNOT sleep unless he’s touching you. His arm is always wrapped around your waist, his leg is thrown over you, his head is buried in your chest. If you get up in the middle of the night? He wakes up instantly, grabs your wrist, and sleepily mumbles, "where d’you think you’re going?"

♡He loves eating you out like it’s a full-course meal. And the worst best part? He enjoys it more than you do. Moans while he does it, eyes rolling back, hips grinding into the bed like he’s getting off just from tasting you. "Fuck, baby, I could do this all night. You taste so fucking good—"

♡The type to beg in the filthiest way possible. "C’mon, sweetheart, let me fuck you—please, please, I need you, I’ll do anything." Voice breathless, hands gripping your waist, kissing you like he’ll die without you.

♡His dick, somehow, is always hard when he’s around you. No, literally. You sit on his lap? Hard. You stretch in front of him? Hard. You so much as look at him for too long? He’s adjusting his pants and biting his lip. "Baby, you can’t just exist looking like that—it’s a fucking problem."

♡Loves overstimulating you. If you think he’s stopping after you come once? LMAO. "Aww, look at you, baby. So sensitive. Think you can take one more?" You say no? Too bad. He’s already sucking on your clit again.

♡You call him "Daddy" once, and he’s GONE. Brain fried. Eyes rolling back. Moaning your name so loud the neighbors are concerned. "Ohhh, fuck—baby, say it again—"

♡Obsessed with seeing you in his clothes. "Mmm, you look so cute in my hoodie—wait, no, take it off. Actually, never mind. Keep it on. No, take it off but leave the socks." Man is having a crisis.

♡If you deny him sex, he turns into the biggest brat. Whining, pouting, clinging onto you like a child. "Why notttt? I’ve been so good today! Baby, please, just the tip—okay, okay, the whole thing but just slow—WAIT, BABY, DON’T WALK AWAY—"

♡Gets pussy-drunk so fast. The second he’s inside you? He’s moaning, mumbling shit that doesn’t even make sense, his hands gripping your thighs like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. "Ohh, baby, f-fuck, I can’t—shit, I’m gonna come so fast—"

♡Absolutely shameless in the morning. Wakes you up by grinding against you, whispering dirty shit in your ear, already hard as a rock. "Mmm, morning, baby… y’feel that? Yeah? Wanna help me out?"

♡If you touch him in your sleep, he WILL wake you up for sex. You roll over and accidentally place your hand on his abs? Yeah, you’re getting dicked down immediately.

♡If you ever send him a risky text while he’s out, he’s coming home IMMEDIATELY. You send one suggestive selfie, and suddenly he’s breaking traffic laws, speed-dialing you, voice already wrecked— "Baby, get in bed. Right now. I’m two minutes away—no, actually, open the door, I’m already outside."

♡Aftercare KING. You’re tired? He’s carrying you to bed. You’re sore? He’s massaging your legs. He whispers "so good for me, baby, did so well" while pressing soft kisses everywhere. Freakiest man alive, but also so soft when it’s over♡

A/N- took me days to make, but anyways here it is, have a great day cutiesss :3

—Check my Masterlist for more!

[goldfades]

That post about Y/N and Joe parenting style was so perfect. I honestly believe Joe is also super stubborn and would 100000% get in a long standoff with Hayes over him refusing to eat his vegetables. And I think Hayes, ever the mama’s boy, would probably win that battle. And Y/N would absolutely feel the need to tell Joe that Hayes definitely got those qualities from him.

oh, absolutely. joe burrow is one of the most competitive people on the planet—there is no way he’s backing down from a battle of wills, even if his opponent is a three-year-old with chubby cheeks and a mop of curls. and hayes? stubborn doesn’t even begin to cover it. the kid is relentless, especially when he knows he has you on his side. it’s that lethal combination of burrow determination and your charm—an unbeatable duo, really. so yeah, if joe tells hayes he has to eat his broccoli? that kid is digging in his heels. and joe, rather than letting it go like any normal parent, is treating it like the damn super bowl. no one is blinking. neither of them will surrender. it’s a full standoff. and of course, you, ever the observer, just sit back and watch it unfold because you know hayes is gonna win this one

it starts with a single piece of broccoli.

small, harmless, nestled between the mashed potatoes and tiny chicken nuggets on hayes’ plate. it’s nothing special—just one of the little florets you steamed earlier, cut up small so he wouldn’t even notice if he just ate the damn thing. but oh, he notices.

“no.”

joe sighs, already looking exhausted. “hayes—”

“no,” hayes repeats, shaking his head so hard his curls bounce. “don’t want it.”

“just one bite,” joe tries, tone even, logical. “you love green beans, buddy. this is the same thing.”

hayes looks offended. “it is not.”

you, sitting across from them at the kitchen table, hide your smirk behind your hand. joe shoots you a quick glare, but you just lift a shoulder, amused.

“one bite,” joe presses. “then you can have more nuggets.”

hayes, still holding his ground, frowns at his plate. he looks at the broccoli, then at his dad, then back at the broccoli. then, slowly, he crosses his arms.

joe sighs again, rubbing a hand down his face. “hayes.”

“no.”

you can feel the irritation rolling off joe in waves. the man doesn’t lose—ever. and now his toddler is serving him his first real defeat in his own damn kitchen.

“hayes.” joe’s voice drops into dad mode. that serious, no-nonsense tone he pulls out when he means business. the one that usually works.

hayes, completely unbothered, mirrors his father’s serious expression. the tension is palpable. this is no longer just about broccoli. this is a battle of principles.

you clear your throat. “hayes, baby, just one tiny—”

he turns to you, eyes wide and tragic. “mama, i can’t.”

you almost laugh. “why not?”

“it’s green.”

joe looks personally offended by the logic. “so?”

hayes stabs his fork into his mashed potatoes aggressively, like this betrayal is too much.

joe groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “this is ridiculous.”

you hum, amused. “wonder where he gets it from.”

joe glares at you again. “don’t.”

you just sip your water, smiling.

the standoff continues. minutes tick by. hayes doesn’t move. joe doesn’t budge. they’re both stubborn as hell. the only difference is, hayes has an out—he has you.

and you? well, you’re having too much fun watching joe suffer.

after a full ten minutes of absolute silence, hayes suddenly exhales deeply. then he shakes his head, slides his plate an inch away, and mutters, “i not hungry no more.”

joe throws his fork down. “are you kidding me?”

“nope.” hayes pops the ‘p’ dramatically.

you lose it. full-on, shaking laughter right there at the table. joe, unamused, shoots you a look.

“oh, come on,” he grumbles. “you’re on his side?”

“i mean.” you wipe a tear from your eye. “he is your son.”

joe scowls. “he’s your son when he’s like this.”

hayes, ever the opportunist, slides off his chair and makes a beeline for your lap. you scoop him up easily, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. he smells like baby shampoo and mashed potatoes.

“you’re ridiculous,” joe tells him flatly.

hayes just grins, curling into you. “mama don’t think so.”

joe shakes his head, defeated. then, after a long moment, he sighs. “fine.”

hayes perks up. “no broccoli?”

joe’s jaw clenches, but he nods. “no broccoli.”

hayes cheers.

you press your face into his curls to hide your laughter.

joe mutters something about never losing to a toddler again. but you both know that’s a damn lie.

[hottiesforhockey]

Please please “if you let go of my hand I’ll actually kill you’ for Macklin Celebrini. The things I would do to have that guy teach me to skate is unreal. 🤣

The cold air bites at your cheeks as you shuffle uncertainly on the ice, your hands clenched into tight fists at your sides. The rink is quiet aside from the faint scrape of skates gliding over the surface, the occasional burst of laughter from some distant group of skaters, and the steady, reassuring voice of Macklin standing just in front of you.

"You're overthinking it," he says, tilting his head slightly as he watches you struggle to balance on your blades. "It’s not that different from walking."

You shoot him a glare. "I feel like a newborn deer. A very uncoordinated, doomed newborn deer."

Macklin huffs a laugh, but he doesn't let the teasing reach his eyes. Instead, he extends a gloved hand toward you, palm up, waiting patiently. "Here," he says, "take my hand."

You eye it warily. "Are you sure you wanna do that? I might bring us both down."

“I do this for a living.” He says slowly, shooting you a teasing grin, “I’ll take my chances.” With a deep breath, you grasp his hand, your fingers curling around his. His grip is strong, warm even through the material of his gloves. The moment your weight shifts, your skates wobble beneath you, and instinctively, you latch onto his arm with your free hand. Watching as a group of kids skate by, clearly unaware of the serious training you were currently taking. 

“These kids are going to kill me.” You whine, watching them skate past with ease. 

“I told you we could’ve booked the practice rink.” 

“We are not booking out a stadium rink just so you can teach me how to skate.” You hiss, trying to shuffle forwards on the skate again - Macklin catching you just before you hit your ass as another kid sprinting past make you loose your balance. 

Macklin laughs, steadying you with ease. "Okay, okay. Maybe start with just standing still first."

You nod, trying to will your legs to stop shaking. "This was a terrible idea."

"You wanted to learn."

"Yeah, but I also enjoy not breaking every bone in my body."

Macklin squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing lightly against the back of yours. "You’re not going to fall. Not on my watch."

You exhale, forcing yourself to trust him. He starts slow, gliding backward while gently pulling you forward. Every muscle in your body is tense, your knees locked in an awkward, stiff position. Macklin shakes his head. "Loosen up. You’re fighting it."

"Because I don’t want to die."

"You're being dramatic."

You huff, but attempt to relax your posture, letting him guide you. The rink feels impossibly large, stretching around you like an endless sheet of glass, and every movement sends a spike of panic through you. Your fingers tighten around his hand.

"You're doing fine," Macklin reassures, moving with an effortless grace that makes you a little jealous. "Now try pushing off—just a little."

You swallow hard, hesitating. But with him watching you expectantly, you hesitantly shift your weight, mimicking the subtle push-off motion he demonstrated earlier. For a second, you feel a thrill of success—until your balance wavers, and your skates slip beneath you.

"Mack!" you yelp, lurching forward. He reacts instantly, his grip firm as he tugs you upright before you can hit the ice. You crash against his chest, breathless, heart pounding.

"You're okay," he murmurs, his voice low and steady near your ear.

You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling both humiliated and grateful. "If you let go of my hand, I'll actually kill you."

Macklin chuckles, the sound warm and familiar. "Noted. But you’re getting better already."

You peer up at him skeptically. "I just almost died."

"You didn’t. And you won’t. Because I’ve got you."

He shifts his grip slightly, fingers intertwining with yours more securely, his hold steady and reassuring. There’s something about the way he says it—like it’s a promise. Your chest tightens.

For a moment, neither of you moves. His gaze flickers down to your lips, just briefly, but enough that your breath catches. "You trust me, right?" he asks softly.

Your heart thuds against your ribs. "Yeah."

A small smile tugs at his lips before he leans in, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss to the corner of your mouth. It’s barely there, but it’s enough to send warmth spreading through your chest despite the cold.

"Alright," he says, grinning. "Let’s try again. This time, I won’t even let you trip."

You hesitate, then nod, cheeks warm. "Okay. But if I fall—"

"You won’t."

And somehow, with him guiding you, his touch firm and his voice coaxing you forward, you start to believe him.

[songbirdseung]

kitty / park jongseong

he's supposed to look manly, tough and hot in your eyes... not the opposite. the poor guy is struggling to play the cute role in your relationship and unluckily for him he doesn't have to even try hard to be cute

gasping, you immediately let go of your boyfriend's hand, completely forgetting about him as you dashed toward the small black cat nestled behind a park bush. your heart swelled at the sight, excitement bubbling over as you carefully approached.

"hello, jaaayyy~" you cooed, voice sweet and gentle. but you weren’t exactly calling out to your boyfriend...no, you were talking to the cat.

jay, who had been watching the scene unfold with mild amusement, let out a soft scoff. "be careful," he warned, taking a step forward, his protective instincts kicking in.

you glanced back at him with a playful pout, eyes narrowing just slightly at his concern. "it's a cat, jay, not a wild tiger," you huffed before turning your attention back to the tiny creature, now cautiously inching closer to you.

jay chuckled, shaking his head as he finally gave in and walked over, crouching down beside you. "did you just call the cat 'jay'?"

"yeah," you said matter-of-factly, glancing at him before gesturing toward the cat, who was now hesitantly sniffing your outstretched fingers. "look at it...that's literally you."

jay raised a brow, tilting his head slightly. "baby, i'm not a feline animal."

"no, but you both have the same energy," you teased, smirking. "all broody and mysterious at first, but deep down, you just want some love and attention."

jay rolled his eyes, but you caught the way his lips twitched, fighting back a smile. "okay, first of all, i am not broody."

"mm-hmm, sure," you hummed, finally getting the chance to gently pet the cat as it nuzzled into your palm. "you even have the same attitude. a little cautious at first, but once you warm up, you're just a big softie."

jay sighed dramatically, resting his chin on his hand as he watched you with fond eyes. "i can't believe i'm losing to a cat right now."

you giggled, turning to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "don't worry, you're still my favorite."

he scoffed, nudging your shoulder lightly before wrapping an arm around you, watching as the cat curled up comfortably between you both. "yeah, yeah. just don’t expect me to start purring anytime soon."

"no promises," you teased, and the soft laughter that followed was just another reason why moments like these with jay were your absolute favorite.

grinning, you turned your full attention back to jay, eyes twinkling with mischief as you reached out to gently squish his cheeks between your palms. "you're so cute," you cooed, tilting your head as you took in his face, completely smitten.

jay blinked, his brows immediately furrowing as he tried to pull away from your grasp. "no, i'm not," he protested, voice slightly muffled by the way you were squishing his cheeks together.

"yes, you are," you sang, giggling as you continued to smush his face, pressing his cheeks together until his lips puckered involuntarily. "look at you! all soft and pouty."

jay let out a huff, grabbing your wrists in an attempt to free himself, but you were persistent, refusing to let go. "baby, seriously. stop it."

"why? am i embarrassing you?" you teased, eyes full of amusement as you tilted his face from side to side, admiring him like he was the most precious thing on earth.

he rolled his eyes, trying to feign annoyance, but the way his ears turned pink completely gave him away. "no," he muttered, voice lacking any real conviction. "i just... i’m not cute."

"oh, but you are," you argued, now tracing his jaw with your fingers before cupping his face once more. "you're the cutest. my soft, broody, little black cat boyfriend."

jay groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. "why do i even try with you?"

you giggled, pressing a quick kiss to the tip of his nose before resting your forehead against his. "because you love me," you whispered, grinning when you felt his breath hitch.

he sighed, finally giving up as his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer. "unfortunately," he mumbled, but the small smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

"aww, my cute, soft jay," you teased once more, running your fingers through his hair.

"stop calling me that," he whined, though he made absolutely no move to pull away from you.

"never," you declared, giving his cheeks one last playful squeeze before pressing a sweet kiss to his lips.

jay only sighed, shaking his head with fake exasperation, but he didn't complain anymore. because truthfully, if this was what being "soft" meant... being loved so completely by you. then maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mind it all that much.

[wingedblessing]

an (poor) attempt at baking. jason todd x gn!reader summary: you n jason try to have a cute baking date with each other. cw: established relationship, fluff, short fic, ooc!jason(?), no pronouns used, no little to no editing - we raw dog this fic together, too much banter with too little baking at all. words: 878 words a/n: i wrote this in the middle of class, it's safe to say;; i am NOT locking in whatsoever but that's okay - more fanfics to write, woohoo! . anw, enjoy!

"You are a complete dumbass."

Jason let out a grumble in frustration from his spouse somehow mixing sugar up with salt. Shaking his head in disapproval as his eyes narrowed at you innocently standing beside him, acting clueless and innocent.

He crossed his arms together in front of his chest, the fabric of his red shirt desperately holding on right now.

You thought it would be nice and fun to bake something with him, something easy like a simple cake.

That, he can do.

It took days for him and you to set up a time together for this activity alone, despite you living together.

Red Hood or Jason as you know him can't do from noon to night since he wants to get some rest before patrol.

And he stayed up late at night with him returning to the apartment in the dead of night.

With you having to work from exactly morning to noon due to your job having a weird schedule for some reason. But whatever, anything to get by and have some money in your pockets.

So naturally, only a Sunday worked for the both of you two.

First things, it started okay with you forgetting to buy some necessary ingredients for the cake, but luckily Jason ran to the nearest corner shop with the checklist in his phone that looked like it had seen better days.

It was going good, you think.

Sure you might have mixed up a few ingredients but it'll probably taste better that way.

Right?

Yeah, you're right. Well, hopefully.

"I'm not, you told me to grab the white stuff!"

You'd rolled your eyes at your boyfriend previously just straight up telling you to grab the white stuff while he was doing the mixing, so normally - you thought he meant salt.

"You didn't specify what type of white stuff you wanted to put in the bowl, so I'd just immediately thought that it was salt."

Quickly you crossed your arms together in front of your chest whilst glancing at him in somewhat amusement.

Great. Now both of you were just crossing your arms together in front of your chests.

The bowl sat still on the kitchen counter, a few traces of flour still visible alongside both of you being covered in batter.

As you two continue to have a mini staring contest silently, Jason quietly dips his hands into the half-mixed cake batter before launching it on your cheek.

"Oops."

His lips curled into a smirk as your eyes narrowed at his antic.

"You little shit-"

Before Jason could fully comprehend your words at him, you dipped your own hands into the batter before accidentally throwing way too much on your boyfriend's shirt.

His favorite shirt to be exact.

Silence filled the air for a few minutes with you awkwardly blinking in surprise.

Just as you were about to mutter an apology, the man's eyes narrowed with his smirk growing wider.

"Oh, it is on."

A chuckle was let out of Jason's lips, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he quickly dipped his hand and threw some batter on you again.

Your lips quirked into a smirk whilst dodging the batter, watching it fall onto the kitchen counter behind you before quickly scoping a handful of batter into your hands.

Some of the batter spilled by the gaps of your hand with you just naturally accepting it as you threw it onto Jason who dodged that easily without any effort.

Well, major efforts to be exact.

"Nice shot, aim better next time."

"Oh, I'll show you what a nice shot is!"

This continued for almost an hour, with you two throwing batter at each other and cake batter flying everywhere in the once-tidy kitchen.

With some on the counter, some on him, and some on you too.

As Jason's hands dipped into the bowl to aim at you, his hands suddenly felt light and not somewhat heavy.

Like there's barely anything in his hands.

He paused for a moment as he looked down at the bowl, to see it nearly empty with only a few teaspoons of cake batter remaining on the sides of the bowl.

Huh.

"What's the matter? Hesitating to attack at the war you started?"

A chuckle escaped through your lips at the sight.

Jason shook his head - before nodding his head in the direction of the bowl, curious yet cautious - you followed his gaze and leaned closer towards the bowl to take a better look.

Nothing.

There was almost nothing remaining of the cake batter left in the bowl.

You blinked not once, not twice, but three times at the sight.

Oops.

"You're cleaning everything up."

Quickly you muttered out the words of your mouth immediately getting a side look from Jason beside you as he smacked the back of your head in protest and somewhat amusement from the two of you antics earlier.

"You're the one that threw the first cake batter at me, you should be the one to clean this place up!"

Safe to say, both of you ended up with no cake and ended up ordering take-outs with both of you two cleaning the kitchen and leaving kisses on each other while still being covered in cake batter from each other.

[©]:; don't copy, alter, or repost any of my works on all platforms, including tumblr too .

[folkwhoreberry]

Earned It, Owned It

dad!fernando alonso x daughter!reader

or... the one where there’s no shame in the name

word count : 956

warning : none, english is not my first language!!!

on the radio : I love it by icona pop & charlie xcx

request

🥷🏻🇪🇸

the paddock was buzzing, as it always was on a race weekend. you had just finished checking over some final details in the garage when you were pulled aside by one of the media teams. it wasn’t unusual - being fernando alonso’s daughter came with a certain level of attention. you didn’t mind it, though. it was part of the job.

“just a quick interview?” one of the journalists asked with a smile that you knew was supposed to look friendly but carried a hint of something else. they always wanted more than just a quick chat, but you nodded anyway, knowing exactly where this was going.

you stood in front of the camera, adjusting your aston martin polo, and gave them a nod to let them know you were ready. the questions started easy, asking about the team, how preparations were going for the race, the usual pre-race chatter. you answered with the same professionalism you always did, keeping things light.

and then, it came.

“so, some people have said that your position here is thanks to… well, your father’s legacy in formula 1. what do you have to say to those accusations of nepotism?”

you couldn’t help but smirk. there it was. the question they were all waiting to ask. you could see the glint in the reporter’s eyes, hoping you’d squirm, hoping you’d try to defend yourself or make some grand statement about your qualifications.

but you weren’t about to give them that.

“honestly?” you started, your smirk widening. “yeah, I’m a nepo baby. no denying it. I mean, who wouldn’t want to take advantage of having a two-time world champion for a dad?” you shrugged, your tone light, completely unbothered. “I’m proud of it, honestly. got me here, didn’t it?”

the reporter blinked, clearly taken aback by your response. they hadn’t expected you to lean into it so hard. you could almost hear the gears turning in their head as they tried to figure out how to follow up.

“so… you admit that your father helped you get your position?” they pressed, clearly unsure of where this was going.

“of course,” you said with a laugh. “I’m not going to sit here and pretend that growing up around formula 1 didn’t give me an advantage. but here’s the thing - having connections might get you in the door, but it doesn’t keep you here. I work hard. I know my stuff. and if people want to focus on my last name instead of what I actually do, that’s their problem, not mine.”

you glanced to the side, noticing your dad approaching, clearly having overheard the last part of the interview. he had that signature fernando alonso grin on his face, the one that told you he was ready to stir the pot just a little bit more.

“am I interrupting?” he asked, stepping into the frame with you, his arm casually slung over your shoulder. “what’s going on here?”

“oh, nothing much,” you said, smiling at him. “just addressing the usual nepotism accusations.”

fernando raised an eyebrow, looking amused. “nepotism? ah, yes. my daughter, the nepo baby.” he said the term with a playful roll of his eyes. “is that what they’re calling you now?”

“apparently.” you shrugged, still grinning. “but I was just telling them I don’t mind. being a nepo baby’s not so bad.”

fernando laughed, looking directly into the camera now. “well, if being a nepo baby means you’re good at your job and work as hard as she does, then I guess I’ll take credit for it,” he said, giving you a proud look. “but really, she’s the one putting in the work. I just gave her the love of the sport.”

“so, you’re not concerned about the claims that your daughter only has her position because of your influence?” the reporter asked, clearly trying to stir things up between the two of you.

fernando chuckled, shaking his head. “not at all. I know how much she’s done to get here. I might’ve opened some doors, but she’s the one who walked through them - and keeps walking.” he gave you a wink, and you couldn’t help but smile at his response.

“besides,” you chimed in, “if I wasn’t good at what I do, I wouldn’t still be here. this is formula 1. it’s not exactly a place where you can coast by on your last name. my dad knows that better than anyone.”

fernando nodded in agreement. “exactly. you don’t stay in this sport unless you’ve got the skills to back it up.”

the reporter, clearly realizing they weren’t going to get the reaction they were hoping for, tried to wrap things up. “well, it’s clear you both have a strong bond. thank you for your time, and good luck with the race this weekend.”

you smiled, already moving to step away from the interview. “thanks, appreciate it,” you said, giving them a small wave before turning back to your dad.

as you walked away together, you could feel the eyes of the paddock on you, but it didn’t bother you. you were used to it by now. and honestly? you wouldn’t change a thing. you were proud of where you came from, proud of what you had achieved, and if people wanted to call you a nepo baby, so be it.

you’d own it - just like you owned everything else in this sport.

“you handled that well,” fernando said with a grin, giving your shoulder a squeeze. “i think you might’ve even thrown them off a bit.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “yeah, well, I learned from the best, didn’t I?”

“damn right,” he said with a wink. “now, let’s go get back to work.”

————————————————————————————

© all rights reserved to folkwhoreberry. no stealing or copying will be tolerated.

a/n : little miss alonso is living my dream bc I want to be a nepo baby sooo bad

[lila-lou]

✨The smarter choice - 5/8✨

Summary: The pull was undeniable—every glance, every touch, a spark. Dean was everything you shouldn’t want, yet resistance was futile.

Pairing: Sam x Reader, Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language, Angst

Word Count: 8859

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

Dean froze, his coffee mug halfway to his lips as he stared at his brother. Sam wasn’t looking at him, instead focusing on the coffee like it might keep him grounded. But what struck Dean the most wasn’t the words—it was the lack of emotion in Sam’s voice. He didn’t sound devastated. He didn’t even sound surprised.

“Wasn’t working?”, Dean echoed, setting his mug down with a clink. “And you’re… okay with that?”.

Sam shrugged, his shoulders rising and falling in a way that felt more resigned than sad. “I… yeah… kinda”, he admitted after a moment. “I mean, I saw it coming. Things have been… off for a while now”.

Dean frowned, his chest tightening as he watched Sam’s calm demeanor. “Off? How?”.

Sam finally looked up, meeting Dean’s gaze. “I don’t know”, he said, shaking his head. “She was sweet, you know? Great to talk to, really kind. But I think maybe…”. He hesitated, biting his lip before continuing. “Maybe we just didn’t fit the way I thought we would. It always felt like something was missing”.

Dean’s jaw clenched, his hands gripping the counter behind him as he tried to process what Sam was saying. “And you didn’t say anything?”, he asked, his voice quieter now.

“What was I supposed to say?”, Sam replied, his tone practical, not defensive. “It’s not like I didn’t try. But I think she realized it too. She deserves someone who makes her feel… complete. And I don’t think I was that guy”.

Dean’s chest tightened, a mix of emotions swirling inside him—relief, guilt and frustration all at once. He wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come.

Instead, he just nodded, picking up his coffee and taking another sip to buy himself time. “Guess it’s for the best, then”, he muttered, his voice even.

Sam nodded too, his lips quirking into a small, almost rueful smile. “Yeah. I think it is”.

Dean didn’t say anything more, but as he stood there, the weight of what had happened hit him all at once. You’d left. You’d broken things off with Sam.

Dean sat there, the bitterness of his coffee doing little to distract him from the storm raging in his mind.

“Sam’s the smarter choice”.

Why? Why had you said that, pushed him away so cruelly, when you’d already decided to leave Sam? It didn’t make sense. None of it did. Dean’s hands tightened around the mug, his knuckles whitening as frustration bubbled up inside him. If you’d already planned on breaking up with Sam today, why the hell would you say something like that to him? Why tear him apart when you didn’t have to?

“Dean?”, Sam’s voice broke through his thoughts, pulling him back to the moment. His brother was watching him now, concern flickering across his face. “You good?”.

Dean blinked, realizing his grip on the mug was so tight it was starting to shake. He forced himself to relax, to put on the easy, casual mask he’d worn a thousand times before. “Yeah”, he said, his voice rough. “Just… surprised, I guess”.

Sam nodded slowly, clearly not entirely convinced, but he let it go. “I think it really is for the best”. he said again, more to himself than to Dean. “I mean, I care about her, but… I think we both knew it wasn’t going anywhere”.

Dean swallowed hard, his chest tightening at the words. He nodded, giving Sam a noncommittal grunt before grabbing his coffee and turning toward the hallway. “I’m gonna get cleaned up”, he muttered, not waiting for a response as he headed for his room.

Dean stepped into his room, setting the mug down on the dresser before shrugging out of his flannel. The motion pulled at the tender, bandaged wounds on his back and torso, a sharp reminder of the night before. He hissed softly, glancing at himself in the mirror on the opposite wall.

The reflection wasn’t pretty. His torso was a patchwork of bruises and bandages, the deep cuts still healing beneath the layers of gauze. He traced a hand over the edge of one bandage, his jaw tightening as his mind betrayed him, pulling him back to the memory of your hands on his skin.

Your touch had been gentle, careful, but there had been something else in the way your fingers moved—a quiet intimacy, a tenderness that lingered long after you’d finished patching him up. Dean could still feel the ghost of your touch, the warmth of your palms against his back, the way you’d whispered his name when you thought he was in too much pain.

He clenched his fist, resting it against the edge of the dresser as he looked away from the mirror. “Dammit”, he muttered under his breath, the frustration boiling over.

He couldn’t shake you, couldn’t forget the way you’d looked at him last night, even as you’d pushed him away. It wasn’t just about the words you’d said—it was the way your voice had trembled, the way your eyes had shimmered with unshed tears. You’d been trying to convince yourself just as much as you were trying to convince him.

Dean turned back to the mirror, running a hand through his hair as he took a steadying breath. He didn’t know what the hell to do with this, with any of it. But as much as he wanted to shove it all down, to bury it the way he always did, he couldn’t. Not this time. Not with you.

His fingers brushed the edge of the bandages again, and he closed his eyes, letting himself linger in the memory of your touch for just a moment longer. Then he straightened, shaking his head as if to clear it.

Dean reached for a clean shirt, carefully pulling it over his head and adjusting it to avoid pulling at the bandages.

A few days later, the bunker was quiet as the evening settled in. Dean sat in the war room, a beer in hand. He was trying to focus on anything other than the ache in his chest that hadn’t let up since you left.

The sound of his phone buzzing on the table snapped him out of his thoughts. He glanced at the screen: it was Sam.

“Hey”, Dean answered, his tone casual, though his brows furrowed slightly. “What’s up?”.

“I’m out with Jodie”, Sam said, his voice slightly muffled by the sound of background chatter. “But just a heads-up—Y/N said she’s stopping by the bunker tonight to grab her stuff”.

Dean froze, his grip tightening around the beer bottle. “She’s coming here?”, he asked, trying to keep his voice even.

“Yeah”, Sam confirmed, though there was a faint hesitation in his tone. “She didn’t want to bother me about it, so I told her to go ahead. Figured you’d be around, so it shouldn’t be a problem”.

Dean forced a grunt of acknowledgment, his chest tightening at the thought of seeing you again. “Yeah, no problem”, he said, though the words felt hollow.

“Thanks”, Sam said, clearly relieved. “She’ll probably just be in and out. I doubt she’ll hang around”.

Dean nodded to himself, his jaw clenching. “Yeah. Got it”.

“Alright, I’ll see you later”, Sam said, before hanging up.

Dean sat there for a moment, staring at the phone in his hand. He took a long swig of his beer. He wasn’t ready for this—not after everything that had happened—but there was no getting around it now.

A part of him hoped you’d just grab your things and leave without saying much, but another part of him—the part he was trying to bury—was desperate to see you, to find some kind of closure or clarity.

With a heavy sigh, Dean stood and made his way to the kitchen, grabbing another beer to steel himself. It wasn’t long before he heard the faint echo of the bunker’s heavy door creaking open, followed by the soft sound of footsteps descending the stairs.

You were here.

You stepped into the bunker quietly, the familiar hum of its lights and the faint smell of leather and gun oil wrapping around you like a memory you weren’t ready to revisit. Sam had said he’d be out with Jodie for the evening, so you assumed the place would be empty. That was the plan: grab your stuff, leave the key on the table, and go. No lingering, no messy goodbyes.

You moved quietly through the bunker, making your way toward Sam’s room. It wasn’t easy being back, but you told yourself this was the last time.

Your hands moved quickly as you gathered the last of your belongings from Sam’s room, folding clothes and tucking small items into a bag. The room felt cold, impersonal now, like it had already started erasing the traces of you. It made your chest tighten, but you pushed the feeling aside. This was for the best.

Once your bag was packed, you slung it over your shoulder and made your way toward the map room. The plan was to leave the key on the table and go without a second thought. But as you stepped into the room, your breath caught in your throat.

Dean was there.

He stood near the table, his broad shoulders slightly hunched, his posture more tense than usual. His bandaged torso was partially visible beneath his shirt, the edges of the gauze peeking out as a reminder of the injuries you’d patched up just a few nights ago. The sight made your stomach twist, a mix of guilt and something you couldn’t quite name.

His eyes met yours, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence between you was deafening, charged with the weight of everything left unsaid. You could see the strain in his posture, the way he leaned ever so slightly against the table for support. He looked tired—worn down in a way that went beyond the physical pain.

Dean’s voice broke the silence, rough and low. “Didn’t think I’d see you again”, he said, his tone carrying a mix of bitterness and something softer, something almost vulnerable.

You froze, your grip tightening on the strap of your bag. “I didn’t think anyone was here”, you said softly, your voice barely audible.

Dean let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, well. Here I am”..

Dean’s gaze locked on you, his eyes narrowing slightly, a mix of frustration and curiosity flickering behind them. He shifted his weight, leaning more heavily on the table as he crossed his arms. The movement made him wince slightly, but he didn’t seem to care—or maybe he didn’t want you to notice.

“So”, he started, his voice low and sharp, the bitterness cutting through the heavy silence. “Why’d you break up with Sammy?”.

You blinked, caught off guard by the directness of his question. “I… Dean, I don’t think—”.

“No, no”, he interrupted, holding up a hand, his tone edging toward sarcasm. “Don’t pull that. You walk in here, grab your stuff, act like everything’s fine, but you break it off with Sam just hours after telling me he’s the ‘smarter choice’”. His lips curled into a faint, humorless smirk. “Care to explain how that works?”.

Your stomach twisted, guilt and frustration bubbling to the surface as you looked away, unable to hold his gaze. “It’s complicated”, you said quietly, your voice faltering.

“Complicated”, Dean repeated, his voice dripping with disbelief. “You told me he was the right call, shoved it in my face like I was some… mistake you didn’t want to make, and then you dumped him. That doesn’t sound complicated—it sounds like bullshit”.

You flinched at his words, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag as you tried to keep your composure. “It wasn’t like that”, you said, your voice trembling slightly. “I didn’t mean to hurt either of you”.

Dean let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Well, congrats, sweetheart. Mission failed”.

The sharpness of his tone stung, but what hurt more was the look in his eyes—raw and wounded, like he was holding himself together by a thread. “I broke up with Sam because it wasn’t fair to him”, you said, your voice firmer now as you met his gaze. “I realized I couldn’t be what he needed”.

“And what about me?”, Dean shot back, his voice rising slightly. “You couldn’t even look me in the eye when you told me he was the ‘smarter choice’. Was that for my benefit? To make sure I knew I wasn’t good enough?”.

“That’s not what I meant”, you said quickly, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “I was trying to protect—”.

“Protect who?”, Dean interrupted, his jaw tightening. “Me? Sam? Or yourself?”.

The question hung in the air, heavy and damning, and you felt your chest tighten as you struggled to find an answer. The truth was, you didn’t know anymore. You’d convinced yourself you were doing the right thing, but now, standing here in front of Dean, everything felt like it was unraveling.

Your voice trembled as you finally whispered the truth, the words you’d been holding back for too long. “I didn’t want to break you and Sam apart”.

Dean froze, his jaw clenching as your words sank in. He stared at you, his eyes searching your face, his emotions flashing like a storm—anger, frustration, surprise, and something softer, something he wasn’t ready to name.

“Break us apart?”, he repeated, his voice quieter now, the sharp edge fading just slightly. “That’s what you thought this was about?”.

You looked down, unable to hold his gaze. “What else could it be about, Dean?”, you said softly. “You and Sam… You’ve been through everything together. The last thing I wanted was to come between you. I thought it would be best if none of you wanted me anymore”.

Dean let out a shaky exhale. He didn’t say anything at first, and the silence was deafening.

Finally, he turned back, his expression unreadable. “You really think me and Sammy would let this—”, he gestured vaguely between you and himself, his voice faltering—“tear us apart?”.

You blinked, startled by the sudden vulnerability in his tone. “Wouldn’t it?”, you asked, your voice barely audible.

Dean shook his head, letting out a humorless laugh as he leaned back against the table, his arms crossed over his chest. “You don’t get it, do you?”, he said, his voice rough but steadier now. “Me and Sam—we’ve been through hell. Literally. You think something like this would be enough to break us?”.

You didn’t know how to respond. The way he said it—so certain, so resolute—made your chest ache.

Dean’s eyes softened, though the frustration in his voice remained. “I’m not saying it wouldn’t have been messy. Hell, it already is. But you’re wrong if you think Sam and I can’t handle this”.

He let out another laugh, quieter this time, as he dropped his gaze to the floor. “You know what’s funny? I didn’t even realize how close I was to crossing that line. Taking something I had no right to take. And you’re standing here acting like it’s all on you”.

Dean’s eyes locked on yours again, sharp and unrelenting, but your quiet words cut through the space between you.

“Cheating on your boyfriend with his big brother? It’s not my style”, you whispered, your voice trembling but firm. “Breaking up with my boyfriend to be with his brother either”.

Dean flinched at your words, his jaw tightening as if they physically hit him, but he didn’t interrupt. He just stood there, his hands gripping the edge of the table, his knuckles white as he listened.

“So just leaving seems like the best option, doesn’t it?”, you mumbled, your eyes dropping to the floor. You hugged your arms around yourself, trying to protect against the vulnerability that came with speaking the truth. “Clean break, no mess, no… fallout”.

Dean’s laugh was bitter, a sharp contrast to the rawness in your tone. “Yeah, that’s a hell of a plan”, he said, his voice rough and biting. “Except it’s a little late for no fallout, don’t you think?”.

You winced, the weight of his words settling heavily in your chest. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen”, you said softly, looking up at him again. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone”.

Dean shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “You didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did”, he said, his voice quieter now, though no less intense. “And now you’re running. Because what? You’re scared? You think this is the only way to fix it?”.

You stared at him, your breath hitching as his words hit closer to home than you wanted to admit. “What else am I supposed to do, Dean?”, you asked, your voice breaking slightly. “Tell me. What’s the right answer here?”.

Dean’s gaze softened, the frustration in his expression fading as he exhaled deeply. He took a step closer, his eyes searching yours, and for a moment, the intensity between you was almost unbearable.

“I don’t know”, he admitted, his voice low and raw. “But I know this? You leaving? Acting like this didn’t happen? That’s not the answer. It’s just you running from it”.

His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning, and for the first time, you saw the depth of his own struggle. Dean wasn’t just angry or hurt—he was just as lost as you were, and maybe even more afraid of what came next.

But what could you do? The path forward still felt impossible, no matter how much you wanted to believe otherwise. You looked away, biting your lip as you tried to hold back the tears threatening to spill over.

Dean’s voice dropped lower, rough with frustration and something that felt dangerously close to desperation. “Look at me”, he demanded, his tone steady but insistent. “Tell me you don’t want this”.

You couldn’t. Your throat tightened as your chest ached with guilt and shame. You shook your head, refusing to meet his gaze. Your eyes were glassy, tears threatening to spill as you clutched your arms around yourself, like holding on to something solid might keep you from breaking apart completely.

“Y/N”, Dean said again, his voice harder this time, the edge in it cutting through the air like a blade. “Look at me”.

But you couldn’t. You shook your head again, a tear slipping down your cheek as you quickly brushed it away with trembling fingers. “Don’t”, you whispered, your voice breaking. “Please don’t”.

Dean’s jaw clenched, his frustration palpable, but he didn’t step back. Instead, he closed the distance between you, his presence overwhelming. He stood just inches away, his eyes boring into you as he tried to force you to meet his gaze.

“I need to hear you say it”, he said, his tone quieter now, but no less intense. “Say you don’t want this. Don´t want me. Say it so I can walk away”.

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering in your chest as the tears continued to fall. “I can’t”, you admitted, your voice trembling, barely above a whisper. “I can’t say it”.

Dean’s breath hitched, his shoulders sagging slightly as your words hung in the air. He reached out as if to touch you, but stopped himself, his hand falling back to his side. “Then why?”, he asked, his voice raw, breaking. “Why are you doing this to yourself? To me?”.

Your hands covered your face as a sob escaped you, your emotions spilling over. “Because it’s wrong”, you cried, your voice muffled and shaky. “Because I shouldn’t feel this way. I shouldn’t have let it happen”.

Dean took a step closer, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “You think I wanted this?”, he asked, his tone heavy with his own guilt. “You think I woke up one day and decided to fall for my brother’s girl?”.

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, raw and unfiltered, and they only made the ache in your chest worse. You let out a shaky breath, your hands falling from your face as you forced yourself to meet his gaze. The pain in his eyes was almost unbearable, a reflection of everything you were feeling but couldn’t bring yourself to say.

“Dean”, you whispered, your voice trembling, “I don’t know what to do”.

Dean shook his head, a bitter smile tugging at his lips as he let out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, join the club”, he said, his voice rough but quiet. “You think I’ve got this figured out? I’ve been trying like hell to stay away from you, to do the right thing. But every time I see you, every time you walk in the room… it’s like I can’t breathe”.

Your heart broke at his confession, the vulnerability in his voice cutting through all the defenses you’d built up. “I never wanted to hurt you”, you said, the tears streaming down your face freely now. “Or Sam. I just… I didn’t mean for this to happen”.

Dean stepped closer, his hands twitching at his sides like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare. “Neither did I”, he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But it did. And now we’re here”.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and charged, every second feeling like an eternity. Dean’s jaw tightened, his emotions warring visibly on his face, before he finally reached out. His rough, calloused fingers slid under your chin, tilting your face up toward his with a gentle but firm insistence.

“Look at me”, he demanded again, his voice low and rough, the edge of frustration tempered by something softer—something desperate.

You hesitated, the tears still clinging to your lashes, but you couldn’t resist. Slowly, you let your eyes meet his, and the intensity in his green gaze nearly stole the breath from your lungs. He was so close now, the heat of him radiating into the space between you. If he wasn’t so much taller, his breath would’ve mingled with yours, but the height difference only made him feel more overwhelming, more commanding.

“Do you feel this?”, he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, raw and unsteady. His thumb brushed against your jawline, sending a shiver down your spine. “Tell me I’m crazy. Tell me I’m the only one losing my mind here”.

Your lips parted, but no words came out. You wanted to deny it, to push him away for his own sake—for your own—but the truth was right there, plain and undeniable, written in the way your body leaned ever so slightly toward his, drawn to him like a magnet.

“Dean…”, you whispered, your voice trembling as you tried to find something, anything, to say.

“No”, he cut you off, his tone rough but laced with something pleading. His hand stayed firm on your chin, holding your gaze captive. “No excuses. No running. Just… tell me. Do you feel it?”.

Your chest heaved with the weight of your emotions, your tears spilling over as you nodded, the motion small but enough to shatter whatever resolve was left in him. “Yes”, you whispered, the word barely audible.

Dean exhaled sharply, his eyes closing briefly as if the confession had hit him like a physical blow. When he opened them again, they were darker, more intense. His other hand came up to cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing away a stray tear.

Dean’s eyes darkened, his gaze flicking to your lips for the briefest moment before he moved. His hands, strong and calloused, gripped your waist suddenly, completely enveloping you as if you weighed nothing. With an effortless motion, he lifted you off your feet and placed you on the edge of the table, the thud of your bag hitting the ground echoing faintly in the background.

You barely had a second to react before his lips crashed onto yours.

The kiss was anything but gentle—it was desperate, heated, full of all the tension and longing that had been building for so long. Dean’s hands stayed firmly on your waist, his fingers digging in slightly, grounding both of you in the moment. His lips moved against yours with a fervor that left you breathless, stealing every coherent thought from your mind.

Your hands found their way to his shoulders, clutching the fabric of his shirt as you pulled him closer, feeling the solid warmth of his body against yours. Dean groaned softly, the sound vibrating through you as his hands slid up your sides, his thumbs brushing against your ribs in a way that made your pulse race even faster.

Your body moved instinctively, your legs wrapping around Dean’s waist as if to pull him even closer. The movement brought you flush against him, and the unmistakable hardness pressing against your core sent a shockwave through you.

Dean froze for a moment, his breath hitching against your lips as his grip on your waist tightened. Then a deep, guttural groan rumbled from his chest, the sound reverberating into your mouth as he kissed you harder, his restraint crumbling under the weight of his desire.

Dean’s hands trembled slightly as they moved up your sides, and with one swift motion, he tugged your shirt upward. His lips left yours just long enough to pull it over your head, tossing it to the floor without a second thought. When his eyes returned to you, they darkened, his gaze lingering on your bare chest.

“Damn it”, he muttered, his voice low and gravelly, filled with awe and hunger as he drank in the sight of you. “You really don’t believe in wearing a damn bra, do you?”.

Your cheeks flushed, heat creeping up your neck at his words, but before you could respond, Dean’s hands were on you again. With one swift motion, he lifted you from the table, pulling you against him as if you weighed nothing. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist again, and you grabbed onto his shoulders for support, your fingers brushing over the bandages on his back.

Dean let out a quiet grunt, his jaw tightening as he tried not to wince. “Careful”, he muttered, though there was no real irritation in his voice—just a reminder of the wounds he carried.

“Sorry”, you murmured, your voice soft and breathless as your hands adjusted their grip, trying to avoid pressing into his injuries. But the way his chest was pressed against yours, the heat of his body seeping into you, made your heart race uncontrollably.

Dean’s lips brushed against your ear, his breath warm as he whispered, “Don’t apologize. Just hold on”.

Dean moved with purpose, his hands firm but careful as he guided you back, laying you gently onto his bed. The mattress dipped under your weight, and you felt the coolness of the sheets against your heated skin as your chest heaved, matching his labored breaths.

His hazel eyes locked onto yours for a moment, his expression dark and filled with unspoken promises. Then his gaze dropped lower, drinking in the sight of you, every inch of your body laid out for him. His hands slid down your sides, hooking into the waistband of your jeans. With a deliberate slowness that made your breath hitch, he began tugging them down, taking your panties with them in one smooth motion.

The room felt impossibly still as Dean straightened slightly, his eyes falling to the exposed skin between your thighs. He exhaled sharply, his jaw clenching as his hands tightened slightly on your hips.

The weight of his eyes, the heat radiating from his body, only made the ache between your thighs grow stronger. Every second of the last few months—every glance, every teasing smirk, every low, rumbling word from his lips—flashed through your mind, amplifying the raw, electric need coursing through you.

You had spent so long denying yourself this, so long pretending the tension between you didn’t exist, and now, with Dean’s hands on your skin and his body so close, it felt like the dam had finally broken. Your body trembled under his touch, every nerve alight with anticipation.

Dean let out a low groan, the sound deep and primal, as he slid his hands down to your thighs, his fingers tracing the soft skin there with an almost reverent care. “You’re soaked”, he muttered, his voice rough and thick with desire. “I haven’t even started, and you’re already—”. He cut himself off, shaking his head slightly as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Your cheeks flushed, but the heat in his voice sent another wave of arousal through you, making you gasp softly. “Dean”, you whispered, your voice trembling as you reached out, your fingers brushing against his forearm. “Please”.

The single word seemed to snap something in him. His hands tightened on your thighs, spreading them slightly as he leaned down, his breath ghosting over your skin. “You’ve got no idea what you do to me”, he murmured, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. “Every time I looked at you, every time I heard your voice… I wanted this. Wanted you”.

You shivered beneath him, your heart racing as his words sank in, the truth in them only fueling the fire in your core. “Then take me”, you whispered, your voice breaking with need. “Please, Dean”.

Dean didn’t hesitate for a second. His green eyes flicked up to meet yours, and as he held your gaze, a slow, predatory smirk spread across his lips. The intensity in his eyes was magnetic, and you couldn’t look away, even as your cheeks flushed and your breath hitched in anticipation.

He licked his lips, his hands sliding further up your thighs as he spread your legs wide for him. The cool air hit your heated skin, making you shiver, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating from him as he lowered himself between your legs. The rough scruff of his jaw brushed against your inner thigh, sending a ripple of sensation through you, and then his mouth was on you.

Dean’s tongue pressed flat against your slit, but he didn’t move. He held you there, his eyes locked on yours, his grip on your thighs firm and grounding. The look on his face—like he was savoring you, consuming every part of this moment—was the most intoxicating thing you’d ever seen. You gasped softly, your hips instinctively arching toward him, but his hands tightened, holding you in place.

“Stay still”, he murmured against you, the vibration of his voice sending a shockwave through your core. His lips curled into a smirk as he inhaled deeply, his nose brushing against your sensitive skin. “You smell so fucking good”.

Your hands gripped the sheets beneath you as his tongue finally began to move, slow and deliberate. He traced a line from your entrance to your clit, his movements precise and teasing, like he was testing how far he could push you before you fell apart. When his tongue finally circled your clit, your back arched involuntarily, a broken moan escaping your lips.

Dean groaned in response, the sound low and guttural, vibrating against you. His eyes never left yours, the connection between you so raw, so electric, it left you breathless. He worked you with a confidence that was almost maddening, his tongue and lips exploring every inch of you, coaxing sounds from you that you didn’t even know you were capable of making.

“You’re so damn sweet”, he muttered, his voice thick with desire as he kissed your swollen clit. “I could stay here all night”.

You were a shivering, moaning mess under Dean’s relentless attention, every flick of his tongue and press of his lips sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. Your fingers tangled in the sheets, your back arching as his mouth worked you over with an intensity that left you breathless. Each sound you made only seemed to spur him on more, his groans of approval vibrating against your sensitive skin.

Dean lapped at your juices like a man starved, his tongue dragging along your folds before circling your clit again and again. His grip on your thighs was firm, his fingers digging in almost painfully as he held you open for him. The contrast between the pressure of his hands and the soft, wet heat of his mouth only heightened your arousal, making you cry out louder.

He pulled back for the briefest moment, his lips glistening as he looked up at you, his green eyes dark with lust. But then his mouth was on you again, his tongue plunging into your entrance, and all coherent thought disappeared.

Your hips bucked against his face, and he groaned against you. His hands tightened their grip on your thighs, holding you firmly in place as he devoured you, his tongue and lips working together to bring you closer and closer to the edge.

“Fuck”, he growled against you, his breath hot as he pulled back just long enough to kiss your inner thigh, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. “You’re perfect. So fucking perfect”.

His words, his touch, his voice—all of it overwhelmed you, your body trembling uncontrollably as the coil in your stomach tightened. You were close, so close, and he knew it. Dean’s mouth returned to your clit, his tongue circling with a deliberate precision that had you crying out his name, your hands reaching down to grip his hair as your body begged for release.

He knew exactly what he was doing, reading your every gasp, moan, and twitch like a map leading him to exactly where you needed him to be. His lips sealed around your clit, and he sucked gently before flicking his tongue against it again, the sensation so intense that it sent shudders racing up your spine.

“Dean—”, you choked out, your voice trembling, your body straining as the pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your core.

“That’s it”, he muttered against you, his breath hot and ragged as he spoke between licks. “Let go for me, sweetheart. I’ve got you”.

His words, low and commanding, tipped you over the edge. The coil in your stomach snapped, and pleasure exploded through you, a tidal wave of sensation so intense it left you shaking. Your back arched off the bed as a loud, broken moan tore from your throat, your entire body trembling uncontrollably as you came harder than you ever had before.

Dean didn’t let up, his tongue continuing to work you through your climax, slower now but still firm and deliberate, drawing out every last wave of pleasure. His hands held your thighs steady, even as they quivered under his grip, his strength grounding you in the overwhelming intensity of the moment.

Your vision blurred, stars dancing behind your eyelids as you gasped for breath, your body completely at his mercy. Dean finally slowed, his lips placing soft, lingering kisses along your inner thighs as your trembling began to subside.

When you opened your eyes, he was watching you, his gaze filled with a mix of satisfaction and hunger as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “That”, he murmured, his voice low and rough, “was the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen”.

You couldn’t respond, still catching your breath as the aftershocks of your orgasm rippled through you. Your heart raced as he leaned up, his face hovering just above yours, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, lingering kiss that tasted and smelled so much like you.

Dean’s lips moved against yours with an urgency that matched the heat coursing through your veins. As his tongue traced the seam of your lips, his hands worked quickly, tugging at his shirt. He broke the kiss only long enough to yank it over his head, revealing the bruises and bandages that covered his torso—the work you had meticulously done just a few days ago.

Your eyes roamed over him, the rough edges of his body, the scars, the muscles. He was raw and unpolished, but it only made him more captivating. Dean caught the way you looked at him, a flicker of a smirk crossing his lips even as his breathing remained heavy.

“Gotta be a bit easy on me, sweetheart”, he murmured against your neck, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine. His lips pressed gently along the curve of your throat, a soft contrast to the heat building between you. Even as he spoke, his hips pressed closer, guiding his hard, swollen length against your slick folds.

The sound of him groaning softly into your ear as his tip slipped through your wetness made your mind spiral into mush. He moved slowly, deliberately, dragging his cock up and down through your folds, the friction making you gasp. Your body trembled at the sensation, your hips instinctively tilting up to meet him.

Your breath hitched as he teased your entrance, the tip of his cock sliding just far enough to stretch you before slipping away again. He was toying with you, building the tension back up even though you were still coming down from the high of your climax.

“Dean”, you gasped, your voice breathy and desperate as you clutched at his shoulders. Your fingers grazed the bandages, but he didn’t flinch, too focused on the feel of you beneath him.

He chuckled softly, his voice low and gravelly as he tilted his head to capture your lips again. “Patience, sweetheart”, he murmured, though the strain in his voice betrayed just how close he was to losing control. “Just wan´t to feel you for a sec. Don’t want to rush this”.

But you couldn’t wait. Your body was already on fire, your thighs trembling as you shifted beneath him, trying to get more of him where you needed him most. Your breath was labored, and all you could do was nod, your brain too foggy to form coherent words.

Dean’s lips curved into a small smile against your neck as he finally lined himself up, the thick head of his cock pressing against your entrance with just enough pressure to make you whimper.

Dean’s brow furrowed as he felt you shift beneath him, your hips tilting up just enough to make his tip sink barely an inch deeper into your slick, inviting heat. The sensation pulled a low, guttural groan from him, his jaw clenching as he gripped your hips tighter.

“Nah-uh”, he murmured, his voice a strained mix of authority and desire. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense, as he tried to regain control. “You keep that up, and this is gonna be over before it even starts”.

Your breath hitched, the rasp in his voice and the weight of his gaze making your heart race. Another soft whimper escaped you, and you felt his cock twitch against your entrance, thick and hot, teasing but not yet giving you what you so desperately needed.

“Dean, please”, you whispered, your voice trembling with need. Your hands slid up his shoulders, brushing against the bandages as your fingers curled into his hair. “I need—”.

“I know”, he cut you off, his voice low and gravelly, but his movements didn’t change. His hips rocked forward just slightly, his tip slipping through your wetness but stopping before he pushed inside. “Trust me, I know”.

The tension in his body was palpable, every muscle coiled tight as he tried to hold himself back. You could see it in the way his arms trembled slightly, in the sharp exhale through his nose as he fought against the overwhelming urge to take you fully.

“You feel so damn good”, he muttered, his lips brushing against your ear as he pressed a kiss to your neck, his stubble grazing your skin. “Better than I ever let myself imagine”.

You gasped softly, your body arching into his as the heat between you grew unbearable. Your legs tightened around his waist, pulling him closer, and this time, his restraint faltered. He pushed forward, the thick head of his cock slipping past your entrance, stretching you just enough to make you cry out softly.

Dean stilled, his breath ragged. “That okay?”, he asked, his voice softer now, though his need was still evident in every strained word.

You nodded quickly, your hands clutching at his shoulders. “Yes”, you breathed, your voice trembling with anticipation. “Don’t stop”.

His jaw tightened, his gaze burning into yours as he leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss. Slowly, carefully, he pushed deeper, each inch sending a wave of pleasure through your body until he was fully seated inside you, his hips flush against yours.

The stretch was overwhelming, but the way he filled you was perfect, the heat of him grounding you as you both struggled to catch your breath. Dean’s forehead dropped to yours, his hand sliding up to cradle the side of your face as he held himself still, giving you a moment to adjust.

“Fuck Baby”, he muttered, his voice rough and filled with awe. “You’re gonna ruin me”.

Dean froze at your whispered words, his breath hitching as your confession sliced through the haze of pleasure. “You already ruined me”. The vulnerability in your voice, so quiet yet so raw, hit him like a punch to the chest.

He stared at you for a beat, his eyes dark with emotion. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing against your flushed skin as though trying to memorize the moment. Then, without a word, he lowered his head to your neck, his lips finding the sensitive spot just below your jaw. He kissed you there, slow and deliberate.

The next second, Dean pulled out completely, the sudden emptiness making you gasp. But before you could even form a protest, he thrust back into you in one deep, powerful motion. The force of it sent your body sliding up the bed slightly, your head pressing against the headboard as a cry tore from your lips.

“Dean!”, you moaned, your hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as pleasure surged through you.

“That’s it”, Dean groaned against your neck, his voice deep and guttural, the sound vibrating through your skin. “Say my name like that again”.

He pulled back and slammed into you again, his movements deliberate and intense, each thrust sending you higher. Your legs tightened around his waist, your body arching to meet him as the bed creaked beneath the rhythm he set. Every movement, every press of his hips against yours, hit a spot so deep inside you that you couldn’t hold back the cries and whimpers spilling from your lips.

“You feel so good”, Dean muttered, his lips dragging along your neck before capturing your earlobe between his teeth. “So damn tight—like you were made for me”.

His words sent another wave of heat crashing over you, your nails raking down his back as your head tilted back, exposing more of your neck to him. Dean took full advantage, his lips and tongue trailing along your skin as his hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he drove into you with relentless precision.

Dean didn’t care about the searing pain in his back or the sting of his wounds reopening. None of it mattered. The only thing he cared about was you—your body arching beneath him, your breathless cries filling the room, and the way his name spilled from your lips.

“Dean”, you gasped, your voice breaking as his thrusts became deeper, harder, each one hitting a spot that made your vision blur. Your nails scraped against his shoulders, your legs trembling as they tightened around his waist, desperate to pull him even closer.

“That’s it”, Dean growled, his voice rough and low, thick with desire. “Say it again. Let me hear you”.

He angled his hips, driving into you with a precision that made your entire body quake. The rhythm was relentless, each thrust sending a shockwave of pleasure through you so intense that you didn’t know whether you were sobbing or moaning. Your chest heaved, the air leaving your lungs in shallow gasps as your hands clung to him for dear life.

“Dean!”, you cried out again, your voice raw with need, and the sound spurred him on even more. His hands gripped your hips tighter, almost bruising, as he pulled you against him with every thrust, as if he wanted to make sure you felt every inch of him, every ounce of his strength.

“Shit”, he muttered, his breath hot against your ear as he dipped his head to press open-mouthed kisses along your neck. “You’re perfect. Fucking perfect”. His voice broke slightly, the strain in it revealing just how much he was holding back. “You’re mine, sweetheart. Mine”.

Your body arched beneath him at his words, the possessiveness in his tone sending a fresh wave of heat through you. You didn’t fight it, couldn’t even think of denying it. Every thrust, every touch, every look in his eyes told you this was where you belonged.

“Dean”, you sobbed, your voice trembling as the coil in your stomach tightened to an unbearable degree. “I—I can’t—”.

“Yes, you can”, he growled, his lips brushing against yours as his pace quickened, his movements more erratic now, driven by pure instinct.

Dean’s lips brushed against your ear, his breath hot and heavy as his voice dropped into a commanding growl. “Come for me”, he ordered, his tone low and rough, each word sending a shiver through your entire body. “Now”.

The intensity in his voice, the raw power of his demand, pushed you over the edge. The coil in your core snapped violently, sending a wave of pleasure crashing over you so overwhelming that your entire body trembled. A broken cry tore from your throat, your voice raw and hoarse as his name spilled from your lips again and again.

“Dean!”, you sobbed, your nails digging into his shoulders as your body arched against him. The world blurred, every nerve alight as the waves of your orgasm surged through you, leaving you completely at his mercy. Your thighs clenched around his waist, your hips bucking as he continued to thrust into you, each movement prolonging your climax until you felt like you might shatter.

Dean groaned deeply, his grip on your hips tightening as he watched you fall apart beneath him. “That’s my girl”, he muttered, his voice filled with awe and satisfaction.

His words only made the pleasure burn hotter, the aftershocks rippling through you as you struggled to catch your breath.

Dean’s movements slowed, his thrusts becoming deeper, more deliberate, as his breathing grew heavier and more ragged. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his eyes locked on you as his grip on your hips tightened. His body trembled above you, the tension coiling in him evident in every line of his frame.

“You’re so fucking beautiful”, he groaned, his voice low and strained, filled with awe and raw need.

And then you felt it—Dean’s body stiffening as he let out a guttural moan, his hips pressing flush against yours. He spilled deep inside you, the warmth of him filling you completely, and the sensation made your breath hitch. His name fell from your lips in a whisper, the intimacy of the moment making your chest ache.

Dean’s hands slid up your sides, his touch softer now as he tried to steady himself. His lips brushed against your temple, the gentleness of the gesture a stark contrast to the passion that had just consumed you both. His forehead rested against yours again as his breathing slowed, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. The only sounds were your mingled breaths, the quiet hum of the bunker around you, and the steady thrum of your heartbeat in your ears. Dean stayed close, his arms wrapping around you as if he couldn’t bear to let you go.

Your hands slid up to his back, your fingers tracing the lines of his muscles as you held him close, your body still trembling slightly from the aftermath of everything you’d just shared. You didn’t say anything—words felt unnecessary in the face of the connection between you, raw and undeniable.

Dean finally pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours as if he was trying to commit every detail of your face to memory. His thumb brushed against your cheek, a small, tender smile tugging at his lips.

And in that moment, it was as if nothing else in the world mattered but the two of you.

But the peaceful silence was shattered by the sound of Sam’s voice echoing through the bunker, calling your name.

“Y/N?”, he shouted, his voice closer than either of you expected. “What’s going on? Why’s your stuff out here?”.

Your eyes widened in panic, the sound jolting you out of the intimacy of the moment. Dean was still buried inside you, his warmth and the evidence of what had just happened making your cheeks flush. You opened your mouth to say something, but Dean’s hand quickly covered it, his green eyes locked on yours as he motioned with his other hand for you to keep quiet.

“Shh”, he mouthed, his lips curving into the faintest, almost mischievous grin.

“Dean?”, Sam’s voice came again, closer now, accompanied by the sound of his footsteps. “You seen (Y/N)?”.

Dean groaned softly, his head tilting back as if the interruption had physically pained him. He pulled his hand away from your mouth, gave you a look that practically begged for your cooperation, and then called out, “I’m in the middle of something, Sammy! Can it wait?”.

You stared at him, your eyes wide with disbelief as he casually spoke while still inside you, his body pressed flush against yours. He caught your look and winked, his smirk growing as he shifted his hips ever so slightly, drawing a sharp gasp from you that you barely managed to stifle.

Sam hesitated, clearly trying to process the situation. “In the middle of what?”, he asked, his tone suspicious.

Dean groaned again, this time louder, as if he were exasperated. “Come on, man”, he called, his voice carrying a rough, teasing edge. “Let’s just say I’m having a little ‘me time’ and leave it at that”.

The silence that followed was deafening, but after a beat, Sam let out an awkward grunt. “Damn it, Dean. A little warning next time”, he muttered, his footsteps retreating. “I’ll figure it out myself”.

You slapped Dean’s shoulder lightly, your face burning as you tried not to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. “Seriously?”, you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Dean grinned, leaning down to brush a kiss against your temple. “Worked, didn’t it?”, he murmured, his hands sliding back to your hips as he shifted slightly, reminding you exactly where he still was.

“Dean”, you said, your voice a mix of exasperation and breathless amusement.

His grin widened, and he kissed you again, his lips soft but filled with a mischievous hunger that promised he wasn’t done with you yet. “Now, where were we?”, he asked, his voice dropping to that gravelly tone that made your breath hitch all over again.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

-

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[ssentimentals]

hi baby! i’m a new follower here and i don’t know if you’re still doing the prompt game but i would absolutely loveeee 17 and 25 with seungcheol please :)

hi love! welcome-welcome :') prompt game is still ongoing, thank you for requesting, hopefully you will like it!💜

prompt: 'tending to an injury/wound/illness' + showing up injured at the enemy's house'

'what the fuck?' you mumble when someone starts banging at your door at - you squint at numbers on your laptop screen - at two freaking am.

there are lots of things you expected to see when you open that door. maybe some neighbor kids pulling a joke, a delivery guy who got here by mistake - not seungcheol, who's clutching at his left side, trying to stop the bleeding. your grip on the knife that you managed to grab on your way tightens and you repeat again, louder this time: 'what the fuck?'

seungcheol glances at the knife in your hands and weakly chuckles: 'you're late for that,' he mutters and lets presses harder on the wound. 'already got stabbed.'

you squint at him. there are millions questions on the tip of your tongue but what comes out first is: 'what the fuck are you doing here?' and it's a valid question, because you and cheol are enemies. you work for different people, you gather data on one another, you set up traps for his team and he tries to gain the upperhand on yours.

'i just need-' he pauses, wincing at the pain. he looks pale and worn out and his voice shakes a little as he continues: 'just- twenty minutes. that's all i need. rest up and i'll go. they won't find me here.'

accepting a guy in your house who is a) your enemy, b) has people looking for him and c) is injured, is not a smart move. but the more he stands there, the higher is the risk of someone else noticing and you doubt that he can go back on his own legs, so: 'get in, asshole.'

you push him towards the bathroom, cringing at the metallic smell of blood that fills your nose as soon as he takes off his coat and gets rid of his t-shirt. the cut is not very deep to be extremely risk for his health, but it's still a cut deep enough for- 'you're staining my carpet with your blood.'

seungcheol looks down and huffs, rolling his eyes. 'i'll buy you new one.'

you hand him soap and point towards the bath: 'get undressed and wash that wound in the bathtub. i'll come back with bandages and antiseptic.' you look him over and add: 'don't die in my bathtub.'

'bossy,' seungcheol notes but it's clear how he's barely holding himself upright. 'gonna stay here while i'm undressing?'

you should've never let him in. but people say that best defense is attack, so: 'why? do you want me to?'

seungcheol reaches for his belt, pauses and looks up at you. 'yeah. maybe then you'll like me.'

you both freeze. the way he said it - the tone - was different. not the usual teasing or rude comments, but something serious, something.. sincere. 'i won't like you,' you mutter, puzzled.

'won't? or can't?' seungcheol asks in a quiet whisper.

it's too much. an unknown territory for you that you're afraid to breach. without saying anything you walk out to get bandages and antiseptic, not noticing how seungcheol looks at you with longing that only a person who loves someone he can't have feels. and he knows it's complicated; it's the story as old as time itself - star crossed lovers who are doomed for tragedy. but when he climbs into the bathtub and tries his best to wash the wound carefully, he can't help but hope. because you let him - that has to mean something, right? you help him - that has to mean something. and maybe with enough effort seungcheol can make that turn into something beautiful, not tragic.

a/n: cheollie is so popular for requests lately, i hope i'm managing to keep up with everyone's expectations :/ hope you liked it! - nini

request your own here

my other seventeen work is here

[mocchiixxx]

Sunshine, Multiplied (Joshua x Reader)

Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Sunshine x Chill Duo

Summary: Joshua is known for being calm and collected, but dating you—a hyperactive ball of sunshine—is the ultimate test of his patience. You drag him on spontaneous adventures, overwhelm him with energy, and make his life anything but boring. And despite it all, he’s utterly, completely smitten.

Joshua Hong had always been known as the calm, collected gentleman of SEVENTEEN. He handled chaos with a patient smile, balanced the group’s energy with steady warmth, and rarely, if ever, got flustered.

And then he met you.

His girlfriend. His walking ball of sunshine.

Who, somehow, had even more energy than DK himself.

It wasn’t that Joshua didn’t love it, because, oh, he did. But keeping up with you? It was a challenge. A fun one, but still a challenge.

"SHUAAAAA!"

Joshua barely had time to brace himself before you launched at him, wrapping your arms around him like an overly excited puppy. He let out a soft laugh as he caught you, steadying both of you before you sent him toppling to the floor.

"Hi, baby," he greeted, amused.

You grinned up at him. "I missed you!"

His brows lifted at this, amused. "I just saw you this morning."

"And I still missed you!" You dramatically clutched your chest. "Is that a crime?"

Joshua chuckled, shaking his head. "No, no. Just unexpected."

You pouted, squishing his cheeks. "You should be excited to see me too!"

"I am excited," he assured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Just not in the ‘scream and jump on me’ kind of way."

"Booooring!" You huffed, but the way your cheeks turned pink betrayed how much you loved the little forehead kiss.

Joshua smiled knowingly. "See? You like it when I’m soft."

"…Maybe."

He shook his head in amusement. "So, what’s up? Why the sudden burst of energy?"

You gasped. "Shua. I always have energy. Have you met me?"

"Unfortunately," he teased, making you lightly smack his arm.

"Rude! But anyway," you said, already moving on, "let’s go do something fun!"

Joshua tilted his head. "Like what?"

You beamed. "Like go on a spontaneous date! Let’s go eat ice cream, go to the arcade, and—"

Joshua exhaled, a small but fond smile on his lips. "Didn’t we just go on a date yesterday?"

"So?" You pouted, clinging to his arm. "You love spending time with me, right?"

Joshua sighed in fake defeat, pulling you closer by the waist. "Yeah, yeah, I do."

"Then let’s gooo!" You bounced on your feet, tugging at his hands.

"But what if…" he trailed off, eyes twinkling with mischief, "we stay in and have a chill movie night instead?"

Your face scrunched up. "Chill? Boringgg."

"We can watch whatever you want," he bargained. "Even that cringey rom-com you love."

You gasped dramatically. "You mean The One I Watch At Least Once A Month Because It’s A Masterpiece?"

Joshua laughed, already knowing he had won. "Yes, that one."

You crossed your arms, pretending to think about it. "Hmmm… Ice cream and arcade or cuddling with my super hot boyfriend and my favorite movie…"

Joshua hummed. "You do love cuddling with me."

"True, true." You tapped your chin before suddenly lighting up. "WAIT. We can do both! Arcade first, then movie night!"

Joshua blinked, processing your infinite energy levels. "You’re not tired?"

"Of what? Life? Love? You? NEVER!"

He sighed, already knowing he had no choice but to follow along. "Fine, let’s go."

You cheered, jumping excitedly before grabbing his hand and dragging him toward the door. Joshua only shook his head, amused but deeply, deeply in love.

Because while dating you was like dating a human embodiment of sunshine on caffeine, you also happened to be his sunshine.

And honestly? He wouldn’t change a thing.

Author's Note: Other members having girlfriend opposite to them are coming soon (I'll base it on the personality of their ship btw)🫣

[archangeldyke-all]

READER TOPPING RAN IM BEGGING

BWAHAHAHHHAHAHAAAAA (imagine lightening striking outside my evil horny-lair)

men and minors dni

fuck ran is hot.

obviously, you know this. you've been dating them for a year, this isn't a new fact to you.

but sometimes it hits you just how fucking attractive your lover is.

like right now.

you're a few drinks in, you've been chatting with lock and thieram when he has a moment between pouring drinks. you and ran danced for a while, and then they kissed your cheek and smacked your ass, declaring they were off to play pool.

and now you've caught sight of them across the bar where they're in an arm-wrestling match. they've got a snarl on their face, their eyes laser focused on where their mech hand is joint with their opponent's.

you watch in horny fascination as ran slowly, slowly pushes their opponents hand closer to the spikes on the table. they raise their eyebrow, their mouth moves as they say something cocky. you can't hear it over the music, but you've got a pretty good guess as to what their words are. "better give up now, before you lose your hand."

it only takes twenty more seconds of struggle before the man across relents, groaning and pulling his hand away before ran can pin it to the open bear-trap set on the table.

their eyes light up with the win, and they cackle as the man huffs and marches away from the table.

and then their eyes catch on you.

ran grins, and you can feel yourself being dragged across the bar by some invisible force-- their beauty, maybe.

"well, hello there." they greet you cheesily. you giggle and pull them up from their seat, kissing their lips swiftly before pulling away and brushing their bangs behind their ear.

"you're so strong." you sigh dreamily. ran giggles.

"i am."

"and you're so handsome." you coo, cupping their face in your hands.

ran blushes. "am i?" they ask. you nod.

"prettiest person in this bar." you mumble as you lean forward to kiss a line down their throat. ran shivers in your hold, and you hum against their neck. "lemme prove it to you?" you whisper.

ran chuckles and grabs your hand in their own. "c'mon." they laugh as they drag you out of the bar.

the alley is quiet and dark, and ran quickly finds a little nook for the two of you to push in. the moment you're hidden from view, you're on them, kissing them sloppily as you pull their shirt out of their waistband.

ran whimpers against your mouth. they're so whiny when you're taking the lead, too caught up in the feeling of you to care about how fucking sweet they sound.

"fuck, fuck, baby, i need you so bad." ran whines into your mouth. you growl against their neck and shove a hand under their shirt, fondling their tits. ran rarely wears a bra. it drives you insane knowing that at any given moment, the only thing separating their tits and your hands is a thin shirt.

"i got you honey. gonna take good care of my baby." you promise, pinching their nipples one more time before moving your hands down to slide under their pants.

ran's arms cling to you the moment you make contact with their cunt. they're so sensitive, their knees start to shake any time you're touching them. they always have to cling to you to assure they don't collapse into a puddle of pleasure. "fuck." they whimper against your shoulder, their breath already shaky.

"god, you're soaked baby."

"knew you were watchin' me." they whimper.

you chuckle, kissing their face as you draw circles around their clit. "yeah? you were puttin' on quite a show. wanted to show off for me?"

"wanted to make you proud." they whimper.

you growl and sink two fingers into them without warning. ran gasps, and then lets out a sweet, high pitched 'oh!'

you giggle. "you hear how fuckin' wet you are?" you ask as you fuck them. they nod helplessly against you. the squelching sounds of their pussy are echoing through the empty alley. "fuck, ran, you drive me fuckin' crazy."

"says you." ran shakily whispers. you chuckle.

"gonna make you cum then take you home and lick up my mess. how's that sound?" you ask.

ran's nails dig into your shoulders. you can feel their thighs quivering around your hand. you chuckle and kiss their sweaty temple. "fuck, fuck, so good, so good, please." ran whines.

"i got you honey. y'close?" you ask. ran gasps, their knees wobbling and their hands scrambling at your back. you giggle and hook your free arm around their waist, keeping them steady. "yeah, you're close."

ran cums moments later with a squeaky gasp and then a loud, emphatic "fuck!"

you giggle, peppering their sex-drunk face with kisses as they soak your hand and gasp for air. "there you go, baby. fuck, so handsome. i could eat you alive."

"i think--" ran cuts themself off to gasp for air, and then they grin at you. "i think you already promised to do that once we get home."

you cackle, and ran grins like they've just won the lottery. "yeah, i guess i did, didn't i?" you ask. "think you can walk yet or am i gonna have to carry you home?"

ran snorts and gently nips your throat. "mmm... just hold me a minute." they request.

you grin, pulling your hand free from their pants and wrapping it around their back, hugging your lover to your chest. ran nuzzles against your neck, their wide smile pressed to your skin.

kofi

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