#anyway wanted to make this post for a while and the Words came to me today so yay

[bbgsaja]

ℓσรƭ ɦα૨ɱσɳเεร (ɓαɓყ รαʝα א ƒ!ɦµɳƭε૨!૨εα∂ε૨) ρƭ ౹੦

summary - weeks have passed and your wedding day is finally here, and you can't imagine being anywhere else warnings - none a/n - sorry for the delayed posting, i've been absolutely swamped with admin, training and games for my three different soccer teams. also i know some of you wanted the bachelorette party but i honestly couldn't think of how to write that. but i made it extra long to make up for all of that! 🫶 part one • part two • part three • part four • part five • part six • part seven • part eight • part nine • part ten •

"SURPRISE!"

You walked out of the elevator and into a heart attack, jumping five feet in the air at the sudden emergence of your friends. Ungracefully falling flat on your ass, eyes wide and frightened like a cornered animal's.

Behind you, Baby also jumped in fright, but he reacted more like a startled cat. Claws out, eyes slits, and a very unhappy hiss.

"Oh, uh, maybe that wasn't the best idea..." Jinu's voice filled the now awkward silence, as the rest of them stared at the two of you like you had jumped out at them.

You slowly got to your feet, looking around at the vibrant decorations strung around the penthouse, "What's this?"

Zoey eagerly rushed forward and grabbed you, pulling you deeper inside, "You guys said you didn't want bachelor and bachelorette parties so we decided to throw one big joint party to celebrate!"

"Is this because you forgot the engagement party?" You laughed, "Because I told you guys that was okay."

"No, it's totally not related to that," Rumi smiled, her infamous smile that you only saw when she was lying, or when she had done something like launching 'Golden' too soon.

"Uh huh..." Your smiled widened, "Well, thanks anyway, guys."

"I did the decorations," Abby proclaimed proudly, puffing out his chest.

"And then I fixed them," Romance added.

As they argued over the decorations, you looked at all the games they'd set up like stations around the penthouse, and the mountains of snacks they'd piled in the home theater for what you assumed would be a very long movie marathon.

Baby leaned in and lowered his voice, "Do you think they'll notice if we sneak off to your room?"

You laughed, "Yes, considering this is technically our night."

He groaned, but you pulled him along anyway.

The night ended up being a lot of fun.

Granted, some of the games were a bit...unorthodox, to say the least, but you still ended up having more fun than you would have had separately. Because demon games were shockingly entertaining.

You went to bed later that night exhausted, surprised and slightly traumatised, but before you could even process what just happened, Baby was pulling you into his arms in bed.

"We're getting married tomorrow," he spoke after a while, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah..." You looked up at him. "We are. Are you nervous?"

"Me?" He chuckled. "No way." He paused. "Okay, maybe a little. But if you tell anyone I said that-"

"I won't," you laughed, reaching up to cup his cheek in your hand.

"But seriously, I didn't think I would ever..." He paused, and you remained silent to let him find the words. "I've never believed in love. Not ever. Or marriage. I thought these were stupid human concepts that meant nothing to demons." His eyes landed on your face. "But then I met you. And I've never wanted anything more than to love you and marry you and give you anything and everything you want for the rest of our lives."

Your face started to heat up, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as your heart skipped a beat. But he wasn't done.

"I came up here to get rid of you and the other hunters, but you made me fall fast, embarrassingly fast, and hard. So hard that I don't think I can recover, and I don't want to."

He broke up the speech with a kiss, his lips moving against yours like he would never feel them again. When he pulled away, you were breathless.

"Demons don't know what happiness is," he continued, "And I thought I never would. I thought I would never want to, because I could do what I want and get away with it. That seemed like a pretty good life at the time, but after getting to know you, I realised that wasn't a life at all." He kissed the top of your head. "You have given me life, you breathed my soul back into me and made me believe that I'm worthy and deserving of happiness. Of your love. And I want to protect and treasure that love for eternity. And I know this usually comes in the vows, but I couldn't wait until tomorrow to tell you how much you mean to me."

Your eyes welled up, your hand coming up to cover your mouth as his speech made you more emotional than any physical wound you had gotten in the last few months did.

"Baby..."

"No," he shook his head, dead serious. "You always tell me how much you love me. How much I mean to you. Let me have this."

"Okay," you choked out with a teary smile.

His gaze softened, and he wrapped his arms around you tighter, letting you bury your face in his neck and bask in his deep love and affection for you. He had never been good with the romantic stuff, he was a demon, but those words had just come naturally after he thought of how much he'd enjoyed being around you, loving you, being loved by you.

And as you drifted off to sleep, you heard him say, "I can't wait to be the one who gets to hold you like this every night from now on."

You woke up and shot out of bed like a rocket, "I'm getting married today!" So excited that you didn't notice your legs got tangled up in the blanket and you tumbled forward, falling out of the bed. Landing on the floor, face-first, with a groan.

Baby sat up, laughing at you, "Did you just face-plant the floor?"

You shot back up like a kid hyped up on sugar, eyes bright with excitement, "Who cares? I'm getting married today!" And then you ran out of the room to find your girls, Baby chuckling behind you.

Getting ready was a blur of excitement, frenzy and tears. Rushing around doing each other's make-up, helping each other into your dresses, and crying over the fact that one of you was going to be a wife were just a few of the things that you did this morning.

"Oh, you look so beautiful!" Rumi, Mira and Zoey gushed, barely containing their excitement when you looked at yourself in the mirror.

You just smiled at them, your heart beating faster than it ever had in your entire life, "Thanks, guys." You went in for a hug, but pulled away quickly before any of you could start crying again and accidentally ruin your make-up.

Baby had suggested having it at the arcade. Yes, he did. You were horrified, until you learned that he associated that place with you and your love, since that was where he first fell for you.

"You fell for me when I fell on my face?" You'd asked him, flattered and also confused.

He had chuckled and bit your cheek affectionately, "It was cute."

Eventually, though, you settled on a nice hall. Because as sweet as his intentions were, an arcade was a tad too informal and chaotic for such a high-profile wedding - or at least that's what the public had deemed it.

The trip there was nerve-wracking. Not in a bad way, but the fact that you were marrying him was finally hitting you in full force, and you were nervous.

"What if I trip and fall in front of everyone?" You asked, rattling off a series of questions in panic. "What if I trip on my own train? What if my veil gets stuck? WHAT IF I CHOKE ON MY VEIL?" You laughed nervously, a shaky laugh that bordered on insanity.

"Hey, it's okay," Rumi put a hand on your shoulder, "You'll be fine! It's just like performing on stage, only you don't have to sing or dance. Or you can, if, you know, you want to."

You laughed at that, shaking your head, "I know, I know. I just...this is huge, right? I mean, it's great and it's perfect and it feels so, so right. But it's the biggest thing I've done in my life."

"Yeah, it is," Mira agreed, then pointedly ignored the look Rumi gave her to continue, "But it's also one of the most beautiful things you'll do in your life. And it's going to be so special that you'll forget about everyone else when you walk down that aisle and see him."

Zoey and Rumi stared, wide-eyed, and Mira sighed, "Okay, so maybe Romance is rubbing off on me."

You laughed and squeezed her hand, "Well, thank you. You're right."

When you stepped out of the car you were significantly less nervous than before. You pictured Baby waiting for you, almost laughing at the image of him in a tuxedo, then smiled and walked in.

The venue was absolutely beautiful.

Arches of intertwined vines wrapped around wooden frames stood at intervals along your path, your favourite flower blossoming along each one. The long, white carpet was decorated with intricate little golden symbols - half of them Huntrix's and half of them the Saja Boys's.

Round tables with gold-and-white tablecloths draped over them flanked the aisle, each with magnificent (favourite flower) centerpieces. Which also included a fake stem with the petals handmade to look like the Huntrix/Saja Boys symbols.

And waiting for you at the altar stood Baby, dressed in a tuxedo.

But it wasn't as funny as you thought it would be.

Your eyes widened a fraction before returning to normal, and heat crept up on your cheeks as you admired your fancily-dressed soon-to-be husband.

His own eyes widened when they settled on you, looking down at your dress and then staring up at you like you were something straight out of a fantasy. Like he had never seen something so breathtaking in his life - and he hadn't.

You barely heard the priest when he started speaking, too focused on the way Baby was looking at you.

"You look gorgeous," he whispered, "More than that, actually. You're ethereal."

"You know the word ethereal?" You laughed softly.

His cheeks turned slightly pink, "I asked Romance what a good word would be. Something not as boring as just 'beautiful'."

You smiled at that.

The nerves all faded away as you kept your eyes on the teal-haired rapper in front of you. The demon you'd given your heart, your soul and your life to.

And then it was easy.

"I do," you whispered, gazing up at him lovingly. "Of course I do."

He grinned, his dopey grin that made you smile even more, and he didn't even let the priest finish, "I do."

He didn't even wait for the priest to finish announcing you husband and wife. He pulled you close and kissed you deeply, earning cheers from the crowd.

"You think you'll be okay dancing in front of everyone?" He teased you at the reception, pinching your waist affectionately.

"Ha, ha," you huffed, "I can dance! Those dancing games really are just hard!"

He chuckled and led you to the dance floor, one hand on the small of your back and one holding yours as you both gently swayed to the music.

Before they started playing 'Soda Pop' and 'Golden', just for fun.

BONUS:

Before you could talk yourself out of it, and before you threw up again, you rushed into the bathroom and took a test from the box. Rumi and Zoey waited outside, Mira keeping the boys distracted.

It's been a few weeks since your honeymoon, and you were feeling weird. The kind of weird that, paired with a late period, made you both excited and nervous about the possibility of being pregnant.

You took the test.

And you waited.

And then, when you looked at the stick, the third test you'd taken...

Positive.

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[webslingingslasher]

omg begging you to post the peter and trouble nickname scenario 🥹

*cleaning out my drafts!

you let out a heavy sigh, it's the third one from the past five minutes. your boyfriend keeps his focus on the dumb object he's tinkering with while you whither away, attention starved.

you push out another sigh, he finally answers you.

'you promised you wouldn't huff and puff while i worked on this.'

'i'm not huffing and puffing, i'm just huffing.'

peter hunches further over his desk, you can see his tongue poke out the corner of his mouth while he delicately maneuvers a tiny screwdriver. 'you promised.'

'yeah, but i didn't know you'd make me sit here in silence. if you're not cuddling me, you could at least talk to me.' there's another gap of silence, you throw your hands up in the air, peter half apologizes.

'sorry. you know i get in the zone when i'm working with this stuff.'

'i'm trying to get in the zone with you.'

it's peter's turn to sigh. you haven't been subtle with your hints and peter's just a little too into science to care about sex. 'not now, trouble.' you take the loss and pout at his side profile, when it gets you nowhere, you get even more comfortable in his bed and decide to read a few chapters of your new book before inevitably falling asleep.

'i'm gonna read so you can do your nerdy zone out thing.' peter glances over his shoulder, you give him a wide grin, he sends it back and blows a kiss your way.

'you're the nicest. i love you.'

you think you could put up with his hyperfixation for a little longer. it's something about compliments from him, you think it's another power of his but peter keeps telling you that it isn't possible.

'i love you.' you share another smile before he's turned back around and dialed in on his box of... metal. you crack open your book and pick up where you left off.

you read four chapters, falling deeper into the love story playing out on the pages. the splatter of affectionate names that came from the male lead made you a little gooey. you glance up to look at your boyfriend, the question dances on your tongue.

'petey?'

'yes, trouble?' his eyebrows are furrowed, tiny screws are the bane of his existence. the second you think he's about to mumble a curse word, he does.

'i have a question.'

'ask away.' you chew at your bottom lip for a second, curiosity takes over. 'why do you only call me trouble?' peter drops a screw three times, he pushes himself away from his desk, he's making himself take a break before he breaks something.

'what do you mean?'

'this book i'm reading. the guy calls the girl all types of pet names but you only ever call me trouble.' you wait for his answer, you're expecting something long-winded because he takes a while to think about it but all you get in return is a shrug. it makes you feel a little sour.

'i call you all types of things. petey, petey pie, handsome, tiger, lover, i can keep going and you know i can, so why do i only get trouble?'

peter shrugs again, you give him a look that says his ignorance is actually hurting you. 'i don't know. you're just trouble to me. it's my special name for you, when i see you, i see my trouble.' it's cute and it makes you feel special but sometimes you'd like something else- even if you didn't realize it until now.

'and i do call you other things. my baby, honey, you know... other stuff.' you blink at him because there are no other names and he knows it too. 'you call me honey when you're annoyed with me and my baby is a rare treat.'

peter leans back in his chair and laces his fingers together. 'if you want me to call you something else, i'm open to suggestions.'

you glance down at your open page, one pet name is italicized. 'call me princess.' peter looks a little surprised but he does it anyway. 'princess.' your nose wrinkles, it feels too formal. 'say it in a sentence.'

'you're beautiful, princess.'

it feels wrong on every level. you might be a princess but peter isn't the type to call you one and hearing it sounds forced. 'ew. try babe.'

peter plasters on a cocky grin, you regret your decision. 'you're a babe, babe.' you make a repulsed face, 'even worse.' peter slightly frowns, 'really? i kind of like that one.' you look a little surprised, 'for me or for you?'

'for you. like, hey, babe? or like, babe, can you get me some water?'

'you want to call me babe when you need something from me?' peter shakes his head, 'i wanna call you babe cause you're a total babe.' you roll your eyes and tell him to come up with something else, he tells you he's going to pocket it for later anyways.

'how about angel?'

you think about it before disagreeing. 'i can't be trouble and an angel.' peter snorts, 'you're right, you're a devil.' you gasp and hold a hand over your chest, his words cutting deep.

'how dare you! i'm a sweetheart, mr. parker.'

there's a pregnant pause, your eyes light up, peter forms a soft grin.

'is that the one?'

you nod quickly, 'it might be the one.' peter pushes himself a little closer to you and you're plotting how to get him into bed. 'just to be clear, you're locking in sweetheart as your secondary nickname, right?'

hearing him say it sends swirls to your stomach and flutters to your heart. it's so delicate and soft, something domestic and wholesome. you stretch forward and hold out your hand for a shake, 'i'm locking it in. i've always thought sweetheart was a cute name, i swear it's so underrated.'

peter clasps your hand in his. 'it's a pleasure doing business with you, sweetheart.' as peter pulls back, you tighten your grip and pull him closer to you. 'nuh uh, no ma'am. no cuddles, no kisses, no distractions.' you tug him a little closer and because he lets you, you know you'll end up winning.

'take a break.'

'i just did. you got a sweetheart deal out of it, remember?'

'ask yourself for an extension, your sweetheart wants back rubs until she falls asleep.'

'no, i know your tricks. the second i try to leave, you're going to get whiny and tell me to take a nap with you.' you don't see any harm in it, you try to pull him into you, he moves forward an inch. 'trouble, seriously, i can't take a nap with you today.'

you pretend like he hasn't already given you a rundown of what his schedule looks like today. 'why not?'

'you already-' you lean closer and cup your hand around your ear, 'what's that? i can't hear you, come closer.' peter holds a straight face, you grin and pat the empty spot next to you. you wait a few seconds and tap the bed again, your boyfriend heaves out a sigh and finally joins you. before he can even lay all the way down, you're glued to his side and hitching a leg over his waist.

'no, get off me.'

'but i'm comfortable.'

'yeah, that's the problem. you're going to fall asleep on me and start world war three when i try to move you.' you snuggle deeper into him, 'that sounds like a future you problem. nighty-nite.'

'trouble,' peter's trying to find a compromise but you won't let him. he knew what he was agreeing to the second he crawled in next to you.

'shh, we're taking a nap.'

'trouble, please. if this was any other day you know i'd give in but i can't today.' you let out a childish whine but go no further, clamping your leg down as peter tries to worm himself out of your hold. 'i'm about to get mean if you don't get off me.'

peter's full of empty threats, you happily sigh at his complaining and sit up. he looks at you suspiciously, his questions answered when you straddle his lap instead. 'fine, let's not take a nap. let's do something else instead, something way more fun...'

'we're not having sex.'

you whine out his name like he's holding something above your head, just out of reach. 'peter!' you pout at him but it doesn't work. 'i love you and i love being around you but that's literally the only reason i came over and you know it. how are you so busy you can't take ten minutes to give me a little love? huh?'

'because you're distracting and ten minutes is never just ten minutes.' you pull at peter's wrist to check the time on his watch, there's a three hour buffer from now until the dinner plans peter and you made a week ago. 'we have three hours until we have to leave for may's.'

'no, we have three hours until we have to be at may's. dinner's at seven. you're going to start getting ready around five and we gotta be out of here before six so we can skip all the after work commuters.' you check his watch again, 'okay, so, we have an hour before i need to get ready.'

you pull your shirt off, peter squeezes his eyes shut and looks up at his ceiling. 'just let me be on top, i can get it done in ten minutes... unlike some other people in the room.' you blink, peter tosses you off his lap and you go falling to the other side of him. 'nope, not happening.'

you try to grab his shirt from behind but he's too quick, he's looking at you from the safety of his desk. you cross your arms over your chest, he doesn't deserve to see your boobs at the moment.

'peter.'

'sweetheart.'

you bow your head, a blanket of shyness covers your shoulders. 'yeah, just like that. be a sweetheart for me and wait a couple hours. i promise i'll make it up to you later tonight.' you think about his offer and slowly reveal your chest again, his grin stretched even further. you quickly cover yourself up again, his lips drop to a frown. 'only if you double promise.'

'i triple promise, how 'bout that?'

you reward him with boobs. he does a little celebration for himself, you bite back a smile from how cute you find it. 'i'm only keeping them out so you can look at what you're missing out on... and so you know what you're getting in your face later.'

peter slowly nods his head, he’s accepted that this is what life with you is like. 'and that's why i call you trouble.' 

[lila-lou]

✨Beyond his true fate - Part 14/14✨

Summary: Sequel to "His true fate".

(Jensen hasn't been happy for years. But it seems almost impossible for him to escape. After another nasty argument between him and his wife, he decides to visit his ´former´ best friend for his birthday. Back in Austin, an encounter awaits him that will turn his life completely upside down.)

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: Language, age gap, tough topics

Word Count: 2963

DISCLAIMER: Everything is purely fiction. I do not intend to attack or hurt anyone. The story is, of course, entirely made up and meant for entertainment purposes. I love them all.

As evening draped the house in golden quiet, the kids finally wound down—sticky with frosting, cuddled into blankets, and dozing one by one in the living room like they’d run marathons for the cause of siblinghood. You’d just finished nursing Dean again, curled on the couch in soft lamplight while Jensen sat beside you, your feet draped over his lap, the baby resting in your arms.

The moment felt full. Still. Honest.

You turned your head and found Jensen already looking at you. Not with a question, but with that waiting kind of look, the one he gave when he already knew your answer but wanted to hear you say it anyway.

You smiled faintly. “Do it”.

“Are you sure?”.

You nodded, brushing your thumb over Dean’s soft cheek. “He’s ours. And I’m tired of pretending we’re anything less”.

Jensen leaned in and kissed you—softly, reverently—then stood and grabbed his phone from the coffee table.

He didn’t overthink it. Didn’t overwrite it. Just opened the app, selected the two pictures—one you’d taken at the hospital of him holding Dean against his bare chest, skin-to-skin and soul-deep in awe… and the second, the one you’d taken as he carried Dean proudly out of the hospital in his car seat, eyes lit with something fierce and protective.

Jensen stared at the screen for a moment, thumb hovering over the keyboard. You could see him thinking—about how much to say, how little to give, how to say everything without saying too much.

Then he typed:

“Dean. You came a little early, a little loud, and somehow just in time. You made me a dad again. You made us a family. @yourusername — I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you, but I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you know I’m grateful. We’re tired. We’re happy. We’re home”.

No hashtags. No filters. Just real.

He glanced at you once more. You gave a small nod, heart full and pounding in that quiet, humbling way love always hits you hardest.

He tapped “Post”.

The world wouldn’t explode—not really. But the ripples would be felt. And for the first time… you didn’t brace for them.

Dean let out a soft sigh in your arms.

You smiled, eyes still on Jensen as he sat back down beside you, sliding his hand under the baby’s tiny foot like he couldn’t stop touching this new little miracle.

“I like us like this”, you murmured.

Jensen leaned his head against yours. “Me too”.

And just like that, the Ackles family got a little bigger. A little louder. A little more real.

-

Six months went by in the blink of an eye- and in the long, sleepless, milk-stained, baby-giggling, learning-how-to-be-a-mother blur that no one could ever really prepare you for.

Dean grew fast. He had Jenen´s eyes and your smile, and a personality that was already stealing the spotlight at every family dinner.

Danneel, still occasionally bitter and complicated, had at least gone quieter, perhaps drowned out by the overwhelming support that had rallied around you and Jensen.

And the kids? They came more often now, their bond with you slowly deepening into something sweet and real. Messy, sometimes, yes. But full of little victories and bedtime stories and pancake mornings.

Life wasn’t perfect. But it was deeply good.

You still traveled with Jensen now and then, some conventions, a few short trips to LA where he was filming Countdown, Dean’s carrier slung over your shoulder while you juggled teething rings and script notes. Exhausting? Always. Worth it? Every time.

But today? Today was something else.

You stood in front of the tall, gold-framed mirror in the bridal suite of a gorgeous venue nestled in the Texas countryside, hands slightly shaking as you stared at your reflection.

Your wedding dress shimmered faintly in the late afternoon light, soft ivory satin and delicate lace, the kind of dress that felt like a secret dream you never quite let yourself have until Jensen gave you permission to believe in forever again.

You looked… beautiful. Nervous as hell, but beautiful.

Gen flitted behind you, adjusting your veil, already crying happy tears.

Misha stood near the mimosa table, clapping like he was at a Broadway show. “If Jensen doesn’t faint, I’ll be personally offended”.

Your mom and Donna sat beside each other on the velvet bench in the corner, both dabbing their eyes with tissues. Your mom squeezed Donna’s hand like they’d known each other for decades.

“She looks like a dream”, Donna whispered.

You swallowed around the lump in your throat, pressing your hand softly to the center of your chest, steadying your heart.

Because this was it. The next chapter.

And somewhere on the other side of that venue, Jensen Ackles was probably pacing in a tux he let Jared help pick out, probably holding Dean in one arm while threatening Jared with bodily harm if he made a speech that mentioned any of his run-in´s on you.

And you were about to walk toward him. Forever.

“Ready?”, Gen asked gently, slipping your bouquet into your hand.

You nodded.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life”.

The November sun hung low in the sky, casting everything in a soft, amber glow, the kind of rare, golden light that only shows up at the edge of seasons. The venue, nestled just outside Austin, had been transformed into something out of a dream. A garden ceremony, but not overdone. Natural, warm, and quietly breathtaking.

Rows of whitewashed chairs lined either side of the stone path, flanked with tall vases of soft blush roses, eucalyptus, and pale peach ranunculus that caught the sun just enough to glow. Pampas grass waved gently in the breeze, grounding the scene in rustic Texas charm. Everything smelled like warm cedar and fresh florals and the faint sweetness of November leaves.

And beyond it all—under a wooden arch draped in flowing fabric, wild roses and just a touch of twine—stood Jensen.

He wore a deep charcoal suit, his hands clenched and released in slow, anxious movements at his sides. His tie was slightly loosened, like he couldn’t bear to be fully formal, and his hair had been combed back, at least until he ran his fingers through it a few times. Dean was on Donna’s hip now, gurgling happily in a miniature vest and soft baby moccasins. JJ stood beside her, beaming with pride, holding a tiny bouquet of her own.

Jared, standing just off to the side in his best man suit, leaned in and murmured something that made Jensen snort quietly, probably a threat wrapped in sentiment. Misha stood on the other side. Your side, next to Gen.

And then… the music started.

The first few gentle notes drifted through the air. Every chord wrapped around the moment like it had always belonged there.

Jensen’s head turned slightly at the sound. He swallowed hard.

Then the crowd stood.

The world held still.

And you stepped into view.

Time didn’t stop, but it slowed. Like everything in the universe had agreed to hush for this.

You moved with quiet grace, your arm threaded through your Dad´s, the lace of your dress catching the sunlight just enough to shimmer. Your veil flowed behind you like a whisper, the train skimming the path beneath your feet. Your bouquet trembled slightly in your hands—not because you were nervous, but because you were feeling everything.

And Jensen? Jensen looked like he couldn’t breathe.

Like every part of him had been reset in that moment, standing there with the wind brushing through his hair and the Texas sun glowing in his eyes. His lips parted. His chest rose, then stalled.

And then… a tear slipped down his cheek. Not because he was trying to be sentimental. But because seeing you like that—walking toward him, heart wide open, eyes shining—broke something open in him so soft and sacred, he couldn’t contain it.

You blinked fast, because if you didn’t, you might start crying too early. Your smile trembled. Your steps stayed steady.

But when you reached him, when your dad kissed your cheek and Jensen reached for your hand like he was grounding himself in this reality, you felt it.

All of it.

His fingers threaded through yours, warm and sure.

“Hi”, he whispered, voice thick and reverent, like the word itself was a vow.

You smiled, breath catching. “Hi”.

The final notes faded into the autumn air like a blessing, leaving behind a hush so full of feeling it hummed beneath your skin.

You stood hand in hand with Jensen beneath the rose-draped arch, the sun dipping lower behind you, casting the whole ceremony space in a golden light that kissed every petal, every face, every breath between you.

Neither of you spoke. Not yet.

You just looked at each other.

For nearly a full minute, the world didn’t move.

Your bouquet trembled slightly in your hand. You felt the breeze catch the edge of your veil, the warmth of his thumb gently brushing across your knuckles. He shifted slightly, just enough to lean closer and whisper, barely audible, “You look like forever”.

And then the pastor stepped forward with a soft smile, one hand resting gently on his book, his voice deep and calm and full of reverence.

“Welcome”, he began, and even that single word held weight. “We are gathered here today under the wide Texas sky and the final golden light of autumn, to celebrate the kind of love that finds you when you least expect it—but exactly when you need it most”.

He looked at you, then at Jensen. “Yours is a story not built in haste, but in slow, steady moments. In growth. In grace. In choosing each other, every single day”.

You felt Jensen’s hand tighten around yours, and you breathed a little steadier.

“Marriage”, the pastor continued, “is not just about the good days. It’s not about perfection. It is, instead, about presence. It’s about waking up beside someone who knows all your softest spots and still chooses to protect them. It’s about holding hands in the hardest moments and remembering the reasons you began”.

He paused, allowing the words to settle. Around you, the trees swayed gently. A bird called from somewhere in the branches above. Dean made a soft noise in Donna’s lap, like he already knew this was about more than just flowers and rings.

“Today, you stand before one another not to begin something new, but to declare what has already been built. A foundation made of trust, of second chances, of laughter through exhaustion, and of hope even in heartbreak”.

You blinked quickly, tears stinging your eyes again.

Jensen brought your joined hands to his lips and kissed your knuckles softly, and you could feel him trembling slightly.

The pastor smiled gently. “And so, before your family, your friends, and the setting sun—let us speak the vows that seal this truth you’ve both already lived”.

A hush swept over the crowd.

The only sound now was the wind, the faint rustle of your dress, the heartbeat in your ears.

Jensen turned to face you fully, both of his hands now holding yours. His thumbs rubbed slow, steady circles over your fingers, grounding you both. His breath hitched as he took you in—really took you in—this vision in lace and sunlight and everything he’d never believed he deserved but somehow got anyway.

For a moment, he didn’t speak. His lips parted, but the words caught.

And then he smiled, slow and quiet and just a little shaky.

“I didn’t think I’d ever be here again”, he said, voice low, raw. “Didn’t think I’d want to be. I told myself I was done with this. That love like this was… for someone else”.

Your eyes burned instantly, the tears cresting before you could even breathe them back.

“But then you”, he continued, eyes shining. “You came into my life without a warning, without a plan. You didn’t just walk in—you showed up. You saw the mess. The bruises. The weight I was carrying. And you never flinched”.

He paused, drawing in a sharp, trembling breath.

“You gave me space… and somehow, without ever asking for anything, you filled it. You made everything lighter just by being in it”.

Your bottom lip trembled as you tried to hold it together, but your fingers squeezed his back, just once, asking him to keep going, because if he didn’t say it, you might fall apart before your turn came.

Jensen smiled, his voice cracking slightly. “You brought me peace in the chaos. And laughter when I couldn’t even remember what it sounded like. You loved me through my doubt, through my damage, through every part of me that didn’t know how to accept being loved like this”.

He looked down for the briefest second, just to collect himself. Then he lifted his eyes again, straight into yours.

“I don’t just love you. I trust you. With everything. With our future, with our son, with all the parts of me I never thought I’d give away again. And I promise you this… every morning, every night, every messy, hard, beautiful day in between… I’ll show up for you”.

He leaned forward slightly, his forehead nearly brushing yours, voice now barely above a whisper.

“You’re my home. My person. My heart”.

You were crying openly now and no one moved, no one breathed, as the weight of his words settled like petals around your feet.

The pastor gave a soft, reverent nod. “And now", he said gently, “your vows”.

You blinked once. Twice. Then looked down at your joined hands, his thumb still brushing softly over your knuckles like he was grounding you this time.

You looked up again.

Jensen's eyes were locked on yours. No fear. No nerves. Just that quiet, steady kind of love that had never needed loud declarations to be understood.

Your voice was soft when it came, but it didn’t waver.

“I spent most of my life convincing myself that love had to hurt a little to mean something”, you began. “That it had to be earned, fought for, endured. That to be loved… I had to give more than I had. And then you came along”.

Your voice caught just slightly, but you didn’t look away.

“You didn’t ask me to be smaller, or softer, or easier to love. You just made room. For my chaos. For my nerves. For my baggage. You never ran away from it. You just stood still, so I had somewhere safe to land”.

Jensen’s throat bobbed, and he blinked fast. Your fingers squeezed his gently.

“I didn’t know I needed you”, you whispered. “And now, I can’t imagine a world without you. Without your voice half-asleep in the morning, your hand finding mine without even thinking, the way you kiss our son’s forehead like it’s instinct”.

He closed his eyes for just a second at that. You saw his jaw flex, the tears still waiting at the edge of his lashes.

“I vow to show up”, you continued. “Even on the hard days. Especially on the hard days. I promise to meet you there, with grace and patience and maybe a little sarcasm. I promise to hold your hand through the chaos, to love you when it’s easy and even more when it’s not”.

You leaned in the smallest bit, just enough for your foreheads to nearly touch.

“I vow to love our life, not just the big moments, but the quiet ones. The tired coffee in the car. The nights we laugh ourselves sick. The mornings we can barely move. All of it”.

Jensen let out the softest sound, something between a breath and a sob and the tears finally fell down his cheeks.

You smiled through your own.

“I vow to love you fully. Freely. For as long as I have a breath left to give”.

The wind moved softly through the garden just then, lifting the veil behind you like a slow exhale.

And around you, the entire world went quiet.

Even the breeze seemed to pause.

And then the pastor’s voice broke through, warm and full.

“With the power vested in me by the state of Texas…”, he smiled gently, “and by what I think might be divine intervention—Jensen, you may kiss your bride”.

Jensen didn’t hesitate.

He stepped in close, hands sliding up your face, cradling you like he’d waited a thousand lifetimes for this one moment. And when he kissed you—it wasn’t just soft.

It was everything.

Steady. Reverent. Fierce with love. Full of every broken piece you'd healed in each other, every vow made not just today, but in all the quiet hours before this one.

The crowd erupted in cheers, a mix of tears and laughter and camera shutters.

But Jensen never looked away from you—not for a second—as he whispered against your lips:

“Finally”.

And with Dean giggling in the arms of Jensen´s mom just a few feet away, your whole world standing under the last golden sun of November—

You knew:

It was. Finally. Forever.

———————————

A/N: Well, that´s it. Please let me know what you think.🥰

-

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373 @shanimallina87 @ascarriel @deanwinchesters67impala @thebiggerbear @quietgirll75 @barnes70stark @kellyls04 @spxideyver @ralilda @americanvenom13 @ozwriterchick @lmg14

[d34dlysinner]

Bael pegged/fucked

I wrote this for a friend but decided to post it anyway bcs i didn't post a fic in a while. Not proofread. I tried to keep it GN

Avisos was loud and lively as usual. Demons of all kinds roaming around to get dopamine in any way they can. Every demon inhabiting the country searching for some high. Living a lifestyle like their wandering king. Everyone was free except for one man in the castle working day and night just to make up for the King's absence. The one right hand man who dislikes his king to some degree. The regent king, Bael. 

But just as any man in Avisos or in Hell. He needs his own moment of bliss. 

Behind of the door to the usual quiet and peaceful office you heard whimpers. 

You neared the door curious to the sounds. The paperwork that Amon handed you to give to Bael was forgotten as you focussed on sounds that seemed similar to moans. 

You were quiet. ‘Maybe I should give him some privacy?’, you thought as you turned to walk away, but during the turn managed to kick a table next to the door. 

Your reflexes kicked in and steadied the table and the vase on top of it. 

You noticed the office was suddenly quiet. ‘Shit... Did I interrupt him?’, you slowly backed from the door until you heard a firm "Come in."

You sighed softly as you opened the door and peeked in. You walked through piles of paper that threatened to topple over you if you weren't careful. "Sorry to interrupt you, Bael... Amon wanted me to hand some papers...", you muttered as you placed them on his desk. 

Despite looking somewhat calm he had a faint blush on his cheeks and looked somewhat disheveled. 

"... I hope you're alright, Bael.", you muttered. "You should also rest sometimes. all this work can't be good.", you said as you pointed out to the bundles that were towering over you. 

Bael sighed and shifted in his chair. "Believe me I'm trying to relax from time to time.", he said as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Seemingly annoyed by the amount of times he had to hear those words. 

You still worried despite him seemingly not wanting you to worry. 

"Is there something I can at least help you with? It can be anything.", you asked him. 

His brows furrowed as he thought about it. Giving you a soft smile before saying: "You know very well what I was doing before you entered the room. I wasn't quiet too. You think you could help with that?"

You took a second to register how blunt he was. ‘So he knew…’, you thought as you shifted on the spot. 

"I mean if you allow it I want to help...", you replied. 

Bael gave a soft smile as he pushed his chair back, now revealing his hardened cock.

"You can do whatever you like to me then. I'd rather let you do the work since you offered helping me.", he said as he patiently waited for your move. 

You stared at his physique for a minute. Taking in his toned legs. The way his ass somehow seemed soft and firm. Gosh... You wanted to do anything between his legs. That's when you came to an idea...

"... Bael do you mind taking in something?", you asked as you actually wanted to see him cry and shiver under you. 

Bael eyes widened momentarily before he looked to the side as if he needed to think about it. 

"I don't mind.", he said. "But you have to prepare me too then.", he said as he pointed to a drawer in his desk. Signaling you to take something out of it. When you opened it though, you didn't expect to see lube, strap, fleshlights, whatever you could think of in the drawer. 

You understand that you’re in Avisos, but Bael didn't exactly seem like the guy to go out of his way to get these. Especially with how he is with work. 

You looked back at him as he simply explained: "Beel gets these for me. Even if I tell him not to."

You nodded as you took out the lube and looked at the label. "Heh... Apple flavor?", you muttered before opening the packaging and squirting some of it on your fingers. 

"Well... It's great that Beel did because I can use these tools on you now.", you said as you sat in front of Bael. You watched him spread his legs wider, holding one of them up even to allow you access to his hole. You warmed up the slippery substance between your fingers before teasing Bael's hole by circling around it with your finger. You slowly pushed in your index finger. A small groan could be heard from the man above you. You slowly started adding more and more fingers inside his hole. Slowly pumping them in and out to get him used to the stretch. Faint moans could be heard. 

"Ah~... You.. Think.. MmmH~ You need 4 fingers to stretch me?", Bael asked wondering how big the thing is you want to insert. 

"Well.. even if it isn't needed I just like seeing you squeeze around my fingers at the moment.", you replied as you were somewhat enchanted by his physique. His legs were tensing together with his hole at every thrust. His hardened dick was dripping with precum. The small droplets already rolling down his length.

You gulped slowly. Your other hand taking a hold of his dick as he just observed you with hazy eyes. 

You shifted up to take the tip into your mouth. Slowly licking over the slit of his tip, earning a rewarding moan from him as his hands shifted to the top of your head. The grip on your hair tightening as you took more of his length into your mouth. "HNG~ Don't You think You... you're doing too much for me?", Bael said as if he protested but the grip on your head and the way his cock twitched told you something else. 

You felt him moving into your fingers as if he's begging to get his release. 

"hah- I'm... close..", he muttered out as a warning before legs tensed around your head. Keeping you in place until he came down from his first high. 

You rubbed his legs. Admiring how his legs shivered while he panted softly. You felt his cute hole quiver around your fingers.

His legs slowly let go of your head allowing you to breathe as you let go of his dick with a soft 'pop' sound. 

You thrusted your fingers into his hole teasingly before fully pulling them out. 

You sighed as you admired yet again how he looked. His eyes were glossy from tears pooling in them. His cock was shimmering from spit and his hole seemed a little red as it tensed around nothing now. 

Usually you would only go this far. Not going way further than this because of the workload. "You want to take it further?", you asked as he seemed tired out, but instead of telling you that he has to continue work he nodded. "Let's continue.", he said as he sighed softly. 

You suppose that someone who's too busy to even take a break like this in months is very sensitive to stimulation. You could only tell from how his legs trembled when he moved to stand up.

You watched him move papers to the side as he bent himself over the desk. "You wanted to fuck me so let's do it.", he said as he held his bubbly ass open for you to see his still quivering hole. 

You didn't even hesitate taking your pants off and applying extra lube on before holding his hips tightly. You slowly pushed in Bael. He cussed under his breath as he started to tighten around the length pushing into him.

Bael only whined softly at the feeling as you fully sheathed yourself. He didn't need a lot of time adjusting. Even if he's very sensitive to the stimulation at the moment he couldn't help but move against you. You watched as he started fucking himself on you. His whines becoming slightly louder and louder as he gotten comfortable with the feeling.

You could barely control yourself as you now tightened your grip on his ass and thrusted harshly into him. Looking at how his ass somehow jiggled everytime it made contact with your lower stomach. 

Bael let you take the reigns as he steadied himself by gripping his desk. 

You still needed more though. You wanted more as you pulled off his top, which seemed more like ripping off clothes, to reveal his back. A clean slate for you to do whatever you want to. You wanted to bite him. Bael noticed as he glanced at you and told you to do what you'd like. You didn't need to hear it twice as you bit and sucked around his back and neck. Leaving purple-ish hickeys and harsh bitemarks all over his back. You had to turn Bael just so you could do the same to his front. Noticing how his nipples got swollen from rubbing against his desk. 

You wanted to tease him, but instead he decided to give you as show as his own hands started to cup his chest. Teasingly pulling at the sensitive skin while looking at you with an intense gaze. You watched as one of his hands traveled along the sweaty skin to the tip of his own dick. His long fingers teasing the tip of his length. 

It didn't take long for his own actions to drive him over the edge as his hands started to tremble.

His back arched as the tears that pooled in his eyes started to spill along his cheeks. 

You felt hot, but maybe because the usually reserved Bael was here teasing himself as if it was to entertain you. 

Just when Bael came you also did. 

Bael was panting harshly as you were wrapping your hands around his cock to help him ride out his high. 

You slowly pulled out. Noticing how your load leaked out of his hole. Bael slowly sat up when he felt himself regain his sanity. 

"Ah... That... Was great..", he muttered between pants.

You nodded, thinking about how fast the moment ended. You picked up his suit and wanted to help him get the latex suit on. But he stopped you. 

You looked at him in confusion. "I'm not done MC...", he said. His breath almost completely regained. 

"It's been months since I had the chance to even take a break like this...", he said. "You don't want to return to your work yet?", you asked.

"Hell no.", he sighed, a small smile adorning his face as he got ready for another round.

Hope you liked the small fic!

[bennetsbonnet]

Much has been made of Mr Darcy's "confession" to Elizabeth that he does not converse easily with strangers. It is repeatedly used to support neurodivergent interpretations of his character. And I suppose that when taken at face value, a character confessing that they do not easily converse with strangers and struggle to catch their tone or appear interested in conversation can absolutely scream AUTISM! (I say as an autistic person myself)

But this line is often taken in isolation. When considered in terms of the passage in which it appears in Chapter 31, it appears far less of a smoking gun than may initially be suspected. After some discussion about Elizabeth and Darcy's prior acquaintance in Hertfordshire, Colonel Fitzwilliam asks Elizabeth for information about Darcy's behaviour there. She readily supplies it:

'Pray let me hear what you have to accuse him of,' cried Colonel Fitzwilliam. 'I should like to know how he behaves among strangers.' 'You shall hear then—but prepare yourself for something very dreadful. The first time of my ever seeing him in Hertfordshire, you must know, was at a ball—and at this ball, what do you think he did? He danced only four dances, though gentlemen were scarce; and, to my certain knowledge, more than one young lady was sitting down in want of a partner. Mr Darcy, you cannot deny the fact.' 'I had not at that time the honour of knowing any lady in the assembly beyond my own party.'

What Darcy leaves out here is that it was he himself who chose not to be introduced to anybody. As we learn from the description of his behaviour at the Meryton assembly in Chapter 3:

Mr Darcy danced only once with Mrs Hurst and once with Miss Bingley, declined being introduced to any other lady, and spent the rest of the evening in walking about the room, speaking occasionally to one of his own party.

Anyway, Elizabeth correctly does not buy his excuses. Not only does she respond with a cutting sarcastic remark, but she tries to bring the discussion with an end by speaking to Colonel Fitzwilliam:

'True; and nobody can ever be introduced in a ball-room. Well, Colonel Fitzwilliam, what do I play next? My fingers wait your orders.'

But Darcy does not get the hint and continues conversing with Elizabeth rather than quitting while he's ahead. However, I don't believe him to be missing a social cue here. Rather, this is an exceedingly conceited man who cannot conceive that anyone would not want to speak to such a Superior Being as he and more-so, is determined to defend himself from a perceived slight against his impeccable character.

Then we come to the passage containing the oft-cited line which allegedly contains proof of his neurodivergency:

'Perhaps,' said Darcy, 'I should have judged better, had I sought an introduction; but I am ill-qualified to recommend myself to strangers.' 'Shall we ask your cousin the reason of this?' said Elizabeth, still addressing Colonel Fitzwilliam. 'Shall we ask him why a man of sense and education, and who has lived in the world, is ill-qualified to recommend himself to strangers?' 'I can answer your question,' said Fitzwilliam, 'without applying to him. It is because he will not give himself the trouble.'

Once again, Elizabeth does not buy his excuse for even a single second. She's fully aware of all the advantages a man such as he will have received in society (opportunities not open to women, might I add!) and draws attention to that fact. It's a brilliant, cutting line from her and she really set that one up for Colonel Fitzwilliam to deliver the knockout blow.

Not only do we have the testimony of Mr Darcy's cousin, that 'he will not give himself the trouble,' to appear cordial to strangers, but we have evidence from Wickham too. Although after this statement, Wickham quickly goes onto misrepresent Darcy's kindness to the poor, which contradicts Mrs Reynold's later testimony, I do believe Wickham to be telling the truth (for once!) here, when he tells Elizabeth in Chapter 16:

'Mr Darcy can please where he chooses. He does not want abilities. He can be a conversible companion if he thinks it worth his while.'

Which, again, demonstrates that Darcy is capable when he wants to be. That is the crucial point. Autistic people fundamentally lack the ability to understand social cues, they cannot turn it on and off as they please because they are snobs.

So, now we come to the infamous line about Darcy's supposed social struggles, and I hope that I've provided enough context to the line to make you see that it should not be taken at face value:

'I certainly have not the talent which some people possess,' said Darcy, 'of conversing easily with those I have never seen before. I cannot catch their tone of conversation, or appear interested in their concerns, as I often see done.' 'My fingers,' said Elizabeth, 'do not move over this instrument in the masterly manner which I see so many women’s do. They have not the same force or rapidity, and do not produce the same expression. But then I have always supposed it to be my own fault—because I will not take the trouble of practising. It is not that I do not believe my fingers as capable as any other woman’s of superior execution.'

Again, Elizabeth is not buying his excuses for even a single second and tells him if he feels like that, maybe he should put the effort in. She has seen him in numerous social settings and been thoroughly unimpressed with his behaviour which, when you consider his rudeness to her at the Meryton assembly, she has every right to be.

So, what do I make of the line?

Well, I think it's abundantly clear that Darcy absolutely can speak to people when he wants to. Perhaps, in his mind, he struggles to make that deeper connection and make friends easily. But making friends is not always easy, it's a process you must invest time and effort into. If you do not do that, it stands to reason that you will struggle. Plus, if you hold others to ridiculous standards (as Darcy does) without recognising and fixing the flaws within yourself, you're not going to have deep, lasting friendships.

While this quote may appear to be a moment of vulnerability where he does confess a fault of his, which is astounding given his pride, personally I do not think it was not a soul-searching exercise. It was to make Elizabeth stop grilling him. It was self-serving. Although, I don't think he's entirely lying. Darcy is veeeery careful with his words and though this statement is not considered and perhaps comes out rather abruptly, it doesn't necessarily follow that it isn't true. I can imagine that it is probably something he's felt for a while, yet it is a rather desperate attempt to defend himself from a woman who sees right through him.

I think perhaps Darcy does realise that he isn't as naturally gifted as other men he knows (such as Wickham, Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr Bingley) when it comes to forming acquaintances. However, he looks outwards and turns that bitterness against the world rather than looking inwards, reflecting upon himself and improving his manners which would be the correct thing to do. Thankfully, he later does this, but it took him twenty eight years...

In addition, Darcy appeared to have been under the illusion that he could coast by on Pemberley's reputation... which has always worked... until he met Elizabeth. For perhaps the first time, he encounters a woman who is not awestruck by him and his reputation and delivers the rebuke that he always needed.

So, while personally I'm inclined to believe there is some truth to his statement, as Mr Darcy is many things but he isn't a liar, I think it is said in desperation. His feeling stems from him knowing what he should do, but he can't be bothered to enact it... rather than any inherent social deficiency stemming from being neurodivergent.

Although, even if he does struggle socially, it's still no excuse for the rudeness he displayed to Elizabeth! My main issue with neurodivergent readings of Darcy is when they are deployed to defend his behaviour, when they attribute his rudeness to any potential neurodivergency and when they excuse his laziness. That is an awful message! Autistic people who struggle with social cues often do not, nor should they, go around insulting others. They should and often do put plenty of effort into being considerate and polite. In fact, I think, if anything, a love of rules makes us more likely to have good manners, rather than the reverse.

Ultimately, I'm not sure this line makes Mr Darcy the sympathetic-poor-sweet-innocent-shy-boy-autistic-representation that people want him to be. In fact it makes him look even worse, if anything. On matters such as these, he is every inch the conceited proud man he was widely believed to be at the Meryton assembly. Luckily, Elizabeth is an incredibly smart woman, who doesn't fall for it and immediately calls him out on his behaviour in a way that he has never experienced before. As she should!

[reploidbuddy]

I wrote for the first time in so long and it was so freeing holy feck

[crystalkitty1220]

Man I wonder where the leader of the fear realm could've gone, it's alMOST LIKE NEVIN HAS AN

[coridallasmultipass]

It took me, ugh, MONTHS (2), to get to cleaning the two shrimp tanks I have... I had IRL issues going on that would have made it extremely difficult to do a water change especially while injured, and I just had to keep putting it off. It's just shrimp, so it wasn't like, the worst situation, especially since I have established plants and the tanks are a couple years old. There was just a lot of algae build-up on the glass, and, well... Let me just say it was not contributing to my mental health and well-being while the tanks were in that state.

I tested the water before I started cleaning and the parameters were fine (like, I could have left the tanks even longer if I would be okay with selling my soul to the Algae Collective), and the plants and shrimp look fine, too (I mean, I've obviously been keeping an eye on the tanks bc I sit right next to them). Actually, I'd wager to say that the plants are looking really great (the lilies haven't died off [yet? This is the longest period of time I've seen them stay... foliage... fol... foliated? Idk.] and the cryptocoryne in the 10gal is fucking huge and needs to be rearranged, just not right now). That fucking algae was a motherfucker to get off the 10gal (it's a plastic tank and I think that makes the algae grip harder than the glass 5gal).

[Also, fyi, depending on the tank's needs and stability, recommended water changes are a small one every week or every other week. My parameters don't seem to do anything dramatic, so I usually aim for a 20-30% water change every third week (just depends on how much vacuuming needs to be done and how cooperative the shrimp are with moving aside). So 2 months is still a lot. I still did the normal 30% ish amount, since doing more will risk the shrimp's well-being if there's a sudden change in everything, and my water parameters indicated a change was unnecessary - but I don't test for more than the minimum freshwater tests, so there could be a buildup of some mineral I'm not testing for, which is why the change IS actually necessary regardless of what my test kit says - because these tanks were evaporating a lot in summer, it condenses the minerals added with each water addition, even tho I usually top up with R.O. water.]

My back is fucking killing me lol. It has been killing me since spring when it 'went out' for the first time, and I'm not getting any relief, it sucks. But this had to be done.

The 5gal is looking pretty cloudy still, since the filter was super gunked up and I accidentally spilled gunk back in, so I may need to retest the 5gal parameters tomorrow just to make sure I don't have to do another water change, but it'll probably be fine, right? Shrimp love mulm and detritus. I did give both tanks a big ole algae tab for their trouble, tho. (I need a fuckening dish for the big tank. I really wanna clean off that white quartz rock again, but being white means it's an algae magnet, and it's just gonna go green again after a month or two.)

Anyway, shrimp tax:

I lov thees widdle oange bebies.

Wish I could take better pictures rn, but I am. Like. Dying. My recommendation: never live in an A-frame style room if you have the option. The wall above my tanks is slanted, and NOT fun for my back to bend underneath the wall for maintenance. (My only flat wall in the room is for my TV/PC.) Also, treat your back nicely, in general. I unfortunately have not had the option to treat my back nicely since spring (fall now), because 'when it rains it pours,' and heavy shit that needs to be moved will not move itself. Once I get a few more things in my room in order, I will hopefully be done with the IRL chaos, bc I have Halloween socks to knit, and I'm not putting that off for another year. (I'm still mad that I couldn't make the ones I planned last year. And I found more Halloween yarn I forgot I bought, so I'm gonna try to make multiple socks.) And I just really need to fucking chill and knit and stop having panic attacks and meltdowns.

[d8tl55c]

"Inspiration in 4k (word count)"

25 sec, 4fps

[thesewordsareallihavetogive]

Flesh Wound - Dr. Jack Abbot x chef!reader

Summary: 2.5k words. Dr. Abbot's wife's cancels date night after suffering a kitchen mishap. In an effort to avoid adding to his stress, she takes herself--and her bloody hand--to the Pitt without telling him.

Warnings: canon-typical gore, blood, graphic descriptions of wounds, & knives. Colorful language, per usual. Implied age gap. breaking select grammar rules because I can. not beta read.

a/n: This got away from me and is longer than necessary lmao. I’m not in love with it, but I need to get it out of my brain and drafts so it stops plaguing me. Enjoy my first Pitt fic! Divider credit!

“Fuck!” you hissed. The kitchen came to a standstill around you; your cooks, dishwashers, and wait staff suddenly focused on the angry gash on your hand.

Abby’s was your pride and joy. Back in the day, culinary school felt like a gamble and then some. Today, you thank your lucky stars that it panned out well. The restaurant you’d built from the ground up was often featured in local publications and had grown into a neighborhood hub—it was a success from the day you first opened the doors to the public.

On days you didn’t stay at work for the full evening rush—like tonight, when you had your silver fox of a husband waiting at home with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and the full Netflix catalogue at your fingertips—you at least made sure to come in for a couple hours in the afternoon to help set up and ensure your staff had all the support they needed for a successful night.

Amid prep work for a new dish you were piloting, you looked away at just the wrong moment when your name was called, resulting in the unmistakable piercing feeling shooting through your hand. You’d nicked yourself. Well, more than nicked yourself, because you were now bleeding at a rate that would have Javadi passed out cold on the floor.

This certainly wasn’t your first knife injury and probably wouldn’t be your last. You haphazardly cleaned up your station as best you could while holding pressure to the wound with a towel. Accidents happen to everyone, no matter how long they’ve been in the industry. That didn’t mean it wasn’t embarrassing to slice your palm open in front of the staff who were supposed to look up to you. 

You bit your lip and willed the tears to stay at bay after closing your office door. You tried taking deep breaths as you sat on the edge of your desk. In for 4, out for 8. In for 5, out for 10.

It didn’t help much.

This hurts like a bitch, you cursed through the unrelenting stinging. It was worse than any other kitchen injuries you’d had in recent memory. You remembered your husband rambling about how the hands were one of the most highly vascularized parts of the body. When it bleeds, it bleeds, he said to you. You were acutely aware of that now.

The bleeding wasn’t showing signs of stopping anytime soon, even after you’d soaked through two hand towels. Jack had taught you quite a bit of first aid and then some over the years, but even you recognized that you couldn’t patch yourself up. When a little fuzzy feeling began to sink in, you knew it was time to seek medical attention from a professional who wouldn’t spiral at the mere notion of you being harmed.

Sure, you could’ve called your trauma doctor husband, who seldom went anywhere without his ‘go bag’, but that would make too much sense. You didn’t want Jack to worry about you. He did anyway, but you didn’t want to add to his stress. The salt and pepper hair suited him well–you frequently reminded him when you carded your fingers through his curls–but if he went full-on gray, you might be accused of grave robbing.

“Doctor Abbot speaking,” the man grunted in greeting. The trauma doc hadn’t looked at the caller ID before answering. Or maybe his mind was still filled with the post-night shift sleep haze.

“Hey, honey,” you smiled through the phone despite your barely contained anxiety. The fresh towel you left the restaurant with was quickly turning crimson. The walk to Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center was 15 minutes, and you prayed that you’d make it there before the towel was soaked through or before you passed out—whichever would come first.

Your voice washed over Jack like warm honey. His shoulders relaxed and he sighed deeply. Per usual, he hadn’t realized how tense he was until you dissolved his stress.

“Hello, my beautiful wife,” he flirted through the phone, the corners of his lips ticking up into a smile. Several years into your relationship, he could still make you blush.

“I know we planned to stay in tonight and watch a movie, but I’m gonna have to stay at the restaurant late. We got slammed, and I need to make sure the team has everything they need.” That counted as a white lie, right? Jack and his wife didn’t keep secrets. But this time, what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, you rationalized. You would tell him once you were all stitched up, snuggling at home with him, and not pale as a ghost. You would tell him when you could laugh about it, at how silly the oopsie you made in the kitchen was. Right now you were not laughing.

Abbot nodded, though you couldn’t see it. Your dedication to making sure your staff were taken care of was admirable; you were always so attentive, caring, and considerate. But selfishly, Jack would’ve given his other leg to spend a night with his wife. 

It wasn’t like you both weren’t used to taking rainchecks. Sometimes chefs called out sick and you had to step up, or put out metaphorical and literal fires. Other times, Jack’s pager seemed to be determined to set a record for most received messages.

“That’s okay, sweetheart. We can do something tomorrow.” It was a promise they’d hold each other to.

Years in service to the military and working in healthcare–emergency medicine, no less–meant he was used to change and could be flexible, to say the least. Nevertheless, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to be miserable to everyone around him until he saw his wife again.

Keeping a low profile at the Pitt was damn near impossible given your reputation.

The ER staff were well acquainted with Dr. Abbot’s wife, the pretty lady who brought them food. It started when you brought Jack dinner, and then Dana too. Sometimes Robby if you caught him at the right time. Eventually, you’d occasionally drop off catering-sized orders from Abby’s to be shared amongst the Pitt staff, just because.

A concerning majority of the providers, nurses, techs, RTs, and radiology staff survived 13-hour shifts on protein bars and far more milligrams of caffeine than was considered safe for human consumption. (It was a good thing they had plenty of 12 leads and crash carts full of pharm goodies for when a staff member inevitably developed a caffeine-induced dysrhythmia.) When the smell of Dr. Abbot’s wife’s food filled the Pitt, they knew they were in for a treat.

“You got any food for us, Mrs. Abbot?” Lupe asked as you approached the thick registration desk glass, before her eyes fell to your hand cradled against your chest. Definitely not catering.

Unfortunately for you, the third towel was fully saturated by the time you made it through the lobby’s double doors. The fuzzy feeling from earlier was quickly advancing to woozy.

Lupe and Dana brought you straight back from triage, effectively bumping you to the top of the queue. Maybe it wasn’t entirely according to hospital policy, but they’d never hear the end of it from Abbot if he found out his wife was stuck in a waiting room while she bled out.

“Everything is still attached, but the cut’s deep,” you relayed to Dana, who hummed as she peeled back the towel to assess the damage.

“Your husband know you’re here?” Dana asked, raising an eyebrow at you expectantly. She knew the answer based on the fact that Abbot hadn’t tore through the damn building to get to you. Yet, anyway. She more so asked to give you a chance to reflect on your dumb decision to not inform your husband.

“I don’t want to stress him out. Please don’t tell him?” You pleaded.

“I won’t say anything, but I can’t control what happens when he sees his last name on the wrong part of the status board.” Her emphasis on when made it clear that it was only a matter of time, not if.

Of course he would pick up a shift once his evening freed up. He was a workaholic, but so were you. Birds of a feather.

When Doctor Robinavitch and Javadi pulled back the room’s curtain, Dana did the talking–nausea was setting in along with a wicked headache. You refused to look at the laceration at this point, eyes trained on the ceiling tiles above you.

“BP is soft,” Robby observed. Dana nodded while holding pressure to the wound with gauze. “Let’s start some IV fluids to get it back up; you definitely had some blood loss today.” Not helping, you thought as another wave of nausea rolled through you.

“She said she doesn’t want Dr. Abbot to know, and I’m not about to get in the middle of that. Plus, provider-patient confidentiality,” Robby finished with a shrug to Dana at the nurse’s station.

“Who doesn’t want me to know what?” Abbot asked, cosmic timing seemingly on his side. He was here far earlier than he needed to be for his shift, but he had nothing better to do Better than sulking at home, missing his wife. He’d still miss her while he was working, but at least he’d have an active distraction. His grip was firm on the strap of his camo backpack slung over his shoulder.

Robby groaned and his eyes scrunched shut as he slowly turned to face the night shift attending. Dana answered the nurse’s station phone within a nanosecond of the first shrill ring, leaving Robby to fend for himself.

Abbot looked at him expectantly, his patience quickly waning. Robby shook his head and vaguely nodded his head backwards, simply sighing “room 4” before getting back to work. Jack didn’t press for more info, just crossed the Pitt with long, purposeful strides. His heart dropped and the world around him slowed when he saw his wife laying back on a gurney, hooked up to IV fluids with gauze around her hand.

He didn’t bother to knock before entering, yanking the curtain open with an abrasive tug. He immediately started scanning you head to toe and noted the color drained from your face, a bloody rag in the biohazard bin, and the remnants of a suture kit in the waste bin.

“Baby, what the hell happened?” Jack asked, wild eyes bouncing between the vitals monitor to your tired form. You squeezed her eyes shut and cursed the fact that PTMC was the closest ER to Abby’s.

“I told Robby not to call you,” you grumbled. Your husband grunted.

“He didn’t call me. I picked up a shift.” You knew Jack wasn’t upset with you directly. Seeing you in the same department where patients regularly coded and trauma alerts rolled through at light speed to the trauma bay unnerved him.

You felt a twang of guilt in your chest. Jack wouldn’t have come in on his first night off in a while if you hadn’t canceled date night. And date night wouldn’t have been canceled if you’d just been paying more attention in the kitchen. You extended your unaffected hand to your husband and he grasped it in an instant. 

His tense shoulders and tight jaw gave him away. You hated to see him needlessly stressed, but it also warmed you in an odd way—how lucky you are to have someone care for you so deeply. Someone as weathered and worn as Jack, who has seen his fair share of trauma and then some, loves you to the point of worry. What a privilege that is.

Jack’s shift technically didn’t start for another 20 minutes. He had every intention of spending those minutes right by your side.

Saved by the bell a few minutes before shift change, Robby came back in for rounds, tailed by Javadi (who, to her credit, did not pass out at the sight of copious blood flowing from your hand earlier). “Hey, love birds,” Robby greeted with a grin. Abbot’s lips stayed pressed in a thin line while you smiled weakly back at the attending and the med student who followed him around like a little duckling.

Dr. Robinavitch gestured for Javadi to present the case to Dr. Abbot. The poor girl looked like a deer caught in headlights at the harsh stare Abbot pinned her with. Her gaze bounced from your joined hands back to the attending before she cleared her throat and began. Javadi described the depth of the laceration and the amount of stitches required, topical TXA, IV fluid bolus and subsequent drip for hypotension. Jack forced air from his nose before inhaling again, squeezing your hand tighter.

“Princess will be in shortly with your discharge paperwork and home care instructions,” Robby winked as he left you and Abbot by yourselves. Jack snorted. There was no way in hell you’d be caring for the wound yourself, not if he could help it.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Jack’s voice was quiet. He wasn’t mad, but rattled. You twisted your mouth to the side, feeling a bit of shame. This wasn’t how you imagined your evening going.

“Technically, I did… on my walk here…” you offered. It sounded weak even to your ears. Jack deadpanned. It didn’t land well. You sighed and rolled to face your husband fully. “I didn’t want you to worry about me,” you whispered, hoping your voice wouldn’t betray you. Jack pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead.

“I’m always going to worry about you, sweetheart. Because I love you.” His fingers traced your jawline. Jack, who woke up with night terrors well over a decade after the war-torn atrocities he’d seen, gazed at you tenderly. You had half a mind to make a ‘Tis but a scratch joke, but figured that might send him over the edge.

“I love you too.” It wasn’t a reply, it was a promise. Jack kissed the back of your hand, your fingers intertwined until he had to go.

Dr. Robinavitch hung around until he was satisfied with your blood pressure so he could drive you home. Even if you had politely declined, he would’ve stayed. Abbot certainly wouldn’t have let him hear the end of it if his wife had to take a taxi home from the ER. Robby guided you toward the exit, holding your bag and his. Gotta keep our patient satisfaction scores up.

Jack doffed his gloves while he jogged to meet you before you reached the door. He blindly tossed the blue nitrile gloves in the direction of the nearest waste bin, not bothering to check if he made it in. But they had, because of course they would. Cocky motherfucker.

Jack wordlessly pulled you to him, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other hand holding your head to his chest as he kissed the top of your head.

“Take it easy, okay?” The two of you could’ve been slow dancing in a burning room, but Jack wouldn’t have noticed. He tuned out the constant buzz of the Pitt and focused solely on you. You offered your free hand up for a pinkie promise.

If the med students and interns saw Dr. Abbot go soft—oh so whipped for his wife—and make a pinkie promise, they knew better than to say anything about it.

a/n: Reblogs & comments are much appreciated 🥰

Find more of my writing on my master list.

Turn on post notifications @thesewordsxupdates to get notified when I release new fics.

[lonely-moons]

⁀✶comfort of you | bucky barnes x reader

title: comfort of you

pairing: bucky barnes x reader (can be whatever era you want if you take it as an au where the avengers compound is still thriving. rip.)

warnings: mentions of a nightmare

summary: when you wake up to find your friend bucky sleeping on the floor of your bedroom, it's safe to say you're confused. but, hey, the guy doesn't have an abundance of comfort, so you're more than okay with being it for him.

wc: 1,380

notes: haven't posted in ages but i am down so bad for this man goodbye (or ig hi? lmao). thank you thunderbolts for taking me back to 2021 as i read bucky fics daily 🙏

masterlist

you wake with a sharp inhale that borders on a gasp. it takes a moment for the images of your recent failed mission to disintegrate. you're plagued by a screaming woman - a roaring fire - and then the darkness of your room.

but something isn't quite right. after so long in this job, your senses stay awake even when you aren't. they ring now, heighten even more when you hear a movement on the ground beside your bed.

you switch your bedside lamp on in record speed, prepared to pounce or kick or whatever it is you have to do to eliminate the threat. but your poised stance falters when you see what's on the ground. or rather, who.

bucky barnes is laying there, propped up on his elbow as he looks up at you. his expression is sheepish but tinged with concern, like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't be and now he isn't quite sure how to react.

you blink once, twice, trying to come to terms with the image in front of you. the guy is your best friend, sure, but you don't quite know what to make of this. he's wearing what he typically sleeps in: a simple t-shirt and sweats, his eyes a little bleary like they'd been closed for a while.

had he been sleeping on your floor?

"um..." you say ungracefully, the only thought that's bouncing around in your head right now.

the sound of your voice seems to snap him to action. he sits up further, the chain of his dog tags shifting along with him. "sorry, i -" his arm comes up to rub his neck as he cuts himself off.

"impromptu sleepover?" you ask.

it's light but unsure. you want to know what the hell is going on, but the way his face scrunches, as though guilty, makes something in your chest ache. if this had been anyone else, you would have long since thrown a pillow at them, let your voice raise in exasperation. but this is bucky. while you don't tread around him on broken glass, knowing he hates it and deserves more, you also vividly remember how long it had taken for him to open up to you in the first place. you never want to ruin that.

he stares down at his hands, unable to look at you any longer. which means he must be really flustered, because one thing about bucky barnes - he has a staring problem.

"you okay, buck?"

he huffs out a laugh, but it's weak, like it gets caught in his doubt on the way out. "i should be the one asking you that. nightmare?"

your confusion had almost made you forget about why you were awake in the first place. now you smile, slightly rueful. "guess so. you, uh... got precognition or something?"

he copies your expression. "guess so."

a silence lands between you, not quite comfortable but not yet in the territory of awkwardness. you both have things to say, but they're evading you. unspoken words seem to fly between you as you watch each other, waiting to see who will break first. but this is your room, your space, which provides you with a home advantage.

"i wasn't sleeping well either," he finally admits. "came to see if you were awake and when you weren't... well, i doubt i wouldn't have been able to get through to you with all the snoring anyway."

"i don't snore!"

his shoulders shake with the small laugh he releases, and it's as though the movement throws some of the tension right off. you think you'd let him throw out jabs like that forever if it meant he'd relax even a little further.

"sure," he says. "you don't talk in your sleep either."

"you," you point a finger at him, "are a horrible person."

"i know." a small smile appears, but neither it nor his words are self-deprecating. they never are anymore, at least not with you. "it keeps me awake at night.

an exasperated huff escapes you. "whatever. i can't believe you coming in here didn't wake me. i'm usually a pretty light sleeper."

"never has before."

"wait - what?"

"uh - shit."

the lightness of the previous few minutes evaporates in an instant. bucky runs a hand down his face, muttering under his breath. you, on the other hand, do not feel bad enough to spare him from a grilling.

"you've come in here before? when?"

"no, it's not like that, i don't..."

"don't what?"

he opens his mouth to answer, but instead of speaking he rises to his feet. "look, i'm sorry, this was... i'm just gonna -" he points to the door, then immediately begins to bolt for it.

"wait!"

your voice stops him, which you're vaguely surprised about. in his current state, you thought he's been in a full-fledged flee mode. tunnel vision, feet on a set path, hearing only tuned into his self-derogatory thoughts. but it seems the sound of you has managed to break through.

he doesn't turn around, though. you think you've managed to figure out what's been going on now, even if you don't quite understand it. bucky tends to prefer harder surfaces to anything cushy. you've seen it before, when you've gone to his room to ask to borrow something and he was sitting on a blanket on the floor beside the bed. after you'd finally taught him how to play mario kart on one of tony's huge tvs, and he'd chosen to sit on the ground by your legs as you sunk into the dreamy sofa. he'd said he was able to concentrate better down there, that the plush comfort would just send him to sleep.

you'd called him an old man but silently wondered if it was something else. eventually the pieces had seemed to align and you realised the truth: whether he really didn't like it or didn't think he deserved it, bucky did not like the comfort of those soft things. that explains why he's on the floor, but as for why he's on your floor...

you speak quietly but firmly, watching his back and trying to picture his face.

"you can lay back down if you want."

he hesitates. not even a full second, but you know him well enough to just catch it. "no, that's okay. i'll let you get back to sleep."

"seriously," you press, before he can reach the door handle. "i don't mind. honestly, i... i wouldn't mind the company."

he looks back over his shoulder, guarded like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop. even though he's known you for years now, knows your kindness, bucky isn't used to such a carefree affection that you give him. "really?"

you nod. "besides, i'm gonna need someone to listen to my sleep talk and report back to me. could be some really important stuff going on there."

his lips twitch slightly and you mentally cheer. he's giving in. he doesn't allow himself that luxury much, but it seems you have a certain knack for getting it to happen.

he falters as he heads back to his position on the floor, looking between the blanket - that he'd brought with him and planned on abandoning in his haste to leave - and you, on the bed. his eyes study you, a question in them that only takes a moment for you to decipher. you think he's wondering about your offer, about whether lay back down means the bed or the floor, about which he wants, about which might seem rude. but you say nothing as he thinks, only sending him a brief, reassuring smile, then avert your eyes to let him decide as you turn off the light.

he chooses the floor. you certainly wouldn't have minded him in your bed, but all you want is for him to be comfortable.

"night, buck."

"night, doll."

as the sound of your breathing syncs up, you shift to the very edge of the bed. your hand blindly reaches down, feeling around. he jolts slightly when you make impact with his flesh hand, but then he intertwines your fingers without a word.

bucky may not be ready for the comfort of a mattress or pillows, but he's certainly learning to love the comfort of you.

[oceantornadoo]

Could you maybe write a fic for Simon pursuing a reader who has no experience despite being in her early 20s?

(disclaimer: this ask said early 20s but i didn't really focus on that exact age for reality and inclusivity purposes)

you like to think you're a pretty calm person. have to be, for the kind of work you do - can't be a hothead when you're dealing with hundreds of other hotheads (a.k.a. military men). that environment, seeing the vicious effects of too much testosterone and loyalty to those who don't deserve it, has led you to this predicament. a lack of experience with men. all the ones you've met are loud or self-absorbed and your work is so time-consuming so that when you've found yourself at this precipice, you realize you have no experience to guide you. only a few drunk kisses and one teenage crush to act as the map for the journey you're about to take.

it was odd, how easily you fell into simon riley. he duped you into your first date, calling it a celebratory post-mission dinner when in reality, he'd had the reservations for weeks. it progressed smoothly from there: coffee and ice cream and a scary movie you didn't want to see alone. a few weeks later and you let him into your sacred apartment, a couch no man had ever sat on. he was so respectful, soft words and light touches to get you comfortable with him.

you intrigued simon. it was like befriending a stray cat; one wrong move and he'd be out in the hall. he'd asked around (a.k.a. asked johnny) and found out you'd never dated anyone on base. not surprising, he hadn't either, but your skittish nature led him to believe you'd never dated anybody. you were comfortable with men, sure, but you'd never made any moves on simon despite seeming to like him so much. if he were a less confident man, he would think you weren't interested, but it was in the way your eyes lingered on him, the glances you shot him when you thought he wasn't looking. he decided a conversation was necessary to clear the air so he didn't keep handling you like a bomb that could go off any second.

the two of you were watching footie, a bowl of popcorn in the middle. your hands brushed occasionally as you ate, your knee touching his, but nothing further. simon was well practiced in restraint, and he would wait as long as he needed to, but he felt like he was operating blind, no night vision goggles in sight. "love." it was like flipping a switch. you jumped up, snatching the popcorn bowl and murmuring something about supplying a refill even though it was more than halfway full. he let you have your freakout in the kitchen, giving you time to collect your thoughts. finally, you came back ten minutes later, hand shaking slightly as you put the bowl back down, which was decidedly not full. "can i ask you somethin'?" his hand gripped your knee before you could get up again, settling you back on the couch. your eyes were wide, searching his at a rapid speed as you tried to figure out what he was asking.

"w-what?" he started stroking your knee slowly, thumb brushing over the fabric of your sweats. he didn't answer right away, letting the rhythm of his thumb calm you until your shoulders dropped a fraction. "do i scare y'?" he murmured in a low tone. your shoulders dropped completely, your head collapsing on the couch behind you. you figured it was time to have this talk anyways. "no, it's nothing like that. i trust you, si." he nodded, checking a question off his list. his thumb was still stroking you, the motion anchoring you to the moment. "did someone hurt y'? before me?" you shook your head. "no, it's nothing like that. i just-" you cut yourself off, biting your lip. you chanced a glance at simon, his face open and patient. "i just don't have a lot of experience with men. and it makes me nervous, thinking i'll do something wrong." simon nodded in understanding. "'s while y're so jumpy. how much experience?" you muttered your answer too low for him to hear. "wot?" ugh. "none." oh. oh.

simon was rewriting scripts in his head. no experience was not what he was expecting, but it didn't put him off. if anything, he felt honored you picked him to give you experience. "doesn't matter, love. we can go 's slow as you want. just gotta tell me what y' want." your hand covered his on your knee. "i want you, si. i just don't know how to show it." he squeezed your knee. "trust me?" you nodded instantly. suddenly, you were being moved, strong hands around your waist dragging you into simon's lap. he arranged you into a straddle, setting you back on the middle of his thighs. simon didn't want to give you the wrong idea by putting you on his cock so soon. there was time.

"ya ever kiss anyone?" you gave him a small smile. "not sober. none that i really remember." he laughed, the feeling vibrating through his chest down to his thighs. it was exhilarating, being so close to him and not being scared. you were still nervous, sure, but there was less expectation hanging over your head now that you had talked. "c'mere. we'll take it slow. close your eyes." he sat up a little, a hand on your hip preventing you from being jostled. you closed your eyes obediently, lips parting slightly with the exhale of your breath. you could feel his body heat come closer. he brushed his lips against yours, pulled back, and then gave you a real kiss.

you weren't sure what to do. you had listened to enough advice podcasts to know you shouldn't use any tongue, but that was it. his lips were soft, if a bit chapped, pressing against yours deliciously. he felt so close, so intimate, and you pushed back against him, just a little. it melted your heart a little as he pushed back, warm and willing. your hands instinctively dove into his hair, finally feeling those strands you'd been dreaming about. it went on and on, experimenting with little licks and bites as you got more confident. unfortunately, the more passionate you became, the less air in your lungs. you pulled back with a gasp.

"fuck." his lips were swollen and red, his hair sticking up at all angles. ravished. "good?" he asked, licking his lips. you nodded. "can we do it again?" the eagerness would have made you cringe if you didn't want it so much. "yeah, baby, anytime you want. c'mere."

--

i hope i did this justice!! my first kiss was terrible but i was also 14 so i think it would be better with an experienced man lol

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

ephemeral

Pairing: Batfam x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k words

Summary: You were forgetting something. However the most frustrating part was you couldn't seem to remember what exactly it was that you were forgetting.

A/N: This was inspired by this post by @bonefanatic! I know that it's Yandere!Batfam in the OG post but as soon as I read it this is just what it inspired. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Part 2

You were renowned for forgetting things.

You'd always forget to bring your keys the day when your mother happened to be running late. You'd forget your pencil case on the day of exams and forget your bus pass on the rare days that your father didn't give you a ride.

On sunny days you'd forget to wear your sunscreen. On rainy days, much like today, you'd forget your umbrella. Now, when you were a young girl, running back home through the rain wouldn't matter. In fact, you had vague memories of your feet splashing through puddles, hands shielding your face from the pelting rain while you and an old lover got soaked to the bone.

You could hardly even remember those days; just the sound of splashing puddles and the deep petrichor, the cold of the rain mixed with the warmth of someone's laughter...

A coo brought you out of your thoughts and your eyes met those of bright blue. The baby strapped to your chest gave you a semblance of a toothy smile, his teeth only beginning to come out and you returned it, leaning in to rub your nose against his, revelling in the giggles it brought out.

The sweet boy, who only ever saw you, was the reason you couldn't let yourself get wet, standing in the shade of an apartment building and choosing to wait out the rain.

You gave your baby a once over, making sure that he didn't get wet in your effort to reach the building. He looked fine and his clothing wasn't wet, although he did seem a little cold. You held his tiny hands in between your palms, repeating the process with his feet until you were satisfied.

The door of the building swung open and you immediately covered Thomas' ears to protect him from the cold breeze, letting him burrow his face into your chest.

In came a man that had to be larger than anyone you had ever seen in your life. Clearly, he had been caught in the rain, his boots were soaked and so was his leather jacket. He donned a motorcycle helmet, and your stomach lurched at the thought of him driving that out in this weather. Without realizing it, your eyes glanced over his figure, wondering if he had possibly gotten hurt.

When you brought your eyes back up from his muddy boots to his face you were slightly startled. When had he taken off his helmet? His blue eyes stared back at you, shock apparent on his features before he had schooled them back to monotony.

"Are you lost? I don't think you live here." His voice was low and gravelly, but it found a familiar place in the back of your head.

You gave him a small smile, "No, I'm just trying to wait out the rain. I forgot to bring an umbrella, and I really don't want my son to get sick."

His eyes glanced down to your son and you curiously watched as something swirled in his eyes. Longing perhaps? Maybe he had some baby fever? It didn't quite seem like that though...you just couldn't put your finger on it.

"Would you like me to call you a cab?"

"I already tried. The streets here are too narrow for a cab to drive through so I'd have to walk a bit before I'd reach the road."

He nodded, taking a beat before he responded, "Wait here."

And then he took off for the stairs and even though he looked relaxed, you saw him taking multiples stairs in a single step, resisting the curious urge to tell him to be careful and not to slip because of his wet shoes.

He didn't make you wait long, reappearing in less than 5 minutes with an umbrella and something else in his hands.

"Oh, I couldn't."

"Please, I insist. I don't think the rain is going to stop anytime soon and there isn't anywhere for you to sit down," He said earnestly, placing the umbrella in your hands, "I already called a cab. It should be waiting for you at the corner."

"Thank you, young man." You watched him run his fingers through the cute little tuft of white hair bashfully before he handed you something else—a fuzzy blanket patterned with bats.

You looked curiously up at him, "For the little guy. He looks cold."

You really wanted to refuse, but Thomas' nose and ears had begun to turn red from the chill and with the blanket he'd be better protected as you walked to the cab. So, you bundled up the baby in the cozy blanket and thanked the man again who said goodbye with a melancholic smile.

While taking the cab home, your fingers traced over the embroidered monogram in the corner of the blanket that looked like it was brand new.

T.W.

***

You don't know what it was about the travelling circus that had you so enraptured. There was just something about watching the acrobats soar through the sky like birds, as though they were weightless, that made you feel equal parts worried and in awe.

It was unusual. You didn't enjoy watching gymnasts while you grew up and you had certainly never visited a circus, and yet while sitting in the seats for the performance of Haly's travelling circus for the 4th time since they had arrived at Gotham, you couldn't help but wait in anticipation for the show to begin.

Thomas was clutched to your lap, every bit as excited as you were, when a man with dark hair and blue eyes—a common feature here in Gotham, it seemed—sat next to you.

You spared him a glance, only to find him staring back at you with a small smile and a cone of roasted chestnuts in his hand. He handed you a pair of ear protectors.

"They're handing it outside the tent—wouldn't want the little guy to hurt his ears."

You thanked him with a smile, placing them over Thomas' ears and giggling when he laughed at you pointing at the man who returned his toothy grin with one of his own.

"Would you like one?" He offered, holding out the warm chestnuts for you to take and you obliged, thanking him and relishing in the taste and the immediate warmth that spread through your body.

"So, what brings you to the circus?"

Your arms tightened around Thomas, resting your cheek on the top of his head as you contemplated the answer, "I don't know. I just like the acrobats. Every time I watch them, I feel comfortable, like I've been watching them my entire life. Which is weird because I've never seen acrobats before Haly's circus came to Gotham."

You looked back at him, "What about you?"

"My mom used to be an acrobat here. After I lost her, I like to visit, so I don't forget her." He explained, eyes scrolling across the bright colours of the circus, taking everything in. You placed a gentle hand on his arm, trying to comfort him.

He looked down at Thomas, watching as the baby gave him an innocent grin that had returned with a sad smile and giving a delicate little pinch to his pudgy thigh before looking back up at you.

"I really don't want to lose my mom a second time."

***

One thing you really couldn't appreciate enough before having children was the freedom to shop for groceries all alone. Now, after having an infant, something as simple as stocking the fridge turned into a long and arduous feat.

You’d have to get Thomas dressed, make sure his nappy was changed, and time it just right—long enough since he’d eaten that you wouldn’t need to change him again, but not so long that he’d get hungry and need you to breastfeed him in the middle of the store.

Not only that, you'd also be stuck pushing a cart around with him strapped to your chest because he was still too young for the shopping cart.

And finally, the most torturous part of this whole excursion—the car loading. Most of your bags were heavy and packed full, and you couldn’t load them into the trunk with Thomas strapped to you.

So, you’d carefully place him in the car seat, turning on the engine and air conditioning to cool the car after its time baking in the parking lot. Then, you’d haul the heavy groceries into the trunk, turn off the car, take Thomas back out, return the trolley to its rightful place, and—once again—secure him in his car seat before finally heading home.

You stared at the cart full of groceries—enough to last you at least 3 weeks so you wouldn't have to make another trip for a while—trying to summon the energy to load the heavy items in the blasted vehicle.

"Mo—Ma'am?"

A young man approached you, a half-drunk coffee in his hand and your brows twitched. Just how many coffees had this boy had today? You shook your head of the thought. Why would you even care?

"Do you need some help?"

Giving him a polite smile, you shook your head, "I'm okay. Thank you, sweetie."

He gave you a sad smile, and it made you immediately want to take your words back and to give him the world instead. The feeling confused you even more. Why were you so concerned about him? And why did he look so sad after you refused his request? If anything, he should’ve been relieved that he wouldn’t have to do any work.

"Are you sure? I really don't mind." He tried again, this time placing his hand on the handle of the trolley, his hand just a hair away from yours. It was peculiar—your instinct for stranger-danger urged you to pull your hand away, and yet, you felt an equally strong urge to place your hand over his.

You smiled again, "I guess I'll take you up on your offer."

He was stronger than he looked. Despite his scrawny frame, he easily lifted your bags into the trunk, loading everything and shutting it in record time. Dusting off his hands with a proud smile, he turned to you as if expecting praise—only to deflate when he caught you watching him with a small, lingering smile.

It was as though he grew sadder with each passing second, his expression dimming as he gave you one last longing look before turning that same gaze to Thomas, "I’ll return the cart for you. Why don’t you strap him in?"

You nodded, thanking him again, "Thank you so much for your help."

Using Thomas’ little fist, you waved goodbye to the boy. He returned it with an expression far too tired for his young face. You resisted the urge to tell him to get a good night’s rest, instead watching him push the trolley away through your rearview mirror. A pang hit your chest at the sight of his slumped shoulders.

***

A figure collided with your back and you would have been knocked over if he had been any taller, however when you looked down, a young boy with dark hair and beautiful green eyes looked back up at you.

"Ummi..." He murmured, before he even had a chance to stop himself and you frowned in concern for this child who couldn't have been more than 9 years old who all of a sudden looked so small and unsure and something in your soul reached out for him.

You leaned down, well, as much as you could with a baby strapped to your chest, "Did you lose your mom, sweetheart?"

He flinched, eyes going wide and his bottom lip began to tremble in a way that made you want to hold him to your heart and soothe him, "Yes...I have lost my ummi...and I wish she'd come back....I miss her very much."

You reached out a hand before you could stop yourself, almost reaching for him to run your fingers through his hair and scratch your nails lightly against his scalp—

"Damian!"

Your hand froze an inch away as a man, slightly older than you, ran up to him. When your eyes met his, a rush of something surged through you—so intense and so sudden that there wasn’t even time for an epiphany.

All you knew was, you had met this man before.

Only, you couldn't remember when.

"I'm sorry about him. You know how kids are." The man with familiar blue eyes told you, flashing you a charming smile that had done an incredibly good job of hiding the misery underneath. And yet, you still saw past the mask. And still… you chose to look away.

You smiled up at him before glancing down at Thomas, now realizing why this curious stranger's eyes felt so familiar—your son looked up at you with almost identical ones, "I do know."

The man followed your gaze to the happy baby in your arms and you watched as the corner of his lips had dropped from the calculated smile he had worn. It was like he had frozen in time and the more you watched him, the more despondent his expression became.

His son—Damian. Why did that name sound so familiar?— looked up at him with concern, now grabbing his hand and tugging him away.

"Baba." He said softly, finally managing to knock the man out of his stupor.

"Oh," He finally spoke, looking down at his distressed son, "I'm sorry, miss. I hope my son didn't hurt you or the baby. If you need any medical bills covered, you can contact this number."

He handed you a business card and walked away before you could even argue about how absurd it was that you would ask for him to pay your medical bills over his adorable son bumping into you. It was an honest mistake!

You could only watch them walk away before your eyes looked down at the Wayne Enterprises business card.

"Bruce Wayne, CEO."

'Bruce'

You swore you had heard that name before.

And yet... you'd forgotten.

***

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[lieslab]

Maybe dreams are meant for sleeping

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Minho X gn reader

Summary: Your boyfriend's sudden coldness towards you causes you to assume the worst.

Genre: Angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: I've been giggling over this for a while now. Shout out to the requestee because this made me giggle and kick my feet. I love a good misunderstanding that leads to something exciting. Anyway, since my schedule was train wrecked, I'll post my next fic on Sunday, schedule on Monday, another fic on Tuesday <3

_ _ _

Rain-swollen clouds burst open at approximately four-something in the morning. The heavens opened and the rain poured. It hit the roof so hard, Minho was certain his movement would be muted, but your body had other plans. 

Twenty minutes later, your arms wrapped around the robe you put on. The shuffling of your house slippers fell victim to the pounding rain drops above. Minho’s body sat in the dim fridge light. He moved about in the dark kitchen, stirring through items, and looking for last night’s leftovers. 

He didn’t realize you were there until you reached up and flicked on the kitchen light. “Minho?” You called, reaching up to rub your sleepy eyes. “Minho? What are you doing? It’s so early, you should be sleeping.” 

He froze with his eyes locked on the glass container of rice. He made a large batch last night. Large enough, it’d last the two of you a few days. He planned to put it with his lunch. Of course, he could have eaten in the building’s canteen, but he wasn’t sure he’d have the time. 

Lately, the guys had been so busy. Time muddled between their busy schedules. Management wanted everything done all at once. Twenty-four hours wasn’t enough time for a single day. You understood that, right? 

“I have to go to work early.” He avoided your sleepy eyes. Instead, he spun back to the marbled countertop. He worked quickly, placing the leftovers into his lunchbox. “I didn’t know until late last night. You were asleep when I got the text from my manager. There’s a photoshoot we have to attend.” 

“I wish I would have known. I wanted to make breakfast for us to enjoy together. I’ll have to wait for another day.” 

He nodded and sucked in a deep breath. “Yeah. I’ll let you know when I’m not so busy. I’ll try to talk to management. I’ll see you later.” 

You waited for the words, but they never came. You shut your eyes, expecting the warmth of his body, but that didn’t show up either. He left you standing alone in the kitchen. Without kisses. Without an “I love you.” He left your heart as cold as the downpouring rain outside. 

Your eyes reopened. You assumed he’d rush back and make amends, but he didn’t. The front door opened and then it shut. A faint jingle of keys, the lock turned, and then nothing. You were left alone to your own thoughts. 

A deep breath in and letting it out slowly. It hurt, the startling realization that you weren’t imagining things. Distance grew between you and Minho. You couldn’t place what you did wrong. 

It's always been a fear, deep down, he’d find someone better than you. Maybe, he finally realized he didn’t have the time for love in his life. Being an idol is hard. He spoke so openly about it, maybe his own words struck a chord in his heart. A realization drove the point home and now he’d abandon you, unsure of how to state the truth. 

You tried not to let it bother you, but it stung. Invisible wasps flew above your head and stung your brain; a thousand different thoughts, each one pierced the skin with a more potent venom. 

It all circled back and clouded your self-worth. What if you weren’t good enough? What if he really did find someone better? What if? What if? What if? 

It’s always been good, the relationship between the two of you. You cherished it with everything you had. It meant whispered words of affection while you played with his hair. A silent fondness in your eyes while you watched him consume the food you made. 

He always joked he could make the dish better. Suggesting things to add, gesturing to different items housed in their locations. Nonetheless, he still ate everything you put in front of him. Every grain of rice, every smear of sauce, he scooped it up with his spoon and swallowed it. He never thanked you out loud, it was more of a silent thing. 

He’d wash the dishes afterwards, insisting he had to do them because you spent so much time cooking. Other times, he’d walk behind you and wrap his arms around your body; a human-formed shroud of love. He didn’t need to thank you for the dish. You would have made him a thousand dishes without the need for compliments. 

Compliments were nice, but the warmth washed over you when he scooped up a second bowl. Ladling in broth, using chopsticks to grab more meat, scooping up vegetables while he mindlessly said something needed seasoned more. Yet, when you offered him the option, he refused, insisting he’d manage. 

The one time he insisted something needed more salt, he added a few more sprinkles. Popping the warm dumpling in his mouth, he paused and his eyes widened. An eye twitched and you forced a hand over your mouth to keep your laughter at bay. He never proclaimed something needed more salt again. 

In the silence, ground sausage sat in the fridge. Eggs hid in the darkness of a cardboard carton. You purchased fresh bagels from a bakery last night. You figured you’d have so many hours before they lost that fresh-baked taste. 

You expected to share a homemade breakfast with Minho, but his disappearance left your soul aching. You stared where his body once was. A coldness crept down your spine and your heart wavered. The burn of tears brimmed against your eyes, but you didn’t stop it. 

Like the downpouring rain, your sadness leaked out. It soaked your cheeks, but you didn’t wipe it away. Instead, you sniffled and flipped off the light. The early morning darkness made you feel worse. You spun around, heading back to the safety of your bedding. You’d cocoon yourself in and try to feel normal again. 

More importantly, you’d tried to pretend Minho was at work and not at someone else’s house, making their heart his newfound home. 

~ ~ ~ 

A few days later, the sound of forks scraping against porcelain plates caused your eardrums to shrivel. You winced when your own fork caught the plate. In front of you, Minho twirled pasta around his fork without a care in the world. 

You came home from work to the scent of tomatoes, oregano, and italian seasoning. Garlic wafted through the air and greeted you when you stepped into the kitchen. With his back to you, Minho used tongs to place pasta on plates. “You’re home just in time.” 

You hummed, unsure of what to say. Things between the two of you felt different since the other morning. You wanted to bring it up, but fear stopped you. What if you were right? What if he really moved on, or decided he didn't want to do this anymore? Whatever it was, you hated it. 

Fear kept you cautious and on the tip of your toes. Your heart wavered around him. Paranoia grew and you hated to admit it, but it followed you around like a shadow. When would he slip up? 

Maybe you’d overhear a phone conversation where he’d admit his real feelings. Perhaps, his new significant other would show up and you’d catch it all in the act. You couldn’t stand the waiting, it felt like torture. The scent of a body spray that wasn’t yours. A hoodie that Minho had never owned. 

So vigilant, you were on the constant lookout. You wanted to point and accuse him, drive the nail home, and have a final aha moment. You waited and waited, but it never came. The longer it went on, the more irritable and restless you became. 

If Minho could have his secrets and stop loving you, you could do it, too. In your own way, you’d play his game. You’d treat him just like he treated you. 

So you sat in silence at the kitchen table. Your fork scraped against the porcelain plate. You didn’t thank him for the meal. In fact, you didn’t say much of anything. You picked at your spaghetti, not feeling like you could consume much of it. The garlic bread, you managed to get in a few bites. 

“Are you feeling ill?” Minho asked after a while. 

You looked up blankly, not sure you heard him correctly. “Huh?” 

“I asked if you’re feeling okay. You’re not eating much. You’re not talking a lot either, it’s not like you.” 

You shrugged, brushing him off. The clock on the side of the egg-shell white wall ticked. Your fork scraped the plate again. You twirled the fork and waited. 

Minho stared at you and his eyebrows furrowed. He didn’t say anything else, he waited for a confession. You refused to break. Maybe you were being petty, or maybe you were giving him a taste of his own goddamn medicine. 

Hurt turned into annoyance and that annoyance grew into anger. You wanted him to hurt. You wanted to break his heart. You wanted to do everything you could to make him feel like how you felt. 

Hurt. 

Isolated. 

Angry. 

Afraid. 

You wanted him to be afraid. You wanted fear to grip his heart and squeeze, causing longing to take over. Maybe he’d realize you were irreplaceable that way. Without you, life would be miserable, wouldn’t it? 

The ticking of the clock marched on. Soft breaths came from your chests. You didn’t meet his eyes. Another sharp squeal of your fork. His eyebrows creased with worry and then his chair grated along the tiled floor. 

A hand reached out, gently cupping the top of your empty hand. “Hey, talk to me. What’s going on with you?” You looked up for a brief moment, enough for your eyes to meet for a few seconds, and then you pulled away. 

Your hand left his. Anger rose up the back of your throat. The acidic tomato and basil seasoning of the pasta sauce swirled in the darkened depths of your stomach.“Nothing,” you mumbled, refusing to meet his gaze. “Nothing is wrong. I’m fine.” 

“Don’t do that. You’re clearly not fine. Talk to me. I can’t understand what’s happening to you.” 

“How ironic,” you grumbled. 

“What?” 

“I said I’m fine!” You snapped, jerking yourself away from the table. Your wooden chair jerked back with a loud sound and you stood up. “If you can’t understand the problem, Minho, maybe there isn’t one at all.” 

His face fell and his head tipped to the side. He watched your disappearing body in confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He called after you. 

“Figure it out!” 

He sat in silence, unsure of the issue. Tears blurred your eyes, but you didn’t sob. You didn’t spin around and demand answers from him.

Instead, you stormed into your shared bedroom and slammed the door shut, a loud and cold action; the painful reminder that you wanted to be alone for now. 

~ ~ ~ 

Over the course of the next week, the relationship between the two of you grew more and more rocky. You avoided Minho more and more, pulling away from who you thought was the love of your life. In your eyes, he let you. 

You waited and waited for the day to come. You knew it was only a matter of time before the truth rolled out. At least, you were expecting it this time. He wouldn’t get the satisfaction of breaking your heart. You broke your own heart mere days ago. 

He didn’t have time to explain himself. He couldn’t, not fully. Not when you worked and his work was dragging him further and further away from you. New things popped up. Fan signs, photoshoots, interviews, and the finishing touches on an album planned for early next year. 

He wanted to find the right time to confront you, but it never worked. You didn’t give him a chance. You’d been going to bed early. By the time he came home, you were sound asleep in bed. He didn’t want to wake you up, so he let you sleep. When you woke up, he’d already be back at the studio. 

You missed him like an abandoned dog craved the warm hand of their previous owner on a dark winter night. He filled your dreams. When you’d wake in the middle of the night, between his gentle snores, you’d roll over and curl into his body, holding him tight. You needed him far more than you’d admit out loud. 

Too afraid to lose you, Minho made plans for today. On a Friday, you’d be home earlier than usual. Today, so would he. He’d confront you and things would go back to how they should be. 

Dozing off on the suede couch, you didn’t hear the sound of Minho’s keys jingling and hitting the lock. The front door creaked open and he cautiously stepped inside. Holding his breath, he paused and waited. 

The murmurings of some romance show fell from the television. You picked romance because you were swaddled in your own self-pity. What better way to bring yourself down again? Watch random couples fall in love. Watch it pull them together and break apart in painstaking ways. Love has always been such a contradicting thing. 

When Minho called your name, you glanced up with half-droopy eyes. Sure you were dreaming, you mumbled his name. “Go away. I’m so mad at you, I don’t want to talk to you.” 

“Why are you mad at me?” 

“Because you’ve been distant and ignoring me.” Your bottom lip trembled. “It really hurts my feelings to watch you become so closed off. It’s like you don’t love me anymore.” 

“Is that what you think?” 

“So I’ve been trying to ignore you,” you continued, “because I can do that, too. I can ignore you and maybe you’ll see how much it hurts me. I can’t even recognize you anymore. What are we?” 

You jerked upright, letting the tears fall down your cheeks. “I love you, you know? I love you and you’re making me feel like I don’t exist.” A sweater sleeve wiped across your nose. “So who is it? Who is the lucky new person that stole your heart?”

“You are such an idiot.” 

“An idiot?” You wailed. “You broke my heart! It’s like you hate me now! I don’t even know what I-” Your words caught in your throat and a pathetic whimper came out. 

He walked over to you and gently grabbed your hand. “Hey, I didn’t mean it. You know I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry, okay? I’ve been nervous and I guess I’ve done this the wrong way.” 

“Nervous to break up with me?” 

His head shook and he smiled. “I can’t break up with the love of my life.” He reached up, gently brushing your hair back. “You look like a splotchy clown when you cry.” 

Your bottom lip trembled. He grabbed your other hand and squeezed, trying to hold onto you. “I’m not breaking up with you.” 

“Then why do you keep acting like it? Stop dancing around the question and tell me. Trust me, I can handle it.” 

“I…” He trailed off and sighed. “Just stay here for a moment, will you? I’ll show you instead of telling you. Just stay here and I’ll be right back.” 

“Promise?” 

He nodded and stood up. “Give me a minute and I’ll be back.” He spun around and disappeared.

You wiped at your eyes and blinked rapidly. Murmuring voices came from the television until you reached over and turned it off. When footsteps reappeared, you looked up. Minho approached you with a small box in his hand. 

“What is that?” 

He sank back down between your legs, letting his elbows rest on your thighs. “I’m sorry I haven’t been a good boyfriend lately. I’ve been struggling to keep this a secret. Every time I look at you, you make me want to blurt it out loud.” 

You raised an eyebrow, unsure of what he meant. He lifted up the small black box. About the size of his palm, he reached down and tugged the box open. To your surprise, a ring sat pressed between two velvet flaps. Your eyes widened and you gasped, it jerked you right awake. 

“Wait, what?” 

“I was trying to figure out how to do it. I wanted to propose to you properly. I’ve been thinking about it for a while and I know you mentioned you wanted to get married. You’ve never exactly told me how you wanted to be proposed to. I didn’t want to ruin the surprise, but…” 

“This entire time, I thought you hated me. I should deck you for making me feel worthless. Is this my birth stone?” 

“Yeah. It’s pretty, isn’t it? Almost as pretty as you. Do you want to try it on?” 

You nodded and let him grab your hand. He popped the ring onto your left ring finger. As you observed the glimmering oval stone, he grabbed your other hand. “How does it feel?” 

“Perfect.” You didn’t take your eyes off of it. Instead, you lifted your hand, letting it catch the sunlight slipping through the window. “Why didn’t you bring this up from the start?” 

“You like surprises and I only get to propose to you once. I love you so much, but I was so nervous about this. I’ve been restless. Every time I look at you, I want to gush right then and there. You make me feel like a little kid with a huge crush.” 

Your bottom lip wobbled again and his face fell. “Hey, hey, please don’t cry. I’m sorry, okay? I won’t do it again. I’ll take the ring back and plan something grand. Tomorrow, I can-” 

“No.” 

“What?” 

“Yes.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Can you hear? I said yes, you loser. This implies we’re getting married. Look at it!” You shifted your hand again, letting the reflection sparkle. “It’s gorgeous.” 

“But-” 

“Do you want to marry me, or not?” 

“What? Of course, I do!” His hands dug into your thighs desperately. “Yes, absolutely. I want to see you walk down the aisle and everything. The whole nine-yards.” 

“Then yes. Let’s get married. What are we waiting for?” You tried to stand up. “Let’s go to the courthouse now.” 

“WHAT?” 

“You heard me. Come on,” you shifted again. “No take-backs. You wanna marry me soooo bad. You’re down so bad, you’re a simp.” 

His face went blank and he blinked. “I suppose I deserve that for being distant.” 

“You deserve to shine my shoes until next year.” 

“Hey!” 

But I’ll be nice and say you can make it up to me by doing the dishes for the next month. You know how I feel about the dishes.” 

“Only if you cook for the next month.” 

“Ha!” You reached out, playfully slapping his chest. “I knew it! You love my cooking!” 

“You can’t poison me if we’re engaged.” 

“But it still means I can kick your ass any time of day.” 

“Kiss it, you brat.” 

You stuck your tongue out. He reached up and pinched it between his fingers, causing you to freeze. Your cheeks went bright red and your eyes met his. 

“Fine. You can keep the ring, but we’re planning an actual wedding. We’re not rushing the wedding. We’re going to communicate and talk to one another. Do you understand me?” 

You timidly nodded and he let go of your tongue. You pulled back, wiping your face with your sleeve. “Wow, that was um…” 

“Hot?” He guessed. 

“Gross, actually. Now you’ve got my tongue germs. How does that feel?” 

He reached up and wiped his fingers against your bare thigh, causing you to squeal. “You really love pressing my buttons, don’t you? Keep pressing them and see how far that attitude gets you.” 

A grin lit up your face and he pulled away. “Don’t even start.” You grabbed his hand before he could get far. He groaned and tipped his head back. “What more do you want from me? I said I was sorry.” 

“I want a proper kiss.” 

“Oh, that I can do.” He jerked forward, grabbing the front of your shirt. He pulled you back to his face. “Just remember who’s in charge here.” 

You reached up, flicking his nose playfully. “Who has a ring on their finger and who doesn’t?” 

“You brat.” 

“Jackass.” 

“Dipshit.” 

“Bastard.” 

He opened his mouth, but you cut him off with your lips against his. Heated and flushed, you chased the kind of kiss you’d been missing out on. Desperate and hungry, you clutched the front of his shirt and pressed him closer to your body. 

You wanted it to last forever, but he pulled away after a few seconds. You whined his name in misery. “Easy there, brat. You’re kissing me so much, you’re forgetting to breathe. Take a deep breath before you end up dying from lack of oxygen.” 

“What a beautiful way to die.” 

“Who’s the simp now?” 

“Minho, shut the fuck up and kiss me again.” 

Before he did, his hand curled around yours and the cool ring brushed against his fingers. As your lips met again, he took pleasure in knowing you were his. His and his alone. 

Even if you were a brat, he loved you just the same as he always had; the same as he forever would.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

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[cocastyle]

I See You

Pairing — Bob Reynolds x reader

Word Count — 4k

Warning — SPOILER WARNING FOR THE THUNDERBOLTS* MOVIE I REPEAT SPOILER WARNING FOR THE THUNDERBOLTS* MOVIE!!

A/N — breaking my two years of not posting in honor of this amazing movie and character. the Thunderbolts* has reawakened my fire to write and I couldn’t ignore it. so here you go! this will be a bit of a short series. i kind of envision around three parts or so? anyways, i really hope you enjoy this and know this is your last warning before you continue on!! so if you haven’t seen the Thunderbolts* please save this for later <3

also, did you all notice the easter eggs i included ?? 👀

Part One Part Two Part Three

SPOILER WARNING FOR THE THUNDERBOLTS* MOVIE! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

Bob Reynolds wasn't quite sure how any of this had happened. One minute he was pretty sure he had been dying and the next he was trapped in a series of never ending nightmares. Except it wasn't just his nightmares, there were other people's too.

He knew he had been having these moments where he didn't remember things, knew that there was something going on at a deeper level than he wanted to admit. He thought with Valentina explaining this power he had been given that it would explain everything he had been feeling, that the darkness wasn't truly his but something brought on by this experiment.

But he knew the truth and walking through these endless nightmares only proved that. The darkness was his. It was a culmination of everything he was feeling, everything that had been consuming him, and it had only taken more of a physical form thanks to the Sentry project.

Bob had no way of fighting this thing, no way of taking back control of his body. And at this point he wasn't even sure if he wanted control. After all, he was just Bob. He was useless. He was nothing. Everyone would be better off without him.

So now he was trapped with no where else to go but to walk through the thousands of rooms of everyone's deepest regrets and shames.

It had been an accident at first, but sometime after his own meth chicken nightmare was when he first started stumbling into the other rooms. He saw so many things, felt the guilt and weight that everyone else felt. One in particular had stuck with him when he had ended up watching the loop of a blind lawyer watching his friend die over and over. Bob couldn't watch that for very long before he was hurriedly trying to get to any other room but that one, the blind man's cries still rattling his bones.

Bob didn't know how long he walked for or how many rooms he went through until he got to one that made him pause as he came face to face with Tony Stark. It had been a while since the hero's death, but still seeing the face of the man that had helped bring everyone back from the Blip made Bob falter slightly.

Someone's biggest trauma was Tony Stark?

Bob took a couple steps back, his eyes scanning over the room as he tried to ground himself in what was going on. He seemed to be in someone's apartment. The place would've been nice if it weren't for the fact that whoever was living here clearly hadn't been picking up after themselves in quite some time. And by the look Tony Stark was making as he glanced at the dirty dishes in the sink, it seemed he was thinking the same.

Bob knew the signs before he even saw her. It wasn't just the state of the apartment, but it was the feeling in the air. That feeling of despair, sadness, and nothingness. That feeling of knowing you were alone and there was nothing you could do about it. It clung to everything in the apartment and Bob's heart ached slightly at the sight. After all, he knew what this was like. He knew it too well.

"I can feel you judging me," a voice said, instantly pulling Bob's attention to the couch where a girl was sitting with a blanket wrapped around her and a bottle of vodka in hand. She wouldn't meet Tony Stark's eyes as she stared at the bottle, her fingers numbly fiddling with the label. "I didn't ask for you to come over and judge how I'm living. Hell, I didn't even ask you to come over, so you might as well go."

Tony let out a soft sigh, "Kid, you were ignoring my calls. Of course I was going to come check on you."

"Ever think I ignored them for a reason?"

Tony huffed and grabbed a chair from the kitchen table before dragging it over in front of the couch. He sat down in front of the girl, tilting his head slightly as he watched her before saying, "You can't keep living like this."

"You think I don't know that?" she asked, her voice bitter. “Why are you here, Tony?”

Tony just watched her in silence before saying, "Listen, Steve and Natasha came to see me yesterday and—"

The girl slammed the bottle down on the table so hard Bob thought it would break. Her eyes were red rimmed as she glared at the man and muttered, "No. We're not doing this. You're not going to sit there and try to rope me into some crazy plot to try and bring everyone back. It's been five years and I'm done, okay? I have nothing left in me anymore and I don't give a shit, so just leave."

"Kid—"

"I said leave!" she exclaimed, her eyes beginning to glow white with a power that Bob could almost feel beneath his own skin. "I'm not some sob story for you to try to fix, okay? I messed up and didn't kill Thanos in time and half of the universe had to pay for it. I'm done trying to help. All I ever do is hurt people."

She looked away, her voice rough when she whispered, "You're all better off without me anyways."

Bob sucked in a breath at that, understanding washing over him as he watched the broken girl do everything she could not to cry.

"Y/N," Tony began but the girl simply shook her head.

"No, Tony. I'm done. Just leave and go ahead and do yourself a favor and never come back. It's not worth your time or energy and I sure as hell don't want you here," she said, her head still turned.

Tony stilled slightly at her words. "You don't mean that," he told her, but before he could even blink, Y/N had used her telekinesis to pick up the bottle of vodka and send it hurtling in his direction. The man barely had time to duck out of the way before it flew right past where his head had been and shattered against the wall. Tony turned to her in surprise but the girl was already getting up and walking to the door of what had to be her bedroom.

"I miss him too you know," Tony called after her causing the girl to still.

"Stop," Y/N warned him, but Tony ignored her and instead stood up, his eyes not leaving her as he clearly made no move to leave.

"Y/N, he wouldn't want this for you. That kid loved you so much. He would be devastated by—"

"I said stop!" Y/N yelled and before anyone knew what was happening, a force was suddenly throwing Tony across the room. The man thought fast and his nano suit had wrapped around him before he could even hit the wall and Bob watched as the color drained from Y/N's face at what she had done.

She was shaking as she stared at Tony, but by the time he was looking back up at her, the Iron Man mask sliding away from his face, she was cold once again. "Get the hell out of my apartment," was all she said before turning and walking into her room, slamming the door behind her. Bob watched her go, frowning slightly as the scene began to play again.

"That was before they won against Thanos," a voice said causing Bob to flinch in surprise. He quickly turned around to find Y/N a little ways behind him, sitting down at a chair in the corner of the room. Her eyes continued to watch the scene playing out in front of her and Bob was almost beginning to question if she had spoke in the first place when she muttered, "That was the last time I saw him before he died."

Her eyes met his then and Bob stilled under her gaze. She was a couple of years older than the version of her from the memory, a little more put together but in the kind of way that screamed help more than her younger self's look had. She had learned to mask it more, that much was clear. Or maybe it was just that Bob knew where to look, that he saw himself when he looked at her and knew in more ways than one just how tired she was.

"Who was he talking about?" Bob asked, silently cursing himself for that being the first thing he said but knowing he now had to just go with it. "The guy?"

Y/N hesitated, her eyes glazing over as she got lost in thought. There was a tiny moment of utter sadness that flashed across her face but it was gone so quickly as she muttered, "I don't know." She let out a sad laugh. "Isn't that sad? It's like there's blanks in my memory. All I know is that there is this immense feeling of loss not just once, but twice. Every time I try to think of him it's like the image of him only gets fuzzier."

Bob was silent for a moment. "I have trouble remembering things too," he admitted. "There are these moments where it's like I'll wake up from a dream I don't remember having and that time is just gone."

Y/N's eyes flickered his way, her gaze shifting over him in a way that made him stand up a little straighter. "I walked through a lot of rooms before ending up here," she told him, her eyes still studying him as though she were trying to piece him together. "This was the only one I couldn't leave."

"Why?" Bob questioned.

"Why did you stop in this one?" she retorted and Bob blinked in surprise. Her head tilted slightly as she stared blankly at the boy. It was a moment before she looked away and back at Tony who was watching her past self slam the door shut behind her as the memory started back up again. "I just wanted to see him again, I guess," she whispered. "I always hated this moment, hated that I pushed him away like that and left him to fight Thanos without me. Sometimes I wonder..."

She trailed off before shrugging slightly and looking back at Bob. "Guess I was as shocked by seeing Tony's face as you were when you walked in," Y/N said. Bob barely even thought his question before she placed a finger against her temple and let out a small sigh of exhaustion. "Telekinesis," she stated. "Just a fraction of the power I was born with, but it comes in handy from time to time. I knew who you were the second you walked into this memory. Your mind is very loud, but not in the way you'd expect it to be."

Bob wanted to ask her more, but it was clear she didn't want to expand on that comment. Instead she merely tapped her fingers against the arm of the chair she sat in and said, "So you're the one doing this."

It wasn't a question. She said it as though it were fact. Not that she was wrong, but something about the way she said it still made Bob's throat constrict.

"It's not. . .it's not me. It's—" Bob broke off and he could see the way she stared at him, knew that she was reading his mind. She blinked and quickly looked away. "Sorry," she whispered. "I can't help it sometimes. You lock yourself away long enough and you'll find it harder to control what once was so easy. But I get a sense that you know that."

Bob let out a small sigh, his eyes flickering over the past Y/N who sat on the couch with a haunted look in her eyes and a tight grip on the bottle in her hand.

"We've all done some bad things," Y/N told him, answering the questions flying through his mind. "I had the unfortunate experience of being the reason half the universe died. I was there that day that Thanos went to Wakanda to take the Mind Stone from Vision. I was the last one there before he snapped. I could've stopped it, but I let his words get to me and . . . well, you know the rest."

“The Blip,” Bob muttered and Y/N nodded solemnly. He could see her trying to keep it all together, but the tension was practically radiating off of her as she avoided his gaze.

“Go ahead and say it,” Y/N told him, her gaze locked on her past self who was busy hurling the bottle at Tony’s head. “You probably lost someone in the Blip, right? Had to suffer five years without them? Who was it? Family? Friends?”

Y/N didn’t even give him time to respond as she let out a sigh as if everything were pointless, “It doesn’t matter. Everyone still thinks the same thing, but I don’t blame them.”

“It’s my fault,” she admitted. “I caused everyone so much pain and suffering and then, when I had the chance to make things right, I pushed everyone away and locked myself in my room. Then Natasha died. Then Tony. And eventually Steve followed. And where was I? Drowning my sorrows in a bottle like the asshole that I am.” Y/N scoffed slightly at herself, the fury in her eyes something most people would probably flinch at but all Bob could do was soften at the sight. “So go ahead and say what you want. Call me names. Shout at me. Tell me how much of a monster I am. I deserve it. I’ll always deserve it.”

Bob didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what he could say. Not because it was all too much to process, but because he understood it. He understood what she was feeling. The pain and the anger. The guilt and regret. The shame. He understood it in ways he couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

But the silence was loud and Y/N wouldn’t meet his eyes. She just stared at the scene in front of her as her past self’s voice filled the silence between them, her voice rough as she whispered, "You're all better off without me anyways."

Y/N flinched at those words, her face crumbling slightly as she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Bob felt his heart ache at the sight and for a moment, he saw himself sitting there in that chair. But more importantly, he saw her. He saw Y/N for who she truly was. He didn’t know what to say to her to make her better, so instead he just thought it.

I see you.

Y/N's eyes snapped up to him and Bob knew he hadn't had to say that out loud. She had heard him loud and clear.

She stood without another word, her eyes never leaving his as she walked towards him. She was quiet as she stopped in front of him, her gaze turning questioning as she studied him.

You do see me, don't you?

Bob let out a small gasp as her voice echoed in his head. He stared at her with wide eyes, but didn't flinch away not even when she took a step closer so that they were only a breath apart.

I can feel it, you know? That darkness. It calls to me.

"You know where he is?" Bob asked and Y/N quickly shook her head.

"I'm not talking about the Void," she whispered. She gently lifted her hand and placed it on his chest, right above his heart. "Here."

Bob's breath stuttered and he tried to keep his heart from racing as he whispered, "W-what does it say?"

"That it understands," Y/N replied. "That it sees what’s inside my own heart.” She hesitated before giving him a sad smile. “Like calls to like after all."

Bob stared at her, his eyes flickering over her face. He had thought she was pretty before, but up close she was even more beautiful than he could’ve imagined. Her eyebrow quirked slightly as if she had heard that thought and maybe she had, but Y/N was already moving on which he was silently thankful about.

“You feel it too,” she said and Bob didn’t need to say it out loud to confirm her thoughts. After all, he knew what she was talking about and she was right. Ever since he had emerged into this room, he had felt a sort of tug. It was the reason he had stayed. He thought it was because of seeing Tony Stark, but it was because he had felt her from the moment he had stepped foot into that room.

It was because he had seen her before ever laying eyes on her and it seemed she had done the same.

“I don’t know what to do,” Bob admitted, his words strained. “Every time I think I’m getting better, that I’ve finally pulled myself out of that darkness, I just. . .”

“Get pulled back under again?”

Bob was quiet for a moment, his gaze dropping to the floor as that same feeling of shame that always crept up when he thought about his problems beginning to rise in the form of a blush on his neck, “Yeah.”

There was a gentle touch against his chin before Y/N lifted his head so that his gaze met hers once more. Her touched lingered for just a moment, but then her hand was dropping back down to her side. Not once did she move the one that was still resting on his chest and above his heart, the only source of comfort either of them seemed to need.

She gave him a sad smile, her eyes getting a sort of far off look as she whispered, “Sometimes the hardest battle you’ll ever face is with yourself.”

Bob felt tears prick his eyes at those words and for a moment, he even felt a sense of comfort. Someone knew what he was going through. Someone understood.

He had never had that before.

“How do we beat it?” Bob’s voice was barely above a whisper.

Y/N seemed to come back to herself at those words, her eyes locking with his once more and her hand tightened on his shirt. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I’d like to figure that out. Together.”

Bob swore he stopped breathing at those words.

“Together,” he repeated, tears filling his eyes slightly out of disbelief.

Y/N merely nodded and she gently reached up, her thumb quickly swiping under his eye to brush away a stray tear that had fallen. Her own eyes were lined with tears as she whispered through a soft laugh, “Yeah, together. As long as you’re okay with being friends with the girl who does nothing but screw everything up.”

Bob couldn’t stop the small grin that began to peak out, the corners of his lips twitching up slightly as he opened his mouth to respond.

It was then that the doors to the room flew open, darkness flooding in and covering the walls and floors with black tendrils as it raced towards the two. The two stumbled back and away from each other as they tried to avoid the darkness creeping in and Y/N let out a small shout when her past self and Tony dissolved into nothing but shadows.

“Bob,” Y/N called out, but the boy was already reaching for her. He had ahold of her arm within a second and he pulled her to the one corner of the room not covered in darkness just yet.

His eyes were wide as he scanned what was left of the room, his grip tightening on Y/N’s arm in slight panic and confusion as he tried to process what was happening.

The darkness had never come after Bob before.

Not like this.

Something had signaled the Void. Something had scared him.

Bob’s eyes flickered to Y/N who was leaning into his touch, the tips of her fingers already beginning to glow white as she clearly analyzed the situation. His fingers felt warm against her forearm and for a moment he let himself remember the feel of her hand on his chest, the way her breath had fanned his face, and the way her words had wrapped around his heart like a hug he hadn't know he had needed.

And he knew.

The Void fed off of his sadness and loneliness and whatever Y/N had been making him feel was the opposite. The Void would do whatever he needed to crush this feeling, to stay in control. Even if it meant there were casualties along the way.

Bob’s heart ached at that thought and he quickly turned to Y/N who was backing closer to him as they were pushed further into the corner of the room and her memory. She moved her arm out of his grasp in order to hold her hands up, a white light emitting out against the darkness as she tried to hold it at bay.

"Bob, what's going on?" she asked. "What do we do?"

"I—" Bob was panicking now, the thought of Y/N getting hurt making him feel so many emotions that he hadn't felt in a long time. It scared him how much he felt towards the girl within just one conversation. He already knew he would do whatever needed to be done to save her and that thought alone scared him in more ways than one. Even more than the plan that was beginning to develop in his head, the plan that would save Y/N but would mean leaving her at the same time.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Y/N's head whipped in his direction. "Bob, no. You can't run. You have to fight this thing. If you don't, the darkness will only continue to consume you," she said.

"Cause you know what that's like?" Bob retorted, his panic and fear making him sound bitter. "We just watched the same memory over and over of you letting the darkness take over. If you can't fight it, what makes you think I can?"

Y/N's eyes softened slightly. "Bob," she started, but the darkness pushed closer towards them and she let out a strangled sound as she strained to keep her powers in check.

Bob watched her for a second, his eyes flickering over her one last time before he leaned forward. His lips brushed gently against her ear and he felt her shiver slightly under his touch. His breath came out shaky as he whispered, "I would've liked to be your friend."

Then, before she could do or say anything else, Bob had pulled back and thrown himself against the wall of the memory. His body broke through the barrier and into the next room, the darkness leaving Y/N behind in favor of chasing the boy.

"Bob!" Y/N cried out as she attempted to lunge after him, but the darkness threw her back and by the time she was up on her feet again, the memory had sealed itself around her, forcing her to relive the same moment with Tony while Bob got away.

- - -

Bob didn’t know how long he ran for. All he knew was that it took forever for him to get back to his own rooms. He almost cried when the meth chicken scene appeared before him, but he didn’t stop there. He continued his trek even after the darkness eventually faded away, now satisfied that Bob was back where he belonged.

Everything was just too loud, the memories too much for Bob to withstand while that feeling of utter loneliness crept up on him once more. It was foolish of him to think he could ever have someone understand him, that he could ever have someone in his life without hurting them in the end. He had done this to himself.

He deserved to be alone.

At some point Bob eventually managed to find the attic of one of his memories, the only quiet place in this miserable void, and he was quick to tuck himself away in there, away from all the noise and the darkness that he could feel feeding off of everyone's chaos.

It was only then that he sat down and curled in on himself, his breathing shaky as he tried to push every last thought of Y/N out of his head.

"She's better off without me," Bob whispered to himself like a mantra, his head tucked close to his knees as he let the stillness envelope him in a hug much different than the one Y/N’s words had given him. “She’s better off without me.”

“Everyone is.”

[uncannydevotion]

“ we haven't found one lipstick that's kiss proof! ”

a/n: based on tht one art meme going around iykyk anyways happy holidays, and merry christmas if u celebrate! nd happy day to everyone else! enjoy this lil gift <3 i wanted to get it out today so it might b a little rushed, and definitely shorter than i would like but i still like it so. i'm posting it.

includes: homicidal liu, eyeless jack, jason the toymaker, nina the killer, and jeff the killer.

warnings: gn!reader but it's assumed u wear lipstick, italics my beloved, so much fluff it'll make u sick, lots of kissing. is kiss even a word anymore. it's short, with varying different lengths, and it's sweet this time for real i promise.

HOMICIDAL LIU

Perhaps a bit confused when you ask him to help find some kiss proof lipsticks, but nonetheless willing to help. He just assumes you wanted to go out to a cosmetic store or something to find some.

He's very confused when you drag him over to the couch and tell him to stay put while you gather every tube of lipstick you have.

He's oblivious guys okay you're his first relationship ever how is he supposed to know you're about to smother him to death with kisses?

Liu will be a bit caught off guard when you place the first kiss on his cheek, your lips gentle, mindful of the sensitive skin surrounding his scars.

"What was that for?" He'll ask. And maybe you'll give a cheeky smile and respond with something like, "I'm just testing out my lipstick, babe."

And oh. Oh. That's what you meant when you said you wanted his help.

Liu is nothing if not the greatest boyfriend haver, so even though he gets increasingly more flustered with each kiss you press against his skin, he stays painfully still so as to not interrupt you.

Every time you pressed a kiss against his skin, he'd let out a little sigh. It was rare for him to ever really feel at ease, but it came easy with you.

Sometimes, he wonders if you truly understood the gravity of the love he felt for you.

Each kiss makes his heart race faster and faster, so much so that when you place one last kiss against his lips, he's so overwhelmed by the amount of love he holds for you that Sully thinks he's fucking dying and takes over.

Sully is very confused when he finds that Liu was, in fact, not dying. And you're certainly no help, just smiling and telling him to wash his face off as you clean up.

What.

One look in the mirror gives him the answer he was looking for. His entire face was covered in lipstick stains. This is what had Liu's heart racing so much? Sully really thought he was dying, man.

Turns out the guy is just an idiot in love.

EYELESS JACK

One of the only ones here to really understand what you meant when you asked him for help in finding a kiss proof lipstick, already taking his mask off.

He didn't have anything better to do, and he liked how your eyes lit up when he agreed, so.

He'll sit patiently, watching as you set out all of your lipsticks, setting them out in a color-coded pattern.

Jack will take this very seriously, I think. You won't really be able to get him flustered, because he's determined to figure out if you have any kiss proof lipstick. He's a man on a mission.

Every time you kiss him, he'll pull away from you and look at himself in a mirror to study how visible the stain is. The less he can see it, the better he thinks the lipstick is.

If anything, he'll end up flustering you from the way he'll grab your cheeks and press his thumb against your lip, rubbing the lipstick gently to see how much pressure it takes for it to transfer.

He's not doing this on purpose, he just... doesn't realize the effect he has on you. But between you and me, he's 100% teasing you.

He's the one covered in kisses, and yet you're the one shying away from him and getting all embarrassed. Seems your plan to fluster him backfired.

"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" You would ask.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. You're the one who asked for help." Would be his response.

Somehow you end up with more marks on your skin than he does?? Since you get to kiss him a bunch, he doesn't see why he can't kiss you back. And maybe he bites a lil, idk.

This will either end with you scurrying away, or with him pouncing you and abandoning the lipstick. Make your choice.

JASON THE TOYMAKER

He's busy tinkering with a new creation when you enter his workshop carrying every single lipstick you own.

He's too focused on his own work to really pay attention to you, so he just mutters a vague 'yeah' when he hears you ask a question, not really catching anything you said.

Jason's only vaguely aware that you're in the same room as him as he leans forward, brows pinched together as he focuses on stitching up a small stuffed animal.

It's not until he feels you resting your hand on his shoulder, pulling him back slightly and pressing a kiss against his cheek that he's brought to reality.

Just sits there, confused for the longest second, his hand coming up to his cheek where he had felt your lips. He's not against the sudden affection by any means, he's just a bit curious as to why you were suddenly giving him so many kisses.

When you explain how you're trying to find kiss proof lipstick, he lets out a small 'oh' and he goes back to his work.

Or, at least, he tries to get back to his work.

But you continue placing little kisses against his skin every few minutes, and it's making it really hard to focus, and he can feel his face getting hotter and hotter the longer this goes on.

Jason fucking loves you, okay? He tells you it multiple times a day. You are the one for him. So you smothering him with a bunch of kisses has him feeling all soft and gooey inside.

Whatever the hell he was working on before was no longer important to him, his gaze now seemingly glued to you and every little move you make as he leans back in his chair, basking in your attention.

Like hell he'll let you leave when you run out of lipstick.

You doomed yourself the moment you walked into his workshop to even start this little game.

He'll be dragging you down onto his lap and will refuse to let you go until he's had his fill of you. Which could be like... all day. Jason could never get tired of you.

NINA THE KILLER

Hell yeah!! She's been meaning to go through her lipsticks too, so she takes this as an opportunity to do that.

She definitely makes it into a game as well, I think.

You two will trade lipsticks without looking at the labels, and you'd both have to guess who was wearing what lipstick based on the shade and the feel.

The two of you trade kisses, lipstick stains covering her cheeks and your jaw and neck.

She really did just want to find a kiss proof lipstick, but each kiss had her letting out a small giggle.

And she knew you were teasing her, always leaning in for her lips before dodging and pressing another kiss against her cheek.

All that teasing had her feeling flustered, and she just wanted you to stop messing around and kiss her lips already. So when you put on a new thing of lipstick, she doesn't even give you a chance to do anything before she's pulling you closer and slamming her lips against yours.

You probably planned for this to happen, she thinks, but she didn't really care much.

You don't need an excuse to kiss her silly, you just gotta do it.

And when the two of you finally break the kiss, you're both breathless. Lipstick stains your skin, and both of your lips were smeared.

Nina didn't even care about the little game you two had been playing anymore, her hands resting on your cheeks.

She thought you looked stunning like this.

And it's not like you two had any pressing matters to attend to, so she didn't hesitate before leaning in for another kiss.

JEFF THE KILLER

When you had asked him for help with finding a 'kiss proof' lipstick, he honestly didn't understand why. Like... did you want him to put the lipstick on and kiss napkins with you? And why would you need his help doing that anyways?

He would've said no, if you hadn't asked really nicely.

Definitely grumbling about how dumb he thought this was as you get everything together.

Someone would probably assume you had a gun to his head or something from the way he looked as if he didn't want to be there, arms crossed and somehow frowning even though his scars made it look strange.

It really isn't until you place the first kiss against his cheek that he finally shuts up.

Oh. So this is what you had planned?

Truth be told, Jeff wasn't that big a fan of affection unless he was initiating it, but... he supposes he could let it slide, just this once. Especially after you press another kiss to his cheek.

You could never get this man to admit that he's enjoying this, but it's not like he was doing a good job at hiding it, either.

The frown he had was gone, replaced by a smile he was barely able to conceal. Do not point out the smile, he will leave the room if you do.

Each kiss you give him makes his heart race faster and faster, and when you're wiping off the last lipstick you have, talking about how you've yet to find a kiss proof one, Jeff is an utter mess.

He's got his face buried in his hands, cursing to himself for being so weak when it came to you.

Fuck, he really loves you.