#my baby says - well okay. but i'm not gonna be one of 'em

[gunaerystargarygun]

The brain worms continue to infest my brain.

Posted on Ao3, but posting here as well: Here's my contribution to the Stan x Reader genre.

Tags: Vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, porn with mild plot, c'mon you guys know me at this point.

Know When to Fold 'Em

"Thanks for all your help, you're doin great, dood!" Soos's voice is full of pride, contentment as you hand over small zipped bag, the profits of the day. You smile, giving a slight shrug of your shoulders. "Soos, you've told me that every day for the past two years."

"And I mean it every time! Can't imagine runnin' this place without ya," he beams at you, his crooked smile making your own smile grow a little larger. Despite him being a few years younger than you, he makes a fantastic boss. "Can't believe Mr. Pines thought you was gonna be useless when I hired ya."

Well, that makes the smile drop.

You met Mr. Pines, well, both Mr. Pines when you got a job here at the shack, cashier and handyperson. A little odd, yes, but you needed the job and for a tourist trap? The place paid well enough, you could afford a small house and just about everything else you needed. You tap your foot, pressing your lips together. "Soos, not that I don't appreciate the words of encouragement, but you don't have to be up here." You throw a thumb over your shoulder and gesture to the shack. "I'm sure Melody could use your help with the baby."

"You sure? I feel kinda bad leavin' you here with all the clean up and restocking." Just as you're about to assure him that you're more than capable of restocking bobble heads and putting out minimally designed bumper stickers, the doorbell chimes and another voice breaks in. "Don't worry about it, Soos. I'll make sure everything gets put back in its place." The old Mr. Mystery poses in front of you. He stands tall, a rather tacky Hawaiian shirt with luau girls and surfboards plastered on it, a pair of khakis completing the look. He stretches his arms out in a flourish, making his entrance more grand.

You roll your eyes slightly, it's the same every time he comes into the shack, which...has been quite a lot, recently. "I haven't had a complaint once," you remark as Stanley begins to look around the place.

"That's cause Soos is too nice of a boss," he says, running his finger along the underside of the checkout counter. "See all this dust? Unbelievable!" He sticks out a finger towards your face, which you squint at.

"There's nothing there."

"To the untrained eye, maybe! This place may as well be covered in mud." You grumble an unhappy sound before Soos speaks up again. "Ah c'mon, Mr. Pines, they're a great worker!" Soos' arm comes around you in a one sided hug, squeezing you tight against his side. "Say, you been around a lot." Soos relaxes his grip on you, which lets you take in a deep breath. "You miss runnin' the shack?"

"What? No, no." He waves a hand dismissively. "Just makin' sure my life's work is still up and runnin', you know. Plus, the kids loved this place."

That was true. You had the pleasure of meeting the twins at the start of this summer. The girl, Mabel, was charming as all get out - she even made you a sweater, which you promised to wear in the colder months. The young boy, Dipper? A little surly. You swore he was running tests on when you weren't looking, or was trying to, anyway. At least by the end of the summer, whatever anxiety he had about you seemed to wash away.

"Okay! I'm gonna trust this place to yous guys. Lock up!" Soos waves his goodbyes, disappearing from the gift shop and somewhere into the house.

"I can handle this, you know?" You make your way to the small storage closet, taking out a box and ripping it open.

"I'm sure you can," he shrugs his shoulders. "Just makin' sure you do it right." Stanley then makes his way behind the register and takes a seat. You stand, blinking.

"What?" He asks.

"Aren't you going to help?"

"Huh? Oh, no, I'm not helpin' like that. I'm supervisin' ya," he laughs, slapping his own knee before propping them up on the counter.

You don't know why you expected anything different. You've known Stanley for the better part of two years and while he certainly has his redeeming qualities, being extra helpful isn't one of them. You sigh, and begin unpacking the restocks.

To your surprise, Stan is the one who strikes up the conversation. It's simple questions at first, how the shack has been, the types of tourists that've been coming around, and how Soos has been running the place. Whenever you think you finish with an answer, he probes for me, and you notice, his eyes stay on you a large majority of the time.

You feel your face flush a little with that.

Finally, the restocking is done, and you get the broom. Minimal housekeeping; the weather has been dry, so no mud. "You got any plans tonight?" The question catches you off guard, making you turn completely around to face Stan.

"Uh, other than eating a frozen pizza? No. Why?"

"Wanna play a couple round of cards?" He stuffs his hands in his khaki pockets, shrugging, as if he doesn't care how you answer the question. The way he shifts his attention to the floor, however, makes you think otherwise. "Ford's out on a nature hike, or whatever it is that nerds do in the woods, so I got no plans myself."

"Sure." You answer. "Sounds like fun, and beats eating the pizza alone."

By the look of quick surprise, he clearly wasn't expecting you to say yes. He shrugs it off fast enough, shooting a finger gun at you. "Perfect! What's the address? I'll be over at seven." You grab a pen and paper, scribbling it down and passing it over.

Huh, this'll be the first time he sees your house. You think that you better clean up a little bit, not that you think he'd particularly care, but still.

It takes very little to actually clean up your house. A few stray pieces of clothing that make it to the hamper (you missed each time you threw it in, but who's here to see?) and washing a few of the dishes. Just as you finish putting the pizza in, there's a knock at your door.

You hurry up, stopping at the mirror in the hallway just before the door, and look at yourself. You smooth out your shirt, nodding and opening the door.

Stanley stands on your porch with a twelve pack in one hand and two bottles of liquor, held precariously by the neck, in the other. He's still in the same outfit from earlier, but the top few buttons are undone. Were they like that earlier? "Figured it'd be impolite if I only brought it for myself," he shrugs the pack in his arm a little, the bottles clinking together. He glances around. "Nice place."

"Thanks," you say, stepping to the side and letting him in. "Just set it on the table." You watch as he strides through your house, the pack of alcohol landing with a thump while the bottles settle down nicely. He pulls out a chair, easing into it as he props up a foot on one of his knees. The way he leans against the table...

"Where's the cards?" You clear your throat, sliding out a chair across from him and taking a seat. You need something else to distract you.

"Right here," he sticks a hand in his pocket and pulls out a rather beat-up-looking deck of cards and slaps them on the table. "You shuffle, or me?" You eye the cards for a moment, reaching out and grabbing the deck.

"I will." The cards are pleasantly worn, and you can't help but wonder how much use these things have gotten. "Go easy on me? Been a while since I played."

"First rounds are on me," he nods. "Don't try and pull the wool over my eyes." He playfully points an accusatory finger at you.

"I know, I know." You cut the deck, shuffling them thoroughly before dealing them out.

It's...pleasant. You didn't expect it to be unpleasant, to be fair, but aside from the one off times of drinking, there's a handful of times when the two of you have been alone together. Stan takes the time to tell you a wild tale of when he was a "much younger buck,"  when he managed to steal a shipment of some undisclosed items from a smuggler. It's amusing, even if it isn't real. You can never tell with him.

Eventually, the oven dings and the pizza is ready. It's served, and you bring two glasses out as well. Before the beer, Stan reaches for the liquor and twists off the cap. "Want one?" You press your lips together, thinking for a moment.

"Hit me." It's a guesstimate on how much a shot would be. Or maybe two.

Either way, you wait until Stan pours his before clinking your glasses together and downing it. Whiskey may not be your go-to, especially when it's warm, but the burn in your throat has a familiar comfort. You cough a little, shaking your head and nodding. "Strong." You comment.

"That's the point." He says. Stan sticks out his hand, wiggling his fingers as a sign to hand the cards over. You do, still reeling from the shot as you fish out a bottle of beer. It goes down much easier than the whiskey.

You try very hard to not stare at his hands, but it's difficult. It wasn't something you noticed immediately, but Stan's hands are.... big. Large. Pretty much every synonym for big is how you would describe them, and you vaguely recall the one time you touched them as you passed him something in the shop. They were rough, calloused, but also incredibly warm.

You're not drunk enough to blame that thought on the alcohol right now, so you just push it from your mind as he deals the cards.

Once again, things go back to being pleasant. You nurse your beer as the cards continue to get played, one bottle quickly multiplying between the two of you, along with the cash piling in the center of the table. The conversation steers to him telling you about the adventures he had with the Twins, an endearing tone in his voice that you can't help but smile at. The pizza gets devoured, and when you glance up to the clock, you realize that it's almost eleven o'clock. Have you really been here this long?

That's when it clicks in your alcohol muddled brain.

Stan is lonely. He's been in the shop almost every day for the past week, since the twins left, and even before then, he and the twins were around quite a bit. It would make sense, he went from being around them, his brother, Soos's family, and you for almost three months straight. You look down at the cards, your focus fading for a moment before he speaks.

"Think I mighta run you outta money," he gestures to the table. Your attention turns to it and yeah, there's a decent pile of cash on it. You're pretty sure there's also monopoly money in there, but you're a little too drunk to really notice. "Got anything else to bet?" You think for a moment, tapping the table.

"M'clothes." You answer, plainly. He stares at you.

"Uh, didn't quite catch that?"

"M'CLOTHES." You say it in a louder tone, making sure he can hear it this time. "S'all I got, I'm not up for bettin' my appliances." You point at the blender that sits atop the counter.

"C'mon," he rubs at the back of his neck. "That'd involve me takin' my clothes off too, you don't wanna see that."

"What if I told you that's why I suggested it?" holy shit, why are you saying this? Why are you suddenly so bold, what the hell is in this drink?

"I'd tell ya, you should stop teasin' an old man." You grab the deck of cards, shuffling them in the absolutely worst way ever before slamming them back on the table and pushing them over to him. "Deal 'em."

"You're too drunk for this." The rather sincere reply catches you off guard.

"No, I'm not." You say, stern in your rebuttal. "Look." You jump to your feet, a little wobbly, and begin putting one foot in front of the other, walking a line in the linoleum of your kitchen. While you're not walking perfectly straight, you're doing better than expected. You think so, anyway. "See? I'm f-" just as you're about to finish your sentence, you perform the miraculous feat of tripping over air. You fall a freshly logged tree.

You expect to crash to the floor in the most painful crash since the last time you went to the roller rink, but you never meet the ground. Slowly, you open your eyes, staring up at him. You must have spun in your fall, his hands tucked under your armpits. "What were you sayin' about bein sober enough?" Oh, he's so fucking smug about this.

"I trip on nothin' all the time, drinkin' doesn't have anything to do with this." you weakly shrug your hands, but this close, you catch the smell on him. Mixed with the alcohol, you can catch the scent of cigar smoke, but something faintly woodsy and earthy. It takes everything in you to not sniff at the air. "Uh-huh." he chuckles.

There's a brief moment of silence that passes over the two of you. He doesn't make a move to pull you up, but you're not making a move to get up, either. Instead, you raise a hand and gently press it against his cheek. "You're handsome." You mumble.

"Oh, you're fuckin' wasted."

That makes you twist in his grip. You manage to push yourself to your knees, putting your face just a few inches away from his. "Stop talkin' like I don't mean it."

"You don't mean it."

"I mean this." You grab the sides of his tacky Hawaiian shirt and pull him forward. Your lips crash against his, not realizing how hard you pulled him into you. The scrape of his stubble burns against your chin, a slight shiver running through you. There's the faint taste of tobacco that lingers on him, the chapped skin of his lips. It isn't how you expected this to happen, but to be quite frank, you didn't think this was ever going to happen.

It's only a moment later that you realize he hasn't made a move to kiss you back. He hasn't done anything. You quickly pull back, embarrassed. Why did you do that? God, you're never drinking again. You're not even an alcoholic, and you're planning to go to a 12 step program the second you get sober enough to drive. Your mind races - where else could you move? Maybe the Arctic, right? That's far enough way, that way you c-

You're actually not even far away from him before his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you against his broad chest. You squeak in surprise, hands resting on his thick thighs as he deepens the kiss.

Even through the clothes, he's hot, almost like a furnace. He's burning against you, and this kiss. It makes you dizzy, head spinning. There's a hunger in the kiss, a desperation that you don't think you've ever felt when you kissed other people. His hand holds a tight grip on you, squeezing your side, and you practically melt right into him.

It's a little awkward at first before you two manage to change your positions; neither one of you is keen on breaking the kiss. Eventually, you end up sitting on his lap, legs wrapped around his waist, he sits on the kitchen floor. Shifting, you can feel the hardness of his cock beneath the fabric of the khakis.

Your hands reach for the hem of your shirt. They don't make it far, Stan's hands gripping your wrist. He's somehow even stronger than you expected, your stomach flipping at the pressure. He breaks the kiss, leaning his forehead against yours, panting. You're expecting him to say something filthy, something that's going to make you squirm in his lap.

"Say your alphabet," is what he says instead.

What.

"What?" You ask.

"Say your alphabet," he repeats. "Not sleepin' with ya if you're not in the right state of mind."

"I walked, didn't I?"

"You fell."

Okay, fair enough.

So, you recite your alphabet. It's deliberate, and it's not too slow to cause any concern. As soon as you finish, he releases your wrists and grabs your shirt. It's the fastest your shirt has ever been removed, Stan's face immediately between your tits as soon as he's able. The stubble scratches as your skin, laughing slightly as he plants kisses against your chest. His hands reach around to your back, and you expect him to have trouble with it.

It's off before you can even blink.

"You're suspiciously good at that," you say.

"Aww, you jealous?" He laughs, sliding the bra off and tossing it somewhere behind him. "Don't worry, ain't nobody else gettin' the treatment you are."

"That's what you tell m-" you're cut off, Stan's tongue flicking against your nipple.

"Sayin' somethin', sweetheart?" He glances up, not giving you a chance to speak before he presses his mouth against your left nipple. You grab his shoulders, squirming against him as his tongue swirls around the hardened flesh. One arm wraps around your waist, grinding you against him while his free hand finds your other breast, kneading the flesh in his hand.

Your body feels like it's on fire under his touch. He plays with how much pressure he can put on you, rolling a nipple between his fingers while he sucks mercilessly on your other. Sweat beads on your brow, bucking against him while whimpering sounds escape you. "C'mon, sweetheart." He takes his mouth away from you, the cold air assaulting wet flesh. He playfully bucks his hips up, his cock grinding against you for just a moment. "Wanna hear what a good job I'm doin," he changes the arm that holds you against him, his other hand rising and brushing against the spit slickened skin.

Between the cold and his rough, calloused hand, you feel like you're already on the edge. "You aren't done already, are ya?"

"N-no," you mumble, tilting your head back and moaning as his mouth closes around the other nipple. Judging from the way his tongue flicks against your skin, he certainly appreciates the reaction. The way he sucks against your skin is greedy, teeth nipping at the skin. You're going to have bruises, you've accepted that. Your hands move from his shoulders to his hair, running through the gray, surprisingly soft, hair.

Using everything you can muster, you grind yourself against him. He groans against your skin, the grip on your skin tightening. He pulls away from you with an obscene sound, the words practically a growl in his throat. "Where's the bed?"

"Down the hall, last door on the right."

He gives pause for a moment, thinking. "Too far." He decides, aloud. Before you can process what he says, you're suddenly scooped up. You wrap your arms around him, tits bouncing as he hoists you around him. You leave the kitchen, and in a few feet, you're tossed unceremoniously on the couch. Your hands find the button of your jeans, getting them half way down your thighs before Stan takes over. They're off before you can even blink, Stan settling between your thighs. He picks one up, hooking your leg over his shoulder while he presses a thumb against your soaked panties.

You're already trembling, and your entire body jumps as he presses his thumb against your clit, rotating it in small painfully slow circles. He leans over you, grinning. "You want somethin'?"

"You know what I want," you breathe, fingers gripping the couch cushion.

"'Fraid I don't, sweetheart. You're gonna have to tell me." He lets up on the pressure, eliciting a whine from you. "I want your fingers," you reach out, gently touching his arm.

He's happy to comply. "Wasn't so hard, was it?" There's that smug fuckin' tone in his voice again. You expect him to pull off your underwear, but it doesn't seem like he's patient enough for that. Instead, he pulls them to the side, his middle and ring fingers sliding up and down against your wet cunt.

"W-wait!" You sit up some as he presses against you. "It's, uh..." you clear your throat. "It's been a while." You feel almost embarrassed to admit it, but with how thick his fingers are, and two of them? You don't wanna run the risk of getting hurt. He pauses, offering just the middle one to you in compromise. You make a face, and he laughs before he raises the finger to his mouth. He presses it against his tongue before dipping it back between your thighs. "Don't think that would've been an issue," you murmur as you feel him begin to slide into you.

You tilt your face against the couch arm, moaning as he buries the finger inside of you. "Bein' careful doesn't hurt," that's true, and you do honestly appreciate the sentiment. He moves his hand in a steady rhythm, the other hand keeping your legs spread apart. You bite your lip, and after a few minutes, he judges that you're ready for another and adds the ringer finger inside of you.

It's thick, and stretches you in the best possible way. "Feels good, don't it?" He leans over you, his face just a few inches away from yours. You don't know why it slips out - maybe you lapse back into what you were taught when you were younger. "Y-yes, sir." You pant the words out.

Stan's fingers stutter for just a moment before he thrusts them back into you, a moan immediately muffled by his lips against yours. He curls his fingers in the same way as before, the way that made your body shake like a leaf in his hand. "Like the way that sounds comin' outta you," he says the words against your neck, pressing kisses against your rapid pulse.

You can't handle it anymore. "Stanley," your voice teeters on the edge of breaking, fingers twisting in the Hawaiian shirt fabric. "F-fuck, Stanley, I-I.." the words die in your throat as he suddenly removes his fingers from your cunt. "W-what?" The words come out a whine, grabbing the shirt tighter and moving your hips to try and find his hand. "Stan," you groan.

"I can't have you all tired out before we get to the good stuff," he tells you. His hands move to the belt, making quick work of it. He slips off the khakis, positioning himself between your legs again before pressing the shaft of his cock against you, sliding against the slickness. You look between your legs, the head of his cock dipping in against your cunt before his hand tilts it up, bumping against your overly sensitive clit.

You're dizzy, just like before. Your head swims, biting your lip as he teases you constantly, angling himself and barely pushing himself in before pulling out. "You're lookin' desperate, sweetheart." He does a poor job of concealing his own desire, unable to take his eyes off your body. "Fuck, you're drippin'." He grins at you. "Still got it, huh?"

You suddenly brace your arms against his shoulders, pushing him back against the couch and straddling his lap. "You talk too much," the words come out in one rushed breath as you reach between your legs and grab the base of his cock, holding him steady as you bury him inside of you. A stifled moan escapes you as your body adjusts to his size. One hand grabs your waist, stilling any movement you might make, while the other grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at him. "You alright?" You nod your head, your lips slightly pursed from how he squeezes your face.

"Good," he breathes, releasing your face. His hand drops to your chest, holding your breast. As soon as you roll your hips forward, Stan can't keep his mouth shut. "Shit, fuck," his eyes are half-lidded, head resting against the back of the couch as you ride him. "You're tight as a fuckin drum, and hotter than hell." You smile, bracing your hands against the couch as you snap your hips forward, rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Both of his hands are on your tits, thumb brushing over the nipples. "Perfect," he mumbles out. Sweat beads across your body, Stan's hand eventually traveling downwards and finding your clit again. The moan rips from your throat as the calloused finger pads press against you, an almost aggressive rub against you - but it's exactly what your body wants. "There ya are," he practically purrs the words out as you lean down.

Your lips catch his, sloppy kisses without much care, as long as you can kiss him. Your burning in every sense of the word, body and nerves as Stan grabs your ass, timing your movements with his own thrusts. He somehow manages to go even deeper inside of you, each thrust sending another wave of pleasure through you. "Stanley!" His name is barely above a whisper as he suddenly pushes you back against the cushions, back on top of you.

He takes a leg, hiking it over his shoulder and leaning over you, your body curling slightly. His pace is merciless, whatever words you had before devolving into incoherent moans of pleasure as they spill from your lips. It's when the orgasm wrecks your body that you swear to God, you see literal stars in your vision as you cum. Your body tenses, nails digging into his forearms so hard that you're a little worried you may draw blood. Stanley, somehow, has enough sense to pull himself from you, his cock sliding against you before he cums.

Thick, milky ropes land on your stomach and tits as he slows his thrusts, breathing heavily before slumping down over you. You're catching your own breath, a hand raising to his back and gently running up and down the now sweat soaked shirt.

"You good?" He asks, his voice somehow hoarser than before.

You can't really respond, offering a thumbs up in response.

"Huh, fucked you so good you lost the ability to talk huh?" Weakly, and playfully, you slap him.

"Asshole." He snorts, removing himself from you and sitting back against the couch. He looks at you. Then the mess on you. "Where's your shower?"

"Bathroom, which is in the bedroom." You yawn. Stan picks the boxes out of his khakis, sliding them on before bending beside you. "Put yer arms around me," you stare at him a moment. "C'mon, before I change my mind." You do as he says, looping your arms around his neck as his hands slide under your sweaty body, hoisting you up.

"Not too much for you, is it, old man?" You laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder.

"I can still drop you, ya know?"

"Mhmm." You mumblr. He feigns the drop, your grip tightening on him.

"Gotcha." He winks at you, but at this point, you're too tired to really fight back. Stan manages to open the door to your room and find the bathroom, setting you on the closed toilet. He reaches into the shower, turning the knobs and keeping his hand in for a moment. "You want it on the hotter or colder side?"

"Uh, hotter." The question catches you off guard.

"Figures, every woman wants it hot as hell." He adjusts the knob behind the curtain, taking it back and shaking off the water. "What?" He asks, raising a brow as you make a face at him.

"Just, uh..." again, you're trying to avoid sounding like an asshole. "Didn't expect aftercare?

"I may be a lot of things, and one of those things may be an asshole, but I'm not that big of an asshole." He sets his hands on his hips and you can't help but snort a giggle. "Up." he tells you, offering an arm. You stand on wobbly legs, leaning against him.

"Not sure how this is gonna work." You admit. "Kinda feel like a newborn deer."

"I'm gonna help you," he says. "Also, get a new metaphor."

"That's a simile."

"Oh, look at me, I paid attention in English." He mocks in a joking tone. "Just.. stand here." You do as your told, watching as he unbuttons his top and shakes it off, revealing the sweat covered girdle that's still wrapped around his waist. "You kept that on the whole time?" That's...kind of impressive.

"Done a lot more uncomfortable things, sweetheart." He says. He drops the girdle on your bathroom floor, gesturing for you to get in the shower. You do, Stan offering his arm for support as he follows you in shortly after. He keeps an arm around you, just below your breasts, in case you slip.

It does make you feel safe. You take the washcloth, soaping it up and slowly begin to scrub your body. The hot water feels amazing on your tired body, breathing in the smell of your soap and shampoo. When you're happily scrubbed, you turn in Stan's arms. "Your turn." You say.

"What?"

"You need to get clean too," you tell him. You don't let him protest, reaching over to your shampoo and squirting a pump into your palm and scrubbing it onto his scalp. There may have been a moment of protest, but it falls off quickly. His eyes shut, letting you work as you comb through his thinning hair. You take a few steps back, turning as carefully as you can so that he's under the stream of water. You work diligently, ensuring all the soap is off before you apply the conditioner and repeat it. He's strangely quiet the entire time, and yet you notice, he's relaxed. It's the first time you think you've ever seen his body this loose.

You grab the washcloth again, soaping it up again before pressing it against his chest. Now that there's no risk of soap in his eyes, Stan cracks one of his eyes open and looks down at you. "You're sweet, y'know?"

"Mhm." You hum in response.

"Seriously," he says. His thumb and forefinger catch your chin, tilting you up to meet his gaze. He leans down, the kiss tender, soft.

There's no intent behind it than affection. Somehow, it makes you feel hotter than what happened in the kitchen. You know you have the dopiest smile on your face, but at the moment, you don't care. You drag the rag over his body, his stomach, everywhere you can as he holds you close to him. When he's finally rinsed, he turns off the shower and carefully helps you step out. A few towels later, you're dry, warm, and exhausted.

You have a few oversized t-shirts that you used to clean the house in, and you manage to find one that fits Stan. There's no way he's making it home tonight. In your own pajamas, you climb into bed as Stan sits on the side of it. "Oh this thing is way comfier than your couch, no offense." He tests the springs, looking at you. "Maybe next time we'll make it to the bed."

"I'll hold you to that," you laugh. "Not tonight, though."

"What a shame," he winks. "You, uh, actually fine with me sleeping in here?" You're getting comfortable beneath the sheets, resting your head on the pillow.

"Stan," you start. "You were literally inside me. You can sleep next to me."

"You'd be surprised how often those two things don't go hand in hand," he remarks off-handedly. Your face creases in worry, about to sit up before he reaches out and pushes you back down. "Story for another day." He pulls the sheets back, sliding in beside you and staring up at the ceiling. A shiver runs through you, scooting closer to him and hooking a leg over his. He raises an arm, putting it behind you so that you're able to rest your head against his chest. "Don't get used to this," you know he doesn't mean a word of that.

"Goodnight, Stan." You stretch, placing a kiss on his cheek. You settle back down, shutting your eyes.

Gently, you feel the ghost of a kiss on the top of your head. "Goodnight."

You fall asleep to his heartbeat, something you think you'd enjoy getting used to

[inkskinned]

my baby is looking up at him through her lashes. my baby sits on his lap. my baby puts her hands on his hips carefully, stoic almost, plucks his credit card up with a forefinger and thumb.

my baby reads the communist manifesto, draped over my couch, her loose hair falling to scud wisp-ends against my floor. my baby sighs into my collarbone, asks me why more men can't be like me. calls herself a scientist - this an experiment that requires repetition; her palms clutching my sheets.

my baby says tomorrow she's gonna leave him for-real. i tell her there's no rush. i tell her i'm used to the open cut, i already work around it. i've done this a lot anyway. girls that are straight-but. how they slide their hands up my ribs just to test something. their cheeks so pink and their voice so rough.

my baby says - since seeing me, she maybe wants to go back to school again. try something new. move to the city. my baby cut her hair short. has started talking back. says he doesn't do the dishes, says he doesn't get me.

keep thinking 'bout god and the melon i once cracked open on a beach. keep thinking about how it feels to lick a battery. how i like the jump much more than the falling.

my baby leans her body back. my baby almost says my name when she calls for him. my baby says amen in church. she stands tall and pretty. my baby kneels in chapel. and comes home to me.

[volivolition]

Idk if you saw or not but a new chapter of the fury of a shattered mirror dropped last night! I haven’t read it yet but I thought I should let you know 😎👍

awughgh HELL YEAH!! ive been away from my laptop for a while so i didnt see, thank you birdy!! :] this is the best news ive had all day hkjgh <33 excited very excited going to read it now <33

[sanguineterrain]

Hey, I love your writing, your Jason fics are always so tender and authentic

I was wondering if you would write something where Reader is pulled aside by someone and asked whether they're in danger (since Jason is pretty big and intimidating) and later they laugh it off because they find it absurd but it gets to Jason and perhaps brings some insecurities to the surface

this is actually devastating!!! thank you for requesting 🤌

jason todd x gn!reader. tw: wrongly assumed abuse and jason being gutted at the idea, hurt/comfort, reassurance, estab relationship.

****

"Chocolate is obviously superior."

Jason sighs, flopping against the diner booth dramatically. "What a shame to be so wrong. Vanilla stays on top."

"Vanilla is boring as hell, Jay," you say, throwing your napkin at him. He catches it. Of course. "On the milkshake hierarchy, vanilla is barely a step above whatever monstrosity a peppermint bark shake is."

"Buddy, I happen to like drinking toothpaste." He points a finger at you. "And that's my God-given right."

"It's an abomination is what it is." You take a long, pointed sip of your shake. "Mm, the taste of good choices."

Jason traps both of your legs between his under the table. You gasp and try to wiggle free, but his strength is merciless.

"If it's an abomination, why is it on the menu?" he asks, grinning as you squirm.

"Well, what else are they meant to serve you freaks?"

Jason gently tugs you forward by your legs. He leans over the table. You meet him halfway.

"This freak appreciates the thought," he says and kisses you.

He tastes like vanilla shake. It's not what you'd order, but you really don't mind kissing it off of Jason's mouth. Funny how that works.

He pulls away and releases your legs, then scoots out of the booth.

"Gonna take care of business. Don't drink my incredibly irresistible shake."

"I'll certainly try," you say, looking up at him with what are undoubtedly giant heart eyes.

Jason disappears to the restrooms. You drink your shake and focus on trying to craft the straw wrapper into a snake.

You're close to shaping it when a woman comes up to your table. You've never seen her in your life.

"Uh, hi," you say. "Can I help you?"

She glances around the diner before leaning down.

"Hey. Look, if you're... in need of someplace safe, there's a great shelter downtown."

Your brows rise. "I'm sorry?"

"I was in your shoes once too," she says, eyes wide. "You don't have to rely on a guy to get you on your feet. Especially someone like him."

You shake your head slowly. "I... what? I don't understand. The man I'm with, he's my boyfriend."

She looks skeptical. You turn to face her fully, because now you're properly bewildered.

"Uh, I appreciate that you're looking out for people, and I know stuff you're referring to is everywhere in Gotham. But I promise I'm okay."

"I know physical intimidation is scary—"

"Whoa." You hold up a hand. "Just because he's a big guy doesn't mean he's throwing me around. He's the gentlest man you'll ever meet. I love him and he loves me. No one is in danger."

The woman's mouth pinches. You don't even have it in you to be upset. You've never once felt afraid of Jason. But you forget how he looks to others, how he's twice or triple most people's size and covered in scars.

"Here's the number to the shelter," she says, slipping the paper under the salt shaker. "In case you change your mind."

She hurries out the door before you can respond. You stare at the card, then shrug. You suppose, if anything, you're happy there are still good Samaritans in Gotham.

Presently, Jason returns. He purposely makes his footsteps heard because of the countless times you've lectured him about scaring the shit out of you due to his habit of going stealth mode without realizing.

"Hello, dearest," he says. "I've returned from war."

"My hero. Did you wash your hands in battle?"

Jason slides into the booth and sticks his hand in your face. "Smell 'em and rejoice, baby."

You take his hand and give it a deep sniff. It indeed smells like soap. Not that you ever doubted your boyfriend's handwashing capabilities.

"Smells like... wrong opinions about milkshakes," you say, then kiss his palm.

He rolls his eyes. "I can see my absence has taught you nothing. Unfortunate."

"I'm stubborn. I'm sure you of all people can understand that," you say, smiling.

"Mm. Y'lucky you're cute."

Your food arrives, the waitress cheerily informing you that she hopes you enjoy your meal.

"I think she's the happiest person in Gotham," Jason says, shaking the ketchup bottle.

You take a fry from his plate. "Probably a Metropolis native."

"Y'know my fries are the exact same as yours, right?"

"Nope," you say. "Yours have special boyfriend cooties on them. Adds flavor."

"You're gross," Jason says, quite lovingly.

You make a heart with your hands. He returns it, then takes a bite of his burger.

You don't even register it when Jason grabs the salt shaker. You're zeroed in on your lunch and don't look up until he speaks.

"What's this?"

Jason's holding the shelter hotline card.

"Oh! Some lady came over and gave that to me."

"Gave it to you?"

You should clock Jason's tone and the way he's stopped eating completely. But the experience was so odd that you can't fathom Jason thinking it as anything but a mistake.

"Yeah. For some reason, she thought I was here drinking a milkshake with you against my will. Probably 'cause it's Gotham, and you're my BBB: big beefcake boyfriend. Little does she know, I'm the heavyweight boxing champion of Park Row."

You swirl your fries in Jason's ketchup. He doesn't even blink. Usually, he'd give you a raised eyebrow and pretend he's cross.

Jason's still staring at the card. You catch his legs with yours. He doesn't look up.

"Jay?" you ask, smile fading. You drop your legs. "Hey. Y'good?"

"Hm? Oh. Sorry, baby." He puts the card aside and smiles at you, quick and strained.

"Everything okay?" you ask.

"Yeah. Uh, fine."

"Jason." You lean over and grab his hand. "What's wrong?"

He swallows. You wait, the noise of the diner fading. All that matters is whatever's causing his absolutely heartbreaking expression.

"How could she think I'm hurting you?" Jason whispers, finally looking at you. "How could—I would never hurt you."

"Oh, Jay. Honey, that's why I hardly entertained her. It was so silly to think about. I was so puzzled at first that I couldn't even decipher what she meant."

"But what if... y'know, maybe she sensed something about me. Sensed violence. I get it. I'd–I'd be scared of me if I were a regular person."

"Jason, sweetie, no. No, no, no. I think that woman experienced some hard things in her life, and that caused her to see something that wasn't there. She had good intentions, but she was absolutely wrong. I know you have a past, but I've never felt unsafe with you. Never. I could never be afraid of you."

Jason gnaws on the inside of his cheek. You get up and slide in next to him, crowding him against the wall. You curl against his arm.

"You love me so well, I forget that most people see a monster when I walk down the street," he says.

You squeeze your eyes closed. Pins in your heart.

"You're not a monster, Jay. You're good. I know it. Your family knows it. You're a protector."

He takes a deep breath. "If–if you ever felt afraid of me, ever, and you wanted me to stay away, then you tell me so, and I'd leave you alone. No questions asked."

"Jason," you whisper. You wrap your arm around his neck and pull him close. The vinyl squeaks as you shift. "Jay, I love you. I don't want you to leave me alone."

"But if—"

"No. Please listen to me. I know you'd never hurt or frighten me. Sometimes, people are wrong. She was wrong about you. She was kind but wrong."

You sit like that for a bit, feeling each other breathe. Jason's hand grazes yours. You grab it, lacing your fingers together.

"I love you too," he says quietly. "Never felt anything but love for you."

You smile and steal another fry off his plate. He snorts.

"I know." You lean against his shoulder. "Never doubted it."

[mikoluvsblondes]

hey babe !! was wondering if you would make a fic emily engstler x pregnant! reader and them being like youtubers and they are just vlogging a day in their life

Blueberry Pancakes

Emily Engstler x reader

im sorry it's short. I hope you like it.

warnings: throw up/nausea(not in detail)

You woke up with a nauseous feeling bubbling in your chest. You ran into the bathroom quickly while trying your best not to disturb your sleeping girlfriend in bed next to you.

Now, you were standing by the kitchen counter facing a camera towards yourself, retelling the events that took place before you began recording: dealing with your nausea and showering.

"I'm pretty sure Emily is still asleep" you smile at the sound of her name "...I tried my best not to wake her." you're tone became slightly nervous.

"Usually, she'd be up with me, but I figured that shes tired from her game last night. Did you guys watch it?" you had a feeling many of your viewers most likely watched it online or in-person since a lot of them were subscribed to see more into Emily's life. "She did really good. I'm so proud of her."

You tap your chin thinking of what to make for breakfast before the idea came to you with a raise of your eyebrows. "I think I'm gonna make blueberry pancakes for us!" you say excitedly "Right baby?" you ask while smiling down at your stomach and rubbing it.

You pick out all of your ingredients(the blueberries being your favorite) and walk back to the camera to show each one. When you finish, you start mixing your ingredients in a bowl.

Just as you grab the pan to cook your pancakes, two sneaky hands creep around your waist to caress your stomach causing you to jump with a squeak. She lets out a breathy laugh, the lowness in her voice peaking through.

"Good morning, baby" her voice tickles in your ear.

"Good morning, Em" you giggled.

"Not you, my other baby." she jokes, looking over your shoulder at your pregnant belly before kissing her hand and pressing it to your stomach.

You turn around acting as if you were offended, but truly you felt happy knowing that Emily loves this baby as much as you do. "How dare you!" she kisses your cheeks with a laugh that influences you into laughing as well.

"What you making? Let me help." she follows behind you as you face the camera af the stove.

"Blueberry pancakes, but its really okay. I can do it myself. Its just a little reward for doing so good last night."

"Being around you and taking care of you are the best rewards I could ask for. Let me help. Please." she turned your head to give a sincere and loving look into your eyes and you smile at her. She then wrapped her arms around you from behind and you gladly reciprocate her affection by leaning into her and rubbing her forearms.

These romantic moments were the kind that many of your viewers watched your vlogs for. Usually they would leave sweet and supportive comments with the occasional 'i wish that was me'.

"They're being fed today." you say, referring to the viewers. You could already see the edits or the posts on a 'couple goals' account.

"I can already see the edits coming." she half-jokes, knowing that people would start making edits as soon as you posted the vlog.

[cosmal]

✪ — oh em gee what about ❛ this is a good look for you. ❜ with peter parker

stained

summary — peter spills a drink on your top at a party.

content — tasm!peterparker x fem!afab!reader, mentions of nudity

note — sorry this is super short! more of a baby blurb!

You sit on the edge of the toilet, naked from the waist up, while Peter is hunched over the bathroom sink, scrubbing at your shirt.

"Peter, just leave it, I'll wash it at home," you say softly. He looks really determined.

He'd spilt his drink all over your top downstairs at the party you're at. He'd felt horrible and insisted that he could get the stain out in the sink. The green stain out of your white top.

Turns out dawn soap and lukewarm water don't do the job. "I'm sorry, baby, really," he frets, holding the top up where it drips into the sink. You're not sure if he's made it better or worse. You appreciate him nonetheless.

"Pete, thank you, really," you start, shifting uncomfortably over the plastic lid. You cross your arms over your chest, where your bra digs into your skin, and look at the wet mess Peter holds in his hands. "It's okay. But now I have no top."

Peter drops the shirt looking really guilty. He feels horrible because he's ruined one of your favourite tops and he's also the reason you're half-naked in some random condo.

"Shit," he curses to himself.

He doesn't think twice. Peeling his jacket off, he stands at your knees and holds it out. "Here," he says bashfully. It's a thin jacket, made of nothing really. It's all you've got and you're not about to start complaining.

You stand to slip it on and hate it when you realise it has no zipper. Or any buttons. You pull it taut over your front and start to feel anxious. "Can you see anything?"

He pulls the collar forwards over your collarbones and smooths it out over your shoulders. "You're safe," he smiles. You watch his throat bob under the skin of his lightly stubbled neck. "It, uh, it looks really good."

"Pete," you groan while tipping your head back. "I'm naked, in the middle of the city, wearing my clumsy boyfriend's jacket, and you're getting turned on?"

"What?" he gawps, clearing his throat, "I am not! You just suit it, that's all."

You pull it tight around your middle and roll your eyes. "You're unbelievable."

He plays with the hem between his fingers, keeping his eyes planted to the floor momentarily. "It's a good look on you."

You straighten your back and ignore the way he's making you feel. Time and place you remember. "Right, we're going outside unnoticed and you're gonna hail a cab with those long arms of yours."

"You don't wanna swing home?" he asks.

"You don't have your shit," you grumble. It'd be convenient, but also reckless.

"My shit? You mean my suit?" he laughs, wrapping a hand around the hinge of your elbow. "I'm gonna pretend you didn't say that because I deserve it."

Peter makes sure you're decent before he opens the door to the bathroom. You stand behind him, hanging off his arm, hoping his broad shoulders will do you a favour and hide you well.

There's a drunk guy on the other side for the toilet presumably. Peter moves to the side to shield you on instinct when you squeak out a surprised noise. You push your chest against him to cover the slip of skin that struggles to be covered by the jacket, and let Peter guide you down the hall.

You lean in to whisper in his ear, "You owe me, Parker."

You get out onto the street when he says, "I'll show you how sorry I am when we get home."

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

Coming Out

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: some explicit language, mention of an unsub hurting Emily 😱, vague insinuations of homophobia, mostly fluff on fluff, feat. loyal himbo Derek Morgan Word Count: 2k

Summary: Emily gets injured on the job, and all she really wants is you, her girlfriend. But she's not out to the rest of the team yet. Can she be vulnerable enough to share that part of herself with the team? Can she be vulnerable enough to let you take care of her? Takes place at the end of S3.E2.

Emily dabbed at her head and winced, checking her watch to see if it had been long enough to take more pain medication. But despite getting clocked with a plank of wood, she was glad to be on the jet, glad to be back with her team because they really were starting to feel like her team. Who was she kidding? She loved her job.

According to the pilot, the team would be landing at Quantico in a little over an hour. Emily grabbed her phone, discreetly shoving it into her pocket, before heading to the back of the plane. She needed to call you, but the rest of the team didn't know about you yet. Hell, the rest of the team didn't even know she was gay. It felt too personal, and she'd been hurt by people's reactions–people she loved and trusted deeply–too many times. She played her relationships and her sexuality close to the vest.

Reid tapped Emily's arm as she passed by.

"Oh! Are you going all the way to the back?"

Emily tensed. "Yep."

"Could you bring me a Sprite?"

She felt her shoulders relax, and she patted Reid on the arm. "Sure."

After knocking on the bathroom door to make sure that truly no one was around, she called you, her voice hushed as she rifled through tiny airplane soda cans, looking for Reid's Sprite.

"Hey, Em," you said, your voice bright.

"Hey," she said, a goofy smile spreading across her face. "What are you up to?"

"Nothing much. Saw a street rat earlier. I named him Guillermo. I think he's on the prowl for a girlfriend."

Emily laughed, covering her mouth.

"How was Milwaukee?" you asked.

"Good. Really good. We got the guy. We're on the plane now."

She could nearly hear how smug you were through the phone.

"You're glad you went back," you snickered, relishing in being right. She'd sworn that it wasn't a big deal, that it'd be easy to get another good job, but you knew her heart was with the BAU.

Emily sighed. "I am. You were right."

"You're gonna stay?"

"Looks that way."

"I knew it!" you crowed. "I'm glad. You're too good at your job to quit it."

"Thanks, love. Listen, Y/N, can I ask you a favor?"

"Of course! Anything."

Emily winced, touching the swollen bump on her head. "We land in about an hour. Can you pick me up and stay at my place tonight?"

"Wow." You drew out the vowel, milking the fact that Emily needed you for once. "You missed me that much, huh?"

"Well, yes, of course, but... I, uh... I kind of have a concussion?"

Your tone shifted immediately from smug to concerned. "What?! Why?! What happened!?"

"Unsub hit me with a plank of wood," she admitted reluctantly.

"Jesus Christ, Em! Are you okay!?"

"I'm fine, baby, I promise," she reassured you. "I just got a little banged up, that's all. But I'll need you to wake me up every few hours and make sure I'm cognizant."

"I think I have some soup in the freezer," you observed, your voice far away. You'd put her on speakerphone to rifle through the cabinets. "And I have a thermometer. I don't know, do concussions cause fevers? I've never had one."

Emily shook her head, smiling. She loved that your first response, always, was to take care of her. Emily was not used to being taken care of, and she didn't let many people do it. She certainly wouldn't let many people see it either. But she let you.

"No thermometers needed. Just you and your car and more you when we get home."

"You got it. When did you say you land?"

"In about an hour."

"Okay. I'll leave in a few."

"Oh," Emily added quickly. "And you're cleared to drive into Quantico. They know the car you drive and they've got your ID on file. Just show it to them at the gate."

You paused. "Well, that's a little Big Brother of them."

"I gave it to them a few months ago. Just in case you ever needed to come by. Sorry, I should've told you."

"It's okay," you decided, pulling on a jacket and a beanie. "It feels kind of badass to be on Quantico's list."

Emily laughed, almost excited to have a concussion because it meant you'd be snuggled right up to next to her for however long it took to get better. 48 hours at least.

"Alright, baby," she finished, Reid's Sprite in hand. "I'll see you in a bit."

"Bye, love."

Emily wiped the grin off her face before returning to the cabin with Reid's Sprite–it'd look suspicious if she was too happy coming back.

An hour later, the team was going their separate ways in the parking lot, waving goodbyes and slamming car doors under the buzzing lights.

Emily leaned on the wall outside the building entrance, relishing the crisp night air.

"You need a ride, Prentiss?" Morgan asked as he walked out, used go-bag slung over his shoulder. "You shouldn't be driving" He pointed to her head.

"No, that's okay," Emily waved him off. "I've got– uh... someone's... picking me up."

Fuck, she thought. The concussion was not helping her ability to lie well.

Morgan stared at her suspiciously.

"What?" Emily laughed, trying to act normal.

"Why are you acting shifty?"

"I'm not!" she protested.

Morgan smirked and waggled his eyebrows. "Do you have a secret boyfriend?"

"What?" Emily said, laughing a little too forcefully. "No!"

He crossed his arms and waited. "You're seriously not gonna tell me?"

Emily leaned against the brick wall, rubbing her forehead. On the one hand, she was tired of keeping you–and herself–a secret. And if anyone was going to be supportive of someone on the team getting laid, it would be Morgan. But on the other, did she really know that much about him? She didn't know his religious background. Sure, he'd defend a gay victim, but that was his job. This was personal.

Emily sighed before replying. "I have... I have a secret girlfriend."

The silence felt like it lasted hours, stretching between them until Emily was sure the chasm would never close again, and that with just a few words, just by being herself, she'd ruined any chance of a friendship with Derek Morgan. It wouldn't be the first time. It probably wouldn't be the last.

Morgan seemed to think deeply before leaning against the wall next to Emily, turning to look her in the eye.

"Prentiss, why didn't you tell us you were gay?"

Emily was afraid to look at him, but when she did, her heart soared. He looked at her with nothing but love and respect and appreciation, no hint of hatred or disgust. If anything, he looked sad that she'd waited so long to tell him.

"I don't know," she shrugged. "I don't always get a good reaction."

"Well, you know nobody on this team would have a problem with that, right? Hell, Garcia'd probably hang pride flags everywhere."

"I know," Emily nodded. "I just... I don't think I'm ready yet. For everyone to know. Soon, though."

Morgan nodded, then thought for a few minutes before asking, "Is it serious?"

Emily chuckled. "Being gay? Yeah, I'd say so."

Morgan shoved her shoulder gently, mindful of the day's injuries. "No! The girl! How long have you been seeing her?"

"A little over six months."

"So, it's serious."

Emily grinned. She was glad to have someone to talk to about this. She'd held it so close for so long. She wasn't used to having anyone to tell about you. Maybe Morgan could be that person.

"Promise not to tell the others?"

Morgan put his hand over his heart. "Promise."

"I'd marry her tomorrow if she'd let me."

"Wow." Morgan raised his eyebrows, smiling lightly. "Prentiss is in love," he said, teasing her.

Emily fought a wide smile, but lost in the end. "Oh, shut up. And don't tell anyone. Especially her."

"Your secret's safe with me," Morgan reassured her. And she could tell he meant it. Emily trusted him, she realized. She trusted him to be a good friend, to keep her secrets. She trusted him not to out her to the rest of the team. He'd let her go at her own pace when it came to telling the others.

"She better be amazing," Morgan added. "I don't know how anyone could be good enough for you."

Just at that moment, a pair of headlights crept slowly into the parking lot, hesitant and unsure. It had to be you. Emily stepped forward and waved a bit, then turned to Morgan.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow?" she said.

"Not with that head, you won't," Morgan observed.

You put the car in park next to the curb and leapt out of the driver's seat, hurrying over to Emily.

"Oh my god!" you exclaimed, anger and concern washing over you. "I thought you you said you were fine!"

You gingerly touched Emily's face and pulled her head down to examine the butterfly bandage above her eyebrow.

"Look at this," you grumbled, more to yourself than anyone else. "It's already bruising." You glared at the butterfly bandage. "Did a doctor do this or you? If it was you, I think we should clean it with rubbing alcohol at home."

Morgan looked absolutely delighted, both because you seemed like a delightful person and because Emily was beet red at being observed with you.

"Y/N, I'm fine," Emily said firmly, grasping your fingers in hers and removing them from her face. "This is my colleague Derek Morgan. Morgan, my girlfriend, Y/N."

You looked Morgan over and immediately decided you liked him. Mostly because you could tell that he really cared about Emily. But also because he looked mischievous, like he'd tease her. And if there was anything you loved, it was teasing Emily. You shook his hand enthusiastically. "It's really nice to meet you," you said. And you meant it.

But you didn't have time to chat with Morgan tonight. You were too worried about Emily.

"You don't look fine," you argued, looking to Morgan for backup. "Does she look fine to you?"

Morgan grinned at Emily, raising his eyebrows. "She definitely looks like she could use some TLC."

"Oh, and she'll get it alright," you assured him, opening the passenger door for Emily. "Shall we?"

Emily bent gingerly to get into the car, and you were careful to guard her head from the ceiling.

"Derek, it was really nice to meet you," you said, shaking his hand one more time for good measure as Emily rolled down the window, staring bullets at Morgan.

"You too, Y/N," he said, looking over your shoulder at Emily. "I hope you all have a very marry evening."

Emily pointed at him aggressively behind your back, mouthing, "SHUT. UP."

"See you, Prentiss," he called as you pulled away. He laughed and called out, "I hope it's a real honeymoon from work!"

Emily's hand shot out the window, flipping him off.

Later that night, your alarm buzzed and you blinked awake. You forgot for a moment that you were at Emily's, but her strong arms wrapped protectively around your waist were enough to remind you where you were.

You turned slowly to face a sleeping Emily, brushing her hair out of her face.

"Em. Hey. You gotta wake up, honey."

She groaned, placing a hand on her head.

"Sorry," you grimaced. "Gotta make sure your brain's alright."

"My brain is fine," she growled.

"Oh, yeah?" you joked, checking the time before shaking a few pills into your hand from the pill bottle on the nightstand. "Who am I, then?"

"The love of my life, Whitney Houston."

You laughed, which made Emily laugh, too. But she quickly doubled over in pain, groaning.

"Here, take these," you said gently, handing her the pills and a glass of water. "It'll help."

She took the pills obediently and lay back down.

"You know," you said, pulling up the blankets to make sure they covered Emily's shoulders. "I may not be Whitney Houston..." You wrapped your arms around her and drew her to you, and she burrowed her head into the space between your neck and your collarbone.

"But I think I'm a close second," you finished, running your fingers rhythmically through Emily's hair.

She sighed contentedly, pressing into you, then moving one of your arms to wrap it more tightly around her.

"Why are you so good to me?" she asked, quiet. You couldn't quite tell if it was a joke or serious, but you'd reply the same either way.

"Because I love you, you nerd."

She leaned up, planting a kiss underneath your chin. "I love you, too."

Within minutes she was conked out again, and you were setting another alarm, ready to do it all over again in a few hours.

[damascus-crowned-king]

Foolish love, but damn if it isn't true

Fool!Guy and Fool!Honey

It's really fucking bad yall

They were bored.

They were the only one awake at 6:30 AM, and they hated it. Years of waking up early out of fear that they would be late for some sort of event or that if they didn't wake up early enough, they wouldn't be as productive was biting them in the ass.

So they decided to bother their adorable, grumpy, currently asleep boyfriend.

"Guy."

"Baby."

"Darling."

"Sugar."

"Flour. Egg. Butter. Vanilla extract. Baking soda. "Salt. If you don't answer me, the pet names are just gonna get weirder, Guy."

"Nothing? Alright."

...

Radio silence.

"My oatmeal cream pie. My tomato soup."

"My honey-"

It only took a second for Guy to grab the back of their head and shove their face into a pillow and lay on top of them. Rendering them immobile.

"Oomph!"

"First of all. I call you honey, not the other way around. Second of all, It's too early and you should go back to bed. Third of all, why were almost all of those "pet names" food related?"

"I'm bored... and I can't go back to sleep, and also, I'm hungry, and who said that you trademarked the nickname 'honey'?!"

He replied dryly. "I did."

They squirmed for a minute before giving up under him. "Can you get off of me now?"

He questioned them slightly, still mildly crushing them under his weight. "Are you gonna chill out?"

"Maybe..."

"..."

"....Okay I'll calm down... lame-ass..."

"Did you say something?"

"Nothing, sweetheart~"

"That's what I thought." He got off top of them and laid on his side while Honey wrapped their arms around him so he could nuzzle his face in their chest.

They eventually started scratching his scalp, and they made a small smile at him leaning into their touch. "Your roots are kinda showing. Do you want me to touch 'em up for you?"

Guy scrunched his face in confusion and slight judgment at their behavior, still mumbling into their neck. "Honey. Did you just sniff my hair?"

Guy buried his face in the crook of their neck and wrapped his arms around them even tighter, mumbling a tired response. "Yeah... Tomorrow."

Honey slightly shivers at Guy's warm breath on their neck, smirking at his clinginess. "Okay." Letting out a soft confirmation before burying their face in his hair, taking a deep whiff of his natural scent mixed with his coconut and mango shampoo.

Honey smirked at Guy's convicting tone. "What? You smell good."

Guy scoffed at honey, finding their fascination for his smell odd. "You're such a weirdo..."

"What? You want me to say you smell bad? 'Cus I could."

"I mean, you could, but then you'd just look like a liar..."

"Do you want me to appreciate your smell or say you smell gross?"

"You could just... not smell me. That's an option." He says, throwing out the proposition, knowing full well it won't be taken into consideration.

Honey, fake-considers his suggestion, very obviously not actually thinking about not smelling him. "Mmmmm nah I'll pass."

Guy rolls his eyes and holds Honey tighter, wrapping his legs around them like a koala. Squeezing them tightly while they play with his hair.

This was the life to Guy. Silence and cuddles, Honey's fingers tangling into his hair and Guy secretly taking in their scent. (Hypocrite) Who wouldn't love this serene, still moment...

"Has anyone told you you're absolutely perfect?"

Guy was stunned to say the least. For Honey to say something so out of the blue and something so sappy had his heart skipping a beat.

"Um... no? What's up with you?" Guy was confused. Confused but not that surprised. His Honey was always one to speak their mind, but sometimes they said things that had him flustered. And he wasn't exactly the best at preparing for their unaware sweet words.

"Just sayin'. You're adorable, you're sweet, you smell amazing all the time, and you feed me. That seems like perfect boy behavior to me."

Whoooo boy. Yep. This is how he dies. Four years of being together, and he still turned into a bashful mess whenever Honey was all mushy with him... which was most of the time.

"God you are so..."

"Sooo...? What?"

Guy lets out a soft, resigned sigh and leans into them. "Charming."

Honey snorts at Guy somewhat dropping the tough-guy act and admitting he finds them charming, their ego rising at his simple word of affirmation.

"And that's all the sappy shit you're getting out of me today. No more."

"Ahhh I knew it... you're no fun..."

"Not my problem."

"But you know what is your problem?"

Guy groaned, clearly not excited for whatever was about to come out of his Honey's mouth. "What?"

Honey spoke up with a smirk in their voice. "Breakfast~"

"Ughhhh...."

"Soooo. What should we have for breakfast? We could have waffles, hashbrowns, Omelettes, grits? Ooh! We could have French toast and sausage?"

Guy rolled his eyes as they rambled about various breakfast foods, but deep down he knew he'd make a four course breakfast meal for his Honey. Because they deserved it. They deserved the world after dealing with his sass and sarcasm and monotone, lackluster personality, and his absence of... everything for years and even deciding to date him after putting up with all of it.

So he'll gladly make them breakfast.

And gladly give them the whole world if they asked.

Anything for his Honey.

[mono-dot-jpeg]

the best kitty - jingyuan

summary; mimi is just too lovable.

genre/extra tags; i love big cats sm :(, jingyuan is a cat trapped inside a general /j, fluff, comedy, clingy jingyuan my beloved, reader is a certified cat lover, big stretch and big yawn !!! iykyk

[gender neutral! reader] [reader is not trailblazer]

word count; 537

a/n; jingyuan enjoyers everywhere, we all actually love mimi /j i love mimi, i want to see mimi in game, Madge >:( hoyo you cowards show us the big cat and let me pet em

"oh, mimi! hi baby!" you cooed as mimi slowly strides over to you, pushing its head against your leg. it chuffs, greeting you as if you were one of its kin. "you look so happy today!" you soon sit on the ground, petting the oversized cat.

from afar stands a lone general. a general who is more than willing to cuddle with his lover but alas the beauty of his impulse buy is stealing all of your attention.

"ack- mimi, you're so big! you're gonna squish me!" the lazy cat rests on your lap, yawning. "big yawn!" you scratch its chin. mimi stretches its head back. "you're so pretty! love you so much!" you press your face into mimi's fur.

"i'm pretty too." jingyuan whines. he dejectedly crawls over to you and mimi. "what about me?" he pouts, moving to rest his head on mimi's body. he looks at you as he tries to gain your attention.

"mm, i don't know..." you pretend to think. mimi twists its body and gets up, leaving the general on the floor. you snicker, "i think mimi is trying to tell me something. what is it, mimi?" mimi spins two times before settling right by your side and laying down its head on your lap. "i think mimi said no."

"okay but you didn't say no." he sits up, moving closer to you to lean his entire weight on you.

"jingyuan!" you yelp as you're forced to lay on the ground. "stop it! you're heavy!"

"but you don't complain when mimi is laying on you!" he wraps his arms around your waist.

"mimi doesn't try to kill me with its weight!" you push your hands against his chest but this man is more than determined to get all your affection and leave nothing for his competition. "are you really jealous of a cat?"

"yes."

you sigh at his immediate answer. "can we at least lay on the couch or the bed?"

"no mimi?"

"love, mimi is more than big enough to figure out how to open a door. mimi will be breaking in to save me." you feel yourself get carried, wrapping your legs around jingyuan's waist to keep yourself steady. "mimi would never kidnap me like this."

"mimi is too attached to you." he huffed, looking down at the white lion. "i saw them first, they're mine." he sticks his tongue out. the pale lion chuffs, looking up at its petty owner. "don't look at me with them big ol' eyes." mimi chuffs again, butting its head against jingyuan's legs.

"i love mimi a normal amount."

"that's a lie."

"yeah, you're right about that. but i also love you. you really do not need to be getting jealous over a cat. mimi is just an affectionate baby."

"too late. mimi, y/n is mine." he's already running to the bed. mimi follows easily, the young cub slinks its way into the bedroom. "back! back i say!"

"jingyuan." you crossed your arms, giving him a pointed look. "i'll give your attention. don't scold mimi."

the white haired male grumbles before getting comfortable in your arms. "i'm supposed to be the one with all the attention, you know..."

"well, it's not my fault my lover bought a lion home. the least i could do is nurture the baby."

"mimi is anything but a baby."

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Simon Said | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual ? )

Warnings: mind control, canon violence, canon gore, consent lines blurry bc mind control but nothing happens to the reader, mind control attempted suicide

Word Count: 5301

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“I don't know, man, why don't we just chill out, think about this,” Dean said, trying to soothe his brother.

Sam had another vision while he was washing his face a state or two back. Dean was having to be the level-headed one at this moment because Sam was a complete basketcase. “What's there to think about?” the latter asked.

“I just don't know if going to the Roadhouse is the smartest idea,” Dean replied.

“I agree. I like ‘em, but I don’t trust any of them enough yet to tell them about this,” you said earnestly. 

“Guys, it's another premonition. I know it. This is gonna happen, and Ash can tell us where,” Sam protested. “Plus, it could have some connection with the demon. My visions always do.”

“That’s my point,” Dean said. “There's gonna be hunters there. I don't know if going in and announcing that you're some supernatural freak with a— a demonic connection is the best thing, okay?”

“So I'm a freak now?”

You gritted your teeth awkwardly.

Dean slapped Sam on the thigh. “You've always been a freak,” he smiled weakly. 

You looked at Sam concernedly, and it seemed he couldn’t keep still even if his life depended on it.

“Sam, it’s gonna be fine, I promise,” you said. 

He looked back at you, offering a small smile at your attempt to comfort him. You could tell he was unconvinced.

***

When you arrived at the Roadhouse, Jo bounded up to you and the brothers. “Just can't stay away, huh?” she grinned to Dean.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. You knew your jealousy was baseless but still could barely hold it at bay.

“Yeah, looks like. How you doin', Jo?” the older brother asked her.

Sam hurriedly asked, “Where’s Ash?”

“In his back room,” Jo replied.

He brushed past her wordlessly.

Jo turned after him, watching him go. “And I'm fine…”

“Sorry, he's, we're... kind of on a bit of a timetable,” Dean explained, following after his brother. You nodded and gave a closed-lip smile to Jo, who returned it, before heading after Dean.

You arrived at a door labeled, “ Dr. Badass is: IN.” You snorted at the sign, and Sam knocked on the door. “Ash? Hey, Ash?”

Moments passed; no answer. You knocked, this time saying, “Hey, Dr. Badass?”

The door unlatched and opened a crack to reveal a stark naked Ash. You averted your eyes, feeling intensely uncomfortable.

“Sam? Dean?” Ash sounded high. “Sam and Dean. And (Y/N). Hey, (Y/N).”

You laughed awkwardly, still turned away from Ash standing in the doorway. “Hey, Ash. Um. We need your help.”

“Well, hell, then! Guess I need my pants.” He shut the door, and you and the brothers turned to move back to the bar.

Sam described the scene from his dream and drew a logo of the bus he saw in his dream. Ash sat at a table with his homemade laptop and somehow found the logo based off Sam’s drawing. “Well, I got a match. It's the logo from the Blue Ridge bus lines in Guthrie, Oklahoma.”

“Okay. Do me a favor—” Sam began. “Check Guthrie for any demonic signs, or omens, or anything like that.”

“You think the demon's there?” Ash asked.

Sam nodded. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Why would you think that?”

Dean gruffly replied, “Just check it, alright?”

You shot him a look, as did Ash. He obliged, though, and said, “No, sir, nothing. No demon.”

“Alright, try something else for me. Search Guthrie for a house fire. It would be 1983, fire's origin would be a baby's nursery, night of the kid's six month birthday,” Sam said.

You looked around for eavesdroppers, only to find Jo cleaning a table nearby and watching your group.

“Okay, now that is just weird, man,” Ash protested. “Why the hell would I be looking for that?”

Sam pulled out a beer and set it next to his laptop. “'Cause there's a PBR in it for ya.”

Before Sam could finish his sentence, Ash replied, “Give me fifteen minutes.”

You sat next to Ash as he continued his work, and Dean left to get a beer from Ellen. Suddenly, REO Speedwagon’s “Can’t Fight This Feeling” started playing from the jukebox. You turned your head to the source of the sound and found Jo sauntering over to a horrified-looking Dean at the bar. Your blood boiled, but you just looked back at Ash and his computer. However, you didn’t register anything he was saying or scrolling through.

All you could think about was Jo’s attempted flirting with Dean. Technically, neither party were doing anything wrong; you and Dean had agreed to be friends for the time being. But you were furious at the thought of the two of them together. How disrespectful would that be for Dean to get with Jo days after saying he wanted you and agreed to be friends for now? Your jaw clenched, and you clutched your beer tighter.

Sam snapped in front of your face. “(Y/N), let’s go.”

You broke out of your thoughts and grabbed Dean’s jacket, pulling him along with you.

“See ya, Jo,” you called over your shoulder, stomping out of the bar with Dean in tow. 

Dean chuckled at you, gently shrugging you off him. He stooped down to your level and whispered lowly, “Jealous?”

You jerked away from him, cheeks heating in embarrassment. “No.”

He just smirked in response and kissed the side of your head. “Sure, sweetheart.” He then walked ahead of you to the Impala. 

You froze, flustered and unappreciative of the effect he had on you. “Dean—!”

***

“Sam, you can’t tell me Lord of the Rings is better than Erin Brockovich,” you argued with the younger brother. The two of you had been locked in a heated debate on your favorite movies of recent years, and these two were the next in question.

“(Y/N/N),” Sam started, “Lord of the Rings is based on six books of Tolkein’s experience in World War I, and Erin Brockovich is—”

“Two hours of fuckin’ perfection,” you cut him off. “Julia Roberts acted those other bitches under the table.”

“But the worldbuilding, (Y/N), it’s not even comparable!” 

“Yeah, if you stick around long enough to learn about it. It’s a snoozefest from start to finish,” you giggled.

He scoffed. “Okay, what about—”

“If you two keep talkin’ film nerd, I’m gonna kill myself,” Dean grumbled.

“Killjoy. If it’s not eighties horror, you’re not interested, huh?” you commented, crossing your arms over your chest and leaning back in your seat. 

Dean’s eyes met yours in the rearview mirror. “Did you actually read anything back there, or….?” 

“I did, thank you very much.” You pulled the stack of papers on the seat next to you into your lap. “Andrew Gallagher. Born in ‘83, like Sam. Lost his mother in a nursery fire exactly six months later, also like Sam.”

“You think the demon killed his mom?” Dean asked.

“Sure looks like it,” Sam responded.

“How did you even know to look for this guy?” Dean asked you.

“Well, Sam’s visions have all been attached to the demon or the other kids—”

“Like Max Miller, remember him?” Sam cut you off.

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, but Max Miller was a pasty little psycho.”

“Well, yeah, but my point is, he was killing people,” you began.

Sam continued, “And I was having the same type of visions about him. And now it could be happening all over again with this Gallagher guy.”

Dean asked, “How do we find him?”

You blew air out through your pursed lips. “Don't know. No current address, no current employment. He still owes money on all his bills; phone, credit, utilities—”

“Collection agency flags?” the older brother questioned.

“None in the system.”

“They just let him take a walk?”

You shrugged. “Seems like it. There's a work address from his last W-2; about a year ago. Let's start there.”

***

You and the brothers stopped at a coffee shop dressed in your “formal attire” to question a girl you knew to be friends with Andrew Gallagher about his whereabouts. 

“You won't get anything out of Andy, guys. I'm sorry, but they never do,” she said.

“ ‘They’?” Sam asked.

She tilted her head in confusion. “You're debt collectors, right? Once in a while they come by. I don't know what Andy says to them, but they never come back.”

“Actually we're- we're lawyers. Representing his Great Aunt Leta. She passed, god rest her soul, and left Andy a sizable estate,” Dean lied. “Are you a friend of his?”

“I used to be, yeah. I don't see much of Andy anymore.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

A man came up behind the bashful woman. “Andy? Andy kicks ass, man.”

“Is that right?” Dean questioned.

“Yeah. Andy can get you into anything. He even got me backstage at Aerosmith once; it was beautiful, bro.”

The woman turned to him. “How about bussing a table or two, Weber?”

“Yeah. You bet, boss.” The man named Weber turned away.

“Look,” the woman sighed, “if you want to find him, try Orchard Street. Just look for a van with a barbarian queen painted on the side.”

“Barbarian queen?” Dean’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“She's riding a polar bear. It's kind of hard to miss.”

***

She was right. It was incredibly hard to miss. You and the Winchester boys sat in the back of the Impala, having caught sight of the blue van with the aforementioned painted on the side of it from across the street.

“I'm sorry, I'm starting to like this dude. That van is sweet,” Dean grinned. He turned to his brother. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Sam, you look like you're sucking on a lemon, what's going on?”

The brunet sighed. “This Andrew Gallagher, he's the second guy like this we've found, Dean. Demon came to them when they were kids, now they're killing people.”

“We don't know what Andrew Gallagher is, alright? He could be innocent,” the older brother argued.

“My visions haven't been wrong yet.”

“Sam, you’re not one of them, if that’s what you’re concerned about,” you said.

“(Y/N), the demon said he had plans for me and children like me,” he replied. “Maybe this is his plan, maybe we're all a bunch of psychic freaks, maybe we're all supposed to be—”

Dean scoffed. “What, killers? So the demon wants you out there killing with your minds, is that it? Come on, give me a break. You're not a murderer, Sam! You don't have it in your bones.”

“No? Last I checked, I kill all kinds of things."

“Sam, that’s different,” you chimed in. “We kill shit that’s already dead. Or… undead. Or… not human— What are you looking at?”

“Got him,” was all Sam replied with. He nodded toward a man walking down the road in a robe, sandals, and baggy pants. The man in question blew a kiss up at a beautiful woman in lingerie leaning out of a window and waving down at him, got a coffee from some random guy he was passing, and then, shook hands with another. 

“That's him. That older guy, that's him, that's the shooter,” Sam rushed out, referencing the man Andy had shaken hands with.

“Alright, you keep on him, we'll stick with Andy. Go.” Sam got out of the car at his older brother’s command.

“We will?” you asked, climbing over the front seat. 

“C’mon, sweetheart.” Dean followed Andy— who had just climbed into his ostentatious van and began to drive off— closely. 

A few minutes of following the man into a suburban area later, the van stopped in the middle of the road and approached the Impala. You discreetly handed Dean his gun from the glovebox and tucked yours into your jacket.

Andy leaned into the rolled-down window of the Impala. “Hey.”

“Hey, hey,” Dean replied.

“This is a cherry ride,” Andy grinned. “Man, the '67? Impala's best year if you ask me. This is a serious classic.”

“Yeah. Y'know, I just rebuilt her, too.”

“And who’s this gorgeous lady you got next to ya?”

“Oh, I’m (Y/N),” you smiled, suddenly not feeling right.

“Hey, can I have the car? And her, if she’ll let me?” Andy asked you and Dean.

“Sure, man,” Dean grinned, getting out of the car to let the man into the driver’s side.

“Hi, handsome,” you smiled, draping yourself over Andy’s shoulder. You weren’t quite sure what was happening to you, but you knew you weren’t fully in control of what you were doing.

“Take it easy,” Andy told Dean before driving off with you.

“Where ya takin’ me?” you asked him, still mentally horrified by the effect he was having on you. 

“You’ll see,” he grinned, and you settled into his shoulder as he continued to drive.

***

About ten minutes later, the man driving you around received a call that seemed to really upset him. He drove a little faster and parked the car moments later once you’d arrived in front of the café you’d first gone to when you rolled into town.

“Baby? What’s wrong?” you asked, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Uh, I—” he paused, sighing. “Stay here, okay?”

“Okay!” You sat patiently with your hands folded in your lap, waiting for him to come back. You suddenly seemed to realize what you’d been doing and looked around yourself, trying to gain your bearings. You were relieved to see Dean and Sam approaching you. You jumped out of the car and leapt into Dean’s arms. “Dean! What the hell, man, he full-on Obi-Wan-ed us!” You let him go and hugged Sam. “What’s wrong, dude, you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

“That guy, um, from my visions, he stepped out in front of a bus. Right after he got off the phone,” Sam explained. “We’re thinkin’ Gallagher called him.”

Your brows furrowed and stomach dropped. “Oh.”

“He would’ve had to be on the phone with you in the car,” Dean added. “Was he?”

You shook your head. “No. I mean, not until a second or two before he ditched the car and me in the front seat.”

“Did he… do anything to you?” Sam asked. 

You shook your head.

“A real Samaritan, this guy,” the brunet quipped.

You turned to Dean talking to his car. “Oh, baby, I promise I’ll never leave you again.”

“Do you want a moment alone with her?” you deadpanned to Dean.

“We have a special bond,” he said after a pause. He turned back to his car. “She just doesn’t understand us.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to suppress the smile tugging at the ends of your lips. “Anyway, he didn’t give any kind of a command over the phone. If anything, he was upset when he answered his phone not ten minutes ago. I don’t think he’s our guy.”

“Either way, how are we going to track this guy down?” Sam asked.

“Not a problem,” Dean smirked.

***

“I’ll give you that, his ride isn’t exactly ‘covert’,” you said upon finding the van again. 

Dean pulled a small crowbar out of his jacket and pried the doors of the van open with it. The opened doors revealed a disco ball, fur rugs, a tiger painted on the wall, several thick books, and an enormous bong.

“Oh. Oh, come on. This is— this is magnificent, that's what this is. Not exactly a serial killer's lair, though. There's no... clown paintings on the walls, or scissors stuck in victims' photos. I like the tiger,” Dean chuckled in awe.

“Dean, he tried to kidnap me. And he kidnapped your car. Can we stay focused, please?” you deadpanned. You looked down at the books. 

Sam picked one up. “Hegel, Kant, Wittgenstein? That's some pretty heavy reading, guys.”

Dean picked up the glass object lying next to them. “Yeah, and, uh, Moby Dick's bong.”

***

Sam and Dean bickered over whether or not they thought Andy was guilty as you zoned out in the backseat. That was, until, the man in question hit the passenger’s side door, startling all three of you.

“Hey! You think I haven't seen you three? Why are you following me?” He asked, his voice reverberating strangely in your ears.

Sam calmly began to explain. “Well, we're lawyers. See, a relative of yours has passed aw—” 

“Tell the truth!” Andy’s voice echoed in your mind.

“We hunt demons,” Dean rushed out.

Andy jerked back in surprise. “What?”

“Dean!” Sam scolded.

“He’s telling the truth,” you jumped in. “That’s Sam. He’s Dean’s brother. I’m (Y/N). I met their dad on a hunt, and, uh, here I am! I follow them everywhere because they’re my best friends and the only real family I’ve ever had, and I’m terrified of losing them, and I followed them to you.”

“(Y/N), shut up!” Sam chastised, turning to face you. 

“I’m trying,” you said.

“He's psychic. Kind of like you. Well, not really like you, but see, he thinks you're a murderer,” Dean continued, “and he's afraid that he's going to become one himself, 'cause you're all part of something that's terrible. And, I hope to hell that he's wrong, but I'm starting to get a little scared that he might be right.”

“Okay, you know what? Just leave me alone,” Andy said.

“Okay,” Dean nodded.

Andy walked away from the door, and Sam followed. You and Dean clutched your heads.

“Holy fuck, that hurt,” you groaned.

“Did you really mean that?” Dean asked, clutching the bridge of his nose.

“What, that this hurts?” you scoffed.

“No, about me and Sam.”

“Dude, he made me Professor-Xavier-level spill my guts,” you grumbled. “I couldn’t have lied if I tried.”

Dean gave you a confusing look, but you got out of the car, feeling embarrassed. Sam held up a hand, warning you not to come any closer. You could vaguely hear Andy and Sam arguing about the origins of their powers and the doctor’s death, but all you could focus on was what you’d just admitted.

“(Y/N)—” Dean started.

“No, Dean.” You looked up at him. “We can talk about it one day when this is all over. Just… for now, let’s not.”

He didn’t say anything, but eyed you curiously. Before either of you could say another word to each other, Sam began to collapse to the floor. You and Dean ran to him to catch him and lowered him to the asphalt.

“Sam? What is it?” Dean asked his brother, shaking him.

“Look, I didn't do anything to him—”

“We know you didn’t,” you told Andy.

Sam snapped to attention. “A woman. A woman burning alive. A gas station, a woman is gonna kill herself.”

Andy’s voice rose significantly in pitch. “What does he mean, going to? What is he, what is—”

“Shut up!” you and Dean told Andy.

“She gets triggered by a call on her cell,” Sam continued.

“When?”

“I don't know.” Dean helped his brother stand as he continued talking, “But as long as we keep our eyes on this son of a bitch, he can't hurt her.”

Andy raised his hands up in surrender. “I didn't hurt anybody.”

“Yeah, not yet,” you said. Your head jerked toward the sound of a fire engine roaring and flashing by you on the highway next to you.

“Go,” Sam told you and Dean. The two of you sprinted to the car and headed off to follow the firetruck.

When you arrived, you were disheartened to see the first responders trying to put out the fire, keep civilians away, and recover the charred body of the woman who had died.

Dean immediately called Sam. “Hey, it's me. She's dead. Burned up, just like you said… Like minutes before I got here! I mean, the smell hasn't even cleared. What's up with your visions, man? This wasn't even a head start… Listen, you were with Andy when this whole thing went down, so it- it can't be him, it's gotta be somebody else doing this… What else is new? Well, we'll dig around here, see what else we can find.”

You and Dean roamed around talking to first responders and bystanders, posing as relatives of the woman who’d died. It was one of the things you felt guilty about in your line of work; posing as relatives of the dead to get information felt disrespectful to you. But alas, you had to, in this case.

You and Dean drove in silence back to the lot where Sam and Andy were talking on the bed of a broken truck as you rolled up. 

“Victim's name was Holly Beckett, forty-one, single,” Dean explained to Sam.

“I called Ash back at the crime scene,” you began. “Said he found a Holly Beckett who gave birth when she was eighteen, back in ‘83. Same day you were born, Andy.”

“Andy, were you adopted?” Sam questioned.

He nodded as if it were obvious. “Well, yeah.”

Dean glared pointedly. “You were? And you neglected to mention that?”

“Never really came up,” Andy deadpanned. “I mean, I, I never knew my birth parents, and, and like you said my adopted mom died when I was a baby— do you, do you think this Holly woman could actually be my m—”

“I don't know,” you explained. “I tried to get a copy of the birth records, but they're hard copy only, sealed in the county office.”

Andy smirked. “Well, screw that.”

***

You and the brothers went through the drawers of file cabinets searching for phone records as Andy began leading the guards out of the room.

“Probably shouldn't have left you kids in here,” the guard said.

Andy rubbed a hand over his back. “No, it'll all be fine. Alright? Just go get a cup of coffee.” As the guard left, he continued, saying, “These aren't the 'droids you're looking for.”

You and Dean grinned. “Awesome,” the older brother said.

“I got it,” Sam said. “Andy, it's true. Holly Beckett was your birth mother.”

Andy looked like he’d been punched in the stomach. “Huh. Does anyone have a Vicodin?”

"No Vicodin. Weed, though," you told him, offering him a joint from a pack of pre-rolls in your jacket.

Andy considered but shook his head.

“Dr. Jennings was her doctor, too, I mean, he oversaw the adoption. You have a solid connection to both of them.”

“Yeah, but I— I didn't kill them,” he rushed out.

“We believe you,” Sam told him.

“But uh, who did?” Dean questioned.

“I think I got a pretty good guess,” Sam replied. “Holly Beckett gave birth to twins.”

Andy’s jaw dropped. “I have an evil twin.” He looked to you. "I may take that joint now."

Sam began flipping through another folder of documents. “Holly put you and your brother up for adoption. And you went to the Gallagher family, obviously, and your brother went to the Weems family from upstate.”

You looked over at the zoned-out Andy. “You okay? Still with us?”

He shook his head and looked over at you. “Um. What was my brother's name?”

Sam flipped to another page. “Here. Um, Ansen Weems. And he's got a local address.”

“He- He lives here?!”

Dean pushed a few buttons on the computer. “Let's get a look at him. Got his picture coming off from the DMV right now.”

“Dean, you can barely work a toaster. How’d you find his picture from the DMV?” you asked.

He just glared at you in response. You could tell he was messing with you, though.

You pulled the paper off the printer, eyes widening as you recognized the man in the picture. “Hate to kick you while you're freaked,” you said. “Take a look at that.”

When Andy caught sight of his friend from the café Weber looking back at him from the printed off image, his jaw dropped even further in shock.

***

It was a race against the clock to find where Weber had taken Andy’s ex-girlfriend, Tracy— the woman you spoke to at the diner— after Sam had another vision about her jumping off a bridge. Sam’s visions were getting more intense and painful; poor guy. Andy directed Dean to the bridge Sam described from his vision, and the four of you climbed out of the car in unison.

“(Y/N), Dean, you should stay back,” Sam said.

“No argument here. Had my head screwed with enough for one day,” Dean leaned against his car next to you. You watched Andy and Sam head to fend off Weber when you got an idea. “You got a Remington in the trunk? Or an FR F2?”

He smirked at you. “Have you met me?”

***

You and Dean found a spot in the trees far enough away from the scene below to get a clear shot at Weber without being able to hear one of his commands. Dean only had one FR F2, and you convinced him to hand it over to you. You were a damn near perfect shot and could easily take this guy out.

You lined up your shot, smiling smugly when you centered his head on the cross in the middle of the scope. ‘Gotcha,’ you thought. Suddenly, his head turned to you. He said something you couldn’t hear, but it was enough to get you to tuck the barrel of the rifle under your chin.

“(Y/N)! Stop it!” Dean tugged on your arm and managed to wrestle it away from the trigger when another gunshot rang out. As you came back into full control of your body, your breathing labored. You dropped the gun and collapsed backward into Dean’s chest, and his arms circled you as you turned your face into him.

“I got you, I got you,” he assured you as you wound your hands around his neck and buried your face in his chest.

“C’mon, we gotta get Sammy,” Dean said, pulling you down the hill to the bridge with him. 

You found Sam passed out on the floor and sat with Dean while he did his best to wake his brother up. When he did finally awaken, the paramedics had begun to arrive. Andy’s skills were clearly developing given the way he spoke to the police about the incident.

“He shot himself. And you all saw it happen,” he told them. All of the policemen nodded in affirmation.

The paramedics fixed Sam’s shoulder and wrapped a disposable blanket around Tracy’s shoulders. You watched Tracy’s frightened gaze that she couldn’t quite meet Andy’s eyes with. You knew she wouldn’t ever see him the same, and that broke your heart a bit. Andy seemed to understand that, too.

“She won't even look at me,” he noted.

“Yeah, she's pretty shaken up,” Sam gently responded.

“No, it's— this is different. It's, uh, I never— I never used my mind-thing on her before. Before tonight. She's scared of me now.” His face fell as the words left his lips; as if it became real for him.

“Hey, Andy, I hate to do this, but um, we have to get out of here. Here. I wrote down my cell.” Sam handed him a piece of paper with his phone number on it. “You don't have to be alone in this, alright? If anything comes up, just call me up.” 

“Wha- what am I supposed to do now?”

“You be good, Andy. Or we'll be back,” Dean stated firmly.

“Looks like I was right,” Sam said as you walked back to the car with the brothers.

“About what?” Dean questioned.

“Andy. He’s a killer after all,” he responded.

“No, he's a hero. He saved his girlfriend's life, he saved her life.” Dean pointed to you, his voice becoming firmer.

“Bottom line, he wasted somebody,” Sam argued.

“No, dude,” you jumped in. “He’s not a foaming-at-the-mouth psycho, though. He was pushed into that. All of us would’ve died had he not.”

“Weber was pushed too, in his own way. Max Miller was pushed. Hell, I was pushed by Jessica's death.”

You scoffed. “What’s your point, man?”

“Right circumstances, everyone's capable of murder. Everyone. Y'know, maybe that's what the demon's doing. Pushing us. Finding ways to break us,” Sam continued.

You considered Sam’s words. “I agree that everybody’s capable, but—”

Dean cut you off. “Sam, we don't know what the demon wants, okay? Quit worrying about it.”

“You know, I heard you before, Dean, when Andy made you tell the truth. You're just as scared of this as I am.” Sam turned to his brother.

Dean scoffed. “That was mind control! I mean, it's like, like, that's like being roofied, man, that doesn't count.”

“What?”

“No. I'm- I'm calling do-over,” the older brother responded petulantly.

You giggled. “Are you five?”

“Doesn't matter. Look, we've just gotta keep doing what we're doing, find that evil son of a bitch and kill it,” he told Sam.

The brunet sighed, “Yeah, I guess.”

Dean’s phone rang through the uncomfortable silence. “Hello? Ellen. What's going on? Yeah, we'll be right there.”

***

When you arrived at the Roadhouse, Jo eyed Dean wantonly. You were repulsed, but you stomached your jealousy and pushed forward to Ellen. “What’s going on?” you asked her. 

She motioned for you to sit at the bar. You did so, confused. 

“Jo?” Ellen called to her daughter from behind the bar. “Go pull up another case of beer.”

“Mom,” she groaned.

Ellen stared her down. “Now. Please.”

As Jo left, Ellen leaned across the bar in front of you and the boys. “So. You uh, you want to tell me about this last hunt of yours?”

Dean shook his head. “No. Not really. No offense, it's just kind of a family thing.”

“Not anymore,” she responded. She dropped a stack of papers on the bar in front of you. “I got this stuff from Ash. Andrew Gallagher's house burnt down on his six month birthday, just like your house. You think it was the demon both times, don't you? You think it went after Gallagher's family?”

Sam answered before Dean could. “Yeah, we think so.”

“Sam—” Dean scolded.

“Why?” Ellen asked.

You began, “Ellen, you’re lovely and all, but this really isn’t—”

She cut you off. “You mind your tongue with me, girl. This isn't just your war, this is war. Now, something big and bad's coming, and it's coming fast, and their side holds all the cards. Now, at best, all we got is us. Together. No secrets or half-truths here.”

You eyed her warningly as Sam spoke. “There are people out there, like Andy Gallagher, like me. And um... we all have some kind of ability.”

“Ability?” Ellen asked.

Dean rolled his eyes, uncomfortable.

“Yeah. Psychic ability. Me, I have, um, I have visions. Premonitions. I don't know, it's- it's different for everybody. The demon said he had plans for people like us.”

“What kind of plans?”

“We don't really know for sure.”

“These people out there; these psychics— they dangerous?”

You and Dean jumped in quickly. “No.” Dean finished by saying, “Not all of them.”

Sam eyed his brother. “But some are. Some are very dangerous.”

“Okay, how many of them are we looking at?”

“We've been able to track a clear pattern so far. They've all had house fires on the night of the kid's six month birthday,” Dean explained.

“That's not true,” Sam told his brother.

You turned to him, confused.

“Weber? Or Ansen Weems, or whatever his name is— I looked at his files, and there was no house fire. There's nothing out of the ordinary,” he explained.

Ellen took yours and Dean’s shock as an opportunity to rejoin the conversation. “Which breaks pattern. So if there's any others like him, there'd be nothing in the system. No way to track 'em all down.”

“And so who knows how many of 'em are really out there?” Sam added.

Jo walked up behind you and the boys.

“Jo, honey?” her mom said. “You'd better break out the whiskey instead.”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[zepskies]

So, how would Ben react if he and the reader went clothes-shopping for him and he overhears the saleswomen talking to themselves about how insanely hot he was (and how they’d climb him like a tree, because hello!) While he’s flattered, he sees the reader overhearing them, and she’s visibly annoyed/upset by it? Up to you if she calls them out on it, or spirals and says nothing, or whatever!

Ooooh thank you for this request, my friend!! ❤️❤️

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Female Reader Word Count: 1,100 Warnings: 18+ only! A little smutty towards the end. 😘

Imagine: Getting jealous over this man. 💚

"My clothes are fine," Ben is still insisting, even as you hold up a crisp, black buttoned-down shirt up to his chest in scrutiny.

"You need more stuff in this decade, baby," you tell him. You just think he's taking issue with you picking things out for him.

He doesn't often like to relinquish control, but he's tacitly agreed that you just have a better sense of what's fashionable now. He doesn't mind standing out, but he doesn't want to look out of place either.

And as much as he'd never admit it, he wants to look good.

So you and Ben have been at the mall browsing for the past hour. Express for Men has some interesting finds; you already have a large pile of shirts, jackets, pants, and jeans set aside for him to try on.

Ben has strong opinions, especially on pants. He blatantly refuses skinny jeans, for which you begrudgingly concede. You have to pick your battles with your boyfriend, and this one's not the hill to die on, you think.

So you put down the tight pants in favor of some tasteful dark wash jeans. He eyes this pair also with wariness. "Why the fuck do they have holes in 'em?" he asks.

You have to bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing. "They're ripped jeans."

"On purpose?" he asks.

Oh lord. "Yes, Ben. They're distressed."

"Christ on a cross, so am I. This is what goes for fashion nowadays?"

God, give me fucking strength, you think. But you still smile. "You're gonna look good, I promise you."

So Ben gathers the pile you've created for him, and with a deep sigh, he heads over to the dressing room. There are two saleswomen stationed there. One visibly breathes in at the sight of him as she subtly taps the other one on the hip. Both greet him with bright eyes and smiles. "Hi there! Need a room?" the first one asks.

"Yeah," Ben nods, and she dutifully lets him into the biggest one. It has a cushioned bench and plenty of hooks on the wall for hanging the shirts and pants.

"Need any help laying these out?" she asks. He shakes his head. "No. I'm good, sweetheart."

She giggles a bit, like he's said something funny. "Okay! Well just let me know if you need any help. Like a different size, different color, if you need a belt, or anything like that."

Ben spots her blush and can't help but smile at her indulgently. "Sure." He has no intention of taking her up on her "help," but he knows the effect he has on women. Once she leaves, he closes the dressing room door and starts trying things on.

He's surprised to find he actually likes a lot of what you picked out for him. But then his superior hearing picks up what the women out front are whispering to each other in excitement.

"Oh my God, it's a criminal offense to have that jawline," says the one who helped him. "And that beard? Cut to perfection."

Ben smirks, both in amusement and with a well of pride welling in his chest. Still got it, fuckers.

The other scoffs. "Honey, I'd climb that man like a goddamn tree."

They snicker together, trying and failing to be quiet. "He looks so familiar though, I swear to God."

"Psh. Maybe in your dreams," one teases. The other hums. "Well, he'll definitely be making an appearance tonight...maybe when I'm still awake." Ben raises a brow at that.

"Hmm, looks like he's got a girlfriend though. She picked out all that stuff for him."

He then perks up a bit at the mention of you.

"Ehh, come on. She's gotta be a sister or something. Look at her."

"Aww, don't do that. She's cute."

"Cute doesn't bag a man like that." The other one chortles in response.

Ben frowns. He knew women were petty, but this takes the fucking cake. You're a New York "10," even in your old sweatpants and a bare face.

"What-fucking-ever, bitch. I'm gonna slip him my number. See if he needs any further assistance." Cue more obnoxious giggling.

The other one chimes in. "Ooh, you're bad. But I'm here for it. Get your man, girl."

"Excuse me." Oh, shit. Ben's brows raise of their own accord. That was your voice.

"Yes," one of the saleswomen greets you more professionally.

"I just want to check on how my boyfriend's doing. He's in that room, right?" you ask. Ben hears your tone though. It's clipped, direct, and intentional. He knows then: you definitely heard those twittering broads.

"Yes, right back there," one of the women directs you.

"Thank you," you reply flatly.

Ben smirks as he hears your brusque steps approaching. He checks himself out in the mirror real quick (the white shirt and black pants are simple, but they go well with the black jacket, he thinks). Then he unlocks the door and opens it, right as you were about to knock.

You blink up at him with surprise, and the remnants of a frown.

He leans against the doorframe, looking down at you with a charming smile. "Hey there, beautiful."

Your lips start to form a smile, but it doesn't reach your eyes. "Hey." You take in his current outfit with interest and approval. "Ooh, I like this. You look good...how do you feel in it?"

"Good," Ben says, but his eyes are focused on you. "Come 'ere."

He takes you by surprise when his hand guides you inside the dressing room by the waist. He locks it behind you. You look up at him in askance. He grasps your chin and tilts your face up to him.

"What's the matter?" he asks knowingly.

You raise a brow at him, shaking your head. "Nothing. Come on, did you try on this other stuff?"

Ben keeps a stubborn grip on your chin, so you can't turn away from him. "Don't tell me you're letting those maneating bimbos get to you."

Your eyes go wide and you raise a finger to your lips, reminding him to keep it quiet, but he doesn't give two fucks about that. He sits down on the soft bench and pulls you down with him. You sit across his lap and give him a rueful smile, stroking his cheek.

"I'll let you in on a little secret though," Ben says. Your expression crosses between amusement and intrigue. He leans in close your ear. "Jealousy looks fucking hot on you."

You guffaw in response, playfully smacking his arm.

"Hey, easy on the jacket," he smirks, but he claims you with a kiss. His fingers go to the button on your jeans, undoing it and slowly, torturously, guiding down the zipper. You suck in a breath.

"Ben, we can't," you say. But you're already moaning softly in his ear when his thick fingers begin to rub your pussy through your underwear. You blush at the naughtiness of this, even though the thought just turns you on even more.

He soon moves your panties aside to find your wet, soft heat.

You grip his hair tight, trying to bite your lip against a gasp as his fingers enter you, and begin to pulse inside. Your lower belly coils with heat, especially when his thumb finds your clit.

"We're paying customers," he says, with a deepening smirk. "We can do whatever we damn well please."

At the moment, you find it hard to argue with his logic.

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

SB Tag List:

@melancholictearz @katherineann83 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @tipthejar @ajjustice @thewritersaddictions @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman

@mrshalverson2021 @iprobablyshipit91 @agalliasi @venicesem @waters-2567 @deans-spinster-witch @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @mimaria420 @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @skyesthebomb @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore

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[lemoniiiiiii]

chances

(frat!kyle spencer x fem!reader)

content: fluff, angst (if you squint?), mentioned sexual harassment (by frat members)

a/n: not proofread, short drabble inspired by this post, wrote it really fast so sorry if it's not the best (it's my first time writing for kyle too so)! also, the last line is sick I'm aware I'M SORRY RYAN MURPHY POSSESSED ME

when your boyfriend kyle told you that he was joining the fraternity kappa lambda gamma you seriously thought he was joking. kyle was caring, hard-working, kind. yeah, he liked to joke around, but he was nothing like those greek alphabet degenerates you associated frats with. you told him this earnestly. it wasn't just a passing judgment, it was a genuine concern for him. trapped in a house with all those guys? kyle could handle himself well growing up in the 9th ward, but these frat guys were different to the types of people he was used to dealing with. you didn't want to see him to get hurt, or worse... start becoming like them.

when you expressed your feelings to him, kyle (of course politely) brushed your concerns off.

"give em' a chance..." he told you, caressing your head in his lap. "they're not all as bad as ya think. and even some of em' that are a bit.. y'know.. they're good people at heart, i can tell. they just hafta be put in the right direction."

"and is that why you're gonna try and become president?"

"yep! kappa lambda gamma has the potential to be one of the best chapters tulane has ever seen. that, and it gets ya some pretty awesome connections"

he was right.. a lot of past frat members had become pretty successful and kyle could use that to his advantage.

"okay fair... just, be safe okay? stick to what you know- who you are"

"oh i f'sure will" he flashed a knowing smile, leaning in to plant a tender kiss on your lips. your hands found their way into his golden curls, drawing him closer for a deeper connection.

as if on cue, the moment kyle pulled away, his phone began to ring. he glanced at the screen, and an apologetic smile appeared on his lips as he answered the call, shifting slightly as if bracing for what was coming.

"whoa, whoa, whoa, ma, slow down. what's going on? i’m at a—" he hesitated, casting a quick glance your way, "—at a friend’s, i told ya already... yeah, i’ll be home soon... what? right now?" there was a brief pause before he sighed. "okay, ma. love you too."

as kyle lowered the phone, you let out a soft sigh, already knowing what was coming. "gotta go, huh?"

"yeah, i’m sorry, baby..." he took your hand gently, lifting it to his lips in one smooth motion, the warmth of his breath tickling your skin before his lips brushed your knuckles. his fingers slid between yours, intertwining, and then he leaned in close, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. "i’ll see you on campus, okay?"

you nodded, trying to mask the disappointment tugging at your chest. "mhm… see you," you murmured, sitting up and watching him leave.

--

"oh my god" your jaw dropped as kyle stepped out of the bathroom. you had gone to surprise him after move-in day, wanting to see how he was adjusting to the frat life. and oh boy did he adjust. he had the blue embroidered polo with the collar obnoxiously flipped up, a white long sleeve underneath it, rolled up to the elbows, even-

"your hair!" you gasped. kyle's once luscious curls you loved to run your hands through had now become flat and side-swept. you silently cursed yourself for ever teaching him how to use a flat iron so he could help you do your hair.

"well y'know you could say hi-" he chuckled, enjoying your reaction to his new look. "like it?"

to be honest, you didn't hate it, as much as you wanted to. kyle had a way of making anything look good. it was more what it represented that made your stomach churn.

"you certainly look the part" you said, forcing a half-smile. "all you need now is a backwards cap and a blood alcohol content of .12%"

he laughed, walking over and nudging your arm. "c'mon babe. open mind, remember?"

you sighed. "right... open mind" you glanced over him again, noticing how the fabric of his clothes hugged his frame in a way that accentuated his muscles. "okay.. you do look really hot i'm just wor-"

"gonna stop ya right there." he gently placed a hand on your arm, giving you a warm smile. "thank you. i'm happy ya came."

"i'm... happy i'm here- well, with you anyway" you couldn’t help but let the corners of your mouth lift. kyle just had that effect on you.

"..seriously though," you started again, looking into his eyes with a hint of concern.

kyle’s expression softened as he wrapped an arm around your lower back. "i promise it's stoppin' here, alright? all this… it's just surface level. you still have me." he gestured vaguely to his clothes and hair. "this is still the same me."

you held his gaze, trying to believe him, though a small part of you still worried that he may fall in too deep.

"please baby, give em' a chance..."

"what kind of chance?" you looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. "because i was violated like three different ways just walking up to your room." the words came out half-joking, but there was an edge to your tone that kyle didn’t miss.

he straightened up, eyes narrowing, and his brow furrowed with a fierce protectiveness. "what happened?"

"i'm kidding... kinda. nothing crazy just a few wandering eyes" you waved it off, though the memory of being looked up and down like that made your skin crawl for a second.

"i'll talk to em' about it. if they say or do anything else, tell me. i'll cut their fuckin' balls off" his voice was serious, and though he didn't mean it literally, you knew he would go to war for the people he cared about.

"as long as i get to watch," you giggled, leaning into him a little more.

"...any chance you’ll stop using that flat iron, though?" you asked, giving his new hairstyle a gentle tease, still missing the curls that used to frame his face.

"when i'm dead." he chuckled with a cocky grin.

"we’ll see about that."

--

tags (ask to be added or removed anytime!): @fear-is-truth @juliamaximoff @jazz-berry @violetsghosts @heartz4peter

[jajasmiinee]

----------------------------- ☆ -----------------------------

PREGNANCY REVEAL - MATT STURNIOLO

----------------------------- ☆ -----------------------------

warnings : fluff, kissing, cringe, swearing, bad grammar

english is not my first language so i'm terribly sorry if there's any english error

y/n

matt

chris

nick

enjoyyy !

----------------------------- ☆ -----------------------------

today it's the triplets birthday and they're going to film a car video, which they invited you to join. of course you joined. but there's some birthday present for them, especially Matt

----------------------------- ☆ -----------------------------

You and Matt are in the back seat, while Nick's at the driver seat and Chris's of course at the passenger seat.

"So our birthday is tomo- oh! i mean today! happy birthday for us! Woohoo!" Nick says happily after seeing the date, 1st august

"Happy birthday guysss!" You wishes them, giving them a tight hug

"Thanks y/n" Chris pat your head slowly, he's like a brother to you. And that makes you smiles so softly at Chris

"Thanks love" "Of course sweetheart" Matt winks at you, making you giggles

"So thank you guys for wa-" Nick's words were cut off by you "Oh wait wa-" "Bitch why am i getting cut every single time in this video" Nick groans "Well maybe you deserves it" Chris rolls his eyes. "Quit it! Anyways, i have a surprise for you guysss" You smiles happily as you took out 3 medium size boxes

"Oh really?" Matt was quite shocked "Why? You don't want em?" "No no i would love too!" Matt quickly take one of the boxes as he sees your eyes filled with rage when he suddenly say such a thing "Haha! Thank you y/n! This is so sweet of you!" Chris eyes sparkle when he got his box. "Wait can i open it now?" Matt ask "No no wait!"

"okay, 3..2..1 !" You and Matt count down, the triplets were excited to open them "Oohh what is this..?" Chris ask in confusion when he saw a positive pregnancy test in his box. The time froze a little when all of the guys trying to process the information.

"Wait..!" Matt eyes widen, looking dead in your eyes. It seems like Matt's the fastest to absorb the situation. "Hihi!" You chuckles softly as Nick and Chris also looking at you with widen eyes. "Are you fucking pregnant?!" Nick ask, half shouting. "What do you guys think?" You raised an eyebrow playfully

"I'm going to be a father?!" Matt hold your hands with a bright smile on his face "Yes silly!" You laughed "We're going to be a uncle?!" Nick says, looking excitedly at Chris "Holly shit! What in the fucking world?!" Chris laugh with tears in his eyes. "This is not fake right? This is not some sort of pranks right?" Matt still in denial, still so shocked "Noo! I'm officially preg-" your words were cut off when matt pulls you in a passionate kiss, making you giggles between kisses

"Chris! We're going to be some bitches uncle!" Nick shouted at Chris, not in a angry way but excited way. "And Matt's going to be a dad!" Chris replied happily "Hahaha!" You laugh when Matt finally pull the kiss away. "I-i'm going t-to be a dad" Matt cried, covering his face with his hands. "Awwwhh matt! Don't cry!" Nick pat matt back softly.

"This is the best birthday present ever!" Chris shows the camera the pregnancy results, showing the two lines saying that's positive. "Look guys! So cute!!"

"Alright guys! Thanks for watching! We love you and happy Friday!!" All of you wave at the camera and at the very last second of the video, matt suddenly pull you into another soft kiss, hearing some of Nick and Chris groans

----------------------------- ☆ -----------------------------

Comments

"Damn, Matt crying's making my heart melt"

"The way you all so happy about it it just so.. ARRRGGGGHH! 🥹🥹"

"I swear the baby going to have the best mom, dad and uncles ever! 💗💗"

"The baby is so lucky to have you all as a family"

"I just know that the baby's gonna learn to swear by the age of 3 years old because Nick and Chris teaching her 😂"

"Wish you all the best y/n and matt"

"Congratulations for your family ❤️❤️"

----------------------------- ☆ -----------------------------

i know this is short i'm sorry i don't have any motivation to do anything rn

love you all, have a very nice day. remember to always love yourself okay? 💗💗

[luveline]

Maybe this is a dumb request…but could you do a fic where Roan is having a really bad day (for no particular reason) and she is just kinda being fussy and behaving differently than normal and Eddie tries to figure out what’s wrong and make Roan feel better while reader falls more and more in love with the both of them. I literally think that would be the cutest ever🥰

i kind of made it so there was a reason but i hope this is still okay! ty for ur request ♥︎ fem!reader

You know it's going to be a difficult day as soon as you wake up, plagued by the absence of a small body between you and your partner. You turn on one side to slap off the alarm, and then the other to wake Eddie yourself. 

He's disturbed by the sound of the alarm but not quite there, and so you cup his face in your hand and rub a pattern into his stubbly cheek with your thumb. 

"My love," you mumble, careful not to breathe any morning breath on him. "Up and at 'em." 

"No." 

You laugh quietly and rub your forehead against his chin. "Yeah, baby. You need a shave, and Roan isn't awake." 

"I can see that. Got a distinct lack of knees in my chest." 

"And morning kisses." 

"Well, you can fix that." 

You climb onto your knees, cradle his face in both hands, and plant a perfect kiss on the tip of his nose. His hand finds your neck, and the two of you linger in place like twin statues for a stolen moment. 

"You shave, I'll get Roanie," you say. 

"Yeah." 

You make for Roan's bedroom. Sounds echo from the bathroom, the faucet running, Eddie shaking a can of shaving foam. You push open Roan's door and shut it behind you, hoping for another gentle wake up call. It can be the difference between a good day and a bad one, to be woken up sweetly. 

Picking carefully over a mess of toys and clothes, you remind yourself to clean up her explosions when you have the time, and lower yourself next to the small lump in her bed. She's still so small. 

"Macaroanie," you sing lightly, hand dropped onto her back. "It's time to get up, princess. I thought we'd have a special breakfast this morning, but we can only do that if we're quick." You rub her back, brush her hair out of her eyes. 

She shies away from your touch and hides her face in the pillow completely. 

"Come on," you say, patting her shoulder.

"No," she grumbles. 

"Come on, baby. I'll make pancakes, okay? But we have to get up now and pick your clothes." 

"No." She moves her shoulder, throwing your hand off. 

You pull your hand into your lap, feeling rather dejected, and totally unawares of what's affecting her. Thankfully, Eddie appears like a saviour, opening the door with a small piece of tissue paper stuck to his cheek. 

"Eddie," you sigh. 

"It's tiny. I was rushing." He finds his place at your side and assesses his still in bed daughter with a puzzled expression. "She sick?" 

"Don't think so." 

He cuts between you and encourages Roan's head to the side. She makes her indignation known, and Eddie says, "Let daddy feel your temperature," in his softest, kindest tone. 

He presses first the back of his hand and then the front to her skin. Practised movements. 

"You feel fine," he says, dropping his hand. "Come on, babe. I know you're tired, but we gotta get this show on the road."

She doesn't say anything, only curls in on herself.

Eddie looks at you unphased. Where you feel hopeless, unsure of what to do even though it's not the first time Roan's been in an unhappy mood, he's a pro. 

"Go do what you need to," he says to you, arms sliding under a grumbling body and hoisting her up into his chest. "I'm on Roan duty today." 

He smiles. You flash one back. 

After you're dressed and ready for work you meet them downstairs, where Eddie's somehow managed to dress himself and Roan, and is now trying to aeroplane cereal into her mouth.

"I'm not a baby," she protests. 

"You're my baby," he says, ignoring her grumpy attitude. 

She's scowling so hard she's gonna have a wrinkle between her eyebrows, and it gets worse as you leave the house. You try to smooth it away when you part, leaning down between Eddie's car and yours to give her your usual farewell kiss on the cheek. She allows it grudgingly.

"Have a good day. I love you." 

She mumbles. You pout and stand at full height, where Eddie offers an apologetic farewell all his own, squeezing your shoulder until it aches in the best way. 

"See you at six," he says. 

You nod. He kisses you, and you don't see them again until you're home. 

You worry about Roan all day. She's a happy kid, she's well-loved. She's loving. It's out of character for her to be so grumpy so you chalk it up to tiredness. 

When you get home, you plan on fulfilling your usual routine; track down Roan where she's watching cartoons on the couch, hug her within an inch of her life, find your boyfriend in the kitchen and hug him too. Eddie works less hours than you so he can be there for pick-up duty, and he's home first each day without fail. But today, there's no sign of him. 

No Roan on the couch. No cartoons. No dinner bubbling on the stove top. 

You check for his car in the driveway again and feel your lips tug down into an unabiding frown. 

"Guys?" you call.

"We're up here!" 

You toe off your shoes and bump up the stairs two at a time, more worried than anything. 

"What's going on in here?" you ask, pushing open Roan's door first. 

They're in her big princess bed, under princess silk sheets. Eddie's swapped his mechanic's coveralls for comfy clothes, and Roan is in one of her nighties. They're both on their backs, though Roan's face rests against Eddie's chest. 

"My sweethearts," you say, more to yourself than either of them. "What's wrong?" 

He runs a hand over Roan's hair. "Can I tell her?" 

She shakes her head and hides her eyes. 

Eddie gives you a sympathetic, sorry pout. "How was work?" 

"It was just fine." You feel behind you for the doorknob. "I'll make dinner, okay? You guys stay where you are." 

Roan pushes up so she can whisper in Eddie's ear. 

Eddie hums. "Okay." He smiles, eyes creased with fondness, and says to you, "Will you come and lie down with us. We- I missed you." 

You rush to get changed and climb into bed with them, crushing Roan in a big love sandwich. Your arm curls around her on impulse, as if you could shield her from whatever it is that's irking her. She doesn't respond in any way, but she's letting you cuddle, and it's enough. 

You listen to Eddie problem solve in awe. He talks slowly, quietly, careful questions that don't probe so much as guide Roan into the answers you want to hear. How was school? And what was for lunch today? Yeah, you like spaghetti, was it as nice as the one we make at home? Aw, that's too bad. We can have spaghetti ourselves this week if you want.

He talks for at least an hour until he gets to the very root of the problem. 

"You were sitting with Melissa again?" he asks. 

You toy with a baby curl, twisting and untwisting it around your finger. Hunger gnaws at your stomach but you refuse to move. 

"Yes… She had her hair in braids again." 

"Yeah?" 

You blink, interest piqued. It's the most she's said of her own volition all day. 

"And everybody said she looked pretty." 

He looks over Roan's head at you with a winning smile, but quickly tamps it down when Roan looks up and between you both. 

"I think you'd look so pretty with braids in, Ro," you say. 

Eddie nods appraisingly. "So pretty. Is that something you want?" 

She seizes up a little, like she hadn't expected to get caught. "I don't know," she mumbles. 

Eddie beams. "You know you look amazing every day, don't you? But, babe? With braids in? I think you'd look so beautiful." 

"Super pretty," you agree with a hurried nod. 

"But dad doesn't know how to do braids," she says, sounding at a crossroads between happy and let down. 

You hold her cheek in your hand and push up onto your elbow. "I know how to do them, princess. Remember, I did them for your costume day? And daddy can learn." 

"I can. You can have your hair whatever way you want, Ro. You could shave it all off-" He stops at your broken-hearted gawping. "Or, you know, something less drastic." 

Roan smiles like everythings been solved. Then, too soon, her tiny smile fades back into indifference, and she curls up like a pill bug. 

You're lost. 

Eddie, not so much. "You don't need different hair to be pretty." 

"Nobody at school calls me pretty," she says. 

You hold your breath. 

"Sweetheart…" He sits up and Roan hides in the space behind his back. He turns around, scoops her up, and kisses the top of her head. "Is your mom pretty?" 

Your heart literally soars, worse when Roan looks over his shoulder at you and says, "Yes," without hesitation. 

"Do you tell her that every day?" 

"...No." 

"No, we don't. We don't always remember to tell her, but that doesn't mean she isn't beautiful." He pulls her face away from his collar to smile at her. "Your friends don't always remember to tell you, but that doesn't mean you're not pretty. But I'm your dad, and I'm literally the smartest guy alive, and I say you look pretty every day." He tucks a curl behind her ear. "'Kay?" 

Your heart is a puddle in your chest, melted. 

"Okay." 

"Feel a little better?" 

She deliberately visually, eyes up to the ceiling. "Can we have spaghetti tonight? They don't make it nice like you, with the bread." 

"They don't, huh?" He smirks, charmed. 

"They really don't," you say.

They remember you're there, and both of them light up. Roan wiggles to be put down and makes her way on top of your chest, a weight you wouldn't trade for anything. "Oof," you say, wrapping your arms around her. "There's my girl." 

Eddie makes spaghetti. You get your after school cuddle. All's right with the world, until that night when Eddie keeps you up late for braiding lessons. 

"I'm a deadbeat," he says morosely, hair full of clumsy plaits of different lengths and tightness. 

You shake your head, head heavy with fatigue but entirely sincere. "You're the best dad in the world." 

—

more eddie and roan

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

I’ve returned from my sketchbook quest , and here’s a drawing for dauntless-daffodil , who came up with the idea for the spear baby au.

THEM HAS COOKIE!!! ;A; <3 <3 <3 <3 SMOL WITH COOKIE!!!

AWWWWWW~

oh gods looking at that cute little innocent face i can just FEEEEEEL baby spear watching as chaggie and the hotel all stand around them hotly debating What Food Is Even Healthy For A Baby Spear Spawn Child To Be Eating

Charlie: "A cookie??"

Angel Dust: "They don' need cookies, ya useless gays, they need milk!"

Charlie: "We had cookies in the hotel??"

Vaggie: "Why would they need milk? They've got teeth already! Fangs, even!"

Angel Dust: "That ain't how nutrition an' shit WORKS toots!"

Niffty: (shakes jar full of money) "SWEAR JAR!"

Angel Dust: "Fuck. Shit." (hands over three dollars)

Charlie: "Since when are there cookies in the hotel that I don't know know about???"

Cherri: "If they've got fangs and like chewing stuff, maybe they need meat or something?"

Niffty: "OR BLOOD!!!"

Vaggie: "We are NOT-"

Angel Dust: "Ain't no baby under my watch gettin' fed steaks and BLOOD!"

Charlie: "Where did the cookie even COME from?!"

Husk: (coughs)

Charlie: "Husk! You gave them-?"

Husk: "....bar's always got snacks. And they were just. Staring at me."

Angel Dust: "Husky noooooo....!"

Vaggie: "How? I did a double sweep for undeclared cookies just two days ago- you KNOW what Charlie does to your bar if she goes snack hunting in the middle of night and actually finds something. She's like an adorable cookie gremlin."

Charlie: "Heheh!"

Husk: "Yeah well, she's not the only one allowed to like f- fffffffudging cookies. And your kid seems to take after her, so whatever."

Angel Dust: "Baby cat, that's no reason ta- oh for cryin' out loud, now what Vaggot?"

Vaggie: "...what? I didn't say anything."

Charlie: "Vaggieee, you're smiling~"

Vaggie: "Huh?"

Husk: "Like a dumb... dumb."

Niffty: "Beaming! Grinning! AS WIDE AS A SLIT THROAT-"

Cherri: "-fuck fuck fuck, shit shit, damn crap hell- here, take my money and don't fucking talk like THAT in front of the kid either, what the fuck."

Angel Dust: "Sickening."

Niffty: "Thanks!"

Angel Dust: "I meant Darth Vaggie getting all googey eye'd over her an' Charlie chip having a kid."

Charlie: "Oh so you think they're my kid too, huh?"

Angel Dust: "Are ya gonna let Vaggie raise 'em without ya?"

Charlie: "No~pe~!!!"

Angel Dust: "Then congrats on parenthood ta both of ya, it's already going to hell."

Vaggie: "Okay, uh-"

Husk: "You're gonna fffffeathering cry again."

Vaggie: "-no I'm not, I'm just glad the... my kid isn't still crying. Our kid. They, really are pretty happy with the cookie aren't they?"

Charlie: "Of course they are! It's CHOCOLATE CHIP!!"

Angel Dust: "It's not. Baby food."

Charlie: "It is if it's my baby, and they get milk to go with the cookie!"

Angel Dust: "V-gal, stop her! Use ya dang mom veto!!"

Vaggie: "Eh. Charlie was a hellborn kid and she grew up fine. I trust her."

Charlie: "AWww!!!"

Angel Dust: "Unbelievable."

Husk: "Whipped."

Vaggie: "Yeah? My kid didn't even have to say anything to get a cookie out of you, fluff boy."

Cherri: "Uh, guys.... gays...?"

Husk: "What."

Charlie & Vaggie: "What?"

Angel Dust: "Both and speaking, baby."

Cherri: "Where did..... the baby go...?"

Hotel crew: "....."

Place where baby was: (empty except for crumbs)

Spear Baby: (gone)

Vaggie: (wings bristling) "The-"

Charlie: "OUR!"

Vaggie: "Our-"

Demon Charlie: "-BABY!?"

Niffty: "MOTHER OF FUCK." (throws down swear jar) (tries throwing herself onto the broken shards but angel dust and husk grab her)

-meanwhile, elsewhere in the hotel-

Alastor: (walking quickly)

Spear Baby: (crawling after him)

Alastor: "....shoo."

Spear Baby: "Guh!"

Alastor: (nervous sweating) (walks FASTER)

[beefboyandbabygirl]

can i request pleasee? wonwoo oneshot based on taylor swift's song "the very first night" because i'm in need of smutty with extra fluffy in it ☹️😔

Very First Night

⊱ ━━━━.⋅ εïз ⋅.━━━━ ⊰

pairing: ex!wonwoo x fem!reader

genre: smut, fluff, exes to lovers

warnings: this is SMUT MDNI!, oral (f receiving), regular smegular missionary, making out, exes getting back together, brief mentions of clubbing and alcohol, petnames (baby, darling)

quotes from beefboy: "it's FIERCE" (sorry thats the only one i dont feel like scrolling thru all our messages AHHA)

wordcount: 1k

a/n: first request yaaay!! i know im a little late into the game by now (my summer vacay is pretty packed lol), but in case ur confuuuuused, hiii im the bbygirl to the beefboy (aka user @joshibambi), im taking care of all the requests xx. And im gonna be v honest here and say i hadn't heard this song until this request lol, but i took this task SERIOUSLY and i love basing fics on songs (i make a playlist for all of beefboys fics, its true), so like keep em coming. i rlly hope u like it!! (this was a v long a/n lmao i promise they wont all b like this).

You watched his name on your phone screen, displayed in your contacts in a row amongst many other w-names. Wiliam, Wade, Walter- Who the fuck was Wylan? You tried to pay attention to any other name but his.

Wonwoo.

And then you thought, fuck it. It wasn’t like things had ended on bad terms. They had ended on we-are-busy-and-maybe-we-should-try-something-new terms. It was easy. An honest talk on the couch during a chilly Friday afternoon, and you had decided it was the best option. For the both of you.

And it was only after the fourth weekend out with your friends after the breakup, you realized what had happened.  

You missed him. You missed him so bad, you wished you could abandon the strong drinks and sweaty air of the bar that reminded you so much of your very first night with him. But you didn’t. You didn’t say a word as you danced under flashes of pink and red with strangers. Nobody knew.

Nobody knew how much you missed him. Not until now.

“Hello?” 

He sounded confused, maybe even a little startled when he answered your call. Maybe you should have told your friends so they could have talked you out of this afterall.

“Hey Wonwoo.”

“Hey…”

You realized you hadn’t actually planned what you were going to do from here. 

“Do you- Like, wanna come over?”

It went silent on the other end again, and the question echoed in your head, suddenly sounding pretty wrong.

“I mean- Not like that, just like if you wanna talk, you know? Catch up and stuff, I just wanna make sure you’re okay and-“

“Y/n, let me stop you right there.”

Well. That didn’t seem too good.

“I, uh- Okay, fuck, this is really embarrasing, but I’m- I’m already here.”

“…What the fuck?”

“Yeah, and I was gonna do this whole- I don’t know this whole thing, and now you’ve ruined it, actually. So thank you.”

The familiar sarcastic tone of his voice made you giggle as you got up from the couch and sauntered towards the door.

“Really? What kinda thing?”

You were teasing him now, but hell, you had already decided to call your ex on a lonely late night. Might as well go all out.

“This whole…Romantic thing, I know it’s stupid, I’m sorry, but I just-“

Before he could continue, you pushed the door open, and there he was. Not a particularly spectacular sight, to the average person. Dressed in sweats with his glasses (your favorite pair. The slutty ones), sliding down his nose a little, exposing the fact that he probably ran all the way up the stairs. 

And still he was beautiful. The most beautiful you’d ever seen him.

“…So do we talk first, or do you wanna-?”, he asked. 

“I was thinking fuck first, talk second?”

“I wanna kiss you first though.”

“Kissing is an integral part of sex.”

“I know, but I wanna kiss you now.”

“Was that your romantic thing? Burst into my apartment and kiss me?”

He shrugged.

“I figured you’d like it.”

You took a step closer to him.

“You were right.”

At some point during the kiss you both made it past your doorstep, lips pressed together tightly and limbs intertwined in all sorts of impossible ways. 

Once again you were brought back to your first night together. How you practically jumped into his car, and he pressed the gas as hard as he could, and the lights and neon signs were so pretty it felt like they were there just for you. How you stumbled through the hotel room door all smitten and giggling, the sounds of the busy city life behind the window not even coming close to drowning out the sound of your pounding hearts. It was written in the sky that night, the longing, the want, the need you felt for each other. 

You were brought back to the present when the air got punched out of your lungs, as your back hit the mattress of your bed. Wonwoo crawled on top of you, his eyes meeting yours. 

You kissed again. Your limbs intertwined again, and clothes flew all over your room as you scrambled to get back to each other after all this time. you knew then and there that your very first night together was going to be incomparable to this feeling. This feeling, in this moment. 

His lips kissed their way down your body, not leaving a single spot missed until he met your clit, his nose brushing against it ever so lightly. 

“Don’t tease, Won- Ah.”

He couldn’t dream of teasing. Not now, when you were right here, and even though he didn’t get to tell you the words he had memorized, he couldn’t really care. Not when all he could think of at this moment, with his lips wrapped around your clit and tongue prodding at your hole, was you.

“God, so fucking good, missed this fucking pussy”, he mumbled into your dripping core as you gripped his hair tighter and gave in to the inevitable urge to grind against his tongue. 

“I know you’re close baby, come on. Cum for me darling.”

With one last flick of his skilled tongue you were falling over the edge, a rush running through your body that couldn’t compete with any other feeling.

Still in a daze, his chin coated in your wetness, Wonwoo made his way back up your body until his lips were on your neck and his hard cock was grinding against you. 

“Need you Won, need you so bad, please.”

Your voice was barely a whisper, as you ran your nails down his toned back and nipped at his earlobe in a desperate attempt to get him to do something. Anything. Everything.

“I know, I know. Need you too baby, you have no idea.”

He was almost panting, and soon enough his struggling breaths became a long content sigh as your sweet pleas and whines had him pushing into you, your familiar warmth sucking him in.

His thrusts were sharp and deep and fucking perfect. You didn’t want it fast, didn’t want it hard or rough, you wanted it real, wanted it to be just him and you and nothing else.

“Do you know-“

Now he was truly out of breath, heavy sighs and grunts tumbling from his swollen lips right next to your ear as you shut your eyes in pleasure.

“-How much i missed you? Missed you so fucking much, I should have never, fuck, never let anything get in the way.”

God, how nice it felt to know he had missed you. And how nice it felt for someone to finally know how much you had missed him. 

Between a hundred more I missed you-es, you dragged each other through the fall, him after you (ever the gentleman), and between many quick kisses and a few drowsy ones you fell asleep in his arms. 

Just like the very first night.