#oblivious!reader

[jijournal]

hii!! could i request oliver wood yule ball headcannons or a fic related to oliver asking reader to the yule ball?

THICKER THAN A BROOMSTICK | O.W

summary: Quidditch is brutal, but nothing compares to Oliver Wood’s hopeless attempts at flirting—too bad the only person who doesn’t realize he’s asking you to the Yule Ball is you.

wc: 2.1k+

cw: oblivious!reader, reader is on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, down bad Oliver.

A/N: Thanks for requesting!! MWA!

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

The Gryffindor locker room always smelled vaguely of sweat, leather, and a little too much pride. You were used to it by now—Quidditch came with its fair share of bruises and bad cologne. And Oliver Wood, your relentlessly intense captain, was the embodiment of both. He was also currently staring at you from across the room, looking at you as if you were a goddess.

“Okay, team! Good practice today!” he barked, a bit too loudly for someone whose voice cracked halfway through the sentence. “Except for you, Bell—next time, aim for the actual goalpost, not my nose.”

You stifled a laugh and sat down on the nearby bench. “In her defense,” you said, removing your glove with your teeth, “your nose was in the way.”

“Don’t encourage her,” Oliver muttered, mostly to himself. You were fairly certain he'd lost all his mental stability somewhere between the third and fourth practice this week.

“So,” he said suddenly, too casually to be natural, “let’s say—hypothetically—you were going to ask someone to the Yule Ball.”

You turned to him, instantly intrigued. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he repeated, nodding as if trying to convince himself. “What would be the best way to… do that?”

“Ooh. Okay. First of all, don’t use the word ‘hypothetically.’ That’s suspicious. And no stuttering. Confidence is key.”

“Right. Confidence...” He scratched the back of his neck, looking no where near confident.

“Ooooh,” you grinned, loosening your hair from your braid. “Got your eye on someone, Captain?”

Oliver looked like you’d just asked him to strip naked on the pitch. He rubbed the back of his neck, the tips of his ears turning a Gryffindor-jersey shade of red.

“Well, yeah,” he mumbled, eyes darting everywhere but your face. “There’s this girl.”

You gasped, full of exaggerated excitement. “WHO?! Wait, let me guess—Ravenclaw? The one with the really long plaits?”

“No,” he said, smiling slightly, “she plays Quidditch.”

“Ooh,” you said again, wriggling your brows. “Well, you should totally ask her!”

“I’m trying,” he deadpanned. And you just patted his shoulder encouragingly.

“Don’t be nervous! Just go up to her and say, ‘Oi, you. You’re hot. Dance with me.’ Works like a charm.”

Oliver blinked at you.

You blinked back.

“Don’t worry!” you chirped. “You’ll figure it out. I believe in you.”

And then you walked off humming the Weird Sisters’ latest hit, not noticing how Oliver dropped his forehead against the cupboard behind him with a muffled groan.

The thing was, Oliver Wood was not a subtle man. Subtlety was for people who didn’t run 7 a.m. drills and shout “THIS IS WHAT WINNERS DO” while dangling off a broomstick.

But around you? He tried. Really.

You just… didn’t get it.

There was a time where Oliver wordlessly tossed you a small box. It was square, wrapped in crinkled gold paper with an overly dramatic red bow. One of his main attempts on asking you to the Yule Ball.

You blinked at it. “Um. What’s this?”

He scratched the back of his neck, looking like he might physically combust. “Just… thought you’d like it.”

You opened it carefully—and gasped.

Inside was a charm bracelet. But not just any charm bracelet. The little pendants were Quidditch-themed—a broomstick, a tiny Gryffindor lion, a chocolate frog, and most tellingly, a miniature golden Yule Ball ticket.

You picked it up, charmed. “Oliver. This is adorable. Did Angelina make this?”

His mouth dropped open slightly. “What? No! I—I spent all week on that—”

“Aww. You should really sell these,” you said, slipping it on your wrist with a grin. “You’ve got such a good eye for girly stuff!”

He groaned and put his head in his hands.

Or, the time when he “accidentally” bumped into you outside Charms, dropping an entire bouquet of enchanted daffodils from his bag, then spent ten minutes trying to explain why his textbooks smelled like a greenhouse.

“Oh, is that for that girl you like?” you’d asked cheerily, nudging his side. “You’re really going all out!”

He gave a weak laugh. “Apparently not enough.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Later that week, he tried again. You were in the library, of all places, tucked between Quidditch Through the Ages and a half-eaten Chocolate Frog. Your brow was furrowed, tongue poking slightly out of your mouth as you annotated a diagram of broomstick aerodynamics like it was the most thrilling thing on earth.

He slid into the chair next to you, trying to keep his voice steady. “Hey. Been thinking about the Yule Ball.”

You didn’t look up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, swallowing. “Still… haven’t asked anyone.”

You finally turned to him, eyebrows raised. “Oliver, you’ve been talking about this mystery girl for like a week now. Just ask her.”

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder!” you grinned, nudging his side. “Be romantic. Write a letter or something.”

The idea struck him like a Bludger. That night, he scribbled down a note on parchment, messy but sincere:

You’re brilliant. I like you. You’re the best flier I know and possibly the only person who scares me in a good way. Would you go to the Yule Ball with me? —Someone Who Should Really Just Say This Out Loud

He slipped it into your bag the next morning.

By dinner, you were holding it up like it was cursed. You’d read it three times and then loudly declared, “Okay, who wrote this?” you demanded, waving it at the table. “This has to be a prank, right? Angelina?”

Everyone shook their heads.

A prank?! What in Godric's beard? She thought it was a prank!

You turned to Oliver. “Was it you? This sounds like something you’d write if someone held you at wandpoint.”

His face burned. “Wow. Thanks. No, it wasn’t me.”

“Pity. The part about being scared of me was kind of hot.”

He choked on his pumpkin juice.

A few days later, you were helping him clean up after practice—well, “helping” in the loosest possible sense, mostly tossing broken broom bristles into a pile while he sorted spare Quaffles. You were humming to yourself, twirling your wand, and he watched you for a moment, heart thudding in his chest like it was trying to leave without him.

“I’ve got a question for you,” he said, clearly working up the nerve.

“Shoot.”

“Are you a snitch?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

You blinked at him. “Because I’m fast?”

“Because I’ve been chasing you all year.”

Silence.

You squinted. “Oliver. You're not even a seeker. And was that a pick-up line?”

He groaned, tossing a Quaffle into a crate like it had personally offended him. “Forget it.”

“No, no! I’m using that. That’s going in the Hall of Fame. I’m going to try it on McLaggen.”

“Please don’t.”

By the time the Yule Ball list was due, Oliver had tried everything—letters, awkward compliments, late-night “hypothetical” questions. He’d even brought you a Butterbeer after practice once, charmed so the foam spelled your name. You drank it and said, “Aww, thanks! This must’ve been meant for someone else, but lucky me!”

He had never been closer to quitting Quidditch and fleeing to Romania.

And now, now, you were sitting beside him in the common room, still in your post-practice jersey, hair windblown and socks mismatched, talking about the Yule Ball again like it wasn’t currently eating him alive from the inside out.

You threw a cushion at his face. “Come on! Just tell me who she is already.”

He caught the cushion, clutched it to his chest like it might prevent him from exploding. “She’s… she’s this girl who drives me insane.”

“Cute,” you said, absently braiding a strand of your hair. “Go on.”

“She talks too much. Never takes anything seriously. She flies like she was born with wings. She’s always got mud on her socks and she never notices when someone’s obviously trying to ask her to the damn Yule Ball.”

You blinked. “Oh. She sounds… vaguely familiar.”

“Yeah?” Oliver said, finally standing up, pacing now. “She should. Because she’s YOU. IT’S YOU! I’M TALKING ABOUT YOU.”

You stared. The common room went very still. Even the fireplace seemed to freeze.

“…Me?”

“YES, YOU.” He flung the cushion back at you. “I’ve been trying to ask you for weeks. The bracelet? The daffodils? The letter? The Butterbeer? The way I keep saying I fancy a girl who plays Quidditch right next to you?!”

You held the cushion in your lap, blinking at him in slow, stunned horror. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

“Wait. Soooo you like me?”

Oliver groaned so loud it probably woke up the Fat Lady two portraits over. “YES. Godric's beard, YES. I like you. I have liked you since the first time you swore at me for calling extra practice on a Saturday.”

You looked at him—red in the face, fists clenched, somehow adorable even in his panic—and then started laughing. Hard.

“Wait—wait, hang on,” you wheezed, standing. “You mean to tell me this whole time you were trying to flirt with me, and I was just—completely missing it?”

Oliver looked at you like you’d just confirmed his most traumatic suspicion. “YES.”

You giggled again, stepping forward. “Well, I am a bit thick, apparently.”

“No argument here.”

You smacked his arm. Then, a little softer, “So… is the offer still on the table?”

“I—yes!” Oliver stammered, practically tripping over his own breath. “Of course, yes. I mean—unless you're joking, in which case—bloody hell—I’m going to pretend I didn’t just have a minor cardiac episode—”

His words were frantic, uneven, like they’d been building for weeks and had nowhere else to go but out.

And still, somehow, he thought he might be dreaming.

You didn’t say anything. You just stepped forward, grabbed a fistful of his collar, and tugged him down to your height—firm, deliberate, like you’d been meaning to do it for a long time.

“Wood,” you said simply.

He blinked. You were close enough now to see the scatter of freckles over the bridge of his nose. His breath caught in his throat.

You leaned in, brushing your lips against the shell of his ear, just enough for him to feel the words.

“You talk too much.”

And then, before he could speak again—or overthink it, or panic, or launch into another charmingly idiotic monologue—you kissed him.

It wasn’t perfect. Not at first. His lips were warm, and the tip of your nose bumped clumsily into his. You nearly laughed into his mouth. Someone, somewhere across the common room, definitely let out a scandalized whistle.

But none of that mattered.

Because the second Oliver got over the shock—the second his brain caught up with the fact that this was real, that you were kissing him—his hands found your waist like they’d been trying to solve that equation for weeks. He pulled you closer, carefully but without hesitation, like he never wanted to let go again.

When you pulled away, his eyes were still half-closed, lips parted slightly like he wasn’t entirely convinced it was over.

“I…” he started, then stopped. Cleared his throat. “I wasn’t ready for that.”

You folded your arms across your chest, trying to act casual even though your heart was beating faster than a Zouwu “Clearly. You froze like I casted a Full Body-Bind Curse"

He let out a half-laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You kissed me.”

You raised an eyebrow, shifting your weight onto one leg. “Don’t sound so offended. I thought you liked me.”

“I do like you!” Oliver said, exasperated, throwing his hands up again. “That’s the whole problem! You’ve got me all twisted up, can’t think straight half the time you’re around—Merlin, I planned seven different ways to ask you to the Ball and none of them included getting kissed into silence.”

You grinned, watching him unravel like the sleeves of your old team jumper. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

He huffed. “You’re ridiculous. You know that?”

You plopped down on the couch again, tugging him by the hand until he flopped beside you like a man defeated. “And yet. You still like me.”

He nudged your leg with his. “So. We’re going to the Yule Ball together?”

You turned your head to look at him—really look at him, flushed and glowing from the firelight, jersey wrinkled, hair messy, and smiled like someone who’d just won a championship.

“Yes” you said softly. “We are.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder.

Oliver laughed and let his head fall against the back of the couch. “Good. I was starting to think you didn’t like me back.”

You smiled, "That would be impossible"

And just like that, Oliver Wood—star Keeper, hopeless romantic, and newly confessed disaster of a crush—beamed at you like he’d just won the Quidditch Cup.

(And maybe, just maybe, he had.)

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

masterlist!

[aventurineswife]

Shooting practice with Hyuna, her showing off and then ensuring the reader knows their stance and what not. It's totally not a ploy to make them swoon (It totally is). Reader is oblivious to the subtle cues (it's so not subtle) and just sorta takes it as an opportunity to learn how to protect themselves and others.

Missed Shots, Stolen Glances

Summary: During a late-night shooting practice session, Hyuna takes it upon herself to teach you proper stance and technique. Of course, it's totally not an excuse to get close and make you swoon—except it absolutely is. Too bad you're completely oblivious to her not-so-subtle flirting.

Tags: Hyuna x Reader, Fluff, Humor, Training Session, Oblivious!Reader, Flirty!Hyuna, Found Family Vibes, Mild Teasing.

Warnings: Mentions of firearms & shooting practice, Light physical contact (hand-on-hand guidance, leaning in), Hyuna being a menace (affectionate).

A/N: Thank you for hearing my prays, anon, I love you 🙏💖🫶

The scent of gunpowder lingered in the air, mixing with the crisp evening breeze. The makeshift shooting range—a worn-out lot hidden in the outskirts of the rebellion’s base—echoed with the sharp crack of bullets meeting their targets. You stood at the edge of the clearing, shifting awkwardly as Hyuna adjusted her stance a few feet away.

"Alright, watch and learn," she said, spinning the pistol in her fingers before smoothly clicking it into place. She didn’t have to be this flashy, but, well... this was Hyuna.

She raised the gun with practiced ease, eyes narrowing as she lined up her shot. A split second later, the air split with gunfire—each shot landing perfectly within the bullseye. When she was done, she blew on the muzzle, grinning. "Not bad, right?"

You gave an appreciative nod. "Yeah, you're good."

"Good?" she repeated, placing a hand over her heart as if you’d wounded her pride. "Come on, at least say ‘amazing’ or ‘incredible.’ I don’t show off for just anyone, you know."

You frowned slightly, missing the teasing glint in her eyes. "I mean, I’d rather focus on learning than hyping you up."

Hyuna sighed, shaking her head. "You're lucky you're cute."

Before you could process that, she stepped behind you, her warmth radiating against your back as she guided your arms into position. "First off, your stance is all wrong. Widen your legs a little—no, not that much. There, that’s better."

Her hands lingered on your waist as she nudged you into place. You didn’t think much of it, too focused on maintaining balance. Hyuna, on the other hand, was fighting the urge to smirk.

"Grip the gun like this," she murmured, fingers wrapping over yours. "Firm, but not tense. You want control, not a death grip."

"Right, control," you repeated, adjusting accordingly.

She tilted her head, lips curving into a slow smile. "And don’t forget to breathe."

You exhaled sharply, suddenly aware of how close she was. She chuckled. "Relax. It’s just me."

You ignored the way your pulse spiked, instead focusing on the target ahead. You took a deep breath, steadied your grip, and pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit the edge of the target—far from perfect but at least on the board. You felt Hyuna hum in approval beside you. "Not bad for a beginner. Do it again."

You did, each shot improving with her whispered corrections and occasional—completely unnecessary—hand adjustments. Every time you tensed, she was there, a quiet reassurance at your side.

When you finally emptied the clip, she leaned in, her lips near your ear. "See? Told you I’m a good teacher."

You turned to her, unaware of the weight behind her gaze. "Yeah. Thanks, Hyuna."

Her eyes flickered, a mix of exasperation and amusement. She bumped her forehead lightly against yours before pulling away. "Hopeless," she muttered with a grin.

You weren’t sure what she meant. But as she handed you another clip and told you to go again, you got the feeling this training session wasn’t just about shooting.

And, somehow, you were still missing the point.

I love my queen, Hyuna 🙏💖

[outofmydepthatapublicbeach]

julien baker x oblivious!reader headcannons

this is inspired by @anuclearreactor!!! check their phoebe bridger x oblivious!reader out!!!

For context, this is during the tour and you’re either like the crew or one of their openers.

So Julien has definitely been like lowkey in love with you for a few months.

And you’ve been too, but in your mind, you’re like “no way she would ever like me back”.

Julien can be pretty shy sometimes and sometimes it's hard to read her.

But Lucy and Phoebe definitely know Julien likes you.

And you like offhandedly mentioned it once and then got really embarrassed and begged them not to tell her.

But since they know you both like each other they’ve tried dropping hints to you.

Phoebes like “Heyyy, there's this festival happening in Boston this weekend, maybe you and Julien should go, nice bonding time..”

Like smirking the whole time. You’re like “omg that sounds so fun! I'll text her!” after you finish texting her you turn to Phoebe and say “you and Lucy should come too!!”

Phoebe is like face-planting herself.

Julien has tried to make subtle moves too.

Like she holds your hand, stares into your eyes, tries to ask you on dates (to which you happily agree and then bring another person with you, like Lucy or Phoebe).

One time she made you a charm bracelet with all your favorite colors and charms that are very detailed and you still didn’t pick up on it…

She remembers everything you tell her about yourself. Oh, you dressed up as Cinderella for Halloween when you were six? She knows.

She remembers things you don’t even say out loud, like it takes you 15 minutes to do your makeup and you hate pineapple with a burning passion.

She’s gotten so desperate for you to pick up on her hints that she starts blatantly flirting with you in front of everyone. You still don’t pick up on it…

Lucy and Phoebe are starting to get sick of hearing Julien's corny pick up lines so one day they shove you both into a dressing room at one of the venues before a show.

It’s a couple of minutes of normal talk before Julien finally sits you down and tells you. “I like you.”

“Aww! I like you too Julien! You're my best friend!”

Julien runs her hand through her hair trying “No.. I like like you, like romantically.”

“Ohhh!” You say, eyes wide as saucers. “Wait, were you asking me out on dates before?”

She nods.

“Oh! Omg and I invited Lucy and Phoebe to join us! Oh God! I’m so sorry!” You both start giggling.

Lucy and Phoebe come rushing into the room with shit-eating grins on their faces, both shouting “FINALLY!”

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

Hi I just read your post about chubby reader being totally clueless

Can you write a fic about this trope with Jun-ho please ❣️💕

hey, bubble bun!! unfounded i do not write for whoever this is, but if any of my characters that i write for under requesting rules interest you, then you should check those out and come back!!!!

[kkusuka]

pt. 2

your roommate was a strange man.

can you even really call him a roommate if he's only home for one week every few months? but when he is home, simon riley is a pretty good roommate.

he fixes the heater that's been broken for two months, he replaces the faucet after it drenches you for turning it on too quick, he even takes a look at your car when you mention how your breaks have been squeaking. but other than his penchant for whiskey and the color black, you really don't know much about the man you've been living with for more than a year.

he's in the military, you know that for sure. he works with a team because he tells you that you have a striking resemblance to a man names "soap"? you take that as a compliment even if he didn't really mean it to be one. he wears combat boots even when he's off, you buy him a pair for his birthday that he doesn't take off until soles wear out. but all of these are merely observations, you don't actually know anything about him.

and it's not like you don't try to find out more things about him. you search his name on google- nothing. you ask him about his social media- 'don't got any'. you never ask about family because he never brings them up. all you have is a phone number and the license plate on his beat up dodge charger.

so, getting a call in the middle of the night, three months after you'd last seen simon, about a mission taking a bad turn and simon taking a bullet for an american private. all you really manage to catch after that was the hospital's address and a room number to ask for.

you feel like you're in a trance as you pack yourself an overnight bag, then move to simon's room and just start grabbing the softest clothes you can find and a bunch of snacks from his side of the pantry, then you're off.

you didn't want to see desperate or overly worried about a man whose favorite song you don't know but you're pushing into the high 90s on your way down. and your mind isn't clear until you're standing in front of a tired looking nurse in sanrio scrubs.

"um, i need to get into room 1206?" you barely choke the words out before she's getting up to lead you, "oh! mrs. riley, they told me you were on your way."

"oh-i'm, well" and if you hadn't watch so many hospital shows where they don't let anyone but family into the room you would have just told her the truth, but you just shut your mouth, give her a tight smile, and follow her down the hallway.

the room doesn’t take long to get to, but the door is shut and you can hear the people inside talking. but the nurse doesn't even hesitate to swing the door wide open, "mr. riley, your wife is here."

and then there are four sets of eyes trained on you, but all you can look at is the hulking figure of your roommate sat up in his comically small hospital bed. and all you can muster up is a slight smile and a small wave in his direction before the bags you're holding fly straight onto the floor.

"oh, shoot- i'm sorry. i didn't know if you needed anything so i just grabbed some things from your dresser- and some of those granola bars you like, and there should be a gatorade somewhere in there. and, oh my god, i'm sorry, how are you? i came as soon as they called, and they said you got shot, and-"

"calm down, sweetheart, or yer gonna be the one that needs a hospital bed." ok, simon could still speak that was good, and he was conscious and remembered you.

"i'm sorry. i just got worried, and-" simon knew you well enough to know that you'll worry yourself to death if he lets you keep going, "nothin' to worry about, sweetheart, pull up a chair, you've 'ad stressful few hours."

you practically fell back into the chair that the man with the kindest brown eyes you've ever seen pushed towards you. and for the first time since you arrived, you took a deep, long breath. hand clasped in your lap as you take simon in.

"feeling any better, mrs. riley?"

"she's fine, garrick." 

'garrick' seems utterly unphased by your roommate's- husband's? you can address that later- tone and just continues to smile at you.

"c'mon simon, we just wannae ken 'bout the bonnie lass yer hidin' from yer pals. ye 'aven't even introduced us." you're glad the scot waited until you'd calmed down to start speaking because it took you at least 30 seconds to realize he was even talking about you.

"sweetheart these are the boys, boys this is sweetheart, now fuck off before you scare 'er away"

they didn’t seem like they were going to leave until the older man practically dragged them out saying something about the heaping loads of paperwork they had to do. so will a little wave and a cheeky smile, they were gone.

"so, um, ho-how are you feeling? they, uh, said that you got shot?"

" 'm fine, sweetheart, better knowing i've got a bird at home who'll come runnin' cause she thinks 'm hurt, yeah wife?"

yeah, maybe you'll let the mrs. riley thing go on for a little bit longer.

idk i just really like the idea of simon just picking someone random and being like 'yeah this is it, you're mine now' and they have literally no idea

[skyrigel]

Simon and reader would be the last one to know they're in a relationship.

Soap would groan inwardly, when you would hop on to sit on Simon's lap because there was no 'room' on the bench.

And not the way you jittered, “Try this !” to him, holding Simon's jaw and feeding him with your own spoon. Ofcourse friend could feed one another, but Price drew the line at the intense way your thumb wiped the corner of their lieutenant's mouth and sucked it back.

Something, something about the way you kissed Simon in the middle of the room —because your chapstick's flavour was damn good and Simon ought to know that; Kyle rambled about it for two hours.

It's in the eyes, in the smiles, in the way Simon's gaze would soften up and yours would lit up like fuse. They wouldn't be surprised to find you guys married one day just because the ring looked pretty cute or whatever.

Masterlist

[snail-day]

Back to thinking about biting Suguru. Nothing new there.

It’s always easiest to harass him when you’re both watching a movie, attention span dwindling, your body slowly sinking into his as the minutes drag on. He’s behind you, long and solid and so warm, one heavy arm draped lazily around your waist. The slowness of his evening out breath. His broad, firm chest rising against your back. He’s barely dozing off, messy dark hair tickling your neck, a soft sigh ghosting past your ear. And, unfortunately…

His tits are right there.

Right behind your head. Plush and perfect, like a pillow. The weight of them. The audacity of them.

It’s just too easy to twist around and, well…

Bite.

Except he catches you, of course. With those annoyingly fast reflexes honed from years of training and you being a menace attacking him all the time. His large hand gently but firmly grabs your face mid-lunge, squishing your cheeks together until you’re forced into a pathetic little fishy pout.

A stretched out, teasing grin slowly spreads across his lips - sleepy, sharp, and far too smug. His hair falls into his eyes as he shifts closer so you're beneath him, and there’s something infuriatingly affectionate in the way he watches you squirm.

You can’t help the nervous wriggle, a pathetic whine bubbling in your throat as he holds you close, refusing to let you retreat.

He presses a soft kiss to your squished lips.

“Mmm? Does my baby not like this?” he coos, still holding your face like you’re some silly little creature he has to coddle and scold all at once. His voice dips into a crooning pout as he tilts his head, mirroring your expression for just a second. “Imagine how I feel, getting attacked all the time.”

And then - smugness restored, grin reforming - he brushes his nose against yours and hums, “Maybe I should gag you.” He pretends to think, fingers tapping your cheek. “Maybe then you'd learn your lesson and I'd actually get some peace, mm?”

You should bite him harder next time.

[cherrikeys]

rafayel and his instant bedroom eyes, slow smirk and teasing words. his "oh? this intense?" while he oh so conveniently lets the grape roll down his body. you know what i mean? rafayel who probably takes any opportunity he can to stretch his arms up so his shirt rides up in front of you, or purposefully leans back on the couch, to spread his legs slightly and look real comfortable.

i'm sure he obnoxiously sighs long and deep and pouts whenever you're not looking at him directly. and you gotta be careful giving him a water bottle, because of course he loves to let water drip out of his mouth whenever you're around. rafayel also can't help but purposefully take his belt off in front of you, when he's getting ready for a quick clothing change, or a swim, or just because he's home and he should be comfortable, right?

anyways. rafayel and his obsession with seducing you.

[beaucate]

part two / master list.

𐙚⋆˙˚◞ OBLIVIOUS!READER who always watched clark from a distance, a frown visible on the rosy plush of her lips as his eyes strayed away from her own. he never watched her, and how could he when lana lang was always beside her, capturing the farmer boy’s attention with ease.

OBLIVIOUS!READER who can’t see the way clark’s drift towards the side of her face when she isn’t paying attention. his breathing rapid, and palms clenching his locker so it bent under the tips of his fingers.

OBLIVIOUS!READER not noticing the glances mr. and mrs. kent would share whenever she came over, watching as their son’s eyes widened and his words spluttered as she asked for his mother’s apple pie recipe.

OBLIVIOUS!READER who doesn’t catch the way clark’s lips part ever so slightly when she laughs on the outside benches of school. the sound seeming to unravel him entirely, zoning out when the laces of her skirt lift slightly above her thighs. she assumes he’s just zoning out, daydreaming about the green eyed brunette who sat along her — but in truth, his thoughts are consumed by her, and the way the sun light dances in her eyes.

OBLIVIOUS!READER who brushes off the way clark insists on carrying her books, his hand brushing hers as he does, leaving her cheeks burning red and heart pounding louder than she’d like. she convinces herself it’s just because he’s a gentleman, a farm boy raised by the kindest of people in town; not realising how much it takes for him to steady his superhuman heartbeat every time her lashes flutter his way.

OBLIVIOUS!READER who never questions why clark’s excuses to spend time together are, if anything, endless — offering her rides to school, and staying late to help her study for exams.

OBLIVIOUS!READER who doesn’t realise she’s the reason clark’s nights are sleepless, watching her home from afar in the comfort of his barn, his mind replaying every rise of her chest and shudder from the cold. he swears her perfume lingers in the air longer than it should.

OBLIVIOUS!READER who catches clark watching her once —just once — and dismisses it, thinking he must be distracted by something behind her. meanwhile, clark’s heart is lodged in the base of his throat, and he’s trying not to panic at the idea of her realising his gaze was drawn to her pouty mouth.

OBLIVIOUS!READER who can’t explain why mrs. kent always smiles teasingly at her when she visits the farm, or why mr. kent’s chuckle feels a little too amused every time his son fumbles his words around her. she assumes they might be picking on her — though theyre too nice; but what could possibly be the reason?

OBLIVIOUS!READER who doesn’t realize clark’s awkward stammers and shy smiles aren’t just his usual charm — they’re reserved for her. and when his hand accidentally brushes hers and she pulls away, muttering an apology, clark wonders if she’ll ever see just how much his mind has memorised the lines etched on her palms.

❀˚ dividers by @/ fairytopea

[marvelwitchergilmore]

State Of Denial

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> When Bucky gets sick, you take care of him.

Disclaimer: Fluffy fluff, Bucky is in denial about being sick, reader takes care of him, hint of oblivious idiots/mutual pining, little extra fluff at the end. Not fully proof read.

“Buck, you’re sick.”

You and Sam watched as Bucky walked around the kitchen, his nose bright red and his eyes heavy. You watched as he struggled a little to get the child safety cap off the vitamin bottle. 

“I am not sick,” Bucky moved the bottle away from him as he sneezed into his elbow. “I can’t get sick.”

With a small sigh, you reached out for the bottle and opened it yourself. 

“Even Thor gets sick,” you told him. “And he’s a God. You can get sick.”

Bucky nodded a silent thank you before taking some of the vitamins. “I am not sick.”

He was in denial for the following two days, only accepting the truth when he almost collapsed in the hallway. 

You’d been keeping your eye on him for the last few hours. He seemed better than the last couple of days, in the morning. But by mid afternoon, it was like he was halfway to cos-playing Roudolph. 

And when his legs nearly gave out from under him, you decided to put your foot down. 

“Okay, super soldier.” You wrapped an arm around his back and helped him get steady on his feet. “Bedtime.”

Finally getting him into his bed was the easiest task you’d faced for the last few days. He went down like a sack of potatoes onto his mattress, his brow already growing with a sheen of sweat. 

“Why is it so hot in here?”

You reached up and felt his forehead with the back of your hand. “Buck, you’re freezing cold. Friday, please alert Doctor Banner that Bucky-” You looked down at the super soldier. “Has passed out.”

For the next three days, you stayed by Bucky’s side. You kept a track of his temperature, and made sure he was taking his medicine that Banner had prescribed. You tried a few times to make sure he ate something, but it would only end up in the toilet ten minutes later. 

“With his immune system, he doesn’t work the same way you or I would,” one of Banner’s assistants explained to you. “He’s immune to most things, but he still has to build that immunity. Meaning, when he gets sick, he’s…like this. Imagine having the worst flu you could think of.”

You nodded. The worst flu you’d had was just before your final exams of your senior year in high school. It had come from nowhere and hit you like a freight train. 

“Now, times that by twenty. If that kind of thing hit the likes of you or me, we’d be dead. But, since he does have the serum, it hits him like the worst end of your worst kind of flu. So long as he keeps taking antibiotics, and keeps fluids down, he should be back on his feet by the end of the week.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

Just as day five was approaching, Bucky finally woke up long enough to make a coherent sentence. 

You smiled. “Welcome back, soldier. How are you feeling?”

Bucky blinked and looked around. His room was darker than it had been before, but the sun was yet to set. But, without answers, he decided to focus on you instead. 

“Same way I felt after my little league baseball game.”

You smiled a little, grateful he hadn’t slurred any of his words. But the comment threw you off. But, he must have noticed because he went on to explain. 

“We got pummelled by the opposite team. Ended up with a baseball to the back of my head.”

You chuckled a little, letting him continue. “I got bored and started watching the clouds instead of the field.”

With a smile lightly gracing your face, you reached into the fresh bowl of water beside his bed and wrung out a rag before lightly dabbing his forehead. 

“How long have I been out?”

“Couple days,” you told him. “Told you, you were sick.”

Bucky smiled briefly, but then it disappeared. He had no knowledge of the last few days. When he woke up, he thought it had only been a couple hours. 

Gently, Bucky wrapped his hand around your wrist and lowered it from his head. 

He didn’t have to ask. 

“Everything is okay, Buck. You got faint, so I took care of you.”

“With the amount of serum running through my veins, I should be able to take care of myself.”

You held the cloth in your hand, above your thigh. Your eyes remained on Bucky. “Can I get that written in stone? I don’t think I’ve ever met a man who has said that.”

You placed the cloth back into the bowl of water and returned to Bucky. “They get half a symptom and they think they're dying.”

For a moment, Bucky chuckled. “I hate being sick,” he admitted. “Hated it as a kid, too.”

“What? Meant you couldn’t get your head bashed in with a baseball?”

He smiled, briefly. “Something like that.”

“Well,” you said. “You’ll be back on your feet in no time. I made some food for when you’re ready to eat, and-”

As you went to stand, Bucky’s hand reached out for you. “Thank you. Seriously.”

You smiled down at his slightly weakened frame before you sat beside him once more. And for a short moment, you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Anytime. Get some rest. If you’re up to it, take a shower. I’m gonna go heat up the food.”

Bucky watched as you walked out of his room and down the hall. 

Half an hour later as you were dishing out the food, Bucky slowly made his way into the kitchen. He looked better than he did a few days ago, but he still looked like he’d been on death’s door. 

“What are you doing? I thought I told you to rest.”

“I’ve been resting for four days. I needed to move.”

From the fresh shampoo scent and body wash that breezed past you as you handed a bowl over to him, you confirmed he had managed to take a shower. 

“Eat up,” you told him before you walked over and set the fireplace before striking a match. 

For the next three hours, you and Bucky sat in front of the fire. Long after his dinner, which he managed to keep down, Bucky fell asleep whilst watching one of the sitcom reruns you’d asked Friday to put on. 

By the time Bucky woke up, he didn’t know what time it was. But he did know he felt a thousand times better than he had done before. 

Maybe you’d been right about getting some more rest. 

Only, as he looked around for you, he found you curled up on the floor beside him. Your hand kept the page of your book open, from where you’d been laying on your stomach, reading another chapter of whatever book you’d found on the shelves in your room. 

Bucky was careful as he swung his legs off the side of the sofa. 

Balling up the blanket you’d had over yourself, he threw it onto the empty sofa opposite both of you before he carefully lifted you from the ground. 

You’d taken care of him for the last four days. The least he could do was make sure you slept somewhere comfortable. 

Laying you down under your covers, he made sure to close your window on the latch after he covered you back up. 

And with one final kiss to your head, he stepped away and carefully closed your bedroom door behind him, only to be greeted by Sam walking out of his own bedroom, half-asleep. 

“You’re gonna have to tell her at some point, man.” Sam told him groggily. 

“And what’s that?”

“That’s you’re,” Sam gave a wide yawn. “In love with her.”

Bucky just smiled and looked away in the darkness of the hallway. “Whatever, Samuel. Goodnight.”

Sam shook his finger above his head as he walked in the opposite direction to his friend. “You know I’m right, Buck.” 

Sam eventually heard Bucky’s bedroom door click shut, and he chuckled to himself. “He knows I’m right.”

Part Two

[illya-roma]

Giggling , twirling my hair, kicking my feet in the air

To Woo You - J'onn J'onzz x Oblivious!Reader

Word Count: 2,507

Summary: J’onn has taken interest in one of the new Watchtower workers and has been making attempts at “wooing” the reader. But his efforts seem to be in vain when they mistake his attempts as just “being nice.” Running out of options, he turns to advice from his fellow leaguers on how to flirt properly.

Notes: A request from @hyomy Hope you enjoy! I cannot tell you how many times I had to rewrite this one, honestly.

Also gonna tag the others who expressed interest - @winters-doll, @movielover2002, and @lunar-the-monster-fu

…★…

This was it. J’onn could take little more of this. If his newest attempt to show you his affections once more fell flat, then he was out of ideas and would need to seek help elsewhere. 

Even his attempt to be straight forward had only been met with miscommunication! Perhaps, he reasoned, he should have clarified then and there that he had meant he had romantic feelings for you – but the way you lit up, so overjoyed that he considered you a friend had the words drying up in his throat. If you happened to not return his romantic affections, well, he hated the idea of seeing your smile fall. 

You had endured a rough day then, he could see it in the way you carried yourself, but his words had seemed to lift you up. So, there was always next time, he had silently assured himself. At least until you continued to miss the meaning behind his regular presence and interest in your life and self. 

It wasn’t intentional, he knew that much. It really was just honest obliviousness. Something he had become aware of upon getting to know you. 

You were a fantastic addition aboard the Watchtower – a dedicated worker and easy going for the most part. Your honesty and willingness to help others had been what had caught his eye in the first place. 

J’onn could do much of the work himself, but you never offered your assistance because you thought he was incapable, you just wanted to be as helpful as you could and make things a little easier. It was something that had not gone unnoticed and had only served to spearhead his affections for you. 

But now, three months of vain attempts later, all concluding with that same endearing smile and assurances that you were so glad to have him in your life, had led him here; a small blue box in his hands as he traversed the corridors, nodding in passing to staff and League members alike. A few, mostly staff who had seen some of his attempts and spotted the box in his hands, shot him encouraging smiles and thumbs up. 

Word traveled fast, that much was clear. 

You had mentioned the other day that you would be spending your shift in the main console room, working to monitor some of the incoming radio frequencies for distress signals. And if he was right, and he knew he was, it was just about time for you to get back from your break. 

With renewed confidence, J’onn stepped round the corner, spotting you just before you could slip through the automatic doors, managing to call out your name and catch your attention. 

You seemed to almost sway in place, eyes darting immediately to the box in his hands before turning your body to face him. 

J’onn would never admit he was nervous at just the harmless way you gave him your full attention, so quickly and so wholly, hardly a glance at anyone or anything else. He shook himself free and focused back on you, “Do you have a moment?” 

“I’ve got a minute or two still, actually.” Seemingly all too happy to have the chance to speak with him again. 

“I remembered you mentioning this a few days ago, so I wanted to get you a gift.” 

Your eyes widen, if only for a moment, as you carefully take the box from his outstretched hand. Wasting no time, you untie the ribbon, neatly done up in a shape that almost reminds you of a heart, before nudging the lid off. You mentally brush it aside as coincidence. 

 Inside lies a pastry you had mentioned, just once, in passing the week prior when you had stopped to talk to J’onn on your break. “You remembered!” 

“It may not be as good as the ones that you normally get, but hopefully it’s still up to your standards.” 

For a moment you can almost swear you see a smile on his lips, but it vanishes in the blink of an eye. 

“Hey, J’onn, have you had the chance to try one of these yet?” 

“No, I haven’t tried it myself.” 

“No time like the present,” you grin, tearing a piece off and handing it to him, tucking the box under your arm as you cradle the other piece in one hand – silently urging for him to try it first. 

Your energy is infectious and J’onn complies easily. Not his favorite, he can admit, but the way you light up when he tells you he likes it makes it all the sweeter. 

Without shame you scarf your own half down, knowing you would be unable to focus with it just inches away from you for the rest of your shift. “I really needed this today – honestly, what did I do to deserve a friend like you!” 

Ah. 

There it is. It takes every bit of self-control that he has not to visibly deflate at your words. 

Another attempt, while vague, he admits to himself, has failed. 

But once again, you’re so happy with the situation, just to be considered, and he can’t bring himself to correct you on his intentions – not if it risks ruining your mood. 

Looking just over your shoulder, he can see a few other tower workers, visibly cringing before hurrying off to wherever they needed to be. It was a surprise enough to him that none of them had just told you themselves. 

Still, for the moment all he can do is assure you that it was well worth the money, tell you that no, you did not need to pay him back for the gift - he had happily bought it for you – before sending you off and back to work. 

The Martian stands in the corridor for a moment, just thinking, before squaring his shoulders and starting on his way to the cafeteria. 

The Flash was supposed to be in the tower for the day, and the first stop on The Martian Manhunter’s search was wherever the food was to be found. 

It was time to admit he needed reinforcements. 

He finds Flash, roughly 27 minutes later, tucked away in the corner of a deserted room, eating a bag of corn-chips. Likely hiding from Batman, whom J’onn had already run into once, also searching for him. The Bat had seemed less than pleased with whatever was on his mind, and J’onn thought better of prying. For the moment. 

There was more pressing business at hand. 

“Flash, I require your assistance with something.” 

This catches the speedster’s attention, though not before he glances around, seeming to double check the shadows. He makes a hushing motion at J’onn, desperate before he seems to coil in tighter on himself. “Alright, but not so loud.” 

It's almost worth asking what he has done. Almost. 

“So, what do you need help with? An extra hand with some of the circuitry?” 

J’onn hesitates for a moment, but it is enough to have the speedster leaning out of the shadows, thoroughly intrigued. 

“Is it about that Watchtower worker?” 

The Martian falters at that. “You know?” 

“Dude, everyone knows. There’s a betting pool on it.” 

He elects to ignore that comment. “My attempt today was once again met with,”  J’onn has to pause, “obliviousness.” he finishes with a resigned sigh. 

“Are you sure it isn’t on purpose?” 

“I’m positive that it isn’t.” 

“So, you want my help or my advice?” 

The face J’onn makes must be amusing because only a moment later the Flash is cracking up. “Advice, I take it?” 

“That would be preferable, yes.” 

“Well, what are some of the things that you’ve tried so far?” 

J’onn actually has to take a moment to think about that. “In the last month alone, I believe I have tried gifting foods or desserts, spending time with them alone in the watchtower, asking them questions about their life, written them notes, and I attempted to tell them directly.” 

He can hear the breath that his colleague sucks in. “I’m sorry, did you say you tried telling them directly?” 

“Correct, but my wording was sub-par, and I could not sully their mood with the correction if those feelings were not returned.” 

“Have you tried just, I don’t know, asking them on a date?” 

“Does admitting my feelings not count?” 

“Usually? Not necessarily, I guess. Maybe not to them? Either way, just ask them on a date, and make sure they understand that you’re asking for - and I cannot stress this enough - a romantic date.” 

“Do you have any suggestions then? On a plan for where to take them?” 

“Not the movies – maybe for a second or third date, but try dinner or something first, and -” 

Flash is cut off by the whirring of a door opening, both himself and the Martian turning to face the looming figure of Batman. There isn’t a word said before the speedster abandons his bag of corn-chips and makes a break for freedom. 

Batman stands still for a moment, nods to John, and turns to stalk off, almost vanishing in an instant. 

J’onn finds himself letting out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. 

For now, he focuses on planning a romantic dinner date, and the process of asking. 

Two days later J’onn has found that planning the date was the easy part. Planning how we was supposed to ask you, and ensuring that his intentions were crystal clear, proves to be more of an effort. 

The Flash had made quick work to spread the news to whoever was in the betting pool, or some of them, and a few of his colleagues had come forward to offer advice: roses, a card, wording. Some he had considered, like the roses, and others he had scrapped. 

But the day had been decided, and while J’onn was not scheduled to be on the Watchtower that day, you were, and it was nearing the end of your shift. 

It was the perfect time to pull you aside and ask. 

Hopefully the rose in hand will be enough, a full bouquet seemed like far too much of an attention drawer to bring into the Watchtower. 

He finds you leaving in the direction of the transporters, seemingly happy to be in your own company – nodding and saying goodbyes for the day in quick passing. At least until he calls for you, which has you whipping around to face him almost immediately, and he swears you seem to light up even more. 

He hasn’t read your mind, at least he hasn’t prodded it for any hint of feelings you hold for him. And he had promised himself not to until he asked you outright. But the urge is almost overwhelming now, with nerves clawing at his stomach. 

It had been some time since he had tried courting anyone, after all. 

Your eyes flicker to the rose and J’onn swears that you tense for a moment before you’re just as chipper and chatting away, “oh, you have an admirer?” 

“Actually, I brought this for you. I was hoping you had a moment to speak. Alone, perhaps.” 

“Sure, we can step over to the side if that works - I think it’s pretty busy up here today.” 

He won’t say it’s the epitome of seclusion, but the hallways are sufficiently barren, and if he keeps his voice down then it should work well enough. “Of course.” 

When they finally manage to step aside, he realizes that the rose is still in his hands – and in lieu of the words that he finds escaping him – he hands it over, gentle as he can be, only to find you take it just as gingerly, admiring the bloom. 

Finally, because he knows if he doesn’t begin now, he may lose his courage, he speaks. “I was hoping you would accompany me on a romantic date next week. There is a restaurant I found, and I believe you would enjoy it immensely.” 

His request seems to stun you for a moment, and he worries his words might be misinterpreted – somehow. At least until you are parroting back a piece of his sentence. 

“Romantic?” 

“That is correct.” 

“As more than friends?” 

“I would like that,” he assures, but he still cannot be certain of your feelings. Your face seems blank as you process his words. 

It’s only a few seconds more before your eyes widen, and he sees you practically bouncing in place. “Wednesday is my next day off; we can do a different day if that doesn’t work for you.” 

He can finally let his muscles relax. He had been so tense waiting for your answer. Worried of all the negative outcomes, he had hardly imagined a true yes. “Wednesday will work perfectly.” In truth, he had already examined your schedule and switched monitor duty for that day with Hawkwoman. “We can discuss more tomorrow, if you would like.” 

This has you humming, and amused glint in your eyes before fishing a sticky note from your uniform. 

You always kept a few on hand with a good pen, just in case. He remembered that from a few months ago. 

And only a moment later you’re handing over your phone number. “We can also talk about it more tonight, if you’d like.” 

“I would love to.” 

It’s silent for a moment, and admittedly a touch awkward before you step back. “I should probably go soon though, my shift ended. Talk tonight?” 

J’onn nods, clutching the number in one hand and not fully trusting his voice. Still, it seems to put you at ease as you turn and begin to head off. He takes it as his own cue to head back, intending to find Hawkwoman and confirm that their monitor shift switch was still in place. 

You’re struck by one thought though, one that has you pivoting back around and calling loudly out for the Martian - loud enough to catch the attention of some passing staff, who seem to glance at you before hurrying off. You pay little mind to it before realizing you have his attention. “How long have you been trying to tell me?” 

He hesitates to answer before admitting the truth. “2 or 3 months now, I believe.” 

This has you flustered, and admittedly embarrassed recalling many of your interactions in that past time. You really had not noticed? 

His words catch you off guard but do little to quell the heat on your cheeks. All you can do is squeak out an “oh” initially. “Well, at least I know now,” you offer up, unable to meet his eyes for the time being and ready to bolt right back to your home. At least until Wednesday. 

“It was endearing, honestly.” 

You give a little hum, taking note of his amused expression before bidding him a goodnight and hurrying down the hallway, rose clutched in your hands. 

When your coworkers ask about the flower before starting the transporter, you’re too enamored with the gift to notice the range of expressions and people settling up. 

[semisolidmind]

Does DogDay have romantic feelings for your sona or is it more platonic? The way you draw him I wouldnt mind if it was the first- 👀

(theyre not a sona, just a standard y/n insert. im not much of a self shipper. the y/ns are their own characters in a way)

and as far as feelings go…

there’s affection on both sides...but perhaps something more from our favorite dog.

[sousydney]

what your camera roll would look like if you were dating carmy berzatto

[spidersoulss]

His Girl

Pairing: Dbf!Joel Miller x F!Reader, no out-break, Joel is in his 30’s and reader is in her late 20’s

Summary: You and Joel have been a thing in private, not wanting people, or more specifically your dad, to find out. Things have been going great…until a new neighbor rolls into town. 

Warnings: Angst, insecure reader, jealous reader, oblivious joel, eventual fluff

Word Count: 2,187

A/N: My first time writing some angst seriously, I hope I did justice. Thank you to Anon for requesting this! @disabilitymissunderstood hope you all enjoy!!

______________________________________________________________ 

You were cooling off in the backyard of your fathers house, dipping your feet in the inground pool with a drink in your hand. It was the middle of summer and your father wanted to throw a little get together cookout type thing. He invited half the neighborhood; your dad was quite popular in your little town. 

You recognized mostly everyone, mostly Joel. he nonchalantly walked over to where you were lounging, trying to hide the smirk on his face. You peered up at him through your sunglasses, “hey stranger” you smirked, earning a chuckle from him. “Hey yourself” he said. 

-Joel and you have been dating for about five months now. Your only rule was to keep it under wraps, due to the fact that you were scared of people being weirded out by the age gap between you two. It wasn't even that big of a deal, you were a grown adult in her late 20s, and Joel was 36. He had been more than willing to agree when you brought up your father. God forbid he finds out his best friend is dating his little girl, who's not so little anymore.-

You huff a laugh and grin up at him in all his glory. He sits down beside you, with some given space. “You enjoyin’ the cookout?” you ask, taking a sip of your drink. He nods, “yeah it's good, real good” he puts some emphasis on the last two words as his eyes rake over your body and you scoff, throwing him a look. He laughs and nudges you. “This texas heat is gettin to you aint it” you joke and he shrugs, “it's not just the heat” he pushes, a cheesy smile plastered on his handsome face.

You roll your eyes and bite back a grin. “Watch yourself Miller” you warn half heartedly. He throws his hands up in feigned surrender. Your father calls him over to join in on his conversation, Joel gives you a wink and wanders over to them. You sigh as you watch the ripples in the pool water.

This would be so much easier if you two went public, but it's sort of fun to keep it on the low. Even if you hate keeping things from your father. He's been so good to you, he deserves to know. But you just can't bring yourself to tell him. Lord knows what it would do to him. 

You absentmindedly stare at Joel as he converses with the neighbors. You see a woman, maybe a bit older than him, walk over. You haven't seen her before, she must have just rolled into town. She's pretty, albeit. Definitely looking good for her age, long shiny hair and a killer smile. You watch as she walks over to where Joel is, a strange unwelcoming feeling starts bubbling up in your chest. You push it down with another sip of your drink.

Joel is of course being his usual friendly self, and the woman is leaning into it a bit too much to your liking. Laughing at all his jokes, being touchy and flirty. He doesn't seem to notice her motive. You get up with a frustrated huff and walk inside the house. Joel takes notice of this and excuses himself from the conversation.

You shouldn't feel this way, of course women are going to flirt with him, he's Joel. And you two aren't public, no one knows about the relationship you share behind closed doors. It still doesn't feel good. He's yours, and you're his. He promised you that day one. 

Everyone is outside enjoying the cookout. You're standing in your fathers kitchen, filling yourself a glass of ice water. You hear the back door open and close, you know it's Joel. You sigh to yourself and take a swig of the water. “You all good in here sweetheart?” he asks, you fake a smile and nod. “Yeah everything is great” you say. He nods and steps closer to you. 

“Who was that lady, I don't think I recognize her” you ask calmly, Joel of course thinks nothing of it. “Hm? Oh yeah, she just moved down the street, said her name was Caroline” he informs you, you nod and cross your arms, leaning against the counter. “That's cool, she seems nice” you say, silently pinching yourself to push down the jealousy boiling within. 

“Yeah she's sweet, I offered to help her finish moving in tomorrow” your eye twitches and you sip your drink, chewing on an ice cube. Sweet? Is he serious? “That's nice of you” your tone is short, he catches onto this and raises a brow “You sound upset baby” he asks with some concern. “No! No i'm not upset, it's great that you offered to help, i'm sure Caroline feels so good about that” you huff. Joel squints his eyes in suspicion but raises no further questions. He does not want to argue with you in your fathers kitchen. 

“Yeah, you wanna come along?” he offers, “no i'm okay, i've got..yardwork to do tomorrow” you come up with an excuse. You do not want to be around Joel and another girl who is potentially interested in him. That would not go over well with you. You'd rather sit angry in your bedroom. 

“Ah okay, sure” he smiles softly before turning on his heel and walking out back into the crowd in the backyard. You slump as soon as he leaves, huffing to yourself and running a hand over your face. You catch a glimpse of him back in conversation with Caroline. You decide you don't want to be here any longer. 

You at least say bye to your father, grabbing your stuff and doing a half assed irish goodbye. The drive home is filled with too many thoughts running through your head. You're an overthinker at heart, it never comes in handy. It's a short drive to your house, you live just down the block, Joel's house is a few more down. You step out of the car and notice the U-Haul van in the driveway next to Joel's house. Great, so great, she's his next door neighbor. This is perfect.

Your eye twitches again and you storm inside, flopping down on the couch and turning the tv on to distract yourself. It doesn't work, all you can think about is how this woman is for sure plotting to take Joel away from you. 

You think Joel would favor this woman, Caroline, more than you. I mean why wouldn't he, she's his age, pretty, friendly and sparks up great conversation. He obviously likes her too, leaning into her small arm touches and smiling at her for a second too long. God why do you have to do this to yourself, he obviously loves you, plus youre dating in secret, you could at least be understanding. You wouldn't want people suspecting Joel was dating. 

On the other hand you want people to suspect, you don't want anyone taking him away from you. A part of you thinks you're not mature enough for Joel, he's told you before that you have your whole life ahead of you, why spend it with him? You didn't care, you wanted to be with him. He made you feel so special, like you're the only girl in a room full of people. 

But then you saw him with that woman, making her feel how he makes you feel. Maybe it's a Joel thing, he's always friendly with everyone, why is this any different? You fall asleep, angry on the couch, stirring in your thoughts that you wish would just shut the fuck up. 

—----------------------------------------------

The next day you wake up from the worst sleep of your life. Looking outside you actually do think you should do some yard work. You throw on some clothes you don't care to get dirty and head outside into the Texas heat. 

While tending to your front garden, your attention is turned to down the street. You see Joel helping Caroline finish moving. Lips are moving but you have no idea what they're talking about. She lets out a hearty laugh and Joel seems proud of himself. You grunt to yourself and throw your garden tools down, one of them hits your foot and cuts it. You yelp in pain and grab your foot.

Who the hell does yardwork barefoot? You apparently…stupid. (i don't mean that 😔). You walk awkwardly back inside, cursing at yourself, and at Caroline…and Joel. angry tears well up in your eyes, you are so full of emotions right now and the only reasonable way to deal with it is to just cry. It works wonders…most of the time. 

The cut is deeper than you think and you groan loudly. You do not want to deal with anything today. 

The doorbell rings and you jump slightly. You're not expecting any company right now. You haphazardly wrap your bloody foot and go to open the door.

“Joel?” you're honestly surprised he showed up. “Hey darlin’, mind if I-” he notices your badly wrapped foot and frowns, “what happened to your foot?” he asks concern etched in his tone. You laugh awkwardly, “ah its uh..its nothing, why are you here?” you ask, not meaning to sound as cold as you did. “What, am I not allowed to visit my favorite girl?” he grins. 

How can you be mad at him when he talks to you like that. You let him in and plop on the couch, he joins you. “Great job at bandaging that, you should go into the medical field” he jokes and you scoff, biting back a smirk. “Shut up, it's temporary” you excuse. He chuckles to himself and gets up, wandering to your bathroom, coming back with proper aid for your wounded foot. 

He kneels down in front of you, taking your foot gently. He unwraps the bandage and frowns when he sees the cut. “You gonna tell me how this happened sweetheart?” he asks, wetting a pad with alcohol. You sigh and press your lips into a thin line. “Yardwork” you admit, “yard work?” he repeats and you nod. “You were doing yard work barefoot?” he asks, a worried smirk on his face. “Yep, I know it's stupid” you shake your head and he grunts, dabbing the wound with the alcohol soaked cotton pad. 

You wince slightly at the sting, “i'm sorry baby” your heart clenches in your chest. “I threw the garden tools on the ground…and one of them hit my foot” you admit, looking down at your wound. Joel frowns, “why'd you do that?” he asks. 

You furrow your brows and fidget with your hands. You've always been one for communication, it would be stupid to keep this from him and let the jealousy and anger fester into something more. 

You sigh before looking at him with a hint of shame in your eyes, “I saw you helping Caroline move into her house, and you looked so happy with her and I got upset…” you finally tell him, he looks confused and you continue speaking before he can say anything. “The way she was acting at the cookout yesterday, all flirty, and you- you didn't do anything about it you just- i don't know, you were so nice to her and-” you groan softly as you frown, “and i thought you were starting to like her because she's, yknow, your age” 

Joel goes to speak but you keep going. “I thought that she wanted you, and I'm younger than you and not as mature? I don't know, I sound stupid.” You cover your face with your hands and he sighs heavily. “Oh sweetheart” he rubs comforting circles on your calf. “Baby I had no idea, I'm so sorry I made it seem that way” he apologizes. 

“I just wanted to be a friendly neighbor, I had no other intentions, and I truly thought she was just being friendly, not flirty- I'm sorry sweetheart, I should've noticed,” he goes on. You smile softly at him and he smiles back, quickly finishing your bandage. 

He returns to his spot next to you on the couch. He pulls you close and you wrap your arms around him, breathing in his scent. He smells like wood and whiskey. Your favorite smell on him. Joel rubs your back and kisses the top of your head. 

“Hey, look at me” he gently grabs your chin, you look at him with glossy eyes. “You are the only one for me, okay? I don't care that you're younger than me, and I don't care about her. I love you and you only sweetheart” he reassures you and you hug him tightly, pressing your face into his chest. “I love you too” you say softly. 

He presses kisses to the top of your head, to your cheeks and finally your lips. All your worries melt away when his lips meet yours. 

You know he loves only you, you know he wants only you. You are more than content with that because you feel the same way about him.

[spnfic85]

OKAY OKAY OKAY Soooo this has been floating around in my head rent-free for the past few days and today I COULDN'T HELP IT!!!

I thought Oblivious!Reader x Dean Winchester would be presh, but then I wondered what would happen if Dean finally just gave up and kissed the oblivious little creature until she understood. Ah hek. I hope this is okay, but OH GAWD did you inspire me!

Forevermore

Oblivious!Plus-size Reader x Dean Winchester

Warnings: Minors- DNI, Smut, angst (?)

Word Count: 2804

You looked up at Dean’s emerald greens as they flickered between your confused gaze. Your hands trembled in his as you processed the words he just growled to you in the waning dusk of the small kitchen of your apartment.

“Damnit Y/N- I said I’m in love with you!”

“What do you-” Your words are cut off with Dean’s firm kiss as he frames your jaw in his hands and tentatively drags his tongue feather light across your bottom lip. You gasped, realizing he meant every word and felt your hands tighten on his open flannel as your mouth opened to his invitation.

Your thoughts tumbled as you wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him back with fervor. The flowers on the kitchen counter went ignored as Dean groaned into your mouth and backed you against the edge of the sink as if you’d disappear any moment from his hands.

“Waited so fucking long for this…” He murmured and pressed his forehead to yours as you both gasped for breath in the quiet. Your heart raced in your chest as you thought back to all the times he’s swung by with a coffee or some little trinket from his last hunt. All the times you’ve flushed as he’s mentioned a top he liked on you. You thought he just approved of the band or liked the colors.

He’s just being nice. You’d murmur to yourself, there was no way it was anything else between the pair of you.

He watched out for you like a big brother, right?

“Dean…” You murmured, “I don’t- I don’t understand.” You admitted looking up at him again, brows knit in confusion.

You saw the street light turn on from the kitchen window and you bit your lip as he looked at you gently, “Baby girl, what else do I need to do to prove it to you?” He looked at you in dismay, “I-I’ve tried so many things to show you what you mean to me…” Your heart broke at the loss in his eyes, the pain it inadvertently had caused him.

Your eyes rimmed in stinging tears and you chewed on your bottom lip as you continued to run more and more interactions through your mind. You wanted to scream, you were so mad at yourself for being oblivious to him.

You shook your head, “I can’t believe…” You murmured and he chuckled. The rumble traveled through your chest and you realized you were pressed flush to his torso. You felt your face heat as you turned beet red and you laughed bashfully. Dean’s thumb ran along your cheek as he peeked down to look you in the eye again with a small smile.

“Hey now, don’t get shy on me, baby girl.” Your eyes fluttered up to his and you smiled slightly, “That’s better. I’ve waited too long for you to look at me like that.” He rumbled and pressed his lips to yours in a chaste kiss before pulling away slightly. “I really am in love with you.” He murmurs softly, “Think I’ve been a lot longer than I realized, too.” It was his turn to flush crimson as you laughed softly at his admission.

“I didn’t think you felt that way for me… I just assumed you were being nice or watching out for me because… Because that’s the kind of thing you did, Dean.” You admitted.

Dean deserved your honesty, he deserved that in the least. He had always made sure to drive through your area, stopping in when he was in between hunts. You thought he was just keen on a hot shower and a meal that didn’t come from a drive thru. If anything, the random gifts were small payments or tokens of gratitude, something Dean has done since you two were young.

Dean took your hand and walked you to the couch and sat you down. He looked terrified, and you had only seen that look twice before. Both times he thought he was losing Sammy, struggling to hold on to what he held most dear.

“I’d want nothing more than to spend the rest of my days showing you how much I love you.” He reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You chewed your lip, searching for the crack in his resolve, begging the gods to let this be true. This man opening his soul to you couldn’t be a hallucination, there could be no way… Right…?

Finally, something snapped in you and all at once, you decided to leap head first into whatever Dean had to offer. All at once, something told you this was something you shouldn’t let slip past. You wrapped your arms around his neck again and kissed him desperately while climbing in his lap. You slipped your fingers along the back of his neck, palms framing his face as you rocked your hips into his lap and nipped for more. Dean groaned, hands braced on your plush hips as he pulled you down on his obvious erection.

“Tell me to stop, and I will.” He panted, nipping and sucking along your throat and shoulder.

You shook your head and whined softly, pulling at the hair on his nape. He cursed softly and stood with your bottom in his hands, making you squeal, while he marched to your bedroom down the hall.

You gasped as he laid you on your bed, reverently looking over your form as your chest fluttered to catch your breath. You reached up to him, your thighs dropping open in invitation and he felt as if he levitated to you in the bed. His hand shakes softly as he runs it down your side, his palm framing your hip as his other arm braced beside your head to keep his weight off of you.

“You’re so beautiful.” He murmured softly as you rolled your hips up against his as they rocked into you of their own free will. Your face flushed and you drug your nails gently down his covered shoulders. Dean closed his eyes as he sighed and rocked into you a bit harder. You gasped sharply, lining yourself against him to tease at your sensitive clit.

Your once baggy tee was riding up your torso, as your nipples pebbled against the soft cotton. Dean looked down almost drunkenly as his hand on your hip teased at the hem of your shirt before splaying over your soft belly, inching towards the hidden curve of your breast.

Your hand moved over top of your shirt, as you dragged his hand higher, pulling the shirt with it, until his palm cupped the soft flesh and carefully squeezed. You moaned as his thumb brushed the taut nipple and made your back arch against him. He murmured affirmations as he kissed along your throat, nibbling at your shoulder, before ghosting over your shirt and under it before his mouth wrapped around the tight bud of the breast in his hand as he groaned. You panted, a warm breath fanning over the top of Dean’s head as you looked down as lightning traveled down to the apex of your thighs and settled low in your pelvis.

Dean’s warm mouth kissed across the valley of your chest and settled on your neglected nipple, while his fingers massaged, pinched, and gently twisted at the other. The sound that escaped your throat sounded raw from the attention and he responded in a similar grunt. Your fingers moved over his shoulder, pushing the open flannel down his biceps.

He paused, realizing what you wanted, and sat up on his knees to shrug off the flannel, before reaching over his head to grab the collar of his black tee, and pull it over his head in one fluid move. You watched him wide-eyed as he looked down on you like a starved man.

“May I?” He asked, reaching for the bunched tee above your breasts. You nodded and sat up, slipping your arms free quickly before he advanced on you again. Dean pressed his torso to yours as he kissed you deeply, hands roving every curve, dip, and valley on your body. Your hands shook as they held his shoulders, nails raking down his biceps.

Your hands continued to move down sculpted muscles, snagging on the belt buckle on his jeans. Dean's hands moved along your hips and bottom, making your hands stumble with the buckle as he pulled your hips against his again.

Before you could unbutton his jeans, he slid from your grasp, his hands grabbing the waistband of your leggings. You whined as you felt your face flush at his stare, and he cooed at you how beautiful you were as he tugged your leggings and panties from your frame. When you glanced up at him from under your lashes, your breath was snatched away at the look in Dean’s eyes as he dragged his gaze over your form. A look of yearning, of need, as if he looked upon one of the wonders of the world. Your heart crashed against your ribs as he moved his hands up your thighs, pulling you open and closer to him as he stood on his knees before you in worship.

His moves were deliberate, keeping his eyes locked to yours as his shoulders nestled between your thighs, begging them to open wider. As his soft, full lips moved over your hot core. And you whimpered as his tongue struck out, wide and thick as he dragged a stripe up your folds. Your hips lifted before Dean draped an arm over your pelvis to keep you still as he groaned into your sticky wetness. You moaned loudly as he quickly found the tight bundle of nerves and sucked gently. It took little time for your thighs to quake as your climax exploded through you. Dean lapped at you, groaning at the gift your body rewarded him with.

You were so sensitive, you felt your voice shake as you begged him. “Please Dean, please…” You were unsure what you needed, but you knew he was the apex of your ache. He murmured softly as he kissed your inner thigh and gently drew a finger along your slit, covering the digit in your slick. He blew gently on your clit as he sunk his middle finger into you to the knuckle. Your nails bit into his shoulder as you rocked down on his hand with an almost feral moan.

You were vaguely aware of the praises that tumbled out of your mouth as he moved slowly, coaxing your walls to relax and accept his thick finger. His mouth found your clit as he pumped a few times, before his index finger nudged for entrance. The stretch was a delightful burn as you mewled his name breathlessly.

Your body was buzzing from your climax, and it seemed the buzzing grew loudly as you hurtled towards another as he pumped two fingers into your body, curling them inward just right as his tongue ran circles on your clit. Your thighs pressed down on either side of Dean’s head, his shadow of stubble scraping the sensitive flesh, as you felt your walls clamp down on his digits and your body thrashed as wave after wave crashed over your body in euphoria. Your sight flared bright white along the edges as you screamed his name in your dark apartment.

You heard a bang on the wall across your room and you flushed in embarrassment as Dean chuckled and lapped gently at your folds. “Don’t be embarrassed baby girl. Let them know who makes you feel like this…” He smirked wickedly at you, pulling his fingers from your core. You whimpered at the empty feeling it left you but he shushed you softly as he pressed the two fingers to your swollen lips. You looked up at him in silent understanding and let your jaw drop, sucking the two slick fingers in your mouth. “Fu-uck Baby Girl…” He murmured as you closed your eyes for a moment to imagine yourself cleaning another part of him in this manner. You pulled from his fingers with a pop and let your mouth hang open slightly as he drew his middle finger over your bottom lip. “Gonna find out what that pretty mouth feels like later… Don’t think I can wait much longer right now though…” His voice was a deep umber, molten iron through your veins. A shiver spiked down your spine and radiated through your belly.

“Please Dean…” You murmur, “Please…” Your hands drag down his torso, catching on the button to his jeans again. He stared at you entranced, before nodding dumbly. His hands met yours as he helped unbutton the jeans with ease. You bit your lip as you finally freed his member and gasped softly. You had heard him joke on more than one occasion with his brother or friends that he was well endowed. That he had earned his cocky confidence with women when he had a roll in the hay. But no jokes had prepared you for what he was now displaying to you.

He was thick, long, and uncut. It twitched heavily under your watchful gaze and you looked up at him breathless once your eyes raced the length of veins. You pulled the jeans and boxers down his thick thighs before your lips crashed into his again as Dean laid you back down on the bed. His hips nestled between your thighs made you both sigh at the rightness you felt.

This was where Dean was meant to be. Your souls sang as he kissed you deeply. You dropped one of your hands between your bodies and gently dragged your fingers over the firm shaft. You rocked your hips slightly before lining him to your entrance. Dean nibbled at your throat as he thrust towards you carefully and felt your tight heat envelop him. You panted softly as your body accepted him, with each thrust bringing you closer together.

Dean moved slowly, reverently, as he kissed your lips as if you were his very breath itself. You clung to him as he rolled his hips into yours and ground against your sensitive bud. Your nails bit Dean’s back as he carefully picked up the pace. Your thighs moved high on his waist, as your moans filled the air along with the squelch of your body taking everything Dean offered you.

“So perfect Baby Girl,” He groaned, “Everything I prayed for, you’re it Baby.”

You whimpered, words long lost as he picked up the pace and started to pound into you as your walls clenched around his girth. Dean cursed as he felt your climax threaten to envelop you both as his mouth latched on a rigid nipple's bud as his hands gripped your thighs open, pressing your knees to each side of your chest.

You cried out as your back arched, your legs shook, and your walls clamped down on Dean, making it impossible to pull away. He groaned and ground into you, his pelvis smashing down on your bud as he came hard. You realized you were chanting his name as you came down, arms wrapped around his shoulders as you both panted hard as you caught your breath. Dean didn’t move from you as he peppered you with butterfly soft kisses as he murmured praises. Your fingers ran through his now damp hair as he settled a bit above you, leaning on one arm as he looked down at you in amazement.

“I should have done this forever ago…” He murmured with a wry grin. You laughed softly and nodded before kissing the big idiot above you and pulling him down into the bed.

Neither of you missed the grumbled complaint from the apartment over and you flushed crimson. “Mister Jenkins probably hates me now.” You murmured bashfully.

Dean scoffed and shook his head, “It’s impossible to hate you,” He murmured and kissed your nose, “But he definitely doesn’t like me now.” He chuckled with a smug grin.

You shushed him and smiled as he pulled you close to him, arms wrapping around you as you both got comfortable. He took a deep breath in before kissing the crown of your head, “Please never wonder if I love you Baby Girl… You are my world, forever and always.” He murmured softly in the dark.

You smiled into his chest and kissed over his heart, “My heart is yours forevermore.” You murmured as you felt sleep pull you away from the conversation. Your senses were filled with the man you adored, a fanciful thought actually fulfilled as you lay in his arms. And to imagine- this was real, this man really loved you… You wouldn’t waste another moment with him, never again.

Masterlist

my favorite fucking trope is chubby!reader living your life completely oblivious to the fact that the literal man of your dreams is in love with you and you're none the wiser.

like - you just traipse through life like "well he wouldn't like me back so it's wtv" all nonchalant and shit while the poor man is literally falling over himself trying to get it through your head that HEYYY that's not right??? i'm literally in love with you??? i worship the ground you walk on???? i'll do whatever you want????

and bless your heart, you see every single time he tries to hit on you as an act of kindness:

"awww, he got me (insert fav food here) cus i said i was hungry, what a nice guy!"

"he complimented my outfit! he must've liked the color of my shirt!"

"wow, he seems to be zoning out a lot, i hope he's okay!" (he's been staring at your lips for the past five minutes)

and he just... doesn't know what to do to make you see what he sees.

like you're so gorgeous and funny and why wouldn't he like you??

he's convinced that if he were to stand in front of you and tell you he loves you, you'd be like, "I love you too! you're such a good friend!"

(which has happened before and a little part of him died inside)

it literally takes him everything in his power to make you realize his feelings, and you just stand there for a moment, seemingly connecting the dots over the past few months, and all you can come up with is a small, dumb, "oh."

lord give him the strength.

[xlettex]

Kenma’s not sure why he let Kuroo drag him out today.

He doesn’t need more games. Doesn’t want to be recognized. And definitely doesn’t want to watch Kuroo charm every employee in a ten-mile radius. But then they step into the store, and it’s quiet. Cool. Bright but not harsh. A bubble of calm.

And you’re at the register—sorting trade-ins, humming to yourself. You look up when the door chimes. “Hi! Let me know if you need help finding anything.”

That’s it. No double-take. No flushed gasp. No, “Wait, are you—?” Just… normal. Kenma exhales. Relieved. And maybe a little stunned.

Because you’re pretty. Insanely pretty.

Your hair falls messily around your face, but it suits you. There’s a pen tucked behind your ear. Your eyes shone when you spoke. And the enamel pins on your apron—small, colorful characters from games he knows—make his chest feel weirdly full.

Kenma is immediately, irreversibly doomed.

Kuroo leans in, whispering way too loudly, “Wow. A whole thirty seconds and no one’s mobbed you. It’s a miracle.”

Kenma shoves him with a sigh, trying not to fidget.

You raise an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Mobbed? What, are you famous or something?”

Kenma mumbles, “No.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Uh-huh. Sure. Mysterious hoodie guy with a bodyguard and a fear of crowds—totally normal.”

Kenma doesn’t say anything. Just stands there, mildly panicked and already hyper-aware of the way your smile curls at the edges.

You ease off a little, still smiling. “So... you looking for something specific, or just here to be cryptic?”

He shrugs, awkward. “Not really.”

You round the counter and gesture toward the shelves. “Well, we just got a few new arrivals. Depends on what you’re into.”

Kuroo snorts under his breath. “I’ll give you two some privacy,” he murmurs, clearly entertained, and drifts off toward the keychain rack.

You walk with Kenma, asking about mechanics and story preference. He answers in short bursts, hands shoved in his hoodie pocket. He keeps glancing at you and then away, as if he doesn’t trust himself to look too long. And every time you laugh, it knocks the breath out of him a little—something in his chest stutters, just for a second, then settles somewhere it shouldn’t.

He knows these games already. Owns most of them. But the way you talk about them—with love, and that kind of careful attention people don’t fake—has him pretending he’s never even touched a console. Just so you’ll keep talking.

“Since you like JRPGs, you should check this one out,” you say, holding it out. “It’s underrated. Surprising depth. And the bonus content is kinda hard to find unless you know where to look.”

Kenma takes it. He already has two copies—digital and collector’s edition. Played it on stream. Reviewed it. Recommended it to all his followers.

But your fingers brush his for half a second, and his entire internal system does a soft reset.

So yeah. He’s buying it anyway.

At checkout, you ring it up with a smile, slip the receipt into the case, and push it across the counter. “Enjoy. And hey—if you ever want a recommendation again, you know where to find me.”

Kenma nods, barely. His fingers tighten around the case—delicate, almost hesitant. He doesn’t look at Kuroo until they’re back in the car.

Kuroo’s already snickering. “You bought a game you already own?”

Kenma flips open the case, muttering, “Shut up.” Then he sees it—scrawled lightly on the bottom of the receipt in looping pen:

You seemed sweet. Here’s my number in case you ever wanna talk games :) xxx-xxx-xxxx ♡ 

He stares at it, stunned. His chest feels warm, weird, and good in a way he didn’t expect.

Kuroo leans over, reads it, and lets out an unholy sound. “Oh my god, you’re blushing,” he crows, grinning widely. “This might actually be the best day of my life.”

Kenma groans into his hoodie sleeve. “I hate you.” Kuroo laughs all the way home.

Kenma’s still holding the receipt. He’ll deny it later. But that night, he tucks it behind the frame of his second monitor, so it’s visible from where he streams. Then he opens his contacts and saves your number under Pretty Game Store Employee.