#it's been a while since I last did something like this without knowing it

[sowerpatch]

Would you be interested in wnba paige and lawyer azzi, and they're wives, with a kid. That's the idea that came to my head with that picture 😭

Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

Summary: When four-year-old Zane finds out his mama is kind of a big deal on TV, he starts dreaming of fame, autographs, and jerseys with his number on them. But as Career Day approaches and his two moms show him what real strength looks like—on the court and in the courtroom—Zane discovers that being a helper might just be the biggest win of all.

Author's note: I got a bunch of requests to write something based on that Paige and Azzi photo with a kid, so i just picked one. hope that's okay with those who sent their requests since i can't write them all. so i hope i did justice with this one... and I hope this is what you're looking for @anon

Word Count: 3,072

Late afternoon brought the usual shuffle of sneakers on tile and the low murmur of parents chatting near the front desk.  

A few toddlers clung to their backpacks while others ran circles around the cubbies, still riding out the last of their energy. 

Paige stepped inside just as a burst of laughter echoed from the reading corner.  

She wore a loose hoodie over her practice gear and still had a slight sheen of sweat on her brow.  

A few heads turned when the door clicked shut behind her. 

“There she is!” one of the kids called out.  

A boy sprinted across the room, holding up a small foam basketball. 

“Can you sign it?” he asked, breathless. “I saw you do that spin thing on the court!” 

Paige raised her brows, smiling. “The spin thing, huh? You sure you want marker all over this?” 

The boy nodded, bouncing slightly in place.  

Paige crouched down, took the ball, and signed it with practiced ease, her signature looping over one side.  

A few other kids drifted closer, whispering excitedly. 

Near the back of the room, Zane stood beside a low shelf, water bottle gripped in both hands. He stayed where he was, watching her with a steady gaze and a quiet expression, like he was trying to figure something out. 

Ms. Reynolds, the assistant teacher, stepped over with a clipboard tucked under one arm. 

“Zane had a great afternoon,” she said with a kind smile. “He helped pass out snacks and stayed really focused during story time.” 

Paige’s face lit up. “That’s awesome. He’s been practicing his listening skills.” 

The teacher gave a small nod, then lowered her voice slightly. “He seemed a little quiet after playground time, though. Some of the kids kept crowding around, asking if you were really his mama. A few said they saw you on TV.” 

Paige’s smile shifted, still warm but thoughtful. “Thanks for letting me know.” 

Zane reached her side just then, clutching the strap of his backpack. 

“Hey, buddy,” she said, ruffling his curls. 

“They keep saying they saw my mama on TV,” he said quietly. “A lot.” 

Paige knelt beside him. “That’s because they did. There was a video of my game going around.” 

Zane looked at her, wide-eyed. “You were really up there?” 

“Sort of,” Paige said. “Just for a few minutes.” 

He gave a small nod, then reached for her hand. Paige stood, lacing her fingers with his, and they walked out side by side. 

- 

Evening settled in gently. The three of them sat around the kitchen table, plates half-full, conversation quiet between bites.  

Zane reached across his plate for another spoonful of rice, his mouth still full from the last. 

Azzi leaned over with a napkin and wiped his cheek. “You’re doing great with your fork tonight, my love.” 

Zane gave a small smile, then glanced toward Paige, who was cutting into her chicken. “Mama?” 

She looked up. “Yeah, bud?” 

“Are you famous?” 

The question hung in the space between them, casual but curious. Paige shared a quick glance with Azzi before answering. 

“Why do you ask?” 

“The kids said so. At school. They said they saw you on TV doing a spin move. And that you’re in a magazine.” 

Azzi raised her eyebrows with a small smile. “Are you showing off without telling us?” 

“Definitely not on purpose,” Paige said, laughing softly. Then her attention turned to her son. “Some people watch my games and sometimes I end up on a screen, bud.” 

Zane chewed for a moment. “I want to be on TV too.” 

Azzi rested her elbow on the table and folded her hands. “What would you like people to see you do?” 

He shrugged. “Anything. I’d wave. Maybe hold a ball like Mama.” 

Paige leaned forward a little. “Yeah? You want to play in front of people too?” 

Zane nodded. “Or wear a shirt with a number. Like yours. That looks fun.” 

Azzi’s tone stayed gentle. “It’s fun to feel noticed. But you know, doing something great doesn't always mean being seen. Some of the best things people do happen quietly.” 

Zane tilted his head. “Like what?” 

“Well,” Azzi said, “today I helped someone stay in their apartment. It took a lot of work and some long talking, but I felt proud when I left.” 

Zane looked thoughtful. “Did they say thank you?” 

“They did,” she said. “And that meant more to me than being on a screen.” 

Paige smiled. “Your mommy’s got superpowers too, bud.” 

Zane gave a small nod, then looked down at his fork. After a quiet moment, he said, “Can I practice spinning tomorrow?” 

“Of course,” Paige said. “We’ll bring the ball out after school.” 

- 

The house had settled into its usual nighttime calm. The kitchen lights were off, the TV quiet in the background, and a light hum from the dishwasher filled the space.  

Upstairs, Paige sat at the edge of Zane’s bed while he flipped through the pages of his favorite dinosaur book. 

He traced one of the pictures with his finger. “This one’s the tallest. He can see everything.” 

Paige leaned closer. “That’s a brachiosaurus. He’s got the long neck for it.” 

Zane turned the page slowly, but his mind had wandered. “Mama?” 

“Yeah?” 

“How do people get famous?” 

Paige raised her eyebrows, surprised the question had followed them up from the dinner table. “Well... people see what you do. Like playing a sport or singing a song. If they like it, they talk about it.” 

He nodded slowly, taking that in. 

“But that doesn’t mean they’re the most important,” Paige added. “It just means a lot of people are watching.” 

Zane sat up a little. “Do they watch me?” 

“Your teachers do. Your friends. Me and Mommy? We always watch you.” 

He smiled, then tapped the page again. “Do famous people still read bedtime stories?” 

Paige laughed softly. “The really smart ones do.” 

Zane rested his head on her arm. “When I grow up, I want to be famous. And still do stories.” 

“That sounds perfect,” Paige said, smoothing his curls with her palm. “And if you don’t become famous, you’ll still be awesome.” 

He let out a little sigh and pulled the blanket up to his chin. “Okay.” 

Paige closed the book and kissed the top of his head. “Goodnight, bud.” 

As she stood to leave, Zane peeked one eye open. “Mama?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Can I have a number on my shirt too?” 

Paige stepped back toward the bed and bent down beside him.  

“You can pick any number you want,” she said softly. “And when you wear it, Mommy and I will cheer for you.” 

Zane smiled, eyes already growing heavy again. “Okay.” 

Paige kissed his cheek and whispered, “I love you, bud.” 

- 

Sunday morning arrived with cartoons on low volume and cereal scattered across the kitchen counter.  

Zane was already on the living room rug, surrounded by sheets of printer paper, a handful of markers, and one of Paige’s old basketballs he insisted on borrowing. 

Azzi stood at the sink, coffee in hand, watching the growing pile of drawings—each one scribbled with a big circle, a smiley face, and a long wavy line underneath. 

Paige walked in, towel around her neck from her morning run. She glanced at the papers. “What’s going on here, Big Z?” 

He grinned and held up a page. “This one’s for you. It’s my name. I’m signing it.” 

“Wow,” Paige said, kneeling to take it. “You’ve got your own signature already?” 

He pointed proudly at the scattered pages. “That’s my name.” 

Azzi raised her brows. “He’s been very productive. We’re almost out of paper.” 

Zane picked up a toy truck and added a marker line across the hood. “This one’s signed too.” 

Paige exchanged a look with Azzi, trying not to laugh. “He's on a roll.” 

“I’m famous now,” Zane declared. “Like you, Mama.” 

Paige settled beside him on the rug. “Is that what famous people do? Cover things in marker?” 

He nodded confidently. “They sign everything.” 

Azzi walked over and sat on the couch nearby.  

“You know what else famous people do?” she asked. “They work really hard at something they love. They practice a lot, even when it feels tricky.” 

Zane paused, crayon in hand. “Mama practices basketball.” 

“She sure does,” Azzi tried not to roll her eyes at that. 

Zane grinned and grabbed a new piece of paper. “This one’s for Mommy.” 

“Best autograph I’ve ever seen.” Azzi smiled as she accepted the scribble, annoyance clearly forgotten.  

- 

Later that afternoon, Azzi sat at the kitchen table, her laptop open and a stack of files beside her.  

 

“Hey, baby.” Paige walked in quietly, holding two mugs.  

She leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of Azzi’s head, then set one of the mugs beside her. 

Azzi smiled. “Thanks.” 

Paige took the seat across from her and wrapped her hands around her own cup. 

“He’s still signing the toy box?” 

“Moved on to couch cushions,” Paige replied, smiling into her cup. “We might need washable markers from now on.” 

Azzi gave a small laugh, but her eyes returned to the screen. She paused. “He asked again this morning if being famous means people always look at you.” 

Paige lowered her mug. “Yeah?” 

Azzi closed the laptop softly. “I know it’s harmless now, but I want to make sure he grows up seeing more than just the crowd part of what you do. He looks up to you so much.” 

Paige leaned back in her chair. “You think it’s becoming too much?” 

“I think he’s trying to understand it. He hears ‘famous’ and sees all the shiny parts. But he’s still learning what matters underneath.” 

Paige nodded slowly. “I can talk to him more about the team part. The work. The stuff nobody cheers for.” 

Azzi smiled, reached over, and touched Paige’s hand. “He watches both of us. Even when we don’t think he’s paying attention.” 

There was a short pause between them, soft and easy. 

“He’s lucky,” Paige said. 

“We all are,” Azzi replied. 

From the other room came the sound of a marker cap popping and Zane calling, “Mama, Mommy, look! I made my name with hearts!” 

Both women stood at once. 

“You go,” Azzi said with a grin. 

“Team effort,” Paige replied, already heading toward the living room. 

- 

Zane stood in the middle of his room, surrounded by costume pieces tossed across the rug. A tiny red cape lay beside a mini basketball jersey. One of Azzi’s old suit jackets—still far too big—hung from his shoulders and dragged along the floor behind him like a train. 

He held a toy gavel in one hand and a foam basketball in the other. 

“I don’t know what to be,” he said, looking between Paige and Azzi. “I wanna be all of it.” 

Azzi sat on the floor, folding the jacket cuffs back so they didn’t swallow his hands. “You’ve got options, my love. That’s a good thing.” 

Zane looked down at himself. “I look funny.” 

Paige leaned against the doorway with her arms crossed, smiling. “You look like someone really cool.” 

He tilted his head. “Who?” 

“A superhero lawyer athlete,” Paige said with a grin. 

Zane giggled, eyes lighting up. “That’s a big job.” 

“Big jobs are for big hearts,” Azzi said, adjusting his collar gently. 

He turned to the mirror, struck a serious pose, then made a slam dunk motion with the foam ball. The jacket flapped behind him like a cape. 

Paige raised an eyebrow. “That settle it?” 

Zane nodded. “I’m gonna wear the tie and the jersey.” 

Paige offered him a fist bump. “Power combo.” 

- 

Azzi is dressed for a weekend community event at the courthouse—a short speech, a Q&A, and a meet-and-greet with kids. Paige and Zane tag along before heading to the park. 

The courthouse lobby echoed softly under their footsteps.  

Zane held tightly to Paige’s hand as they stepped into the courthouse lobby. His other hand gripped a small pack of animal crackers, already crinkled at the edges.  

“Is this Mommy’s work house?” he asked, voice echoing a little. 

“It is,” Paige said. “She has a desk and everything.” 

Azzi gave him a smile and crouched beside him. “Wanna see where I sit when I help people, my love?” 

Zane nodded. 

She led them into an empty courtroom, warm light pouring across the polished floors. It was quiet, still. Paige picked Zane up so he could see better from the gallery. 

“That’s where I stand when I talk,” Azzi said, pointing to the front. “And over there’s where the judge sits.” 

Zane leaned against her shoulder. “Do you get in trouble?” 

Azzi chuckled. “Nope. I help people talk things out. Like when someone takes a toy, and we figure out how to share.” 

Zane tilted his head. “Do you say ‘be nice’?” 

“Sometimes,” she said, nodding. 

He looked thoughtful. “Do you wear a cape?” 

Paige grinned. “Told you, superhero.” 

Azzi raised an eyebrow at her but smiled. 

Zane looked around again, then leaned close to Azzi’s ear. “I like your work house better than the Mama’s gym.” 

Paige laughed. “Rude.” 

Zane giggled. “Can I sit in the big chair?” 

Azzi led him up carefully and helped him climb into one of the benches near the front. 

“Okay,” he said, holding out his arms like wings. “I’m the helper now.” 

Azzi and Paige exchanged a look.  

Paige mouthed, He’s definitely yours. 

- 

The preschool classroom buzzed with excitement. Little ones ran around in tiny lab coats, plastic fire hats, and cardboard stethoscopes.  

A construction zone made of blocks stood in one corner. A pretend vet clinic in another. 

Zane arrived holding Paige’s hand, dressed in a navy blazer that hit below his knees and a too-big white button-down underneath.  

A paper badge pinned crookedly to his chest read: LAWYER. 

Miss Summers, the lead teacher, knelt down to greet him. “Hi, Zane! Who are you today?” 

Zane beamed. “I’m Mommy.” 

“Oh, you're a lawyer!” 

He nodded. “I help people. I say ‘be nice.’” 

Paige stood nearby, watching with quiet pride as Zane made his way to the front where the kids were showing off their outfits. A few kids wore sports jerseys. One wore a cape. 

When it was his turn, Zane stood up tall, eyes bright. “My mommy helps people not fight. She talks a lot but it’s good.” 

A few parents laughed softly.  

Miss Summers smiled. “Anything else you want to share, Zane?” 

Zane looked out at the group and added, “My mama is on TV. She’s big and fast and throws the ball. But Mommy wears nice shoes.” 

Paige chuckled under her breath.  

Azzi, standing in the doorway, had just arrived from court. She smiled at her son, touched and trying not to tear up in front of a room full of toddlers. 

Zane pointed toward her. “That’s her.” 

A few kids turned to look, and one whispered, “She’s pretty.” 

Azzi walked forward and crouched beside Zane. “You did great, my love.” 

He grinned. “Mama says you’re a superhero.” 

Azzi looked up at Paige, eyes full of love. 

- 

The court gleamed under the bright lights, the arena filled with music, cheers, and the buzz of popcorn bags being opened.  

A section behind one basket was packed with preschoolers in matching T-shirts, waving handmade signs and clapping wildly every time Paige appeared on the jumbotron. 

Zane sat in the front row with his class, a big foam finger nearly swallowing his arm. He leaned over the seat’s edge, eyes wide every time his mama touched the ball. 

When Paige sank a three-pointer, the whole section erupted. 

“There she is!” one kid yelled. 

“That’s your mom!” said another. 

Zane stood up on his seat, grinning. “Yep, that’s my mama!” 

The scoreboard replayed the shot in slow motion. Some kids cheered louder. One leaned over to Zane. “She’s really fast.” 

Zane nodded, then added matter-of-factly, “She’s cool... but my Mommy helps people keep their houses.” 

The kid blinked. “Like building?” 

Zane shook his head. “Like saving. She talks and fixes stuff when grown-ups are mad.” 

He said it proudly, like it was just as impressive as sinking a basket from way outside the arc. 

The kid nodded slowly, impressed. “That’s kinda hard.” 

Zane smiled and sat back down, swinging his feet. “Yeah. My moms are good at hard stuff.” 

Up in the stands, Azzi watched the kids, her hand wrapped around a paper cup of lemonade.  

Paige jogged past the bench, looked up, and saw them both smiling. 

- 

The room was mostly dark, lit only by a soft glow from the hallway. A nightlight shaped like a tiny moon pulsed gently near the wall. Stuffed animals crowded one side of the bed; the other side was saved just for Mama’s usual storytime seat. 

Tonight, both Mama and Mommy were there. 

Zane lay curled beneath his rocket blanket, his eyes heavy but still open.  

Paige sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing small circles on his back.  

Azzi leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed and eyes soft. 

“Did your class have fun at the game, bud?” Paige asked quietly. 

Zane nodded into his pillow. “Kai said you were the coolest mama ever.” 

Paige grinned. “Smart kid.” 

“But I told him…” Zane mumbled, barely audible now. “I told him Mama runs and scores... but Mommy helps people with big problems. That’s harder.” 

Azzi raised an eyebrow from the doorway. “Is that what you think?” 

Zane turned his head slightly, just enough to see her. “Yeah. But you both do big jobs. I’m still little. So I’ll start with tiny jobs.” 

Paige brushed a hand through his curls. “Like what?” 

He yawned. “Like holding the door. Or sharing snacks. Or making Mama coffee.” 

Azzi smiled. “That last one might be the most important job in the house.” 

Zane let out a quiet giggle, already halfway to sleep. 

Paige pulled the blanket up over his shoulder. “We’ll help you with the big jobs when you’re ready.” 

He didn’t answer. Just sighed and let go of the day. 

Azzi crossed the room, leaned down, and kissed his forehead. Paige did the same.  

As they stepped into the hallway, Azzi took Paige’s hand. 

“You know,” she said quietly, “I think we’re doing okay.” 

Paige squeezed her hand back. “Yeah. I think we are.” 

The door clicked softly behind them. 

[godmadeaterribleerror]

The Best Part

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Demon Dean, Mark of Cain Dean, love confessions, angst with a happy ending, smut

Summary/Warnings: Dean's been avoiding you since he stopped being a demon, and it's not for the reason you think.

Author's Note: Request from an anon! The Demon Dean haircut haunts all my dreams. Let that man be blond.

Word Count: 5.4k

“Dean?” You slam your fist on the door, pausing before you call out again. “Dean Winchester, I know you’re in there.”

Nothing. You let out a long slow, breath, but he still doesn’t open the goddamn door.

“Dean, I just want to talk. I brought you pie.” You pause, taking a deep breath. “Please open the door.” 

You keep knocking, some tiny part of you still expecting him to open it. He won’t. You know he won’t. 

But you’re going to keep trying. 

At least until he looks you in the eyes, and says it to your face. 

He needs to say that he’s done with you. Admit that he’s either avoiding you because of some curse Sam is keeping secret, or just trying to get out of the conversation. The one that’s been due since he got turned back into a human, the one he’s been running around corners and hightailing it out of the garage to have. 

It’s crueler, though. If he ever felt anything for you at all, he’d just tell you. That you did something wrong, or you did nothing, but he just simply doesn’t feel it anymore. And that might rip you in half, but at least you’ll know this is over. 

This. 

This unnamed thing, that had been growing before the Mark, then bloomed into something real the moment Dean showed up in your room and begged you to help him feel something good. 

You had. There was no world where you turned him away. Where, whenever he gave you that look after—raised brows and a small smirk, making heat flood between your thighs and your cheeks flush—you didn’t stumble after him into the nearest closet or bathroom or private corner of the room. 

It was an easy task, making Dean feel good. You’d been studying from the moment you met him, and a stupid joke made him laugh. It had been the best fucking sound in the world, and you might have sold the most critical parts of your soul and body just to keep hearing it. It had become some sort of hymn, where you fell to your knees and worshipped at the alter, letting him give you whatever he wanted back.

And he gave. 

Dean gave you kisses and whispered praise in the dark, his hand when you walked through bars and then his chest, pressed to you back while you watch a movie. He gave you everything except that last piece—the one that told you what this was—and then he gave you nothing at all.

It didn’t start when he died, though. Dean as a demon had given you the time of day more than Dean now did. Demon Dean—Deanmon?—had been harsher, and didn’t even hold you like he thought you were going to run, but he held you. And you’d been a foolish, lovesick dumbass, and let him. 

“Can’t believe I ever fucking thought you’d leave me,” he’d drawled, hovering open you on the bed, two fingers buried deep in your cunt. “Nobody else touches you like this, do they, baby? Nobody makes you stupid on their cock like I do, you couldn’t leave me if you fucking tried.”

You stared up at him, mouth permanently slack with pleasure and all the energy long gone from your body. You’d been here for hours, and every dirty word out of Dean’s mouth had only made you come more and more apart. ‘

“Can’t fucking answer me, pretty girl?” He’d been mocking, and when you’d just stared at him, he’d grabbed your chin and spat into your mouth. “Fucking answer me-“

“Nobody.” You’d whispered, arching off the bed with a whine as he started to rub furious circle on your clit. “Just you- Dean-“

“I know,” he’d cooed, slapping your cheek as he slammed his cock back into you, without warning. “Such a good fucking slut, taking my dick like you should. Christ, it’s like you made to be my whore, pussy feels so fucking tight-“

You’d moaned, eyes rolling back in your head as he dragged out your tenth orgasm of the night, and you wish you could regret it. You’d went there to try and talk him into coming back, but then he’d kissed you and everything had just melted into Dean. Kissing you like he owned you, sneering possessive words in your ear and coaxing you back into his bed with barely a few words. 

So you couldn’t regret it. He’d been at his darkest point, but he’d wanted you. And you were supposed to be there for him, when he needed, so your dignity as he painted your whole body with his release—over and over until Sam had decided you were taking a worrying amount of time—had been a small price to pay when Dean might want you.

Maybe you’d lost him right there. Dean didn’t want you around because you’d taken advantage of him, when he wasn’t himself. That was why, the moment he’d been human, he’d stopped talking to you in more than grunts. Why he left the room whenever you entered. Why he wouldn’t pick up the phone, answer any of your texts, or even tell Sam what was going on. 

You might have to leave the bunker, if it was that. He needed to feel safe in his own home, and you’d survived without him before. You’d never be able to go back to not loving him, but at least you could make him feel better, if leaving was what he needed from you. 

You fucking prayed it wasn’t. 

But at this point, you just wanted to know.

“Dean,” you sigh, dropping your brow against the door. “Please. I’ll leave after, if that’s what you want-“

You cut yourself off with a yelp, as the door is yanked open. Stumbling forward with the pie tight in your hands, everything happening too fast for you to brace your fall- 

Strong arms catch you. Move you upright slowly, before big hands take the pie and set it off to the side. 

You look up, and Dean is staring at you, eyes wide and face pale.

You haven’t really seen him, since he stopped being the demon. 

He looks so fucking tired. But when you reach up to trace his jaw, you have to yank your hand back. 

If the way his jaw clenches is any sign, Dean doesn’t want you to touch him at all. 

And now, as he clears his throat and stares at the floor, you have to hear him say it. 

“Don’t leave.” He grunts, and- That’s not what he’s supposed to say. “I’ll go, if I gotta. But this is your home. You shouldn’t leave it, just ‘cause of me.

“Dean, I- I don’t want to leave.” You frown, tilting your head at him. “But I’m only here because you and Sam let me-“

He lets out a dry snort. “Please, we’d be running around like freakin’ chickens without you. Sammy can’t cook. I can’t decorate-“

“I can’t clean.” You mumble, staring down at your hands. “I need you, too, Dean. But- If you need me to go-“

“I don’t.” He grunts, and when you glance up, he won’t look you in the eyes. “Need you.”

There it is. 

That’s it. Dean doesn’t need you. It’s better if you go, because Dean doesn’t need you. 

“Oh- Okay.” You sniff, shoving down the pain in your chest until you can get back to your room. You’ll collapse on the floor, then start packing once it passes. 

The pain. 

The pain will have to pass. 

Loving Dean simply won’t.

But you’ve loved and lost him before. 

“I- I’m sorry.” You whisper, and it’s hard to speak over the lump in your throat. “I’ll give Sam my keys.”

Dean’s head shoots up, and before you can walk away, he’s grabbing your wrist with a panicked expression. “Wait, that’s not what I-“

“Dean.” You sigh, giving him the best sweet smile you can drag together right now. “It’s okay.”

He shakes his head. “No, it’s not-“

“I get it-“

“Son of bitch,” he hisses your name. “You don’t, don’t leave, I- I don’t give a shit if it’s selfish, I don’t want you to goddamn leave-“

“You don’t have to justify it.” You mutter, and this hurts more than if he just kicked you out onto the street. “I know what I did-“

“What you did?” He gapes at you, and you frown.

“Yeah?”

“No, you- You’re perfect, baby- Fuck-“

God, he hasn’t called you baby since the Demon thing. And it makes you feel sort of high , but he looks like he’s tearing himself apart from the inside out. You want to help him. But you’re frozen. It’s all moving too fast, and you don’t have a single fucking idea what he’s talking about. “Dean-“

“No, I- I’m the one who should leave.” He squares his shoulders, giving you a determined look. “I’ll leave. Just tell me to damn leave, sweetheart, and I’ll go.”

It’s your turn to gape, your voice becoming barely a breath. “No.”

“Don’t feel bad about it, I know what I did, just damn say it-“

“What you did?”

Dean nods, then suddenly released your wrist like it’s burning through his skin. “Fuck- I- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be touchin’ you-“

No. No. He needs to keep touching you, now. Needs to keep looking at you like you’re made of stardust, and he’s trying to keep you from slipping through his fingers. Nothing he’s saying is making sense, though. It’s as if he doesn’t understand that you’re already stuck to his skin. That he couldn’t lose you if he tried. 

“Dean.” You force your voice to be firm, and he looks up at you with a hopeless weight in his eyes. 

You’d like to share it with him. If he’s still going to let you. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He recoils like you’re trying to bite him, and fuck, maybe you said the wrong thing- 

“Don’t say that.” He mutters your name, and you frown.

“You didn’t, I’m the one that-“

“I hurt you.” He pushes the words between his teeth, and you freeze. “Even more than I hurt Sam and Cas, and- Christ, baby, I know you didn’t want to see me, I shouldn’t have opened the door-“

“No!” That one was allowed, and Dean stared up at you. “Dean, I- I’m the one that hurt you-

He snorts. “You know, that not your fault shit doesn’t work when you try to act like your the one who did something wrong-“

“I did.” You whisper. “You weren’t yourself, and I- I let you touch me-“

Dean grunts your name. “I was myself. I remember every goddamn second of that, I treated you like shit-“

“I liked it.” You whisper, and he blinks at you, jaw clenching tighter. “I really liked it, Dean. I- I liked feeling like I was yours.”

He’s looking at you like you’ve grown a third head. “But you’re not mine.”

You flush, the painful truth of that slamming right into your chest, and a weak noise leaves your throat as you take a step back.

“Shit- Wait-“

“I-“ You swallow. You won’t cry in front of him. “I’m sorry, I’ll go-“

“No, I- Fuck, baby-“ Dean lurches forward, grabbing your face between his hand. 

And he’s touching you so softly again. It only makes the tears fall faster.

“Don’t cry,” he mutters, almost sounding desperate. “It’s not you, sweet girl, I meant- Goddamnit-“

You sniff, shaking your head. “It- It’s okay-“

“No, it’s not. You are mine, baby, but I- I got no right to call you that- Please stop crying, sweetheart, it’s alright-“

“Dean, I-“ You’re leaning into him, and at this point, it’s just masochism. “I am yours-“

“No, you’re not.” There’s that fucking weight again. Moved into his voice, sounding almost painful. “I hurt you, I don’t- You-“

“Don’t say I deserve better.” You whisper, forcing yourself to meet his gaze, and it’s fogged. Glazed with adoration and pain. Like this might be hurting him as much as you. Like maybe you’ve gotten something wrong, and Dean doesn’t want you to go. 

And if there’s any chance to salvage this, you’re going to grab it by your fucking teeth.

“Well, you do,” he mutters, trying to pull back, but you grab him. Keep him right against you.

He could shove you off, easily. 

He doesn’t.

“I don’t.”

He grunts your name, and you shake your head.

“No, Dean. If- I loved it. I loved being yours, I-  loved you wanting me, and I took advantage of that, because I-” Your grip tightens against him. “I love you.”

Dean stares at you, and all you can hear is your own heavy, ragged breath and heartbeat. You said it. Aloud. There’s no going back, and at least if you read this wrong, you’ll know there was never any hope anyway. That you’d been right from the start, and Dean could never really be yours. 

But his hands are still holding you softly. And his voice is hoarse when he speaks. 

“Please don’t say that, baby.”

You shake your head. It’s the only thing you know, you have to say it. “Dean, I love you-“

“Don’t say that,” his grip tightens, grip tightening slightly. “You don’t mean it-“

“Yes, I do. You don’t have to love me back-“

“Of course I fuckin’ love you back.” It falls out of him in a second, and everything in the world seems to be floating.

He loves you. Dean loves you, and this isn’t over. 

It’s barely even really begun.

“I love you,” he repeats, dropping his brow against yours. “I can’t stop, baby, I’ve tried, just to save you- But I can’t. Even when I was just some scum of the earth demon, still managed to love you- It’s the only goddamn thing I’m sure of-“

“Dean-“

“But you can’t love me.” He rasps, tugging you a little closer. “If you love me, I’m gonna lose you. I’m never gonna give you the life you deserve, and you should never have even given me the time of day. Talking to me puts a bounty on your freakin’ head, baby. Loving me is going to put a mark on your back.”

There are too many things for you to say to him about them. You’ve had a target on your back, just from knowing him and living this life, so loving him is going to be a reward. There’s no bounty on your head you couldn’t outrun, outsmart, outlive, in order to stay by his side. There isn’t such thing as a life you deserve, only a dark and lonely one without Dean, and a good one with him. 

But they all start and end the same way. 

With Dean.

So it’s easier to say that. 

“You’re allowed to have good things, Dean.” You let your lips brush over his, and his eyes squeeze shut. “And even if you’re not, I want you. I want to be yours.” You let your voice go soft and pleading, your fingers curling on his chest. “Please let me be yours.”

You can watch the words sink into him. He opens his eyes—darkened and blown out with lust—as he slowly scans you over, running his thumb over your lower lip. 

“Say it again.”

You open your mouth again, just enough for his thumb to slip between your lips, and you suck on him slowly until releasing it with a pop.

“I love you,” you say, making your voice as confident as you can, and Dean’s eyes flash. “And I’m yours.”

His throat bobs. “Are you-“

“I’m sure.” You pause. “Dean, if you’re not-“

Your words turn into a long moan as he slams his mouth over yours, the kiss hot and rough and desperate as he walks you back against the wall. One hand grabs your throat to tip your head back, offering him further, deep access, and the other grabs your wrists and pins them over your head. He unforgiving, in the depth of the kiss. His tongue is claiming your mouth like you’re going to vanish under his touch, his body pressed to yours until it’s all you can feel. Fingers drop down to dancing up your side, until he’s palming at your breaths, the vibration of his chest as you grind up into him, moaning his name.

And this is what you’ve been starved for. What you’ve dreamt about with your hand between your thighs and his name on your lips.

Dean.

All of him.

In whatever way he’ll allow you to have, even if it’s back to only long glances and frozen moment you play over and over. 

But he’s giving you the best way of all right now. 

And you’re not going to let that slip by.

“Dean,” you gasp, and he grunts as you try to pry your wrists from his grip. “Let- Let me touch you-“

“No.” He grunts, mouth slowly working its way over your jaw with little bites. “Hands to yourself.”

“But- Oh-“ You whimper, bucking up as he pinches your nipple and rolls it between two finger. “I- I missed you- It’s been so long-“

“I know.” He murmurs, leaning back up to give you a softer kiss. “But I gotta to take care of you, baby. Tell me I can take care of my girl.”

“Whatever you want, I- Just wanna feel you-“

He flicks your nipple before dropping back down to suck a dark mark on your throat. 

“Dean- I’m-“ You moan as he drops to angle your hips, letting them roll so your core is rubbing against his bugle. “Touch me, I need you to touch me-“

“You gotta say it, sweetheart, you know that-“

“Please, touch me, Dean, please-“

Your eyes roll back into your head as his hand shoves into your pants, rubbing over your pussy as he pulls back to watch you with a grin. 

He’s got you exactly where he wants you, and the asshole fucking knows it. You’re writhing and squirming under his teasing fingers, but it’s never enough. Dean’s always been strong, but the Mark of Cain makes it like trying to part the ocean. And it feels so good, whenever he presses the lightest touch to your clit and a tiny shock of lightning rushes through your body. 

It’s like he’s stringing you on a tightrope, seeing just how long you can balance on the wire before you fall. 

“Dean- I- More-“

“Wait, pretty girl,” He mutters, rubbing to strong circles around your clit with his thumb. “Trust me, it’ll feel good.”

You trust him, but you’re going to snap in half if he doesn’t touch you. If he doesn’t give you what you’ve been starved for while he was gone, if he keeps fucking playing with your pussy and never once offering any sort of release. His fingers teasing over your entrance as he brushes against your clit, all while planting deep, claiming kisses all over your neck and face. You’re going to be marked, when he’s done. And he’s barely even begun.

This is why you’re ruined for him. Nobody can bring you right to this edge so fast, give you exactly what you need while holding everything back. Your nails are digging into his arm as he rubs tight circles around your clit, your pussy fluttering and clenching around nothing as he nips on your ear.

“So wet for me,” he mutters, and you throw your head back with a squeak. “Always so wet. Do you think about me, whenever I’m not here to make you feel good. Use these pretty fingers to fuck yourself and scream my name?”

Your mouth falls open, and you blink at him through the haze of the pleasure he’s drawing out of you. “I- How’d you know-“

Any words fall back into a moan as Dean presses down on your clit, eyes darkened with lust.

“Dean-“

“You do?” He’s starting at you with what seems to be awe, lips brushing right over yours, and you nod desperately. “Tell me with your words, baby, say that you think about me touchin’ you like this-“

“I think about it,” you gasp. “All the time- I need you, Dean, need you so bad-“

Two rough fingers suddenly shove inside of you, crooking and rubbing against that sweet spot, and Dean kisses you with so much power it topples you right over. 

He holds you up. Kisses and fingerfucks you through the sudden orgasm, until you’re panting and whimpering down his throat.

“There’s my good girl,” he mutters, and you can only squeak a sound meant to be his name. “Get on the bed, baby, I’m not done with you until you can’t remember your own name.”

You almost fall over yourself, trying to get to the bed. Shedding your clothing like it’s burning before scrambling onto Dean’s mattress, all dignity long gone in favor of this. Spreading your legs and blinking innocently up at Dean, his features blown out with adoration and eyes flashing as he peels off his own shirt and stands over you. 

He barely spares a glance at your pussy, though. He’s mostly scanning over your features with an unreadable intensity, brows furrowed slightly. You’re about to second guess, to ask if this is really what he wants, when he shakes his head. 

“You really did miss me.” He mutters, and you frown.

“Of course I missed you, Dean. I- I was really worried you were never going to speak to me again.”

He bows his head, letting out a slow breath. “I’m sorry, I didn’t- Couldn’t possibly have guessed that you were running around thinking you were taking of me. I didn’t-“ His words choke slightly, and you push fully up on your elbows. 

When you extend your arms, he crawls into them in a second. Holding you tight to his chest and burying his face in your neck, not quite crying but breathing heavy, shaking slightly in your arms. 

“I did a lot of this I’m not-“ He lets out a dry laugh. “Proud’s not even a strong enough word. Hell, I’m surprised you and Sammy didn’t just fucking kill me-“

“We love you, Dean.” You whisper, combing your fingers through his hair. “We couldn’t kill you.”

He shakes his head. “Shoulda-“

“No.” You don’t have to make your voice firm. He’s not allowed to think that, not when you spent so many empty months just praying for him to come back. “I didn’t just miss this, Dean, I missed you. I missed talking to you and laughing with you and having you here-“

“Baby, the things I did-“

“You weren’t you, Dean. We all forgave you.” You sigh, leaning slightly back down. “I didn’t think you’d forgiven me.”

He angles his head up, resting his chin between your breasts, his voice deep and rough. “Can I tell you somethin’?”

You nod, keeping your fingers in his hair, and he grunts.

“I thought of you,” he mutters, holding your gaze. “All the goddamn time. And not like I thought of Sammy, only the worse shit about Dad and Ruby and Purgatory. Just- You. And they weren’t pure thoughts, baby, but I never wanted to hurt you. Just-“ He takes a deep breath. “I didn’t feel like a human, but I still loved you. And I didn’t feel guilt or shame about loving you, it just- Was. And I was willing to do damn near anything to have you. Never would’ve hurt you though. I thought I wouldn’t hurt you, but I didn’t think what we were doing was hurting, and-“

“It wasn’t.” You cut in, and he blinks at you. “I told you, Dean. I liked it. I- I didn’t care that it wasn’t you. I just, I wasn’t thinking straight, you looked at me like you wanted me-“

“I do.” He grunts. “Always have. Loved you from the moment I saw you, baby. You’re the best fuckin’ part of me, and it’s always- It’s been deeper than my heart. Didn’t think you’d want me around, but not talking to you- It felt like- Shit-“

“Something was missing?” You offer softly, and he nods. 

“Yeah. That.”

You swallow, tracing your hand over his face. 

He leans into it, pressing a kiss to your palm.

“You would’ve done anything to have me?” Your question is soft, and Dean gives you a tight nod. 

“Still would.” He mutters. “If you’ll have me-“

“I’ll have you.”

He pauses, his voice dropping impossibly deeper. “What do you want me to do?”

“Anything you want, Dean.” You whisper, and his nostrils flare slightly. 

“How about making good on that promise?” He kisses your breast, and you feel the heat starting to spread back through your core. “You wanna forget your name, baby?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, the sound hitching as Dean takes one nipple into his mouth. “Do- Dean, do that-“

You moan as he obliges, his free hand comes up to palm at your other breast, tongue flicking and teasing over your nipple until your dizzy with pleasure. 

“Dean-“ You squeak as he groans around you, your nails sinking into his back as you grind against the sheets. “Dean-“

“You want something, sweetheart?” He looks up at you with a smug grin, and you nod weakly.

“I can’t wait, Dean, just I- I need you-“

He grabs your neck again, pressing you gently back down into the mattress with another deep kiss, and you don’t know how he can make a kiss feel this good. Every nerve in your body buzz, your legs spread as wide as you can get them as you relax beneath him, making weak noises of desperation. 

“Oh-“ You moan as he starts to rub his hard cock between your pussy folds. “Dean, please-“

“Tell me that you want me.” He grunts against your lips, and you nod stupidly. 

“I- I want you, Dean, just you- God, please-“

You make a soft noise of good as he slowly pushes into you, and he always makes you so full. His thumb rubs slow circles on your clit, trying to help you relax into him, but you’re wound so tight.

“You gotta relax, baby.” He grunts, head dropping to your neck as you flutter around. “Shit- C’mon, sweetheart, please work with me-“

It’s like a spell. Dean’s words get to your head, and you go limp below him. 

He groans right in your ear as he bottoms out, and you moan.

“Good girl,” he mutters, kissing your cheek. “Already so cockdrunk you can’t talk, huh?”

You make an undignified nose, and Dean chuckles.

“Alright,” he draws up, and before you can make a noise of complaint from the loss of your warmth, Dean’s grabbing your angles and pulling them right over his shoulders. 

He’s so deep at this angle. Pressed right against your g-spot, his thumb flicking against your clit as you try to wrap your arms around your stomach, the feeling mind numbing and right on the edge of too much.

“No.” He grabs your wrists, dragging them away. “Wanna see all of you. Watch my girl go stupid while I fuck her, see how pretty you look cumming on my cock. Can I watch you, baby?”

You nod, and Dean grins down at you, his thumb moving back down to your clit as he folds you in half. 

“Love you,” He mutters your name, and you whine. “Always loved you. Never gonna let you think anythin’ else again.”

You open your mouth to tell him that he’s not allowed to think anything else either, but any possible mumbled words die as Dean starts to fuck you. 

It’s not rough, but it’s not slow, either. He draws almost all the way out before pushing back into you, balls slapping against your ass as his free hand plays with your tits, and you try to anchor yourself in the sheets. It’s the fucking of someone who’s been studying how to give you that perfect amount of attention and care to bring you back to the edge, without letting you fall over. His fingers roll your nipple as he draws his hips in a circle, that needy spot inside of you feeling every inch of his cock it drags through you. 

His pace picks up, until the lewd, wet sound his cock is filling the room, and you grab his hand on your tits. 

Dean raises his brows at you, a low sound escaping his throat as your pussy clenches around him, and it turns into a full moan as you take his finger into your mouth. Sucking on them as you hold his gaze, moaning as his hips jerks and he hits the deepest spot inside of you. 

His eyes flashes, and he drags his fingers aways before pulling almost all the way out, slamming back in, and planting them on your clit. 

It’s immediate. Stars glow behind your eyes as you cum with a gasp of his name, and Dean picks up his pace. He rearraigning your insides, lighting you on fire from your core out, and you never fucking want him to stop. The first orgasm crests up and up as he presses on your clit, but he doesn’t stop. Dean starts to rub it back and forth with firm, powerful pressure, and the second orgasm slams into you like a train. 

“There you go,” he growls your name, and you wiggle under him, too far gone to think of anything but the fire he’s sweeping through you, still fucking you into the mattress. “That’s it, baby, feels good, doesn’t it-“

“Yes,” you gasp, and suddenly it’s not nearly enough. “More, Dean- So fucking big-“

He groans, moving your legs off his shoulder to rut deep into your cunt, and a third orgasm crashes through you. Shakes your whole body as Dean falls over you, holding you tight to his chest as his thrusts become uncontrolled and desperate. 

You’re not sure where the heat in your body stops and Dean ends. It’s only warmth and good, the strength of his body and smell of his shampoo drowning you in a heavenly daze, your body almost burning with pleasure as your orgasms roll and crest over each other, and you’re turned into nothing but a mess of ecstasy. The only sound in the world is his perfect grunts of praise, then the sinful sound of him moaning your name as you find the strength to bite his lower lip and squeeze around his cock, and you can feel him everywhere as he fucks you through his orgasm. 

You’re still a little high, when leans down to kiss you gently. It makes everything a daze that isn’t Dean. You can hear him murmuring something in your ear and pulls out with a grunt, feel him move you up to your feet and guide you to the shower. It’s long and warm, the water soothing over your body as Dean washes your hair, and you press light kisses to his neck. 

He chuckles, tipping your head back with a grin. “You’re sorta out of it, aren’t you, baby.”

You only hum, blinking up at him, and he shakes his head.

“Don’t worry,” he says, kissing the tip of your nose. “I’ll take care of you.”

Of course he will. 

He’s Dean.

He gets you out of the shower, helps dry you off, then guides you back to bed. Pulls you up into his chest when you lie on the bed, letting you drawn mindless shapes on his skin as he runs his fingers through your hair. Time moves into something meaningless, in the afterglow of it all. It’s just you and Dean in the whole universe, trapped in this tiny world without pain, and if you could you’d never leave. 

“Are you-“ Dean clears his throat, and when you glance up, he’s watching you so carefully. “You still good? With- Us?”

You nod, unable to stop your ditzy smile. 

Us. 

This thing is now us.

“Do I get to love you now?” You whisper, and Dean grins. A wide, handsome grin that’s become so fucking rare. That means the whole fucking world.

“Yeah.” He hums, kissing the top of your head. “Long as you let me love you, too.”

End Note: Mr. Winchester if you're reading this I am free whenever you want.

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[edwardhartenjoyer]

Electric Jealousy

⚡️Eddie x Reader x Volt ⚡️

Summary: You haven't been coming around the breaker box lately, and your boyfriends are starting to get worried. They hear that you've been spending all your time lately down in the washing room with Drysdale and Washford, and they can't help but feel jealous...

Eddie swept his gaze through the bar, feeling some disappointment at once more, realizing you hadn't come back for the fifth night in a row.

Ever since you'd confessed you loved him and Volt much as the two of them loved you, you'd been coming by every night to see them and hang out, but for the last few days they hadn't seen you at all.

He clenched his jaw as he turned his attention back to the drinks he was mixing. You were probably just busy helping out others around the house, you had explained that Skylar needed to charge, so maybe you were just getting so wrapped up that you ran out of charges before you realized it.

"Eddie! Care to slide me a drink my spark?" Volt purred as he approached the bar. Eddie mixed the drink and slid it to his partner like it was second nature, which at this point it practically was.

"What's wrong?" Volt asked, noting how something seemed off with Eddie.

"Nothing's wrong, Volt." Eddie sighed, pouring out another drink and passing it down to Dirk, who'd seated himself at the bar.

"Is this about our missing live wire?" Volt mused, knowing Eddie far too well to actually believe there was nothing going on. "I've been missing them too, you know. It's just not the same without them now."

"They're probably just busy helping others. You know how they are." Eddie shrugged, though worry still ate at him.

"Oh, they're busy all right." Dirk piped up from his spot at the bar, and Eddie and Volt's attention snapped over to him.

"What, dear Dirk, does that mean?" Volt asked, and Eddie noted the sparks briefly flash through his partners gaze.

"They've been in the washing room all week. Listening to me and Harper screaming, but mostly been with Drysdale and Washford. They were still there with the two of them when I left to get a breather from Haprer to come here."

Eddie and Volt shared a glance. Eddie saw the same burried jealousy flash through Volt's gaze. Their live wire was spending all their time with the stackables? What did they have that wasn't worth coming to your boyfriends.

"Thank you for letting us know where our live wire's been all this time, Dirk." Volt hummed, masking his emotions behind his usual host guise.

"Is it worth a drink on the house?" Dirk asked, hopeful. Eddie sighed and slid a new drink to Dirk.

"ONE drink." He huffed.

He turned and shared another look with Volt, seeing the same thought go through his partners mind. They'd be going to find you once the bar was closed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Oh, Cherub, what if he doesn't come?" Drysdale lamented as you sat next to him.

You'd been spending the last few days trying to get him and Washford back together once you learned of their lost love. You couldn't stand the idea of them still being in love but being in pain about not being able to admit it to each other.

"He loves you Drysdale, he'll come if you call him." You soothed, placing a comforting hand on the stackable's shoulder. "You just need to try."

You stepped back and watched while your friend called out for his former love, cheering them both on silently and hoping they didn't mess it up as they confessed everything to each other.

"Thank you for this, Cherub."

"We are happy to call you a friend."

"I'm just happy I was able to help you two out." You beamed, happy that your plans had worked. You pulled both stackables into a hug.

"Live wire, you'll hurt my feelings like that." A voice called as you moved out of the hug. You turned and grinned brightly to see Volt leaning next to Dorian.

"Hi Volt!" You greeted before turning back to bid farewell to the newly reunited couple. After telling them to not break anything, you took the hand Volt offered out to you and followed after him.

"We've missed having you around live wire." Volt pouted, pulling you close and wrapping an arm around your waist.

"Sorry I haven't been able to stop by. Drysdale and Washford were taking up all my time." You leaned into his side, happy to be near him, the light shocks you could feel from him more comforting than you'd ever thought they could have been.

His grip on your waist tightened briefly, and you glanced up at his face. Before you could say anything, though, he opened the door to the breaker box and led you inside.

By now, the bar was closed, and after a quick scan of the room, you found your other boyfriend behind the bar, cleaning glasses. Volt let go of his grip on you as you made your way over to greet Eddie.

"Hi Eddie!" You greeted, leaning in to place a kiss on his cheek. A small smile graced his features.

"Hey, live wire." He greeted.

"Eddie, tell our dear human you've missed them." Volt piped up from beside you, a teasing lilt to his voice. Eddie huffed, but when you looked at him, his resolve seemed to crumble.

He reached out and pulled you into his arms. "I missed you." He grumbled. You frowned and wrapped your arms around him.

"I'm sorry. I got so busy trying to get Washford and Drysdale back together that by the time I was done with them each day, Skylar was out of charge..." You confessed.

"You were trying to get them back together?" Eddie asked, relief evident in his tone.

"Yeah! They seemed to be so in love and I couldn't stand them being apart over miscommunication. What did you think was happening?" You frowned, leaning back to look up at Eddie's face.

He looked away, his gaze locking behind you, and you knew he was looking to Volt. You felt the other male come up behind you before you heard him speak.

"We may have worried when we heard you were spending all your time with the two of them that perhaps we weren't enough for you." Volt admitted, running a hand down your back gently. "Eddie and I are terrible at sharing, dear spark, at when it's not just between the two of us."

You turned in Eddie's arms so you could see both their faces, pulling Volt into your arms as well.

"I love you two, and I have no interest in dating any others. You two are the only ones for me." You assured, and you could see the tension leave the two of them.

"Good." Eddie huffed, placing a kiss against your head.

"What our dear Eddie means is that we love you too." Volt hummed, also pressing a kiss to your head. You smiled and relaxed in the arms of your boyfriends.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

First ever Date Everything fic! Hope you enjoy! This game has a chokehold on me.

Tag list: @cloudcountry @ash0-0ley @tinumaru @ventisimpilysm

Wanna be added or removed? Let me know!

I still did my full tag list this time in case you all wanted to get these ones too, but let me know if you want only for the tkdb fics

[kdh-tally]

Jinu x Reader Headcannons

Prompt : Headcannons of Jinu and his partner

Author's Note : THIS IS THE LAST OF THE SAJA BOYS X READER HEADCANNONSIWNEFIJVSK I'm so happy I got em all done!!!! I started this one out kinda iffy but I love how it ended. I feel like Jinu would 100% date someone who's very artistic/booky and no one can change my mind. (Not proof read)

Jinu [you're here] || Romance || Abby || Mystery || Baby

You’re a librarian okay?

You’ve been working at a library since finishing Uni/college (so you’re around 22 👍)

Anyways!

You enjoyed working at the library, it brought peace to your very very loud mind.

That was until some random man entered.

Your life changed forever that day. 

The first day you met Jinu you were so confused.

He looked your age, maybe even a year younger but the way he talked made him feel as though he was like 400 years old.

Who asks about how to properly use a phone in this century???

You quickly learnt that he had been trying to promote his new kpop boy band and thought the best place to gather information was a library.

You asked why he hadn’t gone to find an agency

He wasn’t too sure what that was and said it would be easier to do himself 💀

So you helped him out, even though it wasn’t in your job description, but he was cute so he got a pass.

After teaching him the basics of using a phone and recommending youtube videos for more help, he let. 

You didn’t see him for another few months

You constantly wondered what happened to him and whether he got his kpop group together.

You weren’t really into kpop though. 

It wasn’t until he snuck into your library again that you saw him.

He was in disguise, a very bad wig and some glasses, and waited at the counter for you to return.

“Welcome to– Wait Jinu?”

He immediately shushed you in case others heard, “Hey”

Turns out the kpop boy group took off a lot better than anyone thought it would and he wanted to come back to thank you cause he didn’t know how he would've done any of it without your tutorial.

You laughed, it was absolutely hilarious, and accepted his thanks.

He insisted on taking you somewhere, anywhere, as even more proof of his gratitude but you politely declined. 

While you seriously did want to go out with him, he was famous now, and you valued your privacy a bit too much. 

He was somewhat sad but agreed. Then he got a bright idea!!

“We could hang out here?”

You thought for a second, the owner of the library fully trusted you with the building and you knew all the best spots to relax so why not. 

“Sure”

Little did you know that you were never ever gonna get rid of him after this.

Jinu started calling the library his “safe place” because of how calm you made him feel.

Fans didn’t know this and just thought Jinu was trying to tell them to go out and read more instead of spending all their time online 💀

You always knew when he entered the building, even before hearing his voice. His presence was loud in a way.

He’d wait until your shift started just to return the books he borrowed.

If you were shelving books, he’d follow behind pretending to browse the same section for as long as you were gonna be there.

You let him follow you around work, putting him to use. 

It was like having free labor that didn’t know they were working.

He brought you tea once after you told him coffee gave you headaches, claiming it was left over from a meeting. 

It was actually custom-ordered from your favorite place.

You caught yourself dressing just a little nicer on Jinu-days, which was almost every day. 

You hated that he made you nervous.

He borrowed a book on "how to write a love letter" and still hasn’t returned it.

Every time he thanked you for something, he’d glance away mid-sentence like he couldn’t handle making full eye contact.

You keep finding notes scribbled on bookmarks in the returned books. 

They weren’t signed. But they were all from books he had checked out.

You denied having feelings at first.

You constantly gaslight yourself.

 “I’m just helping him understand the 21st century yea…”

Then he smiled at you one day while waiting for your night shift to be over, all soft and sleepy-eyed, and your soul left your body.

As you got closer, even though you guys are already super close at this point, he started recommending songs he thought you might like. 

They were all love songs. 

Every. Single. One.

He once sat in your library's reading corner and stared at a blank page for hours — trying to write a poem about how your voice made him feel.

At this point you were convinced he had a crush. 

You just couldn’t believe it might be serious.

After all it might have just been because you helped him understand things that almost everyone knew. 

Every time your hands brushed while passing something? Fireworks. Panic. Silence.

He started humming while shelving books with you, he might as well work at the library with you.

Always the same tune, you later find out (when you guys do get together) that it was a song he had been writing for you..

You finally got over your need for complete privacy and took the risk to ask if he wanted to hang out outside of work. 

He panicked and said “Maybe in 4–6 years.”

That was a lie.

He wanted to go out with you right now but was scared of messing up.

He started staying around later and later. 

“Just helping you lock up,” he’d say, knowing full well you didn’t need help.

There was one rainy day where the power flickered and you had to close early. You sat in the quiet stacks with flashlights and almost kissed…

But you didn’t. 

Because the timing never quite felt right.

Until one day, he was about to leave earlier than usual since he had a shoot the next day. 

But he stopped at the door, turned back, and just said it.

“I don’t know how long I’ve been in love with you. But I know it’s not going away.”

You said nothing. You grabbed his collar. And kissed him you were pouring weeks of held-back feelings into one second.

When you two eventually pulled away, needing to breath, you was looking at you like he had been hypnotized.

He lives at the library now. 

He still wears his horrible disguises but only cause they make you laugh.

He loves dates in the library. 

Sitting on the floor between bookshelves.

Stealing kisses when no one’s around.

When around others, you finally went out for a date, he’s reserved.

He knows you don’t wanna risk someone finding out both of you are together so he tones down his need for affection.

But his pinky always loops around yours when no one’s looking.

He uses his phone wrong on purpose now just so you’ll lean over and help him.

He’ll come in grumpy from practice and instantly melt when you run your fingers through his hair.

You leave tiny notes in the books he borrows. 

He has them all kept in an organized box labeled "From My Librarian."

He sometimes asks if he can rest his head in your lap during breaks. 

“Just five minutes,” he lies.

You end up staying there for a good hour.

You read aloud to him sometimes.

It’s his favorite sound.

He once fell asleep during a storm in the library’s attic reading nook. 

You found him curled up holding a note you had written that said “you’re my home.”

You refuse to talk about how red you turned when he called you “mine” for the first time.

His lockscreen is blurry. It’s a photo of you shelving books and smiling to yourself.

You have matching keychains now, a little book with your initials on it. 

He keeps it on his bag.

You keep yours on your keys.

He writes lyrics based on books you’ve read together. 

You secretly write fanfiction about a fictional character who’s totally not Jinu.

You’re a librarian of course you do 😭

You don’t know this but he found it, read it and has a printed copy kept in his drawer.

You once asked what kind of love he wanted.

“The kind that feels like a library at night. Quiet, safe, and full of stories only we understand.”

He pulled that line from a book you guys had read together 💀

You called him out on it and he swore he had no idea what you were talking about…..

You help him come up with interviews and content. 

His favorite date night is reading together in silence.

You eventually learn that he didn’t exactly get a phone or hang around other much up until he was 20.

Which explains why he was so behind on almost everything.

You love teaching him new things.

He knows all your routines, when you eat, when you stretch, when your brain gets too loud, and adjusts himself around them quietly.

You helped him pick glasses that actually suit him so he can stop looking like a spy in witness protection every time he sneaks in.

He asked if he could write your name in his lyrics once. 

You said only if it’s spelled out in Morse code.

He made you teach him Morse code and it's in one of the song's instrumentals.

MY GUY LOVES KISSING YOU.

All day every day whenever.

You once broke away from him cause you needed to sneeze during a kiss.

He said, “Bless you.” And kissed you harder.

He now believes every love story should start in a library.

You agree cause yours did.

You catch him staring at you sometimes with this look of pure adoration in his eyes.

Jinu writes little check-out slips and puts them in your pockets. 

“Date night? Check yes or yes.”

Jinu loves TWICE but won’t tell anyone.

He has a permanent corner in the library labeled “Jinu’s Spot.” 

You keep it hidden from anyone who comes in to read, it's blocked by a bunch of book rack thingies.

He has it decorated with fairy lights. 

No one is allowed to touch it (except you of course)

You once made him a custom bookmark with a photo of the two of you. He cried.

This turned into an annual thing.

Every year on your anniversary you both make book marks of each other and then work together to make one of the two of you.

He tried to teach you choreography once. 

You tripped.

He caught you. 

Very K-drama-y.

You once fell asleep with your head on his shoulder and he stayed perfectly still for two hours.

The Saja Boys have a group chat without him titled “Jinu Needs Help.” 

They make bets about how red his ears will be after seeing you.

Baby doesn’t care for the library but you're actually a really chill person so he likes you.

Mystery thinks it’s the weirdest pairing ever.

“How did you fall for that guy?”

Abby is suspiciously supportive. 

He brings snacks when he knows Jinu’s headed to you.

Romance ships it SO HARD.

His name is Romance, he’s a die hard romantic and this is a trope he completely adores.

Whenever someone at the company is looking for Jinu, or even one of Huntrix, he says “Jinu’s probably in the library right now thinking about his girlfriend.”

The two of you tried building a blanket fort in the library once. 

Your boss found out but let you guys continue.

Your boss is actually this super kind old lady who is also a hopeless romantic and just loves seeing you happy.

She and Romance get along great.

Jinu leaves pressed flowers in the pages of books he knows you’ll read.

You once crocheted him a tiny pillow with the quote: “My heart is overdue — for you.”

Your dates are never fancy but you two love it that way.

Walks.

Bookstores.

Relaxing in cafes while it rains outside.

Constantly whispering “I love you”

You’re the only person who can get Jinu to actually rest.

He always says “I’ll come find you” not “I’ll text.”

He swears he’s going to propose one day between the shelves, with a ring inside a book.

Until then, he tells you this every night

“I can’t imagine a lifetime without you.”

He would call you things like:

Book-Worm : I think this is self explanatory…

Little Helper : Cause you

Bambi : You watched the movie together and he keeps saying you remind him of Bambi. 

Love / My love : He absolutely adores you.

내꺼 (Naekko) : “Mine” in korean

You would call him things like:

Love : Cause you’re so in love with him.

Old man : More teasing because he has an old soul

Baby : Jinu definitely enjoys being babied.

Nerd / Dork : He’s such an awkward silly guy 😭

Mine : You malfunctioned the first time you said it. You were half asleep, cuddling on his bed (yes you sleep in his bed) and you just said it.

[stewpidcheescatarinabluu]

Synopsis: You were the school’s loudest troublemaker, and she was the cold, untouchable student council president.But after one reckless mistake and six hours of silence beside her, something shifts. So you keep showing up — with quiet apologies, warm hashbrowns, and unspoken truths. And slowly, she lets you in. You never meant to fall for her. But maybe, just maybe, in the stillness between your chaos and her pressure, you both find something softer to hold on to.

Word Count: 4,441

Kim Minjeong X Male Reader

a/n: I had time since my class got cancelled due to inclement weather, while waiting for my friends to come pick me up, I was thinking of some good prose to work around and I realized that Class President X Troublemaker is such a cute dynamic, so enjoy this! Love you all so much

“Hey,” you leaned toward your seatmate, whispering,

“you think our bald teacher still uses shampoo since he’s left out?”

They stifled a laugh—

but the door slammed open.

“Y/N! OFFICE. NOW!”

You groaned.

“Ugh, alright, miss.”

Your seatmate gave you a look.

“What did you do this time?”

You shrugged.

“Might be the time I turned on all the fire extinguishers on floor 9… or when I poured every soap into one cubicle.”

“You did what and what?!”

You walked out like nothing.

Your teacher was already waiting.

“So, miss. How long?”

“Six hours.”

She crossed her arms.

“Minjeong’s monitoring you.”

Your brows lifted.

“The student council president? That beautifully cute one?”

“Stop it, Y/N,” she muttered, but she was smiling behind her hand.

“You’ve got to focus. Your parents work hard to give you an education. It’s a privilege, y’know?”

“Oh, I’m government suggested.”

“You mean the government pays your tuition?”

“Yeah,” you said.

“My dad’s dead. Drugs. You know how that ends.”

Her face shifted.

“And my mom followed.

I mean—if your husband’s gone, why wouldn’t you follow, right?”

You smiled.

But it didn’t reach your eyes.

She sighed softly.

“Go spend your time in detention.

Call me if you need anything.”

The detention doors creaked open. “Hey, president!” you grinned, arms wide as you flopped into the seat across from her.

Minjeong barely glanced up from her clipboard. “Y/N, right?” Her tone was flat, clipped.

You leaned forward, chin in hand. “Yes, pres! Insta orrr Snapchat? I take iMessage too.”

She didn’t blink. “I’m not interested.”

You clicked your tongue. “Well, I am! Anyway, pleasure to spend five hours with you.”

Thirty minutes in, you sighed dramatically and dragged your chair two seats away. “So, Pres, how’s life for you?”

Nothing.

You raised both hands. “No answer? Yeesh.”

Minjeong didn’t even look up. “Focus on that paper. Write your incident report, troublemaker.”

You saluted lazily. “Will do, love—I mean babe—I mean Minjeong.”

Her jaw tightened. “Don’t call me Minjeong.”

“Harsh much?” you mumbled, twirling your pen.

Two hours later, you spun halfway in your seat, legs bouncing. “Hey, Pres, you think we’re made from apes or stars? ’Cause you shine way too much for me.”

She blinked slowly, unimpressed.

“I mean, like, evolution or cosmic atoms?”

“I’m not a scientist.”

You groaned and dropped your head on the desk. “Come on!!!”

Four hours in, you rested your head on your folded arms. “Do you do anything fun, other than running events and studying?”

Minjeong scribbled something, calm as ever. “Both are fun, if you look at it the right way.”

You raised a finger weakly. “Alright… I like skateboarding. And being happy.”

“Good for you,” she said without looking up.

Five hours later, you stood up with a loud stretch, arms overhead. “Finally!!! Bye, President Minjeong, it’s been a great five hours with you!”

She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you dare.”

You winked on your way out. “Kidding! Love ya. Take care~

You were barely five steps into detention when you threw your arms up. “Surprise! Back at it again.”

Minjeong didn’t even look up from her desk. “What is it this time?”

You flopped into the same chair from last time, grinning like it was a reunion.

“I may or may not have written ‘FREE MORNING HASHBROWNS’ all over the cafeteria walls.”

She blinked slowly. “In red permanent marker?”

“Artistic emphasis, thank you very much.”

—

She sighed through her nose and scribbled something on her clipboard.

“You really don’t get tired of this, do you?”

You shrugged. “It’s not so bad. Especially with you here, President Sunshine.”

Her pen stopped. Just for a second.

—

Thirty minutes in, you leaned your chair back dangerously far. “So. No free hashbrowns today, huh?”

She didn’t respond.

You smiled, watching her focused face. “I’m starting to think you like these little dates.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she said, eyes still on the report.

—

Two hours later.

You let out the loudest yawn possible, arms stretched like wings. “Pres, I’m dying.”

“Good,” she muttered. “Less energy for destruction.”

You pouted. “Cruel. I thought we were bonding.”

“Last week, you called me babe.”

“Yeah, and you didn’t fail me for it. Growth!”

—

Four hours. You were slumped on the table, doodling on your incident report.

“Minjeong, if I swore off crimes for hashbrowns, would you give me a second chance?”

She paused. Looked at you. For once, really looked.

“You’d still do it,” she said. “You’d just call it a ‘misunderstood social movement.’”

You grinned. “Exactly. You get me.”

—

Five hours later, you stood up, stretching again. “Well, another successful detention. You gonna miss me?”

“Dreadfully.” Deadpan.

You saluted. “Love ya as always. Think of me when the hashbrowns hit.”

“Y/N.”

You turned.

“…Don’t write on the walls again.”

A pause.

“…Especially not in Comic Sans.”

You laughed all the way out the door.

You were used to the creak of the detention door by now.

But today felt different.

Different faces.

Loud, slouched boys in uniforms, laughing like they owned the room.

They didn’t even glance your way.

But Minjeong did.

Barely.

A flick of her eyes, sharp and guarded—

like she already knew she was in for hell.

You dropped your bag beside your usual chair.

“Guess we’re expanding the guest list,” you muttered.

—

The moment the teacher stepped out, the shift was instant.

“Prez got legs for days,” one guy whistled low. “Bet she’s hiding more than school rules in that skirt.”

Another snorted. “You think she’s ever kissed anyone? Bet she’s all bark. Tight little mouth, though.”

Laughter. High fives.

You glanced at her.

Minjeong sat frozen.

Back straight, pen hovering just above her clipboard.

Not writing. Not blinking.

Just enduring.

—

“Hey, President,” a guy leaned over her desk. Way too close. “Bet you’d grade us better if we took you out. Ever been to a motel, huh?”

Her eyes flicked up—just once.

Not fear.

But a sharp, wounded kind of pride.

You stood. Slowly.

“Alright. That’s enough.”

—

The room stilled.

You walked forward, past the desks, not smiling.

“I may be a troublemaker,” you said quietly, voice steady,

“but I don’t lack a heart.”

They laughed. Nervous now. “Damn, what’s this? Her little guard dog?”

You tilted your head.

“I break rules, not people.”

You stepped between him and her desk.

“And definitely not girls trying to do their job.”

The guy tensed. “Relax, it’s a joke—”

“She didn’t laugh.”

You leaned in closer. “But you can cry later if you want.”

The tension cracked, heavy and thick.

No one said another word.

—

The teacher eventually returned.

Too late.

Too quiet.

You sat down beside Minjeong.

Not saying anything.

Not needing to.

She didn’t move.

But her hands uncurled from the edge of her clipboard.

Slowly.

—

The hours passed in silence.

Until the clock struck five.

She stood up, gathering her things with practiced precision.

Still not looking at you.

Still stiff.

But her voice came out soft. Measured.

“…Thank you.”

You shrugged. “Didn’t do it for thanks.”

A pause.

“I did it because no one else was going to.”

She looked at you, then. Really looked.

And for the first time—

her eyes weren’t cold.

Just tired.

And a little open.

“You’re still a pain,” she said, voice quieter than before.

You smiled. “Yeah, but I’m your pain now, aren’t I?”

She didn’t answer.

But this time,

she walked beside you as you left

The door creaked open. Fluorescent lights buzzed above.

She didn’t look up right away.

Then—

“Detention?” Her voice was sharper than usual, but it faltered halfway through.

“At this late of an hour?”

She finally looked up.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

You raised your hands in surrender. “Hey, I’m not here to cause trouble.”

You stepped closer, slower than usual.

“No detention today. I just… visited.”

She stared at you like you were something she didn’t have the energy to fight.

“You visited?” she asked, voice flat.

You nodded, sliding into the seat beside her like it was routine. “Yeah. I figured… it’s kinda hard being alone most of the time, right?”

She went back to scribbling, eyes fixed on the paper in front of her. “No. It isn’t.”

But you saw it.

That small hesitation. The way her hand tensed slightly around the pen.

“You’re lying,” you said quietly.

Her pen stopped. Just for a moment.

But she didn’t deny it.

You reached into your jacket pocket and placed a paper napkin between you.

A still-warm, slightly greasy hashbrown inside.

“I got these from the principal earlier,” you said. “Guess I’ve been too much lately. Called me in to ‘talk about my behavior.’ Then gave me food.”

You smiled, just a little. “I think I broke him.”

Minjeong stared at the hashbrown like it didn’t belong in this room.

In her world.

You nudged it closer. “Too much for me to finish. Figured… you might need it more.”

For a while, she didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Then she reached out, slow and unsure, and took it.

Not looking at you. Not thanking you.

But she ate it.

And that was enough.

—

You leaned back in your chair, arms behind your head.

“I’ll leave soon. Just thought I’d stop by. This place feels less awful with you in it, y’know?”

She didn’t reply.

But she didn’t ask you to leave either.

And in Minjeong language—

That meant something.

The room had gone still.

Not quiet like tension—

Quiet like exhaustion.

Minjeong sat at her desk, fingers faintly stained with ink, the empty hashbrown wrapper folded perfectly in front of her.

You hadn’t spoken for a while.

Neither had she.

Then—

very softly—

“I don’t hate you, you know.”

You glanced over. “Could’ve fooled me.”

She gave the tiniest huff. Almost a laugh.

Then she sat back in her chair, spine still straight like she didn’t know how to relax.

“I just… don’t have time to be soft. Or distracted.”

Her voice was quiet. Not harsh.

She looked ahead—not at you.

“My father has… high hopes for me.”

The pen in her hand tapped the desk once, then stopped.

She was choosing her words. Like always.

But this time, she wasn’t building a wall—she was trying not to fall through one.

“He gave up a lot. For me to be here. For this uniform. This position.”

She motioned to the nameplate on her table like it weighed her down.

“This… performance,” she said, gesturing vaguely around the room, “it’s the only way I know how to pay him back.”

A pause.

She swallowed.

“I can’t afford to mess up. Not when he wakes up at four every day. Not when he skips meals so I can eat better. Not when he tells the relatives I’m the pride of the family.”

You blinked, the usual comeback dying in your throat.

She finally looked at you—

and she looked tired. Not physically.

The kind of tired that settles in the bones after years of pretending it’s all fine.

“You joke a lot,” she said.

“And I don’t get it sometimes. But part of me…”

She hesitated.

“Part of me envies it.”

You sat with that.

Let the silence settle.

Then you leaned forward, elbows on your knees.

Voice softer than usual.

“You know… even with all the jokes, I still see you. The real you.”

She didn’t respond. But her eyes didn’t leave yours either.

And for once—she didn’t look away.

“You what?”

Minjeong’s voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

Not her usual sharp tone.

Not her calm, collected quiet.

This was something else.

This was a girl trying not to fall apart.

You stood still in front of the principal’s office door, shoulders sinking.

“I… switched the system timers,” you admitted.

“So the fire alarm would go off during the student council audit.”

She blinked at you. Slowly. Like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“The audit my dad came to supervise?”

You swallowed. “Yeah.”

“The one where they told him I wasn’t organized enough? That I let things slip?”

Her voice trembled now. “That I failed?”

“…Yeah.”

She turned away from you, hands shaking.

She’d held herself together through worse.

But this—

this felt personal.

And maybe that’s why it hurt the most.

“I did it,” you said, finally.

Quietly.

Honestly.

“I did it so I could spend time with you more.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

She let out a broken sound—half a laugh, half a sob.

Her shoulders trembled.

“You could’ve just asked me for time, Y/N.”

She turned to you, eyes red.

“You think I wouldn’t have said yes?”

Her voice cracked.

“You think I don’t want to see you?”

You stepped closer, but she backed away.

“I defended you,” she said through gritted teeth.

“I told them it was my fault. I told my dad I was the one who failed.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks now.

“And all you had to do… was ask.”

Your heart sank.

All those detentions.

All those glances.

All that quiet trust you’d finally started to earn—

and now, she was breaking right in front of you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

She didn’t answer.

But she didn’t walk away either.

Just stood there, wiping her face with the sleeve of her blazer.

A girl with too much weight on her shoulders,

and one person too careless with her heart

It started with a lunchbox.

No words. No grand apology. No folded note with a silly doodle — just a packed container wrapped in a thin cloth, left gently on the edge of her desk during lunch hour. You didn’t even stay. You just placed it there, paused for a second, then turned and walked off before she could ask anything.

Minjeong didn’t touch it at first.

She stared at it like it might explode — then, like it might disappear.

She ate it only after the classroom emptied out.

The next day, you showed up again. Didn’t bring food this time. Instead, you stayed after the last bell, quietly stacking stray chairs back into place while the janitor cleaned the floors. You picked up plastic wrappers, refilled the whiteboard markers, even patched the torn back of a class notice you ripped last month. When the teacher asked why you were still around, you just said, “Killing time.”

You weren’t. You were building something.

Minjeong saw it all. She always did. You knew that now.

She never said thank you. Never acknowledged the change. But she no longer turned away when she saw you. That alone said more than enough.

You stopped joking so much.

Stopped forcing your way into her day. Instead, you let the silence return — not the cold kind that used to sit between you like a wall, but a gentle one. A silence that filled the room without pressing on either of you. She worked. You sat nearby. Sometimes across. Sometimes diagonally, pen in hand, scribbling on real report forms instead of doodling stick figures like before.

Weeks passed like this.

Then came the rain.

It started slow — light droplets smattering against the windowpanes like background noise. You were in the back of the room, hunched over a desk, trying to put your thoughts into something legible. Minjeong was at the front, sleeves rolled up, sorting through stacks of club expense reports and academic warnings.

You should’ve left it alone.

You almost did.

But something inside you shifted, a hollowness that wouldn’t sit still. It had been clawing at your ribs for days — the same ache you used to bury under jokes, loud entrances, ridiculous stunts.

“I joke a lot,” you said.

Minjeong didn’t look up. Just flipped to the next page of her spreadsheet.

You stared at your hands. “Because maybe… just maybe, the laughter of other people fills my hollowed one.”

The sound of rain filled the silence she left in her wake.

She froze mid-page. Her fingers stopped moving. She didn’t lift her head, but you could see her shoulders had gone rigid, like the words had reached somewhere they weren’t supposed to.

“I don’t like the quiet,” you added, voice smaller now. “It echoes too much.”

Still, no movement.

You let out a breath and leaned forward, resting your arms on your knees. “It’s easier when people laugh. Even if it’s at me. Feels like… something’s alive in the room, y’know?”

Minjeong slowly closed the folder in front of her. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes — those damn eyes — they looked older tonight. Like she had spent her whole life being seventeen.

She turned toward you. The chair creaked softly beneath her.

“You still messed up,” she said.

“I know.”

She stared for a moment longer, and for once, you didn’t try to charm your way through it. You just looked back, tired and sincere.

Then, barely audible — “You could’ve just asked.”

“I didn’t think I deserved to.”

That broke something.

Her gaze flickered. Her throat moved as she swallowed something hard.

“You still don’t,” she murmured. “Not yet.”

You nodded, not offended. Not defensive.

She turned back to her table, fingers brushing across the edge of her folder, then pausing. Her voice came out steadier this time.

“You can sit closer today,” she said. “If you want.”

You stood up quietly and moved toward her. Not too close. Just one chair over. Enough to share the table. Enough to make room.

Not as a joke.

Not as a flirt.

But as someone trying.

The rain continued, softer now.

She didn’t speak again. Neither did you.

But for the first time in a long time, the silence didn’t echo at all.

The classroom was quieter than usual when you walked in.

No rustling papers. No fast scribbles. Just the soft hum of the ceiling fan spinning overhead like it was trying to fill the silence.

Minjeong sat alone by the window, the rain casting silver shadows across her desk.

Her hair was pulled back in a messy tie — not the usual slick, neat one. She didn’t look up when you entered.

You hovered in the doorway, unsure if this was the day she’d finally tell you to go away.

But she didn’t.

So you stepped inside.

Careful. Light-footed.

Like walking into a room that wasn’t built to hold fragile things, but did anyway.

When you reached her, she didn’t speak.

Just held something in her hands — thin, worn, like a photograph that had been opened and closed a hundred times.

You tilted your head. “What’s that?”

Minjeong didn’t answer. Not immediately.

Her eyes stayed on the image like it might vanish if she blinked too long.

Then, without a word, she turned it around.

It was her. Younger. Five maybe. Sitting on her father’s shoulders, a gold medal hanging around her neck.

And him — smiling, mouth open in mid-laugh. Like the weight of the world hadn’t gotten to him yet.

Your chest tightened.

“He called me his brightest star that day,” she said, voice barely above the rain outside. “I got first place in a spelling bee. It was the only time I saw him cry.”

You didn’t say anything.

Didn’t need to.

She continued. “Now… he barely blinks when I win anything. It’s just expected. Normal. A check off a long list.”

Her fingers brushed over the photo, smoothing out the corner again. “He used to be proud. Now he’s just… waiting. For the next thing. The next success. Like I’m a project, not a daughter.”

Her voice wavered at the edge. Then steadied again.

You sat down beside her slowly, not touching her, but near enough that she’d know she wasn’t alone.

“He doesn’t come to school events anymore unless he’s in charge of something. He says, ‘You’re already doing well. Why would I need to watch?’”

A pause.

“I think I stopped doing things for myself a long time ago.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of her words pressing into your ribs.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“I’m not telling you so you’ll feel sorry,” she said, finally glancing at you. “I’m telling you because you asked why I don’t have time to be soft. This is why.”

She turned back to the window. Her voice fell again.

“If I mess up, it feels like everything he gave up… means nothing. And I can’t do that to him. Even if I want to scream sometimes. Even if I want to just… stop.”

You watched her for a long while. The way her shoulders curled inward. The tired lines under her eyes. The kind of pain that doesn’t spill out but lives in every gesture.

“I didn’t know,” you said quietly.

“I didn’t let you,” she replied.

There was a pause then. Thick with things you both didn’t know how to name.

And then—

You moved your hand slightly, just enough for your pinky to brush against hers on the desk.

Not a grab. Not a hold.

Just contact. Just warmth.

“I’m not here to fix you,” you murmured. “But if you ever feel like screaming… I’ll be there. Even if I can’t stop the echo, I’ll scream with you.”

Minjeong didn’t look at you. Didn’t say anything.

But she didn’t pull her hand away, either.

And for someone like her…

That was everything.

The lights in the room had dimmed slightly — the storm outside casting long blue shadows across the floor.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been sitting there beside her, your pinkies still barely touching on the edge of the desk.

Neither of you spoke.

It wasn’t the kind of silence that begged to be broken —

It was the kind you wanted to stretch a little longer.

Stay inside of it. Float.

Minjeong’s breathing had slowed, fingers still loosely holding the old photo.

And for once, her posture wasn’t perfect.

She slouched slightly, her shoulder brushing yours — not on purpose. Not an accident either.

You turned just enough to glance at her, and in the soft hum of the empty classroom, you saw it:

the weight of the day settling in her eyelids, the walls coming down, inch by careful inch.

She didn’t pull away when your thigh pressed gently against hers.

Didn’t shift when your shoulder rested more fully into hers.

She stayed still — but not frozen. Not like before.

And then—

A small sigh escaped her lips. Barely audible.

She leaned. Slowly. Like it surprised even her.

Her head came to rest against your shoulder.

Not for a second.

Not for a breath.

But to stay.

You didn’t move. Didn’t even dare to blink too hard.

Her hair smelled faintly of clean fabric softener and old paper. Her weight was light, but her trust felt heavy — and you carried it like something sacred.

A door creaked faintly behind you.

You looked up.

It was your homeroom teacher.

She froze in the doorway, stack of folders in her hand, clearly not expecting anyone to still be inside.

Her eyes landed on the two of you —

You, sitting still as stone,

Minjeong, asleep or nearly asleep on your shoulder,

your hand now gently resting over hers on the desk.

For a long second, she just… observed.

Not judging.

Not surprised, even.

She gave a small smile. The kind that said so this is where all that detentions led to.

Then, without a word, she stepped back and closed the door quietly.

You exhaled, heart still drumming.

Minjeong stirred slightly, murmuring something you couldn’t catch.

But her fingers squeezed yours — just barely.

Just enough.

You didn’t say anything.

You just stayed still and held the silence with her

like it was the most fragile thing in the world

You felt her stir before she spoke.

A small, sleepy shift of weight.

Her cheek lifting slowly from your shoulder.

The soft rustle of her blazer sleeve brushing yours.

When you turned, Minjeong was blinking hard, like waking up disoriented, unsure if she’d just broken some rule she wrote herself.

She sat up quickly. “I—”

She cleared her throat. Didn’t finish the sentence.

Instead, she blinked down at her hand, still slightly wrapped in yours.

You loosened your fingers, slowly.

Didn’t pull away. Just gave her the space to do it herself.

She didn’t.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” she mumbled, brushing her hair back behind her ear. Her voice was quieter than usual — not cold, just embarrassed. “I… I don’t usually do that.”

You smiled, soft and knowing. “I figured.”

She glanced at you. A second too long.

Then she looked away again, biting the inside of her cheek.

“I must’ve looked stupid.”

“No,” you said, not teasing. Just honest. “You looked tired.”

She didn’t answer.

But her hand stayed close to yours on the desk.

Not touching now — but not far either.

Like she hadn’t decided yet whether she was going to let go.

You didn’t push.

Instead, you stood, stretched a little, and reached for your bag.

“I’ll leave you to rest,” you said gently. “You don’t have to explain anything.”

That made her look up.

Her lips parted like she wanted to say something more—

but all that came out was a small, breathy “Okay.”

You nodded once.

And left.

The hallway was quiet. Empty.

The storm had passed, leaving everything damp and soft-edged.

You turned the corner and nearly ran into your homeroom teacher again.

She was holding a few forms this time, glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose.

She smiled when she saw you.

“You didn’t cause trouble for her, did you?”

You shook your head, almost smiling back. “Not today.”

She gave you a long look. The kind that sees through walls.

The kind that saw what happened inside that room without needing to be told.

Then, her voice softened.

“Good job, Y/N.”

A pause.

“I’m proud of you.”

You blinked.

Something caught in your throat.

It wasn’t the words themselves.

It was that no one had ever said them to you before.

Not like that.

Not in a hallway with no audience.

Not with that kind of quiet sincerity.

You looked down. Smiled a little. But it didn’t reach your eyes.

“Thanks, Miss,” you said, voice tight. “See you tomorrow.”

And you walked away.

Shoulders hunched slightly.

Fingers tightening around the strap of your bag.

Eyes glistening — just a little.

Not enough for anyone to notice.

But enough to know you were still learning how to carry kindness

like it didn’t burn.

[alloftheimagines]

abby anderson | positive

masterlist

words: 2.8k warnings: 18+, pregnant!reader, hurt/comfort, discussions surrounding reproductive care including abortion, angst, supportive abby (she's gonna be a dad!), peeing i guess request: Hiiiii!!! I’ve never requested something before so idk how to do this but I was thinking of WLF Abby x pregnant reader. Where readers old partner was just the worst and still picks on reader even though they aren’t together and she avoids him at all costs. But Abby sees and starts to look out for her and just falls in love then boom baby comes and Abby and reader have their little happy family.

i'll make this multiple parts if you guys would like to see more!

Abby feels like she hasn’t seen you in weeks. Really, she saw you on patrol that morning, but you were hyperfocused on the task at hand, not up for your usual small talk. And then she saw you arguing with that asshole ex of yours, Dean, in the canteen, but by the time she was on her way over, you’d stormed off. You’ve been MIA since, and your relationship isn’t her business, but she's your best friend: she won't be able to sleep until she knows you're okay.

So, just after midnight, she searches the arena for you, food in hand because she’s worried you might not have eaten. You’ve haven’t had much of an appetite recently, and she wonders if maybe there’s something else wrong. Something she wants to fix if you’ll just let her. 

You aren’t anywhere. She checks the kennels, night watch, asks around all over. And then she thinks of that place you showed her a few weeks ago. A building a few blocks down whose missing walls allowed a beautiful view of the city, especially at sunset. You’d taken Abby there on the anniversary of her dad’s death, a place where the two of you could sit without your usual duties burdening you. And despite Abby’s grief, it had been one of the most beautiful evenings Abby had experienced in a long time, mostly because she'd never noticed how bright your eyes could shine in the sunlight, or how soft your voice got when you were tired and without your usual armour.

As predicted, there is where she finds you. You sit a little too close to the edge of the exposed building for her comfort, legs dangling over the side and silhouette lit by the waning moon. 

She breathes a sigh of relief, then whispers a “knock knock” to make herself known. She doesn't want to invade the place that is yours. Just wants to know why you're hiding.

You twist, and she sees tears gleaming on your cheeks. They break her heart. 

“Y’okay?” she asks gently. 

“Yeah, fine.” You wipe them away quickly, turning back to the view of the starlit city. Abby doesn’t dare sit so close to the edge, so she presses her back against the wall adjacent, getting a better view of you. You don’t say anything. For a while, neither does she. 

“Aren’t you scared of toppling to your death so close to the edge?” she finally asks, if only to get you talking. She risks a glimpse of the ground below, too far away from here, and hugs her knees closer to her chest. You must be four stories up, if not five, the office building tilting precariously in on itself. Vines eat at the walls and every so often, plaster cracks somewhere above, lightly dusting the two of you. 

You smile softly, but it doesn’t meet your eyes. Usually, you would tease her — Isaac’s biggest baddest wolf, afraid of heights? Last time, you’d held her hand after saying it, as though afraid she’d take it personally otherwise. Or maybe you’d just wanted to help her feel safe. It had worked. 

“Honestly, that doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world right now,” you reply now. 

Abby’s brows furrow despite the attempted lightness in your tone. “What did he say to you? I’ll set Alice on him. Or, better yet, I’ll kill him my fucking self.”

More tears. Yeah, she’s definitely going to do it herself. And she’s going to make it slow and painful, too. 

Honestly, she doesn’t know what you ever saw in Dean. Whenever asked, you always said it wasn’t serious, just an accident that kept happening, adrenaline-fuelled and convenient. You could have anybody at the base to blow off steam with after a fight, though. You choose him. 

When she is right there. 

When you don’t reply, just press your trembling lips together, she leans forward to take your hand despite the fear that the wind whipping through the ruined walls brings. When it comes to you, she’s already falling. Maybe it’s that she should be scared of. 

“Hey," she soothes. "Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“Abby…” you whisper. 

“I’m here. What is it?”

“I think I’m pregnant.” 

She freezes, her eyes big and round and glued to your face. Those were the last words she expected to hear. Something inside of her sinks — maybe that last shred of hope that you might finally notice her as something other than a friend. 

“He told me… I thought we were being safe. He told me we were. He fucking lied.”

“Shit. That’s why you’ve been sick recently." She should have noticed. Encouraged you to get checked out. "How late are you?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.” Your face crumples. “We’ve been so busy with the Scar shit recently that I haven’t been paying attention. It’s been… months since we were last together, though, which means I’m… I might already be…" You whimper. "Abby, I can’t do this.”

“Hey,” she soothes, shuffling closer, heights be damned. Her leg brackets your back as she cups your face, though really, she has no idea how to make this better. “I’ve got you, okay? You’re alright.”

“I don’t know what to do.” Your sob cracks her heart open. “He’s already made it clear that I’m in this alone.”

“No, sweetheart, you’re not alone. I’m here. I’ll be here, whatever you want to do.”

You clutch onto the arm she throws around you like it’s a life jacket and you’re sinking, the crook of her elbow catching your tears as you dip your head. She smooths down your hair, pulls you closer, closer, closer. You’re shuddering so hard against her that she thinks maybe you’ll be the one to send the building to the ground. 

“We can talk to Nora, right? See what our options are?”

“I don’t know if I’m ready to… to even…” 

“I know. I can’t even imagine what you must be feeling. We don't need to decide right now.”

“I’m such a fucking idiot, Abby.” Finally, you turn to her. “I never should have trusted him. I never should have gone anywhere near him.”

“No. Don’t do that. This isn’t your fault.” Her other hand traces the knots of your back. She’s never felt this helpless before, like there’s absolutely nothing in the world she can do to make it right. It’s not likely that the medic tents have some family planning clinic going on. When people get pregnant in the WLF, they have a baby or lose a baby, but she’s never seen or heard of other options. 

Still, what she does know is that pregnancy tests still exist. Mel recovered a bunch from an old pharmacy on their last run together.

“How about we take this one step at a time?” Abby urges delicately. “We need to know for sure before we figure out the rest.”

“I’m not ready to go to Nora. I can’t.”

“You don’t need to. I know where we can get tests.”

Finally, you look at her, some hope returning to your gaze. It makes the fact that she’s shaking like a leaf above the city half-worth it.

Abby schools her expression to the calmest one she can muster, knuckle dipping over your brow to brush a strand of hair from your face. “Whenever you’re ready to know, we’ll do it together, okay?”

And for a moment, the fear wavers, moulds into something else. She thinks maybe she’s done something right, and thank fuck, because seeing you hurting so badly is killing her. She drags her touch over your cheekbone, down to your jaw, thumb resting gently on your lower lip. 

You lock eyes with her in the moonlight and decide, “I need to know now.”

She is more than happy to peel you away from the edge of the building, even if you are heading straight for another precipice. One she might not be able to follow you over — but she’ll sure as hell try.

***

Abby turns her back and leans against the sink as you pee. When you’ve lived together this long, modesty is no longer a thing, and that connection is maybe why she’s managed to get you home without breaking. When you’re done, you set the test down on the water tank and wash your hands, your hip knocking against hers. You look at her in the grimy mirror and see all the concern she has for you, enough to floor you. Of course, you knew you could rely on her. That she cared. 

You just didn’t know it could be this much. 

She doesn’t have to take this on, you think. It’s your mistake. Your problem to deal with. But she takes the pregnancy test and then your hand, leading you into the living area where you can sit on the sinking couch comfortably. The test is placed on the coffee table. You have no idea where she got it: likely stole it from medical supplies downstairs. 

“Do you ever think about having kids?” you’re brave enough to ask, if only to pass a few excruciating seconds otherwise spent in silence. “You’re weirdly good at this whole emotional support thing.”

Her freckled nose scrunches. “Not exactly on my list of priorities, but thanks, I guess.”

You can imagine it, though. A mini Abby running around base, inheriting all of her beauty and brute strength. Not now, not when she’s so young, but one day. You always think she’ll make a good leader, and she’s proven tonight she can be tender, too. Nurturing. She’d make a much better mom than you.

Abby clasps her hands together over her knees, eyeing the test. “I had a scare with Owen once.”

“Yeah?” You didn’t know that. She’d never told you. The two of you have been friends since the Fireflies, but closer in the last year or two. Being soldiers seemed to have the opposite effect than intended: it has buffed you down into something gentle, at least around each other. When there is a threat, you match each other’s fierceness, but at the end of the day comes gentle whispers of whether you want to shower first, or would you like the light left on or off, or did you eat yet? Cleaning blood from one another’s skin. Sometimes crowding into one bed because the things you see, whether Infected or Scars or the deeper tragedies of your past, can haunt. 

She toys with a hangnail as she continues: “I wasn’t ready, but I think it made me realise that one day I might be. It got me thinking a lot about how lucky I was to have been raised by my dad. He was so good to me. So kind, y’know? I’d like to be able to give a kid that same care.” 

You forget, for a moment, that your future is about to be decided by a thirty-year-old pregnancy test that might not even work, a soft smile curving on your lips. “They'd be a really lucky kid, Abs.”

She looks over her shoulder at you, face all soft edges. You’re one of the only people who gets to see her this way, not just the intimidating fighter Isaac favours. “I wouldn’t mind if it was yours I got to take care of instead. If you are pregnant, and you go through with this, I’ll help you. Through all of it. As much as you want me to.”

“I couldn’t ask that of you.”

“You wouldn’t need to. You’re my best friend, and getting to love a tiny version of you… well, it doesn’t sound so bad.”

“You say that now, but what about when it’s screaming and pooping. And then…” You gulp. “What about when we have to keep it safe? Through war and the infected?” Your everyday involves watching families get torn apart, or stumbling across memories of people who no longer exist in ruins that used to be homes. You can barely handle the fear that comes with watching Abby throw herself on the frontlines everyday, never mind the one that might exist if you were to have a baby. 

But you know already there is no if. You don’t need the pregnancy test. You feel it. Bloated stomach, sickness every day, sensitivity to smells, body not yours anymore. The test is just the thing you need to accept it. 

Something that feels just a tad easier than before when Abby leans back to take your hand. “I can’t think of anybody who would protect their kid more ferociously than you. Jesus, you’ve done it for me more times than I count. When someone you care about is in danger, you know exactly how to save them.”

A warmth floods your chest. You love her and have never been more certain of it. In fact, you only started sleeping with Dean at all to get her out of your head, which didn’t work. It felt like you were betraying your friendship when you first started seeing Abby in that way, taking note of her toned body and husky morning voice. So you ran the only way you could, with a guy who was more than willing to put out. 

Maybe this is karma. 

“I don’t know if I deserve you,” you say. 

“Shut up,” she jests in a way only a best friend could. And yet you’re planning your future like you are suddenly more than that. Like her fate rests on that pregnancy test, too.

You look back at it. Suddenly it is not the most intimidating thing in your world. Suddenly, it is something that offers a flicker of hope in you. “Do you think it’s been long enough?”

“Yeah.”

You take a deep breath. She squeezes your hand. “Want me to do it?”

You nod. 

She picks it up, chest puffing out as she holds the test between you. You don’t dare look. Her lips part, eyes turning glossy. “Two lines. Positive.”

“Shit,” you choke out, and the tears begin again. You’re pregnant, and it isn’t just a guess anymore. It’s real. Everything you are is about to change. 

“Shit,” Abby agrees, showing you the test. The lines are clear as day. No denying them, just as there’s no denying all the ways you haven’t felt normal recently.

“God, I don’t know how I’ll do this.”

“You don’t have to,” she reminded. “You deserve to have a choice, so we’ll figure one out, okay? Even if I have to raid a thousand pharmacies.”

You’re not sure you want that. Your hand falls over your belly, just slightly rounder than it was a few months ago, trouser buttons stretched tighter. It’s going to take time to figure it out, but there’s warmth that wasn’t there before. You’re not alone in this the way you thought you were a few hours ago, and yeah, it’s going to be tough as shit, but…

But you look at Abby and see something that might be worth it.

She must sense it, because she tugs you close and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. “It’s too late to make decisions tonight. You wanna try to get some sleep?”

You don’t think sleep is a thing you’re capable of with your heart racing like this, but you nod. She helps you out of your jacket and slips off her pants to slide under the duvet before tugging you to do the same. Bare legs intertwine, the closest you’ve ever been, and your face sinks into her hard chest, counting her breaths to keep from spiralling. 

“He’ll want me to get rid of it,” you say. “He already told me that.”

“He doesn’t get a say. He’s a piece of fucking shit, and it’s your body.”

“If it was your choice… would you want this?” Your voice is small, perhaps hopeful. “Do you really want that tiny version of me?”

“I want you to be happy. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. If this could make you happy, in any world, then yeah, I’d want it. But it isn’t about me, sweetheart.”

“I think it is,” you admit, chewing on your lip. “I think the minute you told me I’m not alone in this, it stopped feeling like a complete nightmare.”

“You really needed me to tell you?” she murmurs against your forehead.

“It’s a baby, Abby. And you’re my best friend, not my…”

You wish she was, so much that you can’t even finish the sentence. 

She does it for you, voice flat. “Not your girlfriend.”

You hum. 

“Maybe not, but you’re… You’re all that matters to me,” she says. “I’d do anything for you.”

You bite your lower lip. “Thank you, Abby. I'm not sure I could handle this without you.”

“Always. Y’don’t ever have to thank me.”

But you do, and it will never feel like enough. By the time you fall asleep, morning light is already bleeding through the window — but Abby stays with you, making you believe that maybe you could find your way through this, even if you’ll be stumbling in the dark.

She’ll be your light.  

[underratedmurder]

Was it something I said? Remmick/Reader

Reader and Remmick dance together... and get acquainted.

female/femme presenting reader

*Remmick can enter people's minds without turning them* <- I love this idea, and I think it makes sense for him since he was so in touch with Mary's emotions in the movie.

*Smut warning* PIV intercourse, Fingering, Blood, Biting, Drool, Messy make outs

~~~

There's a strange new man in town, and hell if he aint a good dancer!

"What kinda dancin'?" You asked, polishing a tall glass by the kitchen sink.

"Oh, like nothing I've seen before, you gotta see him Lucky," the warm voice of the woman reminded you of childhood wonder and excitement, the kind you two shared together in youth.

She was your best friend, Nelly. 'Lucky' was just a nickname, given to you when you were just a child.

Lucky, you felt it every now and then, lucky to have friends and a home, but you weren't sure luck would give your life much meaning.

Now, after growing up, you struggled for joy and fulfillment.

Your friends were bubbling about the kitchen, exclaiming about some new feller who frequented the local club, electrifying a previously dim and dismal joint.

"He shuffles his feet so fast Luck, like bubbles pricklin' in a tea pot,"

"It's called Irish dancin', he's Irish," your other friend, Maggie, finally chimed in. Nelly looked at her, confused.

"How you know?" Nelly leaned toward her, and a string of curiosity was plucked in your mind.

"Cause he told me, we talked for a bit last night," Maggie looked particularly proud of herself, and you grew suspicious.

"So, you did," Nelly's face twisted in disappointment, something was telling you this man might be a little pretty...maybe.

"Don't be jealous Nel, I don't mind sharin'," Maggie smirked, playful and teasing.

"Oh, don't you start that, Maggie!" Nelly was swatting Maggie and hitting her arm.

Now you just had to see this guy, after all, there wasn't much anything else to do around town. You liked dancing, and you certainly liked the sound of a handsome Irishman who could hop to a beat. And you were secretly hoping the night would start you on a new and exciting adventure, the kind of opportunity you'd been desperate to find for a while now.

~~~

That night at the club was packed, more than you'd ever seen it. The summer heat seeped into the place, moisture was already collecting on your forehead, like you could feel the sweat and exhaustion from the folks who were dancing their heads off.

There was a rowdy dance circle on the large wooden dance floor, rumbling the building with heavy steps and in sync clapping.

The band was playing a bouncy folk tune, more upbeat than their usual jam.

You felt a buzz under your skin unlike anything you'd felt before, like the air was charged with so much energy the place could burst.

Sliding past people chatting and taking swigs from their drinks, you finally stood before the circle, and in the middle there he was.

He was glowing, and not like a light, like a vibration, sending waves of energy out into a sea of bodies. He looked softer than you expected, features defined but not sharp. He bobbed up and down, his dark brown hair barely moving as it stuck to his forehead, shuffling his feet and swinging his legs. His eyes were closed, his chin up. He was focused, but blissful, and all you wanted to do was join him.

You merged with the circle like a drop to a stream, feet stumbling for a moment before you caught the rhythm and bounced along. The music and the people carrying you round and round until you weren't sure which way was left or right. The man was still in the center; a wide smile now plastered on his drunken face. You caught glimpse of his crooked teeth, sharp on all sides, like a dog prancing in the sun, he radiated joy. It was intoxicating to watch, and without meaning to, you found yourself staring for a bit too long.

The only thing that pulled you out of your trance was the sudden sensation of his eyes locking with your own. Light blue and intense, they barely looked human, and that scared you. But before fear could push you away, he was pulling you in.

Strong hands grasped your wrist and forearm firmly, tugging you into the middle. You crashed into him for a moment, puzzled at the coolness of his frame against the heat of the air. But as he grinned at you, eyeing you up and down, you began to move your feet again.

Up close, he was shorter than you thought, but large and muscular, his forearms bare of his rolled-up sleeves and flexing as he reached to grab your hand. You took his, surprised at his cold touch, but gladly holding on as he wrapped an arm around your waist and began to spin you both around.

As he picked up the pace, your feet starting to synchronize in motion, you couldn't help but smile widely, feeling the woosh of air across your face as he spun you around in place. When he pulled you back you collided into his chest, noses barely brushing past each other.

He gazed at you, an almost crazed look in his eye, joy and frenzy and fun. His grip tightened on your hand, and you felt the urge to go a bit further, after all this was a dance, a show for the whole club to see. You couldn't let him out do you.

You leaned back and rolled your head in a circle, flaring out your chest and letting your neck flex. People wooed and continued their rhythmic clapping, as you popped back up to meet him.

But when you returned to his eyes something had changed, they no longer shone that sky blue like before. His pupils were blown, and there was something shiny and slick seeping out the corner of his mouth.

Suddenly he was darker, less soft, and hell if he didn't look even more delicious than before.

His breath was heavy against your face, still somehow cooler than the air, and your heart was undoubtably racing for reasons other than the dancing.

His hand snaked down your back, slowly and carefully, finding purchase at the bottom of your hip. Shamefully, your felt heat pool between your legs, as your face began to run hotter than before.

As if he could read your mind, he slid his leg between your own, propping himself between them like a puzzle piece, still rocking you round the circle at impossible speeds. The pressure between your legs was unbearable, and you couldn't believe you found yourself so wound up in the arms of a total stranger.

His head snuck closer to your neck, nose just centimeters away from the fast and hot beat of your pulse.

"You Lucky?" he hummed.

"How'd you-"

"Your lovely friend Maggie and I had an interesting conversation the other night," suddenly you felt a guilty pit of jealousy hit your stomach, accompanied by unwavering anxiety. What had they possibly talked about, and why did you feel like a fish on a hook.

You weren't sure if you were imagining it, but within moments, he drew a great long sniff from your neck, rolling his head back like he'd finally taken a breath after emerging from water. As he exhaled, his mouth hung open, his teeth were longer, sharper, unnatural fangs that protruded like knives. And when his eyes fluttered open, they were red like blood and piercing. You gazed upon a man, now a monster, his arm wrapped around your waist and his leg pressed against you, and you finally startled.

"What's wrong sweetheart? Scared I might bite?" his voice was so low and smooth, you felt sedated, like it would send you to sleep.

Every instinct in your mind should have told you to fight, to run. Your feet were slowing but still shuffling around the circle, afraid to break the spell of the dancers that surrounded you. They hardly took notice to the creature that grasped you, like blind pigeons flocking to a vulture.

He pulled you close, chest to chest, his mouth and fangs at the edge of your ear. The proximity was too much to bear, you could feel the tickle of his stubble on your cheek, sharp pricks which you realized were his nails coming to stroke your neck.

"I promise I'm much gentler than I appear," the hum of his voice made your skin prickle, like a paper about to burst into flame. You felt the heat in your body radiating, a call to supper he was ready to head.

You fought to shake away from him, eyes unable to tear away from his every feature. He let you go, though a pout appeared on his face, mocking you, and as you stumbled backwards that pout turned to a terrifying grin.

"Was it something I said?" He held up his hands in feigned ignorance, looking around at the many who slowed their stride, grinning along with him.

Through hurried blinks, the reflective red of dozens of eyes revealed themselves.

Skirting backwards out of the circle, your mind began to race, griping the spiders web in which you were trapped.

Nelly and Maggie were gone, and all eyes watched as you scrambled for a broom closet nearby. Scattered laughter filled the club as you tripped and nearly toppled over before slamming and locking the door.

Heart racing, you laid there on the floor, ears penetrated by hundreds of whispers of your name. Over and over, each voice sounded incredibly loud and impossibly close, like the lips were pressed right to your ear. Covering them, you hunched over, begging, waiting for the silence.

The voices began to crescendo, piling on top of your chest and weighing you down, until one triumphant voice called out. Smooth and clear, it was him.

A polite knock at the door, and your eyes darted up, wide and bloodshot and brimmed with tears.

"Knock knock little dove, there's a dance floor out there waitin' for you," he chimed, cheery and almost affectionate.

His voice seeped like honey through the cracks of the door frame, you fought the impeding thoughts of licking that honey straight from his mouth.

You shivered.

"I didn't mean to scare you darlin', honest," he sounded sincere.

"Whatever it was I did, I promise I can make up for it," you could hear the grin tugging at his lips. A flash of the image of his fangs peeking over his lips made your heart pound.

"Got plenty more moves I haven't shown you yet," the drawl of his voice was past the cracks of the door and reaching for you across the wood floor. So tangible you could try to kick it away, but you didn't.

You didn't scream for him to leave you alone, the words would be caught in your throat, feeble attempts to keep the monster at bay.

You closed your eyes, covering your ears again, but when his voice rang again it wasn't from behind the door, it was from within you.

I can make you feel better honey, I can take allllll that fear away. Just... open the door.

The tears were falling down your cheeks now, heart thumping like a rabbits'. You bit your lip and crumpled, the pressure of his presence in your mind was so warm and deep, slowly you accepted what you knew you wanted to do. What you needed to do. What was itching at you since he laid his eyes on you. Since he looked at you like you were his perfect meal.

Slowly you rose, shaking and dripping with adrenaline. Your hand crept to the lock, fingers moving in painstaking slow motion. You held your breath for fear that he'd suck it all out from the other side of the door.

One finger lightly taps the lock

You see his eyes again

Another positioned to turn it

His fangs baring like a dogs

Your palm presses against the mechanism

Sharp claws scraping your side

The lock flips and you finally breathe out, weight of your fear lifting for just a moment, but he fills the gaps.

The door slowly swings open, his body appears like an apparition, a ghost you summoned through subconscious fear and unbearable desire.

"See now that wasn't so bad," drool is pooling from his mouth, like a rabid dog he stares a hole into you, licking his lips.

Your legs are weak, giving out as soon as he takes a step forward, quickly closing the space between you in the small closet.

You were on your knees, hands clasped together, and eyes shut again.

This was sin, this was the Devil finally finding you, and you asked so desperately to be found.

You began to pray, mumbling words to a lord you didn't seek to find, but to be received by the creature before you. A declaration, a promise, an admittance, that you were under his spell, his to take.

"Oh, sweet baby. There's no God who can take you from me now," the hunger in his voice traveled down his neck through his arm all the way to the fingers that grasped your chin and forced you to look up.

You continued your prayer, but directly to him now, "Is there a Devil who can?" the tears left your eyes red and strained, looking up at him stung in the loveliest way possible.

He smiled, lips together, dark hair framing his beautiful face. You could die looking at him this way, you didn't even know his name...

"It's Remmick. There is no Devil here tonight,"

He pulled you up with one swift motion.

"And he couldn't take you either,"

His hand grasped the back of your neck, other hand lightly toying with your face, wiping tears from your cheeks and brushing hair from your sweaty temples.

"Look at you,"

Your lips parted, so close to his own, you yearned to press them together.

"So beautiful, little dove," his thumb grazed your lips.

His face came closer, aiming for your neck again, his hands' grasp tightening on your hair.

"If I could just... taste you,"

You breathed in, tense, anticipating his every move.

"Shh sh sh, it's okay. There aint' no need to be afraid. I'm gonna take real good care of you,"

Instinctually, words blurted out of your mouth once again.

"Lord please forgive me, I have given in to sin, I have fallen in the hands of evil," you sniffled and sobbed.

"Look at me," his voice was darker now.

Your eyes darted to his, widening in a trance.

"Will you give yourself to me?" his gaze was dark and possessive.

A thin drop of sweat ran down his temple, the sticky stuffiness of the closet made you want to rip yourself and him from your clothes.

You nodded, not daring to break contact with his crimson stare.

He grinned widely, revealing his monstrous teeth and making your stomach twirl. You needed to feel them grazing your skin.

"I'll need you to say it out loud sugar. S'only so much I can read from that little mind o' yours," he cooed. He was prying the words out, tugging you down to a level of humility only a creature that wished to eat you could push you towards.

"I- I'm yours," you blurted, almost pleading.

"Mmmm," he hummed loudly, the sound vibrating through his hand to your chin.

Suddenly he wrapped his hand around your jaw, nose taking a long sniff from your hot neck.

"S' so good, for me,"

He dragged his tongue all the way up your neck as an ungodly moan finally escaped your throat, your hands reached to grab his sides.

"M' you like that?" he said through up turned lips.

You began to nod, arms pulling him closer. You felt him hard against your hips, his length through his pants grinding so painfully good against you.

Another, looong lick up your neck which ended with his mouth around your ear, teeth teasingly nipping at the sensitive skin.

"How'd you like to dance forever, Lucky?"

He didn't even meet your eyes, only listened to the increased speed of your heart rate and made his own conclusion.

Before you knew it, a white-hot flash of pain was puncturing your neck and seizing your whole body. Teeth tore flesh and blood spilled into Remmick's wanting mouth. He began to shake fervently, groaning loudly and gripping you so hard you felt dizzy.

You barely had a few seconds of awareness before he was finished with you, full and drunk on your blood, needy for every last drop he could lap up.

You collapsed to the floor, and he followed you, propped up on his haunches, still grasping you.

The way he drank from you sent waves of mixed pain and pleasure through your body, a body quickly changing from mortal to monster, blood drained and soul transformed.

"You taste so fuckin' good," he panted.

He turned your head to face his own, both hands cradling your features, eyes taking in the rapidly changing color of your eyes.

"Said I'd take care of you, didn't I?"

His stubble was dripping with red, and you stared as his tongue slipped out to lick excess from his lips.

Rapidly, energy returned to your body, skin and bones tingling and brain ablaze with activity. Your vision was clearer now, like your senses had been turned up to 200%.

Without thinking, you leapt forward, pressing your lips to his, starving. You let your tongue explore his mouth, tasting your own blood and his every memory.

Images, emotions and hundreds of years of experiences were flooding your brain. Every moment, every want and need he'd ever had now became yours.

You ate everything, every bit you could take, lips smashing together ever more aggressively.

"Havin' your fill now, little dove?" he smiled, amused expression on his face.

Your eyes fell to the hard length under his pants, only for a moment. Without you even realizing it, a thick line of drool was streaming from the corner of your lips, almost trickling off your chin and onto his trousers.

You blinked up to look at him again, his eyes almost black and glazed with desire. His thumb came to quickly wipe the spit from your lips, before he stuffed the finger in his mouth and sucked.

"No, not yet you haven't," his lips collided with yours again, this time more like he was eating than giving a kiss.

You heard the clinking of his belt has his hands quickly but carefully undid the buckle, your sign to do the same.

His hands met you first though, fingers raking up your legs and pulling your underwear down past your stockings.

He placed them gently to the floor, slowing down as he raked his tongue over every inch of your mouth, letting out low and breathy moans.

You couldn’t take it anymore, the heat of your cunt felt so exposed against the cool air, you wanted him closer, to fill the void and relieve that ache that had been building ever since he grabbed hold of you on the dance floor.

You pulled the suspenders down from his shoulders and his pants down with them, reaching for his cock which strained against his underwear.

The fabric was smooth yet worn, and you could feel the heat of him as he twitched under your touch.

“M’ gonna fill you so nicely,” he whispered, mouth nipping at your ear.

He pulled you toward him with a firm hand at the bottom of your back, his cock pitching a tent. You felt him graze your stomach, chills ran up your body.

He felt you grow tense, and began lightly kissing your neck, top to bottom.

His fingers wasted no time in finding your slick folds and inserting them quickly, but not all the way. Just half his digits were in you as you gasped.

“Mmm,” he hummed as he listened to your quiet whimper, slowly dragging his two fingers in and out of you while his thumb circled your clit.

“That good? Mm?”

Your mouth lay agape as he kept his steady rhythm, building up the knot inside you. You nodded, eyes threatening to role back in their sockets.

He laughed quietly, grinning so widely like you’d just given him the best news of his life.

You reached out to grab him, shoving your hand in his underwear to grip his hard length and stroke him.

He let out a surprised guttural moan.

“You want something little dove?” His hips started to pump into your hand, clearly he wanted something too.

“Mhm,” you nodded more confidently this time, the knot in your cunt tightening with each stroke of his hand.

“Fuck,” he grunted as you quickened your pace around him, and so his fingers moved faster.

His grip at the bottom of your back tightened, eyes glowing red again as he locked his with your own. Faster, he moved his fingers, and you beckoned his cock closer to your core with each stroke of your hand.

You thought for a moment of the devilish kind of scene someone would see if they opened that closet door. Before you could feel too dirty though, his pressure on your clit increased and his fingers pumped far inside of you, that knot snapped like a twig, and sent you cumming on his hand.

You moaned loudly before his hand came to cover your mouth, his mouth dripping with drool again.

He held your face in place as he lifted his slick covered hand to his lips and stuffed the fingers in his mouth. You watched helplessly, moaning quietly beneath his palm.

“What do you want Lucky?” He released your mouth.

Your eyes darted to his hard cock and your cheeks flushed.

“I want you to fuck me so badly,” breathlessly the words escaped you.

“Careful what you wish for sugar,” the words were playful, but they came out dripping with intense hunger.

He shifted forward, hand gripping himself, slowly bringing his length to where you were most sensitive.

You gasped as his tip grazed you lightly, warmth inexplicable, his eyes glowing red and sweat rolling down his temples.

He lined himself up with you so that when he bucked his hips forward, he dragged his cock up and down your cunt. Slowly, tip pressing on your clit and length becoming slicker with each roll of his hips.

He continued on like that, watching you intently as you let out light gasps.

You couldn't take it any longer, you reached out and guided him inside you, letting out a low moan as he stretched you.

"Mhmfgh-" his eyes rolled back as he let himself sink into you.

"So good, God," he muttered, thick accent and low voice like music to your ears.

He began to pump faster, hands gripping your hip and side, his linen shirt stained with sweat.

You noticed the chain that hung from his neck, peeping out of his unbuttoned shirt. It swung, faster and faster as he pumped in and out of you.

Drool was seeping from his lips and tickling your own, somehow, he was still hungry, and he didn't waste a second kissing you again.

He was grinding up against that sweet spot inside you, never relenting in his rhythm. The two of you exchanged low moans, winding each other up, no more fun quips or clever words.

"F-fuck, mm. Remmick," it was the first time you'd said his name, and that seemed to be what pushed him over the edge.

He bucked his hips even faster, quiet desperate whimpers leaving his lips as he chased his release.

He came, hips still rolling and hands gripping you like you could slip away so easily. His tongue found the last bit of blood that seeped from your neck, building up his ecstasy in a mix of pleasure and taste.

He breathed hard into your neck, hands running down your body as he pulled out of you.

He quietly began to button himself up again, pulling his suspenders over his strong shoulders, and gently guiding your underwear back up your legs.

His eyes looked human again, round and blue, his fangs had retracted. His hair was a mess, but the way his locks stuck to his face made him look charming.

He lowered himself back on top of you, "You're perfect, little dove,".

You let the smallest of smiles flash upon your lips, a little bashful.

He grinned, "And cute,".

You felt the heat return to your cheeks again, he made you feel like a schoolgirl. Ridiculous, you thought.

His hand found your hair, fingers gently playing with it.

His eyes met yours.

"So, you wanna come dance with me, or what?"

~~~

Author's note: Please please please! Let me know if you liked this and/or if you are interested in me writing for Remmick more. This was lots of fun, I love reading Remmick fics and hope my addition is worthy of being part of the collection.

Thanks for reading!

[darlingdaisyfarm]

hii!! i love your work sm!!! (x reader gravity falls fic writers are currently scarce, thank u for writing!!)

maybe a little specific buttt how would either of the twins (specifically ford) react to their parter doing musical theatre? im a huge musical theatre girlie and i love performing and singing. kinda interested on how youd think theyd feel about it :D

sweetheart since you asked specifically for Ford i wrote only him i hope this is okay??

so i think Ford would take it very seriously.

first of all, because it’s something you love and that alone would be enough for him to treat it like sacred ground

secondly, because he genuinely finds it fascinating. in a world of anomalies and equations and unexplainable cosmic forces, the idea that people gather in one place to embody emotion through sound, every night anew, thats .. wow? he hasn't been in this dimension for a long time, so for this dude everything will be amazing. he is learning to live again

it might take him a moment. he’s not exactly a theater kid, never has been, never really understood how people could project so loudly & in front of strangers? although he grew up essentially with the most creative and loud child nearby. buuut he's in awe of how brave it is, to get up there and perform. he never did that, never could. unless he's defending some super smart dissertation whatever ANYWAYS once he sees you on stage, with an insatiable interest he watches you disappear into a role, he’s just. floored. he wouldn’t even clap right away, although, of course, he should. but he can't, he's so overwhelmed, stunned. your performance is the best he has seen in the entire universe.

on backstage later, he pulls you into a tight, almost overwhelmed embrace.

“you astound me.”

like he knows to stay out of your way but also makes himself useful. brings water, carries your bag, wipes lipstick off your teeth, helps zip up a dress if your costume change is a rush and your castmate bailed last second. Ford never makes a big deal of it, he just does it.

he'll also write all his thoughts in a journal, fascinated by the creative person he has by his side.

+ he might ask too many questions. “what is blocking? how does one memorize that many lines? how do you hit that high note ? how do you manage adrenaline? your body must be under immense physiological stress while you’re performing. what does it feel like?”

he’d memorize your solos without meaning to. without noticing it he hums them under his breath while he works in the lab, doesn’t even realize it until Mabel or Stan says smth like “Ford !! / sixer !! you’ve been singing ___ all day.”

and he’d go to every show. of course he would. even the ones you think are too silly or simple or not your best.

“that doesn’t mean you’re not extraordinary.” he says when you're upset (if a rehearsal goes bad, if you didn’t get a role you wanted or if your confidence takes a hit)

<3

[whor3ing]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 , 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃'𝐕𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 | 𝐌.𝐒 ― 𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒓𝒃

▶︎ ၊၊||၊ LOVER, U SHOULD’VE COME OVER , JEFF BUCKLEY

matt sturniolo! x f!reader

WARNINGS : ow, broken relationship, unresolved angst, yearning silently, it’s over for you but never for him

You don’t sleep much anymore.

Not because you’re haunted — at least, not by ghosts — but because every time you close your eyes, you see him.

The way he used to look at you like he was trying to memorize your face. Like he knew he was going to lose it. Like some part of him had already decided he didn’t deserve to keep something so good.

And you were so fucking good.

You were soft in a way he wasn’t used to. Gentle where the world had taught him to be cold. And maybe that was the problem. You loved too hard, too openly, too much.

You handed your heart over without armor and asked nothing in return except for him to be careful. But he wasn’t. He held it like it was something he didn’t understand. Touched it like it might hurt him. And then he let it fall.

He let you fall.

You remember that night — the last one — too clearly. The way your voice shook when you said you couldn’t do it anymore. Not because you didn’t love him. God, you did. You still do, and that’s the worst part. But you were tired. Tired of begging to be seen. Tired of wondering if he only reached for you in the dark because it was easier than facing you in the light.

Tired of trying to fill the space between his silence and the things he never said.

He sat there. On the edge of the bed you used to share. Elbows on his knees, hands in his hair, mouth open like maybe — maybe — he was going to say something. Say anything. But he didn’t. Just looked at the floor while you packed your bag and folded your hoodie and whispered goodbye like you were choking on it.

And still. Nothing.

You waited. Turned at the door. One last chance. One last plea. But he never looked up.

So you left. And the moment the door clicked shut behind you, your chest cracked in half. You didn’t cry. Not right away. You held it in your throat like blood. Drove in silence. Slept on a couch that didn’t smell like him. Woke up with makeup smeared under your eyes and a grief in your bones that still hasn’t gone away.

He calls sometimes. Doesn’t leave voicemails. Just hangs up after one ring.

And when you do answer — once, months later — his voice is wrecked. Like smoke. Like he hasn’t spoken your name out loud since the last time you kissed him goodbye and meant it.

“Hey,” he says.

That’s it. Just “hey.” Like you didn’t lose everything in the silence between then and now.

You wait. You want him to say it. To say “I’m sorry” or “I was wrong” or “Please come home.” But he doesn’t. He breathes. You hear it catch. He sounds like he’s crying, but he doesn’t let it fall. Doesn’t say your name. Doesn’t ask for forgiveness.

He just sighs. A sound so heavy you feel it in your spine.

“I hope you’re okay,” he says. “I hope you’re happy.”

And then he hangs up.

You sit there with the phone still pressed to your ear like you’re trying to hear the parts he didn’t say. The “I miss you” buried under all that restraint. The “I still love you” he never knew how to say when it mattered.

But it’s not enough. It’s never been enough.

Because now you know what real love feels like — or maybe you just know what it doesn’t. It doesn’t leave. It doesn’t go quiet when things get hard.

It doesn’t let you walk out the door and pretend it doesn’t hurt.

And Matt?

Matt loved you in all the ways that don’t count when the world is falling apart.

In glances. In passing touches. In songs you both liked but never danced to. In everything except words. And when love lives in silence too long, it rots.

He’s still there. Alone in the same apartment. Same bed. Same walls. But it’s colder now. And every time he opens his eyes, he swears he sees you. In the mirror. In the kitchen. Curled on the couch with your legs under you, reading with your lips parted in concentration. He reaches for you in his sleep. Still.

But you’re gone.

You gave everything. Every smile. Every inch of your heart. And he didn’t take it. Didn’t hold it. Didn’t fight.

And now he has to live with that.

Because you would've loved him forever.

But he only loved you once it was too late.

i'm a deeply disturbed woman

🍒 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘-𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐒 - @chriss-slutt @55sturn @chrysiie @il0vey0um0st @trustinsturniolos @ivydre4ms @raes-library @mattsplaything @emely9274 @pip4444chris @whore4mattsturniolo @sweetshuga @courta13 @divinesturn @aaliyahsturniolo @chris-hallelujah @mi-co-uk @ivysturnss @sweetpeabreezyree @christophersgf @bluestriips @angelic-sturniolos111 @shadowthesim237 @moond0llie @eeyoresturnz @ellssturn @fratbrochrisgf @teddystvrns @pvssychicken @ribbonlovergirl @chrisspussygang @vanteguccir @tits4matt @bambisturns @luvs4matt @delilahsturniolo @fadedstvrn @ariieeesworld @oopsiedaisydeer @rubyychriss @babyt0matoes @kenah-sturniolo @desturns @ifwdominicfike @sturns-mermaid @pair-of-pantaloons @bbgirlmatt @backwardshatnick @gregs-child @sturnlovematt22 @tezzzzzzzz

[staysdelulus]

Bodyguard Chan x Misunderstood "Brat" - Between the Sheets MDNI

MDNI Warnings: soft!sex, oral (f!receiving), pet names (baby, princess), pinv

A/N: This is the official end to this series! I'll be working on another series soon, and will be back to posting again! I did not forget about the hybrid!Chan ASK, I am just trying to find inspiration on how to write it. Speaking of ASKs, mine are OPEN!

My FULL MASTERLIST is linked!

WC: 2512

Masterlist // Red Lipstick, His Tie, and the Lap of Luxury // --

It’s been seven days since Chan last truly looked at me. Not just physically, but since he’s last seen me. He didn’t look at me like he used to, like I was someone who mattered to him. Seven days of silence. Seven days, seven nights. He’s just the hollow shell of the man I love, his touch either cold or absent.

Whenever he speaks, if he bothered to, his voice stays clipped. I had tried again and again, attempting to reach out to him in vain. I would touch his shoulders lightly when he passed by me, lingering in his study at our place, asking questions I knew he wouldn’t answer. If he had to, he would just give half-hearted answers, each response vague, quiet, and dismissive.

Always turning back to his phone, his laptop, his stress. It’s like trying to hug a glacier. The warmth I thought I knew, the warmth I drowned myself, has turned into ice.

I keep telling myself he’s just overwhelmed. Deadlines passing, endless calls, coming home more worn out than the night before. It didn’t make it hurt less, of course. Not when he left the apartment without giving me a goodbye kiss. Not even a goodbye.

I wait, hoping and pretending things would go back to normal again. Maybe he would sigh, pulling me into his arms and apologizing. Maybe he would just roll over in the bed, facing me and smiling softly like he always did, eyes losing themselves in mine.

But he only grows more distant, the silence blooming into a chasm. Maybe I was the only one trying to reach out across the room.

Tonight, something in me cracks. He was in his study again, typing furiously on his laptop, jaw clenched so tightly I could only imagine it would hurt. I stand in the doorway for a second, gathering my courage and swallowing down the ache rising from my chest. “Chan?”

My voice is soft, but he doesn’t even look up. I try again. “Can we talk?”

His shoulders hunch in, sighing as he continues to ignore me. “I just… I miss you.”

That makes him pause, looking up at me slowly, his eyes dark and annoyed. I try to smile, my lips trembling. “I know you’re busy, but… you know… I just- I just need a little attention. Just a little of you? Maybe I could sit on your lap or just stay in here until you’re done? I-”

“Attention?” he interrupts, echoing my words as he laughs. Sharp. Bitter. Ugly. And suddenly, he explodes. “Jesus fucking Christ, Y/n. Are you serious right now?”

He pushes his chair back, the seat falling hard to the ground as he stands, towering over the desk as he clenches his fists. “I have a million things on my plate, alright? I’m under a bunch of fucking pressure, trying to hold everything together while you go about your fucking meetings!”

I flinch, but he doesn’t see it. Maybe he just didn’t care. “I don’t have time for your pathetic neediness right now! Do you ever know when to stop? You always need something, don’t you? Fuck, Y/n. Just- Just shut up, will you? Shut the fuck up, will you?”

I freeze, the air leaving my lungs. Just like that - no tears, no dramatic sobs. Just silence. I stand frozen, like a child being scolded. Like when my parents had yelled at me in front of him that one time. The same man who cradled me like I was his whole world.

I don’t try to defend myself. I just look at him for a long time, lower lip trembling. “O-Okay.”

One word. Soft. Small. Barely there. I turn away quickly, walking away before he could see the tears burning in my eyes. Chan pushes down the knife that twists further in his heart.

--

Hours pass by, the house unnaturally quiet. Chan’s rage had cooled into something worse - guilt. He didn’t mean to scream at me like that. My voice kept replaying in his head, that small, breathy word. Okay. It wasn’t defeat, just resignation. He knew that tone. The sound of someone giving up.

It was only around midnight when he left his study, stumbling into the bedroom with exhaustion. The bedroom was dark. Empty. No sign of my usual form under the covers. Sighing softly, he strips down until he’s bare-chested, pulling back the covers, ready to sleep.

That’s when something catches his eye.

A deep, red stain. Blood bloomed on the sheets. Not dark, not fresh, maybe about a week old. His heart stops. I wasn’t on my period, he knew that. No sign of the usual pads or tampons in the trash. No signs of any diva cups or anything else.

He can’t process it, just stares at the blood before it finally clicks. That night. The vibrators, the dildo, the intensity of it all. His roughness. He hadn’t even checked on me.

“Y/n?” his voice is a rasp, calling out for me weakly. No answer. Panic sets in his chest as he rushes through the apartment. He storms into the bathroom, looks around the living room. I’m nowhere to be found, but my shoes are still at the door. I’m still in here somewhere.

He runs into the bedroom again, eyes wild as he curses under his breath. That’s when he sees the light coming from the walk-in closet. “Y/n!”

Without another word, he bursts in. I don’t even flinch when the door opens. Chan finds me on the floor, curled between boxes and old sweaters, wearing one of his large hoodies. My head is buried in my arms, knees against my chest as I sniffle, crying quietly. His eyes lock on the tremble of my shoulders, faint and rhythmic. Breathing and breaking all apart. Chan’s heart drops as he sinks to his knees. “Y/n-”

His voice cracks. I don’t respond. He whispers again. “Baby, please.”

He sinks to his knees slowly, like he’s kneeling before something sacred, reaching for me. I let him pull me into his arms, limp and cold like a doll. His hands shake.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n,” he whispers. His words are broken. “I didn’t know- I should’ve- I should have known. I was fucking caught up with everything else and I wasn’t thinking and I took it all out on you and I shut you out and made you feel alone in our home and yelled at you when all you did was ask for me- I- I told you to sh-shut up- I-”

I clutch his shirt, fingers curling over his chest as I cry. It’s a sign that I’m still with him. Still listening, but hurt. I turn into his chest, eyes shut and face blotchy with dried and fresh tears.

“I didn’t want to be a burden,” I whimper. “I just m-missed you and-”

“You’re not a burden. Never a burden, baby,” he breathes, kissing my temple. “Never. You’re everything. It was- I’m sorry, Y/n. I never- I never should have pushed you away.”

He stands, carrying me like I weigh nothing. He laws me down on the clean side of the bed like I’m something sacred. Not a lover. Not a body. But something he’s terrified to lose again, something fragile and human, barely stitched back together. His hands tremble as he tucks the blanket beneath me, shielding me from the blood-stained reminders of what he didn’t notice.

I barely look at him, eyes too swollen and throat too tight, but I still reach up, reaching for him, fingers brushing across his jaw, barely grazing the warmth of his skin. It’s the touch that shatters him. Not the tears, and not the silence. Just that simple, fragile graze of forgiveness, my chin trembling as I try to stop myself from crying.

“I love you,” he breaths, his voice cracking with every syllable. Like he’s saying it for the first time. Like… Like it hurts. Like he’s bleeding it out. And then he leans in, brushing his lips to mine. It’s not just a kiss, not yet, but also a question. A plea. I answer it with a soft press of my mouth against his, letting him know I’m still here. Letting him know I’m still his, if he’s will to stay this time.

Our kiss deepens slowly. It’s never rushed, every moment soft like the hush of a prayer. His lips move against mine like he’s scared I’ll disappear if he presses too hard. Like he’s afraid to ask for more than I’ll give. His tongue meets mine, not to take, but to offer. He gives me an apology. A promise. A quiet surrender. His hands move to my sides, splayed wide and warm, grounding and anchoring my soul back to my body.

I let him. I let him hold me, touch me, and love me. This time, he’s asking.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers softly. He doesn’t ask out of caution, but reverence. Like I’m a sacred ground he’s afraid to trespass.

“Don’t,” I whisper back immediately. “Please, don’t stop. Just… love me.”

His body covers over mine slowly and deliberately. Like he’s a blanket laying over something too delicate to touch the air. He presses kisses to my jaw, soft and trailing as they go down my neck with aching patience. He keeps his kisses slow and measured, breath fanning over my collarbone as he unties the drawstrings underneath. As he tugs off the hoodie, his mouth follows with every inch of skin he reveals. The curve of my breast, the dip of my belly, the faint bruises still shadowing across my thighs. He kisses them like he’s gasping for air, each press of his lips a silent vow. I’m sorry. I see you. I will never forget again. I’m sorry.

When he settles between my thighs, he doesn’t go straight to pleasure. He just looks. His eyes take me in like I”m a masterpiece he nearly destroyed. He murmurs softly, barely audible. “You’re still so soft. So beautiful, baby. So mine.”

And his mouth finds me. Chan flattens his tongue, licking slow and reverent paths through my folds, gentle as a sigh, patient as a prayer. He doesn’t tease, he doesn’t rush it. It’s just warmth. Gasping from the intensity, the safety, and the care, my fingers grasps onto his curls.

He’s not trying to make me come. He’s just trying to make me feel seen and loved and whole.

He hums softly against me, the sound reverberating through my core, a warm tremor that loosens the tightness in my chest. His lips wrap around my clit, suckling gently between the soft, wet strokes of his tongue. I moan, barely audible, more breath than sound. His hands keep themselves on my thighs. Not to force them apart, but to keep me anchored. One thumb strokes softly over the skin there, soothing. Reassuring. Brushing over the bruise there.

“I didn’t see you,” he whispers against me, his voice thick with grief. “I- I should’ve known. You were bleed and I- fuck, princess, I didn’t even check.”

Tears slip from the corners of my eyes, but I don’t stop him. I let them fall as his mouth continues its slow devotion. His apologies are warm against the skin, pressed between soft licks and kisses. “I’m never going to let it get this bad again. I won’t ignore you like that. I swear on it, princess. Never again.”

When I finally come, it’s not from pressure, but the weight of everything breaking open. My body arches, breath catching in my throat as the pleasure pulses through me like a soft wave. Gentle. Healing. A quiet letting go. I whisper his name, voice cracked and wet with tears. He holds me through it, never pulling away, licking me softly as I tremble. Breathing as I come back to myself.

When he crawls up over me again, his face is tear-streaked, eyes glassy. Terrified.

“Can I?” he starts, his voice breaking as he kisses me softly. “Can I make love to you? Real slow, baby. I just want to hold you, yeah? Just want to feel you, princess. Only if you’ll let me.”

I nod, because that’s all I can do. He reaches for my hand first, always my hand. He just laces our fingers together as he guides himself to my entrance, eyes never leaving mine. And then, slowly, and very slowly, he sinks into me.

It’s not just his body joining mine. It’s everything we lost. Everything we’re trying to rebuild. He slides in with aching tenderness, his jaw clenched to keep from gasping too loudly. My walls flutter around him, my own breath catching as he fills me. It feels like home. It feels like forgiveness. It feels like something bigger than either of us.

He doesn’t move at first, just stays there, buried inside me, his forehead pressed to mine as we breathe the same air.

“You feel like home, princess,” he whispers, his voice trembling. “You feel like mine.”

And then, he moves. Hips rolling gently, the slowest rhythm imaginable, like he’s scared that anything faster might break me apart. His body moves in time with his confessions, every thrust timed with another piece of his heart laid bare.

“I miss you.”

“I didn’t know how to handle it.”

“I was scared, and I shut down.”

“I’m sorry for yelling.”

“I’m sorry I made you feel like nothing.”

“You’re everything.”

“I love you, I love you, I love you.”

I cry beneath him. Quiet tears that are unrestrained. He kisses them away with soft lips, tracing each one with whispered apologies, holding me tighter as his thrusts grow deeper, yet still slow and still controlled.

He keeps his hand between us, fingers stroking my clit in the same gentle circles he used to calm me after that nightmare that night. It’s not about pleasure, not just that, but it’s helping me feel. Helping me breathe again.

“Come for me,” he whispers, fingers moving faster with his hips as he kisses my temple. “Come back to me, baby. Please. I need you, princess, yeah?”

And I do. I come on a whimper, my body trembling, my arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders as I come undone beneath him. It’s not loud or violent or desperate. It’s soft and fragile. Healing. Loving.

He follows with a broken moan, burying his face into the crook of my neck as he spills inside me, filling me to the brim as his entire body shudders. He wraps both arms around me, pressing us so close I can feel his heart pounding against my chest.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even bother pulling out. He just holds me, trembling and whispering against my skin.

“I’m here, princess. I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

He kisses my cheeks, my temple, my lips. Again, and again, and again, and again and again and again.

This time, when I reach for his hand, he doesn’t let go.

~~

@kenia4 @yougottobekittenme @btch8008s @aylin-mhi-97 @rinheartshyunlix @stronglychanbiased

[ronearoundblindly]

Ro! I just ran across this photo on IG and was wondering what your take would be on Professor!ANY CE bb of your choice? 👀 Reader visits his office during office hrs and makes you wait in suspense just watching him write into a little book. But what is he waiting/building suspense for….🙂‍↕️

Is this... Is this my moment to write something Andy Barber?? Like Law Ethics Professor!Andy??? I think it is. Alright alright alright, let's do it.

Warnings for teacher/student flirting, but reader's age is not mentioned, kithes(!!), suggestive language and vague fantasies, mentions of previous illness and dehydration lol. WC 1510

You’re boiling in a pant suit, the one you specifically have for presentations like this, but whether it’s the stress of finals or the still-dissipating fever of the last week, you don’t know. You fight the urge to wipe sweat from your face and just pray you aren’t visibly damp anywhere.

Professor Barber is wearing his own suit jacket. He isn’t glistening at all. He looks perfectly fine, ticking boxes on your evaluation and flipping between slides on the tablet in front of him.

He’s shaken his head three times already. There was no applause when you finished, nothing but a sigh.

You’re going to snap like a twig. A desiccated, over-strained twig that’s been rained on for the sole purpose of making breaking suck worse.

Why did you finish your entire, electrolyte-enhanced water bottle two-thirds of the way through your speech? Why—why is your professor saying absolutely nothing?

You missed the class presentations due to illness, are making it up in office hours, and might shrivel in such oppressive, stifling heat. Is the air conditioning even working in here? It must not be since without ambient sound you can hear the neighboring professor so well in all his bitching glory.

“Why do I need to pick up the—you’re closer to the grocery. What? I’m here another two hours so—why are you? No…No, remember I bought those damn condoms becau—“

“Leibowitz,” Professor Barber shouts.

“—I’m not— Hold on,” then even louder, “yeah, Andy?!”

“For god sakes, man.”

There’s a muffled ‘shit’ but no outright apology, and Mr. Barber immediately goes back to his infuriating note-taking. Professor Leibowitz keeps talking, but none of the words are clear anymore.

When he isn’t writing something, he clicks the top of the pen, a move you never saw in class. Professor Barber is a great conversationalist, he’s smooth and personable, and he does not fidget, all of which is great for preparing witnesses or making them crumble on the stand. 

You wonder if it’s a good or bad sign that he’s not using that talent now. His class has built a solid foundation for your career. Ethics is by no means the last class you’ll take, but after this semester you can apply for internships. In those terms, this man holds the proverbial keys to the kingdom, and instead of smiling, he rubs at his beard and says one word:

“Shame.”

The weight of heat, stress, and fatigue collapses in on you. Tears rain down your face while you fail to hold in wet sobs. You worked so hard for so long. You triple checked everything. You practiced the presentation in pieces (between mandatory naps) and in full over and over again last night (during a fever dream of cough medicine). What could have gone so wrong?

You’ve buried your face in your hands, your heavy, tired head lolling you off balance, preventing you from noticing the man rushing around his desk.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, I meant it’s a shame.” His hands smooth against the sleeves of your blazer, but nothing can slow your machine-gun crying. He continues anyway. “That was so good, it’s a shame the whole class couldn’t see it. You answered half the questions that came up after other student’s—“

“Everything okay in there?” the neighbor calls out, knocking on the office door.

“Yeah, Matt, we’re fine.” Professor Barber responds with unmistakable irritation in his voice. “Just having one of those end-of-semester cathartic moments.”

“Hmm, right…I’m about to have one of those tomorrow myself.” 

Your teacher apologizes for the noise, thanks Leibowitz for checking in, and tries to steady you in his hold.

“It’s fine. You’re fine, honey,” he slips. “Never meant to scare you. I didn’t realize I said it like that. You’re alright.” He rips a tissue out of the box behind him and pries fingers back from your face to reveal the wreckage of your composure. Gently, he dabs your cheeks, brow furrowed in concern.

After a long moment, he reiterates, “did you hear me? That was excellent. You were excellent. So much so I think I’ll need to use it next year, especially the part about—no, no, hun!”

As a fresh wave of overwhelm takes you, Mr. Barber keeps you from falling out of the chair, sweeping you into a bracing hug. You notice when he holds you tucked at his neck, that he’s not wearing a tie, a strange, casual detail which allows you to see this peek of trimmed, dark chest hair. Very day-off flair.

He smells fresh, a spike of woodsy notes when you turn away, his beard catching your hair before he apologizes again and smooths a hand over you.

The warmth of his palm makes you shiver—embarrassingly—and gasp slightly.

“I really am…so—“ his face is only inches away “—so sorry.”

Your pulse in your throat hammers with a choking thud thud thud so loud you’re sure he can tell through his touch.

From your seat in his lecture hall, you never knew just how blue his eyes are, and now, you can’t seem to look away. With a soft gaze, relaxed lids, and pupils much too large for the harsh fluorescents shining above him like a halo, he makes you want to collapse, to drape yourself in weary surrender over cheap furniture, to strip naked amongst the air of old books and manly focus.

Jesus, you’re fucking sick.

You swallow and glance down, unwittingly, straight down to his slacks, crisp navy pleats framing a dark metal buckle. You force your eyes back up to the bookshelves before registering the emblem above his crotch. That’s the most composure you can muster as his arms fall away from you.

“Sit. Sit, please. I’ll only be a minute,” Mr. Barber rushes out, rounding his desk, shuffling for a file that takes him three stacks to locate. “Let me just…” He furiously types in little bursts as he refers to the open page. “Almost…and done.”

Sighing loudly again, he stands and leans against his fists on the desk. “Your grade is entered. You are no longer my student—“ he smiles, softening even more though he towers over you “—and you can call me ‘Andy,’ if you want, when you probably tell me off.”

This time, when the professor steps closer, he says your first name, something you haven’t heard him utter since the intro class’s roster reading. He only spoke in Miss, Misses, and Misters after that. The word is sultry when it falls from his lips, tantalizing, nearly inspiring.

Your body draws up slightly, following his approach, willing him near without fully standing.

“Class is over,” he whispers, “but I…I would love to see you more.”

“Oh god yes,” you blurt. There’s a good chance your brain believes this is another one of those dreams you’ve been plagued with all semester, the ones where that clean, white button-down gets wrinkled in your grasping fists and his beard burns over your whole body.

Fuck, you are so thirsty. Your tongue sweeps out involuntarily.

His eyes are on you.

“Yeah? Really?” His fingers twitch like he’s holding back, trying not to reach for you without permission again. He rattles through your other options—he can stop, you don’t have to be here, you can walk away, no hard feelings, just wants you not to be upset when leaving—but barely allows the shake of your head and push of your arm from the chair to complete before pouncing forward.

Andy kisses you like he’s a student again, sneaking deep into the library stacks with you, crushing you flush to the bookcases on the far wall of his office, hands broad and supportive while his knee braces between yours.

You’re held high on pure heat, delirious, suffocating on woodsy notes and academic taboo, yet the biggest break is actually him.

You’ve never seen this man babble. He’s always composed, always finds the right words, but you’ve rattled him.

“Had no designs…knew you were smart and impressive…you’ll make a great lawyer because you do the work and do it thoroughly and well…want you on my side at trial…watched you go hard when you suspect someone is wrong about the slightest thing…” 

Andy’s compliments pull him away from exploring your mouth. He clears his throat when you whine, slipping to sit on his knee with your face still tilted for his taking.

Compulsively, his hand sweeps over his mouth and beard, a learned and practiced behavior to give him a second’s reprieve. He has to think. He can’t think with you. The overwhelming heat is a two-way street.

“In fact,” Mr. Barber starts slowly, “I’ve a few firms I’d recommend for your internship, but… there could be a conflict in writing you formal recommendations now.” He leans to rest his forehead to yours. “Sorry.”

Stifling, ready to tear off your clothing and his, enamored by his restraint as well as his pining, your words crackle through an unwitting chuckle.

“How very ethical of you, professor.”

[Main Masterlist; Who Would...Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

A/N: Better late than never? Whoops this took me since September? Writing has been a bitch lately, so let's just push through, huh?!

Never written Andy before so I have no Andy girlies to tag except @sarahdonald87

Other tags: @supraveng @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @late-to-the-party-81 @bigtreefest @mistressmkay @astheskycries @veryprairieberry @rogersbarber @blogbog710 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thiquefunlover63

[dismom17]

Thirsty

Kate wasn’t one to wish her life away. She’d lost enough loved ones early on—and had nearly met death herself—to know that each minute was a gift not meant to be taken for granted. That being said, she was fairly certain time was moving backward. Or, at the very least, standing still.

She guiltily glanced at the clock on the mantle again and sighed. Not even three minutes had passed since her last glance. She willed her leg not to bounce—it wasn’t ladylike, let alone becoming of a Viscountess—so she settled instead on fidgeting with the fabric of her richly colored gown.

She loved her family dearly, and on any other day she’d have relished the chance to gather with any number of them. But today, she had other pressing matters. Chief among them: her husband—who had returned to Bridgerton House just an hour ago after a week away—was mere feet from her. And she had yet to run her fingers through his thick, chestnut hair. Or fall into his arms. Or feel the trail of kisses he would undoubtedly leave down her neck once they were finally alone behind closed doors...

“I think the orchids in the ballroom will do nicely,” Daphne continued, oblivious to Kate’s internal crisis. “Did you see the arrangements at the Beckwiths’ ball last month? Exquisite. And while I do think we can outdo them, a little inspiration wouldn’t hurt.”

Eloise groaned, dropping her book to her lap. “You do know there are real issues in the world, yes?”

Kate nodded absently, unsure which sister she was agreeing with. Across the room, Anthony lounged in an armchair, deep in conversation with Colin, Simon, and Benedict. The sound of his rich laughter drifted toward her, and Kate smiled without meaning to.

Then his eyes found hers.

He raised an eyebrow in invitation. Had she known him less, she might’ve missed the subtle curve of his lips into a cheeky grin, or the way his eyes gleamed with barely contained mischief—and unmistakable desire. He was daring her to make a move.

Kate responded with a look of perfect innocence. No, she would not give in so easily. Even if every second without him felt like an eternity.

“It’s stifling,” Anthony said suddenly, rising from his chair to begin removing his jacket.

“Not really,” Colin replied. “It’s been a mild summer thus far.”

Anthony’s eyes were on her as he shed the garment and rolled up his sleeves to his forearms. “Nonsense,” he said smoothly, locking eyes with Kate. “It’s boiling .”

Her breath hitched. Those muscular, tan forearms were a serious problem. The familiar low, stirring ache that had been quietly building inside her intensified.

“Kate?”

“Hmm?” she hummed, snapping back to reality as she dragged her gaze away from her husband. Her lip throbbed. Had she been biting it? 

“The menu,” Daphne repeated patiently. “I was thinking of asking Cook to prepare a pudding, but perhaps something lighter might be better?”

Kate could feel Anthony’s attention sharpen at the mention of her name. If he wanted a game, she would give him one—though she’d have words for him regarding his shameless teasing later. After her victory.

She sat up straighter, intentionally angling herself so her bodice tilted toward Anthony’s line of sight as she reached for the mock-up menu Daphne offered. She’d doubted Madame Delacroix’s insistence that lower necklines were the rage in France, but judging by her husband’s slack-jawed expression, the dress had done its job.

“Cook does make a delightful trifle,” she said lightly, trailing her fingers to her collarbone—where she knew his attention now rested.

“You’re correct -” Daphne began, only to be cut off.

“Perhaps something whipped,” Anthony offered from across the room with little regard for what his sister was saying. 

Kate’s face flushed crimson. She knew exactly what he was referring to—an extremely eventful honeymoon morning involving clotted cream, a Persian rug and a locked door. She coughed to cover the gasp that escaped.

“Are you quite alright?” Eloise asked Kate.  “You’re as red as Benedict after that time he fell asleep at the lake.” 

“And none of you respectable lot had the decency to wake me.” 

Kate took the fan Eloise offered and began frantically fanning herself.  As if the item itself could push the seconds and minutes to move faster.  

“Something light and fluffy,” Anthony continued smoothly, seemingly unaffected by the side-conversations happening around him . “Refreshing on these boiling days we’ve been having.”

“It’s not—” Colin started, only to be silenced by a well-aimed kick to the shin as Anthony casually crossed his legs.

“I say, brother, I think you’ve caught something while traveling. You’re acting odd,” Benedict observed.

“He’s always acted odd,” Eloise muttered. “This is different .” She looked thoughtfully between Anthony and Kate.

“I suspect it’s because I didn’t sleep a wink while I was away,” Anthony said with a wink toward his wife. “Tossed and turned all night.”

Kate fanned faster.  Her impatience growing to an unfathomable level.  Her whole body felt warm, and while she was not the swooning type, she was beginning to doubt her ability to outlast this little cat-and-mouse.

Daphne nudged her gently with a knowing smile. “I believe it’s your move,” she whispered, now caught on to their game and not missing an opportunity to fuel their competition.

Hyacinth, always observant but still lacking the tact to decode subtlety, frowned. “She looks... thirsty . Kate, do you need some water?”

“Water won’t help,” Daphne teased.

“Oh, gross,” Eloise muttered, now aware as well. “That is our brother. ”

“Perhaps some lemonade then? Or tea?” Hyacinth tried. 

“It’s not that kind of thirst, dear,” Daphne patted Hyacinth’s knee.  “You’ll understand one day.” 

“Is there another kind?” Hyacinth asked, still confused.

“Actually,” Kate interjected with a tight smile, peeling her eyes away from her smirking husband, “I think a scone would do nicely. I’ll just go see if Cook has any in the kitchen.”

“I’ll come too,” Anthony said quickly, already rising from his chair. “I know where she keeps the clotted cream.”

[theheartsickdevil]

Sorry, English is not my first language, so 100% chance I made 1001 mistakes in this sentence, but can you write something about MC x Sol, where MC is as creepy and freaky as Sol, like maybe she/he stalks him as well or sneaks to his house to stole some of his clothes so she/he can wear it at home and idk smell it? 😭😭😭

Like

-“Yo, MC I want to tell you something, I actually stalked u”

-“Ahahah, well… Maybe I also need to tell u something”

A/n: omg that's such a good idea!! I don't know if someone already wrote this, but if they did then please tell me so I can put the link in here!! This is my first time writing Sol, so I'm sorry if I go a little too out of character.. also this is femreader so if you go by anything else just read it as you want lol. I hope you will like it, and if you have more requests don't hesitate to ask because I will gladly write <33

Tw's: stalking (ofc), obsession, weirdness in general..

*.• ☆ •.*

You were in your apartment.. it was Sunday, specifically 2 am.. Sol 'visited' you a few hours ago, thinking you were sleeping.. well you sure were a good actress, so faking or not he could never tell.. you've been stalking him and collecting his things since you befriended him in art class.. you've had a whole ass shrine just for him specifically hidden in your closet, behind some clothes.. you spent a few more hours of your night staring at your little shrine and probably getting off on it.. you went to sleep right after cleaning up everything and woke up in the late afternoon.. right after you decided to read the new book you saw Sol reading last Wednesday in the library as you drank some coffee.. when you noticed it was getting late again, you decided to eat something just not to starve at all and then went back to sleep since you had school on the next day.. as always, Sol visited you at the same time as always.. he climbed his way up on your window and then he jumped into your room.. he kissed you and whispered sweet nothings into your ear as every night.. but he apparently had to go early.. you were kinda sad about it, but pulling him closer would just let you get caught.. next day, when you were at school, you noticed Sol being a little more troubled than usual.. you walked up to him..

"Hey Sol is everything oka-?"

"We need to talk.. I gotta confess something.."

He said, as he grabbed you by your wrist and pulled you into a more secluded area of the hallway..

"I don't know how to put this into words without seeming a weirdo, but I've been stalking you for a while.. I'm.. sorry but I just can't resist you.. you're making me obsessed.."

He confessed, as he looked away.. you just chuckled, and looked at him.. he was pretty confused.. were you going to start rumors on him or-

"Actually.. there's something I should confess to.. well.. I don't know if you noticed the missing supplies on your desk, or maybe even the missing clothes in your wardrobe.. maybe you've noticed your apartment's door being lock-picked? Well.. it was all my fault.. every time you'd come over to visit me at night, I had to bite my tongue just to stay silent and not squirm.. every time you'd leave, I'd take care of my shrine full of your things.. oh, my dear Sol.. you don't know how much I-"

You weren't able to finish the sentence, as he suddenly pushed you against the wall, picking you up and aggressively kissing you, you kissed back as your arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him even closer.. unfortunately the bell rang and you two had to stop.. but when classes were over you two will surely be able to have a little fun..

[kunawned]

❤︎ ˖ ֯ LITTLE LOVE NOTES 💭ྀི

꒰ ♡ ꒱ summary. gojo has been acting rather distant lately and you're worrying that he's lost interest in you. little do you know, he has something in mind for you!

꒰ ♡ ꒱ tags. fem!reader. fluff. flustered and shy gojo.

ᰔ 。i wrote this while on the plane so it might not be one of my best works :( !

weeks and weeks have gone by since you first wrote that little note in gojo's notebook. since then, it's now become routine for you two to exchange those little post-it notes during the class — your hearted ones to him and his plain yellow ones to you. at first, you both only ever spoke about art and the artists you admired. he is a lover of monet and greatly despises maximalism. you're the biggest aya takano fan there is and you adore victorian fashion. such different loves and interests and yet you and him can chat for hours. well — write for hours.

however, this last week, it seems your short interactions have grown even shorter. you write to him as you always do — 'hi gojo ♡ how was ur weekend? read anything interesting?' and instead of his usual long and sweet responses, he's been answering rather dryly — 'yup, all good :)'

you're beginning to wonder if you did anything recently to set him off or if you had somehow given him the 'ick.' you truly hope that is not the case but your mind cannot help to think otherwise. what other explanation could there be for his sudden change in attitude towards you? what makes it worse is that you don't really know if it would be alright of you to ask him what the matter was. sure, the both of you had been growing closer to one another and you were learning more about each other but you don't feel close enough yet to talk about such matters.

so for now, you remain quiet, simply going over everything you had said and done with him over these last few weeks, silently hoping you hadn't accidentally done anything to wreck your relationship.

gojo has been a nervous wreck this entire week. hands clammy, heart racing, face flushed every time he comes into class and sits next to you. and you being your sweet self, you're still passing notes to him and trying to talk him. yet all he can do is write back such poor and pathetic responses. every time he leaves class, he's mentally banging himself on the head for being such a 'loser.'

who can blame him though, when he's planning to ask out the cutest and sweetest girl he's ever known? he's never even done this before and he cannot stop sweating bullets at the thought. he fears you'll reject him in the most humiliating way possible from which he would never recover. yet on the other hand if you do accept his proposal, he doesn't know how he will remain calm and collected. he worries he'll be a babbling and bumbling mess and that he'll make himself a fool in front of you. so, in other words, he would be messing this up one way or another.

at the end of today's lesson, he had quickly slipped a note along your desk that read — 'meet me outside please :)!' and then scurried out the hall without as much as a glance in your direction.

once he's outside, all he does is try to keep his breathing steady and silently recites to himself what he had planned to when he would ask you out. he thought keeping it short and sweet was the best, and he simply prayed he wouldn't screw this up.

when he sees you walk towards him, all pretty and smiley though, he feels his heart thump against his chest and his mouth go dry and his mind turning to mush. 'get it together, satoru!,' he scolds himself mentally, adjusting the strings on his hoodie nervously and stopping the moment you're in front of him.

"hi gojo," you call out to him in that dulcet voice of yours. "first time we're meeting like this, huh?"

he nods, trying his best to keep his mind focused and not completely transfixed by your sweet scent and words. "yeah," he answers, voice slightly shaky as his hands clench and unclench beside him. "there's just... i just had something to tell you." he feels as if his heart is about implode inside his rib cage.

"oh?," you ask, gazing at him with your doe eyes as you tilt your head curiously. "what did you wanna tell me?" he notices you to take a step closer and his breath hitches itself in his throat and he does all he can to keep himself grounded.

he takes a deep breath before mumbling out, "wannagoonadate?"

you furrow your brows together, a confused expression on your face. your lips curl into a small smile, eyelashes batting up at him so prettily. "sorry, what was that?," you ask, a tiny giggle slipping past you that has his cheeks tinting a faint pink.

he pushes his glasses up, nose scrunched up cutely as he takes in another long breath before saying softly but more clearly this time, "i... i've really liked our little note-exchanging thing we've got going on."

your lips stretch wider, a glimpse of something sweet flickering in your irises. "aw i have too!"

his heart does seem to calm down slightly at those words, feeling somewhat at ease that you too feel the same way he does about this little ordeal you two have going on. he clears his throat as he sees you wait patiently for him to continue. "well," he goes on. "i... i've been meaning to ask you." a short pause to get his breathing and voice in check. "would you... ever be interested in going on a date with me?"

you stare at him with wide eyes, an unreadable expression etched on your features. it was killing him inside when you continued to remain quiet for what felt like ages, eyes darting everywhere but never landing on him. the moment he tries to say something, you cut him off with a soft, "yes i'd love that, gojo."

he feels his knees buckle, legs practically turning to slush, mind turning fuzzy when he processes your response. he holds a hand to his chest, clutching at it as if that would steady the rapid beating from within. "oh," he breathes out, a wonky smile forming on his face. "oh great! um... there's this cute little cafe that opened near here. seems right up your alley. when would you be free?," he asks, voice relatively steady and low.

you ponder on it for a moment before you answer, "i'm free this saturday. at around noon. sound good to you?"

he nods, maybe a little bit too eagerly. "yeah that's perfect! i'll meet you there. or... would you like me to pick you up?," he scratches the back of his neck nervously, eyes flitting around and body jittering with anxiety.

you giggle gingerly, holding out the palm of your hand as you ask him for his phone. without hesitation, he hands it over to you unlocked and you type something before handing it back to him. "i've given you my number," you say, fingers brushing lightly against his own that has the hairs on his body sticking up and a pleasant shiver run down his spine. "i'll text you soon and you fill me in on the details. how's that?"

"yeah, no issues," he replies, tucking his phone back into his pocket, buzzing at the fact that he now he has your number.

you wave goodbye at him, that charming smile of yours plastered on your face as you leave him, still unable to process everything that just happened. when you're finally out of his line of sight, he collapses to the ground, head buried in between his knees, heart beating a million times a second. his entire face is flushed a bright red and he cannot control the wide, stupid grin that's stretched across his face.

ᩚ taglist ᩚ — @magicalrainbowfish @xoxomingi @lipstainedgemini @paperalphys

[onlyangel4]

drunk in love. jordynne grace.

jordynne grace x best friend!reader

spin the wheel masterlist

synopsis: you were always there when jordynne needed you. so when she asked you to pick her up from a party, you didn’t hesitate, even though she was clearly drunk when she stumbled into your car, grinning and slurring compliments. but nothing could’ve prepared you for the moment she started confessing, how in love she was with you, how long she’d felt that way, how perfect you were to her. you chalked it up to alcohol and nerves, brushing it off with a tight smile and a distracted heart.

but you know what they say drunk words are sober feelings

taglist: @fafomama @fairiebabey @kait16xo @eringobragh420@teamchasezwrites @mamis-girly @jordana1008 @jessk23@spooky-librarian-ghost@akimorbid @myxthix @jihyowrrld @brutal--nightmare @kai-ropractor @flemmardepro @bloxholden35 @eringobragh420 @crystal-clear-writing @brie-mode-activated @abschaffer2 @fandomwritingforyou @nyx---0 @terrortwinunicorn

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you had always been the reliable one between the two of you. jordynne grace was the storm, powerful, magnetic, impossible to ignore and you were the calm right in the centre of it, always steady. it was an unspoken balance you’d kept for years, ever since you’d become best friends. so, when she texted you earlier that evening with a winking emoji and a "you sure you don’t wanna come to this party?" you had just laughed and responded with your usual: "i'll come when you need a ride home. someone’s gotta save your drunk ass."

she’d replied with three heart emojis and a "you’re the best", which you’d pretended not to overthink.

now, hours later, your phone buzzed on your nightstand. you glanced at the time, 1:14 a.m. and saw her name flash on the screen. without even opening the message, you were already sitting up, pulling on your hoodie and grabbing your keys. you didn’t need to read the text. You knew exactly what it would say.

the city streets were quiet, the kind of quiet that only existed in the early hours when everyone else had already gone home. the house she’d dropped a pin for was still pulsing with music, even though the party had clearly wound down. you spotted her immediately on the porch, slouched on the steps with her head tilted back, laughing at something a guy next to her had said.

when she saw you, her face lit up like it always did, warm, bright, like you were the only person in the world she wanted to see. it did something to your chest that you tried not to name.

"hey, designated angel", she grinned, stumbling a little as she stood up. she made her way toward you, her boots scuffing the pavement, and draped an arm around your shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"you’re lucky you’re cute", you muttered, guiding her toward your car.

"i know I’m lucky", she whispered close to your ear, breath warm and smelling faintly of tequila. "lucky i have you."

you rolled your eyes but didn’t pull away. It wasn’t the first time jordynne got handsy when drunk, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. still, something about tonight already felt different. like the storm was shifting.

you helped her into the passenger seat, closed the door gently, and walked around to the driver’s side, trying not to think about the way her fingers had lingered on your arm, or how her words had curled around your heart a little tighter than they should’ve.

this was what you did. you showed up. you took care of her. and you always told yourself it didn’t mean more than that.

but that was before she started talking.

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the car was quiet for a while, save for the low hum of the engine and the muffled bass still bleeding from the house behind you. jordynne had her head leaned back against the seat, eyes closed, lips parted like she was somewhere between drunk and dreaming.

you glanced over at her at a stoplight. her lashes were long, cheeks flushed pink from the alcohol and leftover adrenaline. she looked soft in a way she usually didn’t, less powerhouse, more girl-next-door. more yours, not that she was.

"y’know", she murmured suddenly, voice cutting through the silence, "you’ve got the prettiest profile i’ve ever seen."

you blinked, startled. "what?"

her head lolled to the side, eyes opening halfway to meet yours. "you. you’re just you’re so damn pretty, and you don’t even know it. it’s not fair."

you huffed a quiet laugh, trying not to let your heart trip over itself. "okay. you’re officially drunk."

"i’m serious!" she protested, waving a hand in the air with dramatic flair before letting it fall lazily into her lap. "like not just pretty. you’re everything. smart. kind. so patient with me, even when i’m being a little shit."

"you’re always a little shit", you teased gently, trying to deflect. your fingers tightened around the steering wheel anyway.

jordynne giggled, then sobered just slightly. "but you still come for me. always."

"yeah", you said quietly. "i always will."

that seemed to hit her. she turned in her seat to face you more fully, knees tucked up, eyes hazy but focused. "i think i’m in love with you."

the words fell like glass in the silence. sharp, delicate. breakable.

you didn’t answer at first, pretending to focus on the road. your stomach twisted into a knot, one you tried to pull apart logically. drunk. she was drunk. she didn’t mean it. people said things when they were drunk.

"you’re going to regret saying that in the morning", you said lightly, a little too fast.

jordynne shook her head, slow and firm. "nope. i'm just finally saying it out loud."

you pulled into her driveway, killing the engine with a shaky breath. the silence between you expanded like fog, dense and impossible to see through. she leaned over, resting her head against your shoulder.

"i love you", she whispered, softer now. "not in a friend way. i mean really, really love you."

you sat there frozen, staring at the steering wheel like it might offer some kind of answer. then, as gently as you could, you helped her out of the car, got her inside, and tucked her into bed.

and when she reached out to hold your hand one last time before falling asleep, you let her.

even if you told yourself it didn’t mean anything.

even if your heart already knew it did.

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you didn’t sleep much.

every time you closed your eyes, her voice echoed in your head. "i think i’m in love with you." followed by the way she looked at you, drunk, yes, but not hazy. not unfocused. she’d meant it, or at least she’d thought she did.

you tried to rationalize it all morning. she was intoxicated. emotional. you were safe. you were always safe. that kind of comfort made people say things they didn’t mean.

still, when your phone buzzed just after 10 a.m., and her name lit up the screen again, your heart flipped.

jordynne: come over? please.

you stared at the text for a long second before replying. you: on my way.

her door was already cracked open when you got there. inside, the house was dim, the curtains drawn to fight off the hangover sun. she was curled up on the couch in an oversized hoodie, probably yours, if you looked close enough, and a mug in her hands.

when she saw you, she gave a small smile. not the playful, cocky one she usually wore, but something softer. braver.

"hey", she said.

"hey", you replied, trying to keep your voice neutral. you kicked off your shoes and sat down next to her, not too close, but not far either.

she took a breath. "so i remember everything."

you froze.

"all of it", she added, setting the mug down on the coffee table. her fingers fidgeted with the sleeve cuffs of the hoodie. "the car ride. what i said."

you swallowed, staring straight ahead. "you were drunk."

"yeah", she said, "but not that drunk. i wasn’t out of my mind. i was just too scared to say it sober."

you looked at her then. really looked. her eyes were wide but steady. no teasing in them. no heat of the moment fog. just jordynne, raw and real in a way she rarely let herself be.

"i love you", she said again, quieter now. "i’ve been in love with you for a while. i didn’t mean to say it like that, but i don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen."

your heart was racing, louder than your thoughts. you didn’t answer right away, not because you didn’t feel anything, but because you felt everything.

"i thought you were just drunk", you admitted.

"i wasn’t", she said. "but i get it if you don’t feel the same. i just needed you to know."

you hesitated, then reached for her hand. she let you take it.

"i think i’ve been trying not to feel the same", you said softly. "but maybe i do."

a long pause. then, for the first time that morning, she smiled the kind of smile that reached her eyes.

"okay", she whispered. "that’s a start."

you smiled back, a little breathless, and gave her hand a squeeze.

maybe last night was messy. maybe this morning was confusing. But for the first time, something between you and jordynne felt honest. open.

and maybe, just maybe, it was the beginning of something neither of you were scared to name anymore.

[spaghetti-number1rated1997]

Chat i wanna rename this au, help

(this is the one with both hamilton and madison dead)

I drew a historically inspired design of hamilton is this au, and I loveeee his violet eyes

also fyi i was too lazy to change the proportions for hamilton!ham and the hair for historical!ham so they got mixed (historical ham’s hair is neater, and lin is more.. twinkish? when i draw him)

i’ll provide a little explanation for those who havent seen it before (i left it for a while) but for now here are the names I have in mind (cause rn its just ‘lost ham mads au’ and thats boringgggg)

anyway:

for those who need a refresher, or havent seen this AU before, its under the “read more”.

TLDR: hamilton dies and becomes a ghost. the election of 1804 happens, but jefferson decides to campaign in person cause hes anxious. madison falls sick and writes jefferson, but jefferson doesnt even/visit or respond cause pf election anxiety (he plans to celebrate after he wins with jemmy to make it up to him.) however madison dies on election day with ghost ham comforting him. Jefferson visits and is too shocked to cry, which madison takes as him only being a political tool and they were never friends. Ham and madison then hang around the capitol to deal with the issues keeping them on eaeth; madisons intense feeling of betrayal, and Ham’s regret/feelings of failure and overintense dedication to the government. jefferson copes by readhing out to adams, despite their ruined relationship, and begins to lead on him while he feels like he begins to see his dead friend in the corner of his eye. burr comes back, and ham starts avoiding him. sometimes, after coming back to vp, burr sees madison and wants to cry aswell. 2 friendships he ruined, that he can never renew. this au is very angsty lol (and i may make it a Jedams au.. hmmm)

Story (unfinished, subject to change)

The timeline is the same, until the political campaigning for the 1804 election starts. Jefferson, seeing how close Burr got to becoming president, is worried about the election. Even though he knows the federalists are disorganized because of.. unfortunate events.. it doesnt help his anxiety, especially with the one person who gave him the election last time being gone. Since it worked so well for Burr, he starts doing in-person campainging. He regularly invited electors over to dine, and has public speeches across the country (except NY/NJ. Those states seem.. too quiet.. now.)

However, about 3 weeks before the election, Madison falls sick. Confined to bed, coughing his lungs out, etc etc. Thankfully, his friend Jefferson is doing his campaigning in their home state right now. Madison has kept up with him as Jefferson travels, though Tjeffs mostly kept to the southern side. He writes a letter explaining his situation, and inviting Jefferson up to visit as he ofen likes to do when Madison is sick. However, as Madison gets worse, he doesnt even recieve a letter back, let alone see Thomas in person. He understands tjeffs is busy, but its been a week and a half and James has only gotten worse.

James gets sicker and sicker, and, without any of his correspondence being returned, begins to spiral into wondering if Thomas was ever his friend. Did Thomas— Jefferson —only visit him for his political knowledge? For the power the came with having a constitutional writer, and someone who could get even strong minded men like Hamilton to compromise? With Hamilton gone (and it hurt more, now that he had time to dwell on it all day. Sometimes, James wonders if he joined the wrong party, if Hamilton would still come in with something to read and discuss if they were together.) was it better for Jefferson’s time to campaign, than maintain him as.. a tool? Was that all he was to him?

Meanwhile, as James gets worse, Hamilton is spiraling. He’s alive— but not. He realized he wasnt as ready to die as he thought he was— but he didnt thing Burr would— shoot him? No, he wanted that. But he wasnt ready to die— he didnt think he’d really die— died he want to die? He cant bare to watch his family weep over him, and wonders, if really is like this, is it only him? He somehow follows his body to migrate over to Trinity Church, and just.. exists. He occasionally hears the choir, the chanting, the prayers, but it all seems to wash over him. He realizes he must have been just floating for— a week? Weeks? Months?

He realizes this isnt productive. Isnt him. He should be doing— something? Right? Is that why he’s still here, alone? He tries to leave the church, but something holds him back. With a sharp inhale, he slowly and anxiously migrates to the graveyard. What he sees makes it all too real— his very own gravestone. He’s buried next to Phillip, but he’s still alone. He’s the only.. ghost? around. He weeps, overwhelmed with emotions he’s buried that he can now express freely. He doesnt know how long he’s there, losing track of time again. Still unable to see his family emotionally, he turns the the one thing he always has: work.

He doesnt seem to get tired, and starts walking in the diredtion he assumes that DC is in. He doesnt know how long it will take, but he has no other ideas. Thankfully, he doesnt seem to need to sleep— or eat. Still— he finds himself getting lost, and it takes him a bit to get there. He sees the white house; remembers Jefferson lives there now. He hopes he hasnt lost track of time that much that the elections are already over, but his fears are dispelled when he watches a disheveled Jefferson come out and board a nearby carriage.

okay chat sorry i cant do this rn time skip just pretend hamiltons been stalking around the capital, figures out when he feels intense emotions sometimes he can still bleed, and, sometimes, it feels lije jefferson can hear what he is saying. he watches madison too, happy to see his friend. he tries to talk with him, and even gets a ‘please be quiet,’ which introgues him. Eventually he also wonders where jemmy is as he become absent as SOS. Hamilton sees jefferson get a letter from madison, intrigued, watches as jefferson barely skims it, deep into writing another speech he’ll stutter out. his public speaking seems to be worse w/o madison. ham reads the side of the letter thats available to him and decides to visit madison himself.

ham visits madison, and just., talks to him. Even if he cant hear it— but he does, sometimes. Hamilton isnt sure if its because Madison is dying (whixh he has conflicting feelings about; he doesnt want madison to die, but what if madison is like him?) or if he acctually can commne with the living. He tries to comfort madison, just talks and talks about everything, assuming Jefferson will also visit as some point. But he doesnt, which confuses Hamilton; he thought they were close. He sees madison write more letters to a few people, and Jefferson is the only one not to return one. Dolley visits often, and Hamilton feels awkward (so he usually just hovers outside,) but he stays with madison for weeks.

Madison eventually succumbs to sickness, alone, upset, betrayed, with only his ‘hallucinations’ to keep him company. He’s incredibly upset at Jefferson (Not Thomas— was it ever really Thomas?) and wonders if he was just a tool. Madison then opens his eyes, and sees Hamilton gasp. He sees Hamilton— he sees Hamilton!? They have a nice chat, reunion, Madison cries into Hamilton’s shoulder, vents about Jefferson, and the two friends get back togherher. They talk, and Alexander explains his experience so far. Madison asks about Burr, and his family, and hamilton changes the topic. Madison understands, and when asked about Jefferson breaks down again.

Jefferson then visits within the hour, and is shellshocked. He doesnt cry, but he almost does. He’s roo overwhelmwd. His closest friend is dead, and he didnt even visit. He just stares, and then leaves. Madison watches him, and thinks he doesnt care enough to cry.

(Guys ill finish this later i just wanna post it. Read the tldr)