#nobody count how many times he says fuck in this fic i don't wanna know

[visceravalentines]

alright alright i know that fic ain't up yet but it's just bc it keeps getting longer so here's a lil bedtime snack

You undid his fly and slid your hand into his pants, feeling him up through his boxers.  He was thick.  He writhed as you stroked him purposefully, caught between working his jeans off and melting into your touch. 

“What’s the matter?” you teased. 

“Driving me fucking crazy.  Hold on.  Fuck.”  He swatted your hand away and stripped off everything at once and you must’ve been on your game at least a little bit tonight because he did indeed have a gorgeous cock.  You wrapped your hand around it before he could even settle back beside you and he groaned, collapsing onto his back. 

“Jesus Christ, Murph.”  Your fingers only just met around his girth.  “You’re huge.” 

“I know,” he grumbled.  “We can take it slow, it’s – fuck – it’s okay.” 

You didn’t expect him to be so considerate.  “That’s awfully sweet of you.” 

“It’s nothing, c’mere.  Let me touch you.”

[wannabehockeygf]

the city - connor dewar

"I ride the subway 'cause I look for you in every face, Don't wanna find you, though, 'Cause 8 million strangers lose their distance once you take their place, 8 million bodies and they're yours and now I'm out of space."

*** request: "hello I love ur work and idk if u still are taking Dewey requests but I was thinking of famous!reader where she's goes to a game or something but no one knows they've been dating and no one expects it since she's so comfortable in the spotlight and he's like a deer in the headlights every time he does post game interviews. And the guys tease him about how often he looks at her thru out the night until after the game she comes up to him in front of them for a post game smooch🤭" summary: in which, your boyfriend worries about being clingy all while you worry about keeping him out of the spotlight. word count: 8.2k pairing: connor dewar x fem!reader warnings: slight sexual innuendo(feeling up? idk how to describe it) but other than that nothing. notes:

this is the first ever dewey fluff i've done and that's kinda embarassing LMAO, i used to get so many smut requests for him

but he's so sweet and awkward so this feels more right

^ he would definitely have a crisis about his masculinity.

speaking of my dewey smut fics... i feel like they're so half assed and i could do so much better if someone wants to request(although tbh i prefer fluff)! i almost delete like all of them every day.

^ he's still hot as hell though.

ty for being so detailed in your request anon & thank you!

the ending is a little silly lmao but this is my hate letter to toronto media

*** He wasn’t having a good day.

He wasn’t having a good day, so he was in his head.

He was in his head, so, after practice, he went to the gas station, went inside while pumping gas to buy a red bull, and almost caused a fire. He then proceeded to crush said red bull while going fifteen over on the highway, before circling your apartment building about ten times debating to go up–what would he even say?

“Hey, babe, I kind of feel like I’m your girlfriend right now, can we talk about that?”

Connor groans, fisting his hands in his hair, tugging at the strands as if it’ll make him think more clearly. "No, fuck, that’s stupid," he mutters, catching a glimpse of himself in the side mirror, which only makes him let out an even more pained groan. "Hey, not to worry you or anything, but, do you think I’m, like, too much?"

He raises his eyebrows, nodding slightly, chewing on the inside of his cheek like he’s just found the perfect key to his problems. It’s not even really a problem; it’s the fact that he’s scared he’s being too overbearing, too worried about being seen with you even though he’s wildly in love.

It’s been a non-stop nagging thought in the back of his mind ever since the guys started teasing him about it. He thought nobody would notice, but nope. Every night, even if he knows you’re busy with your modeling—or whatever the hell you do, all he knows is that he hit the goddamn jackpot—he looks for you.

Especially on the bench, and that’s what gets him. When he stands up, crossing his heart for the National Anthem, his eyes are glued to the far corner of the arena, where he knows the VIP box suite is, and that’s when one of his linemates notices. He’s supposed to be paying his respects, goddammit, but how can he when the only person who can turn him into a soft, cuddly mess is up there?

“You’re lucky she’s a Leafs fan.”

“She’s got you whipped, dude.”

“I promise, Mrs. Dewar, she has no idea you exist. Snap out of it.”

He doesn’t feel strong enough. And even though he knows it’s the testosterone coursing through him, almost daring him to flaunt his toxic masculinity, he just wants to feel like exactly that—a man.

Connor grips the steering wheel tighter, staring blankly out the windshield, his mind running in circles again. He hasn’t even parked in a proper spot, just hovering at the curb like he might bolt at any second. The city’s waking up, early morning sun casting a lazy golden glow over everything, but Connor is buzzing—nervous energy, caffeine, and something else entirely.

His foot taps against the brake, a jittery rhythm matching the beat of his heart, which seems lodged in his throat. He glances up at your apartment building for the fifth time in as many minutes, each floor seeming more intimidating than the last. The thought of seeing you, of saying what he’s been rehearsing in his head for hours, has him spiraling.

What if you laugh? No, you’d never do that. But what if you think he’s being dramatic? Connor, dramatic? Nah. But still, maybe you won’t understand—maybe he’s being clingy. He can feel the sweat forming under his hoodie, despite the cool breeze filtering through the crack in the window. God, he’s losing it.

He rubs his palm against his gym shorts, the rough material grounding him for a second before his brain kicks back into overdrive. His teammates’ voices echo in his head again, teasing him, prodding at his insecurities like they’re poking a wound just to see him flinch. He hadn’t meant to stare at you during the game, but the moment he caught sight of your figure, tucked into the shadows of the suite, he couldn’t help it. His heart had skipped a beat, his focus had slipped, and, well, he got roasted for it.

He cringes at the memory. That’s supposed to be a good thing, right? That he can’t keep his eyes off you? But now, here he is, debating whether or not he’s being a total loser for wanting to be around you every second. Is that normal? Is it just... too much?

The little voice in his head—okay, his coach’s voice—tells him to man up, but every time he tries, it just makes him feel worse. He’s not some alpha-male, testosterone-dripping asshole who can shake this off like it’s nothing. No. He’s Connor Dewar. Insecure, maybe a little too soft for his own good, and deeply, hopelessly in love with someone who makes him feel like he’s not enough, even though you’ve never actually said anything to suggest that.

Before he knows it, he’s out of the car, the sound of the door slamming behind him barely registering. His legs move on autopilot, carrying him through the front entrance, into the elevator, and up to your floor. His stomach twists with each ding as the elevator climbs, the buzzing in his chest growing louder, almost unbearable. What is he even going to say? What if he wakes you up? It’s still so early, and you’re probably sleeping, all cozy and peaceful, totally unaware that your boyfriend is losing his mind.

The door to your apartment comes into view, and suddenly, everything feels too real. He stares at the door for a moment, his breath coming out shaky as he raises his hand to knock. Just do it, man. It’s fine. You’ve been here a million times. But today feels different. Today feels like everything he says could either solidify his worst fears or wipe them away. There’s no in-between.

He knocks, three soft raps that barely echo in the hallway, and immediately regrets it. What if you don’t hear? Or worse—what if you do? His mind races again, and before he can second-guess himself any further, the door creaks open. There you are, hair mussed from sleep, wearing that old oversized shirt of his he loves on you. You blink at him, eyes still heavy with sleep but soft, like they always are when you first wake up. It’s like looking at the sun.

"Connor? It’s… so early, what are you doing here?" Your voice is a low, sleepy murmur, and for a moment, all he can do is stare. You always look beautiful, but like this? It’s almost too much for him to handle. His heart twists again, this time with something warm, something soft, and the words he’s practiced—Hey, babe, am I being too much?—disintegrate the second he opens his mouth.

"I—I’m too clingy, aren’t I?" he blurts, the question tumbling out before he can stop it. His cheeks flush immediately, embarrassment washing over him. Great job, idiot. Not exactly the smooth, calm approach he’d envisioned.

You blink, tilting your head slightly like you’re trying to figure out if you’re dreaming. Connor groans inwardly, hands falling to his sides, fingers twitching. He’s not even sure if he wants to hear your response. Hell, he’s not even sure why he came up here so early in the first place, aside from the fact that he’s been spiraling all morning thinking about it.

he door barely clicks shut behind him, but the sound feels louder than anything he can handle right now. Connor stands awkwardly in your entryway, shifting from foot to foot, his sneakers squeaking against the hardwood like they're mocking his every move. His heart pounds, loud and relentless, almost drowning out the soft hum of your apartment—so quiet, so peaceful. Everything smells like you, warm and familiar, and somehow that makes it worse.

God, why did he say that? Of all the ways to start this conversation—Am I too clingy?—he had to go with that. His mind is already spiraling, replaying every second of the moment he blurted it out, the way your eyebrows knit together in confusion, still half-asleep, your hair a mess, and your body wrapped in that oversized shirt he loves. It’s unfair how effortlessly beautiful you are, even at eight in the morning.

You blink at him again, slower this time, your lips twitching like you're trying to suppress a smile. "Connor, it’s—what, eight in the morning? Why are you here talking about… clinginess?" There’s a soft chuckle in your voice, and he winces. Not because you’re making fun of him, but because he’s making fun of himself in his head, and now you're awake, and this is real.

He opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. Great. Now he can’t even speak. His tongue feels too thick in his mouth, and his throat is dry, probably from that Red Bull he downed like his life depended on it. His fingers flex at his sides, the faint smell of gasoline still clinging to his skin. He hadn’t even washed his hands after almost blowing up the gas station. Awesome.

Connor rubs the back of his neck, suddenly hyper-aware of how sweaty he feels. “Yeah, um, I don’t—shit, I don’t know. I just—” He trails off, eyes darting around your apartment like maybe the right words are hiding somewhere in a corner. The soft morning light spills through the windows, casting golden streaks across your couch, your coffee table, your bookshelf—everything that screams you. It’s so you in here, and that just makes him feel like an intruder.

You step closer, arms crossing loosely over your chest, and the sight of you makes his heart skip a beat. You’re not even fully awake, and yet there you are, standing in front of him, looking at him like he’s the most confusing but endearing thing in the world. He swallows hard, trying to gather his thoughts, but they scatter like leaves in the wind the moment you tilt your head, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at your lips.

“Did something happen?” you ask softly, and there it is—that voice. The one that always makes his insides twist in that stupidly vulnerable way, the one that makes him feel like he could tell you anything, even though his brain is screaming at him to keep his insecurities locked up tight.

Connor exhales, his shoulders sagging. "I just… I don’t know. I feel like…" He trails off again, his eyes flicking to the floor, tracing the grain of the wood beneath his sneakers. He wants to say it. He wants to tell you everything—how the guys have been teasing him, how he can’t stop staring at you during games, how he feels like a lovesick puppy every time you so much as look at him. But that all sounds so pathetic in his head.

Instead, he runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands until they stand up in all directions. "The guys… they’ve been saying stuff. You know, about… how I look at you." The words feel heavy, clumsy, like they don’t quite fit together the way he wants them to. His voice cracks slightly, and he winces at the sound of it.

You raise an eyebrow, taking another step closer, your bare feet barely making a sound against the floor. “What kind of stuff?” you ask, still half-smiling, like you can’t quite believe this is a conversation you’re having before your morning coffee.

Connor’s face flushes. This is even worse than he thought. Why did he have to say anything at all? Why can’t he just be normal, like a normal boyfriend who doesn’t freak out about stuff like this? His teammates’ voices echo in his head again, louder this time, teasing him, making fun of him for staring at you during the game, like he’s some lovestruck idiot.

“They—uh, they think I’m, like… whipped. You know?” He forces a laugh, but it comes out strained, like he’s choking on the words. “Like, they’re always making jokes about how I can’t stop looking at you when I should be paying attention to the game. And, even though they don’t know about us, I don’t know… it just… it got to me. You know?”

There. He says it. Sort of. He risks a glance at you, half-expecting you to burst out laughing or roll your eyes or something, but instead, you just stand there, looking at him with those soft, sleepy eyes, your head slightly tilted like you’re trying to figure him out.

“I mean, it’s dumb, right?” he blurts, his words spilling out too fast, like he’s trying to outrun his own thoughts. “It’s not like I don’t care about the game—of course I care about the game! I just… I can’t help it when I see you up there. I get distracted, I guess. But, like, they’re giving me shit for it. And I don’t know, maybe they’re right? Maybe I’m too… attached or something. Maybe I’m too clingy.”

The word hangs in the air again, making him cringe. Clingy. He hates the sound of it, like it’s this ugly thing that has attached itself to him and now won’t let go. He runs a hand over his face, trying to rub away the embarrassment, but all he can feel is the warmth of your apartment, the smell of you wrapping around him like a safety net he doesn’t deserve.

His mind starts spiraling again, dragging him down into that familiar pit of insecurity. Was it normal to be this caught up in someone? Sure, he loves you—really loves you—but maybe the guys are right. Maybe he’s acting like your personal bodyguard or something, hovering too much. And then there’s that other thing—the one he tries not to think about too much, but it keeps sneaking up on him, especially when you wear those heels, the ones that make you look even taller than usual.

Connor’s eyes dart to the floor, catching a glimpse of your bare feet. He can’t stop himself from doing the math in his head: barefoot, you’re still only a couple of inches shorter than him. When you put on heels? He swallows hard, a knot forming in his throat. You’re not just beautiful—you’re tall, and tall in a way that makes him feel like he isn’t, well, enough. Not that you’ve ever made a big deal out of it, but in the back of his mind, it gnaws at him.

“I’m, uh…” he starts, his voice trailing off as he tries to find the right way to say it. How am I supposed to tell her I feel weird about not being tall enough for my model girlfriend? His cheeks burn with embarrassment again, and he can feel himself sweating even more, like all his dumb insecurities are trying to crawl their way out of his skin.

“You’re just… you’re so…” He gestures vaguely at you, his hand flailing like it can explain the mess of thoughts in his head. “You know. You. And I’m just… me. I’m not even that tall, and I know that’s dumb, but it’s been in my head ever since you wore those heels to that restaurant and suddenly we were the same height, and… I don’t know. I just feel like…” He groans, tugging at his hair again. “I feel like a fucking idiot.”

The words tumble out before he can stop them, and now they’re out there, hanging between you both like some kind of confession. His heart pounds so hard he swears you can hear it. Why did he even bring this up? You’ve never mentioned it, never teased him about his height, but now he’s the one spiraling over it. He stares down at his sneakers, the scuffed rubber soles suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

He’s a mess. How is he supposed to be your boyfriend—the guy who’s supposed to have it together—when all he can think about is how ridiculous he must look next to you? You’re this confident, glamorous model, and he’s just some hockey player who can’t stop staring at you from the bench. Maybe he’s being clingy. Maybe he’s too much.

You take another step forward, which seems to stop his ranting. You're close enough now that he can smell the faint traces of whatever shampoo you use, something warm and sweet and unmistakably you. Your hand reaches out, brushing lightly against his arm, and he feels his entire body tense up at the contact.

“Connor,” you say softly, your voice a gentle lull that immediately makes his heartbeat slow, just a little. “You’re not too clingy.” Your lips quirk up in that way they always do when you’re trying to hide a smile, like you think he’s the most ridiculous, lovable thing in the world. “You’re just… in love. That’s all.”

He blinks, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut, but in the best possible way. In love. Of course he is. He knows that. But hearing you say it, so simply, like it isn’t something he needs to overthink or worry about, makes him feel like the ground has finally stopped shifting beneath his feet.

You step even closer, your hand sliding down to take his, your fingers cool against his sweaty palm. “And for the record,” you add, your voice dropping to a playful whisper, “I think it’s kind of cute that you can’t keep your eyes off me during the game.”

Connor’s mouth twitches into a shaky grin, a rush of warmth spreading through his chest. “Yeah?”

You nod, giving his hand a little squeeze. “Yeah. I mean, you could try to focus a bit more, but... I like knowing you’re thinking about me.”

His heart feels like it’s swelling, and suddenly, all the noise in his head quiets. You’re not laughing at him, you’re not rolling your eyes, you’re not even upset that he’s so wrapped up in his feelings. If anything, you seem to understand, like it isn’t the giant problem he’s been building it up to be.

“Okay,” he breathes, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Okay, yeah… I just didn’t want to, you know, be too much.”

You shake your head, tugging him gently toward the couch. “You’re never too much, Connor.” You plop down, patting the cushion beside you.

Connor flops down beside you with a soft grunt, his large frame taking up most of the space. He shifts awkwardly for a second, trying to find a spot that doesn’t feel too close, but also close enough that he can breathe in that familiar, comforting scent of you. There’s something so grounding about it — like he can finally shut off the part of his brain that’s constantly screaming at him to be perfect. His breath catches in his throat when you reach up to trace your fingers lightly along the hem of his hoodie, and he swears his heart just stops altogether.

“Relax,” you whisper, your voice low and sweet, the kind that always makes his pulse pick up. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He blinks at you, his mouth dry as you lift the hem of his hoodie, slipping your hand under the fabric. Your fingers are cool against his skin, the touch sending a shiver up his spine that makes it hard to breathe. He isn’t sure if it’s the warmth of your hand or the way your fingers spread out across his abs, but holy, it’s doing something to him.

“See?” you murmur, your voice teasing as your hand trails up, brushing over the slight ridges of muscle. “I’d say you’re plenty manly.”

His cheeks burn, his heart doing a quick stutter-step in his chest. “You—” He coughs, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. “You think so?”

You nod, your thumb brushing over his ribs, and he swears he feels a flicker of heat right there, just beneath your touch. It’s almost ridiculous how much one little movement can send his mind spiraling, but it does. His breath catches again, this time somewhere in the back of his throat, and he has to fight the sudden urge to pull you even closer, to kiss you until his thoughts finally stop their endless loop of doubt.

You smirk, your hand sliding back down, grazing over his abs again, your nails scraping lightly in a way that makes his skin prickle. “Mhm. And you know, you’re pretty hot too. Just in case you were wondering.”

“You’re just saying that,” he mumbles, trying to sound playful, but his voice wobbles slightly. He doesn’t want to seem too eager, but the way your fingers tease along his skin has him feeling dizzy, like he’s already halfway to losing himself in you. He can’t help but feel every brush of your thumb, every inch it travels over his stomach, like a wildfire burning under his skin.

You just smile, leaning in a bit closer, your breath warm against his ear. “Trust me, baby. I don’t need to say anything I don’t mean.”

His face burns at the simple words, the sincerity laced in your tone. The tips of his ears probably match the red of his hoodie by now. His brain feels scrambled, a weird mix of giddy and hot, as if all his nerves have decided to flip on at once. He wants to believe you—no, he does believe you—but there’s this nagging voice in the back of his head, the one that whispers maybe he isn’t quite enough.

But then, your hand shifts just slightly, your palm spreading wider across his chest like you’re staking a claim, and that flicker of doubt disappears. You know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you? Teasing him, proving your point in the most devastating way possible. And God, is it working. His heart is thudding, heat pooling in his stomach as your fingers trace a line up his ribs, sending a shiver that he can’t suppress.

“You’re… you’re sure about that?” His voice comes out hoarse, not nearly as casual as he’d hoped.

You smile softly, your thumb brushing over the faint ridges of muscle just under his skin. “Mhm. I’d say you’re more than manly enough.” Your fingers slide up a little higher, grazing his side in a way that makes his breath hitch. “Honestly, these abs are kind of unfair.”

Connor lets out a shaky laugh, but the way his body is reacting makes him feel anything but in control. The fact that you can do this to him with just a few words and a touch is almost terrifying. He groans, tipping his head back against the couch, his hand shooting up to grab your wrist—not to stop you, but just to ground himself, to hold onto something that isn’t his spiraling thoughts. His mind scrambles, trying to find something to say, but all he can focus on is how warm your hand feels, how close you are, and how easy it would be to just pull you on top of him right there on the couch.

“You’re killing me,” he mumbles, his eyes squeezing shut as he tries to breathe through the haze of heat building between you. “You know that, right?”

“Mmm, I don’t know,” you hum, your lips brushing against the side of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. “You seem to be doing just fine.”

“Fine?” His voice cracks as you slide your hand back down, your fingers ghosting over his abs again, slow and deliberate, and all he can do is breathe through it. “I’m—” He cuts himself off, unable to form a coherent thought as you continue your little exploration. Jesus, is he about to beg? Is that where this is headed? He might actually be on the verge of begging.

The silence stretches, filled only by the sound of your breathing and his desperate attempts to keep it together. But it’s not working. Every touch, every brush of your hand has him unraveling, and when your fingers dip just under the waistband of his shorts, Connor lets out a small, pathetic whimper, something he immediately regrets but can’t stop. He’s falling apart. Completely. And you know it.

You let your fingers wander back up, tracing the faint ridges of his abs, feeling the slight tremor in his muscles. It’s so easy to mess with him, to push him just to the edge, and you’re enjoying every second of it. The control, the way his breath hitches every time you move, how his eyes flutter shut as if that will somehow help him focus. But there’s no way he can focus—not when you’re here, teasing him like this.

And God, you love the way he looks right now. All disheveled and flushed, like he’s caught somewhere between embarrassment and desire. His hoodie is bunched up under your hand, exposing just a sliver of his toned stomach, and it’s almost criminal how much you want to touch more, to tease more, just to see him unravel completely.

“Look at you,” you tease softly, brushing your thumb just under his ribs, feeling the way his breath hitches. “You’re so worked up over a little teasing.”

His laugh comes out strangled, more of a breath than a sound, and his cheeks flush deeper, the red creeping up to his ears. “You’re… you’re evil,” he rasps, his voice barely audible as he tilts his head to the side, exposing more of his neck to you without even realizing it. “Do you even know what you’re doing right now?”

You raise a brow, letting your lips hover near his throat, not quite touching but close enough that he can feel the warmth of your breath. “Mhm,” you hum softly, dragging your hand slowly down his stomach again. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

And that’s when you feel it—the subtle shift, the way his body tenses even more, the way his breathing grows more labored, like he’s holding on for dear life. His hand tightens around your wrist, his other arm moving to rest on the back of the couch as if he needs the extra support.

You know you have him. He’s yours.

But just as you’re about to push him even further, to see how far you can take this, Connor’s voice breaks the spell. “Are you—” His voice cracks slightly, and he swallows hard, trying to find his words. “Are you coming to my game tonight?”

You hesitate, your fingers freezing for just a moment against his chest. You’ve been hoping he wouldn’t ask, but now that the question is out there, you can’t avoid it. Taking a deep breath, you look up at him, meeting his curious gaze with a soft, apologetic smile. “Actually… my agent doesn’t think it’s a good idea.”

Connor blinks, his brows furrowing in confusion. “What? Why not?”

You bite your lip, your heart pounding as you brace yourself for his reaction. “Because people are starting to catch on. I, uh… I might’ve posted something on Instagram that’s making people suspicious.”

“...What did you post?”

You bite your lip again, feeling the weight of his gaze on you as you struggle to explain. His body is still tense beside you, his hoodie still bunched up, his skin flushed from everything that’s just happened, and it makes this moment feel all the more precarious. “For our anniversary,” you start, your voice faltering slightly as you try to explain. “It was faceless! I made sure you weren’t in it… well, not fully.”

The look on his face tells you everything you need to know. His confusion hasn’t lessened at all, and now there’s a flicker of something else—worry, maybe? “Not fully?” he repeats, his voice soft, like he’s not sure if he should be alarmed or not.

“Okay, so maybe there’s… something.” You wince at your own words because you know how it sounds, and you know exactly how the internet works. One small detail, one little hint, and fans will be all over it, dissecting every pixel of the photo, theorizing, speculating. You can already imagine the threads on Twitter, the conspiracy theories on Reddit, people zooming in on the tiniest reflection in the background to try and prove something.

It had seemed innocent enough at the time—a shot of the two of you from behind, your head tilted slightly to hide your face, his body next to yours, faceless but recognizable to anyone who pays enough attention. And in the background, just barely visible, is the faint reflection of something unmistakably his—a Leafs logo, half-obscured but still there, like a breadcrumb trail waiting to be discovered.

“It’s nothing super obvious,” you start again, trying to sound reassuring even though you know how sharp his teammates are, how fans can latch onto the smallest detail. “Just… something in the background. A little reflection, maybe.”

Connor’s eyes search yours, that hint of worry deepening into something more serious. His grip on your wrist tightens again, not in frustration but as if he needs to hold onto something solid. “What kind of reflection?”

There’s a beat of silence where the tension thickens, pressing down on you both. You can almost hear the wheels turning in his head, can almost see him picturing the post in his mind without even having seen it yet.

“Well,” you start slowly, your voice quiet and hesitant, “it might’ve been… your practice bag? In the background. But it’s super faint! Like, barely visible unless you’re really looking.”

His face pales a little, and you watch him process the potential fallout. It’s like you can feel the gears shifting in his mind, each little piece of information clicking into place. His mouth opens slightly, but no words come out at first—just a soft, almost incredulous exhale.

“You mean the one with the Leafs logo and my number on it like, a million times?” His voice cracks slightly, and you can see him fighting to keep his cool, even though his brain is probably already racing through every possible outcome. “Do you—do you have the post? Can I see it?”

You hesitate, your fingers still resting lightly on his stomach, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast to the growing unease between you. He looks so vulnerable like this, lying back with his hoodie bunched up, cheeks flushed from the teasing, but now there’s a flicker of something else in his eyes—something closer to panic.

With a slow nod, you reach for your phone, handing it to him with shaky fingers. "I didn't think it would be that big of a deal," you murmur, but as you unlock the screen and hand him the device, you can’t help the growing knot in your stomach. What started as an innocent post is about to become much more complicated.

You watch Connor’s expression shift as he stares at your phone, his thumb scrolling slowly through the post. The tension in the air is thick enough to cut, but you can’t look away from his face—his brows furrowing deeper with every passing second, his lips parting as though he wants to say something, yet can’t find the words. You can practically see the gears turning in his head, every muscle in his body tightening as the weight of the situation settles over him.

His silence stretches on, the sound of his breath—still shaky from your earlier exploration—filling the small space between you. Moments ago, you had him on the verge of completely losing control, but now the dynamic has shifted entirely, and it’s your turn to feel that flutter of uncertainty gnawing at your insides.

“Baby…” you begin softly, your voice barely more than a whisper as you shift beside him, your hand still resting against his warm skin. But he doesn’t respond right away, his eyes still fixed on the post, his face a mixture of disbelief and concern.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he speaks—his voice low, almost incredulous. “You posted this… for our anniversary?”

The way he says it makes your stomach drop. There isn’t anger in his tone, not exactly, but there’s something else—something that makes you feel like you’ve made a terrible mistake. You nod, chewing on your lip, your eyes scanning his face for any hint of reassurance, but all you see is the worry creasing his features deeper.

“I thought it was sweet,” you try, your voice trembling just a bit. “It was supposed to be… you know, low-key. Nothing obvious.”

“Low-key?” He blinks, his thumb hovering over the faint reflection in the background, the bag barely visible but unmistakable once you know what to look for. “Anyone who knows me—or follows hockey—could figure this out in two seconds. I mean, look at that.” His voice cracks on the last word, and he looks up at you, his expression a mix of disbelief and… something else. Something that almost looks like fear.

Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest. You didn’t mean for any of this to happen—for things to spiral like this. It was supposed to be a quiet, intimate moment between the two of you, something only you and he would understand, like a shared secret between lovers. But now, the reality of it all is crashing down around you.

“I didn’t think anyone would notice!” you blurt out, suddenly defensive as you sit up straighter. “It’s just a tiny detail! I mean, who zooms in that much on an Instagram post?”

“But they will.” His voice is quiet again, softer this time, but filled with that same underlying worry that makes your chest tighten. “You know how people are. They’ll pick this apart until there’s nothing left. And then… what?”

His words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of their implications. You can feel the gravity of the situation pulling at you, dragging you down into a pit of guilt and uncertainty. But more than that, you can feel the shift in him—the way he seems to retreat into himself, his usual easygoing confidence replaced by something far more vulnerable.

And that vulnerability only makes your heart ache more.

He’s not angry—not at you, at least. No, this is something deeper. This is fear. Fear of losing the carefully constructed privacy you’ve both fought so hard to maintain, fear of what might happen if the world finds out about your relationship, fear of how it would change things between you. And that fear is written all over his face, etched into every line of his body as he sits there, staring at the screen in his hands like it’s a ticking time bomb.

You swallow hard, reaching out to brush your fingers against his arm, feeling the tension beneath his skin. “Connor… I’m sorry. I didn’t think it through.”

He lets out a shaky breath, his hand falling away from the phone as he leans back against the couch, his head tilting back to rest against the cushions. His eyes flutter shut for a moment, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you see him let go—just a little. The worry is still there, simmering beneath the surface, but for now, he’s trying to let it go.

“I know you didn’t mean to,” he murmurs, his voice barely more than a whisper as he opens his eyes again, looking up at the ceiling. “I just… This is why I don’t use social media. People are fucking insane. I don’t know what’s gonna happen now.”

You shift closer, leaning into him, resting your head against his shoulder as your fingers trace gentle circles along his arm. His skin is still impossibly warm, and yet now, all you can focus on is the quiet rise and fall of his chest, the steady rhythm of his breath as he tries to calm himself down.

“I’ll fix it,” you promise, your voice soft and earnest as you press a kiss to his shoulder. “I’ll take it down, and we’ll be more careful. It’ll be okay, I swear.”

He lets out a soft laugh—a humorless, breathy sound that makes your heart ache even more. “You think that’ll be enough?”

You don’t answer right away, because honestly, you’re not sure. The internet is a beast, one that can’t be easily tamed once it latches onto something. And if anyone has already seen the post and started piecing things together, it’s only a matter of time before the whispers turn into something louder, something you can’t control.

But still, you have to try.

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” you say quietly, your voice filled with determination. “I won’t let anyone ruin this for us.” ***

You find yourself at Scotiabank Arena, despite everything. It wasn’t planned, and you certainly hadn’t told Connor you were coming—not after the earlier conversation that left you both teetering on the edge of something precarious. But there’s something about him, the way his voice cracks with worry, the tension in his jaw as he tries to hide how much it all matters to him, that makes it impossible for you to stay away.

You've spent hours trying to distract yourself, flipping through work emails, scrolling aimlessly on your phone, even considering posting a selfie—one that has absolutely nothing to do with hockey, Connor, or the tangled mess your lives have become. But none of it works. The pull toward him, toward the place he is, is too strong.

So here you are, in the dimly lit VIP box, hidden away from the bustling crowd below, your heart pounding as the game unfolds in front of you. You’ve dressed down, keeping it simple and low-key, with a hoodie thrown over your shoulders, the hood pulled low to cover most of your face. It’s strange—being here and not being here all at once, as if you’re an outsider watching from a distance, too close to touch but too far to be seen.

The arena buzzes with energy, a palpable hum that vibrates in your chest, matching the erratic beat of your heart. The air is thick with the sharp scent of ice and sweat, the echoing sounds of blades slicing across the rink, and the deep, reverberating roars of the crowd as they cheer for their team. It’s all-consuming, the kind of environment that makes it impossible to think straight, but all you can focus on is him.

Your eyes find him immediately—Connor, number 24, skating across the ice like he owns it, his movements smooth and calculated, every shift of his body a display of raw power and precision. It’s mesmerizing, watching him like this, and for a moment, you forget why you’re hiding, why you’re holding your breath every time someone glances in your direction.

He’s so focused, so in his element, but you catch it—those subtle glances toward the stands, the way his eyes dart up, scanning the rows as if he’s looking for something… or someone. The realization hits you like a punch to the gut: He’s looking for you.

You sink deeper into your seat, pulling your hood further down over your face, your stomach twisting in knots. He doesn’t know you’re here, and maybe it’s better that way. If he knew, if he saw you, it might make things worse. You hadn’t exactly parted on the best note earlier, with him still reeling from the Instagram mishap, his worry about the public scrutiny, and the weight of maintaining your secrecy.

But God, it’s hard to stay hidden when all you want to do is run down there and throw yourself into his arms.

Your fingers twitch in your lap, itching to do something—anything—but all you can do is sit there, watching him like some kind of lovesick teenager, your heart in your throat as he skates with that same intensity you’ve always admired. There’s something different about him tonight, though. Something heavier in his movements, like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He looks good, though. Really good. The way his muscles ripple beneath his jersey, the way the lights catch the sweat on his skin, the determined set of his jaw as he focuses on the game. And then there’s his hair, damp from the effort, sticking out in messy, endearing tufts from under his helmet.

You bite your lip, unable to tear your gaze away, and a small, traitorous thought slips into your mind: He’s so damn clingy, and yet you love it. You love the way he’s always checking in, the way he wants you to be part of everything, the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters. Maybe you should be annoyed, maybe you should feel suffocated, but instead, it makes your chest swell with something warm and overwhelming.

You pull your phone from your pocket, the screen lighting up in the dimness of the box, casting a soft glow across your face. Your fingers hover over the Instagram icon for a moment, hesitation gnawing at you. Posting something was what started this whole mess. Maybe you should lay low, let things cool down, but…

You glance at the ice again, your gaze locking onto Connor’s form. He’s in the middle of a play, skating fast, his stick slicing through the air as he chases after the puck, but every now and then, you swear you see his head tilt up, scanning the crowd again.

He’s looking for you.

Your heart clenches, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you snap a quick picture of the rink for your story—just the ice, nothing that could give away your exact location. No reflections, no telltale signs, just a simple shot of the game. You add a heart emoji to the caption, vague enough to mean anything, but you know he’ll understand.

You hit post and slide your phone back into your pocket, leaning forward in your seat as the game picks up in intensity. The crowd roars as the puck flies across the rink, players clashing in a chaotic dance of speed and strength. Connor’s in the thick of it, his focus unwavering, but there’s still that occasional glance toward the stands, that flicker of something in his eyes that tells you he’s still thinking about you.

The game drags on, each passing second a fresh assault on your nerves. Overtime looms, and the tension in the arena thickens, wrapping around you like a vice. You can feel it in your bones—this is going to be one of those moments. The kind of moment that’ll be replayed a thousand times on every sports network, the kind that’ll haunt you in the quiet hours when you’re alone with your thoughts.

And then it happens.

It’s like a flash of lightning. Connor, barreling down the rink with a speed and grace that takes your breath away. The puck dances between his stick and the ice, a blur of black and white, and suddenly he’s in front of the goal. Time slows. Your heart slams against your ribs as you lean forward, not even realizing you’ve stopped breathing. The crowd holds its collective breath, and then it’s over. The puck finds the back of the net with a resounding crack that echoes through the entire arena.

The place explodes. The deafening roar shakes the very foundations of the building, and you swear you can feel the vibration under your feet. He did it. Connor fucking did it.

You can’t help it—your body moves on its own, rising from the seat as your hands clap together, heart swelling with pride and something else, something deeper. The grin on your face is unstoppable, and you know your fingers are itching to send him a text, something cheeky and teasing about his performance for him to read later, but there’s no need. He’s already looking up at the stands again, that same searching glance, like he knows you’re here.

He skates over to his teammates, practically drowning in their celebratory shoves and slaps on the back, but there’s something in his eyes, a flicker of longing, as though he wishes he could be anywhere but there, anywhere but under the bright, burning lights. You know him too well. He hates this part—the interviews, the cameras. He’s like a deer in headlights when he’s in front of them, so unlike you, who thrives under that very same spotlight. The thought makes you chuckle under your breath.

Without really thinking, you pull your hoodie tighter around your face and slip through the back of the box, your mind spinning with a new plan. You know exactly how to get into that press area. Being a world-famous model has its perks, after all.

The energy of the postgame is chaotic, the air buzzing with a strange mix of triumph and exhaustion that clings to every corner of the arena. You thread your way through security and the press with a confidence that comes from years of walking down runways and posing for flashing cameras. Your heart, however, is racing for an entirely different reason now.

Connor is there, caught in the glaring lights of the press area, his posture stiff, shoulders squared but tense, and that telltale fidget of his fingers at his sides. He hates this. You know he does, and watching him stumble through the interviews, awkward and clearly uncomfortable, tugs at your heart in the most bittersweet way. There’s something so endearing about the way he handles the attention—on the ice, he’s this untouchable force of nature, but off it, he’s like a fish out of water, out of his element.

The cameras are all around him, flashing and clicking, microphones thrust into his face, and he’s trying so hard to keep it together, but you can see it—the slight widening of his eyes, the way his jaw tightens as he stumbles over his words, a nervous laugh escaping him as he answers a question about the overtime goal. Your chest swells with a mixture of pride and amusement. He’s so bad at this, but that’s what makes him yours, the part of him that only you seem to understand.

You glance at him again, just for a second, and something inside you shifts. He looks so damn good, even under all this scrutiny. His hair is damp, sticking out in wild tufts from the post-shower mess, his face still flushed from the game, with that fine sheen of sweat on his neck, the sharp angles of his jawline more prominent in the harsh lighting. His compression shirt clings to every muscle, the fabric stretched tight over his chest, showing off the powerful build that still makes your breath hitch every time you see him.

God, you’re in deep, aren’t you?

Your thoughts are spiraling, tumbling one after another in a rush, but there’s one thing that stands out more than anything: you can’t keep watching him like this. You can’t stand by and let him feel this out of place, not when you’re right there, not when you could help.

Before you know it, your legs are moving on their own. You slip past the last barrier of security with a nod that’s far too casual for someone about to blow their secret relationship wide open, and within seconds, you’re right there, right in front of him. The look on his face when he sees you is priceless—his eyes widen, his lips part slightly, and for a moment, it’s like the rest of the world falls away.

And then, before he can say a word, you grab him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him down into a kiss that’s anything but discreet. The press area falls deathly silent for a split second, and then, as if on cue, the cameras start flashing, capturing the moment in all its glory.

You pull back, just enough to meet his gaze, your lips still tingling from the kiss. His eyes are wide, his face flushed, but there’s that familiar softness there too, that look that tells you he’d follow you anywhere, even into the spotlight he hates so much.

His lips part for a moment, as if he’s going to say something, but then he turns his head right, then left, taking in all of his teammates’ gaping jaws, and you think he’s coming up with something good. But then, he does something you could never envision him doing. He snakes one of his arms around your waist, pulling you into him almost forcefully, and looks directly into the camera.

He lets out a single, incredulous laugh before pointing at it, “You guys can all suck it.”

[axolotlsupremacyowo]

20 Questions for Writers

Thanks @oceangirl24 for the tag! I love you, bestie!

Now, on to the questions!

❣️How many works do you have on AO3?

I have 86 fics! I write all kinds of things! Case fics, angst, fluff, smut, and all that jazz. I like to think that I have a diverse range of stuff on AO3, which I find I'm really proud of :3

❣️What is your total AO3 word count?

613,383....Yes, I write too much.

❣️What fandoms do you write for?

Most of my fics are Ace Attorney, but I have other fandoms like Stardew Valley! I also write in fandoms that are gifts for friends.

❣️What are your top five fics by kudos?

Say My Name (233 kudoes)

Operation Helios (178 kudoes)

Apollo is a Crazy Cat Attorney™ (166 kudoes)

Ace Attorney: Maya Fey (166 kudoes)

Turnabout Birch Meadows (151 kudoes)

Nice! Most of them are Klapollo XD

❣️Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I love responding to comments! I get to ramble, and I want each and every commenter to know that I appreciate them <3. Sometimes I take a long time, so sorry about that!!!! But I'll get to the comment eventualy!!

❣️What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Definitely Things Left Unsaid, that fic is SUPER angsty with a really sad ending. It's non canon Major Character Death, so of course it's angsty lol.

❣️What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I'm...not sure? A lot of my fics end in happy endings. But if I had to pick the happy ending that made me the most emotional, I'd have to choose Blossoming in the Rain.

❣️Do you get hate on your fic?

Surprisingly, no. I've only gotten support for my fics. Which I am VERY much thankful for. To all of my followers, readers, and supporters...thank you SO much for making my fandom experience so lovely <3

❣️Do you write smut?

Definitely lol. I used to be terrified of writing smut...and then I met a certain someone *cough cough* @mikaharuka *cough cough* and now I've written a lot of smut. This is all YOUR FAULT BESTIE.

❣️Do you write crossovers?

Nope lol. I like to keep my fandoms separate.

❣️Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I...don't think so? But if someone has stolen my fics, please be sure to tell me! I'm not exactly keen on the idea of my fics being plagiarized or stolen.

❣️Have you ever had a fic translated?

Again, I have no idea. I don't think it has since nobody has approached me before, so to my knowledge it's a no.

❣️Have you ever co-written a fic?

Yes!!! I've co written SO many things with my bestiest of besties @tsunderesalty and I love every fic I've co written with him. He's just the greatest and he's an amazing writer. Check him out!

❣️What's your all-time favorite ship?

Hmm! For Ace Attorney, it's a tough choice between Klapollo and Franmaya. For Stardew, my top ship is my farmer and Sebastian (Sebakonnie)

❣️What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

My flufftober series. I started it in 2022...and it's currently 2024. I just kinda lost steam for that fic. I am very proud of all the fics I've written for it, though. Maybe I should revisit it...

❣️What are your writing strengths?

Nothing.

Ahem, knowing how my dearest besties would respond to that...I guess my flexibility with writing styles? I talked about this with my friends before, but I have multiple writing styles, five to be specific. I can switch between them pretty easily, and I like to think they're all distinct from each other but still being undeniably me. God, I really don't wanna sound like I'm bragging XD.

❣️What are your writing weaknesses?

NOT KNOWING WHEN TO SHUT THE FUCK UP. I literally cannot shut up for the life of me. It is a curse. My fics would be SO much shorter if I just shut up lol.

❣️Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Oh!!! Actually, so about this! For reference, I'm Filipino, born and raised in the Philippines. I can speak Filipino and Tagalog pretty well, and I can understand Bisaya (Cebuano is its official name, but everyone in the Philippines calls it Bisaya) well, but I can speak it only a little bit. Anyway, I've always wanted to incorporate Filipino and Bisaya into my fics but didn't know how...and then I thought of Filipino Phoenix! Happy to say that I'm planning on writing that soon :3

So yeah, happy to include languages other than English! Especially my native language. Otherwise, for languages I don't know. I use Deepl, it's a very useful tool!

I'm all for using different languages in my fics, and when I get something wrong, I'm quick to correct it!

❣️First fandom you wrote for?

Ace Attorney. I have had Ace Attorney brainrot for SO long.

❣️Favorite fic you've ever written?

.....

.........

.........

YOU'RE MAKING ME CHOOSE OUT OF ALL OF MY BABIES?

Would it be cheating to choose a series? XD

But yeah! My Defense Attorney Maya Fey series contains my favorite fics of all! The top ones of my list being Ace Attorney: Maya Fey and Yours Truly, Franziska von Karma. I just...love these fics so much...I especially love Ace Attorney: Maya Fey. That bitch has been my baby since like...2021?

Now! Who to tag...that would be my besties @mikaharuka, @aislinnstanaka, @udaberriwrites, @kayedium-writes, @justanotherpersonwhowrites, @mikaharuka @fattybattysblog

[mins-fins]

☆ 1 killing my boss challenge!

❝ day 1289 of work, trying

my best not to quit.. ❞

⌗ NOTE 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 welcome to chapter one ☺️!! now this definitely might be a little underwhelming for a first chapter but tbh im just so excited for this i love nct dream in a silly sitcom style fic (poor reader is suffering i am so sorry) but anyway love you all it is currently midnight so goodbye

⌗ WORD COUNT 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 1.1k

⌗ MASTERLIST | NEXT

YOU SHOULDN'T GO TO WORK TODAY.

you really shouldn't, you don't want to. you can practically hear the sound of your managers piercing screams before you even step out of the house, and you swear it makes you shiver. you don't even have to look into the other room to know that renjun already left, these days, he usually gets up and leaves the house earlier than you do, but he never forgets to leave a note to tell you.

when you walk into the kitchen, the first thing you notice is a sticky note on the cabinet. you can immediately recognize renjun's handwriting, and you simply smile immediately upon seeing the note.

left early again.. sorry mark needed me for something :( see you later i love you!! — renjun♡

you let out the slightest giggle, rubbing your hands over your face before sighing. you place your hands onto the counter, and stare at the digital clock before you. you've never been late to work, even with how late you leave the house, and as you in stare at the time, going from 7:32 to 7:33 am, you almost consider staying home and being lazy.

you want to be lazy.

you want so badly to be lazy.

you do not want to go to work.

but who else is going to pay all your expenses if it isn't you?

so you roll your eyes and suck it up, grabbing your stuff and walking out of your shared dorm.

it's a saturday! a saturday and i'm fucking working!

you twirl your keys around your fingers and whistle a song to yourself. another day, another inclusion of grueling hours of yelling and trying to stop your coworkers from getting themselves fired added to your week. you wish you could stay home for a day, but without you, the workplace really doesn't function correctly.

and that's not just you saying that! mark has told you that on the several occasions where you got the seven of your crazy coworkers out of trouble.

and do you constantly risk your job to make sure that the idiots you work with do not lose their jobs? yes, but can you help it? no.

at this point, your surprised how you haven't lost your job with how many times you take the fall for your coworkers.

when you arrive at the store, you sigh, you almost consider turning around and walking all the way home, because you feel like if you step into the store and clock in you are genuinely going to punch the first customer that yells at you.

but, you have a job to do, and you have money to make.

you can practically hear the complaints from your mother as you step in. why do you even work there? you could find so many better jobs!

yeah well nobody else is hiring!

you'd rather stay here than take the risk of quitting and not being able to find a new job.

"you're late!" donghyuck yells at you as you walk through the door. he smirks as your face falls, you just walked in and you already wanna walk straight out, amazing!

"i'm ten minutes early" you state, gritting your teeth, he stares at you for a moment before rolling his eyes. "if anyone is gonna be late it's jaemin.." you mumble, immediately clocking in as you stand beside him.

donghyuck once again chuckles at you, a shit-eating grin coming to his face as he thinks about a stupid joke he told yesterday. "oh, by the way, yoon wanted me to give this to you".

you raise an eyebrow, confused, but donghyuck just gives you a post-it note with your boss' handwriting on it.

i'm out for an emergency today, so you are in charge, make sure to keep everything in check y/n - yoon jaeho.

you reread the thing at least four times before sighing and placing your head down onto the counter, already regretting coming into work. donghyuck looks over your shoulder to read the sticky note, and immediately bursts into a loud fit of laughter. "holy shit he left you in charge!?"

you want to scream and cry, seriously.

"well good luck y/n, break a leg!" donghyuck pats your back aggressively, hitting it more than patting it.

"don't hit me lee donghyuck".

the stern tone you give him makes him roll his eyes once again, and you flick him in the forehead before walking past him towards the staff room. when he walks through the door, he's met with a specific smiling individual.

"hi y/n!"

"good morning".

renjun gives a smile to you, mark waves, and jeno looks surprised that you even showed up. "i thought you would've stayed home.." he mutters.

you furrow your eyebrows. "why that?"

"you took like fifty exams yesterday" mark says with an exaggerated tone, you barely stifle your laugh, and end up letting out a displeasing sounding snicker. "i genuinely thought you would've overslept".

"oh believe me, i tried to oversleep, i failed".

at the words, jeno laughs, covering his mouth with his hand, renjun just sighs, shaking his head. you scan the room, then stop, because there are people missing.

"where are chenle and jisung?" you inquire, now those two aren't the most reliable people out of all eight of you, but they usually clock in not long after you, sometimes even before you, so them not being here despite the fact that they have to be is.. strange.

"oh, apparently they're coming with jaemin today" jeno responds.

you blink, as if trying to process the very words that jeno just told you. was he serious? "what?"

"yep" renjun nods, chewing obnoxiously loud as he ignores mark's continuous poking on his shoulder. "i don't know why either, i think they just got lazy".

you refrain yourself from absolutely going insane and shouting, because you were left in charge, so you have to keep your cool and stay calm. you sigh and punch the bridge of your nose. "okay yeah um, whatever i'll just talk to them when they get her—"

"y/n!"

you jump as donghyuck peaks into the room, smiling at everyone before deadpanning at you. "um we have an issue with a customer that somehow doesn't understand the layout of the place".

you blink. "what?"

"yeah apparently she needs a verbal instruction on how to navigate the place and your the only person that knows the place like the back of your hand, so..." donghyuck waves to jeno, then looks back to you with that signature empty state of his as he awaits your response.

"i— alright, yeah i'm coming" you slightly wave him off and look back to the three in the room. "be good" you command, pointing your finger at the three of them, as if accusingly.

"aye aye captain" mark replies, saluting to you. you chuckle before yelping as you get pulled out of the room by donghyuck.

"ow! hyuck my arm!"

oh you had a long day ahead of you.

[impala1967dwinchester]

Sam Winchester: Thoughts

*Credit to the gif owner* 

Pairing: Sam W. x reader 

Pov: Sam 

Warnings: Fluff, Sam can hear the readers thoughts, Sam falling in love with the reader, Dean is here to help the plot

Summary: Sam gets cursed after the Dean, Y/n, and Sam hunt a witch. The next morning when he wakes up all he can hear is Y/n thoughts, and he’s slowly start to fall in love with her. 

A/N: Using @firefly-graphics Sam Winchester divider for this fic. This fic is sorta based on "What women want" with Mel Gibson. A good ol' Romantic Comedy.

Word Count: 2.3k

Main Masterlist Sams Masterlist 

Taglist: @sweetdetectivequeen​

A witch hunt couldn't possibly go wrong, right? Especially with the Winchester boys.

"Look lady, sit down before I shoot," Dean shouted, causing Y/n to flinch. Just enough of a flinch that I would be having a conversation with Dean later about no yelling so much.

The witch sat down, but what nobody noticed she was casting a spell under her breath. Dean, Y/n, and I had huddled together trying to figure out what we were going to ask this damn witch.

My back facing the witch. Dean looking over my shoulder looking angrily at the lady. Y/n had her game face on. She sometimes followed us around like lost puppies, but damn was she a fucking awesome hunter.

Sometimes better than Dean and I put together.

When I say that she followed us around like lost puppies I mean she never said what she thought. Dean or I would come up with a plan and she never put input in. Just kinda did what she was told. Reminds me of a younger version of Dean and myself.

Working our asses off for John, all for it to be for nothing. A good little soldier and that was all we were to him.

In the end, Dean just ended up letting the witch go since she hadn't any information. We all pilled back into the impala for the drive back to the bunker.

Y/n fell asleep in the back seat curled into a ball and looking rather peaceful. "Y'know I was thinking lover boy that maybe she could stay permanently with us," Dean said referring to Y/n in the backseat.

I just rolled my eyes before turning to look out the window. The drive was shortened by the fact that at one point my eyes were open and scanning the passing environment.

And the next minute I was dreaming a nice dream. I had a family a beautiful wife standing on our front patio, and watching our daughter and I play with our puppy.

It was nice, it was peaceful. But when I was looking around my dream, I noticed that every face was blank. Well, there goes the normal dream.

The shaking of my body woke me up. "Yo, wake up. Get your shit and go the bed." Dean said, pushing me closer to the passenger side door.

Stumbling out, I walked groggily to the back of the impala and grabbed my bags. Slinging them over my shoulder, I saw Dean try to pull Y/n from the back.

"Sweetheart, we made it home." Dean whispering. His hands falling underneath her knees, carefully picking her up out of the impala. "Open the door would Ya, instead of just standing and staring," Dean said still whispering.

I ran over to the door opening it. "Dude get some sleep, I'll get Y/n settled in, kay," Dean said passing me. Shrugging my shoulders and yawning as I walked to my room.

Stripping down to my boxers I collapsed into bed, loving the coolness of my sheets. Within minutes of my head hitting the pillow, I was out like a light.

Dreaming wasn't something that always happened for me, not since I first started hunting with Dean. But those weren't dreams those were more like nightmares, of people that I couldn't save.

I fell back into the same dream as before, still no faces. But the woman I assumed was my wife as a familiar voice, our daughter was what seemed like she was tops five or six.

Cute little thing, long brown hair like my own, wearing a cute sundress that was blue with green flowers printed on it. ' Dear, are you guys ready for dinner?' the woman asked me. I tried to not stare at the fact that she had no face, so I just hummed. Picking up our daughter.

'Tank you for playing with me daddy!' my daughter said to me bringing her small hands and arms and hugging me around my neck. Besides having no faces everything else seemed normal, my wife's voice seemed all too familiar and it was honestly getting at me. Before I was able to ask her something I was pulled from my dreams.

Waking up was a bitch. My neck was sore, and so were my shoulders. Deciding that today I wouldn't take that mile run, I opted for staying in bed just a bit longer this morning.

Finally getting up when I smelled coffee being made in the kitchen. Grabbing a pair of sweats that were laying around, I slipped my slippers on and went to go get some coffee.

The first thing I saw when I walked in was Dean dancing along to his horrible 70s and 80s rock. Flipping pancakes and sizzling bacon. 'God, why'd he choose no shirt this morning' "Huh? Did you say something Y/n?" I asked her, looking at her for the first time since last night.

She had her hair up in a messy bun, wearing a flannel of Dean, and a baggy pair of shorts. "No, I didn't say anything, Sam," Y/n said pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose, continuing reading her book.

Okay Sam you have to admit that was odd and kinda creepy. Not that I mind being complimented, but still weird. "You gonna get your cup of coffee or just stand there looking like an idiot!" I heard Dean crack.

"No," I answered back grabbing a coffee cup that was next to the machine. 'Jeez Dean way to be an asshole towards Sam.' There it was again Y/n voice.

Turning around rather quickly which only hurt my neck even more. "Did you just say that?" I asked panic starting to overtake my body and instincts. y/n looked over at Dean, causing Dean to look over at me.

"Dude what are you going on about?" He asked me... eyes big I just waved his question off, "Never mind I think I must have hit my head last night." I said just wanting my morning coffee more than anything.

The rest of the morning went by fine. No hearing Y/n voice, but then again, she wasn't around for the rest of the morning. "I'm heading out to the shops; I need a new pair of jeans. If either one of you wanna head out with me that's fine too. If not that's okay too guys." Y/n said mostly talking and looking at me.

'Please come out with me Sammy' I heard. Ignore it, rolling my eyes before speaking again. "No, it's okay. Dean?" I spoke. "Nah, I'm fine dear. But thanks." Dean said using his signature wink.

As Y/n walked away I heard her voice again, 'Jesus Dean, stop with the nicknames, and the winking. Obviously, it's not working.' That was the last I heard the sentence.

Dean wants to be with Y/n. I don't, I can't see that going very well, Dean sees Y/n more as a sister than anything else. What does that mean it's not working?

Hours later Y/n came into the bunker carrying a few bags. "I thought you only needed a pair of jeans, Y/n?" Dean snarked. "I did, but you guys were running out of some things, so I grabbed some other shit." Y/n countered.

Well, I can't deny that Dean and Y/n do have a certain chemistry, one that she and I just don't have. "what did you get?" I asked moving the conversation along. "I umm... I got you guys some t-shirts, some more socks, and just something fun for both of you." She said shyly.

"That's great, thank you. Did you have an okay time?" I asked, 'No, Sam I didn't that's why I wanted you to go with me. So many gross old men hit on me.' I heard Y/n's face was only scrunched up for a few seconds.

"Yeah, I had a perfectly fine time. Really did enjoy the alone time." Y/n said winking at us. Dean just rolled his eyes and jumped up to go through the bags, but Y/n swatted his hands away.

Digging into the bag she pulled out pie for Dean and he took off with it like he was a squirrel. Y/n looked back over to me and then started to look through the other bags. "Here Sam. I didn't know if you already had this book, but I thought why not." She said, shrugging her shoulder in a cute sort of way.

"Here for a gift return, a Winchester hug, yeah?" I said laughing a little bit. "I don't see why not, I heard that they're hard to come by," Y/n said back rounding the table in an effort to get on a very one-sided hug.

I hadn't realized until recently how much shorter Y/n was compared to me. I could fully rest my chin on her head. 'God I could use this more often' I squeezed her in my arms. 'God, he smells so great' I heard again, she nuzzled her face into my chest. 'He gives much better hugs than Dean.' I heard.

Y/n was the one to let go of the hug, not me. I was starting to realize that it was in fact Y/n I was hearing just not the words coming out of her mouth, it was her thoughts.

That night I convinced Dean that I could make dinner. For the time I was at college and dating Jessica I had learned some good enough cooking skills. "Fine whatever you do just don't ruin my pans and pots!" Dean screamed from his bedroom as I walked away.

That night I cooked a shrimp alfredo, and chicken alfredo with noodles. Something simple but it was mostly all the food that we had left in the bunker kitchen.

"Dinners ready you two!" I hollered from the library, Dean running from the garage, and on the other side of me was Y/n walking down the hallway. 'Look at him, damn chiefs' apron' I looked down and saw that the apron said "kiss the cook" Damn Dean.

'I'd definitely kiss that cook.' I heard as she walked past me. I just followed her with my gaze, mouth slightly open. Hoping that it wouldn't fall straight to the floor.

"Well dig in. It won't kill you, Dean." Y/n said. Dean just put his hands up in defense it's not like he had said anything but we all know he was thinking it instead.

Dinner went by quickly, few words from any of us, and not many thoughts passing through Y/n's mind. Besides 'Damn, he's got skills, 'So much better than Dean would ever do' I snorted when I heard that thought. Dean looked over at me, "What's so funny Samuel?" He spoke.

I rolled my eyes, "It's Sam, Samuel sounds like an old fashion name" I said. "Nothing is wrong Dean." I finished. 'If nobody thought you guys were brothers, they should spend at least a few hours with you.' I heard.

"Can we not fight at the dinner table, please Dean," I asked. I was trying to lean into what Y/n was saying, or more thinking. By the end of dinner Dean had eaten another serving and was now on his second piece of apple pie and a glass of hard crown apple whiskey the Y/n had bought earlier that day.

"Good night you two love birds. Tweet tweet. I'm heading to bed." Dean said kissing Y/n's temple, and patting my shoulder he walked out of the library.

"I'm sorry about him, Y/n. He doesn't have a sensor." I said apologizing for my older brother. Y/n got up waving him off and grabbed the leftover dishware.

I followed behind her grabbing what she couldn't. "He's fine. He should know better, but he's okay Sammy." Y/n said. Not many people called me Sammy besides Dean and Y/n, but it always seemed sweeter coming out of her mouth.

Y/n started to wash dishes. "Can I ask you a question Y/n?" She hummed, so I continued on. "Why do you never say anything while we are on a hunt. You don't always have to follow out stupid ideas...." I said noticing that Y/n had now turned around and was facing me.

"Look I didn't mean it like that. I'm just saying that I'd like to know what you're thinking for a while. especially when we are on a hunt. Your opinions matter to me. I hope you know that." I said, crossing my arms across my chest.

'Shut up would Ya'. You don't know how much that means to me.' "I know that you can hear what I'm thinking." Well, that went south very quickly and my stupid facial expression doesn't help the situation. "How long have you known?" I asked.... We stood in silence beside the water in the sink running. "Since before dinner when I was thinking about kissing the amazing chef that made dinner. Because I would still kiss the chef." Y/n said. setting the plate down on the kitchen island.

'Do you want me to kiss you, Samuel?' She said in her thought. I hummed. Shaking my head, licking my lips in anticipation. 'Words Sammy Dear.' She thought. "Just come over here. If this is what happens when I can hear your thoughts, I may be okay with being cursed by a witch ever so often." I said before our lips crashed together.

Our kiss was short-lived when Y/n left mine. "What are you talking about the witch from last night's hunt?" I shook my head. "We need to go get that witch, kill her, get her to remove the curse. Whatever, because as much as it's cute somethings a girl wants to keep to herself." Y/n said, coming back up to my lips and pecking them.

"You're gonna be the death of me," I said, before following her over to the sink to help wash dishes. I think I might have fallen in love with you Y/n. I thought.

"Hey... I heard that." Y/n said. I rolled my eyes, "No you didn't." Confusion replaced Y/ns soft features. "Okay, what did I say then, Y/n?" I asked. "I think I might have fallen in love with you Y/n" Y/n answered.

"Damn it. We really gotta find that witch, Samuel." Y/n said.

Completed on: 04/11/2021

[turning-dreams-into-chaos]

I hate you, I love you

Request: is it possible to get a bellamy one-shot or something based on the song “i hate you, i love you” by gnash and olivia o’brien? i’m not really picky (at all) by what the plot is, but i feel like it’s a good song to write a fic about. thanks girlie💜

Requested by: Anon

Word Count: 3K

~Master~

*Based of the song I hate you, I love you by Gnash and Olivia O’Brien*

*Lyrics in Bold Italics*

Feeling used

But I'm

Still missing you

And I can't

See the end of this

Just wanna feel your kiss

Against my lips

And now all this time

Is passing by

But I still can't seem to tell you why

It hurts me every time I see you

Realize how much I need you

Is it possible to miss someone’s touch? The way their lips felt pressed against your own? Or when you feel their eyes on you and a sense of comfort ran over your body?

Now that the feeling was gone, you missed it.You missed him.

Bellamy Blake and Y/N Y/L/N. Everyone thought you’d make it, that your relationship would’ve lasted. Maybe that’s why you had to end it. But now, things were getting worse. You and Bellamy hadn’t spoken since the night you broke up with him where several rounds of tears came raining down both of your faces. You wanted to speak to him, to tell him how much you needed in your life however he could be. Yet every time you tried, it hurt just to look in his direction.

God, why does being in love hurt?

I hate you I love you

I hate that I love you

Don't want to, but I can't put

Nobody else above you

I hate you I love you

I hate that I want you

You want her, you need her

And I'll never be her

He was laughing again, he was smiling.

And she was making him.

Was it wrong to hate her? Gina. She got everything you gave up, she got Bellamy. You hated her.

You hated him.

No, that was a lie. You loved him. You just weren’t good enough in your eyes.

“You’re staring, Y/N.” You didn’t need to turn around to hear Octavia sit next to you, a deep sigh coming from her lips as she watched you stare at Bellamy across the dining hall.

“Yeah. So?” you made no move to look away, watching Gina fall into Bellamy’s side, fitting perfectly like you had always done. It hurt to watch, and you knew it, but right now you just needed to feel something, and pain seemed to work.

“Why’d you do it?” Octavia asked you, finally getting you to look at her instead her older brother. It didn’t take a detective to know she wanted to know why you broke his heart, and your own in the process.

“Look at them, O. Have you ever seen Bellamy that happy with me?” Octavia glanced over to Bellamy while you willed yourself not to, knowing exactly what you’d see. Bellamy probably throwing his head back after Gina said something stupidly clever, something you could never come up with even if someone was feeding you lines.

Yet Octavia didn’t see that at all. Instead, she saw her brother almost as happy as he was when he had you by his side. She saw the constant side glances thrown your way now that Bellamy was certain you weren’t looking.

“You don’t want him back?” she began as you hesitated, hearing Bellamy and Gina’s laughs echoing in your head.

“No.” You lied. “He needs someone like her. Not someone who can’t get her head around her own emotions.”

“Then move on.” Her words took you by surprise, believing for sure she would try to get you to fight for him. “If you don’t love him anymore, then move on. For both your sakes.”

Oh. She didn’t know you still loved him.

How the hell were you supposed to move on?

I miss you when I can't sleep

Or right after coffee

Or right when I can't eat

I miss you in my front seat

Still got sand in my sweaters

From nights we don't remember

Do you miss me like I miss you?

Fucked around and got attached to you

Friends can break your heart too, and

I'm always tired but never of you

Bellamy broke with the end of your relationship. You were his whole world for so long that the moment you were gone, he was floating through space looking for the next planet to land on. That’s when he found Gina. The first thing he realized though was she wasn’t you, and Bellamy couldn’t get you out of his head. He heard your laugh during breakfast even when you weren’t in the room and at night, when he was trying to sleep, he longed for the chance to roll over and pull you against him.

This morning when Bellamy was digging through his closet for a certain shirt, he felt himself stop breathing. He didn’t mean to, but a sweatshirt he had buried in the back of the closet just happened to come out. It was one he wore just a couple days before you broke up with him, when the two of you snuck down to the beach next to Arkadia at night.

Sand was still stuck to the fabric, the slight smell of the beach filling Bellamy’s senses as his eyes watered. He was frozen in place with the piece of clothing sat in his hands and his knuckles turned white from his grip.

Why did have to get so attached to you? Why did it have to end in with the breaking of his heart?

He hoped you missed him as much as he missed you. He tried to move on with Gina, but she’s just a distraction and she knew it. She knew how attached Bellamy was to you.

He kept saying how fucked he was to have fallen in love with you. You were friends long before you were a couple and if you had stayed just friends then maybe he’d be alright.

But he never would’ve been “just friends” with you. He knew he was in love with you before he even asked you out. You were the one person who could bring out the soft side of the King, someone Bellamy could never tire of seeing at the end of the day as long as he saw your smile.

If I pulled a you on you, you wouldn't like that shit

I put this real out, but you wouldn't bite that shit

I type a text but then I nevermind that shit

I got these feelings but you never mind that shit

Oh oh, keep it on the low

You're still in love with me but your friends don't know

If u wanted me you would just say so

And if I were you, I would never let me go

Bellamy knew you were staring at him whenever he entered the room, your eyes naturally went looking for him for so long and he knew how hard not to seek you out. He felt hot under your gaze, like he wasn’t supposed to have it, but the moment you look away, he just wanted to feel it again. He could see from across the room as you and Octavia talked, his sister sparing Bellamy far too many glances for his liking. He watched Octavia leave you sitting at the table, your eyes stuck on the metal in front of you before you pushed yourself up and made direct eye contact with Bellamy. He knew that look on your face, the one you wore moments before you were about to break down.

He wanted to chase after you when you ran, but that wasn’t his place anymore. You told him it wasn’t his place as much as he wanted it to be.

“Just go.” Gina’s sweet voice invaded Bellamy’s thoughts as he realized he had been staring at your vacant space for too long. He turned to her, seeing the smile on her face she nodded towards the door. “Go! Before you chicken out!” She chuckled at Bellamy’s stunned expression, knowing he must think her crazy for pushing her boyfriend in the direction of his ex. But she also knew Bellamy needed closure.

Without another word, Bellamy followed you out of the dining hall, his eyes scanning the halls to try to find you. He stopped himself, mentally cursing himself as he left the Ark, heading straight to the body of water nearby.

That’s where he found you, your legs cross and knees pulled to your chest as you stared out to the water, watching the sun disappear across the horizon.

“You didn’t need to follow me.” You called out to Bellamy, the crunching of rocks under his boots before sand telling you exactly who it was.

“Why’d you run out?” He couldn’t sit next to you, the first time hearing your voice since that night affecting him more than he thought.

“Bellamy, I don’t want to talk rig-“

“No.” he spat out, watching your shoulders droop before pushing yourself up, wiping off the sand that clung to your pants. Bellamy’s cracked world began to slowly piece itself together when he looked into your eyes, the E/C hues staring back at him. He cleared his throat. “We’re gonna talk.”

You nodded, licking your lips and swallowing. “Fine. What do you want to talk about?”

Bellamy raised a brow at you. “Maybe start with why we broke up.” You scoffed, turning around to face away from him as you buried your head in your hands. “Y/N. Come on, we both know if I was the one breaking up with you and didn’t tell you why, you’d demand to know why. You’d never let me get away with something like this.”

You spun around with parted lips as you stared at him. “Something like this? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re giving up on us without telling me the reason why.”

“Maybe there is no reason.”

“We both know that’s not the case.”

“Maybe I just don’t love you anymore.” Bellamy couldn’t speak anymore. Your eyes were lined so heavily with tears he was shocked they hadn’t fallen yet. You couldn’t have meant that. 

I don't mean no harm

I just miss you on my arm

Wedding bells were just alarms

Caution tape around my heart

You ever wonder what we could have been?

You said you wouldn't and you fucking did

Lie to me, lie with me, get your fucking fix

Now all my drinks and all my feelings are all fucking mixed

“You’re lying.” He tried, begging for you to give in, to tell him you still loved him and that you’d always love him. But the longer you stayed quiet, the quicker he realized that wouldn’t be the case.

“Why would I, Bellamy? What good would that do me?” It hurt you to say those words, but you weren’t good enough for him.

“You know you don’t have to fuck with my feelings. You could just tell me the truth, Y/N. Why did you break up with me?”

“Bellamy-“

“Just tell me!”

“I hate you!” you shouted. They always say the eyes are the window to the soul and you just watched Bellamy’s heart break. Your breath was shaky as you tried to remain calm. “I hate you, Bellamy Blake.”

Bellamy didn’t say anything, his face was void of any emotion as he turned around, leaving you on the beach as he tramped back to the Ark.

He never should’ve imagined a future with you, getting married or growing old together. It was stupid and look at him now. His heart was shattered into a million pieces and left on the beach by your feet.

He stopped by the bar on his way back, grabbing 1, 2 or several drinks and ignoring anyone who tried to talk to him. He just needed to drown his feelings away right now and no better way then alcohol.

Always missing people that I shouldn't be missing

Sometimes you gotta burn some bridges just to create some distance

I know that I control my thoughts and I should stop reminiscing

But I learned from my dad that it's good to have feelings

When love and trust are gone

I guess this is moving on

Everyone I do right does me wrong

So every lonely night, I sing this song

The light in his room was gone as he sat on the floor, leaning against his bed. Cups, some empty and some spilt, sat around him, the alcohol already hitting his brain. His eyes were on the door, waiting for it to open to you coming in to apologize and say you still loved him.

The door did open.

“Bellamy?” He hated the way his stomach dropped at the sound of Gina’s voice. She pushed the door open more, looking past to see Bellamy flushed as ever as he sat in the dark. She turned the light on and crossed her arms in front of her chest, sighing at the sight of him.

She stayed silent as she began to clean up the glasses, putting them on his desk and pulling Bellamy to his feet. He didn’t object, only giving a few grunts here and there as she laid him in his bed, pulling his shoes off and putting them by his bed. Bellamy let his eyes close, Gina moving about quietly as she took care of him, just like you used to.

He missed you.

He felt Gina press a kiss to his forehead before making her way to leave, but Bellamy stopped her as he grabbed her wrist.

“Stay.”

Gina smiled at the softness of his words, his eyes still closed as Gina exhaled. She kicked off her own shoes, pulling up the blanket and slid in next to him. Bellamy hesitated before pulling her closer into his side. This was progress.

This was moving on with his girlfriend.

All alone I watch you watch her

Like she's the only girl you've ever seen

You don't care you never did

You don't give a damn about me

Yeah all alone I watch you watch her

She's the only thing you've ever seen

How is it you'll never notice

That you are slowly killing me

What did you do? What the hell did you do?!

You lost him. Well, you already lost him, but now you buried the map, threw away the compass, and blindfolded yourself because now you truly had no way of ever getting Bellamy back. It was a game of love and hate and you were losing. You both were.

At least he looked happy. That first 24 hours after you said… those words, he looked awful and by result, so did you. But now you hadn’t seen Bellamy without Gina on his arm, clinging as if her life depended on it. It made you sick.

Here you were again staring at him from across the room, only this time you weren’t sure if he noticed you were there, too preoccupied in his girlfriend. You tried not to mind, hoping it was going to help you move on, but it looks like it was going to take more than that.

“This seat taken?” You looked up into a pair of unfamiliar blue eyes, a smirk sitting on his face as you shook your head. Blue eyes sat down, two shots being placed on the table for each of you. “So, who’s the guy?”

You chuckled, biting his lip. Who was this guy that he didn’t know who Bellamy Blake was? “Ex-boyfriend.”

His smirk, if it was even possible, got bigger. “So, I have a shot?”

“With him? Looks taken.” You joked, downing your shot. Blue eyes laughed at your joke, the sound getting Bellamy’s attention right away as your laughs joined in.

“Well then how about with you?” You didn’t say anything, looking to Bellamy for a hint of what to do. His eyes were back on Gina and it looked like they were deep in conversation. The way he looked at her, his eyes focused so intensely, you were positive to Bellamy that Gina was the only thing that existed in this moment. Did he ever look at you like that?

“I’m not up for a date, but a distraction seems really nice right now.” You raised a brow and bit your lip, hoping blue eyes knew what you were getting at.

The knowing smirk on his lips made you think he caught on. “Your room or mine?” You reached over, taking his shot glass and drowning it as you stood up, wincing at the scrapping chair. Blue eyes stood too and followed you out of the dining hall, reciprocating the grin you threw over your shoulder.

You spared a glance to Bellamy as you left but like you assumed, he hadn’t even glanced your way as you left.

And the realization you lost him, slowly killed you all over again.

I hate you I love you

I hate that I love you

Don't want to, but I can't put

Nobody else above you

I hate you I love you

I hate that I want you

You want her, you need her

And I'll never be her

The regret of sleeping with blue eyes came immediately after it happened. You hadn’t even known his name. You were positive he said it last night, but it was the last thing on your mind. Like always, Bellamy was the first.

It was barely dawn when you left your room, blue eyes having left hours before. You just needed air and no better place to do it than by the water- the water where Bellamy and Gina were currently cuddled up on the sand together in the spot you and Bellamy deemed your place.

Your heart couldn’t take the pain you were experiencing, the feeling of numbness everywhere except where you needed it most.

Why was it so hard to watch?

Because you didn’t hate him. You were still fucking in love with him.

A/N: God, I love this song. 😊 🎶 Also I stayed up all night and wrote this lmao... I watched the sun go down and I just watched it come back up. Please don’t let this piece flop because I have a class call in just a few hours and I still have work to do that I neglected to do this. 😬

Tags Open!

Permanent: @literal-fand0m-trash​ @just4muggles​ @saturn-aka-six​ @nathaliabakes​ @whyamihere-bro​ @colored-confetti​ @wiseeggspickleslime​ @btsiguess-kpop​ @galacticstxrdust​ @independentgirl​ @wellhellotherelovey​ @hollymac79​ @delicately-important-trash​ @emcchi​ @rauwz​  @herondalescecilys​ @chewymoustachio​ @smilexcaptainx​

Bellamy: @jodiereedus22 @nyxxxwtp @danielabetancourth @a-sweet-little-fangirl @bellkadia @werosies

[cal-cium-the-nerd]

High key don't know how to use tumblr so I'm back here to respond to you...I feel like such a boomer. Anyways! yay! Thank you for the welcome! I'm glad to be here! Zach and Zorian are so wholesome and I'm weak to BFFs. And yes, I did spent an hour or two yesterday just liking practically all your MOL posts...I think I was going crazy near the end, but it was a good experience 10/10 would do again. I too, wish fic would write itself. I'm like so fucking motivated to try to write something though.

(Not gonna lie though, I had no idea there was a fandom. I started reading...2 years ago? Pretty recently. Took a break to wait for more chapters but then it got completed hahah. Last time I checked aka 2 years ago, there really wasn't a fandom. I was so surprised to find fanfic the other day. A pleasant one to be sure though haha)

sorry it took me a bit long to answer, i’ve just been kinda busy lately >.< and yeah, the MoL fandom is... pretty small, and the somewhat frequent activity it has now is mostly due to like the 4/5 of us who just cant let go of this book (i started (shit)posting a lot around october/november 2019 and people liked my posts and answered back so... yeah. i guess i ended up becoming a mol-centric blog)

the reddit also has a bit of activity every now and then, so if you’re still starved for content i’d recommend checking it out. and there’s always Nobody’s worldbuilding blog (which got 2 new posts yesterday!!) where he posts articles (would that be the correct term?) about the setting of MoL that weren’t expanded in the story, and he also answers all the comments and questions (you can get A LOT of extra info by reading the comments. highly recommend. one of these days I’ll try to go over all of them again and compile the best ones neatly though, since it takes a long time to read them all. I mean, as of today (01/11/2020) there are 1927 comments in total, counting Nobody’s responses). 

of course, also check out Nobody’s reddit account for the comments/questions he’s answered over there, since he also answers mol questions in r/rational and you wont find those on the mol reddit. And there’s his patreon, too! he posts updates more or less once a month and he’s also given snippets of his next projects (he’s currently deciding between 2 ideas for his next story) (i personally haven’t read any of the snippets, since they might end up containing spoilers and i wanna be surprised). there are also patreon comments over there which you can read for even more extra info. (you can consider donating but since he earns by chapter and he hasn’t been posting chapters since february, he won’t be receiving money from patreon for the foreseeable future)

those are all the places i can think of right now where you can find some resemblance of a ‘fandom’ for MoL (well, there’s also the comments on RoyalRoad, which he sometimes answers, but he’s admitted that there are way too many for him to keep track of them all so he doesn’t answer them as much as the worldbuilding blog comments). 

actually- well, i mean. there’s also the AO3 mol fics (16 already! i still remember when i started writing and there were only 2 fics..), of course, but i’m guessing you’ve probably already seen those. i know that there are also a few fics on ff.net, but i don’t really understand how to search in that website (there only ones i can find right now are nepene’s fics, which you can find on their ff.net account labeled as ‘misc. books’) 

there are also a few fantranslations of the novel, which have comments from non-english-speaking fans. Nobody doesn’t answer those (obviously) but he once said he likes to put them in google translate and try to figure out what they say which is the cutest thing ever. 

okay this is getting a bit side-tracked, but basically those are all the places i know where you can find mol content. there’s definitely a fandom for MoL, though it’s small and all over the place, but we exist. 

in any case, if you do decide to write something i’d love to read it! (as would many other people, trust me, we’re starved) 

as a last note- if you want to answer posts without a character limit and with a bit more of writing freedom, just reblog them! ^^ don’t hesitate to ask if there’s anything else i can help with! (or if you just want to discuss headcanons, i love doing that)