#Patch Notes Explained

[fogaminghub]

🌟 Hey, Multiversus players! The Season 4 Patch Notes have dropped, and there are some major character updates! Dive into our latest blog post to learn about the changes to Marceline the Vampire Queen and more! Find out how these tweaks might change your approach to the game. 

[franeridan]

auuuuugggggghhhhhhhhhshsgdhdhfhfgfhdhxhdhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhgggggggggggnnnnnnnnhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[pedgito]

𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒 | Joel Miller x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | You've patched up Joel countless times before, but this is different.

author's note | i'm taking a little break to work through some series and pre-write but i needed to write a little fix it fic for my own well being. ANYWHO, if you're reading this, thank you <3 and thank you to @chaotic-mystery for the beta read, love you bitch

content warning | hurt/comfort, fix-it-fic, jackson!joel, s2ep2 spoilers, established relationship, medic!reader, wound tending, mentions of leg injury and some face injuries, old man joel using a cane, flirting, fluff, kissing, i'm going to go cry again

word count — 3.8k

He’s breathing. Alive.

You’ve patched up Joel countless times - cuts and gashes that were too far out of reach for him to handle on his own, a busted ankle from a construction project gone wrong, the occasional painkiller to help with his aching bones. He was a regular within the clinic, like most of the patrol team. And he was your favorite, which wasn’t a secret.

But, this was different.

Tommy - as hard as he tried, attempted to shelter you with the rest of Jackson’s women and children, but it was useless.

You spent the last hour patching up the towns wounded and helping lay to the rest some of the less fortunate, but brave people who had attempted to defend Jackson from the impending horde.

In the chaos of cleaning up bloodied bandages and used medical supplies, the front door to the clinic sounds, bells ringing out so deafening it makes your heart stop.

And the sound of Tommy’s panicked voice as he called out your name.

When you turn the corner to catch sight of him, it was Tommy and Jesse carrying a limp, sleeping Joel on a makeshift gurney and equally injured Ellie holding tight to her ribs as Dina and Maria supported her weight, your eyes widening in shock.

“Fuck—I—what happened?” you ask, immediately sliding the supplies off of the only semi-available operating table you had in the office - it used to be a veterinary clinic, but the town was making do with what they had.

“You save my goddamn brother,” Tommy demanded, his tone riddled with an emotional pain you couldn’t fathom, taking the order in stride as you nodded and put your own curiosity aside, slowly accessing the weight of the situation and surmising that this had been an ambush, more or less, “alright?”

You access his knee, jeans matted with blood around his festering wound, his leg tourniqueted by a belt that Tommy explains wasn’t there doing, rather the attackers. His pulse is steady as your fingers over his femoral artery once you’ve cut his jeans open further with the scissors.

“El—Ellie,” your voice shakes slightly, looking over your shoulder to catch her grimace as she hunched over further in pain, “she needs—”

“I’ve got her,” Maria assures you and Tommy, who was understandably only focused on Joel.

You don’t waste another second, working around Tommy on instinct while Jesse followed the girls to the back room, a gentle but reassuring hand on your shoulder as he passes by.

Your hands move gently over his wound, mind racing through every step of triage and trauma care as if your nerves hadn’t already been shot an hour ago. You didn’t know how many wounds you’ve treated today, but Joel’s was the worst—and unspeakably, the most important.

The wound is bad. Deep.

Frayed flesh around the spread of the bullet, a shotgun you can assume, already turning an angry red. The steps were simple, fortunately. You’ll have to clean it out, maybe even dig if the bullet fragments were lodged in deep. 

His face is a mosaic of bruises and dried blood, and he hasn’t stirred once.

That—more than the sight of the injury itself—makes something in your chest clench.

Tommy’s gripping the table tight, white knuckling as his jaw clenched in worry.

“Do I want to know?” you ask softly.

Tommy shakes his head slightly, “Ellie ain’t said much—jus’ know whatever the problem was, it isn’t one anymore.”

“He’s gonna need blood,” you explain to him as you work quietly but carefully on the wound, grateful that most of the issue was at the surface and that with enough time to heal and consistent check-ins, Joel would recover.

Undoubtedly with a limp, but you knew Joel—he’d manage.

The quiet is unsettling, though.

He should be fighting this. Groaning. Cursing. Something.

But he’s still.

Too still.

Tommy stays rooted in place like he’s afraid Joel will vanish if he lets go.

Part of you carries that fear, too.

With the attack on Jackson, everything seemed up in the air.

“I need you to keep your hand here,” you say firmly, guiding his hand to the artery in his leg, feeling the steady pulse underneath your fingertips. “Count the beats, focus. If it slows, weakens—don’t wait, tell me.”

Tommy nods, jaw still clenched tight.

He’s got blood dripping from a cut in his brow, covered in dirt and grime, streaks on his face from the tears he was shedding quietly, it was your only attempt to busy his mind.

You work diligently, more focused than you had been all evening.

Forceps clink against the metal tray as you dig out fragments, your breath hitching every time Joel twitches—barely, like his body’s fighting beneath layers of pain and unconsciousness.

You glance toward the IV stand that was taped to hell, barely holding on.

Just like everything else in Jackson at the moment – like Joel.

“I’m gonna flush the wound,” you murmur more to yourself than Tommy, gripping the saline syringe with steady hands. “Then I’ll stitch it. Antibiotics to be safe. He’ll need pain meds and I need to work on the cuts to his face, but I want his body to rest. We have morphine stored away, but I know Joel will probably refuse…”

Tommy doesn’t respond. Just keeps his hand pressed where you told him, eyes locked on Joel’s face like he’s willing him to wake.

“He still needs blood, Tommy,” you remind him, “but I don’t know his blood type.”

“I’m O-negative,” Tommy interjects.

“That works,” you assure him, nodding for him to sit as you grab the supplies to draw Tommy’s blood, unflinching as the needle slips into his vein.

It’s all rather quick, kneeling to hold the bag as it fills while Tommy stares at his brother, looking briefly over your shoulder to catch his breathing, a slow rise and fall.

“He’s gonna be alright,” you assure Tommy, “the worst outcome here is him complaining about having to use a cane, if it comes to that.

Quietly, you tend to the small head wound that Tommy has and he doesn’t even attempt to argue, eyes flickering to your briefly at the gesture, tilting his head up for better access.

You move efficiently, like muscle memory as you tape up his wound before transferring the blood and prepping the line for Joel. 

The line finds Joel’s vein without much resistance, and you secure it with shaking fingers, your breath held as the dark crimson slowly, mercifully begins to flow into his body.

“C’mon, Joel,” you whisper under your breath. “Not you.”

“He was in and out on the way here,” Tommy comments, holding the cotton ball to use the wound as he stands and you quickly return to him to bandage up and pressure the wound, “but now he’s just…still. That ain’t good,”

“It’s the body responding to the pain,” you remind him, “he’s clearly lost a lot of blood, his face is bruised—the important thing is he’s breathing and his pulse is good. Just…let me work on him. Go check on Ellie.”

Tommy hesitates, glancing back at Joel like his feet were already rooted permanently to the floor. Then his eyes shift to yours—tired, firm, unwavering—and he nods, finally stepping away. 

Just far enough to check on Ellie. 

Just long enough to breathe.

The second he’s gone, it’s just you and Joel.

–

The room feels colder without the presence of Tommy’s worry. 

You stitch slowly, methodically, carefully maneuvering around the skin until you are satisfied, constantly eyeing Joel to gauge a reaction, noticing some of his color had returned, hair damp with melted snow.

If he was awake he’d be grumbling and complaining and part of you hates how much you wanted to hear it as you bandage up his knee, assuring that bleeding was under control before you removed the belt on his upper thigh and grabbing a spare blanket to drape over his body as you move down to tend to his face, riddled with cuts and bruises.

You press a hand against his and pull it to his chest, resting gently against the fabric of his shirt. 

His palm is rough, calloused, and warm—thank god, still warm.

You clean the last of the blood from his face, wiping gently along the arc of his brow, around the corner of his eye that was slightly swollen. A bruise is blooming dark down the line of his jaw, but under it—his face is still familiar.

Still him.

After a stretch of time that feels like eternity, Maria and Tommy return to the front room of the clinic, looking fearful as their eyes land on Joel.

“He’s alright,” you assure them both, “he probably needed the rest, too.”

Tommy chuckles weakly at that, “I—we’re…we’re gonna go pick up Benji, but we’ll be back, alright?”

You nod in response, “I’m not leaving until he wakes up Tommy, I promised.”

“I know, kiddo,” Tommy says endearingly, approaching you with arms open slightly, enveloping you into a short hug that were few and far between, “Ellie’s asleep, too. Dina and Jesse are sticking around until she settles.”

The front door clicks shut behind Tommy and Maria, the heavy silence seeping back in soon after.

You don’t move far, bringing a stool to sit beside Joel.

The clinic is dim now, the lights softened by fucky wiring as the evening crept in.

You can hear Jesse’s and Dina’s muffled voice in the back—low and quiet—and the distant creak of the cot Ellie’s curled into. But here, in this room, it’s just you. 

And Joel, and the quiet hum of his breathing.

You reach up to brush a stray bit of hair from his temple, your hand pausing just above his skin.

“You scared the hell out of me,” you whisper. “If you were awake, I’d be screaming at you,”

And you know he’d only smile.

Joel doesn’t respond, but his breathing shifts. 

Not much—just enough to prove he’s still there, riding the edge of sleep and pain.

“You enjoy it, though. You always laugh, I know it’s pointless and that you’re just stubborn as all hell and I’m willing to put up with it,” you push the few strands of hair away from his face and sigh, “guess there’s a reason why you always ask for me.”

A few hours pass, the night creeping in slowly amongst the storm that roared outside.

You glance at his hand after a thorough check-up and redressing his wound for good measure, still resting palm-up where you’d placed it. Hesitant, your fingers slip into his, lacing slowly. 

You wait. No squeeze. 

But, the warmth is enough.

Then, a shift.

A low grunt, almost imperceptible.

Your breath catches. You look up sharply, eyes scanning his face. One eye twitches. His brow furrows just slightly.

“Joel?”

He doesn’t open his eyes, but his mouth moves.

“Ellie?” he asks weakly, squeezing your hand back.

Tears burn your eyes before you can stop them, relief flooding your chest in waves.

You squeeze his hand back again. Tight. “She’s okay—she’s good,” you whisper quickly, wiping your cheek with your sleeve, not that it helps.

Joel breathes out, like the tension’s finally releasing from somewhere deep inside his chest. 

You watch the slow rise and fall of him for a moment, just taking it in. Life.

Then his eyes crack open, albeit one is swollen, but hazy and bloodshot and focused on you.

His brows twitch as he looks at you.

“You cryin’?” he rasps, voice rough but teasing.

Even now, he teases you.

“You worried the hell out of me,” you tell him.

“Did I?” Joel asks genuinely, “M’sorry, darlin’.”

“Do you remember what happened?”

Joel grimaces and makes a soft noise, “S’all touch and go, right now. I’m really tired, that normal?”

“I gave you some painkillers,” you explain, “probably why.”

Joel looks around gingerly, noting the mess with an amused expression.

“Cleaned up real nice for me, didn’t you?”

“Sorry to disappoint,” you mutter dryly, shifting to adjust the blanket over him. “Next time, I’ll set up some mood lighting and put some music on for you.”

Joel groans low in his throat, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

“Nah. You singin’ for me would be good enough.”

You snort softly, “I don’t sing.”

“Shame,” he murmurs, barely audible, his eyes slipping closed again. “Bet it’d be real pretty, you got a pretty voice, know you’d sing pretty too.”

Your chest squeezes, caught somewhere between a laugh and a breath you can’t quite take.

“You’re losing it, old man.”

Joel smiles weakly.

“Maybe.”

A long pause and he speaks even soften.

“Still think you got a nice voice, though.”

–

You stay beside him. Even after he dozes back off, you don’t move—not far. Never quite letting go of his hand either. Just shift the stool closer and brace your elbow on the edge of the bed, chin tucked in your other hand. 

The storm outside has softened, now more wind than snow, rattling the windows with every gust.

You don’t realize you’ve nodded off until something shifts. A sound—low, grumbly.

“…you snore a little,” Joel rasps.

You straighten quickly and shake your head, blinking through a sleep haze as you answer him defiantly, “I do not, Miller.”

“Oh—you do, sweetheart,” Joel challenges, a subtle smirk playing at his face, staring at you through his swollen eye.

“Good to know you never stop being insufferable,” you tease him.

“Just like seein’ you laugh,” Joel admits before a silence grows, a look of subtle concern crossing his face, “How bad was it? The horde?”

“We’ve dealt with stuff like that before, maybe not at that level but it isn’t something we’re not prepared for. A couple didn’t make it, got bitten defending the watchtower—Jackson can always rebuild, we mourn, move on, you know? With you, s’different,”

Joel, for once, doesn’t know how to respond.

You see it then—that quiet, careful look he sometimes gives you when he thinks you're not watching. Like he’s cataloguing you. Not in some grand, poetic way. More like he’s memorizing how you look when you're safe. When he needs the reminder of it.

You’re too tired to do anything but meet it.

“I ain't goin' anywhere,” he says finally, voice rough but firm, “You can stop lookin’ at me like I’m about to flatline.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Joel smirks faintly. “You’ve been holdin’ my hand for a while,”

“Oh,” it started to feel like an extension of you, his touch, but you slowly attempted to retract.

“Don’t,” Joel tells you, gripping your hand tighter, shifting his head against the makeshift pillow underneath his head that you had made out of his jacket halfway through the night.

“Thanks for not givin’ up on me,” Joel says gently,

You glance over, unsure how to respond at first.

“You really think I would?”

“Dunno,” he says, voice low, “don’t really think I deserve the effort anymore from anyone…”

He trails off, but it hangs between you anyway. 

The way he says it—soft, raw—like the words snuck out before he could stop it.

You lean in slightly, brushing your thumb just once over the back of his hand.

“I’m not anyone, Joel.”

Joel looks at you again, his expression shifting.

His fingers curl around yours again. Warmer this time. Intentional.

“Five years I’ve known you—I’ve patched your ass up more times than I can count. I’ve had dinners with you, beers with you and your brother. This isn’t my attempt at gaining some good karma. I care about you just as much as the rest of this town.”

“You’re too good to me,” Joel says quietly.

–

Jackson rebuilds, but it takes time.

Eventually, you find out that the assailants were after Joel—but Jesse and Ellie had shown up at a crucial point in the ambush that saved Joel and Dina’s life, despite his extensive injuries.

And Joel, stubborn as he was, began to heal.

The first few weeks are slow, mostly bed-ridden - or office-ridden, leg propped up at his desk as he and Tommy planned out the rebuild process and you rounded your daily office visit to him for assurance that he was taking the antibiotics you had given him and checking on his wound.

It takes a few months, but he does get on his feet again.

He’s resilient, you’ll give him that. An injury that would take no less than six to eight months before the healing was done and Joel was already moving, though with some noticeable pain.

You spot him halfway down the main road on the first name where Jackson was finally starting to feel normal again, walking out of the Tipsy Bison with a pronounced limp.

You sigh to yourself, shifting the object under your arm and start down the road.

“Joel Miller.”

He doesn’t stop walking, but he flinches a little. 

He’s been avoiding you for a couple weeks now, knowing how insistent you had been about him using something to support his leg, just to give it a break once in a while.

“I will chase you down.”

He stops.

You close the distance, holding up the object in your hand.

“If you don’t use this, I’m following you everywhere, barring you from walking, and pushing you around in a wheelchair.”

He eyes the cane. Then your face. Then the cane again.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“It’s exactly what you think it is.”

He scowls. “I’m not usin’ a damn cane.”

“You’re still healing,” you tell him, “and if you care about my worries—you’ll use it.”

“That’s low,” Joel counters,

You had spent a week sanding down the cane to a smooth texture, rounding out the handle to something comfortable to grip, even polished it up. It was extravagant or crazy, but it was clearly made with love.

“Did you make it?” Joel asks curiously.

“Doesn’t matter,” You shrug.

Joel smirks at that. 

You had. He knows it.

He takes it wordlessly, wrapping his fingers around the handle and planting it into the ground.

He tests it out wordlessly, leaning his weight into it and only slightly annoyed at how it eases the weight on his injured leg, looking up at you sheepishly.

“So….should I say it now or?”

“Zip it,” Joel retorts with a faint playfulness, “it…helps, s’real nice of you, you know?”

You raise your brow. “You sayin’ I was right? Knowing you needed it?”

“Don’t push it.” Joel warns

“Say it.” you tease with a flirtatious smile that doesn’t go amiss.

Joel sighs, scratching at his jaw. “You were… not completely wrong.”

You beam, and he rolls his eyes, though the edge of his mouth quirks up.

After a beat, he taps the cane gently against the side of your boot.

“Walk with me?” he asks.

He didn’t even need to ask.

–

There wasn’t any indication of where you were walking to, but naturally you drift to your shared street, homes sitting on opposite sides of the street, but near enough that you were only a short walk away.

The cane clicks softly against the dirt road like a steady metronome to the quiet shuffle of your boots. His limp is pronounced, but less severe than it was a few weeks ago.

The streets are quieter these days. Jackson feels like it's exhaling after holding in a long overdue breath.

Joel walks with his shoulder close to yours. Not touching, but close enough that it would only take a shift. He’s never been one for words, not when the moment matters most—but his silence is full of meaning.

Or, maybe he is just savoring the peace.

“You really made this?” he asks again after a few paces, like he needs to be sure.

You nod shyly, hands shoving into your coat pockets.

He’s quiet for a while, but then, “It’s real thoughtful of you.”

“I was gonna carve your name into it, actually,” you joke, nudging him gently with your elbow, “but Tommy said that was a bad idea.”

Joel chuckles low under his breath. “He’d be right.”

Through your sudden shared laughter, your knuckles brush.

It’s nothing, but it feels like so much.

As you approach your houses, Joel turns to you.

“Do you need anything?” you ask him gently. “I can stop by later if you need some pain meds or anything? Or yell at you for not resting up at home like you should.”

Joel huffs, shaking his head. “Always lookin’ for a reason to yell at me, huh?”

“Only ‘cause you keep givin’ me so many,” you tease.

He looks at you for a long moment, eyes scanning your face in the too quiet dark.

“You stayed the whole night,” he says finally, like he’s been holding it in for a while.

“I told Tommy I wouldn’t leave until you woke up.”

Joel nods once. He shifts his weight on the cane, hesitating just slightly, before adding, “I heard you—talkin’ to me.”

“You did?” you ask, your voice quiet. “Well, that’s…embarrassing.”

Joel’s gaze drops to your hand lingering close to his—he hadn’t even realized he’d reached out until it was too late, his hand dwarfing your own in a gentle hold of your fingertips. 

It’s a small touch, but it grounds him.

You flinch slightly at the touch, feeling the heaviness of the moment

“You can let go,” he says, looking back up at you.

You smile faintly. “I don’t want to.”

Joel hums thoughtfully. “Seems I don’t want to either,”

And in that soft hum between houses, under the stars beginning to peek through the roaming clouds overhead, Joel leans in, his cane shifting a few inches behind you as he leans his weight into it to reach you, his lips pressing against yours in a quiet, tender moment of vulnerability under the dim street lights.

“Never got to thank you properly,” Joel admits.

“Is that your way of saying thank you?” you ask curiously.

“Can be,” Joel responds mischievously, a smirk tugging at his lips as you pull back to look at him.

“I think you can do better,” you challenge him, nose brushing against his own.

“You’re damn right,” he agrees, using his free hand to curve around the back of your neck as he pulls you in, stealing your breath away with the second press of his lips.

When he parts, you can’t help but giggle against him, an indescribable feeling tightening your chest.

“Yeah…that’s—” You breath stutters as you nod, “that’ll do.”

Joel chuckles softly, his thumb grazing your cheek.

“Good, ‘cause I got a lot of thankin’ to make up for.”

[bruisedboys]

john walker x thunderbolt!reader

john grudgingly patches you up after a mission — it gets more intimate than you both expect. post thunderbolts, no spoilers. 1k words

note: umm hi this is me forcing u to hear me out on him xx

“You’re not doing a very good job of that, Captain.”

John sighs loudly, his shoulders tense with irritation. “Shut up. And stop moving around.”

You grin to yourself. He’s fun to mess with.

“M’sorry, but your hands are really cold, John,” you tell him.

It’s true, they are, and he’s not being very gentle either. John wouldn’t have been your first pick for someone to patch you up after a fight, but you’d been unfortunate enough to be paired with him for this particular mission, and none of the rest of your team are back yet. You’re alone with him in one of the many bathrooms of Avengers tower. If you bleed out and die, you’re blaming it on his poor first aid skills.

“You wanna stitch this up yourself, then?” John asks you shortly. He’s got his big hand locked around your hip, holding you still while he stitches up the nasty gash spanning from just above your hip, up to the dip in your waist. His thumb presses into your hipbone. He’s not being rough but he’s certainly not being gentle — and while you’re not made of porcelain, you’d appreciate a bit of softness.

You shake your head. “No, thanks,” you sing-song.

John grumbles something under his breath that you can’t quite hear, but you catch words like useless and good for nothing. You don’t take it to heart. You’ve deemed him chronically grumpy, which he loathes, but you’ve decided it explains why he’s so mean all the time.

You let yourself fall back on your hands and watch him work. He’s standing in between your legs while you sit perched on the counter, your shirt pushed up over your ribs. He wasted a good amount of time letting you know how stupid it was of you to get hurt like this. After he was done grilling you, he grudgingly began to clean your wound, quite messily you might add. He’s halfway done stitching you up now, head bent over your ribs.

You think, secretly, that he looks quite handsome, concentrated like this. With his head bent over you, his hair all messy where he’s run his hands through it. You try not to think about how this position makes you feel. Sure, John’s a jerk, but you’re not blind. He’s handsome.

You realise suddenly that the silence is making you delusional, and you open your mouth to break it.

“Where do you think the others—“ you cut yourself off with a gasp when he pricks you hard with the needle. “Ow.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” John says quickly. He rubs his thumb over your hipbone twice, then lifts his gaze to yours.

“Sorry,” he says gently, wincing. “Accident.”

You blink at him. You don’t think you’ve ever heard the word sorry come out of his mouth since you met him. Not to mention the look on his face. Apologetic, gentle. Not something you’ve ever seen on him before. It suits him, but it’s still weird.

“It’s okay,” you say slowly. You shake your head, a little nonplussed. “It’s fine.”

John just stares at you. You stare back. Then he swallows. He must remember himself, then, because he goes back to frowning.

“Your fault,” he mumbles. He ducks his head again and gets back to work.

You want to ask how on earth that was your fault, but you’re too perplexed. If you’re not mistaken, you’re pretty sure John Walker was just soft on you. The absolute bare minimum, you know, but for John that’s like gifting you a bouquet of flowers and a kiss on the forehead.

You sit there, John’s hands all over you, and try to forget how he’d rubbed your hip, how he’d said sorry so quickly and so gently, how he’d looked at you like you weren’t just a thorn in his side, for once. You can’t forget it. How could you? It’s John. He’s not… soft. Like, ever.

You’re still thinking about it when the perpetrator in question finishes stitching you up. He snips the thread and straightens up. Your chest feels funny, like something’s tugging at your heart.

John lifts his head.

“You’re all done,” he says gruffly. He puts his tools down and tugs your shirt back over your stomach. “Try not to get so sliced up next time, alright?”

He’s back to sounding perpetually irritated again. Still, you find it difficult to ignore his hand on your waist as he smooths down your shirt.

“Why, ‘cos you care about me?” You joke weakly.

John rolls his eyes. He removes his hand from your waist to press it to the counter palm down, using it to hold his weight as he leans forward a bit. He’s not in your personal space, but he’s close enough, and the fact he’s standing between your legs doesn’t help.

“No,” he says in a low voice. “Cos you’re a nuisance to look after.”

You don’t know if he’s challenging you, threatening you, or if this is something else entirely, but you push yourself up with your palms pressed to the counter, leaning into his space. Whatever this is, you’re too stubborn to back down.

You tilt your head and plaster on a lopsided grin.

“Am I really?” You ask in a sweet, lilting voice.

John just looks at you. He’s closer now, so close you could kiss him, if you wanted. You’re not sure what you want, actually. But you can feel his body heat, and his broad shoulders block your vision of anything else, and he looks a bit like he wants to eat you. Or maybe kill you.

His hand creeps back towards your hip. He leans closer. Your heart hammers but you ignore it. John lowers his gaze. You’re pretty certain he’s looking at your mouth.

“You’re a brat, you know that?” He murmurs.

“Is that so?” You ask, feigning confidence. Really, your veins feel rampant with electricity. Your heart thud thud thuds in your chest.

“Mm,” John hums back. His thumb skips over the outside of your thigh. He’s breathing heavier than usual. You think you are too.

You don’t know why, but you reach up and touch his face. You drag two fingers over the rough stubble growing at his jaw. John shows no reaction on his face, though you notice his chest heaving so close to yours.

“Thanks for patching me up,” you whisper, so close now that your lips ghost over his when you speak. “You know, with how careful you were with the stitches, I’d say you actually care about m—“

John kisses you to shut you up. At least, that’s what he tells you afterwards.

-

thank u for reading! please consider reblogging if you enjoyed x

[featherwurm]

Fun Karlach things revealed from party banter/dialogue/cutscenes (these are all 100% canonical to any run, as they are her talking about her past, these all appear in naturally accessable in-game dialogue):

She can touch demons and devils and other infernal creatures without hurting them, but opted not to in those ten years in Avernus as she says she's "not a masochist."*

She has had numerous past relationships, sexual in nature, which she describes as "quick to flare and quick to fade."

She says she was still sorting out "jumping into bed with anything with a pulse" and looking for more long-term relationships when she was sent to Avernus.

There are other infernal creatures running around with infernal engines in them but she thinks she's the only one from Faerun who survived the process (she knows others were tried but didn't make it.)

Loves a good bar fight/brawl (obvious but still cute.)

Likes walking around barefoot in the grass (which she calls "grassing", and she enjoys a good "frolic".)

Isn't keen to travel by boat down the Chionthar (from Moonrise) as her mum said the river was unlucky.

Liked to go swimming as a kid (presumably still does - after she's temperature corrected. Prior to that she mentions fear of boiling fish and her friends alive.)

Worries about being out of date, fashion wise, having been gone from Baulder's Gate for ten years.

Her mother's name is Caerlach (pronounced same as her daughter), and her father's name is Pluck. Their last name, Cliffgate, is the same as one of the lower city entries in Baulder's Gate.

Her dad was a porter and her mom was a laundress. They were poor but loving and fun.

They were poor but NOT destitute - Karlach mentions their household multiple times, and having her friends visit her family in their home. She also went to school (teasing that she'll cheer up Gale by saying she hasn't read "since school").**

When she was a teen her mom passed from illness during a plague when the family couldn't afford a healer quickly enough. Her dad passed a few years after when he was crushed by his own overturned cart on the road.

EDIT: This has been patched in later versions of the game - she does not mention her parents anymore fixing that inconsistency. There's some discrepancy about when she started working for Gortash, in the cemetery she says her parents would have seen him for who he was (implying she did not spend much if any time around him prior to their deaths). In the shadow lands she mentions he 'got his claws into her early' and that she earned enough to help her family move into a better place in the city under his employ (it's entirely possible she's referring to moving their bodies post-mortem though).

She was a young adult (describes herself as 'not-quite-kid') while in Gortash's employ, worked for him for a good span of time, and spent 10 years in Avernus. This means she's likely well into her 30s by the time of game events.

She, to her own admission in her origin, loved Gortash, but also explains that it was not romantic in nature (stating distinctly to the player character "not like that"). She clearly looked up to him as her boss and was deeply betrayed when sold to Zariel.

She lived with her friend Fitz when working for Gortash, who also worked for him at the time. Gortash lied to everyone around her about what happened to her (saying that she moved away suddenly.)

She does note up on meeting Gortash's parents and finding out they sold him to a warlock that he's repeated the same cycle on her.***

Fun fact: "Carlach/Caerlach" in the IRL is a relatively rare Scottish surname likely derived from MacThearlaich ("son of Charles" - typical naming convention dating back to pre- Norman conquest Brittan). Karlach is a very rare spelling of the name and probably was further anglicization on immigration to America (showing up in the 1920s.) As Karlach's mother has the same name as her, spelled differently - one could infer that perhaps her family passed it down in a way that felt more "Bauldrian" to them or was in some way easier to spell.

*Because I've seen this wrong elsewhere - it's not the material plane that's making her untouchable, it's the engine itself. Her engine stops actively hurting her when Raphael teleports you to the House of Hope in Act I - but she's still not touchable without fixing based on this dialogue.

**I've also seen this wrong - Karlach was never an orphaned street urchin and I don't know where people get this impression. Gortash did not "take her in" or mentor her, he was very clearly her boss, albeit one she was friends with and looked up to.

***She does not mean this as a literal one for one, of course, just that someone she trusted sold her to an infernal for his own gain.

[adddddiiii]

Damian Wayne Headcanons

You catch him talking to Alfred (the cat) about how much he loves you

He leaves you handwritten notes in the most elegant cursive because he thinks texts are impersonal

He cannot take compliments

"You're cute."

"No. I am intimidating."

"You're blushing."

Whenever he's on patrol or missions, he leaves Titus with you knowing you'll take good care of his beloved dog

He takes you to art museums and spends hours explaining the history of every piece he knows you'll love

You're the only one he'll let patch him up after a mission — he trusts you completely

If you try to sneak out of bed early, he'll sleepily grab your wrist

"Dami-"

"Stay. Jus' a little longer."

He practices smiling in the mirror because he wants to perfect it for you

He turns red when you kiss his cheek in front of his brothers

When you're upset because someone said something offensive to you, he'll awkwardly offer to hold you

"Do you want to cuddle?"

"Yes please."

"Okay," he wraps his arms around you, "Who do I have to talk to? Or punch?"

[sacr1ficialang3l]

I can handle me a dangerous man˚୨୧⋆｡ (no really I can)

OLDER!DEAN WINCHESTER X YOUNGER!READER (based on this)

SUMMARY: Mid 40s Dean is trying really hard to resist the temptation that you are, but you're making it really hard. 3.7k

WARNINGS smut (MDNI). oral f receiving. age gap. implied penetration.

NOTES: He is here! I am not very used to writing smut, so I tried my best. Can you tell that dilfs telling stories about their life is so hot to me? anyway, this was incredibly self-indulgent. As always, English is not my first language. Enjoy<3

It’s another night of you walking around the bunker in a tiny, white lace dress. Long legs visible, looking even longer because of the slight heel of your boots. There is a necklace resting softly against the hollow of your throat, and your cheeks are rosy, lips glossy and full. Dean doesn’t know if it is makeup or if you simply look like that, but it is killing him. 

You started hunting with Dean and Sam a few months ago after they found you trying to kill a whole werewolf den by yourself. You were young –too young– and didn’t have anyone else. You were alone in this world. It was almost instinct that the brothers took you under their wing. It was supposed to be a temporary thing, just until you gained a little more experience and could go on your own, or until they find you a hunting partner. 

But you never really left. Weeks started going by, and you stayed by their side. 

At first, Dean was annoyed. He was in his 40s, he was too old to be babysitting. He had to admit you were a damn good hunter, but you were too impulsive. Too ready to jump to action, too ready to put yourself in the line of fire. That was his job. But Sam wanted to make sure you would be safe after you got hurt in the werewolf incident, so he let you into the backseat of his car and drove you to the bunker. 

As annoyed as he was, he had to admit, you were gorgeous. Soft hair, pouty lips, shiny eyes. You had a halo of light around you, an innocence to you that was captivating. Not to Dean, of course. He couldn’t. Because the longer the time he spent with you, the more you dug your way into his heart. Your soft giggles echoing through the otherwise gloomy bunker, the sweet smell of cookies when you decided to bake, the gentle touches of your hands as you patched him up after an especially awful hunt (he hadn’t been touched so gently in… ever, actually), the adorable smile you gave him after he begrudgingly compliments your improving hunting abilities. 

You were too naive, too pure, too… good. 

So Dean kept his distance. Or he tried.

Because what Dean didn’t know is that you were anything but naive. You knew from the moment your eyes met his, that you wanted him. He was tall, and broad, and his hair was long, falling a little over those piercing green eyes. He was rugged in the ways you liked, and soft in the ways that mattered. But it was the wrinkles around his eyes, the ones that reveal a history of laughter and playfulness even as he glared at you, that charmed you. 

So you flirted with him, insatiably. Directly and indirectly. You ran your hand up and down his arm as you cleaned his wounds, squeezing his bicep tentatively. You complimented him in the worst possible moments, when he was concentrated in research or had just finished off a monster. You ran your fingers across his shoulders when you walked past him and you took any opportunity to press yourself to his huge frame. But you also flirted in other ways, wearing your shortest mini-skirts around the bunker, accidentally bending over to pick up a book in the library when you knew he was watching. You sucked on a lollipop as he tried to explain a case to you, and you blinked your big eyes at him, eyelashes fluttering and lips parting. 

But every time, you got the same response. For a single moment, Dean would lean in. He would stare down at your lips, or he would take a step closer, hand hovering over your waist, and then he would look away. He would tell you he is too old for you, that he can’t take advantage of you. That he is too broken, too damaged, that you deserved better, someone your age that could give you a normal life. He would tell you that you have no idea what you’re asking for, but you know what you need.  

So you walk into the kitchen late at night, past midnight, to get a snack after parading yourself around the bunker all day in your flimsy clothes while Dean did some work in the garage and tried not to lose his mind. You loved the way his eyes darkened when he saw you, the way his hands almost shook with the need to take you. His self-control was slowly crumbling, and you couldn’t be happier about it.

But this meeting is accidental. You are actually just looking for something to eat, not expecting Dean to be sitting at the dining table with a half-empty whiskey bottle and clouded eyes. You stop for a moment while he is lost in thought, not noticing you. He looks a little sad, and it is one of those few moments when the tough guy facade fell and you could witness the weight of the years on his shoulders. The years of hunting, of losing people, of nothing but fighting. As much as you desire Dean, you are also very much in love with him, and you didn’t like when he hurt like this, alone and drowning his thoughts with booze. So you clear your throat, making him turn to you.

“It’s drinking night and you didn’t tell me?” You joke, walking behind the kitchen island to grab a bag of chips from one of the cabinets. 

“I thought you were asleep.” He murmurs, voice even deeper than it already usually is. You turn to look at him, meeting his eyes. Dean is good at keeping his emotions in check, at controlling his expressions, but you are good at reading people. Especially him. And there is this glint in his eyes, the one that tells you he doesn’t want to be alone.

So you grab a beer from the fridge and walk towards the dinner table, sitting down across from him. You had always preferred sweet, fruity drinks, but thanks to the Winchesters you had learned to appreciate beer. Whiskey was a hard no, though. Dean stares at you for a long moment, eyes unreadable, before lowering his eyes to his glass and letting out a low chuckle. 

“What were you brooding about?” You take a sip of your beer, opening your bag of chips and offering Dean some. He shakes his head, taking a swig of his whiskey instead. 

“Nothing, really. I don’t want to bore you with my old man stories.” He laughs, and some tension leaves his shoulders. 

You bite your lip. Oh, if he only knew how much you loved it when he went all old man on you. When he reminisced about the past, when he tried to give you advice, showing you how experienced he was in so many different things, and how much it made you want to find out exactly how experienced he really was.

“I like your stories.” You offer softly, a small smile on your lips. “Come on, tell me a good one.”

He looks up at you over the rim of his glass, and you give him your best puppy eyes.

He crumbles immediately. 

“Once, when I was twenty-three and Sammy was in college.” He starts, and he doesn’t stop.

You spend what feels like hours but also seconds sitting there, drinking beer after beer, listening to him. He tells you about this weird religious cult slash mental control witch he found once when hunting on his own. He tells you about the time he hooked up with some girl at a bar, and she ended up being an Amazon. He laughs at some of the memories and you laugh along. His expression gets somber when talking about certain people, the people he lost, and you give him a few seconds to wallow in it before you make a lighthearted comment that makes him smile again and move to another story. He talks about the times he died, the times he almost did. Sometimes, unconsciously, he rubs his hand over a part of his body as he tells a story, presumably where a scar marred his skin. All while you stare at him with shiny, attentive eyes, like he is the only person in the world that matters.

By the time you finish your third beer, Dean is already a tiny bit… not drunk, but definitely less guarded.

Still, he had such a high alcohol resistance. It was so hot.

“That case was crazy. I still wonder how the siblings are doing. I hope they’re okay.” There it is, the look on his eyes. The way they unfocus slightly as he absentmindedly traces the edge of his glass with his finger. It was in those moments that you can truly look at him, take in every small detail of his face. Every wrinkle, every scar, every evidence of every battle. The living proof of his resilience, of his experience, of his survival. You press your thighs together, trying to ground yourself.

You fantasize for a moment about sliding under the table, taking Dean into your mouth. Make his nostalgia turn into pleasure, make him feel good, remind him of the good old days.

“When was that?” You ask, gently coaxing him out of whatever place he got lost in his mind. He blinks at you, taking in your soft smile and sweet voice before replying.

“Right after Sammy started hunting again, so I was like… twenty-seven?” 

You quickly do the math in your head, calculating how old you were back then. Fuck. You were still a kid when Dean was already killing wendigos and vampires and shifters. Oh, there must be something really wrong with you, because that makes something on your lower stomach burn.

“So, you were quite the ladies man, huh?” You tease him, trying to shake away the desire building inside of you. You watch him chuckle and drop his head forward.

You already knew that, because he still is. You have to watch women throw themselves at him in every hunt and every bar. It was infuriating.

“You could say that.” He replies nonchalantly, but there’s a smirk on his lips as he down the rest of his whiskey. 

“Can you imagine me meeting you in your mid-twenties?” I giggle, and it causes Dean to snort and shake his head amusedly, refilling his glass. You lean forward on the table, your hand laying next to his. So close. “I can. I can imagine us meeting at a bar, or a diner.” You smirk. “Maybe even a concert! Can you imagine us meeting in a rock festival’s pit?”

Dean snorts again, eyes still down on his glass. He presses his tongue to his cheek, like he is trying to stop the words from coming out of his mouth, but they end up escaping him anyway.

“I was very different back then, sweetheart. I wouldn’t trust my younger self around a girl like you.”

And there it was. 

The comment makes your breath get stuck in the back of your throat, and you look up at Dean with wide eyes. 

I wouldn’t trust my younger self around a girl like you.

A girl like you.

Dean returns your heated gaze for a moment, his eyes sharp and deep in the way they only got after you teased him too much. 

“But you trust yourself with me now?” You ask with the most innocent voice you can utter, batting your long eyelashes at him. You watch as he takes in a sharp breath, swallowing harshly.

“Barely.” He whispers, looking down at your lips when you lick them and then back at your eyes. 

Shitshitshit.

“You don’t have to, you know?” Dean looks at you slightly confused, and you lean further forward before whispering. “Control yourself, I mean. You don’t have to.”

There is a second in which you think Dean will lunge himself at you, finally. His eyes are darker than you have ever seen them, because they weren’t dark with anger, they were full of pure, raw hunger.

His hand twitches, and then he pulls away. 

He gets up from the table, downing back the whole glass of whiskey before setting it down on the table with a little too much force. He starts to walk away, and you don’t know if it’s the beers you had or the desperation that had been accumulating for months, but this time you try to stop him.

You get up from the table too, quickly moving until you are blocking his way out of the kitchen.

He says your name in reproach, eyes glued to the floor. “We can’t-”

“Yes, we can.” You interrupt him, waking a step closer until your chests are almost pressed together. You grab his arm, making him look at you. “Please, Dean. I want it, you want it. Come on.”

Dean still shakes his head, deep frown on his face. “I’ve told you, I’m not good for you, you-”

You groan, rolling your eyes and stomping your foot on the floor. It didn’t help make you look any more mature, but you didn’t care.

“Yeah, I know. I’m too young, you’re too old. You’re broken and dangerous and all of that.” You say sarcastically, making him raise his eyebrows. “When are you going to stop lying to yourself, Dean?”

That makes him scoff, and he shakes his head while looking away again. “It is true. You deserve better than some guy old enough to be your father.” He grimaces at his own words, rubbing a hand over his face.

But you double down, pressing your body completely against his. You push forward and Dean lets you guide him backwards, and you know he’s letting you because you could not make him move an inch if he didn’t want you to. He ends up pressed against the kitchen island, hand still covering his eyes. You use your hand on his arm to pull it down, forcing him to look at you again.

“Dean, I want you.” You look deep into his eyes, and he almost looks pained by it. “I know you think I don’t know what’s best for me, but I do. I know what I need, and I need you.” You squeeze his bicep before your hand moves to the back of his neck, fingers tangling with the hairs there. 

He says your name again, almost as a plea.

He was breaking. He was caving in. 

“Please, Dean.” You whisper as your lips brush his, looking into those green eyes that consumed your every waking thought. “We both know I need a real man.”

And that seems to do the trick. He lets out something akin to a growl, and his hands are finally on you. One moves to your waist, grip bruising. The other one goes to your hair, fingers intertwining with the long locks and pulling your head back, hard, exposing the delicate curve of your throat. It makes you whimper. 

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.” Dean leans in closer, but he doesn’t kiss you. Instead, he lets the tip of his nose brush against your skin, from the apple of your cheek to your jaw and down your neck. “I’m no prince charming.”

“I want you, Dean.” You whine when his lips brush against the sensitive surface of your throat. You use the hand that is still tangled on his hair to pull him up, make him meet your eyes. “Ruin me.”

His lips are on you in less than a second. The kiss is bruising, violent with months of repressed want. He pulls you even closer, his beard a little scratchy against the soft skin of your face. You love it.

He pushes your lips apart with his tongue and you let him in, whining at the way he bites your lip before licking behind your teeth. You weren’t inexperienced like Dean thought, you had hooked up with people once or twice, but nothing had ever felt like this. Nothing could compare to the way Dean’s experienced tongue explored your mouth, or the way he spins you two around until you are pressed against the kitchen island, callused hands running down your sides until they’re gripping the sensitive skin of your thighs, lifting you up until you are sitting on top of the counter.

You gasp at the sudden movement, but you part your legs and let Dean slide in between them, shuddering as his fingers run up and down your legs. 

“You’re so fucking sensitive.” Dean grunts, lips moving down to kiss your neck. He bites the skin softly, and then a bit harder, making you moan. 

You pull his hair harshly, and it is his turn to moan, a sound you wanted to hear every day of your life. You wrap your legs around his hips and pull him closer, until his clothed cock presses against your core over your dress. You two groan at the same time, and you pull Dean into another kiss.

“Come on, Dean. Show me how a real man fucks, teach me what real pleasure is.” You whisper against his lips, and he seems to go a little insane at that. 

In seconds, his hands have already pulled the tiny white dress off your body, leaving you only in your lacy black underwear. He grunts again at the sight, hands running over all the new skin visible.

“You’re so sweet, so fucking beautiful.” He whispers, almost adoring, as his fingers brush over the curve of your breasts and down to your stomach. You bite your lip, enjoying the feeling of his rough hands on your smooth skin. It is hot, to be only in your underwear while Dean is completely clothed, but you want to see him too.

So you pull his shirt off him before he can say anything, and your mouth waters. He is all lean muscle and tanned skin. There is the tattoo on his chest you’ve fantasized so many times about licking, and you decide to go for it. You first bite softly over his collarbone, trying to subtly suck a hickey there. Judging by Dean’s chuckle, you’re not very subtle. You make your way down, trace his tattoo with your tongue, bite down on the flesh of his pectoral. You kiss over every scar you find, licking over the larger ones. It makes Dean shiver every time, and the way he holds you turns a little softer. 

Then you press your hand over his bulge, and his breath hitches. It makes you feel proud that he is this affected by your touch. You rub him over his jeans for a moment, just basking in the feeling of it cupped in your hand and the fact that this was actually happening. You use both hands to undo his belt and unbutton his jeans. You pull them down along with his underwear, and Dean takes a step back to be able to step out of them. And that is when you finally see all of him. 

You have to bite your lip before doing something too crazy. Dean was big. Curved up against his stomach and flushed. And so fucking hard. 

I did that, you think deliriously as you feel yourself getting wetter.

You lick your lips, craving to feel the weight of him on your tongue, but you need Dean to touch you right now.

Another time.

“One day I will suck you off until you pass out.” You breathe out, and it makes Dean groan. He presses back against you, kissing you harshly.

“You’ll be the death of me, baby.” He whispers against your lips before undoing your bra with just one hand, sliding it off your body. He pushes you backwards until your back touches the cold surface of the counter. It makes you shiver, but it is all forgotten when Dean takes one of your nipples into his mouth.

He sucks softly, and then a little harder. He moves to the other breast, giving it the same attention until your nipples are wet and flushed and hard. You are a whining mess by this point. He continues to make his way down your body with his mouth, lips brushing against your inner thighs and leaving dark purple marks on them. Because you were his now.

He takes off your boots and leaves your socked feet resting against the edge of the counter. The position leaves your legs wide open, and your chest rises and falls more rapidly the closer Dean’s face gets to your clothed pussy. 

“Dean.” You whimper when he presses his face to your mound over your panties.

“Have any of those little boyfriends of yours ever eaten you out, or are they too much of a coward to do it?” You don’t respond, because your head is spinning and your vision is hazy. “It doesn’t matter, because I will show you how it is done.”

And he does. He pulls your panties off and devours you. He has you whining and moaning in seconds, hands pulling on his hair for dear life. He sucks on your clit and runs his tongue through your folds like a starved man. You come on his tongue once, and then again. You basically have to peel him away from you before you lose your mind when he keeps going, keeps sucking until you’re twitching with oversensitivity. 

“Please, I need you inside.”

And how could he ever say not to that.

It is almost morning by the time you two are laying under the covers of Dean’s bed. He had fucked you there on the kitchen island (Sam can never know), and then he had fucked you again on his bed. You were both exhausted as you laid on his chest, drawing figures with your fingernails across his skin. You chuckle and look up at him, only to find him already staring at you. His eyes are softer than you have ever seen them as he seems to bask in the sight of you all fucked out and soft. It makes you blush.

“You might have actually ruined me for anyone else.” You joke, biting your lip. But it was true, you were sure that your body would reject anyone who wasn’t Dean Winchester from now on. 

The joke makes some heat come back to Dean’s eyes, but also something else, something softer. Something so warm and delicate and absolutely terrifying. 

“Good.” he rasps out. “Because you won’t need anyone else.”

NOTES: I can't believe all of this came out of a half-asleep horny thought that I had. Anyway, thank you so much for the overwhelming support, you are all the best.

Older Dean MAY come back because I am too obsessed with him, only if college doesn't kill me first.

TAGS: @h8aaz <3

If you wanna be tagged in future works, let me know!!

[vi-steponmeplease]

ˋ°•*⁀➷ loser!gf ellie

synopsis: just some random headcanons about what it'd be like to date loser ellie who's js so obsessed with you.

notes: never made any headcanon posts before, so don't mind the setup lmao i have no clue what i'm doing

tw: mostly fluff but there are some smutty hcs (oral — e!receiving)

✧₊⁺ to begin with, ellie defo prefers cozy 'netflix n chill' date nights over dressing up for fancy dinners.

✧₊⁺ cuddling up on the couch with you is something that never fails to make her heart swell, no matter how long you’ve been together.

✧₊⁺ but mostly because it gives her a chance to imagine what domestic life with you might be like—though she’d never admit it, afraid it might seem like she’s moving too fast.

✧₊⁺ she’s a sucker for resting her head on your chest while you thread your fingers through her hair, gently massaging her scalp as the two of you watch some cringey movie you’ll inevitably fall asleep to halfway through.

✧₊⁺ on the rare nights you don’t doze off, ellie grabs her brown acoustic guitar adorned with spongebob stickers and serenades you with a gentle melody while you rest your head on her shoulder.

✧₊⁺ when you’re out with friends, ellie—being the absolute dork she is—seizes the opportunity to practice tricks on her scratched-up skateboard, determined to one day impress you with her skills (even though she can barely land a kickflip without bruising herself)

✧₊⁺ when she eventually heads home with fresh scratches and deep purple bruises on her arms and knees, she does her best to patch herself up and cover them with makeup, hoping you won’t notice.

✧₊⁺ walking around town with ellie is always chaotic, as she can’t help but scream with excitement at the sight of every cat she sees.

✧₊⁺ bonus points if she’s eating chips—she’ll immediately tear open the bag and try to feed the poor animal junk food, no matter how much you explain it’s unhealthy. she just wants the cat to be happy and fed.

✧₊⁺ speaking of cats, she's defo the type to snap 0.5 pictures from every angle, proudly maintaining an entire folder dedicated to her feline encounters.

✧₊⁺ you got her a dino necklace for her birthday, and she’s never taken it off since.

✧₊⁺ ellie also has a whole mini-figure collection of the reptile and loves sending you pictures of two dinos kissing, always captioning them with: us!!

✧₊⁺ this girl lets nothing—absolutely nothing—distract her from a videogame. but the moment you so much as call her name, she’s running to you like a stray dog that just found its owner.

✧₊⁺ sometimes, you sit on her lap as she plays, watching her screen and asking the silliest questions. she always answers with a smile and a soft kiss on your cheek.

"what about there? would you die if you went inside that room?" you ask, your arms draped around her neck as you tilt your head to get a better view of her game.

she chuckles softly, pressing her lips to your jaw before fiddling with the joysticks. "judging by the fact that it’s pitch dark in there, i’d say… probably, yeah."

✧₊⁺ the room eventually falls silent, her focus fully locked on the game. but when she glances down a few moments later, she finds you fast asleep, your head resting on her shoulder, and she can’t help but smile.

✧₊⁺ you’ve never seen a room as messy yet effortlessly aesthetic as ellie’s. somehow, the clutter only adds to her charm and uniqueness.

✧₊⁺ sometimes, as you sit on her bed scrolling through your phone in comfortable silence, ellie sketches little drawings of you.

✧₊⁺ by now, her sketchbook is filled with portraits of you—you’ve become her muse.

✧₊⁺ she used to get shy about showing you her artwork, hesitating before every reveal. but after seeing your excitement over one piece, she proudly gave you a full tour of her sketchbook, secretly basking in the joy of being the reason behind that pretty smile of yours.

✧₊⁺ one time, ellie asked you to press your lipstick-stained lips onto a piece of paper, saying she wanted to create something abstract.

✧₊⁺ that moment quickly escalated into her kissing you with urgency, her lips trailing heated breaths down your neck and collarbone. before you knew it, you were lying on your back, clothes discarded on the floor, as she devoured you like a prisoner savoring a last meal.

✧₊⁺ ellie had never tasted pussy before, but she didn’t need any frame of reference. she’ll always insist yours is the best she could ever have.

✧₊⁺ she’s a soft dom, big on praise—even when you’re the one between her legs.

ellie’s head falls back against the wall, a low groan slipping from her lips as your tongue flicks against her clit. you wrap your lips around the sensitive bud, watching her face contort with pleasure.

“fuck, baby. just like that,” she grunts, her hand threading into your hair and tugging gently to bring you closer. “you’re doing so good.”

✧₊⁺ in the end, ellie is just a hopeless loser who’s madly in love with you and would do anything to make you happy.

[black-occamy-arts-and-crafts]

I have recently received another ask about my canvas pulling and since I've been thinking about making a serious tutorial for a while now, I took the opportunity to take some pics and vids while finishing the tree. Do please enjoy :3

1. Why pulling out canvas at all?

Primarily, this is a fantastic technique to apply cross stitch patterns directly to the item you want OR to make patches from old jeans, like this one:

With small patterns I usually don't bother to sew the canvas prior to embroidering, like with the pupper above. In case of the bigger patterns, I usually sew it lightly on the edges just to keep the canvas in one place. The more stretchy the material type is, the more important it's going to be to keep it in place.

2. Why not use a soluble canvas?

I'm sure you can and that they'll be as successful as the regular one 😁 However, as I mentioned in my previous posts here and here, I prefer to err on the side of cheaper, hence the tutorial.

3. Okay. I'm convinced - I even have a pattern embroidered on! What's next?

With small patterns (like the doggo earlier) it's going to be pretty easy. You just pull the threads one by one - preferably starting on the thinnest part of the pattern - and you may not even need the pliers. The fun (?) is with the large pieces, because the canvas has on average quite fragile threads and they like to break. Note - the canvas I'm using and I suppose most of the existing canvas types, will have four threads per one embroidery row. It's usually easier to pull one first and then the other three, bit that may vary when, for example, you managed to pierce the thread during stitching phase earlier 😉

If you were already careful during the stitching, you paid extra attention to embroider EXACTLY between the canvas threads and avoid piercing them at all. There are two benefits to that being extra careful: one, it's easier to pull it out later; two, the stitching gains an extra precision to it (and it looks great!). I recently discover that the round tip needle is making it much easier and if you're interested, there's a separate post about it as well!

On to the process! You can see from the pictures how I started with cutting out a piece of canvas that I can later reuse for something small (recycling is my hobby 🤷🏻‍♀️). I also pulled loose threads from around the tree:

Next part was to clean up the trunk and the grass on the right:

I then cut off the excess to avoid the threads tangling and slowly moved to the sides of the leaves on right and left:

You'll notice that the last photo has the thread pulled halfway through the pattern. That's because on this stage it's usually impossible to simply pull the thread out - even with the pliers it is just going to break off. I use a needle to pluck it from between the embroidery like this:

If you're more of the visual learner, I made this vid that I hope explains the process in more detail. You'll notice that I'm using my fingers and not the pliers here, because it's faster than to switch between tools.

And finally, when you're left with single direction threads like these, it's just a matter of pulling them out one by one.

And that's it! The final product looks clean and neat, AND you will notice that without the canvas beneath it's also getting a bit of volume that looks cool (and helps even out small mistakes you may have made along the way).

Thanks for reading this far! Let me know if there's something else I forgot to explain 😊

[scrilladge]

yeah! My girlfriend’s little sister is albino! Her eyes are purplish and it’s pretty neat! She has a lot of eyesigh issues and will likely be completely blind by 40 tho. she thinks I am very cool, but also she refuses to wear her sunblock for some reason. 😭 LIKE GIRL I AM GINGER I KNOW THE IMPORTANCE OF SUNBLOCK WEAR IT

(being ginger is a form of erythrism which stops your body from converting the pheomelanin it produces into eumelanin, unlike eumelanin pheomelanin when in contact with uv rays can actually damage skin which is why being ginger is less common the closer you are to the equator and becomes more common the farther you are from the equator because there’s less selection pressure against it. I don’t know if there are any benefits to being ginger other than cool hair, oftentimes freckles, and orangish skin. I think it just is more common because there’s less selection pressure against it. (By the way you don’t have to be white to be Ginger it’s just more common in northern-European populations for the reason I mentioned above which just so happen to be pale. (Which is just an adaptation to produce more vitamin d in response to less sunlight. Unfortunately this increases the risk of things like skin cancer because there’s less melanin in your skin.) There are ginger poc! You guys are really cool! We shall all do little ginger dances. Also no matter your skintone you aren’t completely immune to skin cancer please wear sunblock.)

sometimes I wonder how I would look if I wasn’t ginger tho! It seems like eumelanin is a bit darker than pheomelanin so I wonder if I would have dark brown almost-black hair like my mom or if it would be lighter brown. (Eumelanin is red-brown and pheomelanin is red-orange.) erythrism is also what causes pink grasshoppers, golden tigers, and strawberry leopards!!

(Someone help me find the artist of this piece I want to follow them.)

Pictures of my finger ass for reference (most of these are from my senior photos because my shitty iPhone 8 camera isn’t great. The ones with me in a suit were from prom tho.) if you look closely you can see most of my freckles are orange which is neat! here’s pics of more gingers too because erythrism is cool!! Even if it does make you more sensitive to the sun.

also a bunch of other ginger animals

All the purple-eyed hetalia characters must have Alexandria’s genesis /j

they all most certainly have eye problems lol. violet eyes do exist irl but it's usually a result of some type of albinism which does cause vision problems

[erwinsvow]

𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞

summary: jack abbot thinks he's too broken to fix. you just want to take care of him the way he takes care of you.

author's note: here it is! the first longer night shift reader and jack fic ♡ i hope everyone enjoys!

word count: 3.7k

tags: night shift reader x attending jack, comfort and angst, people are making bets (guess who wins!), patient death/loss, age gap relationship (implied but no ages specified!), idk i went a little crazy for two hours

it’s not an easy thing to take care of him. 

he knows that. there haven’t been that many people in his life who have been able to manage it. his wife was one, robby’s sort of another. jack has this thing—he has to at least try to take care of those around him before he can accept any of their help for himself. it’s almost a test of worth, to determine that it’s not a burden he’s placing unduly on anyone. it’s an exchange, he decides, a fair exchange. that way he’s not forcing anyone, because he knows how hard it is, how hard it can be. robby sees a side of it. his wife saw another.

and out of the black, heading into the blue, you are beginning to see it. he doesn’t know how it happened this way, just knows that the sweet resident who had come onto his night-shift because the day shift was beginning to be too much, was now the very reason he doesn’t head straight up to the roof after a very, very long night. 

he knows it’s not easy, that every time he loses a patient, he glances at the clock. the moment someone’s life was over, and the very moment that is going to ruin the lives of all the people who loved them. before he’d start the countdown—how many hours left on this shift? how many until he can go to the roof and breathe, scream and yell and sit in silence and watch the city wake up beneath him. 

it’s selfish. he momentarily checks out after time of death is called. robby does moments of reflections. maybe that’s how he’s able to manage it sometimes, break up the grief into little pieces throughout the day. 

jack isn’t like that. he’s always been the kind to bury, nestle it somewhere deep inside and keep adding, adding, adding. add until it’s about to burst, and then go to the roof and let some of it out. maybe if he tried robby’s way, he wouldn’t have felt like this for so long.

where can so much grief go? there’s no outlet for it, not the way jack does it. some of the things he buries are lost inside him forever, no escape, no exit.

and then you come along. 

jack’s prided himself in the fact that he’s good to the residents. they get more confident under his tutelage, make decisions more firmly, make them quickly and execute them correctly. that’s why robby had sent you over to him, hadn’t it? because you doubted yourself too much. because you felt like you weren’t making the right call.

from seven in the morning to seven at night, the place is crowded. it’s all hands on deck but there’s just a smidge too many hands, especially when there’s students. you were able to blend into the background for a couple months, but it’s just plainly wrong to let it hinder your education.

that’s why robby had sent you to him, right? for your education. to make you a better doctor, better than you already were, which was saying something. 

because jack abbot thinks that you’re incredibly gifted. gifted in the things that he can’t teach someone, in ways that he can’t explain. you have a special touch. patient-care is your forte. if he had to pick the nicest resident, it would be you. but you don’t believe in yourself. 

and he had sent himself to the task of fixing that. it’s what jack does, what he’s always done. patch it up and send it out.

(you’re a little different—he wants to make you believe in yourself more. he wants you to prove it to yourself. make yourself say it and mean it, not just because he’s telling you. that you are capable, that you were meant for this. that this is where you belong. that you have a safety net in the form of your attending—that he’ll be there with an outstretched arm, waiting incase you need him. you won’t, he knows. but you still need to feel him there. it’s working, he knows it is.)

it had been working perfectly fine so far. you build your routine, get yourself settled, start answering trauma calls with a run. 

one time he has you and ellis start the incoming together. tells parker to ask you questions, justify all of your decisions to her, but let you call the shots. when the charge nurse tells you the details, you head straight outside. you pull a yellow gown for yourself and the gloves in your size—those ones are baby blue. and then you pull another gown and the black gloves—the ones in his size. he watches from the nurse’s station, watches ellis take them and watches you look around, like you’re waiting for him to show up. he doesn’t, not this time.

you handle the case perfectly. oddly enough, he can’t seem to remember any of the specifics about it, even though he’s the one who signed off on your detailed note. 

jack watches from the door. you’ve got your back to him, and ellis looks up and sees him, but he shakes his head. he wants to see how you do without him, after so many with him. and you’re perfect—just like he knew you would be. the nurses move in tandem around you, listening closely to your orders. ellis asks questions and you answer, and you don’t sound like your answers are questions themselves—though you had at one point, not too long ago. 

that’s something he’d worked you out of, he thinks, a certain smugness seeping into his veins, satisfaction rolling through every muscle. 

you look out the other door, the opposite of where he’s standing. you stretch your neck like you’re trying to see what’s out there, and then you turn your attention back to your patient right away.

and once the patient is stable, that’s when he comes in. you’re doing it again, looking out the wrong door and as much as he wants to deny it, as wrong as it is, he knows you’re looking for him.

“good work, doctor,” he says, and you jump a little. you turn to look at him, but he’s looking at your senior resident for the assessment.

“dr. abbot, i-” 

“she did great,” parker comments, and you stop to beam at her.

“thank you.” ellis peels off her gloves and gown, black gloves that had been meant for him going into the bin. she gives you further instructions and you nod, and when it’s just the two of you, he finally turns to meet your eyes.

and the way you smile at him blows him away. it’s all over your face—from your gleaming eyes to the cheeks that must hurt, the lips that he can’t stop thinking about. there’s something else there too. neither of you want to say it, though you try.

“thank you, dr. abbot. i-” the words falter and die on your tongue. but in your joy, how pleased you are with yourself for once, you find the confidence he’s been wanting you to have all along. “i was looking for you.”

and jack swallows hard. it’s one thing to have a flirtation, to teach you, to mentor you. to make you cups of coffee and tea and buy a box of those protein bars that you like the best, because the other ones taste weird. to defend your yellow cup with his best glare, to stop in the aisle at costco and buy a duplicate pair just incase he ever needs to replace it. you love that yellow mug, and well, he loves—

“dr. abbot? you okay?” 

and it’s normally him asking you that.

“i’m fine, kid. you did great.” 

“so did you.” 

-

when jack walks by dana at around seven-ten, her and the other nurses go remarkably silent. 

“yes?” he asks, grabbing the black thermos from the counter where he’d been finishing his notes. it’s also from costco—chipped and bent all over the place, little flecks of silver making an appearance around the bottom. you’d made a joke about it once—even your cup is salt and pepper. and now he thinks about it every time he picks it up.

“what? i didn’t say anything,” dana replies, settling an ipad back in the charging port, moving around papers at the station. “but just so you know, the pool’s up to three hundred.”

jack sets his cup down a little harder than he means to, forearms resting on the sterile counter.

“what pool?” he demands, and dana shrugs. if he didn’t love her so much he would kill her.

“i’m just saying. if you’d like to help your favorite nurse contribute to her retirement fund, then you can—”

“oh? i can what?” 

it’s just not this easy for him anymore. you are full of all the good things that he so clearly lacks, made of so much sunshine it’s pouring out of you. you have love in stores, ready to be doled out at any time, to anyone. patients, coworkers, even the medical students you just met a couple minutes ago. he hears you—offering the flashcards you made for boards and the interview tips that got you to match at your top choice. 

he is entirely unworthy of your love. he knows it, deep down. loving him would break you. trying to piece him back together would drain you dry. and he doesn’t want to do that to you, you deserve better. maybe he can take care of you at work, but outside of these four walls, if you saw what he was like with idle hands and an empty apartment, or if you saw him up on that roof-

“dr. abbot?” 

your voice seems to always be enough to snap him out of it. 

“goodbye, dana,” he says, walking up next to you, thermos in hand. your eyes briefly glance down at it, smiling. “what’s going on, kid?” 

“remember what you had said? about breakfast?” and you smile at him like getting breakfast with jack abbot sounds like the great thing in the world right now. it’s almost seven-thirty and you probably haven’t slept in fifteen hours, and yet you keep smiling, big eyes blinking at him while you wait patiently for an answer.

“yeah.” he clears his throat, looking back at dana momentarily. she’s smiling at him, and then she turns to smack the side of robby’s arm, pointing him the direction of you two. “that sounds great. after you.” 

he shouldn’t have said yes. he knows what’ll happen if you start thinking that you can fix whatever is wrong with jack abbot, and he would like to avoid that entirely. but you beam at him again like you had earlier with ellis, and jack is a lot of things, but one thing is he is not, is a jerk. he won’t disappoint you about this, not when he’s secretly relieved you’re eating after shift. he’s seen you with sugary granola bars and pastries when you should be filling up on protein after a shift like this.

so he follows you out, ignoring the exchange of money behind him. 

breakfast is nice. you get chocolate-chip pancakes and he makes you get eggs too, and then hands you strips of bacon from his plate too. he hasn’t seen you like this before, and he tries to soak it into his memory. 

(something deep inside says that he should cut the tether before you get too attached. it’ll only hurt more to prolong it, to let it linger. the possibility of something between the two of you. and then you offer him a bite of a pancake drenched in syrup and everything in his head goes silent.)

breakfast becomes a weekly recurrence. there’s a twenty-four seven diner he loves just up the road from the hospital, and he’s been before with shen once, robby a couple times if their schedules lined up. it’s not particularly unusual to see him there with you, though he feels like he’s committing some sort of a crime.

you wear pullovers from your alma mater. the backpack you bring to work is the same one you used all four years of college and medical school, a fact you are very proud of. when he looks at it—his chest hurts. it’s hardly worn, looks like it’s in great condition—a couple of pins tacked on the side where your water bottle sits and a pocket for your badge and wallet in the front. he has to force himself to remember that you’re younger than any woman he’s seriously talked to before. his wife had been two months older than him, something he used to tease her about all the time. 

would you do that? would you tease him about the age difference? or would you prefer to ignore it, set it aside and try to forget about it? it’s a heavy question for breakfast after twelve hours on. 

you take him to another place that you like, too, closer to your apartment. you both eat bagels and sip on juice—orange for him, apple for you—and that’s where you learn more about his time as a medic. the breakfast burrito place near the park is where you tell him about how you’ve wanted to be a doctor since you were twelve, that you thought you’d had a calling for pediatrics and you’d even been the president of the peds club in medical school. and then you’d rotated through the emergency department third year and completely changed your plan.

you share a stack of waffles—chocolate chip with strawberries and whipped cream, at your insistence. he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to say no to you, not when you ask him so sweetly. he learns about your kitten and how you’ve always been scared that you’re going to do the wrong thing and until very recently, that you’ve just been playing pretend and you’ll get caught one day. 

and back at the diner is where he tells you about his wife. and you listen intently and nod and hold his hands when his voice breaks and run your fingers over his knuckles. you don’t let go of his hand the entire walk back to your apartment, and outside the door, you give him a hug. and the two of you stay like that for a while. that’s when you and jack kiss for the first time. slow, steady, a kiss that you’ve been dreaming of for months. it takes all the air out of your lungs and when you finally go inside, you realize your shoulder is a little wet and your lips are swollen. 

even hours later, jack can still taste apple juice on his tongue.

another week after that, you both answer the incoming trauma together. it’s six-thirty, so someone might come and take over, but it doesn’t work out that way. it’s a man who got t-boned at an intersection on the way to school drop-off. his wife and daughter are getting their cuts stitched, you think, and the patient had been slurring at you when he came in. thank god i put her behind her mom today. thank god, thank god- and jack does something he doesn’t always do. 

“get the mom, get the kid. let-let them talk.” 

and while you do the ultrasound and the e-fast and order for type and cross-match, you hear his daughter crying and a wife telling her husband how much she loves him. 

and you and jack try everything, everything you can think of, but sometimes, there’s just no coming back. he doesn’t even make it to surgery. jack walks out first, and then you, and you see his daughter turn away from the medical student that’s tending to her wound, standing up with hopeful eyes like you and jack have good news for her.

and you feel incredibly broken. your day hasn’t even started yet. and you lock eyes with jack for a second—just a second, and he stares back at you, hardened, in a way you haven’t seen before. you’ve both lost patients, lost patients together. sometimes it’s just different, in a way that you can’t explain. 

it must have been an hour, an hour and a half you spent in the trauma room. the entire day shift is there now. 

“head home, kid,” jack says. “i’ll talk to the family.” 

you bring your hand to his shoulder, pulling back until he turns to face you. 

“i’ll talk to the family.” 

it’s not an easy thing to take care of. he tries to tell you something but you shake your head at him, the hand on his shoulder lingering. people are looking, he thinks. but then again, he’s never cared that much. and in this moment, neither do you. 

you head over to the family, excuse the nurses and the student doing the stitches. you pull the curtains, and all he hears is sobbing. 

and when you come back out, he know you held it together in front of them, but your shoulders are shaking, your chin is wobbling. and in front of all those people, he brings you in for a hug. 

a real hug—like the one you had in front of your apartment. jack’s grip is tight on you, his arms caging you in, covering everything so you can’t see anything, can’t think about anything else but him. he rests his chin on your head, and closes his eyes, and then the two of you walk back to the lockers together. 

it’s not an easy thing to take care of him. and somehow, without ever telling you, you know all about how to do it. you know a lot of things about him. you know what this job does to him and that if he had gone to tell that family they lost their father and husband, that he would’ve ended up on the roof this morning. you know that jack abbot doesn’t halve any of his burdens, that he’s been afraid to rely on you like how you rely on him. to need you in the way that you need him. and you know that he won’t tell you what he needs, but you’ve gotten somewhat adept at figuring him out, just like how he has with you.

that day you leave holding hands. neither of you are in the right mood to go out for breakfast, so he elects to take you back to his apartment, an arm swung around your shoulder the entire walk there. you’re still a little teary-eyed, wiping them away at his front door while you head inside with him. 

you’ve never seen the inside of jack’s apartment, but he’s mentioned it in one of your many conversations. the record collection, his wife’s plants that he takes care of, the kitchen that’s too big for one person. 

the morning light hits the place beautifully. you stare out of his window while he heads to the kitchen, and you look around. first the records, then the plants, just like he’d described. there’s pothos and peace lily and little succulents along the windowsill. you look at the rest of it—incredibly fitting. a brown leather couch and a bookshelf with medical textbooks and a couple of mystery thrillers. you laugh to yourself, imagining jack curling up with one of those books at night.

when you turn back, he’s cracking eggs and laying out strips of bacon on the pan. you head over to the other side of the island, taking a seat on one of the stools. 

“no pancakes?”

“you’re gonna get cavities, y’know,” jack says, and you smile at him. 

“it’s worth it.”

“i love your smile the way it is right now. don’t go changing it on me.” and that does make you smile, staring at jack making breakfast for the two of you. it all feels so domestic. like you’re just walking into the life that was meant for you all along.

you’ve only been on the night shift for a couple of months. 

how could he have been so stupid? trying to fight what you did to him when it was like gravity, like the tide, like every other force in this world that he knows about and cannot control. you’re exactly where you’re meant to be, and so is he.

“mel texted me. she won the bet,” you say, setting your phone down. you lean against your hand, inhaling the smell of the first of many home-cooked meals you’ll eat, made by jack abbot.

“that so? i thought dana was a shoo-in.” 

“dana got the timing wrong. thought it’d happen during the night shift. but technically, you hugged me at eight-thirty, so..” 

“and what was the winning combo?” he stares at you, probably for the millionth time since you met him. and still, somehow, it’s enough that you feel it in your bones. you want to look away but you don’t. “you want toast, kid?” 

“yes please. she didn’t say, but i’ll ask. later.” 

you and jack settle at his wooden dining table ten minutes later, a plate full of protein and a promise that he’ll get you something sweet when you wake up later. jack lifts up his pant leg and takes off his prosthetic, setting it against the chair and relaxing a little bit more. you can see his shoulders loosen up. when he catches you staring, he smiles back.

“what?”

“nothing. do you have juice?”

“i think there’s some apple in there. i can-”

“no, i got it.” you get up, walking towards to the fridge. “i thought you didn’t like apple.” you know he doesn’t—he prefers orange. 

“i changed my mind.” you smile back at him, finding the apple juice and setting it on the counter. 

“cups?” 

“the cabinet on your right. no, your other right.”

you laugh and open it up, your laugh dying in your throat as you stare at two yellow mugs sitting front and center in the cupboard. you pick them up, bringing them over to the table with jack, and stare at him.

“oh,” he says. “i can explain. it’s incase-” but you don’t want to listen for another second, so you sit on his lap, pressing your lips together and forgetting all about breakfast and apple juice.

♡ thanks for reading!

[velvetvisionsaurora]

Alpha ATEEZ x Assistant Omega Reader

Warnings: omega reader, alpha ateez, scenting, heats, ruts, slow burn, eventual smut, forced command, more to come!

When Y/n accepts a position as assistant to alpha K-pop group ATEEZ, she's prepared with professional skills and scent blockers to hide her omega status. What she's not prepared for is the immediate, inexplicable connection she feels with all eight members—a resonance that defies her careful boundaries.

As Y/n becomes eerily attuned to their needs, her suppressed omega nature begins to emerge: purring for the first time in years, responding to alpha growls, feeling safe in ways she never has before. When a protective incident reveals the depth of the members' attachment to her, Y/n must confront the possibility that what binds them together is something ancient and profound.

Authors note: 😳 You all blew up the fic, lol. I’m glad everyone loves it! Unfortunately though the Taglist is currently closed! I’m so sorry everyone! Thank you for all the reposts and love! Keep leaving comment on your thoughts! I love reading them. 💜

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Masterlist

Chapter 3: First Day

The two weeks following your job acceptance passed in a whirlwind of activity. Between giving notice at your previous job, packing up your belongings, and saying goodbye to your roommates, you'd barely had time to process the magnitude of the change you were about to undertake. Manager Minwoo had been in constant contact, sending over contracts, employee handbooks, and preliminary schedules to help you prepare.

Now, as you stood beside the small moving truck that contained your life's possessions, staring up at the ATEEZ residence, reality finally hit you. This was happening. Today, you were officially starting as their assistant, and this beautiful property was about to become your home.

You reached up to check your scent blocker patch, a gesture that had become almost ritualistic in its frequency over the past two weeks. Working and living in such close proximity to eight alpha idols meant you couldn't afford even a moment's lapse in concealing your omega status.

Taking a deep breath, you picked up the small box containing your immediate essentials and approached the front gate. Before you could even press the intercom button, the gate swung open, revealing Kim Hongjoong waiting on the other side.

"I saw the truck pull up," he explained with a warm smile that made your heart skip. "Welcome to your new home, Y/n."

Hongjoong had been watching the driveway periodically all morning, trying not to seem overeager about your arrival. When he finally spotted the moving truck turning into their street, he'd immediately headed downstairs, ignoring Wooyoung's knowing smirk and San's amused comment about "eager alphas."

Now, seeing you standing there with a box in your arms and nervous anticipation written across your face, Hongjoong felt that same inexplicable pull he'd experienced during your interview. There was something about your presence that resonated with him on a deeply instinctive level—something his alpha senses recognized even without being able to detect your scent.

"Let me help you with that," he offered, reaching for the box in your arms.

"Oh, thank you," you replied, relinquishing it with a grateful smile. "It's not too heavy, just some essentials I wanted to keep with me."

Hongjoong noticed the way you unconsciously touched the spot behind your ear—where a scent blocker patch would typically be placed. He understood the precaution; many industry professionals, regardless of their status, wore blockers to maintain privacy and professionalism. Still, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of curiosity about what your natural scent might be.

"The others are inside," he said, leading you toward the house. "Fair warning: they're a bit excited about your arrival."

Your stomach fluttered with nervous energy at Hongjoong's words. During your interview, you'd only met three of the eight members. The prospect of meeting the remaining five—all alphas with strong personalities according to everything you'd read and watched about them—was both exciting and intimidating.

"I'm looking forward to meeting everyone," you said, trying to project confidence despite your nerves. "I hope I can live up to expectations."

Hongjoong glanced at you, his expression softening. "Just be yourself. That's what impressed us in the first place."

Before you could respond, the front door of the main house flew open, and Wooyoung burst out, his face lit up with enthusiasm.

"She's here!" he called over his shoulder before bounding down the steps toward you. "Welcome, Y/n! We've been counting down the days!"

You couldn't help but laugh at his exuberance. "Thank you. It's good to see you again, Wooyoung-ssi."

"Just Wooyoung, please," he insisted, falling into step beside you. "We're going to be seeing way too much of each other for formalities."

Inside the house, the remaining members had gathered in the living room, curiosity drawing them together to meet the new assistant who had made such an impression on Hongjoong, San, and Wooyoung. Seonghwa had insisted on cleaning the entire common area that morning, despite their housekeeper having done so just the day before.

"You're fussing," Yeosang had commented quietly, watching Seonghwa rearrange the throw pillows for the third time.

"I'm ensuring we make a good first impression," Seonghwa corrected him, though he couldn't fully explain the strange sense of anticipation he felt. The way Hongjoong and the others had described their immediate connection to you had piqued his interest. Such reactions were typically scent-driven for alphas, yet they'd been clear that you wore blockers.

Now, hearing Wooyoung's excited exclamation from outside, Seonghwa straightened, smoothing down his sweater and assuming the composed posture that had earned him the nickname of "pack mom" among the members.

The front door opened, and all eyes turned to see Hongjoong enter, carrying a box, with you and Wooyoung close behind.

You stepped into the living room and immediately felt the weight of seven pairs of eyes focused intently on you. Despite having seen each of these men countless times in videos and photos, being in their presence was an entirely different experience. The collective alpha energy in the room was palpable, creating an atmosphere that would have been overwhelming if not for the genuine warmth in their expressions.

"Everyone," Hongjoong said, placing your box on a nearby table, "this is Y/n L/n, our new assistant. Y/n, you've already met San and Wooyoung, but let me introduce you to the rest of the team."

One by one, he indicated each member. "Seonghwa, our eldest." A tall, strikingly handsome man with gentle eyes nodded politely. "Yunho." A sunshine smile from the tallest member. "Yeosang." A slight nod from a man with delicate features that belied his alpha status. "Mingi." An enthusiastic wave from a member with a deep voice. "And Jongho, our youngest." The final member, compact but radiating strength, offered a respectful bow.

"It's an honor to meet all of you," you said, bowing formally despite Wooyoung's earlier dismissal of formalities. "I'm looking forward to working with you and supporting your schedules and activities."

Seonghwa found himself unable to look away from you. The moment you'd walked into the room, something had shifted in the atmosphere—a subtle change that his alpha senses detected immediately. Despite not being able to catch your scent through the blockers you wore, he felt an inexplicable draw toward your presence. It was unlike anything he'd experienced before, a strange mixture of protectiveness and recognition that made no logical sense.

Beside him, he could sense similar reactions from the other members who hadn't met you yet. Yunho was practically vibrating with friendly energy, while even the typically reserved Yeosang seemed unusually attentive. Jongho's posture had subtly straightened, his eyes tracking your movements with curious intensity.

"We're glad to have you join us," Seonghwa said, stepping forward to properly welcome you. "I hope the guys didn't overwhelm you during your interview."

"Not at all," you replied with a warm smile that sent an unexpected wave of satisfaction through him. "Everyone has been very welcoming."

There was something in your voice, a gentle confidence that immediately put him at ease while simultaneously intriguing him. Now he understood what Hongjoong had tried to explain—there was indeed something special about your presence that transcended typical first impressions.

You found yourself particularly drawn to Seonghwa's calm, composed aura. Where Wooyoung radiated chaotic energy and Hongjoong exuded leadership, Seonghwa projected a nurturing stability that immediately made you feel at ease despite the intimidating circumstances.

"We've prepared a welcome lunch," Seonghwa continued, gesturing toward what you assumed was the direction of the kitchen. "But perhaps you'd like to see the guesthouse first and get settled a bit?"

"That's very thoughtful, thank you," you replied gratefully. The prospect of having a moment to collect yourself before diving into social interaction was appealing. "I would appreciate a few minutes to bring in some essentials."

Yunho immediately stepped forward. "We can help with your moving truck," he offered with an easy smile. "Between the eight of us, we should make quick work of it."

"Oh, you really don't have to—" you began, but were quickly interrupted by multiple voices insisting they wanted to help.

"Consider it part of our welcome," Jongho said, speaking for the first time. His voice was unexpectedly gentle coming from someone with such a strong physical presence.

"Eight alphas with nothing better to do on a Sunday," Mingi added with a grin. "Either we help you move, or Wooyoung convinces us to try another one of his 'genius' prank ideas."

"Hey!" Wooyoung protested, though there was no real offense in his tone.

You couldn't help but laugh, already feeling the tension in your shoulders beginning to ease. "Well, when you put it that way, I'd be grateful for the help."

The next hour passed in a flurry of activity as all eight ATEEZ members helped transport your belongings from the truck to the guesthouse. What should have been a simple moving process quickly evolved into something resembling organized chaos, with good-natured bickering over who would carry what and Seonghwa's increasingly exasperated attempts to direct traffic.

San found himself volunteering for multiple trips, drawn by the opportunity to learn more about you through your possessions. The small collection of books—a mix of business references, fantasy novels, and memoirs—spoke of a curious, multifaceted mind. The carefully packed box of houseplants suggested nurturing tendencies. Each item offered a glimpse into who you were beyond the professional facade.

"You have good taste in music," he commented, noticing your vinyl collection as he placed it carefully on the shelf you'd indicated. "I love this album too."

"Really?" you replied, lighting up with genuine pleasure at the shared interest. "It's one of my favorites. The composition is so layered—you discover something new every time you listen."

San felt a warm satisfaction at having found this connection with you. "Exactly! That's what I always tell Wooyoung, but he doesn't have the patience to listen to anything more than twice."

Your laugh in response sent an unexpected wave of pleasure through him—a reaction so visceral it momentarily caught him off guard.

You were both surprised and touched by how thoughtfully the members handled your belongings. Jongho carefully carried your boxes marked "fragile" as if they contained priceless artifacts rather than simply kitchen dishes. Yeosang, despite his quiet demeanor, took charge of organizing your books and music collection with surprising attention to detail. Mingi enthusiastically placed your plants around the living area, declaring they "improved the energy" of the space.

Even more surprising was how quickly you felt at ease in their presence. Despite being surrounded by eight alpha idols, you found yourself laughing at Wooyoung and San's playful banter, gratefully accepting Seonghwa's practical suggestions for furniture arrangement, and appreciating Hongjoong's careful respect of your space and preferences.

"Where would you like this?" Hongjoong asked, holding up a framed photo of you with who he assumed were your parents.

"On the side table, please," you replied, watching as he placed it carefully on the surface, angling it slightly before stepping back.

"Your parents?" he inquired with gentle curiosity.

You nodded, a fond smile crossing your face. "Yes. They live in Busan now. They're both teachers."

There was something warm in Hongjoong's expression as he regarded the photo. "You have your mother's smile."

The personal observation, delivered with such quiet sincerity, sent an unexpected flutter through your chest. "Thank you. That's what everyone says."

By early afternoon, the moving truck was empty, and your belongings were distributed throughout the guesthouse. What would have taken you the entire day to accomplish on your own had been completed in just over an hour with the enthusiastic help of all eight members.

"I can't thank you all enough," you said sincerely, looking around at your new space, already beginning to feel like home. "You've made this so much easier than I expected."

"That's what pack—I mean, that's what teammates do," Yunho quickly corrected himself, though the slip didn't go unnoticed by the others. There was a moment of awkward silence before Seonghwa smoothly changed the subject.

"The welcome lunch should be ready now," he said. "Unless you'd prefer some time alone to settle in?"

You considered the offer. While part of you did want to begin unpacking and organizing your new space, the genuine warmth and welcome you'd received made you reluctant to cut short this initial bonding time. "Lunch sounds wonderful, thank you."

"Excellent," Seonghwa said with a satisfied smile. "I prepared japchae and bulgogi—I hope that's alright?"

"You cooked?" you asked, both surprised and touched by the gesture.

"Seonghwa-hyung always cooks for special occasions," Jongho explained with a hint of pride in his voice. "And new pack members definitely qualify as special."

"Team members," Hongjoong corrected firmly, giving Jongho a pointed look that made you wonder about the significance of the distinction.

The main house's dining area was impressive—a large table that comfortably seated ten, with expansive windows overlooking the garden. As you took your seat between Yunho and Yeosang, you couldn't help but feel a surreal sense of displacement. Just two weeks ago, you'd been having ramen in your tiny apartment with your roommates. Now, you were sitting at a table with ATEEZ, about to share a meal that Seonghwa had prepared specially to welcome you.

"I should warn you," Yunho said in a conspiratorial whisper, leaning slightly toward you, "once you taste Seonghwa-hyung's cooking, the company cafeteria will never satisfy you again."

You laughed softly. "I'll consider myself warned."

As Seonghwa and Hongjoong brought out the food—far more dishes than you'd expected—the atmosphere around the table was relaxed and welcoming. The members fell into a natural rhythm of conversation, effortlessly including you without making you feel put on the spot.

"So, Y/n," Mingi asked as he passed you a dish, "what made you want to work in the entertainment industry? Specifically with idols?"

Hongjoong found himself particularly interested in your answer to Mingi's question. He'd reviewed your resume thoroughly, noted your previous experience, but the "why" behind your career choices hadn't been something they'd explored deeply in the interview.

He watched as you considered the question thoughtfully before answering, struck by how naturally you fit at their table despite having just met most of them today.

"I've always been drawn to creative environments," you explained, accepting the dish from Mingi with a grateful nod. "There's an energy in the entertainment industry that you don't find anywhere else—this blend of artistic expression and structured business that creates something meaningful."

You paused, wondering how much to reveal. "As for working with idols specifically... I admire the dedication it takes to succeed in this industry. The training, the performances, the constant growth and reinvention. Being able to support that process, even in an administrative capacity, feels fulfilling to me."

Yeosang, who had been quietly observant until now, spoke up. "That's a thoughtful answer. Most people just say they want to be close to celebrities."

You laughed softly. "Well, I won't pretend the opportunity to work with artists I respect isn't exciting. But it's the behind-the-scenes work that actually interests me the most—helping create the structure that allows creativity to flourish."

Hongjoong nodded, a look of approval crossing his face. "That's exactly what we need—someone who understands both sides of the equation."

As the meal progressed, you found yourself relaxing more and more in their company. Despite being surrounded by alpha idols, you felt neither intimidated nor out of place. There was something about their dynamic—the way they interacted with each other and with you—that created a sense of belonging you hadn't anticipated feeling so quickly.

Wooyoung kept you laughing with dramatic stories of their trainee days. Yunho shared his enthusiasm for an online game you also happened to enjoy. Jongho impressed you with his thoughtful questions about your previous work experience. Even the quieter Yeosang offered occasional comments that revealed a sharp wit beneath his reserved exterior.

Throughout it all, you were acutely aware of Hongjoong's attentive presence at the head of the table. Though he didn't dominate the conversation, his subtle guidance of the discussion and the way the others naturally deferred to him in certain moments spoke volumes about his leadership style.

Seonghwa, too, commanded your attention in a different way—his nurturing energy evident in how he ensured everyone's plates and glasses were filled, how he gently steered the conversation when it veered toward topics that might make you uncomfortable as a newcomer.

Seonghwa couldn't explain the satisfaction he felt watching you enjoy the food he'd prepared. Each appreciative comment or pleased expression sent a wave of alpha contentment through him—a primal response to providing for... for what? You weren't pack, weren't family, weren't anything beyond their new employee. And yet, his instincts were responding as if you were something more.

He caught Hongjoong's eye across the table and recognized the same confusing mix of emotions reflected there. Something unspoken passed between them—an acknowledgment that whatever this strange pull was, they both felt it.

"I hope the guesthouse has everything you need," Seonghwa said, turning his attention back to you. "If there's anything missing or anything you'd like changed, please don't hesitate to let us know."

"It's perfect," you assured him with a warm smile that sent another inexplicable wave of pleasure through him. "More than perfect, actually. I still can't believe I get to live there."

"You even have a good view of the pool," San commented with a grin. "You should see how the sunlight hits the water in the late afternoon—it's beautiful."

"Maybe we should have a welcome pool party," Wooyoung suggested enthusiastically.

"We’re in the middle of preparing for a comeback and tour," Jongho pointed out. "Plus it’s barley summer.” 

"Details, details," Wooyoung dismissed with a wave of his hand. "We have a heater for it."

You laughed, the sound light and melodic. "That sounds lovely Wooyoung. I’m not much of a swimmer though, more of a sunbather.” 

"I could teach you," both San and Wooyoung offered simultaneously, then turned to glare at each other as Seonghwa rolled his eyes.

---

After lunch, Hongjoong suggested showing you the office where you'd be primarily working. The others dispersed to various parts of the house, though not without Wooyoung extracting a promise that you'd join them for movie night later if you weren't too tired from moving.

"Don't feel obligated," Hongjoong told you quietly as he led you toward the office. "Wooyoung can be... enthusiastic. But everyone understands if you need time to settle in."

"I appreciate that," you replied, touched by his consideration. "But I think I'd like to join, if that's alright. It seems like a good way to get to know everyone better."

Hongjoong smiled, a glint of approval in his eyes. "It is. Just be prepared—movie selection can get competitive around here."

The office, which you'd briefly seen during your interview, had been thoroughly prepared for your arrival. Someone had placed a small vase of fresh flowers beside the computer.

"Seonghwa's touch," Hongjoong explained, noticing your gaze on the flowers. "He thought it would make the space feel more welcoming."

"That was very thoughtful of him," you said, genuinely moved by the gesture.

Hongjoong showed you the filing system, the scheduling software, and the various communication channels used by the team. Though you'd received preliminary information from Manager Minwoo, having Hongjoong walk you through everything personally made the overwhelming amount of information seem more manageable.

"Your first official day is tomorrow," he reminded you. "Today is just for getting settled. But I thought you might want to see where everything is located."

"I appreciate that," you said gratefully. "It helps to get oriented before diving in."

Hongjoong hesitated, then added, "I've scheduled the first few days to be more training than execution. You'll shadow Manager Minwoo tomorrow, and then gradually take over responsibilities as you become comfortable with them."

The consideration in his planning touched you. "Thank you. That sounds perfect."

---

As evening approached, you took some time alone in the guesthouse to unpack essentials and freshen up before the movie night. You'd just finished arranging your toiletries in the bathroom when there was a knock at your door.

Opening it, you found Seonghwa standing there with a small basket in his hands.

"I thought you might not have had time to go grocery shopping yet," he explained, holding out the basket which contained fresh fruit, some snacks, a carton of milk, and a few other breakfast essentials. "Just to tide you over until you can stock your kitchen properly."

The thoughtful gesture caught you off guard. "That's so kind of you, Seonghwa-ssi. Thank you."

"Just Seonghwa is fine," he said with a gentle smile. "And it's no trouble. I remember how chaotic my first day moving in was."

As you accepted the basket, your fingers briefly brushed against his. Despite the scent blocker preventing any pheromone detection, you felt a strange electric sensation at the contact—a momentary connection that seemed to surprise Seonghwa as much as it did you, judging by the slight widening of his eyes.

He recovered quickly, however. "Movie night starts in about thirty minutes in the main living room, if you're still planning to join us."

"I'll be there," you promised, still feeling slightly off-balance from whatever had just passed between you.

With a polite nod, Seonghwa turned to leave, then paused. "Y/n," he said, turning back slightly. "I'm glad you're here. I think you're going to be good for the team."

Before you could respond, he continued on his way, leaving you standing in the doorway with the basket in your hands and a strange warmth spreading through your chest.

The main living room had been transformed for movie night. The large sectional sofa was now covered in blankets and pillows, with additional cushions arranged on the floor. The impressive entertainment system was queued up, and various snacks and drinks covered the coffee table.

"Y/nnie!" Wooyoung exclaimed when you entered, patting the space beside him. "We saved you a seat."

"Don't feel obligated," Yeosang said quietly from a nearby armchair. "There are other options if you prefer."

You smiled at the consideration, opting for a spot on the sofa between Yunho and Hongjoong—close enough to be sociable but not directly next to the exuberant Wooyoung, who pouted briefly before bouncing back.

"We're still debating the movie," Hongjoong explained as you settled in. "It's between an action thriller Mingi wants to see and a new fantasy film Yunho's been recommending."

"What about you?" San asked, genuinely curious about your preference. "Any vote to break the tie?"

You considered for a moment. "I'm fine with either, but I do enjoy fantasy if it's well done."

Yunho pumped his fist in victory while Mingi groaned dramatically. "Next time, we're watching my pick," he insisted, though there was no real frustration in his tone.

As the movie began, you couldn't help but marvel at how quickly you'd been included in their ritual, as if you'd always been a part of it. The easy camaraderie, the playful bickering over snacks, the comfortable silence that fell as everyone became engrossed in the story—it all felt surprisingly natural.

Halfway through the film, you became aware of a subtle warmth beside you. Hongjoong had shifted slightly closer, though still maintaining a respectful distance. There was something comforting about his proximity—a sense of security that made you sink a little deeper into the couch, your tension from the busy day finally beginning to dissipate.

Across the room, Seonghwa watched this development with thoughtful eyes, noting the way Hongjoong's typically alert posture had relaxed in your presence. Something was definitely happening here—something none of them fully understood yet, but that all of them seemed to be feeling in their own ways.

As the movie reached its climax, you stifled a yawn, the exhaustion of moving day finally catching up with you. Hongjoong noticed immediately.

"You've had a long day," he said quietly, his voice pitched so only you could hear. "Feel free to head back to the guesthouse whenever you need to. No one will be offended."

The consideration in his words warmed you. "Thank you. I think I'll stay until the end, though. I'm enjoying the film."

What you didn't say was that you were also enjoying the company—this unexpected sense of belonging that had developed over the course of a single day. Despite the challenges that surely lay ahead—maintaining professional boundaries, keeping your omega status concealed, navigating the complex dynamics of eight alpha personalities—in this moment, you felt that you'd made the right decision in accepting this position.

As the credits rolled on the movie, you stifled another yawn, the exhaustion of moving day finally catching up with you. Though you were enjoying the company, your eyelids had grown increasingly heavy throughout the last thirty minutes of the film.

"I think I should call it a night," you said, reluctantly rising from your comfortable spot on the sofa. "Thank you all for such a warm welcome today. I really appreciate everything you've done to help me settle in."

"It was our pleasure," Seonghwa responded with a gentle smile. "Get some rest. Tomorrow will be a busy day."

"Do you want someone to walk you back to the guesthouse?" San offered immediately, already half-rising from his seat.

You smiled but shook your head. "That's very kind, but it's just across the garden. I'll be fine."

"The path lights are on a timer," Hongjoong informed you. "They should stay lit until you're inside. If you need anything at all during the night, don't hesitate to call or text any of us."

The protectiveness in his tone sent a small flutter through your chest. "Thank you. Goodnight, everyone."

A chorus of "goodnight" and "sleep well" followed you as you made your way to the door. You could feel multiple pairs of eyes on your back as you departed, but it didn't feel uncomfortable—just attentive in a way you weren't quite used to yet.

The night air was cool against your skin as you walked the short path back to the guesthouse. True to Hongjoong's word, the garden lights illuminated your way, casting a gentle glow that transformed the landscape into something almost magical. In the distance, the Seoul skyline twinkled, a reminder of the city beyond this peaceful oasis.

Once inside your new home, you went through your nighttime routine on autopilot, too tired to unpack anything beyond the essentials. As you carefully removed your scent blocker patch and cleaned the area behind your ear, you couldn't help but reflect on the day's events.

Eight alphas had welcomed you into their space with a warmth and ease that defied your expectations. Despite your precautions, despite your carefully maintained professional boundaries, something about being with them had felt inexplicably right. There was a connection there that you couldn't explain—something that went beyond the typical dynamics of a workplace relationship.

"Don't read too much into it," you murmured to yourself as you applied a fresh blocker patch. "They're just being nice to their new assistant."

But as you finally slipped into bed, your last conscious thought was that there seemed to be something more at play—something neither you nor they fully understood yet.

---

Back in the main house, the eight members of ATEEZ remained in the living room long after you had departed. An unusual silence had fallen over the group, each lost in their own thoughts about the newest addition to their household.

Hongjoong was the first to speak, his voice thoughtful. "So... what does everyone think of Y/n?"

The question hung in the air for a moment before Wooyoung broke into a wide grin. "I told you all she was special! Did you see how quickly she fit in? It's like she's always been here."

San nodded in agreement. "There's something about her... I can't explain it. When she's in the room, I just feel more... I don't know, centered?"

"I noticed that too," Yunho admitted, looking slightly confused by his own reaction. "I only met her today, but I already feel this weird need to make sure she's comfortable and happy. Is that strange?"

Jongho, typically the most reserved of the group when it came to expressing feelings, shifted in his seat. "It's not just you. I felt it too. There's something... familiar about her presence."

Yeosang, who had been quietly observing as usual, leaned forward. "It's unusual for all of us to have such a similar reaction to someone, especially when we can't detect her scent through the blockers." His brow furrowed slightly. "Has anyone else noticed that we're responding to her almost as if..."

"As if she's pack," Seonghwa finished for him, voicing what several of them had been thinking but hesitant to say aloud. "Even though she's just our assistant."

Hongjoong ran a hand through his hair, processing the implications of what they were all describing. "I felt it during her interview. That's why I was so certain she was the right choice, even beyond her qualifications. Something about her just... resonates."

"I'm in love," Mingi declared dramatically, flopping backward onto the couch and throwing an arm over his face. "I'm completely, utterly in love."

Wooyoung pointed at him triumphantly. "See! That's exactly what I said two weeks ago! And you all thought I was exaggerating!"

Seonghwa rolled his eyes, though there was no real annoyance in the gesture. "You're both being ridiculous. You barely know her."

"And yet," Mingi countered, sitting up to look at Seonghwa directly, "you can't deny you feel it too. I saw how attentive you were at dinner, hyung. You barely took your eyes off her."

A faint flush colored Seonghwa's cheeks. "I was being a good host," he defended, though his tone lacked conviction. After a moment, he sighed. "Fine. Yes, there's... something. I don't know what it is, but I felt it the moment she walked in."

"Do you think she's an omega?" Jongho suggested thoughtfully. "Maybe her blockers aren't completely effective, and we're picking up subtle cues?"

San shook his head. "Those high-grade blockers are pretty effective. Besides, we've been around plenty of omegas before and never had this kind of collective response."

"What about a beta?" Yunho offered.

"Same issue," Hongjoong said, his brow furrowed in concentration. "We've never reacted this way to anyone, regardless of their status."

Yeosang, who had been quietly contemplative, finally spoke up. "There's another theory...fated mate to the pack."

The room fell silent, all eyes turning to him.

"Fated mates..to the pack? That’s just stories," Wooyoung objected, though he seemed more intrigued than dismissive. "Fairy tales parents tell pups."

"Most legends have some basis in reality," Yeosang countered.

"But fated mates are rare," Jongho pointed out. "And usually, it's between two people, not... eight and one."

Seonghwa's expression became thoughtful. "There are some historical accounts of pack fated mates—one individual destined to bond with an entire pack rather than a single alpha or omega."

Hongjoong's eyes widened slightly before he shook his head dismissively. "Let's not get carried away here. Pack fated mate? We just met her. This is just the excitement of meeting someone new who happens to be competent, professional, and..." he hesitated, "...beautiful."

"Ooooooh," Wooyoung immediately pounced, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "You think our new assistant is beautiful? How scandalous, Captain!"

Hongjoong glared at him, though a hint of color rose in his cheeks. "Go to bed, Wooyoung."

"But it's only—"

"Now," Hongjoong insisted, pointing dramatically toward the hallway, though there was no real heat behind the command.

Wooyoung's grin only widened. "You didn't deny it."

Hongjoong rolled his eyes. "She is objectively attractive. That's not the point. The point is that we're all getting ahead of ourselves with these fated mate theories when the simplest explanation is that we've found an assistant who fits well with our team dynamics."

"Then why did we all feel it so strongly?" San asked, genuinely curious. "I've never had that kind of immediate connection with anyone before."

"Nor have I," Yeosang added quietly.

Hongjoong sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look, I felt it too. I'm not denying that there's... something. I just think we need to be rational about this. Fated mate to a pack is the stuff of legends, and we're talking about real life here."

Yunho frowned slightly. "Should we ask her if she is feeling the same thing?"

"Absolutely not," Hongjoong said firmly, shifting into his leader role. "First of all, we don't know what this is exactly. And second, she just started working with us today. The last thing she needs is eight alphas overwhelming her with intense feelings based on a connection we can't even properly explain ourselves."

Seonghwa nodded in agreement. "Hongjoong's right. Whatever this is, we need to proceed carefully. Y/n is here as our assistant. We need to respect that professional relationship first and foremost."

"So what do we do?" Wooyoung asked, looking uncharacteristically serious. "Just pretend we don't feel anything unusual?"

"No," Hongjoong replied after a moment of consideration. "We acknowledge that there's something special about her presence in our pack—"

"Team," Seonghwa corrected gently. "She's part of our team, not officially pack. Not yet, anyway."

Hongjoong nodded, accepting the correction. "In our team. But we don't pressure her or make her uncomfortable. We give her space to settle into her role, and we observe. There's no need to rush anything."

"What if she doesn't feel it?" Jongho asked quietly, voicing the concern that had begun to form in several of their minds. "What if it's just us?"

Seonghwa's expression softened. "Then we accept that and continue to value her as our assistant and hopefully, our friend. Connection or not, Y/n deserves to be treated with respect and given the freedom to choose her own path."

The others nodded in agreement, though there was a noticeable tension in the air—a mixture of excitement at the possibility and anxiety about the uncertainty.

"For now," Hongjoong concluded, "we focus on making her comfortable in her new role. We support her, we welcome her, but we don't overwhelm her. Agreed?"

Murmurs of agreement came from around the room, though Wooyoung couldn't resist adding, "But I still get to be friendly, right? That's just who I am."

Seonghwa rolled his eyes fondly. "Yes, Wooyoung, you can be friendly. Just don't be... too Wooyoung."

"I don't know what that means, but I'm choosing to be offended," Wooyoung replied with a dramatic pout that quickly dissolved into a grin.

The tension broken, conversation gradually shifted to other topics, though thoughts of you remained at the forefront of each member's mind. Whatever this connection was—whether fated mate bond or simply an unusual team dynamic—it was clear that your arrival had shifted something fundamental in the ATEEZ household.

---

In the guesthouse, you stirred in your sleep, turning onto your side as a strange dream played through your mind:

With purple eyes, you purred as you made a nest in your room made up of hoodies, blankets and pillows. Eight distinct scents surrounded you—sandalwood and ocean breeze, vanilla and cedarwood, citrus and clean linen, light musk and cherry blossoms, cinnamon and dark chocolate, earthy soil and pine, bergamot and ginger, fresh apples and mint—creating a harmonious blend that felt like... home. 

Your eyes shot open as you woke up, your hand immediately going to touch the blocker patch behind your ear to confirm it was still in its place.

You haven’t made a nest or fully purred in years. And you definitely have never had omega eyes as you did it. 

Shaking the dream from your mind, you lay back down to sleep, tomorrow would bring your first official day as ATEEZ's assistant, with all the professional challenges that entailed.

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[ghostedgwen]

hiii how are you doing ^^?

I love your writing style so much and I was wondering if I could request a James x deaf!reader where they have a very bad first encounter as first years (because James is James and because he didn’t realize reader was deaf at first), and reader has protective friends who won’t let James get near reader anymore, which makes James more determined to get to know reader and befriend them? Alternatively you can obviously write the story however you like, angst is very appreciated!!

Thank you regardless!

patch your broken wings | j.potter

note : I love this request, I have been well and just celebrated mother's day yesterday! Hope you are well too! Thank you for reading my other fics, and for the kind words about my writing! I hope I did this request some justice, thanks for the creative liberty as well and FOR ANGST YESS! I love angst! I hope you enjoy <33 given how neutral "reader" was described in this request, this will be a general reader fic with 4.4k words

warnings : hufflepuff reader, also made the gender as neutral as possible so if I missed anything then pls lmk! reader is Deaf, James is clueless and kinda stupid, sprinkle of bullying, ableism, sorry fellow slytherins we're the villains again

Your parents were unsure about sending you to Hogwarts. Ever since you were a kid, you had known that you were different from kids your age, they had something you didn't.

But you had never felt lesser than them with the love your parents gave to fill any empty space that could ever break into the surface like a crack on polished marble.

So when your letter came, they were scared.

They did so well raising you with so much love and care, and it scared them to think of how the world outside their arms would treat you. How a world who did not have people like you often would react to your existence.

But they relented once Dumbledore paid them a visit and eased their worries. He has offered to do research on the matter, to offer any help he possibly could give you.

There was no cure, there is no curing you because you were born with it and if you would be honest, you didn't feel broken at all. Having been born Deaf, you never felt lacking.

That word was reserved for people who had something to begin with, and you didn't lack it at all. So you assured them you would be fine.

The world outside your home might not be as understanding, but it's a world you had to enter nonetheless, and no amount of keeping you safe could ever truly keep you inside.

Now, a first year - you look at the train, blinking in amusement at the bold red colour while the people around were bustling. You turned around when you felt a tap on your shoulder, you turned to see your parents teary-eyed looking down at you.

You Mum signed, "I am going to miss you, hunny," her tears almost fell then, "you be good and write often, okay?"

You give them a firm nod, not allowing tears to come. You had to show them that you were brave, that you were fine and you were going to be okay.

After that, they watched you board the train and watched it leave. Off you go exploring the outside world beyond the walls they built for you, and they can't do anything but spectate.

You stepped into the train, nerves curling up in your stomach like smoke from a blown-out candle. It was loud inside - visually loud. Limbs and trunks and owls in cages, older students walking past in packs like they owned the whole place.

You hovered in the corridor for a second, unsure where to go.

You lingered near a compartment, scanning for an empty seat, nerves coiled tight in your gut.

Someone inside noticed you. A tall, freckled girl with a thick braid knocked twice on the glass and gave a friendly wave, beckoning you in.

You slid the door open, unsure how to explain, unsure if they'd mind but it beats sitting alone for the entire ride to your new life.

“Hey, you can sit here!” said the freckled girl.

You blinked, eyes flicking from her lips to her expression. She repeated it, Hey, you can sit here!, slower this time.

You nodded, grateful, and took the seat beside her.

There were two others already inside. One of them had wild hair and was digging through a pack of sweets. The other was curled up with a book and a pair of round glasses slipping down their nose.

The freckled girl leaned closer, speaking again, her lips moving fast.

You furrowed your brow. “Sorry,” you said carefully. “I’m Deaf.” you had hoped your voice didn't sound too strained and they were able to understand - you didn't try to speak much or at all.

She paused.

Then, slowly, and clumsily, she lifted her hands and signed: “You. Deaf?”

You blinked, surprised to read her hands.

“Yes,” you signed back, and then cautiously: “You know sign?”

She grinned sheepishly. “Little bit.” She fumbled the words, but her excitement was obvious. “Grandma lost hearing. I learn. . . still bad.”

“You’re not bad.” You smiled, stunned by the kindness. “Thank you.”

“Emma,” she added aloud, pointing to herself and also spelled it out with her hand, you smiled at that.

“Kip,” said the one with the sweets, throwing a jelly slug in their mouth. “And the library over there is Molly.”

Molly didn’t look up but gave a friendly wave.

The train rattled on toward Hogwarts, and as the countryside blurred by outside, Emma became your bridge with the other kids. When Kip said something, she translated. When Molly offered you a chocolate frog, Emma made sure you knew it wasn’t poisoned (probably). Every minute, you relaxed a little more.

By the time the train came to a halt, you felt a little less like you were stepping into a battlefield and more like you were stepping into something you might survive after all.

You stood with the rest of the first years near the front of the room, neck craning back to take it all in.

Your parents had told you all about it but it paled in comparison to the real thing - the floating candles, the vast ceiling and the esteemed Professor Dumbledore stood there so proud and tall.

Emma nudged you and pointed upward, “Look!”, and you gave a soft laugh, letting yourself be distracted.

You didn’t notice the boy walking up to you until he was already speaking.

“Hi!”

You didn’t hear it, you kept watching the enchanted ceiling in awe.

He stepped closer, waving. “Hi!” he said again, louder this time, a little too sure of himself.

You didn’t turn, barely feeling his presence from how distracted you were - your friends were chatting amongst themselves to notice him as well.

To him, it must have looked like you’d seen him and dismissed him entirely. Barely paying him any attention he didn't deserve.

James Potter frowned, shoulders squaring defensively. “Alright, then,” he muttered. “Bit rude.”

You still hadn’t looked. But Emma had, only catching the last bit he said.

She turned her head sharply just in time to catch his expression - the flash of wounded pride giving way to scorn. Her jaw tightened.

“Problem?” she asked sharply.

James blinked. “No. Just said hi.”

“Okay." Was all she said, dismissing him. James frowned and turned to Sirius who was watching the whole interaction.

"Whad'ya think that was all about?" James asked him and he shrugged.

"Must be future dark wizards in the making, already so stuck-up," Sirius rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "I know the lot."

Second-Year.

It started with a bang, a rain of glitter and then a chorus of screams from fellow students.

And suddenly the whole courtyard was flooded with enchanted snow that didn’t melt, and every person within twenty feet had sprouted neon-blue hair.

You blinked in stunned silence as a goldfish swam lazily past your head - through the air, no water required, like the weirdest dream come to reality.

You turned in a slow circle, watching the chaos bloom.

Kip had his arms raised in surrender, laughing loudly as his robes billowed with sparkles. Emma was glaring daggers across the yard, muttering something vicious you couldn’t lip-read fast enough.

And you?

You were laughing. Hard.

Snowflakes caught in your lashes as you ducked a flying toad (you hoped it was a toad), your chest heaving with silent joy. You hadn’t expected it at all but it was so funny to you.

Emma came up beside you, brushing flakes off your shoulders with a tight-lipped expression.

“Are you okay?” she signed, clearly trying not to scowl.

“That was amazing,” you signed back, still grinning.

She rolled her eyes. “That was them. The Marauders, again.”

Kip shrugged beside her, tossing a jelly bean in his mouth. “Honestly? Bit iconic.”

Molly didn’t look up from her book, even with glitter settling into her hair. Nothing could tear her attention away from those pages, she was married to her books.

Emma shook her head, arms crossed. “Trouble. All four of them.”

You weren’t so sure.

From across the courtyard, one of them 0 dark messy hair, glasses slightly askew - caught your eye before Sirius shoved him hard in the shoulder, both of them laughing like they'd never been in trouble a day in their lives.

You smiled, just a little.

Third-Year.

“Potter and…” Professor Slughorn squinted at his parchment. “Yes, Potter and ____, you’ll be together today. Cauldrons out, everyone!”

You froze halfway through reading the book instructions for the Shrinking Solutions.

James Potter - loud, glitter-happy James Potter was now standing beside you, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth.

“Alright, then,” he said. “Lucky you.”

You gave him a shy smile and nodded.

He took it as encouragement. “I’m not saying I’m great at potions, but I’m not terrible. Probably.”

You smiled again, a little smaller. You were unsure how to approach him, you admit you developed a little crush after that prank last year.

“Err. . . did you like the snowfish prank last year?” he asked, eyebrows wiggling playfully as he tossed a dried root toward your side of the table.

You caught it midair, smiling wider, but still didn’t speak. You couldn't tell him you loved it.

James hesitated. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

Across the room, Emma was watching.

Her eyes were sharp, unreadable. Her fingers twitched like she was seconds from marching across the class and dragging you away. Remus who was assigned as her partner could only watch in amusement.

James followed your gaze briefly, then glanced back at you, confusion brewing.

You were fiddling with your stirring stick, too flustered to sign, unsure if he’d even understand.

He leaned closer, voice still friendly. “I mean, that’s cool, if you’re just shy. Sirius says I talk enough for three people.”

You gave a small shrug.

James flopped backwards onto his bed like gravity had betrayed him.

“I think I’m cursed,” he groaned, arm thrown over his eyes.

Sirius, halfway through braiding exploding snap cards into his hair for reasons no one dared ask, didn’t look up. “You’re cursed because . . .what? Slughorn paired you with a quiet person?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know, it’s not just that.”

Peter popped his head out from behind his bed curtains. “Did they mess up the potion or something?”

“No! The potion was fine. It was me. I was awful. Embarrassing, really, I kept talking and they just looked at me. Smiled, like they were being polite while I absolutely embarrassed myself.”

Remus looked up from his book, already sighing. “So, business as usual.”

James groaned louder. “No, Moony, listen. I was trying to be nice! Charming, even! I said like, three whole jokes. And nothing! Just -tiny smiles. It was like talking to a wall. A very attractive wall, but a wall nonetheless.”

Peter snortedat his words, unexpectedly. Remus stared at him for a second. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

James peeked out from under his arm. “Get what?”

Remus shut his book with a soft thud. “They’re Deaf, James.”

There was a pause.

“. . .what?”

“____. They’re Deaf.”

James sat up so fast he knocked a pillow to the floor.

“They’re what?”

“Deaf,” Remus repeated calmly, folding his hands in his lap. “As in, they can’t hear you.”

“No - no, that can’t be right. I would’ve - someone should’ve - ” He looked around like the truth might be hiding in the bedposts. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

Remus arched an eyebrow. “You ever ask?”

James stared at him. “No!”

“There’s your answer, then,” Sirius said, flicking a card at him. It exploded harmlessly near his foot.

“I was just - I was making conversation. I thought they were just shy!” James buried his face in both hands. “I said a joke about armadillo bile, Remus, and they smiled. They smiled like it was funny.”

“Well, maybe it was,” Remus said, deadpan. “Unlikely, but maybe.”

James groaned again, flopping backward. “Oh my God, they probably think I’m a prat.”

“They probably didn’t think much of it at all,” Remus said. “You didn’t know. Just don’t be a git now that you do.”

James peeked through his fingers. “How do you even know?”

Remus leaned back. “I read. I observe. Emma Hopkins, the other Hufflepuff signs with them all the time. It’s not exactly a secret.”

James stared at the ceiling, a quiet, guilty sort of energy settling over him. “I’m such an idiot.”

“No arguments here,” Sirius muttered, smirking at his dramatic antics.

James ignored him. “I want to fix it.”

Remus snorted. “You just learned about it five minutes ago, besides you didn't break anything.”

“I know,” James said. “But I was so weird today. If they thought I was just annoying and pushy - and they couldn’t even tell me to shut up, Merlin, that’s awful.”

He sat up again, something determined growing in his eyes. “I’m going to learn sign.”

Remus blinked. “Now?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t even do your Divination homework.”

“This is different.” James stood like a man with a mission. “I’ve got to make it up to them.”

“You could also just. . .not,” Sirius offered lazily. “People exist without being your friends, you know.”

But James wasn’t listening. He was already digging through his trunk.

Peter watched him, baffled. “Do you even know how to start?”

“No,” James said cheerfully. “But I’ll figure it out. Can’t be harder than Quidditch.”

Remus rolled his eyes, but he was smiling a little.

James may have missed the point at first - but now that he knew?

He wasn’t going to stop trying. Because what is James Potter if not determined to figure out a way to get his crush to like him back?

James lingered after class. You had already left with Emma, her hand gently on your back as she guided you down the corridor, her hands moving in quick, practiced signs.

James stood in the doorway, watching your silhouette retreat, guilt curling like smoke in his chest.

Remus fell into step beside him, a quiet presence as always. Sirius, on the other hand, jabbed James in the ribs with a smirk.

“She’s not going to bite you,” Sirius said, tilting his chin toward Emma, who had just glanced over her shoulder with narrowed eyes.

“No,” James muttered. “But she might try to hex me.”

Before he could start walking, Emma doubled back, her robes swishing around her ankles as she blocked his path.

James blinked. “Err - hi?”

Emma crossed her arms. “Look, I don’t know what this is.”

“What what is?”

“This sudden interest,” she said coolly. “I remember you back in first-year.”

James shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t know. I didn’t realize - ”

“I know you didn’t,” she said, and her voice wasn’t cruel, just careful. “But it’s not about that.”

He frowned. “Then what is it about?”

Emma glanced past him to where the rest of the Marauders were waiting. “You and your friends pull stunts that leave half the school coughing up glitter or dodging enchanted dungbombs. You cause chaos for fun. And maybe that’s fine for you. But not everyone wants to be caught in the splash zone.”

James looked confused. “We’ve never pranked them.”

“That’s not the point,” she snapped, then took a breath and softened, just a touch. “You don't mean harm, Potter. I know that. But harm doesn’t always come from bad intentions.”

James opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out.

Emma’s gaze held steady. “They don’t need to be dragged into one of your harebrained adventures. They’ve got enough to handle without dodging slytherins or getting swept into another ‘legendary’ Marauder mess.”

“I wasn’t - ” he tried, helplessly, “I just wanted to talk.”

Emma gave a faint sigh. “That's up to them if they want to talk to you. But please remember, leave them out of your mess.”

And with that, she turned and disappeared into the crowd.

James stood still for a long minute. He hadn’t been trying to drag anyone into anything. He just . . .wanted to talk to you.

But maybe Emma was right. Maybe his world - the loud, laughing, explosive one - wasn’t safe for someone like you.

Still, he couldn't shake the look on your face when you smiled at him earlier.

And he couldn’t stop thinking about what it would mean to be someone safe for you, instead.

Fourth-Year.

The Great Hall was buzzing with the usual chaos - floating candles, gleaming plates, and the low hum of returning students catching up after summer. The Sorting Hat had finished its song, and plates were filling themselves like magic (because, well, it was.).

At the Hufflepuff table, you were smiling at something Kip signed (Emma has been teaching them the basics) while Emma inspected a suspicious-looking pudding. You didn’t notice the Gryffindor boy striding confidently across the hall until he stopped right in front of you.

James Potter. He smiled, maybe a little nervously, and then -

He signed : “Hi. How was your summer?”

The room didn’t go silent. But your table did, or the ones who saw at least.

Your eyes widened. You blinked once. then again, trying to register if you saw that right and it appears you did.

Emma froze mid-bite, fork halfway to her mouth.

You stared at James for a beat too long. Then slowly, you lifted your hands and signed back: “It was great. I read a lot of books. You?”

James lit up like a Lumos spell, reading your hands with practised ease.

“Brilliant. Spent half of it elbow-deep in sign books and tea.”

You laughed. It was quiet and mostly breath, but real, and surprised, and warm. Emma still looked wary beside you, but even she didn’t interrupt.

James gave you a mock salute. “See you around.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and sauntered back to Gryffindor, smug as anything.

Back at his table, Sirius blinked. “Did you just flirt in another language?”

“Shut up,” James said, grinning and flushing all at once.

Peter leaned in, eyes wide. “Can you teach me? That was so cool.”

James beamed. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I can.”

Remus just nodded, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.

James Potter, for once, had said something without speaking, and it had finally been the right thing.

It was quiet in the corridor outside the library, too quiet. The torches flickered low and cast long, crawling shadows across the stone.

You had come alone, just a quick errand, returning a borrowed book before dinner. You liked these quiet walks. Or at least, you used to.

But something shifted in the air behind you. You didn’t hear them approach. You only felt the way the air changed - colder somehow, staler. The moment your hand touched the brass handle, a figure stepped into your peripheral vision.

Then another. Then three more.

Green and silver. Slytherins.

One of them sneered. You couldn’t catch all their words, but you could read lips - and their expressions said the rest.

“Look who’s pretending to be special.”

“It was bad enough you're a Puff, but had to get associated with that blasted Potter, huh?”

“Maybe he likes broken things, he even got that scarred Loopy-n with him.”

Your stomach dropped. You backed up, hands hovering slightly, unsure if you should sign for help or run. Your fingers trembled.

They didn’t wait.

“She can’t even hear us. Isn’t that hilarious?” / “Wonder if it’s the same blood that made her Deaf. Must be rotten.” / “Magical defect. An abomination.”

The first jinx hit your side - hard. You stumbled into the wall, your bag spilling across the stone floor.

A second jinx flew, catching your hand, your signing hand - leaving it red and raw, already swelling. You gasped, clenching your wrist, pain blooming like fire up your arm.

You tried to shout, sign - anything. But your vision blurred, and you felt the walls closing in.

And then, bright light. You couldn't really tell what was going on, unable to listen in for context so you just watched as the Slytherins scattered like startled crows as a hex snapped past your head and exploded against the far wall.

You looked up in shock.

James Potter stood at the end of the corridor, wand raised, jaw clenched.

He didn’t hesitate. He advanced on them like a storm, wand flashing. He was shouting angrily but you couldn't read his lips well enough.

They didn’t try to fight back at all and there were more of them, they ran. He didn’t watch them go. He was already kneeling next to you, wide-eyed.

“Hey - hey, it’s okay. I’ve got you,” he said, fast, panicked. “You’re alright. You’re - bloody hell, your hand - ”

You flinched when he reached for you.

James froze. “No, no, wait - I’m not gonna hurt you.”

You stared at him, confused, shaking. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t form the signs properly with your hand the way it was. You didn’t understand what he was saying, not completely, but his face said concern and regret and please don’t be scared of me.

Still, you edged back against the wall, trembling.

James reached slowly for your book that dropped a foot away, and handed it to you, his hands open and careful.

Then footsteps thundered down the hall.

Emma, Kip and Molly. Your friends, two in yellow robes and one in blue.

Emma’s eyes widened when she saw you on the floor, then immediately narrowed when she saw who was next to you.

“You.” She shoved James back, hard enough to make him stumble. “What did you do?!”

James’s mouth dropped open. “What? Nothing! I - they - I helped - !”

“They're injured, Potter!” Kip was already crouching beside you, inspecting your wrist with a worried frown. “Back off.”

“I didn’t - I swear, I stopped them!”

“I told you to stop before they get more attention,” Emma snapped, wrapping her arm protectively around your shoulder. “It's bad enough the heat we get from those snakes, you just had to bring the spotlight.”

You didn’t know what was being said exactly, but you could tell -Emma’s sharp voice, the way Kip pulled you close, the way James stood still and heartbroken and helpless.

James stepped back, hands falling uselessly to his sides. He didn’t argue anymore, nor did he fight.

He just watched as your friends gathered around you, guarding you like a flame in the wind, and led you away.

You looked back once, barely and James stayed frozen in that corridor, alone.

Kip was pacing, Emma had her arms crossed tight, and Molly has finally abandoned her books.

You sat curled into one of the armchairs, your hand bandaged and propped on a cushion, your eyes on the fire.

Then, finally, you started signing, slowly at first. Kip was the first to catch on, eyes flicking to your hands and back to your face.

“They were waiting for me. The Slytherins. I didn’t hear them come up. They said horrible things.”

Emma moved to your side instantly, her hand on your arm.

“They said I was wrong. That I shouldn’t exist. That I was - ” You looked away. “And then they hurtme.”

Kip’s fists clenched. “What?!”

“I couldn’t get away fast enough.” You swallowed, then added, “But James came.”

You looked up, meeting Emma’s sharp stare. “He fought them. He made them run.”

Emma’s jaw tightened. “Still doesn’t mean he gets a medal.”

“He didn’t expect one,” you signed softly. “He looked like he’d cry.”

Molly finally spoke up after heaving a sigh loudly. “They like him,” she said simply, nodding at you. “They’ve liked him.”

Kip’s head snapped around. “Wait - what? You and Potter?”

You flushed, your hands going still in your lap.

Emma heaved a long, slow sigh. “I guess. . . ” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I can’t guard you forever. You’re your own person. If you want to do this, we’ll stand by you. But if he hurts you - Helga, I'll hex his bollocks.”

You smiled faintly. “He won’t.”

You turned to Emma again and signed: “I’m going to tell him. We’ll figure it out together.”

Emma just nodded once, fierce and fond.

The air was crisp, sun catching the edges of gold leaves as they fluttered down into the courtyard. James stood with Remus by the arched stone entryway, rocking on the balls of his feet.

“Hopkins said they wanted to talk?” James muttered, nervous.

Remus smiled. “Looks like your bravery’s about to be tested somewhere besides a Quidditch pitch.”

James shot him a look. “Not helping.”

Then he spotted you.

You stepped into the courtyard, hands tucked into your sleeves, expression unreadable - but calm and focused.

You glanced up at him, and James straightened instantly.

Remus gave a low whistle and faded back into the hallway with a muttered, “Good luck, Romeo.”

You reached James, heart thudding.

He opened his mouth, then closed it. He raised his hands instead, signing slowly: “Are you okay?”

You nodded. Then you signed: “Why did you learn sign?”

James blinked, surprised at the sudden inquiry. Then his face softened. “You.”

You raised your brows. “Me?”

“I wanted to talk to you. Properly,” he said. “And I - I like you. I didn’t want you to keep being the one left out. Or for me to be the idiot who didn’t know how to listen.”

You smiled, and it was slow, a little shaky. “I like you too.”

James stared at you. “Wait, really?”

You nodded. “I came to say it out loud - or sign it out loud.”

He let out a breath like he’d been holding it all year.

“Do I still have a chance?” he asked.

You didn’t need your hands to answer. You just grinned and nodded again. James took a step closer. “I meant what I said. I’ll protect you. From them, from anyone.”

“I believe you.”

He hesitated, just for a moment - then signed, awkward but earnest: “Can I kiss you?”

You didn’t sign back.

You leaned in and kissed him.

His hands found your cheeks, careful and warm, and yours found the hem of his jumper. It was a kiss with trembling nerves and quiet relief.

When you pulled back, you laughed under your breath. James then thought in that very moment that he ought to preserve that smile and laughter.

end. masterlist

[portgasdwrld]

★ Hickeys

ೃ⁀➷do they suck (lol) at hickeys, giver or receiver?, how? all answered down below by your beloved Tomie✨

ೃ⁀➷Psss this is a head-canon, take it lightly~

ೃ⁀➷ Suggestive, implied f!reader, NSFW language

ೃ⁀➷ monster trio + Law+ Ace

: ̗̀➛ Luffy

He’s the type to receive them more than to give

When he realizes he has hickeys, he’s just gonna wonder how it’s even possible and if smth hit his neck during a fight💀

Probably gonna bug Chopper about it, until he brushes him off mentioning it’s nothing

Then when you’re making out and you linger on his neck, it clicks into his mind. He yells a « ooohh, It was you! » after realizing that, it surprises you and you almost bit his skin-

He’s down to try it when you explain that you want them on you too

« You want me to suck your skin a little until it bruises? A bit like when you bruise after a fight? »

« Ugh… not the same but you got the spirit? »

He’s dense, but he tried and he didn’t do as bad as you thought

: ̗̀➛ Law

LMAO?? Wouldn’t he be the type to lowkey hit you with a scientific facts that hickeys can kill you if done wrong🤓😭

Ik he would. Im so sorry😮‍💨

On another note, tbh I feel like he’s just sooo into it, when his mind is fogged by lust. He will be making out with you and damn, he’s now leaving wet kisses all over your neck. That itself, just awaken some type of possessive strike and you’re left with hickeys a bit everywhere.

Will quietly eye them when y’all are cuddling after sex. He won’t comment on it beside if you point them out.

“They look great.”

It would be the most reaction you will get out of him. He’s so hot though- intrusive thoughts but they are real 😔

He doesn’t mind at all if you leave some on him fr. Like if it’s done within the right vibe and y’all are just kicking it and you’re riding him or y’all in lotus position, he might even groan and moan a little louder and curse under his breath.

: ̗̀➛ Sanji

Oh his mouth is ALLL OVERR your body. He’s kissing, praising, leaving hickeys all over your body. On you chest, between your thighs, on you collarbone.

He’s almost in a trance while he loves your body and mark it. He’s gotta to enjoy his pretty lover and you bet he’s gonna make it known that you are his and he’s the lucky man who has you!!

He’s so sweet about it, with sweet compliments, but it’s a bit messy too. Wet patches, mumbles from his muffled lips.

He’s SOOOOO down if you wanna do it on him. He gets very excited and can’t stop smiling and touching your body.

“Yes of course I’m down! Wanna try it rn? We got time yk..”

Best boy 🤧

ೃ⁀➷ Zoro

His neck always has some hickeys from you. He thought he hated it, but he quickly got over it and finds it hot now.

He doesn’t care too much if someone stare at them, but he will throw a curse out with a deadpan expression, if someone made a snarky comment.

He also has this possessive strike, so you bet you’re gonna have some type of bruises-hickeys on your body after y’all are done. Because he doesn’t go easy on you, he will be thrusting deep into you, while silencing you with his fingers deep in your mouth. Along with that, his mouth is nibbling on you neck and all your sensitive spots.

It’s an overstimulating mess.

He smirks satisfied when he sees you marked up, moaning his name and completely lost into his touch.

ೃ⁀➷ Ace

Oh, this man here has the biggest possessive strike out of all the men here.

I touched on the subject a little on my NSFW head canon, but he definitely love giving them. He whines when you do, because he’s apparently allergic to shirts and get slightly annoyed when each of his friends on the ship makes some jokes.

He loves that everyone knows you’re his. Because he gets to have one person for him, that actually feels love toward him and someone he can trust??! That’s the life prize!

Every time he fucks you, he makes sure that hickeys are created everywhere on your body.

He will shower you with attention and cocky comments as he sucks on to your skin.

It’s his specialty😮‍💨

[velvetydream]

꒰ : 🍃 [ A fox's heat ] ”♡ᵎ꒱ˀˀ ↷ ⋯

Summary : Due to an unfortunate event your boyfriend started to act weird, you should soon know why.

Pairing : Tighnari x fem! Reader

Word count : 1.9K Words

Genre : Smut with plot

Smut content ➵ Breeding / Mating Kink, Possesiveness, Praising, Raw (Wrap it up people), Knotting, Petnames

Authors note : I love Nari sm omg

It was a quiet morning; Tighnari was out with Collei, and you decided to sleep long before getting ready slowly, eating a nice breakfast, and cleaning Tighnari's workplace before helping the forest ranger outside. The sun was shining down today, but luckily, the trees of the rainforest cast some nice shadows to be safe from the heat. Wiping the sweat from your forehead you talk calmly to a new forest ranger, assuring he wasn't going to die from the fruit he ate. The poor boy came from Mondstadt and never saw the fruits or vegetables from Sumeru, probably.

"Master Y/N! We need your help!" Colleis's shrill voice screamed for you; immediately turned around to catch the young girl running to you, your warm hands on her shoulders. "Collei? What happened? Calm down, darling, and explain." It was strange that Tighnari wasn't with her, so something must've happened, you just hope that stupid man didn't decide to eat some unknown mushrooms again. "Master T-Tighnari he.. We found this flower patch we had never seen before. He picked some up and started to inspect them, and then he fell unconscious! Cyno is with him now, but..! I don't know what happened." She was rambling again; she always was when something happened to her friends or anyone, actually. "Okay, my love, calm down, lead the way, and we'll bring him back here; you two, come along!" Calling over two more forest rangers, Collei quickly started to lead the way; it was a short walk, but luckily, not too far away.

Upon arriving, you could see the fox-eared man sit up, arm on his knee as his hand holds his head. "Nari! What happened? How are you feeling?" Crouching down in front of the man now, you could see the blush on his face; oh no, was he getting a fever from those flowers? Maybe an allergic reaction. "He sat up shortly before you came, he hasn't spoken a single word since then." Cyno stood behind you now, explaining the situation to you and making you nod. "Okay, let's bring him back. Cyno, could you help carry him, please? I think he starts to have a fever, probably some reaction to the flowers; I'll have to make some medicine to hopefully wear the effects off." Cyno nods as he picks Tighnari up, the arms of your boyfriend around Cyno and the other forest ranger now. Still not talking, his eyes in a haze, this was definitely bad.

Looking down as they get a few steps away, you crouch down to touch the flowers despite Collei's protest, but they have no effect on you; they smell rather pleasantly. "Are you sure it's a good idea to touch and smell them?!" Collei was obviously worried about you, which made you chuckle, shaking your head. "It's fine, I'm pretty sure they won't affect normal humans but Tighnari.. it must be because of his fox genes.. Let's take some with us, but please you take them, I want to inspect them some more without exposing Nari further to them." Collie nods as you quickly plug a few flowers before Cyno's voice calls you to catch up with them. "Comming!" Running after them now, you worriedly look at Tighnari; his whole body was slumped over, his tail dragging after him as his breathing was rather hard.

"Good, please lay him down here Cyno, put that on his forehead. I'll start the medicine." Handing Cyno a bowl with ice cold water and a rag as you start to gather everything to hopefully ease the symptoms. If you knew what flower that was and what exactly the effect they had on him, you could make something much better, but this will have to do now. "Nari, open up; this will make you feel better.." His glazed eyes look at you and then the medicine as he shakes his head, trying to roll away from you onto his side just to groan in pain. "Stubborn fox, seriously, you're a forest ranger and practice medicine yourself, yet you refuse to take this.." Groaning now, your hand grabs his shoulder harshly as you push me onto his back, sitting down on his stomach to pin him down, his body thrashing. "N-No! Stop!" Finally, he spoke, yet that won't get him around the medicine. "It's your own fault to go inspect and try everything you don't know." You tell him, as your hand grabs his chin, pushing your thumb into the corner of his mouth; he opens it, his sharp teeth shining as you let the elixir trickle down into his mouth, making him swallow by holding his chin up and mouth closed.

"Is that how he always takes his medicine?" Cyno stands beside the bed now as he watches you stand up as Tighnari falls asleep. "Yeah, he hates to take them; either I put them into his food or drink, but then he sometimes notices and throws it away, so I mostly settle for this way." Wiping some sweat from your forehead after fighting the fox, you put the washcloth onto his forehead and the blanket back over him. "Well, I'll go check on Collie; make sure to take care of him." Cyno closes the door after himself after you bid your goodbye, looking over to the sleeping fox now, hoping the symptoms would soon wear off.

Getting back to your studies now, you open the book where you left off as you start to examine the gems you have found, trying to determine what they could be. Lumine even brought some last time she visited from Liyue and Inazuma which was such a great find.

Immersed in your studying, you didn't notice your boyfriend waking up, scanning the room until his eyes landed on you. Standing up on wobbly feet, he walks over to you, his arms laying around your shoulders immediately, as his face hides in your neck, jumping a little from surprise. "Nari! You're awake, how are you feeling? Is the fever going down?" Looking over your shoulder, he was still beet red, his eyes half-lidded and still hazed. "You smell so sweet.. My beautiful mate.." He groans into your neck, before meeting your eyes. Oh fuck. "Nari.. Don't tell me.." He groans softly from the way you say his name, confirming your suspicion even more. "Need to breed you full till you can't walk anymore." His sharp teeth graze your neck, over the mark he had left long ago, marking you as his mate. "Help me.. Please.. It's so hot I.. I can't take it anymore.." He whimpers.. he never whimpers. Those flowers must've triggered his heat to come early. Normally, it should've still been a few weeks at least, but something must've been with these flowers to trigger it.

"Alright, let's take care of you.." Standing up, Tighnari starts pawing at your clothes desperately, pulling your shirt off of you, before attaching his lips to your soft buds, moaning from the feel of them in his mouth. "So soft.." He moans before he pulls his own shirt over his head, revealing his porcelain skin to your eyes, pushing you onto your back on the bed now before he already pounces on you. "I'll make you feel so good, breed you full till you carry my cubs." Kissing down your neck, small little moans escape your mouth as your hand's card through his soft hair, softly scratching his ears. "I love you so much you're so gorgeous.." He mumbles against your skin as he kisses down to your chest and to your stomach. Softly pulling your pants and underwear off of you, his soon following the pile on the floor.

"Have to prep you first so you can take my knot, my love." He whispers against your stomach as his fingers softly glide through your folds, circling your clit a few times softly before moving down as he pushes two fingers into you carefully, your body arching from the feeling of his fingers. They hit just the right spots inside you, hitting the soft gummy spot perfectly. "You're so gorgeous, my darling; how beautiful you'd be all swelled up with my cubs." Moaning from his words now, your walls tighten on him as more slickness coats his fingers from the arousal. "You would like that, right? Have little cubs of our own, running around.." He kisses your neck softly, as his fingers work you open for his knot to come.

"I think you're prepped enough, mh..?" He pulls his fingers up to his face and sucks them clean with a moan before looking down at you as he pushes himself up a little bit. "Ready my love?" Nodding as an answer, he alines his length with your entrance as he starts to softly push in; his size made you arch and moan every time; he was so big, especially now that he was in heat. His head rested on your chest for a while, giving you time to adjust before you tapped his shoulder blade softly to signal him to start moving, which he didn't waste any more time and did. His thrusts at first were slow and deep but grew in pace quickly. Tighnari was never able to last long once he was inside you, but he would last for many rounds, making sure he bred you perfectly full.

"M-My love.. ah.." He kisses your chest softly as he starts to suck the left bud into his mouth again, his right hand coming up to play with the other one. "N-Nari.. oh archons.." Moaning softly, you could feel his length start to pulsate meaning he was rather close, you yourself close to the edge. "Come my beautiful mate~" He murmurs into your ear as his fingers softly circle your clit making your back arch as you drift into the pure bliss of your orgasm. Meanwhile, Tighnaris's thrusts were getting sloppy as he felt his knot swell before emptying his load in you, his knot preventing anything from escaping as it locks him into you for a while, his body softly laid down half on you to make sure he didn't crush you.

"Beautiful.." He mumbles, brushing a few strands from your face, still connected to you, his hand rubbing softly over your stomach and down, knowing exactly you were right now filled with his cum. Exhausted, you drift off into sleep as Tighnari pulls the blanket over you two, planting many kisses on your cheek and temple before the door opens, making him groan and growl possessively. "Okay, dude, I'll leave you be in a bit, I just forgot to give her these gems; seriously, don't go too hard on her." Before Tighnari could throw a book from his bedside table at him, Cyno disappeared again.

Later on, you wake up with many blankets and pillows around you now like a nest, your body cleaned, and a new pair of underwear on you; as you look behind you, you see Tighnari finally asleep without a blush, finally calm. It would definitely take a few rough days for his heat to be over, but you were used to it and loved to help him. Hand rubbing softly over your stomach now as you look down, hopeful that maybe finally, after years of being together, you'd get pregnant.

[witherby]

WOAAH!!

Flight of Fancy reached 330+ notes!

ive never seen a request of mine blow up!!!!

—🦈

You have good ideas! And because the first part reached the reblog threshold, here's:

Flight of Fancy, pt. 2

Damian x Winged!Reader

Masterlist is Here!

"This is deep, and was made with a plain-edge blade. Whoever did this to you was trying to hurt you much worse than this."

Damian looks your wound over meticulously as you sit on a chair in the cave's medical bay. "What happened?"

You shrug your good shoulder, examining the space around you with clear intrigue. The Bat Cave was incredibly interesting, with all its different sections and complicated layout. You itched to explore it in its entirety. Maybe Damian would let you when he finished patching you up.

"I wanted to be free. The men who captured me did not approve."

Damian hums. He uses a pair of surgical scissors to cut off the sleeve of your robe to further expose the injury in your shoulder, and you let him do it without fuss. He grabs a wet cloth to clean the blood away and see it all better.

"Why did they capture you in the first place?"

You frown. Your wings, which are currently tucked against your back, flex and flutter briefly. You resist the urge to pluck at your feathers.

"They hunted me down," you explain, "and took me from my home. Said they needed me for what I can do."

Damian picks up a needle and thread to begin sewing the cut closed. You don't object when he warns you of what he's about to do or flinch when he starts.

"And what can you do?" He asks.

You don't respond. Damian sees your jaw clench, eyes darting towards where you know one of the exits to be.

"Alright," he says, "that's fair. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."

"You are not angry with me?" You ask.

"No. We're practically strangers," he says, tying off the stitchwork and snipping off the excess thread. He grabs a roll of bandages to cover it, and you hold your arm out to give him better access. "Telling me what abilities you possess might lead to exploitation on your part. The safest move is to keep sensitive information close to your chest. I don't even know your name. I'm not angry, I'm impressed."

"Impressed indeed."

Both you and Damian look in the direction of the medical bay's entrance and find Bruce at the door, geared up in his Batman suit. To his credit, he doesn't look as mad as the boy expected.

"I'll need a word with you when you're finished, Robin."

"Of course," Damian replies. He secures your bandage and pulls away. You drop your arm. "Will you be alright alone for a few minutes?"

"I will."

Damian excuses himself, closing the door to the bay and facing his father.

"You're going to tell me off for compromising the cave, and potentially our identities," he says immediately, "and that's fair. However, I informed Red Robin ahead of time so he could hide any documentation, and the Batmobile took a scrambled route here, so they have no way of being able to track the location of the cave once they leave it. They know nothing, and they've seen nothing that can implicate any of us."

"That's not what I'm concerned about," Bruce says. "I'm wondering why you've brought them to begin with. The victims we help in the field don't come back to the cave, ever. That's the part of the protocol I need to know why you broke."

"They're a metahuman, father," Damian says, "and all of Gotham knows your rule. Where else was I supposed to bring a wounded trafficking victim if a human hospital would've turned them away the second they spotted huge wings and golden blood?"

"To the metahuman outpost on the edge of the city limits—"

"— which was being scouted and surrounded by Luthor's henchmen at the time of retrieval."

Bruce purses his lips. "You could have radioed a Leaguer to take them somewhere else."

"It's three-thirty in the morning. Half of them are asleep and won't wake up for a non-emergency summons, and the rest are either off-world, can't get here for immediate extraction, or they're busy protecting their own sectors." Damian crosses his arms and scowls at his dad. "I'm not one of your brainless coworkers incapable of any critical thought. I'm your Robin, and I know what I'm doing. This was the safest and most logical action to take for now."

Bruce sighs. He rests a palm on his hip and nods begrudgingly.

"I understand your reasoning," he says. "In the future, I'm going to update our metahuman contingencies to account for lack of recovery points. For now, you're in charge of keeping an eye on them until morning. Is that understood?"

"Yes."

"Good." Bruce turns away and heads for a different section of the cave. "I'll contact Superman and try to coordinate a retrieval. If he's indisposed, someone will take your place and keep watch until we can safely get them to the outpost."

Damian doesn't reply. He watches him disappear down the corridor, then reenters the medbay to find you missing from your chair.

"...hello?" He frowns, glancing around. There's only one way in and out of there, so he's not sure how you vanished. "Are you hiding?"

"No," you say. Damian looks up to find you perched on the edge of the fluorescent lighting. He has to squint to see you properly.

Your wings are out, flexing and adjusting to help you keep your balance on the light fixture. You look down at Damian with a small smile.

"I can hear many winged creatures in the adjacent rooms. There are none in here, though. I looked."

"Bats," Damian clarifies for you. "They're not allowed in this section because it has to stay well-sanitized. Bats have a tendency to carry disease."

"Is that why the bat-man could not speak with you in here?" You ask. Damian almost snorts.

"No, he's a human. He just dresses like...it's...it makes sense," Damian says, somehow embarrassed by your innocent curiosity. "His moniker is Batman. He's not a real bat. Just like my moniker is Robin, but I'm not a real bird."

You tip your body over until you fall from the light. Damian instinctively extends his arms to catch you, alarmed, but your wings flare out to their full length and help you coast gently to the floor again.

"May I go see them?" You ask. "The real bats?"

"If you promise not to touch them, yes."

You pout, bottom lip jutting out slightly, but don't argue. Damian automatically thinks back on how plush your lips felt against his and looks away.

"Do you have any other injuries that need treated before we leave this room?" He asks.

"I do not," you reply, reaching for the buttons on the front of your robe, popping them open one by one. "If you must examine me..."

Damian physically turns his whole body away from you, wishing his domino mask covered more than just his eyes so he could hide the redness of his cheeks. "No I don't! That's fine, you can keep your clothes on!"

You tilt your head, but don't ask about his flustered behavior. Instead, you reach past him for the door and turn the knob, stepping into the corridor.

"Don't leave the cave," Damian says, walking after you. "It's imperative that you stay here. You're not a prisoner, but this is the safest move for you right now."

"I will not leave," you promise. You look upward as you go, scanning for signs of any bats hanging out on the ceiling. When you find a cluster of them, you spread your wings again.

Hesitating, you glance at Damian over your shoulder.

"Project Angel," you tell him. "That is what they called me, in the laboratory. It's not my real name. You may use the... moniker of Angel."

Damian watches you push off of the ground, soaring into the air with a dizzying speed to admire the animals up above.

"Angel," he whispers, watching your graceful movements with unabashed awe. "Fitting."