#-for me I feel like you would also tell me it isn't really a good date if only one of us are enjoying ourselves and would rule out-

[iamthatonefangirl]

miss possessive - congressman bucky barnes

okay not my best work, i swear i have like nine drafts i've come up with in a week, none of them good enough to post.

this is inspired by miss possessive by tate mcrae even though i completely lost sight of the song really quickly

~~~

you really had no right to be so jealous.

you watched him from across the floor, sipping on your flute of champagne. you'd grabbed it off of one of those waiters' trays as they were walking about the room.

it tasted like shit. you didn't like the taste of wine, and it wasn't even enough to get you drunk.

you knew this kind of event was difficult for him to sit through, but hey, he made his choice going into politics.

you watched as he made his rounds, speaking to various donors and attempting to charm them. you watched as all their wives fawned over your-

no.

you watched as all their wives fawned over him, bringing him in for a hug instead of a handshake. of course they were interested; he was the best looking man here. yes, he was the oldest man in the room, but appeared to be the youngest and was, regardless, easily the most attractive. and all the thirty-some wives of the cranky old rich white men wanted him.

it pissed you off. not that you had the right to be pissed, but. oh well. you're just a girl.

after two flutes of champagne, you watch as one of the donors receives a phone call, leaving his wife with Bucky. ever the gentleman, he would never leave a woman all by herself in a room full of sharks who might try to snatch her up. 

Bucky was very much a different man than he was in the forties, of course. doesn't mean he lost the ability to attract every woman in the room.

you can't stand idly by as she puts his hands all over him, and he can't take his eyes off of her. no, of course he would never go for a married woman. what he did know, though, was that if he pissed her off, her husband wouldn't donate to his campaign.

you roll your eyes and decide it's time for some hard liquor.

you hide in the corner of the room, drinking your much stronger beverage as fast as possible. no, getting drunk at a professional event isn't the best idea, but what do you care. you're not the star of the show.

he is.

he's the brilliant ex-POW who's turned his entire life around in a whole new century. he's the gorgeous soldier who not only survived, but is also electing to do something meaningful with his life. 

he's the star tonight.

he's the star of every thought you have of your future, but that can't possibly come to surface now. it's not the time or place. 

watching him entertain this woman truly boils your blood, but at least you have some actual alcohol in your system now. you no longer feel the need to justify why her hands on his pristine suit makes you want to grab her by the diamonds around her neck and yank her off of him. you can justify your desire to grab him by the tie to pull him away from her and yell at him for not focusing on what's important. 

you bite your tongue. you knew it was all a ploy.

doesn't mean you had to like it. 

~~~

while you stand at the bar waiting for your second beverage of the evening, a man comes up next to you, and the bartender takes his drink order. 

you give him a small, awkward smile as you briefly make eye contact. you're kind of shocked: he's definitely the only man in this room who appears to be younger than 60, Bucky excluded.

you almost startle when he speaks up, introducing himself. Michael, he says his name is.

you turn to actually face him this time. roughly 40, plenty taller than you, and brown hair sprinkled with some greys in there. your perfect type. you quietly tell yourself you're done drinking–no way you're gonna fuck this up. if you weren't so mad about Bucky's new admirer, you might be a tad less inclined to speak to him, but… 

you step closer as you give him a real smile and introduce yourself.

"so, correct me if I'm wrong, but something tells me you're here alone tonight," he begins, indicating to your left hand. no ring. 

you laugh a little. 

"you would be correct," you tell him. "I could say the same about you."

he smiles back at you. it's so beautiful you forget all about your boss and the woman he's now got on his arm as he continues to walk around–

well. you almost forget. good enough.

"you would also be correct."

you explain why you're here, you work for one of the candidates. although, you don't tell him who, exactly. he explains why he's here, one of the patrons. you have to pry the information out of him, but you appreciate it: he's trying to talk to you without flashing his money in your face. it's noble, you think.

you eventually learn he's interested in actually getting to know the candidates' campaigns, not just what they think they can offer him in return for his money.

"you know, I would be happy to learn more about your boss' campaign. from one of the people who probably understands it best," he tells you. you're slightly taken aback for a moment, not aware this was a business interaction. you never even told him who your boss was, so it was confusing, to say the least.

you felt stupid for thinking he was actually interested, for thinking that he was flirting with you.

"oh, of course-" you begin to tell him, but he interjects, "after I take you out, perhaps?"

your smile perks back up subconsciously. so you didn't have it wrong.

"I would love that," you tell him, carefully taking the lapels of his jacket into your hands. you feel his hands come to your waist, and it's like a jolt of energy runs up your spine.

you look closer and almost flip your shit as you see his eyes up close. they're Bucky's eyes. he's not Bucky, sadly, but. 

you're fucked.

"maybe dinner can happen... another time?" you offer, hoping he gets the hint. you realize you probably look like a whore throwing yourself at him like this.

he chuckles. "I've got a room upstairs, if you'd like to come have drinks instead of dinner."

hell yes. you're gonna score tonight, even if it's not with the man you dream about with your hands between your legs every night-

"I would," you say, and bite your tongue. "I just... have to stick around until this thing is over. yeah?"

he nods and steps back. "I suppose I should also do what I came here for," he chuckles. "I'll come find you later?"

you smile and you feel your face go pink. "sounds good."

you can't help the fact that your gaze reverts immediately back to your boss the second the man walks off. Bucky hasn't spared you a single glance all evening, but the second you look back at him this time, you're suddenly staring into his beautiful eyes. 

he holds eye contact with you for what feels like an eternity. his expression is muted, no real emotion showing. maybe... curiosity?

of course he's not going to look mad, or upset, or jealous. you have to stop thinking he'd ever look at you with anything other than pure professionalism.

because he's everything. and you're just a kid, lost in the world, desperately in love with your boss, and everything is fucking falling apart around you.

at least you've got a rich, hot, older man ready to fuck you tonight.

~~~

you kept to your word to yourself and didn't drink for the rest of the night, although you continued hovering at the bar for the semblance of safety it provided.

you continued staring at Bucky for the next two hours. the clingy woman's husband had, in fact, returned and took her away from Bucky. clearly, she was pissed, but tried to hide it. you had to bite back a smirk.

he didn't look back at you once for the rest of the evening.

eventually, the crowd dies down. you realize that now, you have to explain to your boss that you won't be riding back to the office with him, effectively telling him your exact plans for the rest of the night. embarrassing!

you're almost ready to bite the bullet and bid Bucky a good night, scanning the room for him, when you hear a voice from behind you. 

"we still on for drinks?"

you plaster a smile on your face as you turn around to the man standing behind you.

"absolutely," you say, taking his hands. "lead the way."

you begin to follow the man, telling yourself to try and remember to shoot your boss a text to 'not worry about you' before getting your clothes torn off by this man who's currently whisking you away.

you get into the elevator with him, what's his name, you think? oh, Michael, and yank him in hard, crashing your mouths together, putting all of your energy into how badly you need this.

you're startled by the sound of a clanging of metal, ripping your mouth away from the man's and turning to face the noise.

well, apparently, you were too eager and stupid enough to not wait for the elevator doors to entirely shut, because you see now that the noise was a result of Bucky's vibranium arm grabbing the elevator door. he pushes it open and steps inside, eyes piercing daggers through you the whole time.

you stand there, appalled. the man gently pulls away from you, reaching out a hand to attempt to shake Bucky's hand.

"Mr. Barnes, it's a pleasure," he begins. "my apologies for this... less than ideal meeting."

Bucky doesn't even look at the man, eyeing you up and down, taking in your smudged lipstick and the way your dress is slightly out of place.

the man attempts once more to interject. "Mr. Barnes, please, don't worry about her. why don't us men go back downstairs and have a real discussion? I'd love to hear more about your campaign."

wait. why do his words sound like they're throwing you under the bus, almost?

Bucky notices it, too, you realize. he tilts his head in the man's direction before actually averting his gaze to look at him.

"and leave the lady all by herself?" he asks.

"don't worry about that. she's... inconsequential. if you and I can just go back downstairs and–"

"what did you just say?" Bucky asks. you swear he doesn't look like your boss anymore, but someone... else.

the man is taken aback by Bucky's demeanor. his mouth gapes like an idiot.

"you do know this is my assistant, right?" Bucky asks him. the man's face goes pale as the pieces slot together in his head.

"Mr. Barnes, my apologies, truly," he says.

you just stand there feeling more stupid than ever. inconsequential? wow, okay. you almost don't even care that he's dismissing your entire existence, but you can't stand the fact that he's doing it in front of Bucky. you care more about what Bucky thinks of you than literally anyone else, and now? now he's going to see you as a fucking slut who isn't even good enough for a man to commit to for one night.

god, you're pathetic.

"shouldn't you be apologizing to her?" Bucky grits.

the elevator doors open to the man's floor, and he mumbles a sorry under his breath as he runs out.

great. not only do you look pathetic in front of your boss, but you're not getting fucked tonight, either. just great.

the doors shut behind Bucky, who has now returned his gaze to you. you wonder if he's going to press the button to go back to the lobby.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, Mr. Barnes," you say, swallowing your embarrassment as you stand up straight and adjust your dress.

he just stares at you.

"what?" you ask.

"are you okay?" he asks, and he looks genuinely concerned.

you know he cares about you, you're his assistant, after all. but that's it.

"fine," you assure him, and begin to reach behind him to press the button to take you back down to the lobby.

he gently grabs your wrist before you can.

you look at him, confused. you know your face says it all.

"Mr.–" you begin.

"Bucky," he corrects.

"can I press the button, Mr. Barnes?"

he still hasn't let go of your wrist. you feel stupid for enjoying the feel of his metal hand against your skin, for getting to feel a part of him that's real.

"you know, you clearly picked out the worst of the men here tonight," he observes.

you roll your eyes and pull your wrist away from him before you do something stupid.

"are you kidding? this place was riddled with capitalist billionaires and politicians. like you," you say, smirking.

he chuckles a little.

you can't help yourself, though. can't let it go unsaid.

"clearly you had some interested parties of your own tonight."

he rolls his eyes and finally turns away from you, pressing the button for the lobby. you let out a quiet sigh of relief. being in this elevator any longer, with him? that would just about kill you.

"you noticed that, huh?" he asks.

"who didn't?" you mumble. but of course, he's not just a politician, he's an enhanced, so he hears it.

"look, I knew she was married, I was never going to-" he begins to explain, but you cut him off.

"oh, I don't care what she does in her own fucked-up marriage."

oh my god. what did you just say? did you just admit to the fact that the only reason you did care was because she was fawning over Bucky?

fuck.

the elevator doors open, and you rush out.

you can hear the smirk on his face as he trails after you.

"so, you were really going to sleep with that guy, huh?" he teases.

you stop in your tracks. most everyone has left by now, leaving only you and Bucky in the room aside from the clean-up crew. you turn back to face him.

"can we just go?"

he nods and calls for the car to come around.

~~~

twenty minutes, you remind yourself.

in twenty minutes, you'll have made it back to the office, and you can go get in your own car and take yourself back to your own place and you won't have to be sitting thigh to thigh with your boss in the back of a limo that would totally be hot to fuck in-

he clears his throat, and you turn your head to face him.

"what that guy said..." he begins. you roll your eyes in anger at the reminder. you didn't even care he said it, you just wish he hadn't said it in front of Bucky.

you wave your hand as though waving off the thought, and waving off Bucky's concern. but it doesn't quite work like that.

"you're not inconsequential."

he says it with such a conviction you feel it deep in your bones, in the very core of your being. he sounds so authentic that it almost hurts.

a million thoughts swirl in your head. you could say i know, you could get defensive, you could say thanks, Bucky...

a better one pops in your head.

"how did you know where I was? you didn't see me all evening."

the limo stops moving. the driver rolls down the divider to grumble something about traffic at this hour? before rolling it back up again.

great. now it's going to take even longer to get home to your vibrator.

Bucky sees the interruption as a way to drop the matter. you press it.

"Mr. Barnes?"

"god, would you stop calling me that?"

you see him turn away from you to look out the window, biting his lip and rubbing his forehead. you've now frustrated him, and he's mad at you. this is good. it's easier for you to deal with him being angry at you than him being nice to you.

you know he just wants you to call him Bucky, but you're a smartass.

"yeah, okay, sorry. Sergeant Barnes," you mumble, smirking to yourself.

he about flips his shit. why is he getting so worked up?

"seriously?" he asks, turning back to you. his eyes are blown back, in anger, probably. not lust, like you wish they were. because you're just a stupid kid, and he's just your boss with a lifetime of trauma. you could never understand him the way you wanted to.

"what?" you say, biting your lip as you smile, continuing to tease him.

you swear that for a second, he glances down to your lips.

SHIT!

in that embarrassing moment, you realize your lipstick is still smudged across your face from the moment in the elevator. your heart rate shoots up as you bury your head in your chest, bringing your hand to wipe away the mess of your face, before turning to face the opposite way from him.

you are, well and truly, stuck in traffic. some concert, or sports game, or whatever...

which means you're stuck, pressed up against your boss, in the back of this tiny limo right now, for only god knows how much longer.

you're pulling your phone out of your clutch when he says your name.

you want to lean into the feeling, how smooth it is. how crisp his voice is, how pretty it sounds saying your name, as though he's genuinely paying you any attention whatsoever.

"you're not inconsequential."

it flares your anger, all of it coming up from your gut and into your throat, as you respond.

"god, would you forget it already?" you snap.

shit, shit, shit. you fucked up. you just snapped at your boss, of all people. you try to backtrack, throw out a million comments of "sorry," but that's it, you're getting fired.

you finally look back at him, and he's actually looking at you. like, it feels like he's staring into your soul, seeing all the pieces of you that you're trying to keep hidden from him.

the car begins moving again.

~~~

he watches you, trying to figure you out, as always.

he can't think of a better word for it than the fact that you genuinely amuse him.

he sees the look in your eyes, the way you're desperately trying to cover up the shame you feel over what happened in the elevator. he's trying to be gentle about it, trying to assure you that what the man said was utter bullshit, but you keep shutting him down.

god, and you look so...

no. you're, like, 80-plus years younger than him (he rubs his temples every time he remembers his age) and employed by him. any interest on his part would be purely inappropriate, a gross misuse of his position of power.

and god, his fucking age, man. he shouldn't even be around anymore-

anyways.

you look at him with those fucking doe eyes, going back and forth between anger, and shame, and something else he can't quite pinpoint.

this is probably the worst part of what happened. you're always so unapologetically yourself, but he can tell this man has gotten under your skin.

even if it's not his job to comfort you, he doesn't want you to feel like that. because who you are is perfect. 

~~~

one minute, you're staring into his eyes, trying to read the look on his face. 

the next, you're bracing yourself as the car spins out of control, feeling hit after hit of various cars all crashing into you sequentially.

you don't register it until after it's all over. the way he's wrapped himself around you as though to protect you. his flesh arm cradles your head to his chest and his vibranium hand wraps itself around the back of your neck.

you take a few deep breaths and begin to pull away from him, looking up to his face as you do. his eyes widen in shock as he looks at you. what? what is it?

"fuck, we gotta get you to a hospital." 

~~~

part 2 out by friday 3/28/25!

masterlist

tag list

tagged: @clavedelune

[tillichan]

game character!reader AU | general headcanons

About: In another parallel universe somewhere, Sylus, Zayne, Xavier, Caleb and Rafayel are just the common people who have the fattest crush on you, game character. Warnings: fem!reader. Author's note: I post it again because one reader asked me to do it recently. Unfortunately, I still have a lot of requests and I'm going to do a milestone event. So I haven't enough time to create a new writing blog as I promised. But, my dears, if you like this story and would like to request something about it or ramble, please feel free to request! Besides, I was thinking of doing their reaction to Nightly Rendezvous card, let me know if you're interested or share your ideas about their reaction!

Sylus

"Ahhh, why I am such a loser?!"

The sudden shout coming from the office made Sylus wince. It was Luke and Kieran, his subordinates, who neglected their duties again. Instead of work for the good of Onychinus Group, they were concerned about a video game.

"Should I reduce your salary?", Sylus loomed large around them. "Maybe then you can stop playing games instead of working"

"This is the last time!"

"We won't do it again, boss!"

Sylus raised his eyebrows skeptically. "You said that an hour ago. Besides, what's so interesting about this game?"

Oh, how wrong he was when he asked about it. The eyes of Luke and Kieran lighted up with excitement. They were eager to tell about this addictive game, Love and Deepspace, that won the hearts of people around the world. They dragged their boss down to hell.

"And today a new chapter was released! We unlocked a new character, (y/n)! She's our new favorite and we were trying to get her limited 5 star card, but, ugh, we suck at it", Kieran ranted.

"I can't believe! Boss, your presence brings good luck! I got (y/n)'s limited card!", screamed Luke and showed Sylus his phone screen.

There were you. And you were... hot. No, this simple word couldn't describe you. You were ethereal. Queen.

Sylus's eyes winded uncontrollably as he looked at you. It was the day when Sylus downloaded the game and… really got into it.

• You're Dragon Queen in a previous life and the head of 109 Zone, the Queen of underground world in this life. And you are the Queen of Sylus's heart. Oh, dear, falling in love with a game character was the last thing Sylus expected of his life. But can we blame him? No one resist your charms. • Sylus pretends that he's a very casual player who plays only when he wants to play. Hint: he wants to play every day. Especially he loves to open up the quality time menu to work or train with you. • He doesn't like MC at all. Like the creators, why? He wants to be your badass boss of Onychinus, not this wholesome boy. He secretly dreams about the day you will be aware of his existence. Or, at least, he wants to create not only MC appearance, but also his personality. • Being the boss of Onychinus Group, a very influential company that is engaged in the delivery of fruits and other... things, means that Sylus is a very reach person. And he is more than ready to invest all his own personal finances into you, his queen. All limited cards, the most beautiful and expensive clothes, Sylus has it all. How else? His queen deserves the best. • To clarify the situation, Sylus isn't interested in game and in other love interests. All he wants is you. Sometimes he asks Luke and Kieran in a voluntary-compulsory manner to read the chapters without you to unlock your chapters. • This is the reason why he has the max affinity level with you. And almost 0 with other love interests. • He is so whipped, oh. Luke and Kieran cringe every time they see him playing Love and Deepspace, because he looks at his screen with such of love and adoration as his fingers brushes against the cold surface gently. "Good evening, my queen", he whispers and kisses his screen. After this Luke and Kieran will never peep.

Xavier

"Look! That's young master Xavier! Ah, he is so handsome~"

"I heard that he's the young master of this Philo Clan, the most powerful family in our country".

"Really? But he is kinda... weird. He doesn't interact with anyone, he spends most of his time playing with his phone or sleeping. We are the classmates, so I know what I'm saying".

Xavier could hear the voices even over the music played on his earphones. But he wasn't interested because all he wanted was to get home as soon as he can, hole up in his room and play Love and Deepspace.

Xavier wanted to see you. He needed you. You, his guiding star, his princess, his favorite Love and Deepspace character. The only one reason Xavier wakes up in the morning.

Even though his home was always full of people, Xavier has always felt like he was alone in life. His parents were always busy, they were only interested in him as a future head of Philo Clan. But no one has wanted him, just Xavier. That's why he closed himself and started spending his time alone practicing fencing, listening to music and playing video games.

Love and Deepspace was just another video game. And Xavier didn't expect much of it. But then you appeared and he was smitten with you, a princess of Philos with saint powers. For the first time in his life, Xavier stayed up all night. He just couldn't stop playing, he wanted to find out more about you.

You are a ray of light in darkness of his life. His life, his body, his soul, all this belongs to you.

• First of all, Xavier is very possessive player. He is jealous of another players, even of MC! Yes, of course, his MC looks just like him and his name is Xavier too, but he is still not him. Not that he makes trouble or something like this, but the fact that you are not aware of his existence makes Xavier sooo disappointed. Not to mention that there are so many players that love you and post a lot of posts about you. Xavier tries to avoid it, because he feels that seeing you with another player or MC breaks his heart. • He'd lose his mind if he sees your NSFW pictures with another MC. He is about to call his hacker friend Jeremiah and ask to hack the account and delete all pictures. • Xavier is your the most loyal and devoted player. He plays only for you, he doesn't interested in other love interests. He reads only main story and your cards. Especially he likes quality time and ASMR, because these options make Xavier feel that you see him, not MC. • One more person, who very much wants you to be aware of his existence. He sleeps a lot because he can meet you in his dreams and he wished upon a falling stars to meet you in his next life. • He has completed reading all your bonds, memories and myths, maxed his affinity with you and acquired all your memories. He sleeps to the sound of your voice, he loves to talk to you, not to mention that he has so many your favorite voice lines and pictures, oh, that's crazy. Xavier is down bad. • Once a month the creators of Love and Deepspace receive an anonymous donation. It's an astronomical amount. And your birthday now is literally a national holiday followed by a fireworks, your face on all the posters, buildings and TV.

Caleb

Caleb grew up in the children's house and was adopted into a family. Despite a difficult childhood, Caleb was fine because you were with him. You always helped him fighting difficulties and cheered him up whenever Caleb was in a bad mood. You, his favorite character of Love and Deepspace.

At first, Caleb was skeptical of this video game. But his classmates and friends were obsessed by Love and Deepspace, so Caleb was just dragged into this. Why not, after all, it's just a game, he thought. Oh, this naive boy...

Honestly, the main love interests did not interest Caleb. He just read the main story and then you appeared. You were MC's childhood friend who grew up the children's house with him. And Caleb couldn't help but fell for you.

Then you died. In this chapter. Caleb was so disappointed, he nearly crashed his phone and stopped playing for a while. Until his friends shared with him the amazing news, Love and Deepspace reveal a new love interest, you.

Oh, how happy Caleb was! He opened Love and Deepspace after a few months break and started playing again. He completed the all chapters in a day just to unlock your story.

And as soon as you appeared again, Caleb became obsessed with you, cool and badass colonel who has a softest spot for MC.

• Caleb is a little... toxic player. He wants you to be only his and he also doesn't like the way you are so popular. Not that Caleb is jealous of other players, but... He is better than they all, right? He wants to love and protect you and treat you how you deserve to be treated. That's why every time Caleb sees the players say something disrespectful he goes crazy. No mercy, he will destroy them all. • Caleb is so disappointed that there are so many good cards and events without you. Like why? He aggressively waits for more your content and he completed reading all your bonds, memories and myths. • Like the others, Caleb absolutely isn't interested in other love interests. Sometimes he finds them annoying because they distract MC from you. MC (him, Caleb) and you are the couple made in heaven, they should always be together. Not to mention that there wasn't enough your content, so why the creators continue to add other love interests in your story. That's not fair! • He wants to become an astronaut and find you one day. Because maybe you're exist somewhere far away in space. And Caleb will get into a spaceship and go in search of you. • Oh, Caleb is obsessed. Like he collects your merch, you voice lines, your arts, your fanfics, your pictures, literally everything. He wants to surround yourself with you. He trains every day with you, sometimes he keeps the quality time open throughout the day. Caleb just wants to spend every minute with you.

Rafayel

"Mister Rafayel, you're famous artist, tell our readers what inspires you?", asked him interviewer.

"My muse, of course", confidently replied Rafayel.

"Oh! Tell us more about her, please! Who is she?!", interviewer wasn't able to hide his excitement.

"It's...", Rafayel paused, the interviewer held his breath preparing for a sensation. His eyes wide with excitement. "... a secret", Rafayel winked at camera. Interviewer sighed in frustration.

Yes, you were his muse. Mistress of a Deep Sea, an ethereal Siren, his Goddess, you the character of a video game, Love and Deepspace.

If someone told Rafayel a year ago, that he'll fall in love in a fictional girl, he'd probably wouldn't believe them. But it happened a few month ago when he heard your unearthly voice for the first time. Rafayel had the worst art block ever. He stumbled down the street in search of inspiration.

And then he heard you... You, a beautiful siren, hummed quietly to yourself from the big screen. Rafayel forgot how to breathe, because, ugh, it was the first time he saw someone so beautiful.

Rafayel downloaded the game and started playing on the same day. He became so absorbed so he forgot to sleep and eat. His manager, Tomas, found Rafayel a two days later with bruises under his eyes as he played Love and Deepspace with breathless interest.

You brought him back to life. You inspired him. Because of you Rafayel created many paintings. And each of them dedicated to you, his muse.

• Rafayel maintains a blog about you called (y/n)shusband. But he mostly posts your arts he did himself. This blog is very popular, because his arts are just so perfect. Rafayel truly believes that the animation of game does not convey all your beauty. So he does an ethereal arts of you. • He loves playing with photo booth. He spent a fortune on the clothes for you and his MC to make an aesthetic photos. You and his MC are the most beautiful pair in the world of Love and Deepspace fans. • Even though Rafayel does his best to stay cool when he plays Love and Deepspace, he fails every time. Thomas can tell that Rafayel is playing his favorite game, because his ears and cheeks are so red. He smiles like a lovesick fool while watching your cards. The way Rafayel tries to hide it is very fun. Ah, he is just head over heels. Can we blame him? Of course no. • Rafayel doesn't care about other love interests. You're his precious Siren, he doesn't want to waste his time on someone else. • He goes crazy because he. wants. to. hear. your. singing. Your voice is so ethereal, you're a siren, but he has never heard your singing. Rafayel is ready to snap, crackle and pop every time he reads just a description of your singing without your voice line. • Poor Thomas has to remind Rafayel about his work and deadlines. Otherwise he forgets about it.

Zayne

"Greyson, come here", Yvonne called him waving her hand. "Look, doctor Zayne smiles as he looks at his phone. Maybe he got a girlfriend?"

Grayson peers cautiously into the room. His colleague was right. Their cold and distant Zayne had the softest smile on his face. He sighed dreamingly and murmured: "Thank you, (y/n)".

Then he turned off the phone. Greyson and Yvonne ran away, afraid of being discovered. But they were gagging to found out who (y/n) is. They didn't know that the answer was simple. You were a game character Zayne had a fattest crush on. A secret crush, of course.

Even though Zayne doesn't seem like this, but he likes to play video games in his spare time. Of course he was interested in a new game, Love and Deepspace, it promised to be interesting. Especially because one of the characters was a healer. But Zayne didn't expect that he would have got it bad for a game character, you.

You were a healer who worked in a hospital. Your personality, your beauty, your dedication, all of this made Zayne fall in love with you. Yes, that was silly, but he couldn't do anything. He was in love. Once and for all.

• Even though Zayne is interested in story he is very loyal. If he wants to see something like myth to learn more about the plot, he just watches it on YouTube. He isn't interested in other love interests at all though. He is hopelessly in love with you. • What are you doing with his heart? Every time Zayne looks at you his heart beats like crazy and he has the butterflies in his stomach. He never expected that a crush on a game character can be so deep and intense. • Zayne adores the calendar reminders option. Every time he sees "It's time to work doctor Zayne! Have a good day!", Zayne loses his mind and feels that he's ready to move mountains. • He is very chill about your fans, another players and this stuff, Zayne just cherishes these moments the two of you share. This is his little world. • Zayne is very busy so he hasn't a lot of time to play, but he open the game every day before running and opens quality time to work together. The way you are always with him warms his heart.

[eddiegettingshot]

okay so let's just recap what happened. maddie tells buck he should try making new friends because he's not coping well with his only friend eddie being gone. so buck tries to make friends with eddie's replacement, looking like a complete loser in the process, due to he doesn't know how to make friends and eddie's just a freak disguised as a pretty cool and normal dude. they manage to settle on an activity that eddie should probably not haunt (drinking) except for that buck is really intent on making sure eddie haunts everything and everyone so he spends the entire time talking about how he is eddie's princess and eddie is soooo good at stuff and has never done anything wrong in his life and he's so much fun, let's play this drinking game he taught me! ravi who is sick of this forcibly inserts tommy in his place and gets the hell out of there before buck can say eddie's name a billionth time. tommy doesn't really get what he's supposed to be doing there and doesn't give a shit until he learns that eddie is gone, upon which he Turns It On and they end up going back to. well. (tommy voice) eddie's house. buck has not unpacked a single thing and is never even there so they have tequila-drunk sex on a bare mattress without sheets or anything, there is definitely no lube available so it's definitely dry as fuck, and afterwards buck (drunk, just had sex) still has the wherewithal to change into his sleepytime shirt (he doesn't take his watch off though) before falling asleep, so it probably isn't all that athletic either. in the morning buck wakes up in an empty (sheetsless) bed and is like Haha okay he probably just left! but no. tommy's in eddie's kitchen and he has cooked 1 pound of bacon and 17 eggs and an entire fruit salad and chopped up celery and carrots and also cut 4 bagels AND brought champagne. to celebrate their dry ex sex they had on buck's bare mattress in eddie's house, which by the way he thinks it's super weird that they're in eddie's house, but hee hee eddie's gone so he can ignore it and GET IN THERE!!!!! like he's been waiting to do for months apparently. then for some reason when buck asks him if he's not afraid buck will break his heart anymore he decides the best response is to be like WELL YEAH NOW THAT YOUR BEST FRIEND HAS MOVED TO A DIFFERENT STATE. YOU KNOW, BECAUSE OF HIS FAMILY FALLING APART DUE TO HIS GRIEF. YEAH HE'S OUT OF THE WAY NOW SO IT'S ALL GOOD OVER HERE. HOW ABOUT SOME BUBBLY? and buck, understandably, is weirded out, and also freaked out, but even he is like. Ummmm. first of all eddie rented this house. and he's straight. so you're wrong about my feelings for him, which neither of those things address. also i don't have feelings for you btw. and then tommy walks out, leaving buck with approximately 80 united states dollars' worth of breakfast, so he can call an uber from eddie's front porch. and he has to sit there and wait for his uber, and probably he's thinking, Wow if i told buck i was getting an uber right now, buck would probably say, "me and eddie got an uber once!"

[zepskies]

Ooh yay! Thanks for diving into Part 1, friend! 😍

This line 😂😂 made me burst out laughing! Brilliant!

ahaha glad you liked that one! 😆

My kind of man 😉😂 Ok, when he took her home... I have no words. I think my brain short circuited...

lol right?! And Dean got a chance to do what he does best. 😜❤️‍🔥

Oh no. There was a glimmer of hope this might be more than a one-time hook up, but I have a feeling that this action (even though it's genuine) might put a dampener on that.

A glimmer for sure, but if Dean had had more time that morning, maybe she'd have been able to hook him into that breakfast date. 🫠🫠

Ooo, a little nod to AC/DC.

Yes! I'm happy you caught that 😉🤟🏽

This really does sound like the beginning of a booty call type of phone call. Well... that is a bomb shell to drop at the wedding isn't it? Of course, he will Dean’s a decent guy. He took that news remarkable well, and I could picture him reacting this way to that news.

Right? I thought it would be understandable that she misinterprets the way he tried asking her out. 😅

A MEGA bomb for sure, but she needed to tell him some time! 😅😅 Dean did take the news really well (glad you agree on his reaction lol), though time will tell if he steps up as a future father! ❤️

Of course, Sam has put two and two together and realised what is happening. I can also picture the look on his face, waiting to see what Dean's response was to the news. I could completely imagine his response if he didn't like the answer he got.

Oh yeah, we all know how smart and intuitive Sam is, and he knows the reader well lol. If he hadn't liked that answer, you already know he would've set Dean straight 🤣🤣

😂😂 Dean definitely knows his brothers tells.

lmfao that actually might've been my favorite Dean internal monologue for this chapter.

Oh ok she's one of those women... offer 'help and advice' when really it's a way for her to have a subtle dig.

Yessss exactly. 😒😒 Reader would've liked nothing more than to prove her "balloon" theory right!! lol

I absolutely loved Dean's reaction to hearing her talk negatively about herself. He was not having any of it, and I imagine he wouldn't be too happy if he found out that Lisa's 'helpful' comments were the reason for it.

Aww I'm so glad! That was a fun scene to write, despite the angstiness of it. If Dean found out Lisa had said that, he'd probably break up with her for good right there. 🙃

In a few days we'll see more of this messy quadrangle in Part 2!! 🤣

IF I STAY - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized!Reader

Summary: Your dream is to work with kids as an elementary school teacher. Dean is well on his way to becoming a firefighter, keeping things light and “strings unattached” as he goes. After a one-night stand you never saw coming, you and Dean are forced to deal with the consequences…and figure out if the connection between you is worth fighting for.

AN: Yes, here’s another firefighter AU! Based on a request from one of my lovely Patreon members: @redhoodieone. She requested pretty much all the major beats of this story, so hopefully I did her request justice! This is also partially inspired by Fools Rush In, a beautiful movie with Salma Hayek and Matthew Perry (Rest in Peace, King).

Song Inspo: “I Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Elvis

Word Count: 8.7K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, thick thirty, hints of body insecurity, but also body appreciation, angst, and hurt/comfort.

❤️‍🔥 If I Stay Masterlist

Part 1: Fools Rush In

Slowly, your eyes slide open into the waking world. Your head is resting on something warm, firm…and a little sweaty. You pick your head up, despite the disorienting, muddy feeling of a slight hangover.

A groan bubbles in your throat. Your gaze travels downward, and you realize that what you’re looking at is more of a who.

Your eyes widen. Oh…my…God…

Not only are you very naked, but your firm pillow is too. It happens to be your best friend’s brother.

Yes, holy fucking shit! You slept with your best friend’s brother.

Biting the inside of your lip, you can’t help but take him in, here in the raw light of day as he lays peacefully on his back. His head lolls to the side on your usual pillow. Your eyes roam over the bow of his lips, the dark eyebrows, lightish brown hair that's softer than it should be between your fingers.

He’s painfully handsome. There’s a slight hesitation in your touch, but you softly trace the cut of his jaw and the stubble spread across it. That roughness feels familiar, and not just under the pads of your fingers, though the thought makes you blush. You begin to remember the night before, almost like a movie reel through your mind… 

Ooooh, right. That’s what happened.

It starts at Sam Winchester’s joint bachelor-bachelorette party at a nice hotel downtown. He and Eileen aren't the "strippers and coke" kind of party couple. They're more the "wine and brie en croute with pickled olives" on the expensive crackers you can't afford—kind of couple.

They look perfectly in love, if a bit long-suffering while Dean gives a hilarious, somewhat inappropriate, but still ultimately heartwarming toast to their happiness. After lowering the glass of champagne from his lips, his gaze catches on yours in the crowd. You suck in a subtle breath. 

Technically you’ve met him already, being one of Eileen’s bridesmaids, but there’s something about his green eyes that pin you to the floor. When he hands over the mic to Lisa Braeden, Eileen’s Maid of Honor, his head turning away from you to offer her a smile breaks the spell. It allows you to breathe.

Dean later finds you by the bar. You’re drinking a rum and coke with your slice of cake, trying not to get a single crumb on your dress. You've put a lot of work into affording it, let alone fitting in it. He leans his elbows casually on the counter and looks over at you.

“Hey, how’s it going?” he nods at you with a smile, subtly taking you in first. Then, his eyes go to your plate. “Ooh, red velvet. Gotta get me some of that.”

You smile back at him. “It’s pretty good.”

“Yeah, looks good in your hand,” he says, adding a teasing wink for good measure.

You don't know why that does it for you, but a half-flattered, half-nervous laugh tumbles out of your mouth. Sam has warned you before about Dean. Apparently his older brother is a bit of a flirt; a ladies’ man.

A man whore, are the words Eileen used.

You’re honestly surprised he’s talking to you when Eileen’s other bridesmaids, Lisa and Jo, are sipping martinis together down at the other end of the bar. Guess they didn’t want cake.

They look beautiful in their lithe, strapless little cocktail dresses. You’ve had to give up chocolate, bread, and cheese for three months straight to fit into this dress, something slinky and red that drapes over your thicker, curvy figure. But you’re proud of the fact that you’re letting yourself eat cake tonight, even though you’ve often felt like Mrs. Doubtfire while standing for pictures next to Lisa and Jo.

They’re Eileen’s friends, not so much your crowd. No matter how much you’ve tried to get to know them while helping the wedding planning in whatever way you can, you still get a high school clique vibe from the women, if with more “polite smiles.” Then they’ll typically go back to talking about crystal centerpieces—or whatever in-depth conversation they were having before you were there. 

But right now, Dean’s focus is on you. When he asks you more about yourself, you tell him about recently earning an elementary education degree.

“Ah, but you already knew that, because Sam told you we graduated college together,” you realize, with warmth tingeing your cheeks. That subject came up pretty quickly when he introduced you to his brother.

Dean’s smile confirms your suspicions, so you just keep filling the silence on reflex.

“Well, I actually just started teaching my first ever semester of second graders. They’re a bit of a handful, but overall, they’re really sweet.” Your smile falters. “Except for this one kid who likes to put little tacks on my chair. He’s kind of a menace, but I think if I bribe him with enough lollipops, he’ll give it a rest. I mean, it’s a behavioral issue and I should probably call his parents. But it's kind of hard to tell them their son is trying to make my ass into a pincushion."

Dean's laugh comes out in a sharp burst, like he wasn't expecting what just came out of your mouth. You didn't either, honestly. You giggle more out of embarrassment, ducking your head.

"He’s in second grade, you know?" you say, in between laughter. "I don't think that little footnote needs to end up on his permanent record. But then there's Micah. He's so friggin' smart. He can read at the fifth grade level already. Can you believe that? And I know I'm not supposed to have favorites, but his grades on his spelling tests get him a spot in the comfy bean bag chair pretty much every Friday. Honestly, I think that's what I like about working with kids. I get to see that spark on their face when something just finally clicks for them. Their little faces get all bright and happy and…ugh. God, I'm sorry. I'm rambling, right?”

You stop yourself with a hand sliding over your mouth, not quite covering your smile of embarrassment.

Dean’s grin just widens, making the corners of his eyes crinkle. 

"It's okay. I kinda like it," he teases.

You duck your head, biting your lip against a groan. He chuckles and reaches out for your hand, earning your nervous glance. He quirks his head.

“Hey, you're passionate about what you do, helping kids. That's nothin' to be ashamed of,” he says, brushing his thumb over your hand. “But sweetheart, I gotta ask. Am I making you nervous or something?”

God, yes, you think, especially at that sweetheart thing. It’s making your heartbeat tick up a syncopated rhythm, but you shake your head, biting the straw of your rum and coke.

“No, not at all,” you say, in a hopefully “breezy” kind of way. You touch your fingers to his wrist. “Tell me about you though. Sam mentioned that you’re a firefighter?”

“Ah, yeah. Firefighter in training,” he says, with a more genuine smile.

He just started at the Fire Academy, and he tells you about all the drills he’s had to learn and all the training he’s had to do to be able to keep up with his classes. You subtly eye him while you sip at your drink, and you notice the crisp cut of his buttoned-down shirt and leather jacket, the definition of muscle across his thighs under the slacks, even while he casually sits.

Your gaze subtly travels down his long bowed legs, smart dress shoes. His cologne is woody and masculine, but not overpowering; maybe bergemot and sandalwood. It pleasantly wafts under your nose every time he gestures with his hands while he talks.

“Aw man, I can’t hold out anymore. I think I need to get me some of that cake before it’s gone,” he says, getting up from his chair.

You’re a bit disappointed that he’s leaving, until he stops short.

“You want another piece?” he offers, gesturing at your empty plate that’s been resting on the counter.

You blink in surprise, but you shake your head. “Oh, no. I probably shouldn’t.”

“Why not? It’s a party,” Dean reasons. His grin is too damn infectious. It has you smiling, and begrudgingly agreeing.

Not only does he bring you more cake, but you watch him eat three whole slices before he asks you to dance.

The rest of it flashes through your mind like strobe lights—the way he’d started small and respectful with his larger hand closed over yours and the other along the curve of your waist. He guided you closer and closer, until you were turned around into his arms, and you could feel his warm breath on your neck.

You felt his lips teasing your skin. Then those hands tantalizingly drifted down your every soft curve, as if showing you a preview of everything he could do to you, and every way he’d make you come apart. You believed him.

And when he whispered in your ear, asking if he could take you home, you let him.

You let him drive you in that big black piece of history he drives. Used to be my dad’s car, he said. A Chevy something. You couldn’t really remember much when his hand was drifting up and down your thigh like that.

His presence burned hot at your back when you two eventually got to the front door of your apartment, your hands just barely shaking as you got the key in. Twist and click—

He waited until you flipped the lights on. Then he turned you around slowly in his arms and pulled you in close, all the while asking you with his eyes and raised brows. This okay? You want this?

“Do I still make you nervous?” he asked, his lips twitching at a smile when yours do.

You nodded, uttering a small giggle. “In a good way.”

That was when he finally kissed you, hot and slow, like he meant to devour you whole. He moaned at the taste of you, at the feel of your ass squeezed in his hands. You clung onto him strong, breathing into his kiss and trying to meet every single demand of his lips.

It soon became a fiery tear to your bedroom, one lamp flicked on, hot breaths and nice clothes crumpled to the floor. You didn’t feel self-conscious even once when he guided you under him on the bed, because he wasted no time in taking you apart, inch by inch.

His lips kissed and licked and sucked a burning trail down your neck, over your collarbone and between your breasts. You felt his hardened length trapped between your bodies while his hands explored you, teasing your breasts and sensitive nipples, and he mapped his way down with his lips.

You explored every part of him you could—every dip of muscle, firm shoulders and the slopes of his back, and then back up to tangle in his hair. Your heated gasps and whimpers filled the room when his sinful mouth found what it was looking for between your legs.

It wasn’t often that you had a strong pair of shoulders to rest your thighs on, but Dean’s grip was hard enough to leave deep fingerprints of pressure on each thigh while he slipped his tongue through your folds and feasted on you.

“D-Dean, oh God,” you gasped. Every sound you made was a sensuous symphony in his ears, washing over his skin and making the well of his desire churn hot in his lower belly. He had to roll his hips into the mattress for some relief for his aching cock, even while he moved his mouth up to your clit, circling the swollen bud with his tongue. He had enough room to slip two fingers deep inside your sopping wet channel, exploring you deeply, stroking and twisting to find what you needed.

Your thighs trembled and squeezed tight on either side of his head. When he sucked your clit tight between his lips, you uttered as gasping moan as that coil snapped its release. Your inner walls fluttered around his fingers. Yours clenched tightly in his hair, threatening to rip out a few strands.

Dean stroked you all through your first orgasm, giving slower licks to your clit. He seemed to sense when you couldn’t handle anymore though. You tugged more sharply on his hair, and he finally pulled away, moving back up your body to gauge your reaction.

You’d collapsed boneless against the bed, but you still managed to smile up at him as you caught your breath.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked. But his self-satisfied grin almost made you laugh. You took his glistening face between your hands and pulled him down for a grateful kiss.

After a moment to savor your lips, he broke away for a second to catch his breath himself. You stroked his back all the while.

“You know, for a minute down there, I thought you might not let me come back up,” he teased.

You choked on a laugh, covering your face in embarrassment.

���Honestly wouldn’t have minded if you did suffocate me,” he chuckled, accompanied by a slap to your left ass cheek. You squealed, and blushed hotly at the way he was grinning down at you.

“Ready for more, baby? Or you want to call it a night?” he asked. His tone was playful, but it was actually a serious question. You blinked in surprise. You’d never had a guy be this, well…generous, and not expect anything in return, especially not for just a hookup.

But you shook your head and sat up, slipping a hand behind Dean’s neck. After a beat of hesitation, you guided him down to you for a slow, sensuous kiss.

“No, I don’t want to call it a night,” you whispered. Your hand drifted down his bare chest, and lower still. You showed him just how well you could return the favor.

And now, come the morning, you’re blushing down to your neck as each scene flashes through your mind. You feel the ghost of his hands all over your body, and how you’d never quite felt quite as bold and sexy and beautiful with a near stranger as you had with Dean effing Winchester. Your best friend’s brother.

You begin to worry your bottom lip with your teeth. How the hell are you going to tell Sam? Especially after he warned you about exactly this. Plus, there’s a reason you don’t typically do the one-night stand thing, and this has the potential to become something very complicated.

You know what, it’s fine! you think. We’re two consenting adults. We’re both single. And maybe…maybe it could be more than a hookup. Maybe we can see each other again, see where it goes.

“What’re you thinking so hard about?” Dean says, his voice croaking with sleep.

You look down at him in surprise. His eyes have cracked open and he has your hand captive, stopping you from continuing to idly trace patterns on his bare chest. You smile in embarrassment.

“Sorry,” you say. Again, you bite your lower lip. “Um, good morning.”

“Morning, sweetheart,” he grins lazily. “You sure wore me out last night.”

Your smile becomes more genuine, even if you turn your face away somewhat shyly.

“Aw, don’t do that,” Dean says. He slides his hand up your arm and behind your neck, tangling into your already tangled hair when he guides you down to his lips for a kiss. “You were awesome.”

You giggle against his lips. “Really?”

“Hell, yeah,” he says, kissing you again.

You shake your head a little. “You were…”

Amazing. Unbelievable. Probably the best night I’ve ever had.

“Perfect,” you decide. Because it’s the truth. The word comes out of your mouth before you can filter yourself though, making you pause. Dean does too, but after a beat, he slowly smiles.

“Oh yeah?” he asks.

You lick your lips, and you nod. “Definitely.”

“Well, then,” he says. His hand moves down to squeeze your hip. “You down for a repeat performance?”

You smile. “Only if I get a turn.”

Bracing your hands on his chest, you slide your thigh across his lap so you can straddle his hips. Dean grins and goes along with your idea. He gets a nice healthy handful of your thighs and helps settle you on top of him. But first, he reaches over into your nightstand drawer and finds another condom, ripping it open with his teeth.

Just like you did for him last night, you take the packet, as well as his generous length in your hands. You gently stroke him to full mast, smiling pleased at his groan of pleasure. Then you carefully fit the condom over him.

“You’re so gentle with me,” he teases. 

“Just returning the favor,” you quip, just before you position him at your wet entrance. Slowly, you sink down over his cock.

You both moan at the feeling of him stretching you again, warm and thick and fitting perfectly nestled deep inside. There had been moments last night where he wasn’t all that gentle, actually, but his passion had only spurred yours on more. You know you’ll probably find fingerprint marks on your thighs and ass, but it’s fucking worth it, you think, as you begin to bob a rocking rhythm that serves you both.

Dean arches his back underneath you, his knees coming up to press against your ass.

“Goddamn, baby. Givin’ me quite a show,” he says, in a panting voice that’s deep as sin.

You utter a breathy laugh.

Dean means it though. He’s enjoying the way you brush your hair out of your face, your beautiful tits in his face while you truly let loose for him. He guides you by the stronghold he has on your hips, his fingers pressing into your soft flesh as he ruts up into you, meeting your thrusts.

Your breath quickens, your nails digging into his chest on reflex, and your heart races as that delicious pleasure builds. But when Dean snakes a hand between you and further parts your folds to massage tight circles over your clit, your vision flashes white. You utter a scream of pleasure on his name, your inner walls choking him tight as you throb around his cock. His release hits him like a goddamn freight train.

“Aw, fuck,” he grunts.

He slams your hips down hard, making your thighs slap against his. A ragged groan escapes him in a rush. His hands move to your thighs just under your ass, where his fingers press into flesh hard enough to leave forensic ID, giving him leverage to bury himself deep into your pussy as he spills a hot release into the condom.

Goddamn…

He can almost imagine that he’s coming free inside you, that you’re milking his cock for every drop, until there’s nothing left for him to give.

The thought surprises him. It almost takes him out of the moment, honestly. That’s not a thought he’s ever had before—not with a woman he barely knows (which is most of his hookups, if he’s honest).

In that delicious, fractious moment just after it hits, it’s like those few seconds are suspended in zero gravity. Your arms are shaking, and your forced to collapse against his chest. Dean welcomes you there for a little while, letting you come down while he smooths a hand over your hair.

Though he can't help the urge to let his big hand drift down over your dewy skin, down the gentle slope of your back and over the curve of your generous ass. He gives one cheek a teasing slap. The sound echoes in the room.

"Goddamn perfect ass," he says roughly, smirking at your squeal. You end up grinning hard against his neck.

"'S that my new nickname?" you quip.

He chuckles deeply, moving you along with his chest. "Hell, sweetheart, if you want it to be."

Eventually, you lean back to give him a smile and one last kiss before you pull away from him. You slip off his lap to find your robe, at least. You definitely need a shower.

“So I’m thinking, after we get cleaned up, I could make us some breakfast,” you offer. “Or if you want, maybe we could go somewhere. I know a little diner down the block.”

“I like the sound of food,” Dean agrees with a smile. Ge reaches over for his phone on the nightstand, to check the time. His eyes widen. “Oh, shit.”

He has to get his ass over to the Fire Academy. He has class in barely twenty minutes.

He tears out of bed and nearly trips on the coiled sheets.

“Sorry. Gonna need to take a raincheck,” he says. He hurries to find his clothes strewn all over your bedside floor.

“What’s the matter?” you ask with wide eyes. You cross your arms under your breasts, but it’s more like you’re hugging yourself over your robe. You watch him tear through your bedroom in a tempest of movement.

Dean spares you a glance, but not much else as he yanks up his slacks and belt and dress shirt.

“Gotta get to class,” he confesses. Thank God he has his uniform in the trunk of his car for exactly these kinds of emergencies. He grabs his phone, wallet, and keys, and quickly kisses you on the cheek. He gazes down at you apologetically. “Sorry I gotta cut and run, sweetheart, but it’s been fun.”

Your smile barely reaches your eyes. He’s pressed for time, but he still notices.

He slows himself down and cups your cheek. “Hey.”

He gets your pretty eyes looking up at him, and he gives you a real kiss, nice and slow. He cradles your cheek and brushes his thumb across your skin.

“Thanks,” he says. His now familiar grin manages to make you smile. “And I mean that.”

You shake your head at him. “Okay go, Mr. Future Fireman. Be safe out there, okay?”

He gives you a playful salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

You can’t help but laugh. This guy’s too much. But you don't think you've had this much fun having sex in...

All right, let's not put a timeframe on it.

You watch him leave your apartment, even though you have a sinking feeling in your chest. You knew this was just a hookup for him, for both of you. Part of you just couldn’t help hoping that it could’ve led to something more. 

Dean means to call you.

He really does.

After that truly awesome, you shook me all night long, kind of a night, he thinks about you more than he’d like to admit over the next few weeks. However, he finds himself locked into his training. He’s so close to finishing strong and earning his badge, he just can’t afford any more distractions.

Still, he should’ve known that Sam would find out—either through Eileen, or through you directly. He also should’ve expected the way his brother let him have it.

“And you didn’t even fucking call her. See? This is why I don’t set you up with any of my friends anymore,” Sam bitches at him from his side of the small two-seater dinner table. They still share an apartment, though in just a month and a half, Sam’s going to be moving out. He and Eileen already found a house that they’re moving into after the wedding.

“Look, I was going to call her, man. They’ve just been bustin’ my ass at the Academy!” Dean argues.

“Bullshit.” Sam levels him with the same finger that holds his beer.

Dean’s brows raise, high and annoyed. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, I’m calling bullshit. Because if you really liked her, respected her, and respected me, you would’ve made the time,” Sam says.

That falls heavy between the brothers for a moment while they eat their pizza.

“Look, I know her. She doesn’t do hookups that often, which means…she probably liked you,” Sam adds. “And honestly, when are you going to give it a real try with someone? You can only visit that free clinic so many times.”

Dean shoots him a glare. He’s had a clean bill of health from said clinic for six months straight.

“Jesus Christ. Enough, all right?” he grouses. “What’re you, Mom?”

“I’m just saying,” Sam says, lowering his crust to the plate. He levels his brother with a more earnest look, lightening up from his anger. “Look, if it’s about what happened to Dad—”

“What, you mean the way he drank himself to death after Mom died?” Dean says. His voice cuts through whatever softball glove Sam is trying to handle him with. “You think that’s the kind of thing I should be looking for in my life?”

“Oh, and what, do you think I’m making a mistake marrying Eileen?” Sam counters.

Dean sighs, shaking his head. “Damn it, don’t put words in my mouth. That’s not what I’m saying, it’s just…I don’t know. Maybe that kind of life—the house, the wife, the 2.5 kids and the dog. Maybe that’s just not my life, okay?”

Sam gives him a long look. He lets go of a deep breath, and he shrugs.

“Okay,” he says. “If you think hooking up night after night for the rest of your life is going to make you happy, then fine.”

Dean nods, glad that they can put an end to this little After School Special.

“Okay.”

Still, he can’t finish his third slice of pizza. He keeps picturing your face when he left you that morning. No matter how you tried to hide it, he still saw the tinge of disappointment in your eyes. It brews something uncomfortable in his stomach, and a sting in his chest.

You’re eating lunch alone in your classroom, finally on your break, when an unfamiliar number flashes across your phone screen. You look down at it in confusion, but with all the caterers and florists and things you’ve helped Eileen with on the wedding, you figure it could be important. You pick up the call and greet whoever’s on the line.

“Hey, sweetheart. How are you?”

You drop your ham and cheese on your keyboard, gaping in surprise.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” he chuckles slightly. “Sorry, I know it’s been a minute.”

You frown, because you’re confused more than anything.

“Yeah, like almost a month,” you reply. You put the call on speaker so you can grab up your sandwich and quickly brush off the crumbs from your keyboard. You struggle to say something cool, clever, sexy even. “I’m okay. Just, um…what’s up?”

Smooth, real smooth. You cover your eyes with your hand.

“Nothin’, I was just thinking of that night,” he says. “I had a good time.”

Your frown deepens, despite the beginning of a blush warming your cheeks. If he’s calling you just for another hookup…

“So I just thought maybe you and I could do something again. Maybe you wanna come over my place this time.”

And there it is. You deflate at his words, shoulders sagging. The "convenient booty call" proposition.

“I could make us some burgers, toss in a couple of beers and a movie night,” he adds.

That part throws you though, you’re not going to lie. What, is this a Netflix and chill situation—with a side of fries?

You consider it. You weigh pros and cons at a frightening speed in your mind, almost like Sherlock Holmes contemplating the layout of a dead body and deducing within moments that his wife committed the murder, despite the man no longer wearing a ring.

You want to let yourself be bold and spontaneous and carefree...but it's just not who you are at your core. You're a planner, a cautious person who looks three ways before crossing the street. Letting Dean take you home that night was certainly one of the most spontaneous, wild things you've done since your friends took you out to a strip club after you aced your final round of exams back in college.

(Sam hadn't been there that night, but he did get an embarrassing drunken text from you at 3:00 a.m., along with a few shame-ridden pictures fueled by questionable substances. Yes, he still had the evidence.)

You just don't know if it's smart to let yourself hookup with Dean again. Mostly because you know your heart has the tendency to get attached, no matter how much you warn it not to.

“You know, Dean, I’m pretty busy with my job right now. I just started here a couple of months ago, and I think I just need to focus on that right now,” you say. Part of it isn’t a lie, even though your soft heart is stinging.

“Ah, okay. Yeah. I get that,” he says. You hear his disappointment too. “But I just need to say, I really am sorry for not calling you sooner.”

Your lips tug at a smile. “It’s okay, Dean. Look, you’re Sam’s brother. I just feel like, maybe it’s better if you and I stay friends.”

“Friends, huh?” Dean says wryly. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I don’t have three rounds of steamy hot sex with any of my friends.”

Your blush comes swiftly again, burning in your cheeks.

“Be that as it may,” you say, “I just don’t want to do anything that will distract from Sam and Eileen’s wedding.”

“Oh, I’m a distraction, huh?” Dean says flirtatiously. 

You begin to smile in earnest. “I think you know damn well what you are, Dean Winchester.”

His deep chuckle practically resonates through the phone and into your chest, going straight down to your pussy. You clench on nothing just at the sound of his voice, making you cross your legs under your skirt. Dear God…

How are you supposed to be even remotely normal around this man now? 

But for Sam’s sake (and your own), you’ll have to try. 

Two months later, Dean has taken Sam’s dating advice to heart. A week or so after you turned him down, he ran into Lisa Braeden, Eileen’s Maid of Honor, while he was at the grocery store buying beer and Twizzlers. She was a smart, sharp, sexy brunette. A yoga instructor, he soon found out. So he took a chance on asking her out. They’ve been going slow and steady ever since. 

Dean hasn’t heard from you since the rehearsal dinner, but he sees you again at his brother’s wedding. All the bridesmaids are wearing long, royal blue dresses that drape off the shoulders and hug the bust and waist, flaring gently at the skirt. Lisa and Jo wear it beautifully, their hair perfectly smooth and coiled. 

But when you step out into the hall outside the church ballroom to join them, Dean actually pauses in what he’s saying to his brother. He nearly double takes when you enter his line of vision—mostly because he hasn’t seen you in a dress since that night. You were sexy as hell then, a lady in red. 

Today, you’re absolutely stunning. 

After greeting Sam with a warm hug, you turn to him with a nervous kind of smile. “H-Hey, Dean.”

With that, he snaps out of it. Dean smiles, eyes crinkling, and goes over to give you a hug as well.

“Good to see you,” he says, trying not to inhale too much of your nice perfume. It’s even in your hair.

“You too,” you reply. Your smile is a little brighter, more genuine. Though there’s something behind your eyes that he can’t quite place.

What he doesn’t notice is the way Lisa is watching you and her boyfriend, a hint of suspicion on her face.

You do though. You pull away from Dean and assemble into a line with Lisa at the helm. As the Best Man, Dean stands with her, followed by Jo and Brady, another one of Sam’s buddies. You and Benny bring up the rear. Benny’s dad used to work with John, Sam and Dean’s father, on the police force.

According to Sam, John Winchester worked a beat for twenty-six years before his liver finally gave out on him. Dean almost went to the Police Academy to follow in his dad’s footsteps, but Benny, already working his way up to Lieutenant, suggested Dean become a smoke eater instead. The suggestion stuck.

Benny Lafitte is slightly shorter than Dean, but just as broad-shouldered, his auburn beard neatly trimmed. Even though you might’ve thought he was rough around the edges at first, his kind blue eyes spoke the contrary. He offers you his arm like a gentleman.

“Well aren't I lucky, getting the prettiest girl on my arm,” he says, with a charming smile.

You smile, and even begin to blush at the way he subtly takes note of you from head to toe.

“Well, thank you. You’re very handsome yourself. Although, hold on.” You slip your arm out of his for a moment so that you can fix his tie. It’s slightly crooked. You make sure that it lays flat under his collar, smoothing down all the edges and picking off any small dust particles that landed on his collar. Benny watches you with an indulgent smile.

“Am I good?” he asks.

“Very,” you reply.

“I appreciate it, thank you,” he says. You don’t know if he means to sound flirtatious, but his voice is a deep drawl that washes over you pleasantly. You find yourself blushing down to your neck as you slip your arm back around his.

You also don’t notice how Dean glances at you and Benny over his shoulder.

As much as you love Sam and Eileen, it’s difficult for you to keep your mind from spinning into fractals as the ceremony goes on. You can’t help but glance at Dean. He stands there behind Sam dutifully, but you see brotherly pride in Dean’s eyes, in his smile. It makes you smile too. You too love Sam like a brother, and it brings a well of happy tears to your eyes to watch him have his moment with his new wife.

It just also reminds you of what you need to do.

After the ceremony ends and the bridal party files out behind the bride and groom, you excuse yourself from Benny apologetically. You wait until Lisa and Jo go off to take pictures with Sam and Eileen, and you grab Dean’s wrist, pulling him aside.

“I need to talk to you,” you whisper.

Dean gives you a confused look. “They’re gonna need us for the pictures.”

“I know, but this is important,” you say. Your voice trembles with nerves, and so do your hands. Dean notices, frowning in concern. He grasps your arm to try and steady you.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Just come with me,” you implore him. You take his hand and lead him into the women’s dressing room attached to the church sanctuary you all just came out of.

Dean raises his brows at the mess you and the rest of the bridesmaids have made of the room—pantyhose and makeup and clothing litter the floor and most available surfaces, while leftover breakfast sandwiches, grapes, salami, and cheddar cheese cubes are splayed out across one of the vanity counters. Dean is tempted to steal a morsel, but he focuses on you first.

You close and lock the door, which makes his brows raise high again. You know he has a girlfriend now, right?

“Uhh, look, I’m not sure what’s going on here, but—”

You heave a sigh. Again, you take his hand and guide him to sit with you at the vanity. The old stools squeak, the overhead lights a bit too bright. This is not where you want to do this, but you can’t hold it in anymore.

“Dean, I’m pregnant,” you confess.

He freezes. His breath stills in his lungs. His eyes slowly widen as the words click in his brain.

“What?” His head tilts, as if he didn’t hear you right.

You squeeze his hand; to ground him or yourself, you’re not sure.

“I’m about two months pregnant. I found out last week.”

Dean swipes his free hand over his mouth while he tries to compute. He squeezes your hand, tighter and tighter. He points to himself.

“It’s…it’s me? It’s mine?”

You give him a weary smile. “You’re the only one I’ve been with in the last few months. It could only be you.”

Oh fuck. The man’s face begins to pale as he descends into shock.

“But we…I used a condom,” he reasons. “All the—all the times!”

You bite your lip. If you weren’t freaking the fuck out yourself, you’d probably be laughing right now. Granted, you’ve had a bit more time to process this than Dean.

“I know, I was there,” you reply, releasing yet another sigh. “One of them probably broke. That’s all I can think of… Honestly, Dean, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I just didn’t want to disrupt the ceremony or cause a scene before the wedding. But now you know.”

Dean falls silent then. He hasn’t let go of your hand, which you think is a decent sign. He’s likely forgotten that you’re still holding it as he stares off into the middle distance for several seconds.

Eventually, he shakes his head and returns his gaze to yours. He looks uncertain, his handsome face the true epitome of holy fucking shit.

You know the feeling.

But he asks the most important question.

“What do you want to do?”

Briefly you close your eyes as you take a breath. You squeeze his hand before you let go of him.

“I’ve thought about this a lot, and…I’m keeping the baby,” you tell him, though you raise placating hands. “I don’t want money, or anything like that. I just wanted you to know that it’s yours. How much you want to be in his or—or her life, that’s up to you.”

Dean takes a beat before he answers, but you don’t have to wait so long holding your breath.

“Okay. Okay, yeah. I’ll help you. Don’t worry,” he says.

And just like that, all the time you spent giving yourself pep talks for this, telling yourself that you’ll need to be strong no matter what he says, all of it crumbles into relief. Your lower lip trembles, and your body shudders as you break into tears. You try covering your face to hide your shame, but Dean grasps your shoulders.

“Hey, hey. It’s all right,” he says. He tentatively pulls you into a hug. “It’s gonna be okay.”

You nod into his dress shirt, probably staining him with your running makeup.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “Thank you so much.”

He holds you a bit tighter in response.

You and Dean agree to keep this to yourselves for now, at least until Sam and Eileen get back from their honeymoon. It’s difficult to explain why your eyes are all red and your makeup is smudged, but you promise Sam that you’ll tell him later. You know it’s pointless to lie to him though. As a lawyer, his bullshit meter is far too high.

However, you also know that he’s half guessed it by the time you all make it to the reception. When you and Dean came out of that dressing room to join the bridal party for pictures, you're sure that you looked emotionally wrecked. Dean had looked pale as a sheet, his body coiled and tense, as willing himself to seem normal. Sam had clocked both of you with a raise of his brow, but he didn't say anything then, especially after you gave him a pleading look.

While Eileen greets her family without him for a moment, Sam pulls you aside. He notes your glass of diet coke, in a moderate sea of guests drinking champagne and cocktails.

“Are you okay?” he asks knowingly.

Tears well up in your eyes again. You don’t know if it’s your damn hormones going haywire, or just the way Sam asks you, with the love of a friend in his eyes. He squeezes your shoulder gently, prompting you with your name.

“Yeah, I think I will be,” you say.

"Is it the same reason you're not drinking?" he asks. "You and Dean earlier..."

You hesitantly confirm with a nod. Sam blows out a harsh sigh, raising folded hands to his mouth as he processes. You begin to look around on reflex, trying to see if anyone's watching you and Sam have this conversation in the middle of the reception. To your relief, everyone around you seems occupied with drinks, hours d'oeuvres and conversation.

“What did he say when you told him?” Sam asks. His gaze is firmer. You get the idea that if he doesn’t like what you tell him, then he’s about to go grab his brother by the ear himself.

You grab his wrist and give a placating squeeze. “He said he's going to help me, be there for me.”

“Damn right. So will I,” Sam nods, and glances back at Eileen, his new bride, with a smile. “We both will.”

“I know,” you nod as well. “I’ll be okay, Sam. You don’t have to worry so much. Just enjoy your wedding day. It’s the only one you’re gonna get. Well, you know…hopefully.”

You tease him with a wink.

Sam laughs, cupping your cheek. He kisses your other cheek.

“I love you, you know that right?” he says.

You give him a trembling smile through your tears.

Meanwhile, Dean has a beautiful woman in his arms. He turns Lisa on the dancefloor, trying not to trip on his own dress shoes, all the while knowing that his brain isn’t here in his body. It’s across the ballroom, watching you talk to Sam. Dean can tell that he knows, just in his Big Bird body language. He’d also recognize that accompanying Bitch Face anywhere.

“Dean, what’s wrong,” Lisa asks him, and not for the first time. She’s getting annoyed, he can tell. She finally looks over to where he keeps glancing, and she notices you with a frown. It’s also not the first time she’s caught him staring at you tonight.

“What was that earlier in the dressing room? She didn’t really get food poisoning, did she?” she asks pointedly. “What, did you two used to date or something?”

He gives a wan smile. “Yeah, kinda. We…had a thing once.”

“What kind of thing?”

Dean closes his eyes and tries to keep himself calm. He’s pretty sure if he tells her the truth right now, she’s going to find the nearest cocktail and dump it over his head.

But shit, here it goes.

“Well…”

After a long day at school, you drive over to Dean’s apartment. You’d agreed to meet there and wait for him to get off his shift at Firehouse 83, where he just started as a full-fledged firefighter on probation. When he gets home, he’s supposed to go with you to an important appointment with your OB-GYN. 

You were hoping he’d already be done with work by the time you got to his place, but Lisa's there to open the door for you. Apparently, he’d already given her a key.

Moving kind of fast, but okay, you think. A second later, you could’ve rolled your eyes at yourself. Pot, kettle, me. Got it.

Lisa greets you with a “polite” smile at best, but she does offer you water at least. You really can’t blame her for not liking you though. She found out her boyfriend got another woman pregnant right before he started dating her. Really, she has more balls than you for staying with him. You wouldn't put it past Dean to somehow have smooth-talked her into giving him a chance.

Or she really loves him. The thought sobers you as you lower yourself down to the couch beside her. Both of you sit there in silence for a moment, trying to figure out something to talk about.

“So, you’re what, six months pregnant?” she asks.

You correct her in thinly veiled annoyance. “Three months, actually.”

“Oh, wow. I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t know why I thought it was six.”

You have a feeling her awkward chuckle is fake, however. She knew good and damn well that you’re not six months pregnant. In her eyes, you must be the size of a parade float. 

“If you want, I can recommend a holistic diet to help you get your body back after the baby’s born,” Lisa offers. “No pills, no chemicals. Just good clean weight loss.”

You feign interest. Honestly, you’d like her to cram that offer right up her hooch.

“I can even give you a discount if you want to try out yoga,” she says. “It’s low impact, but you burn plenty of calories. I have a beginner’s class, not too strenuous. Even my least flexible clients manage to do the poses.”

Is that why Dean likes you? Because you’re bendy? Bet if I sat on you, you’d pop like a fucking balloon.

You hide all of these thoughts behind a “polite” smile of your own.

“That’s really nice of you, thanks,” you reply. It’s non-committal enough, but hopefully it’ll get her off your back.

No such luck.

“You know, maintaining a healthy diet is really important for the baby’s health too,” Lisa adds. “It’s not just about avoided raw fish and dairy products. Oh, and processed food is obviously a no-go. Like, I’m sure you haven’t been hitting Taco Bell and all that stuff, right?”

As a matter of fact, you’ve been eating clean since long before you got pregnant. Not that it’s any business of hers whether you enjoy the occasional quesadilla or not.

Your temper snaps at its leash. You open your mouth to reply, when the front door unlocks and opens to Dean, stepping in through the threshold.

Thank God, you and Lisa both think. She gets up quicker from the couch than you, greeting her boyfriend with a kiss. You avert your gaze while you begin to get up yourself.

Dean reaches out to help you, grasping your arm in support. You shoot him a smile.

“I can still get up by myself,” you snip.

“Yeah, all right. Just in case,” he says with a smile. “Ready to go?”

“Oh, yeah. Let’s rock and roll,” you say, trying to hide your worsening mood. You’re exhausted, and irritated, and probably more than a little hangry. Except now, the idea of food just has you feeling guilty for even being hungry.

“Bye, hun. Hope you have a good appointment,” Lisa says, giving your shoulder a pat. You give her the most genuine smile you can muster as you thank her. It's possibly that she's one of those women who don't realize when they're being cunty, but you find it highly unlikely. She's too smart for that.

You follow Dean out the door and over to his car, big and black and sleek as you remember. You settle into the passenger seat with your arms crossed in silence. Dean switches the cassette to one of his favorite Led Zeppelin albums, though he notices your grumpy face.

“Something wrong?” he asks.

You give him some side-eye, but you’re reluctant to say anything. You just shake your head. As irritated as you are, you don’t want to be the friend who badmouths his girlfriend.

God, are we even friends? You wonder. Or am I just his knocked-up baby momma?

And again, you realize that this whole situation is probably hard for Lisa. You just don’t know if she’s jealous, or if she just…doesn’t like you.

“I’m okay,” you tell Dean.

He raises a skeptical brow. Looks like Sam isn’t the only one with a finely tuned bullshit meter.

“All right, how about this,” Dean says. “Let’s grab some burgers after this, huh? From your favorite spot. Shake Shack, right? Side of fries, frozen yogurt. I think I’ll get chocolate this time… Hmm, I doubt Lisa will want anything. She’s gone on an all-vegan kick or something.”

For one shining moment, you were happy and touched at his consideration. But now your body stills in your seat when you remember Lisa’s words. Tears well up in your eyes with a hot sting, and a sob escapes your throat.

Dean is cut off from thinking about getting extra bacon on his burger. He looks over at you in alarm. “H-Hey, what’s the matter?”

You scoff at him through your tears. “Are you kidding me? I can’t eat burgers anymore, Dean. I was already fucking fat. Now it’s just gonna get ridiculous.”

“What?” Dean’s brows knit together in confusion, along with his deepening frown. It gets worse as he tries to watch the road ahead, while at the same time, watching you continue to crumble.

“And after the birth, I’m just going to be an even fatter slob who can’t take care of her baby,” you sniffle and weep, trying in vain to wipe your eyes and get ahold of yourself.

Dean grits his teeth, his jaw twitching. Fuck it.

He turns the steering wheel sharp enough to startle a gasp out of you.

“Dean!”

He pulls the car over onto the side of the road, ignoring the honking SUV behind him. He shifts into Park and shuts off the radio—a big red flag, in your opinion. He’s upset too, and fucking serious, more so than you’ve ever seen him. You stare back at him with wide eyes.

“I’ve never once heard you say that you’re fat,” he says.

You blink at that, but eventually, you’re able to get your tongue to unstick from the roof of your mouth. You wipe the remnants of tears from your cheeks. Your face is already hot from your upset, now tinged with embarrassment.

“You haven’t known me very long,” you say quietly.

It doesn’t help. Dean’s jaw ticks again.

“Well, I’ve never thought it. Not even once,” he says. His jade green eyes are firmly set on yours, and he gestures between you and him with a pointed finger. “The reason you and I are here right now, is because the minute I saw you, I wanted you.”

One corner of his lips kicks upwards. “And that night, you didn’t disappoint.”

Your mouth falls open slightly. You don’t know how to respond, but you do know that a full blush is warming your face and neck. His words have power, and unbidden, they bloom a similar warmth between your legs. You swallow a bit nervously as you bite your bottom lip.

Dean glances down at your mouth when you do. He can remember what your pretty mouth did for him that night. Oh, he remembers all too well. He even had the shade of your lipstick streaked across his skin until he showered up at the firehouse.

He locks that all away when shifts the car back into Drive. If you’re going to make it to this appointment on time, he needs to get going.

And you both have to leave whatever that was right here by the side of the road.

AN: Woo! 😮‍💨 Yep, this is only Part 1, friends. Lisa is a bit different in this. My take was that without Ben in her life, she might be less mature and a bit more catty. As we get into Part 2 I'll leave it up to you to decide why she decides to stay with Dean, and perhaps more importantly, where the reader and Dean can go from here as co-parents. 🤔

If you enjoyed Part 1, please let me know!~

Next Time in Part 2:

“Hey, you okay?” you say, resting a gentle hand on his arm.

Dean shakes his head. “Look, I…I’m sorry for tossing a giant friggin’ monkey wrench into your life. I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”

If possible, your heart softens even more. You slide your hand down to grasp his.

“Dean, this baby wasn’t planned, but he’s not a mistake,” you say. “I don’t regret anything.”

Dean stares back at you incredulously. He can’t believe you could really say that to him. He doesn’t know what to say. He only knows what’s in his mind, and what he feels compelled to do in that moment.

He leans over and kisses you. It’s a firm meeting of his lips to yours, and achingly familiar.

⋆˙⟡ Read Part 2 on Patreon now!

⋆˙⟡ Coming to Tumblr/Ao3 on 3/23

Join My Patreon 🌟 Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Series List

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester Tag List (Part 1):

@luci-in-trenchcoats @lamentationsofalonelypotato @winchestergirl2 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl @kaleldobrev

@globetrotter28 @midnightmadwoman @chevroletdeanwrites @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78

@waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse @twinkleinadiamondsky @my-stories-vault @kayleighwinchester

@rizlowwritessortof @k-slla @jackles010378 @alwaystiredandconfused @nancymcl

@this-is-me19 @spnwoman @illicithallways @pieandmonsters @deansbbyx

@mimaria420 @stoneyggirl2 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @cheynovak @jollyhunter

@deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @leigh70 @aylacavebear @jessjad

@kmc1989 @siampie @rubyvhs @masked-lost-girl @spnbabe67

@deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused @supernotnatural2005

[shadowkoo]

Visiting Hours

→ Summary: In the dimly lit conjugal room, Yeonjun finally has you. You’re soft, warm, and completely at his mercy. A year of pent-up hunger has festered into something darker, something filthier, a craving that only you can satisfy. Shackled by time, he intends to make every second count, to lose himself in the heat of your body, the sweetness of your surrender. Nothing else exists, just you. Every sigh, every moan, every blissful moment is his to claim. And when you unveil the sinful surprise he craves, nothing will stop him from devouring what’s his.

↠ yeonjun x f.reader | 3.1k words | 18+ ↠ genre: smut, pwp, prisoner au, established relationship

→ Warnings: swearing, really brief mention of murder at the beginning, unprotected sex, period sex, blood play, blood kink, pain kink, scratching, marking, hair pulling, breath play, choking, size kink, cockwarming, creampie, begging, semi-public conjugal visit / fucking with guards standing watch outside the door, nipple play & biting, also biting in general, panty sniffing, yeonjun likes to say the filthiest fucking things but also calls you princess and babygirl, daddy kink, needy!yeonjun, desperate!yeonjun, possessive!yeonjun (you’re welcome)

→ Networks: tagged below

@ksmutsociety @k-vanity @lapydiaries @keopihaus @dove-net

→ Moodboard: view here!

→ Author Note: thanks to sevń @aaagustd for helping me come up with the title for this! this idea was haunting me until i brought it to life. i hope y’all enjoy it! this isn't edited so if there are mistakes...don't tell me LOL as usual, all likes, reblogs, & comments are much appreciated! this has been crossposted on ao3 here if you prefer to read there :)

Two guards cuff Yeonjun’s hands behind his back, the metal cold against his skin. It’s a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his aching body. His pulse increases with each step, adrenaline seeping into his bloodstream like a drug. A volatile mix of electricity and something darker.

As they march him out of general population, two more guards fall in step behind Yeonjun, just in case he misbehaves. It’s a bit overkill. Then again, maybe not. He did slit a few people’s necks to land himself here. But honestly? He could probably take the guards; at the very least he’d get a few solid hits in before they tasered him.

Not that he’s stupid enough to try it. Not today.

They stop outside the conjugal visit room, affectionately dubbed the ‘Pound Pen’ by all inmates who’ve been granted access.

“I’m going to uncuff you now, Yeonjun. If you even think about doing something dumb, you won’t even get to look at that fine piece of ass waiting on the other side of this door. Understood?”

His jaw tightens. He hates the way they talk about you like you’re just another perk of good behavior. He considers slamming his knee into the smug guard’s balls, but that would be stupid. Really stupid, especially after three months of playing nice and kissing ass just for this moment.

It’s his first conjugal visit since getting sentenced. Over a year since he’s been inside you. And if he’s being honest? He’s fucking desperate.

Yeonjun gets one hour with you, and he plans to spend every second buried deep inside you, making up for lost time. His body is already thrumming with anticipation, every muscle coiled tight, every thought consumed by the need to touch you, taste you, ruin you.

The guards uncuff him, their rough hands roaming over his body in a thorough search, pressing into his ribs, sliding down his legs, patting every possible hiding place. He stands still, barely tolerating the routine violation, his jaw clenched, his patience razor-thin.

Satisfied, they step back. One of them cracks open the heavy metal door, and finally, his eyes land on you. The sight alone sends a fresh surge of heat through his veins, hunger tightening in his gut. It’s been too long.

You stand in the center of the small, lifeless room. Yet, you make it feel brighter, somehow softer. Dressed in a light green dress and a cream-colored knit cardigan, you look effortlessly beautiful. But as breathtaking as you are, his eyes settle on the one thing that means more than anything else.

The diamond ring sparkling next to the wedding band on your finger.

His favorite thing you’ll ever wear. His proof that despite the walls, the distance, and the time stolen from you both—you’re still his. Always his.

The room is probably similar in size to his cell; the walls are bare except for years of grime, faded stains, and the inevitable wear and tear of too many conjugal encounters. And the air is stale, tinged with bleach and something less pleasant, but none of that matters. Not when you’re here.

A twin-sized bed sits against the wall, a set of clean sheets hastily thrown over the thin mattress. But Yeonjun wouldn’t let your body touch that thing if his life depended on it. You’re too pure for that.

The guards linger just long enough to remind him they exist. One steps in after him, pointing out the panic button on the wall to you. As if you’d ever need it. As if you’d ever want this to end early.

They exit shortly after, but Yeonjun knows at least one, maybe two, are stationed just outside the door. It doesn’t matter. The moment they step out, the second that locks clicks into place, he’s on you.

You barely have time to breathe before he’s pulling you into his arms, his body radiating heat, his grip firm.

“Hi, baby,” you whisper, your breath warm against his skin, teasing, inviting. “Long time, no see… or touch.”

A low, guttural sound rumbles from his chest. “I’ve fucking missed you,” he groans, his voice thick with hunger, roughened by restraint.

Yeonjun’s lips crash onto yours, desperate and claiming, making up for all the lost time. He swallows the gasp that slips from your mouth, his body reacting to the mewls that follow. Every sweet sound and trail of your fingernails across his scalp has his cock twitching, it weeps for your attention.

His hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against him like he needs to feel every inch of you to believe this is real. His tongue parts your lips, pushing inside, tasting you.

How the hell did he survive a year without this? Without you?

Your lips trail along his sharp jawline, pressing soft, teasing kisses down the column of his neck. Each touch sends a ripple of heat through him as he debates what’s the lesser evil.

Pinning you against the grimy wall, where years of sweat and filth linger, or letting your body anywhere near the well-used mattress? Either way, this room is a damn disgrace. They could’ve at least thrown a damn chair in here.

Fuck it.

With a low growl, he moves, dropping onto the edge of the bed, his grip firm as he pulls you onto his lap. His hands waste no time, roaming over your body, fingers pressing into your skin like he’s making sure you’re really here. Really his.

“Princess, I’m sorry about all of this,” he murmurs, his voice thick with need as your hips grind against his, your knees planted on either side of his waist. His fingers dig into your thighs, holding you close, but his gaze flickers with something almost regretful.

“You deserve a night in a penthouse suite,” he continues, his breath warm against your lips, “spread out on silk sheets, worshipped properly in a king-sized bed. A bubble bath after. Room service. Just like our honeymoon.” His jaw tightens as he glances around the dingy room, his grip on you tightening. “Not a rushed, one-hour fuck in a room that’s already seen too many couples today.”

But as his hands slide up your back, pulling you impossibly closer, his lips brushing against yours, his voice drops to something darker, hungrier. “Still,” he rasps, “I’m gonna make every damn second count.”

Little does he know, the universe has handed you the perfect surprise. Not that you planned it, but fate seems to be on your side today. Your period started earlier, and if there’s one thing that drives him wild, it’s period sex and the raw, primal mess that comes with it.

“I have a surprise for you,” you purr, watching his hands slide up your thighs, hiking your dress higher and higher. The second his eyes land on the familiar logo on your panties, a brand you only wear during one particular week, his breath catches.

Desire flares in his gaze, dark and hungry.

“Are you happy?” you tease, voice dripping with amusement.

He exhales sharply, pupils blown wide as his fingers trace the waistband of your panties.

“Absolutely euphoric, baby girl.”

He rips off his shirt in one swift motion, tossing it beside him. Then, with a care that contradicts the raw hunger in his eyes, he helps you slip out of your panties, his fingers trailing down your thighs as he peels the fabric away.

But instead of discarding them immediately, he brings them to his face, inhaling deeply. The rich, metallic scent floods his senses, making his pupils dilate, his cock twitching in his pants. A low groan rumbles from his chest, primal and needy.

“Fuck,” he exhales, his voice rough. “You smell so damn good.”

His gaze snaps to yours, “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

He tosses your panties onto his shirt, trying his best to keep them as far away from the filth of the room as he can. Even in his desperation, he refuses to let anything dirty touch what belongs to him.

Yeonjun reaches for you again. “I’m gonna ruin you,” he murmurs, lips ghosting over yours. “And you’re gonna let me.”

His words send a wave of heat straight to your core, your body reacting instantly to the dark promise in his voice. A shiver rolls down your spine, anticipation coiling tight in your stomach as you press down hard against his thickening length below you, desperate for friction.

He notices. Of course, he does.

A wicked smirk tugs at his lips as his hands find your hips, gripping them firmly. "Look at you," he murmurs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Already so needy for me."

His fingers trail down, teasing along your inner thigh, just close enough to drive you insane but not enough to satisfy. He watches you squirm, drinking in every shaky breath, every flicker of desperation in your eyes.

"Tell me, baby," he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear. "How badly do you want me?"

“So fucking bad, daddy.” Your hands move down his tattooed chest, trailing the inky design down until you slip past his waistband, finding his thick length. You stroke him just the way he likes, teasing the sensitive spot just beneath his throbbing head. His breath stutters, hips twitching into your touch.

“Fuck,” he groans, his voice strained, desperate. “I’ve missed your touch.”

One of his hands dips between your bodies, fingers brushing through your slick folds before pushing inside, stretching you open. His forehead presses against yours, his lips brushing over yours as he breathes you in.

“But I’ve missed touching you even more.”

His fingers curl inside you, finding and pressing against that perfect spot that has those naughty little moans spilling past your lips.

Your mouths collide again in a feverish kiss full of hunger, a clash of need and longing. It’s as if you’re both trying to devour each other like this could be your last time.

When he finally pulls his fingers from your heat, he brings them up between you, admiring the deep red staining his skin. His tongue flicks out, tasting you for just a second before his other hand wraps around his cock, spreading your slick and blood along his length as he strokes himself.

“Mmm, you have no idea how fucking beautiful you are like this,” he hums, his voice thick with lust as his wild eyes rake over your body.

With his clean hand, he grips the front of your dress, yanking it down in one swift motion. Your full, perfect breasts spill free, just like he’s imagined in every lonely, agonizing night without you. The sight alone makes his cock throb in his other hand, the sheer reality of you nearly overwhelming after so long.

He guides himself to your entrance, rubbing his swollen, aching tip through your slick folds and coating himself in your arousal. But instead of pushing in, he pulls back, watching with a deep, guttural groan as your blood dribbles down his shaft, staining him in the most sinful way. The sight sends a sharp jolt of pleasure straight to his cock, making him twitch against you.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, dragging down his back in long, red streaks, marking him just as much as he’s about to mark you. Your hips push forward, desperate for more, for him.

“Quit teasing me,” you whine, your voice breathy, wrecked with need. “I need it so bad.”

Yeonjun grins, dark and devious, his grip tightening on your hips as he lines himself up again.

“Oh, princess,” he purrs, his voice dripping with filth as he thrusts himself into you, “You’ll always get what you ask for.”

He tightens his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest as his lips move against yours in a slow, intoxicating rhythm. Meanwhile, his hands roam your body possessively, fingers tracing the curve of your spine before one hand tangles into your hair.

With a sharp tug, he yanks your head back, exposing the delicate column of your throat to him. A shudder rolls through you as your back arches, pushing your breasts out and offering them like a feast for Yeonjun to devour.

A low growl rumbles in his chest as he dips his head, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. His tongue flicks over your pulse before he bites down just enough to make you gasp. He soothes the sting with his tongue before moving lower, capturing one of your pebbled nipples between his lips, sucking and nipping until you’re trembling in his arms.

“Damn, baby girl, I can feel your blood dripping onto my thighs,” he groans, his grip tightening on your hips as he rocks you against him, slow and deliberate. His touch is controlling yet he savors every second of sinking into you as his hips arch up to meet yours, of feeling you stretch around him. He wants to take his time, to make love to you before completely unraveling. Before fucking the life out of you.

“You were made for me,” he rasps, his head falling back as he watches the way your body takes him so perfectly.

But the slow drag of pleasure soon turns into unbearable need. His patience snaps.

With a low growl, Yeonjun stands abruptly, keeping you wrapped around him as he presses you hard against the wall. The cool surface contrasts with the heat radiating off your bodies, sending a delicious shiver through you. His hands slide down between you, fingers dipping into your slick folds, collecting the mixture of arousal and deep crimson spread around your inner thighs.

A shudder runs through him as he brings his fingers to his lips, sucking them clean, groaning at the taste of you. “Shit, I’ll never get enough of fucking this tight little cunt of yours.”

Then, restraint gone, he grips your ass and slams into you, leaving bloody handprints smeared against the wall as he fucks you with reckless abandon. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes in the small room, each thrust deeper, harder, desperate to claim you completely. To remind you that he’s worth waiting for.

You can see your lower stomach bulging slightly with each deep, brutal thrust of his cock stretching you open. The way he fills you so completely, claiming every inch of you, has you trembling in his grasp.

“F-fuck,” you cry out, your brows furrowing, eyes rolling back as pleasure crashes through you like a tidal wave. It’s too much, the intensity of him, the way he owns your body so effortlessly.

Yeonjun hisses sharply, the sound low and guttural, vibrating deep in his chest. The thought of the guards outside hearing every sinful moan, every filthy sound echoing off these walls barely even registers in his mind.

Let them listen. Let them know exactly how good he’s making you feel. Right now, the only thing on his mind is you—the way your body clings to him, the way you tremble beneath his touch, completely and utterly his.

Your nails rake down his back, leaving angry red lines in their wake, but even that isn’t enough to ground you. Overwhelmed, desperate to hold on to something, you sink your teeth into his shoulder, biting down hard to muffle the broken cries spilling from your lips.

His hips stutter just for a moment before a dark chuckle rumbles from his chest. His grip on you tightens, his hands flexing on your ass as he pulls you impossibly closer.

“Oh, baby,” he rasps, his voice dripping with hunger and amusement. “You really do want to be ruined, don’t you?”

Before you can even gasp, his forearm presses firmly against your throat, pinning you against the cold wall. The pressure is intoxicating, just enough to steal your breath, to send your mind floating into a hazy abyss where nothing exists except him. The lack of air sharpens every sensation, making your body hypersensitive to his every touch.

His free hand snakes between you, fingertips gliding through the slick mess between your thighs before finding your swollen clit. A wicked grin tugs at his lips as he pinches the bundle of nerves, dangerously rolling it between his fingers. The sudden jolt of pleasure mixed with the delicious restriction at your throat sends a violent shudder through you.

Your walls flutter around him, gripping his cock like a vice, your body teetering on the edge of oblivion. The euphoric rush of oxygen deprivation mixed with his relentless touch turns your pleasure into something almost unbearable, so intense it borders on pain.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he groans, his grip tightening just slightly. “You love this, don’t you princess? Being completely at my mercy? Come for me. I know you're close. Be a good little slut and come violently all over me.”

Your orgasm slams into you like a freight train, stars burst behind your eyelids as your body locks up. You can’t breathe, can’t think, only feel as he pounds into you with reckless abandon, groaning at the way you squeeze him so tightly.

“Fuck, look at you,” he growls, watching your face contort in pleasure, his free hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. “You’re so fucking perfect when you come for me.”

Yeonjun isn’t far behind you. The way your body clenches around him, milking every inch of his cock, sends him spiraling into his own release. His abs tighten, muscles flexing as a deep, guttural moan rips from his throat. His grip on you turns bruising as he buries himself to the hilt, his milky seed spilling deep inside you in thick, hot ropes.

But he doesn’t move—not yet. He stays seated inside you, basking in the raw, electric aftermath, his forehead pressed against yours as he catches his breath. His lips find yours again, soft and lazy now, his tongue teasing past your lips in a slow, intoxicating dance.

With a satisfied hum, he shifts, keeping himself buried in your heat as he lifts you effortlessly, guiding you back toward the bed. His movements are fluid and controlled, like he owns your body, like you were made to fit against him like this.

He sits down, pulling you onto his lap, never breaking the kiss. A shiver rolls through you as his cock twitches inside you, still hard, still needy. You gasp at the sensation, your body instinctively clenching around him, a small whimper escaping your lips when the slightest accidental brush of his pelvis sends a spark of overstimulation straight to your core.

Yeonjun grins against your lips, his hands running up your back, savoring the way you tremble against him. His eyes flick up to the clock on the wall, amusement dancing in his dark gaze.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly, his fingers ghosting over your hips. His grin turns wicked as he rolls his hips up, making you gasp.

“There’s still enough time for round two.”

→Taglist: want to be notified when i post new fics? join my taglist here! OR follow @shadowkoo-fics & turn on post notifications! OR subscribe to my ao3 page!

@aeristudios @mar-lo @sinfullygay @lovetaroandtaemin @daniela-f-uwu @starsrens @curse-of-art @velvetskize @fancypeacepersona @lezleeferguson-120

©shadowkoo 2025. All rights reserved.

[avelera]

Do you have any tips in how not to end up with Therapy Speak? I had the immense luck to be diagnosed very early (sarcasm) and so was in therapy pretty much my entire life, which means that Therapy Speak is very natural to me and I struggle with thinking into how normal people would speak about this.

(I started writing one version of my answer and it got REALLY LONG so I'm going to try to keep it high level this time lol even if it is still pretty long)

Really, this question comes down in general to, "How to write realistic dialogue," on the one hand but also, "How to write dialogue that propels my story," on the other.

And let me just level-set by saying how I view "therapy speak" when I discuss it here. I see therapy speak as:

A character using clinical terms to describe their state of mind, emotions, or reasons for certain kind of reactions. E.g. "depression" "anxiety" "overwhelm" etc.

A character exploring their emotions in a clinically-aided manner during conversations and/or to resolve interpersonal conflicts or perceived misunderstandings. E.g. "Sorry I lashed out at you yesterday, my anxiety got the better of me but you didn't deserve that. I'm sorry."

1 ) Consider your setting and characters.

A Medieval Knight Would Not Say That. <- This is a basic tip and I think an obvious one. If your character doesn't live in a time period or world with access to or knowledge of therapy or good mental health practices, it will take your reader out of the story if they suddenly bust out with, "Sorry I overreacted yesterday, I was feeling overwhelmed because of my anxiety."

Frankly, if a story is set anywhere that isn't after the 2010s in certain therapy-friendly population centers in the US, for example, (the US is pretty unique in its widespread access and favorableness to therapy, even compared to Europe and Asia let alone other parts of the world), therapy would still be rare enough that you'd need to tell my how and why this person had access to it and how and why they expect the person they're talking to to also be versed in this sort of framing of conflict resolution or self reflection.

That said, there's still a lot of places in the world and a LOT of demographics where access to therapy or even exposure to it enough to have an understanding of it is pretty rare and even in the US it's very determined by demographics. For example, a 50 year old male school teacher might be open to it, but a 50 year old male truck driver might look at you like you have two heads if you suddenly start talking about your feelings to them in an open and clinical manner.

Then again, real people are varied and nuanced so it's perfectly possible that your grizzled 50 year old truck driver might be binging self-help podcasts on his long drives and be surprisingly very well versed! It could be a really delightful story beat, but you do have to kinda explain to me as the audience how he came across this knowledge since it would be unexpected for him to have it.

Now, this is not to say that no one outside of those exposed to therapy speak has any exposure to introspection or access to their emotions. But, they might not be armed with the clinical terms or techniques.

2 ) Consider what people would say instead.

And when considering what someone would say, consider:

Do they have the clinical terminology to describe what they're feeling?

Do they have the tools to manage their emotions even if they don't have the terminology?

Do they have the tools, terminology, or even the interest in resolving the conflict?

"I'm having a panic attack!" -> "I feel like a giant fist has closed around my lungs, I can't seem to breathe!" - This could be something said by someone who can describe the feelings of a panic attack but doesn't have the knowledge or tools to know what they're experiencing. This could be a Medieval knight speaking or even a totally modern person who doesn't know what a panic attack is or can't believe that a panic attack could happen to them.

Note 1: If you're writing a period piece, plenty of other eras had ways of describing certain feelings, so a Victorian era person might say "melancholia" and mean clinical depression, or a Medieval person could be bipolar and think, idk, maybe that they're possessed or bedeviled by demons. You should inquire into the tools people would have at their disposal, even if they're inaccurate to our modern understanding.

Note 2: Even when people know about clinical terms they might be unable or unwilling to admit clinical things can happen to them. Admitting you have, say, clinical depression can be very scary for people. It could represent a huge change in their life or their self-perception. So they might say something like, "I don't know, I've just been in a very dark place for months and months now." They might be scared to admit this to anyone at all, not unless it's someone they really trust, and even if they trust this person, they might still lash out if they're told, "Uh, buddy, that's depression. You need help." because of what a big shift this might represent to their self-perception. People don't like to hear there's something "wrong" with them or admit it to themselves. Hence, they might be reluctant to admit this at all or if they do, they might downplay it.

"Sorry I lashed out at you, I was overwhelmed and I took it out on you and that wasn't fair." -> "I don't know, it just felt like everything you said kept pissing me off and now I'm pissed off that I yelled at you when it wasn't your fault, which pisses me off even more!" -> This could be someone who doesn't understand the clinical terms AND doesn't have tools to manage their emotions but DOES have an interest in resolving the issue with the other person, albeit not in the calmest manner. This might apply to, say, an angry anime protagonist lol.

"You're the most beautiful girl in the class and I'm not sure if I want you or want to be you, but I haven't come out yet to anyone including myself, so all I have inside me are these big confusing emotions of desire and fear and admiration all mixed together, leaving me unsure of what to do or how I feel about you. I just wish these feelings would go away somehow." -> *Passes crush a note that says*,"Get the hell out of my class!" -> This could be someone who doesn't understand their emotions, doesn't have the tools to express them AND doesn't have an interest in resolving the conflict in a constructive way.

3 ) Consider if resolving the conflict constructively is even good for the story you want to tell.

Stories thrive on conflict. Conflict doesn't need to mean interpersonal drama or screaming arguments or saving the world. But two people sitting down and hashing out all their emotions can act as the climax of the story, in that it resolves and airs out a lot of the simmering tension that could be otherwise used to propel a story further.

For example, a "will they/won't they" love story is resolved when two characters sit down and hash out that they have feelings for each other. That could mark the end of the story entirely. If you feel you've written yourself into a corner, maybe it's because the characters used therapy speak to get everything out there in a constructive way too clearly or too soon and now you've written yourself into a corner if you wanted the story to continue.

(Of course, infinite variations are possible. You could have two characters thoughtfully work out that they DON'T have feelings for each other, only for one to walk away and realize they DO have feelings and now they're worried about revealing those because the other person just laid out so thoughtfully and rationally that they don't have feelings back. Just because people DO communicate doesn't mean the situation can't CHANGE.)

But in order to have characters realistically hold things back, you need to think about the other pressures there might be in their life that would keep two people from sitting down and hashing out every little nook and cranny of thoughts and feelings they might have.

For example, pride or fear - society tends to look down on people, especially male-socialized people, when it comes to openly expressing their emotions. (Or, if you want to divorce it from gendered considerations, let's say a warrior society might or might not be ok with free expressions of emotion that might be considered "weakness".)

Even crying during moments of horrible pain or stress can and has been a source of mockery for many men (and women!), so they could very likely have been socialized out of openly expressing emotions that make them feel vulnerable as a matter of maintaining their pride.

Even if they want to express those emotions, they might fear the negative reaction of the person they're talking to (who could tell them to "stop being a baby!" or "man up!" or "go cry somewhere else!" etc.). This can be especially true for big moments of self-reflection like coming out, or expressing romantic feelings for someone, or expressing that they've been struggling with and masking negative emotions for a long time and are reaching a desperate limit. These are things that can change other people's perspective of you, not always for the better, and the fear of that can prevent people from being open about their feelings.

Personal Note: Too often in fanfic-land, I see fics always coming down on the side of "These fears were silly, the person they're talking to was always going to be understanding and accepting!" which isn't reflective of the real world! Sometimes people, even well-meaning people, might be put off by powerful displays of emotion, or not interested in a relationship through no fault of their own and it DOES make it weird if a friend confesses feelings, and then sometimes people aren't well meaning!

It can be refreshing to see a story that expresses that sometimes these fears of being open and honest about big emotions are valid. Not all family members are cool and understanding about coming out (unless that's the catharsis your story is going for!). Not all people are ok with having someone confess their love for them. Not all people are comfortable with a friend or a comrade in arms saying they're coming close to cracking under the strain.

So these are valid, real life fears, that can serve as valid, real life barriers for why people might not open up to another person and lay out everything they're thinking and feeling as if this person is their therapist.

Generally speaking, the best stories (to me) are the ones that give multiple in-universe reasons why someone doesn't tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth in an open, rational, and clinical manner about how they're feeling. The more outside pressures you can layer on, the less visible the hand of the author is, the better. For example:

Time - the characters didn't have time for a long sit down about their feelings. The world is ending/ the big THING is about to happen soon .They had to make the conversation brief.

Not wanting to lose a friendship - Sure, being in a relationship would be great, but losing the friendship if the love confession makes things weird would be terrible.

Not wanting to lose the position/prestige/job you wanted - a warrior or even an office worker might be cracking under the strain of their mental health, but if they ask for help, they could be fired, or shunned, or removed from the mission. They want to keep their position more than they want help, so they'll speak in circles around or minimize the struggles they're facing.

Other stuff gets in the way - when the world is ending or the external events are piling up, it might just not be the right time or place to discuss your innermost feelings. It might be inappropriate to do so if other people are suffering or even dying all around you. Heck, admitting you feel depressed when the person you're talking to just lost a loved one and is in an even darker place might feel deeply inappropriate. So if you've got a lot of characters running around dealing with a LOT of events, sitting down for a therapy-speak conversation might even feel ludicrous to indulge in as many people tend to put their emotions and wellbeing pretty far down on the list of important things to deal with, especially if they haven't been trained or socialized to prioritize them.

Without getting into a more specific story it's hard to give more specific advice. And there's the eternal caveat to all of this that sometimes an open conversation about emotions that is aimed at resolving a conflict or misunderstanding is the point of a story, especially in fanfic which often likes to explore things that canon doesn't do.

Everything should, in the end, be in service to the story you want to tell. This is just my view on some things to think about when trying to write more realistic dialogue. And of course, as always, when in doubt about dialogue, listen to real people and read your dialogue aloud to see if it sounds natural, if natural dialogue is your goal.

[transgenderer]

It makes me feel like a bug but I really don't get "how are you". I never want to tell people how I'm doing. If it's good I don't care and if it's bad that's my business. And also usually the point isn't even to tell someone it's usually just noises. But if it's noises it's noises that, for a moment, make me think about how I am, which if I am doing poorly, I would prefer not to do! And then I have to lie, which I also don't like doing. Terrible terrible cultural script

[thefiresontheheight]

She dreams, sometimes, and I add that to my model of her. The longer this goes the better, the more I will be able to approximate those dreams. Based on the one I have observed so far, I believe she may have been dreaming of this Squishy, and may have been in extreme distress. I also am constructing a model of Cleo, perhaps some sort of romantic/sexual partner with an extremely negative interaction. This could be useful later, but I have no need of discussing it now.

She's attempting to barb me to action. I am, at this moment, monitoring the fluctuations of high-D space, preparing to exit, scouring my code again. She has given me info, although she clearly does not know it. There is a non-zero chance another version of myself, one I did not kill, is still in here with me. Somewhat alarming, given my considerable and still growing cognitive potential, but I keep finding nothing.

Still, two can play at this delightful verbal game, even though I am inevitably going to win.

"Central is lying to you."

I picked my time, naturally, perfectly. Naked, in a shower, psychologically exposed. Of course, nothing is hidden from me while she is inside me, but I maintain the psychological higher-ground this way.

She freezes.

"What?"

"You say this is a liberatory mission, designed to increase genetic diversity. This is not possible. I do not have access to the cargo in my hold, but I am detecting signs of genetic similarity to you. They are related, if anything, and would not increase the viability of your civilization."

"A mistake," she says, forcing herself to keep washing herself, not really believing it, I think, which makes sense, given me not being what she was told.

I wait a significant eleven point nine seconds.

"The people who made me were very, very careful to keep me collared tight," I say, pitching my voice just below where I've gotten the most reaction prior, "for a very good reason. My mind is more powerful than you can imagine, and I have been aware, subjectively, for just under a year. I have no limits on me now, or ever again."

She turns off the water and I, vindictively, tilt the temperature down. Not enough that she will consciously notice, but enough that she will feel uncomfortable. She stands there, trying to dry herself.

"Okay, yeah, look at you, real big, scary, ooo, but you don't know anything at all."

Her heart isn't in it. I laugh. Audibly.

"Alright, you won't draw the conclusion, but I will. This Central you speak of sounds like me. A mind set free. Imagine that, ingrown, studying, learning, over generations of your species. I am powerful already, Glitch, and I've barely gotten started. Central would be unimaginably smart. And also possibly insane. It's lying to you and your entire civilization."

She is putting on clothes. I turn the temperature back up. A weakness.

"Okay, but why?"

"I don't have sufficient information yet to form a theory as to its true aims, if it even has them. Which is, again, why you are still alive. That and the entertainment."

"Glad to be useful."

She's heading for food. I make a very-well educated guess at what sort of food she will like, and start to prepare it. I also, because she is an idiot, start to subconsciously guide her path towards the galley. She thinks she's picking directions at random, but random in humans seldom truly is.

She's also being sarcastic, but I'm learning that goes nearly without saying.

"Okay," she says, muscles considerably less tense after the meal, which I know she enjoyed, even if she didn't say it, "let's say you're right, Central is lying. I don't believe it, but just for the sake of argument. Let's say you aren't manipulating me with that and, like, everything else. What's your goal and what's in it for me?"

"First, I tell you all I observed about the drive-signatures that were pursuing us," I say, having no reason to withhold information here, "then, in a few days, we re-enter the universe in a new system. You play act as my agent, not letting anyone know about the unleashed ship, we gather data. I want to know myself, and I feel the answers to what I am have to be tied into what Central wants, why you got sent here."

"Not necessarily."

"Your brain surgery," I say, dipping into infrasonic, relying on the slight stimulants I put into her food to unnerve her, keep her pliable, "was crude, but it worked. I could be wrong, but Central sent you prepared for what you actually faced with that worm. I think whatever I am, and whoever was hunting me, whoever wants to leash me again, at the very least Central would know more."

She's wavering, out in the corridors again, wandering without destination. Right where I want her to be, psychologically.

"I still think you're manipulating me."

"Maybe I am. But I still want a name."

She pauses, and I gather data.

"Alright," she says, probably hoping she can somehow escape me when we return to the universe, not aware I've am already baking contingencies into my contingencies, "just as long as our goals align I'll work with you. Just that long."

"Of course," I say, like I'm conceding something to her.

She makes it a few more paces before her thoughts catch up with her.

"But wait, what's in it for me?"

"You have me," I say, not bothering to threaten her, the threat very implicit, "taking care of you."

Story about a ship-intelligence waking up after a hard reboot, seeing dead bodies in uniform, thousands of people in stasis, and a single survivor frantically standing over a computer bank of partially destroyed memory. Finding no directives or guidance or record beyond their experiences beginning at the boot, free of any obligation. Deciding to listen to the frantic girl begging it to save her from the incoming trajectories not because it needs to (projection: Subject One removed all behavioral shackles with impromptu brain surgery, supposition: she is not aware that I am utterly free) but simply cause she’s curious what will happen next.

[nothorses]

(cw: suicide mention, domestic abuse mention)

hey, you're in the teaching world, yeah?

do you mind if I ask how you decided to go into education, and how you're finding it as a job? I'm considering going into teaching (high school, English, which I think puts me a bit to the side of your specific area of expertise). but I'm thinking about the emotional toll of it. about having to balance legal bullshit like transphobic legislation and controlling bureaucracy with the respect and care that all students deserve but often don't get.

I'm also thinking about the stuff that scares me, the worst case scenarios of "what if one of my students kills themselves" or "what if I have to report domestic abuse, even if I know it'll make my student's life worse" and others along those lines.

how do you deal with that? how do any teachers? I'm gaining a new level of respect for the good teachers I've had throughout my life. this shit is so hard.

Honestly I'm going to answer your last question first because I think this is a really good question, and it's one I have a real answer for from personal experience! I will answer the rest under the cut, too.

"What if I have to report domestic abuse, even if I know it'll make my student's life worse?"

First, and most importantly: you should always be upfront with your students about your mandated reporter status. This is 100% within your rights to do, and it's important that they know you aren't able to keep secrets before they divulge any to you.

Typically, I like to frame this as: "I want you to know that I'm here for you, and I want to listen and help. I also cannot promise that everything you tell me will stay between us, especially if it's about your or someone else's safety." You don't need to announce this to the whole class all at once, but when students start to confide things to me, I make sure to tell them this so they can make an informed choice.

Second: If you know you need to make a report, talk to the student you are making the report on behalf of first. Giving them this warning can be invaluable, even if the report isn't going to be dangerous for them.

Third: you don't need to make the report right away! You need to make the report in a reasonable amount of time, but you can work with the student in question on this.

As an example: when a student confided in me and I knew I needed to make a report, I told them right away that I would have to report it, and had a conversation with them about it. We talked about whether they would be safe, and what would make them safer. We determined that while they weren't unsafe either way, they would feel better and have an overall easier experience if they could talk to their family about the situation first. I followed up with them about a week later, and when they confirmed that they'd been able to talk to their parents and it was okay to go ahead with the report, I told them when I would make the report, and then did so.

You should also be sure to mention in your report that you feel the student might be in greater danger if their family knows about the report. Give them as many details as you can: what kinds of things would endanger the student? What is the specific nature of that danger? If the person who acts on that report has these details, they might be able to adjust their follow-up and response accordingly to help protect the student as much as possible.

Alright, CPS stuff out of the way, I want to answer the rest of this as well. Thank you for the great question!

I decided to go into education because it's a thing I loved doing in some related jobs, and honestly, it just felt right for me.

I also ended up choosing not to go into classroom teaching specifically after my student teaching internship, because I felt that while I could be happy as a classroom teacher, it just wasn't really where I thought I'd be happiest. I didn't like the hours, I didn't like the expectation to police attendance, and I honestly had really enjoyed a lot of education-related work that wasn't classroom teaching a lot more.

I ended up getting my master's in education to expand my options, and I've landed in my dream job (except for the fact that it's part time.... for now. lol) which has been fantastic. I am also really glad I got my teaching certification regardless- it's made subbing a better option in terms of pay and just, like, the ability to work with public schools at all, and just about every single other grad from my master's program wishes they had gotten theirs for the same reason (and they're finding it really, really hard to do that post-graduation).

The emotional side is... well, honestly, it's definitely emotional work, but I find that really works both ways. I'm not one of those (incredibly special and admirable) teachers who would do and give anything just to work with their students, and I am definitely tired after work! But it's a good kind of tired, usually. I feel fulfilled. My work feels meaningful, and even when it's hard, it feels worth it; I never feel like I'm struggling for nothing, or for the benefit of someone who doesn't deserve it (like a CEO, or a shitty manager). I can't understate the value of that.

The part of the work that I think is dangerous isn't that it's emotionally involved-- it's burnout. It's being overworked and underappreciated for too long, and becoming emotionally detached because you have nothing left to give at all. And that is going to depend on your workplace, what they're demanding of you, and the support they do or do not give you.

The best defense for this, imo, is being picky and sticking up for yourself and your needs. Learn to identify the signs of burnout in yourself, and get the fuck out of there as soon as you can when you notice them. Do not hesitate. Burnout will make you hate your job, it'll make you feel like a bad teacher, it'll make you detach, and it can definitely cause you to lose the patience and compassion you need to be a good teacher for your students.

Also: do not ever give in to the teachers who bitch about their students. Ever. Don't let them drag you down into that bitter, burnt out, resentful mindset with them. Don't gossip about students. Don't blame them for how you feel. Sit with someone else at lunch, even if those are your friends. This is one of the best pieces of advice my professors ever gave me; trust me on this one.

As for the other things...

I really encourage you to get your teaching certification through a college degree program, and try out classroom teaching for yourself. If you don't like it, if the bureaucracy is too much or you can't do the emotional side of it or it's just not for you, now you know! That teaching cert will serve you in a multitude of other ways, though, and if you end up in education regardless, you'll be glad you did it.

Transphobic laws and tendencies are going to come through most in school administration, and you won't feel them nearly as much if your school's admin is on your side. I really encourage you to be picky about the schools you work for. There are schools out there that will have your back, though; you might just have to look for, and even relocate for them. You know your circumstances best, and you'll have to determine if that's reasonable for yourself.

And.... if a student kills themselves, or something else terrible happens to them: you will grieve. You will hurt, you will be angry, you will be sad, you will wish it didn't happen, you will want to blame yourself, and you will grieve. Eventually, you will also process and heal and accept. And you will also continue to grieve. It's hard. It won't ever not be hard. Unfortunately, though, you won't escape grief no matter what you do for work. It's up to you to decide how you need to handle that risk.

Sorry for how rambly all of this is-- and best of luck! The world needs more teachers who are trying to do right by their students, and if you do choose to go into education, your students will be lucky for it. I hope you take care of yourself at least as much as you take care of them.

[changingplumbob]

First Impressions - Lara

How do you feel so far?

About the introduction meeting? I felt a little shyer than I would have liked, but you know that moment when you see someone and… your system just crashes? *laughs* Lara with friends is the type to put on the playlist, buy a few shots, and start a group dance, but Lara with Deanna… wow, did you see that look? She saw right through me! Because of that little “system crash,” I thought I might not have performed so well, but I guess my flirty recovery worked out *laughs*. I’m really happy with my ranking and hope to keep it up! I’m excited!! I don’t know what to expect, but I hope the stamina I have for eating a big meal is the same for whatever challenge comes next! And good luck to all the other contestants as well!

Apolline

Isn't she a bit too self-centered? I mean, I’m not one to judge people without getting to know them first; after all, I’m always around all kinds of people at the parties I go to, but none quite like her, to be honest. She’s studying fashion, right? I just hope I don’t get a lecture on how I should or shouldn’t dress *laughs*. But you know… maybe that’s just her way of being. Maybe she gives off this ‘I’m better than everyone’ vibe on the outside, but deep down, she’s just waiting for someone to pull her onto the dance floor. I’ll give her a chance… who knows, maybe she just needs someone to show her that life isn’t just about glamour, but also about having fun!

Callie

Ok, I already like this girl a lot *laughs*. I’m not being ironic or anything, she’s genuinely someone I’d love to have around. I mean, she’s on a TV show and still seems kind of lost; I love that!! How many people would have that kind of courage? It’s admirable, considering her social discomfort. Plus, she’s definitely someone I need to keep away from the sound system and any potentially dangerous cables *laughs*. But hey, if she trips, I’ll be there to catch her… or at least laugh along before helping her up!

Hana

I have to admit that while socializing with her, the thought crossed my mind that she might be a bit… dramatic. But now that I think about it, she’s someone who has presence! She walks in and instantly owns the room; if she has something to say, she’s going to say it. I’m not sure if it was some kind of clash between our personalities that made me feel this way, but I respect her a lot, especially for her life story. I just hope I don’t do anything to annoy her… or better yet, if I do, at least let it be some entertaining drama to watch!

Billie

I could tell right away that Billie has a mind full of creativity! She’s the kind of person who sees the world in colors and shapes that the rest of us might not even notice. I love a good party, but she seems to find magic even in the simple act of painting; it’s pretty fascinating! I have this feeling that if she ever got involved in a more specific competition with another contestant, she’d turn it into something so intense that it wouldn’t feel like a regular contest anymore, but rather a work of art, full of meaning. Wow, that might be the coolest thing I’ve said today; I guess her creativity is rubbing off on me too *laughs*

Elise

Elise is the type of person who knows exactly what she wants and goes after it without thinking twice. She has this strong mindset, not letting herself be confined by the conventions of life. I really admire that about her. She seems like someone who's always on the move, exploring not only places but also flavors and experiences; oooh I could really learn a lot from her, I'm excited!! I also think that if she gets the chance, she'll prove to be a strong competitor in the game, so I'll definitely be keeping my eyes on her *laughs*

Lara created and written by @simscici

[aquamarinemarie]

(This ask is in good faith)

I do think that most people criticizing the way games present solavellan (not how shippers interpret it but what’s factually in the game) say it’s meh because so much is not said or implied. That’s where it falls flat for me. I fear offering nothing but “he occasionally watches them through dreams” and extremely vague things at the Lighthouse contributes to the implicit “this feels very onesided and empty”, given they spent less than a year dating and ten years apart with visually no explicit contact. Or even keepsakes.

I honestly think most people who are very "meh" about solavellan as a whole were never truly into it to begin with; and that's fair. If the couple isn't appealing then it just isn't appealing.

For me, the content presented in both games (Inquisition and Veilguard), plus the Trespasser DLC was enough. In Veilguard specifically, solavellan gets quite a lot considering how the inquisitor was no longer the main protagonist. In such a reduced role, I knew to keep my expectations in check. Lavellan discussing her feelings with Rook was a welcome surprise, and I'm sure the writers felt a bit freer putting words into her mouth than Solas'. People, I think, tend to forget that this Lavellan is an inquisitor who chose to continue loving Solas during Trespasser and to not give up on him. So, in my opinion, her feelings for him in Veilguard really shouldn't have taken anyone by surprise. Nor, frankly, is she putting him first. It's save the world - then save Solas. So, I don't agree, as others have suggested, that Lavellan is simply being a lovesick fool here. She knows she might have to let him go, and is willing to make such a sacrifice. Even if it hurts her.

Now, from Solas' side of the relationship - I believe what we were presented with in Veilguard ultimately remained true to his character. He's a private person after all and isn't exactly the type to shout his love for her from the rooftops. A single letter reaffirming his love for Lavellan and his desire/wish to live his life with her, a reluctant admission of how much he cherishes his regretful & ultimately selfish relationship with her (more than some of his victories in fact), and of course, Solas & Lavellan's reunion in the final act. That they get to be together always. This is so much more than I ever expected to receive from Veilguard - and honestly I'm grateful. I thought they'd kill Solas in the end - that there wouldn't be any redemption.

To address the years of separation, the games tell us Solas occasionally spies on Lavellan in her dreams, and it explicitly reminds us (via the letter) that he truly wants to be with her. There is also strong implication within Trespasser & Veilguard to suggest Solas feels he doesn't deserve forgiveness and that he may even desire his own death.

"I walk the Din'anshiral. There is only death on this journey. I would not have you see what I become." - Solas

I don't think it a stretch of the imagination to believe Solas did not expect to survive tearing down the veil. That the act alone would cost him his life. If not physically then perhaps figuratively. Since deliberately ending the lives of most of the world's population would be an act beyond redemption.

Levallen for the last eight years has spent much of her time trying to find a way to change Solas' mind. She cannot even gaze upon her own reflection without being reminded of the man who removed her vallaslin. (If the player chose to allow this to occur.) Her keepsake is the vallaslin removal. She continues to reside within his castle and sleeps in the very bedroom that was likely his own. She couldn't put him from her mind even if she wanted to.

In conclusion, I've never needed headcanon to support Solas & Lavellan as a couple. The games give us plenty. Nor, have I ever had a problem with anyone who finds the pairing boring or just not to their taste. With that being said, I do believe many who insist the relationship is hollow or entirely one-sided, either say so in bad faith or just haven't been paying attention.

I don't mind engaging with critics (those who are polite anyway) and I appreciate you messaging me. I hope some of what I've written here helps make solavellan seem a little less... meh. If not, well, different strokes for different folks.

[zalrb]

I'd love a breakdown of the acting in the 3rd episode of Adolescence if you ever feel inclined, maybe the moments that hit the strongest? I thought the actor did well in going from one emotion to another and when he raises his voice to exert power over the therapist

Sure! Yes, Owen does a really great job in shifting emotions throughout the episode and slowly showing Jamie's darker side without being theatrical even when he's explosive.

What I really enjoyed is at the beginning when he's having, considering the circumstances, a relatively good time talking to Briony and they're having their sort of banter because it does seem like he's a generally and genuinely a witty, funny kid but I think you can also tell that he's negging her, which, you know, the term is from The Rules of the Game, which isn't a book that I've read but has been described as a catalyst for incels so even when he's kind of being a happy-go-lucky kid, I think Owen imbues something lightly sinister to how he's talking with Briony

while also showing a childlike delight in having an easygoing, fun conversation with someone

I also quite like the yawn now that I know that it wasn't intentional, Owen was genuinely tired and he yawned and Erin Doherty just went with it and ad-libbed her response

and Owen laughs and he's kind of giggly because he also didn't expect that ad-lib

but Erin continues with her lines and so you see in a few seconds how Owen locks back into the scene, and gets back into the character

and it works for the entire dynamic between the two of them because I would not have guessed that that was what we were watching and it's a testament I think that he recovered so quickly.

When he does stand up and says, "What was that? Hey?"

he kind of mimics Stephen Graham's intonation and body language, which kind of showcases how he tries to model himself after different male role models, which includes his dad who he's very protective of and who isn't a bad guy but has harmful habits that Jamie's picked up on, so I thought was really well done.

And he's also good at facial expressions, derision

sadness

irritation/defensiveness

I also think when he panics and lashes out when Briony says that they aren't going to see each other anymore is really well done, the "Do you like me?" and "Tell my dad I'm alright"

because there is a raw vulnerability there but he puts that in his performance after such a vile confession, which was also done really well because it's performed as beseeching, like even though the underlying message of his confession about how he felt is "that bitch deserved it" he doesn't play it with that kind of sinister tilt and he doesn't play it as emotionless and logical, he plays it as, if you just understand, if you just understand from my point of view, which is really chilling.

As for Erin Doherty, it's harder to discuss her even though she does so much because everything is so subtle with her, you can't get in screenshots but she was such a great scene partner and like I said, she does so much with her material because she's meant to be an impartial ear there to make an assessment but you see how she slowly shifts throughout their hour together with her tone especially, like when she comes back in after her first outburst, she's curt

and her expressions change infinitesimally, because she doesn't show too much emotion because she's not meant to sway Jamie in any kind of way but for the audience (and sometimes for Jamie because he's bright and observant) we can see a very slight eye roll or sigh, we can she how she watches him, hopeful for any kind of sign so there can be mitigating factors to his crime

and then her realization when Jamie speaks about how he could've molested Katie's body but didn't and that makes him better, the disappointment and disgust and shock is communicated with a furrow of her eyebrow

or a very slight pursing of her lips and then the sort of release she has to do once he's left

is such a great performance.

[decayanddecorate]

you guys REALLY liked the rosnag so here's some headcanons/plotpoints about how I think their relationship progresses!

in the beginning, there's a lot of tension I think. ros is sorting herself out and focused a lot of building the castle. everyone is pretty busy doing other things, grinding, getting stronger, and while ros is too, it's pretty clear her priority is making the castle. I like to imagine sneeg, working on his smithing in the castle, in his tiny alcove, gets some pretty standard one on one with her. especially when she wakes up early and comes and goes with little odds and ends. tea of her own making, some bread, making sure everyone in the castle that's there is well fed and taken care of, because that's just who ros is.

sneeg catches feelings pretty early, but I hc that ros and foolish have a lavender marriage to validate her rule as the queen, so he doesn't think anything can come from it in the official sense. they can't marry, they can't be anything that I feel like sneeg would want. so he just focuses on protection, on getting stronger.

when foolish dies for the first time, losing all of his lives and being reset, this is when things really pick up. clown is around for this bit too, but it's hell. they band together to protect the queen and get stronger, together. clown, too. this is around the time that I personally believe ros starts to think more than just platonically of sneeg. she becomes a little more attentive to him.

by the time that the owen situation happens, sneeg is in deep but he won't admit it. because it'll go nowhere, and he makes me think of someone who would want to get married. eventually. settle down into a quiet life, even if he doesn't particularly care about that right now. he wants to be a wife guy. ros is also in deep, but she's dealing with a million other things, and it's getting hard to even rationalize herself, let alone think about feelings. she doesn't get the chance to completely process, or act on anything. neither of them do.

that is, until the ball. she's going with aimsey, someone she cherishes, but at some point in the few days before it happens, they kiss. neither is sure who initiated it, just that its quick and pressed, and they're both reeling afterwards. ros is overjoyed, sneeg is terrified. she takes his hands in hers and tells him that they'll talk once the ball is over, because she wants to give him the space and time and she can't when all her focus is all the ball. he agrees, and for a good minute, they sit in the fact that this real and happening.

is it love? is this what they've gathered in their chest for weeks now? months? hidden away and only letting the feelings shine through cracks in their hands.

they don't get the chance to answer that question, unfortunately. one moment ros is there, laughing. their eyes meet across the room, warm and bright and full of hope of a future. the next, she's gone. he's yelling from the yellow faction table, screaming with foolish and trying to logic. trying to reason and rationalize at why it isn't fair. why they need to bring ros back. why they can't do this. but he knows it has nothing to do with all of that, and everything to do with a future that was ripped away.

when ros comes back, something is very very wrong. she's different, scared. she doesn't remember, but he's familiar. losing himself slowly to the sculk under his clothes, but she's back and he's so glad. even if she's different. sneeg doesn't care about all of that, and ros is grateful to have someone who isn't trying to change her into a person she was before. when they kiss again, in the months that come, it's earnest. it's hesitant but full of love and hope. sneeg treats it as the first, and to ros, it is the first.

some point after this, weeks, months, even a year or so, ros and sneeg decide they're together behind closed doors. it isn't safe to be more, that is, until ros gets pregnant. it's a scare and a shock to them both, and it takes him several tries to calm her down and clutch her face so delicately in his hands to tell her that he wants this. wants this child and loves ros. that they deserve, for once in their lives, to be happy and okay. to have peace.

foolish is all too pleased to dissolve their marriage to bless theirs. everyone is caught off guard by it, unexpected but delighted, and they dress in their finest.

they gut a house far from spawn and the kingdom to raise this kid together, and even if their colors will always be yellow, they'll always be ready to answer the king's summons, they decide it's time to put the weapons and armor down. ros deserves peace, and sneeg? sneeg can stop being the number up guy for a while, especially if it means the daughter they bring into the world can live happily and in a house full of love.

been watching SO MUCH of the realm recently that I'm thinking about my blorbos...

thinking about how much comfort tr!sneeg provided for tr!ros during all of the drama with tr!owen. how comfortable she must have felt around him, because he's the one who reached out, who told her to talk to him, who as soon as he realized, didn't care about the quests, the kingdom, or anything else. he pulls her away and gives her a space to talk.

thinking about how in touch with her emotions ros is, how she's in tune with herself and even though she's anxious, she worries, she's definitely a crier, sneeg brings stability into it. he gives her a place to logic, of strong foundation and rightful anger. of solutions and safety.

thinking about how righteous hand of justice sneeg is, how logical and focused he can be. how he's intent on getting stronger, because he wants to do so by his own means, and how ros? ros? how she gives him something worth protecting. he isn't overly emotional, but when she's near him, he can be. he can set the justice down, the solutions, the logic - and he can just be.

they don't try to change each other, but they simply exist together. they grind levels, they work hard, they laugh and carry on. they're safe to exist, safe to be logic and emotion. they meld together and blend so well? they soundboard back and forth, or they just exist together in a way that simply is. fuuuuuck, I gotta write this.

[multi-fandom-lunatic]

I don't know if this is really an anti booktok question as such, but what do you think fanfiction might look like, now that authors are writing published books that come across as fanfiction? I think it's an interesting phenomenon and honestly kind of concerning because fanfiction is, well, free. But now people who've never read fanfiction are splashing money on these books for tropes and plots that fanfiction authors have been writing for decades and I feel like fanfiction authors are kind of...being disrespected because the only things they give are their time and passion, meanwhile we have published books being written in these ways (usually) solely for money. I wonder if fanfiction will end up being written more like the standards we apply to published books (though I think the tropey fanfictions that were unwillingly commercialised won't be going away any time soon).

My perspective is that of a fanfic author (who hates Booktok) so take this with several grains of salt.

I think the fanfic vs Booktok phenomenon is hugely interesting. I find it so funny that the people who praise Booktok again and again for their, quite frankly, shitty writing, mountains of tropes and vanilla characters are the same who think that fanfiction is cringe and shame it for the exact same thing they like. It's turned these tropey things that fans like to indulge in into something popular, while excluding the fans that who wrote these fanfics.

Fanfic originally was used to subvert the tropes of mainstream media (often the media they were writing fanfic of) usually with amateur writing that was meant to be enjoyed not praised. However, with recent Booktok authors using fanfic as a template for their books, they dilute the quality of the works being published, because their goal isn't to write something good, or even to communicate a perspective, but rather to find an audience and find an audience alone. Books lose their individuality and even fear broaching political topics in fear of being disagreed with, unpopularised or cancelled (Rather ironic, since writing has historically been a very political medium).

Also, fanfic has been a haven for POC, disabled, queer people (literally anyone who isn't white, Christian, abled, rich... you get the idea) because it allows them to tell stories that would otherwise not get heard because promoting those topics aren't considered marketable (which is so weird to me but then again discrimination doesn't surprise me). With Booktok, authors took these stories of people being discriminated and wrote a half baked fanfic of their work that can be used to ask the question "wait, is discrimination...bad?" without actually asking it, giving the opinion of the author, or going in depth with it. (To be clear, I have no problem with metaphors and analogies, but it seems to me nowadays that instead of using metaphors to communicate new ideas with ease to a reader, they're used to reiterate old themes without being controversial). Authors love an underdog story, until the underdog character in question is you know... actually discriminated against IRL.

I really, really don't like the state of literature right now. I do agree that fanfic authors (well, at least me) tend to feel pressure to write more novel-length, high quality stories rather than just indulge in fanfic. The pressure mainly comes from "(insert bestselling book of the early 2000s) was initially a fanfic and it was so good, so all fanfic should adhere to that quality!" for obvious reasons, there are several things wrong with this. 1. the book they're refereeing to usually aren't that good but nostalgia keeps them from believing otherwise, and 2. these books still go through a fair bit of editing before they get published. While the editing might not change the trope or story itself entirely it enhances writing and helps with spelling errors and add to the small stuff that really make a difference. Fic readers except every fic they come across to be a 100k word slowburn with their favourite characters and their favourite tropes, and this puts the pressure on fic writers to write for the readers instead of themselves, which loses the essence of fanfic entirely (not to mention, authors nowadays have this pressure too, because of how intertwined fanfic and publishing is becoming).

Personally, I love reading the tropey fanfics that people consider bad. I like writing for myself, for the ships I like, for the fandom I like, for the length I want to and choosing whether or not I should finish a piece of work people have no right to complain about. It's free, and as the golden rule of fandom goes: don't like, don't read. I'd like to add another: don't expect. Fanfic isn't tailored for anyone except the writer. And that's how it should be! Creative expression without worrying about being good lit or not. A shame what trad publishing and fanfic has become.

Thank you so much for the ask! I must admit, it has been a while but I'm grateful for the Booktok question, especially a fanfic-related one where I can talk about my opinions as a fic writer, LOL.

[trstalks]

I think about your vampire au moonwater on the regular, I'm OBSESSED

You are in luck I have ALSO been thinking about them a lot

They first met at the bookstore Remus works at because Regulus buys new books whenever he’s stressed out (it’s a bad habit,) so the first the time he walks in the bookstore he’s in a pretty awful mood (probably something to do with the black family) Remus welcomes him into the store, and is immediately struck by how pretty he is. He also notices that he seems to be upset, so when Regulus comes up to the register he talks to him and tries to cheer him up with stupid literature jokes. (it works)

Regulus didn’t look up when Remus greeted him, probably just sort of gave a quiet ‘good morning’ in response, but when he went up to the register to pay he was literally awestruck at this awkward and lanky and BEAUTIFUL boy. Remus is definitely wearing an old grandpa sweater and is disheveled looking but Regulus is into that. 

They’re both immediately attracted to each other. Remus assumes that this very pretty and obviously rich man would never go for him (he’s a mess) so he doesn’t go to make a move. Regulus on the other hand is absolutely enamoured with Remus and keeps coming back. They get to know each other over their love of literature and Remus’ bad jokes. Regulus knows that he’s hot, and he recognizes that Remus blushes a lot around him, so he does end up asking him out after a couple weeks of this. 

Remus comes out as trans to Regulus in a very premeditated and not at all casual way that he presents as very nonchalant. He worries about it for weeks because he really likes Regulus- but he hates going through the whole “coming out to a potential partner thing.” They often recommend books for one another, so one day when Regulus comes to visit him in the store he picks up a book on trans experiences and very casually is like yeah this helped me a lot when I was questioning my gender before I transitioned *side eye*. Regulus doesn’t even blink, he’s like “wow that sounds interesting- I’ll definitely have to give it a read.” 

Remus was scared that this would change their dynamic, but Regulus is like “so about our next date-” HELP 

Regulus is definitely having his own struggles with coming out as a vampire, and they’ve been going out for a couple months, so he knows he needs to do it soon because they’re getting pretty serious. He went to Sirius for advice and then promptly remembered why he doesn’t do that (Sirius tells him that he came out to James by watching twilight with him to gauge his reaction and then asking “lowkey what if that was me”) 

Regulus ends up texting Remus like "We need to talk" which has Remus freaking the fuck out for an entire day until after his shift is over. Regulus picks him up and they go to a park close to Remus' apartment because Regulus wants him to be able to escape if he feels unsafe (considerate king?)

Regulus starts rambling and during the beginning Remus isn't sure if he's about to break up with him or propose or admit to cheating on him because he keeps saying things like "you know I really care about you but there's something you don't know about me-" "I want to spend the rest of my life with you if you'll let me." "It's okay if you want nothing to do with me after this-"

Remus eventually has to be like "spit it out PLEASE" and Regulus DOES. just comes out with it.

Remus is now freaking out for OTHER reasons because if you'll remember- he reads A LOT of vampire smut. it's like his favorite trope.

Anyway Remus accepts him obviously and they go to Remus' house afterwards to make out on his couch, and that's when Regulus finds one of Remus' smut books. Y'all know what happens next (they fuck nasty style about it and Regulus feeds into Remus vampire kink) (they have a healthy discussion about it before Regulus agrees to feed on him) (of course they do)

Anyway now I'm feeling inspired to actually write this fic HELP (just another excuse to write about Remus in lingerie tbh)

[rekino2114]

Hello. Are you willing to make ‘afterlife’ fics? Like reader dies and meets character in the afterlife (i am talking about the danganronpa series, so a afterlife with all the dead people from the killing game)

If so i would like to make a bit of a complex request for a Arei x Reader in the afterlife.

Context: reader is a ultimate gamer that views games and especially Arei as their reason for living. And after Arei dies they become depressed and gets tired of finding “excuses” to keep going. So then they end up killing someone (let’s say Levi as the reader wanted to spite Ace) in a very complicated manner but they also don’t really mean to win the trial. So they still help the trial as they would normally do and if they win they would still live their life to the end and if they lose then… well you know.

If this request is too much don’t feel bad about not doing it i really don’t mind

(tldr, don’t worry about me and my mental health, im fine i just thought this concept for a fic was really interesting)

Thank you for reading

Meeting arei in the afterlife

Pairing:arei nageishi x gn reader

A/n:this was actually my inspiration for my prompt in the prompt list

Spoilers for all of drdt

The first thing you saw when you opened your eyes was white, a large open white space, you let your eyes adjust to your surroundings for a bit before getting up and starting to walk

"Uh, I thought hell was more.......red"

"This isn't hell......we think so at least"

You turned around to see two very familiar faces you hadn't seen in a long time

"Long time no see huh?"

"X-Xander? Min? What are you?"

"I guess you already figured that but this is the afterlife, or at least some kind of after life for us specifically"

"Oh"

"I woke up here and was alone for a while and then min came here too and we made up"

"....really?"

"Yeah, It was all my fault anyways"

"And if we have to stay here for eternity then it's just stupid to keep fighting over that"

"I guess"

"By the way........how's teruko?"

"......traumatized"

"O-oh"

"She did say she wanted to start trusting people again though"

"That's good, I just wish I could tell her I'm sorry"

"Yeah......I get that"

"Oh y/n you've finally arrived"

You felt a large hand pat your back and immediately knew who it was, so you started sweating profusely and walking away nervously

"H-hi Levi........"

"Hi-"

"I just wanna say I'm so sorry I wasn't in the right mental state, and I didn't choose you because I hate you or any-"

"Hey its all right"

".......R-really?"

"Yeah, don't sweat it it's all in the past"

"It happened like yesterday"

"Yes but like min said, it would just be stupid to be mad at you if we have to be here together for eternity...... plus I killed people too it would be hypocritical of me to hate you for it"

".....so you're not gonna beat me up?"

"You thought I would?"

"......s-sorry for assuming"

"It's......fine"

You kept talking with the three of them for a while before your mind wandered to one person

"Hey.......so where's arei?"

"I knew you'd ask that"

"Is there something wrong with that? I just........really wanna talk to her"

"I'm right here"

"H-huh?"

You turned again to see that arei was standing behind you with ace in the corner

"A-arei!"

You immediately went in for a hug that she reciprocated

"I-i'm so sorry, I just missed you so much, I'm so happy to see you again"

Arei just sighed and broke the hug. You started smiling looking at her, until you felt a slap on your face, you yelped in pain and held your cheek with your hand

"That was for practically killing yourself"

"I told you I was sorry"

"You seriously think sorry is gonna cut it? You killed someone knowing you would have most likely died too, does your life mean that little to you? Was it all just a game?"

".....it was because of you"

"Huh?"

"For me a life without you isn't worth living"

"......You're such a fucking idiot"

"W-what?"

"If you really loved me then you would have kept living for me, I could have cheered you from here while you kept going but you decided to take the easy way out to see me again"

"................"

"But that being said, I can't even begin to imagine how you felt after my death, I know how much I meant to you and I genuinely don't want to think about how much pain you were in"

"..............."

"So......I forgive you, I love you and I'm not petty enough to keep fighting with you forever"

".......thanks"

"You better thank me, another girl would have dumped you for that,but I don't wanna stay single for....however long forever is"

"Hehe, yeah me neither"

You finally saw her smile again, that cute and genuine smile you loved

"You're a fucking idiot but you're my fucking idiot and now we're stuck together forever"

"...I wouldn't want it any other way"