#but yeah he'd take it as an affront to his very being and to everything he's ever been and done for Sam

[samgirlie-gn]

Dean shows up to Stanford unannounced and the little sister who left home a few years ago is now a not-so-little brother. Dean reacts badly. Of course he does. When Sam says "I was never your sister" Dean hears "I was never YOURS". Because if he got this fundamental thing wrong about Sam for all these years, it means he never really knew Sam the way he thought he did. As far as he's concerned he had Sammy memorized, every aspect of her personality noted down in his brain like a private religion, and Sam's telling him that all of that was wrong. He's losing Sam. He's losing the idea that he ever had Sam. It's all about ownership, his little sister belonging to him, and now he's having that essential part of his world challenged. Dean's response is denial - "this is a phase, she's just confused". Until eventually he has to reconcile the Samantha he knew with this Samuel who's come into his own as a man. He has to recognize that he did know Sam - because despite this missing piece being put into place, Sam is still Sam. And he has to realize that if he wants to have (or frankly, own) Sammy in the future he has to adjust. If he doesn't get his head out of his ass he'll lose him forever.

[fandomfloozy]

Oh, I'm pretty boy?

pairing: katsuki bakugo x sick!reader

c/w: fluff, early relationship, petnames (katsuki calls reader babe, reader evidently calls katsuki pretty lol), sprinkles of hispanic!reader/spanish-speaking!reader, gn!reader

wc: 1.3k

~°•*~

You've been sick the last few days.

You're on the tail-end of recovery now, thank god, but for most of the week you've been bed-ridden, and snotty, and sweaty, and hot, and cold. It's been miserable, if you're being honest. With the light at the end of the tunnel in view, you're glad the worst of it is over.

There has been one upside to being sickly, though--one aspect that makes you wish you could be sick just one more day: Ever since you fell ill, since the moment he'd heard you were taking leave off work to rest at home for a bit, you've been under the thorough care of your very own, self-appointed nurse, Katsuki.

There's this saying: "You'll never truly know someone well enough until you've seen them struggle financially, grieve a lost loved one, or witness them while they're sick."

Your relationship is new. Not early days, but still far too soon for him to be seeing you sick, for your liking.

But when he showed up at your door a couple days ago--masked up, worry-eyed, and holding all the essentials for treating a typical head cold--how could you refuse him?

And to be fair, he's been a rock. He's changed your compresses (water bowl kept at optimal temperature), given you medicine in intervals (timed and administered to the MINUTE), and even cooked you palatable meals (anything you could keep down, but namely the caldo recipe he got from your mom when he asked her what you ate when you're sick). He did everything short of rubbing Vick's vapo rub on you (not for lack of trying), all while keeping a level head and brushing aside your concerns over feeling like you're burdening him.

"You're my partner," he'd say matter-of-factly. "This is my job, ain't it?"

A rhetorical question. He said it as if it was an irrefutable truth, as if he hadn't even considered an alternative, as if the very thought of leaving you to fend off this cold by yourself was an affront to your relationship, scowl on his face and all.

His bedside manner needed work, but when he said those words to you... let's just say the flush rising up your face probably had nothing to do with the cold.

So, yeah. While you're happy to be feeling better, you can't help being a little disappointed that the doting will soon come to an end.

Which is why you now sit with your head resting in your hands, elbows on the kitchen bar, making the most of admiring a now unmasked Katsuki as he cooks your dinner on what will be the last of your "sick days."

You're unashamed in your ogling. You feel bold. It might be the relaxed atmosphere. It might be the way Katsuki let you wear his hoodie tonight... It might just be the cold medicine. You feel dozy, comfy, and so dopily content as you watch your boyfriend chop vegetables.

He does it with ease--so practiced that it's like he's on autopilot. His defenses are down, completely in his element.

"'Ya sure you want all this cooked in with your rice?" Now that you're feeling better, he's less inclined to hold his tongue about his thoughts on your childhood dishes.

You yawn and nod. "Mhm, it's the way my mami always makes it."

"Just sayin', I could make ya rice without all this extra stuff."

"It's a good thing you're not making rice, Katsuki." You pout dramatically for emphasis. "You're making sopita."

"Sopita," he repeats, shaking his head with a sideways grin. "Alright, babe. I've got you covered. Sopita coming right up."

You switch to resting your cheek in one hand, continuing to observe your boyfriend as he works. He looks so serene this way. With his smug little half smile, even his expression screams "relaxed"--very unlike his usual frown and furrowed brow.

You're not used to seeing him like this. Sure, you've seen him in a good mood, upbeat, excited, even downright elated, like on the day you agreed to go out with him.

Katsuki has always been an... expressive person, even when it doesn't grant him the most flattering of expressions.

Right now, though, while he's contented and caring for you in the comfort of your own home, his features are on display in such a way that you wonder if the cough syrup really is getting to you.

He looks almost...

Pretty...

"You're starin'."

You know you are. "Sorry," you laugh. "I was just thinking how it's a shame you have such a cara de fuchi most of the time, Kats. You're so pretty."

His head snaps toward you. "Fucking WHAT." The furrow is back in his brow. If you were paying proper attention, you'd notice the flush rising up his neck and the back of his ears, but your eyelids are feeling a bit heavy at this point.

You wave your free hand dismissively. "You know, cara de fuchi," you explain. You're sure you've used this phrase in front of him before. "Like you're a sour puss, you pull faces--"

"I'm not fucking pretty," he interrupts.

You open your eyes slightly to squint at him. "Pfft," you laugh. "Has no one ever told you that?"

"Hell, no." He turns back to the task at hand. Grumbling under his breath.

With his signature grimace making its return, the allure is gone; but now that you've seen it, you can't unsee it. He's beautiful. His eyes are a nice shape, and the crimson color of his irises is striking against his light complexion. The way his hair falls just above is strong browbone makes you want to push it back and rub at the scrunch between his brows. And you know he has soft lips, but on top of that, they're such a nice shade of pink. His jawline. His cheekbones. His chin.

It's a fundamental truth. Katsuki Bakugo is pretty.

You fold your arms on the island and press your cheek into the crook of your elbow. "I'm sure people would tell you more often if all the pretty wasn't covered up by your perpetual stank face."

Cue said stank face. He bumbles over his words in frustration for a second. "You're sick and loopy, stop bein' weird."

You giggle. "And you have a nice face when you're not acting chronically disgusted by the world."

He looks at you properly and you smile to yourself in pure delight and fondness.

"You're pretty when you're happy, Katsuki."

He deliberates over it for a moment, stank face semi relaxing. He's about to say something else when you cut into the silence with another yawn.

His gaze softens into an amused smirk as he reaches for your cheek and pinches softly. "Alright, alright. Don't fall asleep on me just yet, you gotta eat properly before goin' to bed."

You swat his hand away and rise to attention while rubbing your eyes. "Okay, okay. I'm up."

He smiles and goes back to cooking your half-prepared meal. "Ponte las pilas, or whatever the hell your mom says when you start lazin' around."

You huff at that. "I regret teaching you Spanish, you always pick up the worst phrases."

Katsuki barks out a laugh and you can't help the snort that follows as you giggle right along with him.

You two settle into the monotony of the last evening of your first of many sick days together. You're sure your boyfriend has had more than enough of witnessing you sick to satisfy stipulations. Suffice to say that he felt he knew you and your "sleepy freak tendencies" a bit better now.

There's definitely an addendum you'd make to that old saying, though: You'll never know how pretty someone is until you've seen them care for you while you're sick.

~°•*~

divider via cafekitsune

gif via ara-kan (deactivated)

[alicelillianshaw]

'Magic,'

Alice's cheeks round into an even wider smile, because what else?

What other explanation could a magician give without revealing his secrets?

Alice pretends to be affronted, heaves a deep sigh and lets her gaze drift to the far wall.

"Fine. Be coy."

Maybe she would have to look it up; the reporter, the writer inside her has an unavoidable tendency to dig. But a part of her also wants to let the mystery lie. Or maybe she should puzzle it out. Test her theories out on Jack.

Her thoughts scatter like marbles, however, when Jack is suddenly reaching forward, cupping her cheek with one of the same hands that had just dazzled her.

'Oh my God,'

'I would never,'

Alice is so dazzled and dazed by the warmth of his hand that it takes her a second to remember what Jack is responding to; her request to be sawed in half.

Oh. Oh, yeah.

But she can't even manage to feel very disappointed at that, so warm is his palm, so lovely and tantalizing is the feel of his thumb grazing over the curve of her cheekbone.

What is affecting her more now; his hand, resting at her cheek, or his eyes? Blazing like a blue flame, cooling like the sea at high noon.

'You’re so perfect, Alice. I actually can’t fucking handle it.'

She swallows. I'm not, she wants to protest, but all words and thoughts have evacuated her head. All she can feel is a loud, repetitive thump against the inside of her breastbone.

"I'm not the one performing miracles here."

Didn't Jack understand she wasn't the special one here? Jack was the one who could woo and wow thousands— Jack was the one who could articulate so well, speak so well, moved with such energy and impulse and was constantly dazzling Alice, constantly making her find some way to impress him too. Make her scheme to figure out how to see him again.

Didn't Jack know he'd accomplished more in four days than other men had failed to do over the span of years?

'Don’t ever go back to New York. Just stay here with me.'

A shaky breath exits Alice; she smiles, a bit crookedly, a bit dazed, staring at Jack. The idea of that: of them both being able to cast away everything that called them elsewhere. Pretend there was no end to their week. Alice doesn't think about the article, or the white powder that was upstairs, or her job or all the little parts that keep intruding on her feelings. Her very strong, very real feelings that supersede everything else.

Alice can't think of anything she wants more.

"Are you telling me we could swim every day? In the pool and the ocean?"

She blinks. Smiles, a little, feels her cheek round beneath his hand.

"If I stayed would you show me a different magic trick every night?"

Alice’s reaction to his simple, silly little card trick made him want to do card tricks for the rest of his life. It made him want to become a master magician, just to make her smile and laugh for as long as he possibly could. She was beaming, grinning wide, wondering how he’d done that!

“Magic,” Jack managed to reply, mirroring her own smile. God. His face hurt from how hard he was smiling, but it was the most perfect type of pain to ever exist. When had been the last time that Jack felt this happy?

Despite what had happened earlier, he felt totally and utterly happy. Despite the mess of his life, and the bad news that always felt like it was hanging over his head, Jack felt so unbelievably happy.

Alice’s smile had done that.

Alice’s smile had been doing that all week. Alice’s smile and her presence had made Jack quickly forget about all of the bad in his life. She made him want to focus on the good. She made him want to create more good.

"Saw me in half next!"

And something about that request and her excitement totally melted his heart.

“Oh my God,” Jack replied, shaking his head. “I would never,” he promised gently, reaching forward to press his palm against the side of her face. His thumb brushed over her cheekbone. Alice definitely had the looks to be the beautiful magician’s assistant. He could picture it: Alice in a beautiful, sparkly dress, curled hair, perfect glossy lips and smile.

“You’re so perfect, Alice. I actually can’t fucking handle it.”

It felt like his insides were on fire, his heart ablaze before her very eyes. Could she see it? Maybe reflected in his eyes?

“Don’t ever go back to New York. Just stay here with me.”

[keeper0fthestars]

Fear and Trust

francisco (frankie) morales x fem reader

2K words

warnings: two idiots in love, language, fluff, so much fluff, cheesy intimate moments, Frankie is husband material

summary: There is only one thing in this world that scares you and that thing is heights

a/n:  based on this trope 

I am so blown away by everyone who reblogs my erratic little scribblings and sends me comments, you fuel me more than you will ever know.  And as always i would love to know what you think. 

~~

In search of your shoes, you walk down the hall in your bare feet, hands occupied with the zipper of your sundress. Rounding the corner into the living room, you find Frankie on the couch tidying the mess books and papers on the coffee table. Focused the space in front of him, he pulls a pair of sandals from under the coffee table, letting them dangle on two fingers. 

“Looking for thes-,” 

And that’s when he sees you. 

He doesn't drop the shoes in your outstretched hand as you expect; instead, they fall onto the couch and he takes your hand, pulling you up to him, knees knocking with his. His gaze is glued to your dress, the way it matches your eyes and fits you in all the right places and flares just above your knees, leaving just enough bare skin for his eyes to latch onto. He doesn't even need to say anything, your skin is already tingling under the weight of his eyes and you forget why you walked into the living room in the first place. His eyes finally drag back up to yours, his throat bobs and- 

“Tell me something, babe,”  leaning back on the couch soaking up the sight of you. "How the fuck am I supposed to wanna go anywhere with you dressed like this?"

You let him tug you down on top of him, content knowing that the effect you have on him is equally disarming, “Hey, this was your idea, remember?” 

Sinking into the worn leather of the couch, you brace yourself on his shoulders, knees hugging him on either side, your dress bunching over your thighs.  His hands settle on your hips, guiding you down, blowing a hot breath out of his mouth when he catches a glimpse of the dark lace between your legs. He looks weak and starved all at once, running his hands up your thighs, curving around your ass, giving you an appreciative squeeze.

“Mmhm...” he hums, hooking an index finger under the one strap, sliding it off your shoulder, he sits up, his mouth focused on the skin of your neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps on your bare skin. “I've got more ideas and all of them include this dress on the floor right now.”

“How am I supposed to resist that?” Sinking your fingers into his hair, you guide his mouth to yours.

His hands slide underneath your dress. “I hope you can’t.”

///

It’s taken all damn day and three caramel apples but he’s finally got you standing in line with him, sharing popcorn and more junk food, and every few minutes when the line advances, his hand finds the small of your back, tracing soothing circles, and you think maybe it’s the way he’s just licked cotton candy off your thumb, or maybe it’s the fact that he could not seem to keep his hands off you all day, but whatever he’s doing is working because the nervous flutter in your chest isn’t so bad anymore. 

From across the pier, it didn’t seem that big, but now that you’re standing directly under it, this is by far the worst ride in the entire park and you blame the sugar high for letting him talk you into this. He senses your jitters again and he tucks you into his side, pressing his lips softly to your temple. Your free hand slides into his back pocket and the brim of his ball cap skims the top of your head, he is warm and solid and more of your tension bleeds away. The next empty bucket that jerks to a halt is for you.

“You owe me for this, Morales.”

“I promise it’ll be worth it.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

He doesn’t answer; he just laces his fingers with yours, that dimple in his cheek melting the rest of your resolve and fuck, it’s kinda hard to deny him anything when he smiles like that. He leads the way up the ramp and into the open metal carriage with the narrow bench big enough for two. 

Everything from your elbows down is hidden from sight inside the swaying bucket.  The sturdy bar positioned across your lap looks like it was painted blue at some point but had long since been overtaken by rust. You resist the urge to look up.

The ride operator steps up, reaches inside and jostles the restraint over your lap, testing its latch before shutting the half-door with a clink. Without warning your bucket is yanked backwards a few feet and your stomach lurches, knuckles turning white on the rusted bar. The bucket then jolts to a stop to let the next people in line a chance to get on. 

Yep. Worst idea ever. 

“Oh god,” Taking a shuddering breath, you would give anything to be as relaxed as he looks, knees splaying, back slouched, “I cannot believe you talked me into this.”

He pulls you into the circle of his arms, his calming, “Breathe, baby, I’ve got you,” is the only thing that makes the next few jolts bearable as you climb higher. He reaches across your lap and gently tugs your knees together pulling them snug to his side. 

Turning your face into his shoulder, you wait for him to tell you this is nonsense and that you have nothing to worry about. 

But he won’t because that’s the thing about fears. They’re irrational like that. 

“Hey,” he coaxes into your ear, “you’re okay, I’m not letting go of you.” 

Forcing yourself to breathe, you relax your grip on the bar in front of you just as another jerk propels you backwards again, then another, and another and now you’re halfway up the back of the massive wheel. Squeezing your eyes shut, your heart is beating inside your throat now and you’re fairly certain your stomach is lying somewhere on the ground below. Frankie has to pry your hand off his thigh.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Watching me lose my shit over the damn Ferris Wheel.” 

“But you’re doing it,” with his nose, he nudges your face up, pressing his lips to yours, “even though you’re afraid.”

The truth was, you wouldn’t be doing it if he weren’t with you. And he knew that. 

When he’d learned there was only one thing you were scared of, he found it hard to believe at first and also adorable as hell, but he never bugged you about it; he knew what it was like to be teased about something you can’t control. The irony is not lost on you that your boyfriend happens to be a pilot. The only thing he'd said at the time was, only idiots are not afraid of anything.

Jerking to a halt again, you’re above the trees and now it’s the unobstructed view that captures your attention and steals your breath. It's spectacular, all glowing neon and twinkling lights. The sun is sinking, turning the sky into breathtaking orange and pink, matching the sprawling scene below.

“Oh," you breathe, "this is gorgeous.” 

"Yeah," he lets go of your shoulder to drag his thumb down your neck, placing his mouth just below your ear. “It is.”

Your shiver is accompanied by a familiar surge of warmth under the softness of his voice because he's not talking about the sunset.

Deep down, Frankie knows there would never come a day that his heart would not trip over itself and spill butterflies into his stomach whenever you’d enter a room. 

There used to be a time he'd thought he’d never be enough, but you’d put those deep-seated fears of his to rest a long time ago. You’d been the unshakable and constant stability in his life that left no room for any doubt. Not that he’d had any qualms or cold feet about spending the rest of his life with you; it was quite the opposite.  The purple velvet box at the bottom of his pocket induced enough butterflies to fill his truck bed if that was any indication of how strongly he felt about you. The rush he'd felt in his insides during his very first simulation at the academy was nothing compared to the glow he felt today and he had to keep hiding his smile against your shoulder to try and rein it in. 

The ride starts to glide smoothly and okay; all things considered, this wasn’t nearly as bad as you thought. Dusk is beginning to settle and Frankie’s arm rests warm and heavy across your shoulders. The wind on your face feels fantastic and you’re not quite sure when your nervous energy changes into something else but every time you feel the downward pull on your body, your face splits into a grin and if you weren't so damn happy, you'd be rolling your eyes right now wondering when your life turned into a fucking rom-com. 

When he faces you, the sun leaves dazzling flecks of deep gold in his eyes, making them shine like bronze. His crooked smile pulls softly at the corner of his eye, a smile that tells you he knows exactly what you’re thinking, a smile that makes your heart lose its balance. It’s the same look he’d had when you came out of the bedroom this afternoon; the same look you’d pretended not to notice all day, wandering the pier together. Your heart is suddenly fluttering again and it has nothing to do with being three hundred feet off the ground.

“Okay Frankie, what’s going on? This all part of some plan of yours?” 

He takes off his ball cap and then replaces it in the same spot on his head, clearing his throat. “What plan.” 

“Getting me on the biggest ride here, winning me over with… with enough sugar to last a year and all your sweet talk and... listen, it's gonna take a lot more than a few well-placed kisses to get me into your co-pilot seat.” 

You feel his chest beginning to shake with laughter, “Baby, my chopper is much safer than this fuckin rust bucket. The-,” 

Your mouth gapes.  “Oh fuck you.

Just when you were starting to relax.

He blocks your loose fist with a gentle grip before it hits his shoulder, uses it to pull you in, your affronted gasp cut off when his lazy grin bumps with your open mouth. You had a dozen comebacks for the way he just teased you, but they all melt before they have a chance to materialize. His eyes glitter with amusement and something else but he doesn't give you a chance to examine it. 

“Lemme kiss you properly and then you can think about fucking me, ok.”

It's a little hard to be irritated; it’s a little hard to think straight at all when his fingers start dancing up the inside of your knee. The rush in your stomach now has nothing to do with the way gravity is forcing you down into the seat. Damn this guy and his ability to silence every single thought in your head.  

The ride is nearing the end, and you find yourself disappointed remembering how nervous you’d felt about it at the start. It slows and eases to a stop, suspending the two of you at the highest point in the rotation. 

The sun half gone now, the clouds are washed with purple and dark orange, the leaves in the treetops kissing each other in the breeze. It’s peaceful up here, hanging above the world and you understand why Frankie loves it. And your heart just might shatter right now because for the first time you realize that’s why he wanted to share it with you. 

Your throat clogs up and you don't trust yourself to speak but you don't need to because he shifts slightly, angling you so he can slip his arms around your waist from behind, tucking his chin into your shoulder. He's the one steady hand in your life. You fall asleep at night and wake up knowing that he's never going to be anywhere but beside you.

“You're right,” you manage, "this was worth it."

The edges of his heart twinge at the lightness in your voice, he soaks it up, knowing he’s the one responsible for it, knowing all the things he wants to promise you, knowing he’s the one you lean on, the one you call in the middle of the day just to say hi, the one you trust, the one you’ve said countless times you want to grow old with so why the fuck was he so nervous. 

That’s the thing about fears. They’re irrational like that.

A fragment of a forgotten conversation echoes in his head, something he’d told you a long time ago: Only complete idiots are not afraid of anything. 

He ignores the trembling in his fingers and reaches into his pocket.

~~

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[oh-phineas]

The BeReal captured the moment Phineas's jaw dropped and his face went bright red. He'd had a million other things he was going to say: he wasn't picking a fight, they were fighting anyway; or how about Pip try to take this seriously instead of messing around on his phone? But then Pip said the boyfriend thing and it completely threw everything else out the window.

Was that what Phineas was doing? Trying to act like Pip's boyfriend? No way. There was nothing boyfriend-ish about being invested in someone's success, in someone's future. There was nothing boyfriend-ish about wanting to know all the little updates, about, yeah, maybe sometimes being willing to drop what they were doing to go help them. Phineas was just being a good friend. Pip was the one making it weird. Phineas felt very normal about how much he cared about Project NYU.

"Sorry, I missed the part where I have to be your boyfriend to want to help you?" Phineas said, affronted. "I'm not saying I'm gonna drop everything to help you all the time, I'm just saying that I care about this too! Because I'm your friend! So stop coming at me!"

I Have This Dream You're Doing Cool Shit | Phinnip