#BUT IT IS REALLY GOOD AND YOU SHOULD READ IT IF YOU THINK YOU CAN STOMACH IT

[captain-huggy-bear]

Priorities

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Illness/comfort

Summary: When Quinn gets a text from you 2 hours before his game, he shows where his priorities lie when he drops it all for you.

Series: Teacher Reader series

Notes: I am not very well atm and I had to drive home dizzy from work the other day, the idea of Quinn being there to help has been stuck in my head so have some self indulgence from me.

A kind of sequel to In Sickness and in Health but you don't need to read that to read this.

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

He's already at the rink getting ready for the game in the locker room when his phone goes off. You don't actually ring him, clearly doing that thing you always do where you're trying to not bother him on a game day, instead you send a quick text message. He expects the usual:

'Good luck on the game today, baby!'

Instead, the text he gets has him picking his phone up and calling you back in an instant, worry clouding his judgement and making his hands shake slightly.

'Hey, so guess who's being sent home because she's dizzy and can't breathe? I had my head between my legs for 20 minutes, definitely can't stand and teach. Have a good game x'.

You drop the good luck at the end like he's not supposed to be worried, like you've just casually told him about the weather and not that you we're struggling to breathe.

It doesn't really matter that Tocc is giving him the look, the one he reserves for when he's annoyed at the boys, or that half the locker room have stopped their own pre-game, pre-warm up routines to watch their captain frantically call you. He's pacing back and forth, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waits for you to pick up the phone.

"Quinn?" You sound so incredibly breathless its like listening to an asthmatic 80 year old who's smoked for half their life. Except you don't smoke and you're not asthmatic or 80 which makes the whole situation about 10 times worse because you shouldn't be struggling to breathe. You should be doing better today.

You've been ill, he knows this, a chest infection he forced you to get meds for on the weekend. Meds which should have started working by now, a heavy dose of antibiotics and steroids which were supposed to have helped. You'd felt well enough this morning to go in and give work another go, but he regrets letting you do that now. Clearly trying to stand up in front of teenagers and talk was not something you should have been doing, not when the school day had only started half an hour ago and you were already being sent home.

"Baby, are okay?" You're sitting on the front steps of the school with all your things when you answer the phone to Quinn's worried voice. You keep telling yourself you just need a minute, just a minute and then you won't feel so dizzy, won't feel so breathless. Just a minute and the tingles in your fingers will go and your hands will stop shaking so much. Just a minute and then you can drive home and get into bed.

"Y-yeah, I'm...I'm just breathless. I'll be okay...they're...they're covering my...my lessons and..." You stop for a minute, taking big deep breathes, you sound so laboured on the phone that Quinn can't help but clench his phone tighter in his hand, "and I'm going home now." Your breaths are wheezy, just like Saturday, in fact he's certain you sound worse.

"How are you getting home?" He knows the answer before you say it and he hates it before he even hears it. You're dizzy and breathless and there is no way you should be driving home at all, but he knows you. Self-reliant to a fault, a martyr, always pushing yourself past the point of no return because you think you're fine, because you convince yourself you're fine. Because you don't want to inconvenience anyone or cause more problems. You ask to little of people around you, expecting barely anything despite all you give.

"I'm...I'm going to...to drive."

"No. You're not. I'm going to come get you." You want to protest a lot more than you do if you're being honest. But, you're so tired and it's so hard to breathe and students wandering in late to school are staring at you like you're having a break down. So your protests are relatively lacklustre by your usual standard. That actually worries him more.

"It's...there's like 2 hours before the game...you've...you've got warm ups soon." You hate the idea of him missing warm ups or god forbid the game, all because you were too stupid to realise you shouldn't have gone into work in the first place.

"So, I'll get you, take you home and come back to the rink and play. I'll walk to the school tomorrow and collect your car so you don't have to worry about it. But, you aren't driving, baby. If you even try to get in that car I will being fucking pissed. I love you, you do not get in that car." You know he's serious in that moment, not just because he's very rarely angry at you or anyone but himself, outside of the rink, but because he's got that clipped tone he only uses when he's serious. This isn't a request, it's a direct order and you have no intention of disobeying it, not when you know he's right...not when it makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside that he's so insistent about your wellbeing.

"But, what...what if you miss warm ups?" He loves how much you support him and his hockey, he always will, but he hates that your first thought is that hockey should come first. His girlfriend can barely breathe right now and he quite honestly doesn't give a flying fuck if he misses warm ups. The team had to pull themselves together at some point and you came first. Always. If they couldn't manage warm ups without him then what was the point of paying them so much money?

"Warm ups aren't my priority, baby. You are. Do not get in the car. Do not drive. Do not move. I'm leaving right now, okay? Just sit on the steps of the school and take deep breaths." He's already grabbing his keys, not even bothering to change out of his gear other than putting some proper shoes on so that he can actually drive. He knows it'll spark some speculation and rumours, Captain of the Canucks storming out of the arena 2 hours before puck drop in full gear except his skates, but he doesn't fucking care about that right now.

"...Okay...thank you, Quinny. I love you." You say it because in that moment you have never felt so loved, to have someone drop everything, something so important, to come get you...Maybe its the meds, maybe its the breathlessness, the infection, but you feel like crying a little because of how sweet he is even when he's bossing you about.

"I'll see you soon, baby. I love you too."

He doesn't waste time once he hangs up, just turns straight to Tocc and tells him, "I'll be back."

The look he gets is a mixture of disbelief, frustration and confusion and he really can't blame Tocc for it. Not when Quinn is the captain, the player that seems to make a massive difference on the ice, and he's about to run out the doors 2 hours before the game? Yeah, he knows Tocc doesn't want to hear it.

"Quinn, where you going? We have a game in 2 hours?!" He knows he's going to be cutting it fine with Vancouver traffic and getting to your school, the apartment and back to the arena, but he's not letting you drive. He could live with missing a game, losing a game, but he couldn't live with himself if he let you drive home and something happened. His job was to look after you, if he failed at that? What was the fucking point?

"Tocc, I'll be back. I promise. But, right now my girlfriend is unable to breathe and dizzy and I'm not letting her drive home, okay? Sooner I leave, sooner I come back."

Maybe it's the insistence on Quinn's face, the reality that if he was forced to stay he wouldn't play well anyway. Maybe it's that you and Tocc get along and he can see a hint of concern in the other man's eyes or maybe Tocc just trusts him that much. But, he actually agrees to let him go. Not that Quinn could really be forced to stay. They'd have to tie him to the bench.

"Okay, I'm trusting you."

"Thanks."

Quinn ignores every single person he storms past, every employee, every fan outside, every person with a camera that starts asking him where he's going as he starts his car with one destination in mind. Maybe he seems rude, maybe he seems standoffish, but he doesn't really care because right now you are sat on the steps of a school struggling to breathe and he just wants to see you and get you home and into bed.

He doesn't even care that he knows Tocc is going to be questioned about his absence or that he can already hear his phone pinging with notifications from social media, most likely people asking where he was going and speculating.

'Just saw Quinn Hughes storm out of Rogers Arena in full gear, finally got fed up of his team?'

'Um, is anyone else panicking that Hughes just left the arena like 2 hours before puck drop?'

'Captain Lexapro has officially lost it with this team, just stormed out of the arena!!'

He tries his best not to break any traffic laws getting to you, despite the fact he has a lead foot that wants to press harder on the accelerator. But, he knows you'd hate it and you'd worry more about him getting a ticket, so he just grips the steering wheel tighter until he's turning into the school car park.

He doesn't try to park in a proper space, just pulls up as close to you as possible before hopping out. Your head is between your legs, shoulders rising and falling in laboured breaths and he feels like he's been punched in the stomach at how bad you sound.

"Oh, baby..." He's kneeling on the dirty ground within seconds and you try, through broken gasps to tell him he'll get his hockey socks dirty, but he doesn't listen to you, just reaches to pull you into a hug.

"Let's get you home, okay? Tomorrow we're going back to the doctors, okay?" You're leaning your head into his shoulder so heavily that he's worried you might actually pass out. It's like the moment his arms wrap around you, you just give up on holding yourself up. In truth, that's kind of what happens. You just want to lean into him, soak up the comfort of your boyfriend lighting petting your hair and whispering into your ear.

"Don't y-you have...practice?"

"I think I can fit the doctors in around practice, baby..." He doesn't tell you, but he'd forgo practice for you. He doesn't care about anything but how you're doing and you're not okay. Quinn can see that better than anyone.

"Alright, up you get..." He stands first, hands reaching for yours to help pull you to your feet. You sway before him like you're on a 16th century galleon in a thunderstorm, forehead plonking on his chest heavily, "Atta, girl. There we go." He just strokes your hair and back while you wait for the dizziness to pass, he knows each second will make him later to the arena but he's not going to rush you when you're struggling just to stand without fainting.

"Alright, let me get your stuff and then we'll take it one step at a time, baby, okay?"

"O..okay...one step...at a time." He tries his best not to let go of you completely as he bundles your work bag onto his shoulder. Quinn is as quick as he can be with it, before pulling you under his arm and helping you inch step by step towards the car.

It's slow going, every few steps you get a little dizzy and he waits for you to nod before he pushes you forward again. You're drained, dark circles under your eyes and skin losing some of its usual colour by the time you reach the car.

Quinn had purposefully pulled up the car with the passenger side facing you and you're thankful not to have to walk around the car as you brace yourself against the door for a moment. Quinn helps ease you into the seat, reaching over to put your seatbelt on for you and adjust the headrest so you can lean back. It eases some of the weight in your chest.

"Nearly home, okay, baby?"

You just nod, exhausted as his hands cup your cheeks tenderly, spreading a soft sort of affection through your already aching chest. He's so gentle as he looks down at you, fingers rubbing circles in your cheeks, but he looks so worried and you feel so guilty because he shouldn't have to be that worried.

"You've been so brave, baby, you're so brave...soon you'll be in bed and you can watch the game and sleep, okay?" He knows you'll want to watch the game if you're sat at home, mostly because you watch every game he plays even if its on catch up, but also because he knows it'll reassure you that he made it back in time.

You nod again, blinking up at him so tired that he can't help but frown.

"Atta, girl. My brave girl." The kiss Quinn presses to your forehead is short and sweet, not lingering but filling you with warmth and lightness even as he closes the door on you and gets into the driver's side.

You miss his comforting touch and as if he knows this, his hand reaches for your thigh at any given opportunity when it isn't in use to drive. The stability of it, the comfort of just having him there is so welcome and helps you to relax back into the seat as he drives.

It's just as hard work getting you into the apartment, thankful as ever that the elevator actually works, but once you're in, Quinn feels ten times lighter.

"Right, lets get you comfy, baby...you want one of my jerseys or a hoodie?"

"Jersey...the....the black one, please."

"Okay, sit down, there ya go, good girl.." He watches you the entire time from the corner of his eye, scared you'll lean too far forward from how you're hunched over on the edge of the bed. He tries to make the entire thing quick, reaching for his black jersey, the extra big one that he bought home because you liked how it dwarfed you and even dwarfed him.

"Arms up, baby..." He helps you out of your work blouse and your bra, slipping the jersey over the top quickly to avoid the shivers you start shaking with.

The worst part is getting you to your feet to get your bottoms off. Quinn helps you rise to your feet before kneeling in front of you, dragging your hands to his shoulders for support as he helps you inch out of the remainder of your work clothes. Your fingers grip his shoulders so tight that he's certain you might leave bruises but he doesn't really care, just happy to get you comfy and help you into bed.

You're bundled under as many blankets as he can find, plus the heated blanket you got at Christmas. A big jug of water beside the bed, snacks piled high because he is not having you try to go all the way to kitchen without supervision right now.

"You want the game set to go on?"

"Y...yes, please...wanna watch you play." He turns the television on, setting it to the NHL game set to go live in less than an hour now and he knows he's going to miss warm ups at this point. Tocc's probably blowing up his phone and he knows he's cutting it fine...but you look so small bundled up in bed and he actually hates the idea of leaving you alone. He hates not having his family near all the time as a general rule, but in that moment he hates it so much more. If his mum or dad had been near he could have asked Ellen or Jim to check in on you, instead you were going to be all alone and he hated it.

"I'll score for you, yeah? You can watch me score and maybe we'll win and then I'll come and make us dinner. That sound good, baby?"

"Perfect..." Quinn smooths your hair back from your face, tucking a strand behind your ear even as he uses it as an excuse to feel your temperature. Not unreasonably warm which reassures him a little that you're at least not feverish.

He just keeps sitting there next to you, stroking your hair and caressing your cheek to the point that as much as you're loathe to get him to stop and to leave, you have to remind him he can't stay here. He has a game he's already running late to.

"You...you have to go, Quinn...I'll be okay..."

"If you're not, you'll phone 911, right?" He smooths your hair back again, in truth he really doesn't want to leave you there like that. Even as you seem to be breathing a little better now you're lying down. He considers just not going, if they lose they lose...but he knows he can't. He's captain, he promised he'd be back...and you'd be unhappy with him. He might be your boyfriend but the Canucks were your team and you'd likely make him sleep on the couch for a week.

"I promise...just go win for me?"

"Okay, sweet girl." He presses a last lingering kiss to your forehead, before getting up to leave. But, he still lingers in the doorway for a moment until you push him to go.

Once he's out of the apartment he's rushing. Barely any time and honestly when he finally gets back to the arena and gets his skates on he's surprised he's just in time to go out on the ice for the anthem...cold, not warmed up in the slightest, not ready at all to play a game, but willing to.

Tocc stops him as he's passing the bench to get to the ice, "Cutting it fine, Hughes!" despite the gruff tone, Quinn can tell that Tocc is just relieved that Quinn's back in time. As are the guys who all look at him with varying shades of relief as if they'd been freaking out the entire time. Which they probably had.

"Told you I'd be back." Quinn says it with such confidence, even though inside he knows he nearly missed the entire game. To be honest if you hadn't forced him out the apartment then he'd probably have been late at best.

"How is she?" Tocc's voice is soft, concerned and Quinn appreciates it. He appreciates that as a coach Tocc doesn't just care about how much they cost or how well they play, he cares about them and their families too...and you're included in that, ring or not.

"Not good...but safe at home."

"You need practice off tomorrow?"

"Please, I need to get her to the doctors..."

"Done. Now go help us win the game." Tocc gives him a clap on the shoulder before pushing him out onto the ice and just like that Quinn slips into captain mode.

Locked in like he always is even if his legs don't feel as loose and his stick feels a little less familiar in his hands. Knowing you're home safe helps, he can put the thought of you to the back of his mind, knowing you're safe in the apartment, comfortable and surrounded by everything you need.

You find it hard to focus on the game, but force yourself to, determined to watch Quinn play and to see the goal he intends to score for you. Maybe it's silly, there's no guarantee he'll actually score, but you can tell from the moment he's on the ice that it's one of the few things on his mind. Shot after shot after shot, a determined series of attempts that remind you how important you are to him even as you lie wheezing in bed, eating as much chocolate as Quinn put out for you.

It's part way through the first period with one goal already to Vancouver thanks to Petey that the issue of Quinn's disappearance pre-game is raised.

"Quinn Hughes was nearly late to the game today, the captain missed warm ups but that's certainly not stopping him now!" Shortie's voice rings through the room, a familiar cadence that makes you feel comforted.

"No, it's not, Shortie, do we know why Hughes was late?" Dave responds and for a moment you can't quite comprehend that you've managed to cause this much of a ruckus.

"It hasn't been confirmed and you know I'm not much of a gossip..." You have a little giggle a Shortie even as you are the topic of conversation because it's not really much in the way of gossip and it's so silly.

"But?"

"Apparently he had a family emergency, his girlfriend is very unwell and he dropped everything to go get her."

"Well, that's just.."

"Romantic? Sweet?"

"I was going to say so unlike the Quinn Hughes we used to know, the one who only thought about hockey." You think back to Quinn when you first met, how everything had been hockey, hockey, hockey. You hadn't minded, your own love of the sport meant that you could handle it. But, it's true...Quinn had been rethinking his priorities ever since you started dating, where he might have prioritised hockey once, he'd started to prioritise you. You're not entirely sure at what point you became that important in his life, but it made you feel warm and fuzzy all over.

"I think it's a good thing, that's a sign of growth, just like Hughes' shot!" Shortie cuts himself off as you watch the camera pan to Quinn, following his agile movements across the ice as he skips past the other team's players as if it's as easy as breathing, "He's in past the defence, he lines up the shot and an unassisted goal for Quinn Hughes! Vancouver goal!"

You smile wide as you watch Quinn grin, celebrating with his team in a series of hugs before he finds a camera. There's a moment where you know he's grinning at you, for you, a cheeky little wink sent through the screen as if to say 'told you I'd score for you'.

"I suspect that one was for the girlfriend, Shortie."

You watch the entire game, trying not to nod off to sleep between periods. While you can't cheer and you certainly don't have the energy to celebrate too hard, every Canuck goal makes you feel lighter and brings a smile to your face.

The end result of a 5-2 win to the Canucks makes it easy for you to drift off as the game ends and the waiting for Quinn begins.

He's running off a high when the game ends, even more so when Boeser offers to take over press duties so Quinn can get back to you quickly.

The apartment is quiet when he comes in, "Baby?" not a sound comes back in response and he's careful to move quietly through the apartment to the bedroom doorway.

You're fast asleep, breathing heavy but nowhere near as bad as earlier in the day, you're surrounded by chocolate wrappers and he's quiet as he picks them all up and puts them in a bin, replacing them with the puck he scored with on your bedside table.

He tiptoes back to the kitchen quietly pottering around to make some dinner for you while you're still asleep, nothing fancy but protein, carbs and veg. The sort of thing that's definitely boring but also definitely what your body needs right now.

"Baby, time to wake up...I've made you dinner." He's gentle when he wakes you, soft fingers down your cheek as you stir awake, blinking up at him bleary eyed. Quinn helps you sit upright, the tray of food settling neatly in your lap.

"Where's...where's yours?"

"On the table, you want me to eat in here with you, sweetheart?"

He's moving before you finish nodding, grabbing another tray and his plate before joining you on the bed. He spends most of his dinner watching you eat, making sure you're not leaving large amounts and that you're okay.

He's happy about the win, happy about the score, but he's mostly just happy to be back with you and knowing that you're eating and you're okay, if not well.

Quinn's quick to tidy up your trays and even quicker to get back to you and get into a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, sliding under the covers with you and pulling you into his arms.

Your cheek rests against his chest, the steady thump of his heart a soothing sound that helps some of the anxiety about being off work ease off. Quinn's fingers caress circles and weird shapes across your arm and shoulder as he tucks you tight against him, legs twined together. Every so often he presses a kiss to your forehead, your cheek, the top of your hair, as if reassuring himself that you're okay and he's got you.

"You scored..." You mumble into his t-shirt, a small smile working it's way to your lips as his hand moves up to run through your hair, stopping at your scalp every now and then to scratch lightly until you feel like purring even if that purr is more of a wheezy rumble.

"Mmm, for you, baby." Quinn smiles down at you, another kiss pressed to your cheek.

"T...the wink?" His smile weakens slightly at your still stumbling breathlessness and the wheeze and crackle that accompany it.

"Just for you, sweet girl."

"I'm...I'm proud of you, y'know?" You smile up at him so sweetly that he can't help but feel certain in his choices today. Yeah, nearly missing a game was rough, and maybe the press are going to be dicks about it and maybe he would have felt guilty if he'd missed the game or they'd lost...but he knows he'd skip a million games if it meant you were being looked after, were safe.

"I know...and tomorrow you're going to show me how proud you are by letting me take you to the doctors again."

"Ugh..." You groan, hiding your face into his chest like that will stop him from dragging you to the doctors. Your stubbornness normally cute but in this moment less so.

Quinn cups the back of your head until your looking up at him, green eyes meeting yours with a pleading stare that makes your resolve tremble and shudder. "Please? I'm worried about you, baby...I was really scared when I got that text from you."

"Yeah?" You hate that you worried him...it's that worry that makes you concede that maybe you need to go back to the doctors and maybe as much as you hate it, you'll do it, for Quinn.

"Yeah. I can replace hockey, I can play another game if I miss one. But, I can't replace you. Let me take you to the doctors."

There's a beat of silence as he pleads with you, eyes soft, worried, gentle, thumb stroking soothingly across the base of your neck and you can't really deny him this. Not when you know you'd feel exactly the same if the roles were reversed, not when he nearly missed a game for you today and went in completely cold turkey to win it.

"Okay...as...as long as you keep cuddling me."

"I think I can do that, baby." You curl back into his arms like the spot was carved just for you and in that moment Quinn Hughes knows that you have fully hit the top of his priority list, no ands, ifs, buts or maybes. You could ask him to quit hockey tomorrow and he'd do it. He'd do anything for you and that should be terrifying, but it's not because he knows you'd never ask too much of him. If anything you ask too little.

[megamindsecretlair]

Said I Wouldn't, Part 1

Pairing: Dad!Terry Richmond x Virgin!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. SMUT. Cursing, teasing (fem receiving), fingering (female receiving), All consensual. Sorry if I missed some.

Summary: Babysitting for Terry had its perks. You were able to see his gorgeous ass every night before heading off to your own house next door. And because he went to the gym on Wednesday nights, you had extra time to explore his room and live in your delusions. But when Terry catches you, you are unprepared for what comes next. 

Word Count: 7,608k

AO3 Link

A/N: I...am just going to be honest. I am a WEAK woman when it comes to Aaron and since he's hellbent on killing me, I may as well surrender. Need that man. That full sleeve turned me FERAL. This should be a two-parter. I also fucked around and caught a bug, ugh. Pray for me. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

“Will you marry me?” 

You gasped as you turned to Mr. Terry’s son, Troy, as he looked at you with the sweetest expression on his little face. His eyes were wide and pleading, a shy smile on his face, as he glanced at you like you hung the moon. 

Aww, how come there were no guys your age who wanted to marry you? Then again, you’d actually have to go out with someone for all that and well, you had better things to do. Like get your degree, find a better job, and actually do the whole adult thing before you brought a man into that.

You licked your lips to give yourself time to think of a proper answer. Though you didn’t know how you were supposed to navigate something like this. Mr. Terry hadn’t given you a laundry list of what was appropriate for you to handle and you were a bit out of your depth.

“That is really sweet of you to ask and you’re very brave. But I am entirely too old for you, buddy,” you said. 

Troy tucked his legs beneath him and sidled closer to you. His shoulder knocked into the coffee table disrupting his homework and you fought a smile at the eagerness in his little body. “I’ll be a great husband! I’ll open doors for you and make you chicken nuggets!” He persisted. 

See, the definition of romance. Who didn’t want their doors opened for them and chicken nuggets on demand? You put your pen down on the coffee table next to your own abandoned homework. You faced Troy and fought hard to keep the smile from your face. He was being serious so you’d respond in kind.

“That is a very tempting offer, Troy. But I’m very sorry. I have to say no,” you said.

His face crumpled but to his credit, he didn’t cry. He only scrunched up his face like he was lost in thought. He looked so much like Mr. Terry, it was frightening. 

“But you’re so pretty! Like Dad said. And you’re a good person. Dad always said to find the prettiest, smartiest, good person and marry them. Not like bad girls,” Troy said. 

“What makes a girl bad?” You asked. Out of all the things Troy said, your mind stuck on the fact that Mr. Terry thought you were pretty. It shouldn’t. It was wildly inappropriate, not to mention a cliche and a half, but…Mr. Terry was drop dead fuckin’ gorgeous. If someone like that called someone like you pretty, then…maybe…

“Dad said when they’re ma-man,” Troy said. He scrunched up his face again and then dug a small notebook from his pocket. He flipped a few pages before poking out his bottom lip. “Ma-mani-pu.” Troy sounded out the word, badly, but you knew better than to try and help him. 

“Manipulative,” Troy finally pushed out. 

You smiled and nodded your head. “That’s very good. You should stay away from those girls. In fact, the only thing on your mind should be those books you stopped paying attention to,” you said and tapped his math homework. 

“I can do both,” he said, giving you a grin. 

You chuckled. Just like his damn daddy… You rolled your eyes and tapped on his homework again. “Math homework, young man,” you said. 

Troy sighed but you could already tell this would be an uphill battle. He sat back on the floor and tucked his legs under the table to complete his homework. He was a bit too small to really manage, but he wanted to be next to you while you did yours.

You worked in silence, working on your own homework, and when Troy was finished you looked over his answers. This new way of doing math was beyond you and that was without struggling from the old way. It looked about right. Hell, Troy needed to look over your homework with how smart he was. 

“Great job, buddy. This goes straight to your backpack so you don’t lose it. And then it’s bath time,” you said.

Troy groaned, dropping his head dramatically to the coffee table. Your shoulders danced with silent laughter. What was it about kids avoiding the bath like the plague? Or maybe you were just a weird child all around. You loved taking baths and taking your Bratz dolls with you so they could go “swimming”. 

“You know, if you want to make a great husband, there’s nothing girls like more than a boy who has good hygiene,” you said. 

“Really?” Troy asked, popping his head up to look at you. “Even you?” After you nodded, Troy packed up his homework into his binder and then rushed to his room. This kid had your entire heart. You’d be sad to stop babysitting for him when Mr. Terry finally figured out what he’d do with the separation from his horrible wife. There would probably be a more permanent, vetted babysitter.

You were absolutely biased against Alivia, Mr. Terry’s wife. After moving in next door about a year ago, you had a front row seat to the awful way she treated Mr. Terry and Troy. Constantly shrieking and belittling them, no matter what they did. Keeping both virtually locked up in the house.

You could count on one hand the amount of times Mr. Terry or Troy had friends over. Or hell, a grandmother or cousin or something. When there were visitors, it was short lived. You were also witness to the screaming match when Mr. Terry finally threw her ass out of the house with nothing but a suitcase a few months back. 

How anyone could treat those two like that was beyond you. But you didn’t know all of it. Only what you were able to see and be nosy about. Since you had no real life of your own, you spent your free time making up scenarios about other people. It was fun…until Mr. Terry invited you into their world to be a babysitter.

And since then, your severe crush only grew more ridiculous. Bordering on creepy really. But you just couldn’t help it. You’d have killed to have a life like this. A stable home, a wonderful kid, and a husband who was good and provided. You didn’t think this life was perfect, no life was perfect, but dammit…you yearned. 

Troy started the bath and you stood up from behind the coffee table to stretch your legs. You fixed the deep rose colored bodycon dress you wore. Not entirely appropriate, but you skipped laundry day and who knows when you’d get another chance considering one of your roommates was a hog. 

You walked down the short hallway to the bathroom and knocked on the door. “I’m in here!” Troy called out.

“Good, make sure you wash behind your ears, please!” You said.

“I will!” Troy called back.

You had about twenty minutes before Troy would be done. So you looked around the house, knowing full well you were alone, and then snuck off to Mr. Terry’s room. Yes, you knew it was wrong, but you couldn’t help it.

You managed to swipe an old T-shirt of Mr. Terry’s a month ago and so far, he hadn’t noticed. Or if he did, he just hadn’t mentioned it to you. It was the stupidest, boldest thing you’d ever done, but you couldn’t muster the energy to feel guilty about it. It was an old MCMAP shirt that you slept in nearly every night. It still smelled like him, years of his natural scent soaked into the fabric. 

You did a deep dive on Mr. Terry after that, justifying it by telling yourself that you had to know who you were dealing with. Mr. Terry found you on a babysitting app but since you were right next door and a little friendly already, he bypassed all that to pay you directly. You appreciated the extra cash, but people were sick these days. 

But every piece of information you managed to find out only made you fall in love with him that much more. He was on the freakin’ Wikipedia page, like…how could you not fall in love? You loved when people were really good at what they did. You were sure there was a name for it, but fuck if you knew it. You only knew that when someone was exceptionally good at something, it got you all hot and bothered.

Slipping into Mr. Terry’s room, you took a deep breath. This was where he laid his head at night. The rustic decor somehow fit the image you had of him in your mind. He had a dark, rustic walnut headboard that stretched to the ceiling. On it were two lamps that pointed to the bed. 

On his nightstand, he had the same historical novel he started a month or so ago. He had a simple, thin brown blanket on his neatly made up bed. That was point one in why you would never actually work with someone like him. He was too neat for your blood. He’d probably have a heart attack seeing the state of your bedroom. 

You tried, you really did, but well. You were grown enough to admit you just hated picking up after yourself. Not when you had better things to do like binge anime and go down Google rabbit holes for random things you thought about. 

His furniture was simple, functional, much like the man himself but there was something so alluring about being in a man’s personal space. And you did mean a MAN. All capital letters included. You made sure to never touch anything. You just liked getting a peek behind that stoic exterior. 

You glanced at your watch, still making good time, as you looked at the small bottles of cologne. They were nearly filled to the top so maybe he didn’t use it as much? Maybe he naturally smelled that damn delicious. 

On his dresser, he had a few pictures thrown about of Troy and Alivia. You sucked your teeth looking at the batshit woman he married. Why did guys tend to go for the crazy, loud women? Were they allergic to peace? To a quiet night at home, basking in gooey love? 

As your therapist put it, the world was not a stage and no, you couldn’t direct people’s actions. You were not that powerful. What Mr. Terry decided to do in his own bed was his own business. Speaking of…

You sat down on the edge of the bed and cast your eyes about the room. You didn’t always come in here. You weren’t that big of a pervert. Just on Wednesday nights. That was when he stopped by the gym after work. And he always came home sweaty and out of breath. If he were a bit closer, you were sure that he would jog or bike to the gym rather than taking his car.

As you sat there, you let your mind wander. What would it be like coming home to someone of his caliber? Someone able to carry a damn conversation beyond wondering what you were doing every two seconds. Someone to discuss books and themes with. Someone to binge anime with you and discuss the power scaling. Fun stuff. 

An engine pulled up outside the house and you scrambled to get out of the man’s room as quickly as possible. The car door slammed outside and your heart pounded in your chest. Okay, he was a little too early tonight. You closed the door behind you just as his keys turned the lock. You jogged to the kitchen and opened a cabinet, grabbing a cup just as Mr. Terry’s keys hit the key bowl beside the door. 

“Mr. Terry, hi,” you said, closing the cabinet door. You walked over to the fridge and poured a glass of water that you clearly needed. 

Mr. Terry walked further into the kitchen and then gave you a small smile, putting his hands into his gym shorts pockets. He wore a simple gray T-shirt soaked through with sweat and damn, damn, damn, he looked good. His arms bulged underneath the short sleeved shirt, deep veins running along his arm. Delicious. 

“Dad!” Troy barreled into the kitchen with a towel wrapped around his waist. 

“Whoa, okay,” you said and turned around with a chuckle.

“Troy, we have company. You can’t run around naked like that,” Terry said. You heard movement but refused to turn around. 

“I asked her to marry me, but she said no. But I was able to say manipulative,” Troy said, slowing down around the big word. 

“Is that right?” Terry asked.

“Uh-huh. She said girls like when boys have good hygiene. So you should probably bathe too,” Troy said.

Terry laughed and you heard wrestling. “Is that your way of saying I stink?” Mr. Terry asked.

“Well, I wasn’t going to say anything…” you chimed in, not wanting to be left out. 

“Oh that’s cold, you both got jokes. You, put some lotion and clothes on. And brush your teeth,” Mr. Terry said. 

“Good night, Troy!” You called after the little boy as he took off towards the bathroom. 

“Good night! See you tomorrow!” He yelled.

“It’s safe to turn around,” Mr. Terry said.

Naw, it really wasn’t. But you took a deep breath and turned around anyway. Somehow, the second time seeing him in all his sweaty glory was just as heart-stopping as the first time. You forgot all about your guilty activities as you openly stared at him in the kitchen.

It was by no means a small kitchen, but it felt claustrophobic standing there. As if his presence was a physical force field pressing into you from all sides. It was your stupid crush on the man that made you all tongue tied when you got around him. 

“I hope he didn’t bug too much. I know he has a big crush on you,” Mr. Terry said. 

You waved your hand. “He’ll grow out of it,” you said. They always do. But you kept that little tidbit to yourself. Though…you did want to ask about the pretty comment Troy mentioned earlier. But you were too chicken. Instead, you stood there awkwardly in this man’s kitchen for no reason. Other than to count the drops of drool pooling in your mouth.

“I should get going,” you said. Your chest was still beating rapidly and you needed to get out of his immediate vicinity. Like right now. You washed out the cup you used.

“You didn’t have to,” he said.

You giggled. “Now, what kind of guest would I be if I didn’t clean up after myself?” You could clean up for other people but when it came to yourself, you lost all motivation to do so. It was the ass-backwards manners you were brought up on, but hey. It wasn’t like anyone was coming to visit your messy bedroom anyway. 

“Let me walk you home then,” Mr. Terry said. 

“I’m just next door,” you said. You dried off the cup and replaced it in the cabinet. He stepped out of the way so that you could walk past him. His eyes tracked you as you moved through the living room, collecting your homework and pens. 

“What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t?” Mr. Terry asked.

“Oh, you’re a gentleman now,” you said and giggled. Did you have a flashing neon sign professing your guilt? Or did your guilt make you suspicious of everything? Because right now, it seemed like Mr. Terry was employing high level interrogation tactics, staying cool and calm while he let your guilt do the talking for you. 

“I’ve always been a gentleman,” he said. 

You could only giggle, too nervous to say anything else as you loaded up your backpack and threw on your cut off jean jacket. Terry’s mesmerizing hazel eyes followed each movement. Were you that bad at acting? Was he about to tell you that he had cameras in his room and knew exactly what you did on Wednesday nights? 

You needed to get a life and a half. Because the thought of getting caught only made it that much naughtier. Your imagination ran wild thinking of ways he could punish you for it. Preferably with a spanking. You bet those beefy hands would give a good one. 

“H-How was work?” You asked. Damn, that sounded nervous, didn’t it?

“Same old story, different day,” he said.

You nodded. You sucked at conversation so you promptly shut your trap and walked with him outside of the door. The night air was crisp, the late January night so frigid that you could see clouds of your breath escape with each exhale. Dew collected on the blades of grass outside of Mr. Terry’s house and it soaked into your flat sandals, tickling your toes.

“How’s your degree goin’?” Mr. Terry asked, breaking the silence.

“Good. Though I think one of the professors hates me,” you said. You sucked your teeth, thinking of Mr. Shoop, your English teacher. If you didn’t have a comma in the right place, he marked you down for one reason or another.

“I’m sure it’s impossible to hate you,” Mr. Terry said.

You snorted with laughter, immediately censoring yourself as you released the ugly laugh. He didn’t need to hear all that. You cleared your throat and shrugged, telling him about the latest run in with Mr. Shoop. You made one little comment about the current book you were studying in class, and now he had it in his head that you were an uppity Negro. 

“Fuck him, then. You’re supposed to challenge the status quo in college,” Mr. Terry said.

You giggled and crossed the low cement border to your own place. The grass was less green, more brittle and dead because no one in the house fucking cared about aesthetics. This was not your forever home. Once you graduated, you were getting the fuck out of here as if your pants were on fire.

“You ever go to college?” You asked.

“Naw. Enlisted as soon as I turned 18,” he said. His voice was like sweet honey in the middle of spring. It didn’t belong on this cold, quiet night in the ‘burbs. “It’s why I want Troy to focus on his grades. Make sure he has every opportunity I didn’t.”

The automatic porch light turned on bathing you both in its warm, yellow glow. It also highlighted your ugly brick porch with the mailbox half hanging off of the wall. You cringed as you climbed the steps but focused on the conversation. 

“You’re doing an amazing job with him, Mr. Terry,” you said.

He scrunched his face, most definitely like Troy, and shook his head. “It’s just Terry,” he said. 

“Yeah but –”

Mr. Terry stepped closer to you, drawing up to his full 6’3 height and looked down at you. You hoped he couldn’t hear your painful gulp.

“No buts. I’m not stepping down until you agree. We’re damn near the same age,” he said. 

You opened your mouth to argue the point but his fierce eyebrows drew down in a challenge. You reared back with a grin and Mr. Terry’s eyebrow shot up in a dare. You licked your lips and nodded. Okay, touché. 

“Terry,” you said, trying it out. It still sounded so wrong. 

“Say it again,” Terry said, his eyes drooping lower. 

“Terry,” you nearly whispered. Terry - gah, that was still so weird - leaned forward and for half a second, you thought he would kiss you. That he would plant those gorgeous pink lips on yours and kiss your sandals right off your feet. 

Instead, he chuckled and then looked down. He shook his head and then stepped back. “My job isn’t done until you’re safe inside,” he said.

“You take this pretty seriously, huh?” You asked. Stupid. Why the hell would a man like that kiss his babysitter? Probably saw you as some teenager next door, even though he was correct. You were almost the same age. But he was more mature and put together than you could ever hope to be. 

“Very seriously,” he agreed. 

You dug in your jacket pocket for your keys, the tips of your ears aflame as you continued to berate yourself. To be clear, you knew you were pretty but you got tongue tied around gorgeous men. Regular men you could deal with. They were the regular, easy pickin’s off of any vine. But Terry was like a fully baked apple pie sitting in a window somewhere. Mouth watering, steamy, and sinfully tempting.

Men like that went for super thin fashion models or apparently, screaming harpies who liked to belittle men. And just like that, you remembered that he was technically married. There was no way that an upstanding man like Terry would step out on his wife, separation or no. 

“Well, the neighborhood is safe since we have a man like you to keep watch,” you said. You turned the lock and opened the door, waving goodbye over your shoulder. Terry waved to you and then took off down the porch, clapping his hands together as he went back to his own house.

You closed and locked the door behind you, leaning your back against it as you sighed. That was entirely too close. But in your defense, he typically showed up after Troy was done with his bath. You’d have to get your snooping down to a more manageable time. 

You groaned and headed to your room, bypassing the discarded clothing on the floor and random water bottles thrown about the foyer area. Pigs. 

Living with two guys and another girl was the bane of your fucking existence. You and Gia had to put your foot down and explain that you weren’t their mothers or sisters or maids and you would not pick up after them. In rebellion, the two men, Andre and Malcolm, doubled down by not picking up after themselves either. 

So if one of them slipped on their own shirts or didn’t have clean dishes, that was on them. Money was tight as you went through grad school, but you had enough to eat out and find alternatives to cooking. To each their own in this fucking house.

You made it to your room and closed the door, turning on lights and getting ready for bed. You settled in for your third watch of Jujutsu Kaisen, sitting comfortably in Terry’s MCMAP shirt but your mind raced as you played tonight over and over in your mind. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” Troy asked, the following Wednesday night. 

“Of course,” you said. 

“I like when you’re around. My dad doesn’t seem so sad,” Troy said.

Cue your heart breaking in three, two, one…you sighed and put your pen down on the coffee table. Right back in your regular seats, Troy continued with his social studies homework as if he didn’t just say the saddest thing ever. 

“What do you mean?” You asked. 

Troy stopped writing but didn’t look up from his homework. “Dad was sad a lot when Mom was here. But he smiles more when you’re around. So that means you can’t leave, okay?” He asked and looked back at you with a shy, sad smile on his face. 

“Troy, is that why you asked me to marry you? So I wouldn’t leave?” You asked. 

Troy nodded. “Plus you’re really pretty. And soooo smart,” he said.

Kids. You smiled and hugged him, bringing him closer to you. “You don’t ever have to worry about these things, okay? Your job is to do your homework and listen to your dad. I’m right next door. If you ever need anything, you come get me, okay?” You asked. 

Troy nodded but didn’t seem much convinced by your assurances. He was a kid but old enough to recognize when shit wasn’t sweet at home. With a mom like his, it was a wonder he stayed so innocent. 

You were playing fast and loose with semantics, but Troy didn’t technically ask you to keep the secret. Only if he could tell you one. You’d have to talk to Terry when he got home and make sure the man talked to his son. 

It couldn’t be easy trying to raise a kid in a broken home. The good Lord knew your own parents had a rough go of it. But Troy’s only concern should be which yogurt was in his lunchbox. Not his dad’s happiness or lack thereof. 

You helped look over his answers and helped him in the few areas he got wrong. You helped him solve the problem on his own, not just hand him the answers. “Alright buddy, bath time,” you said.

“Because girls like boys with good hygiene,” he recited.

“Exactly,” you said and nodded your head. 

Troy grabbed his homework and stuffed it into his binder. Then he turned to you with a serious expression on his face, entirely too much like his dad. He was eight. What eight year old needed to be so serious? 

“One day, I’ll be old enough to marry you,” he promised. 

You giggled. “You are going to meet the love of your life and forget all about little ole me,” you said. 

Troy shook his head and grinned. “I could never forget you.”

“You know what, you sweet talker. Bath time, now. You’re too young to think about marriage anyway,” you said with a giggle. 

Troy skipped into his room to put up his homework and then he trudged to the bathroom with a change of clothes and a fresh towel. You heard the bath water running while Troy hummed to some song you didn’t know. 

You checked your watch. After such a close call last time…you really shouldn’t. But it had become a ritual at this point. Your body compelled you to move, to go to his room and pretend for twenty minutes that he was coming home to you.

You didn’t actually want this type of domestic life but…well, who were you fooling? This was exactly what you had planned for your life. But as a nerdy, thickum Black girl with too much time on her hands, no one was exactly beating down your door for your hand in marriage. 

Let alone anything resembling sex. You’d become an expert at handling things yourself but you didn’t know what the actual act was like. And it was too embarrassing to tell grown ass men that you were a virgin and waiting on an actual connection before hopping in bed. 

Sue you, sex meant something to you. And you weren’t going to give up the cookies because some egg head batted his eyes at you and took you on one date. 

You spun around in Terry’s room trying to determine if he moved anything. Added anything. Removed anything. You just liked knowing him. Knowing a side of him that most didn’t get to see. It was what kept you going, something silly to keep your mind busy when school got too tough or the roommate situation sucked hot marbles. 

Your eyes caught on the book on his nightstand. He finally finished the historical novel. The new book he was reading was a crime novel and from the blurb on the back, it sounded pretty interesting. 

You were so caught up in the blurb and the first page, taking care not to disturb too much, that you didn’t notice Terry’s car pull up. Or his keys in the doorway, or him calling your name. You were so absorbed in it, that you dropped the book when Terry entered his room. 

“Oh,” you gasped. 

Your heart jumped to your throat as Terry smirked and tilted his head. “What are you doing in here? Where’s Troy?” He asked.

“Bath time,” you croaked out. Your throat turned dry and scratchy, pulling each word out as if it were being dragged over jagged glass. You had no good excuse for why you were in this man’s room, picking up his book, when you were supposed to be watching his son. 

What if Troy had drowned? What if he suddenly lit the house on fire? Shame made your stomach gurgle as your mind raced for any type of excuse or reason to be in his room. Babysitting 101 was watching your damn kid. 

Terry stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. You were frozen, rooted to the spot, heart beating rapidly and your fingers started to shake. What was he going to do? 

Terry walked closer until he bent down to pick up the discarded book. He flipped it over and dusted it off, being entirely too casual for your tastes. “What were you doing in here?” He asked, his voice too, too calm. 

You backed away towards the wall and shook your head. When your back collided with it, you were out of space. So you began to move to the side, sliding against the wall and trying to create some distance.

Terry turned with you, stepping in time with you, not letting you out of his sight. It was his right. It was his house after all. And you were the creepy pervert in his room. “I didn’t steal anything, I swear,” you said, your voice too small. 

“That’s not what I asked,” he said. He smirked as if this was all a funny misunderstanding. Like it was normal to find you being a creep in his room. 

“You don’t have to call the cops, I promise. I’ll leave and…I won’t come back,” you said. God, you didn’t even want to try and explain this to the cops or your family. You were completely mortified and disgusted with yourself. You knew you should have left it alone. 

“I didn’t say anything about the cops,” he said. He stepped closer to you and you smelled the sweat and overall male scent wafting off of him in waves. He wore a red shirt this time, soaked through with sweat and clinging to his well honed chest. 

He was tall as hell, looming over you whether he wanted to or not. You didn’t know this game he was playing and you just wanted to leave. You were at a loss of what to say or do. He blocked the exit with his body. There was just him. His broad shoulders, his wide chest, his hypnotizing eyes. 

“What were you doing in here?” He asked softly. 

“I just wanted to know you,” you said just as softly. It was a pathetic excuse but at least it was honest. 

“Why didn’t you ask me?” He asked.

You snorted with laughter before clicking your mouth shut. Terry’s eyebrows furrowed and he reached out to cup your cheek. You looked from his hand to his face. Was this man okay? Shouldn’t he be…angry? Upset? Confused? You’d broken his trust in the worst possible way. Got yourself plum fired over something so stupid. This wasn’t going the way you thought it would in your mind. 

“Why do you do that?” He asked. 

“Laugh?” You asked. God, you felt like an idiot. 

Terry smirked. “Stop yourself from laughing. It drives me nuts,” he said. 

“Oh,” you said. You shook your head and shrugged. “I have a weird laugh.” 

Terry leaned closer so that his nose rubbed against yours. “I keep waiting to hear it but you don’t ever let yourself laugh out loud,” he said.

You narrowed your eyes but you were slowly calming down from the threat of discovery. For the time being, it looked like Terry wasn’t going to smack you to kingdom come. This…you didn’t know what this was but you weren’t about to stop him either. This was the closest you’d ever been to him. Ever. You were going to soak up every detail before he kicked you out flat on your ass. 

“I didn’t know you were waiting to hear it,” you said. 

Terry leaned away so that he could look into your eyes. Fuck, he was so pretty. With his ever changing eyes, one of your favorite past times was trying to figure out what color they were. Sometimes they were so blue it would make the ocean jealous. Sometimes they were a stormy gray. Other times, they were a pale brown. It was insane but kept your mind busy. 

“You drive me crazy,” he said, the words slowly spilling from his lips with that subtle drawl. 

“Me?” You asked and snorted. Oh, if he only fucking knew… He drove you to distraction without even trying. One look, one sound from him and you were ready to bend over, ass up, and let him have his wicked way with you. 

“Is that surprising?” He asked. 

“Um…yeah,” you said and giggled. This was like the statue of David coming to life and asking a painting on a date. The mediums were both gorgeous but one was more lauded than the other. 

“I know I can be…serious,” Terry said. You snorted again and he tapped your nose. “But I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. Like I was some creep, you know?” He asked.

“Yeah, well. I’m the one who was in your room, being inappropriate. I completely understand if you want to fire me…”

“Troy would kill me if I did,” he said and smirked. 

You giggled. “You’d still have the right to. I am really, really sorry,” you said. 

Terry’s hand moved from your cheek, down the sides of your body before landing on your hips. You gasped, your body tingling in areas you didn’t know you could tingle. Like his hands were a live wire and your body responded in the most unusual ways. 

“You always seemed so nervous around me. I thought I scared you,” he said.

“The opposite actually,” you admitted. Hell, at this point, you might as well lay it all out. Put yourself on a silver platter, ready to be served up to Terry’s mercy. His thumbs pressed into your tummy and you gasped, shivering. 

“The way you respond…have you ever been with anyone?” He asked. 

You shook your head. You didn’t have the words to say you were a virgin. Didn’t want to be even more of a loser in his eyes. Terry cursed softly under his breath and shook his head. 

“So no one’s ever touched you? Why not?” He asked. 

You licked your lips and shrugged. “Guys just don’t like me like that.” It was the only answer you had to give. You were the in-between friend. You were the holdover friend people had before they found their forever person. Without fail, any man you were interested in went on one or two dates with you before suddenly finding the light of their fucking lives. 

After the last guy literally went to the bathroom on your date and came back with someone else’s number, you swore off any hunt for a partner. What was the point? You wasted outfit after outfit, faced disappointment after disappointment, and well, you just wanted off of the merry-go-round. 

Terry tilted his head before stepping away. He pulled you towards his dresser and made you face the mirror. He pressed in behind you and you sighed, feeling a bulge rub against your ass. 

You stared at his face in the mirror and watched as his face ran through a gauntlet of emotions. Like he was fighting with himself and losing the battle, fast. He placed his chin on your shoulder and then sighed.

“What do you see?” He asked.

“Me…and you…” You said. You weren’t trying to be a dumb ass, but it seemed like he was playing chess while you were playing Bingo. 

Terry smirked. “What do you see when you look at yourself?” 

You took a deep breath. You began to describe the features that you saw in the mirror. The way you did your hair, the way you did your makeup, the jewelry that you wore. Terry shook his head. 

“I see a sexy, beautiful woman. I see someone that drives me fuckin’ nuts. A woman that makes me want to do awful, disgusting things to,” he said.

“Ahh,” you said and shivered from the intense look in his hazel eyes. 

Terry’s hands moved up to cup your breasts over the top of your bodycon dress. You chose the burnished orange one today, once again at the mercy of Malcolm who acted like he was the only one who could use the fucking washing machine.

You moaned and bowed forward but Terry’s hands kept you upright. No one ever told you how different it was for someone to touch you as opposed to touching yourself. Everything seemed more intense, more lively, more electric. 

“And I just can’t hold myself back anymore. Tell me to stop,” Terry said. He moved his head to kiss your neck, your jaw, and behind your ear. 

You moaned, body shivering from how good he felt. How right his hands felt on your body. He pulled the top of your dress down, cupping your bare titties in his hands and pinching your nipples.

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned, knees getting weaker the more he tugged and pinched and pulled. Your pussy responded, throbbed, and you grew wet instantly soaking your panties. 

“Tell me to stop,” Terry said, near begging as he continued to kiss and lick on your skin. 

“I-I can’t,” you sighed. How could you tell him to stop when this was the only thing you ever wanted? The only thing you ever dreamed of? 

“If you don’t tell me to stop, we’re going to cross a line. I need you to say it, please,” Terry said. As he spoke, his hands gripped the sides of your dress and pulled until your dress pooled around your hips.

You moaned as his fingers touched your thighs, fingers digging in and massaging you. His hands moved towards your panties, cupping you over the flimsy fabric. There was a thin layer separating you from what you most wanted. 

“I can’t say it. You have to be the stronger one,” you said. He had to be. Because at this moment, there was nothing you would deny him. If he wanted a star from the Hollywood Walk of Fame, you’d be there the next day with a jackhammer and crow bar. 

Terry dropped his head to your shoulder and groaned, his fingers moving closer to the seat of your panties. “I need you to say it,” he said.

You shook your head. You leaned forward and planted your hands on the dresser top, no longer able to support yourself standing. You were absolutely weak in the knees, ready to collapse at any given moment. 

Terry’s left hand snaked around yours and grasped yours, fingers tangling. His right hand finally pushed your panties aside and he groaned, finding you soaking wet. “Fuck,” he moaned. 

“Oh my god,” you moaned. 

It was wildly different for his fingers to be there instead of your own. He moved expertly, soaking his fingers with your essence and playing with your clit. You shook violently on his fingers, too in your head to enjoy what he was doing.

“Breathe,” he whispered. 

You sucked in deep pulls of air, your breathing returning to a normal rhythm. You nodded though you were out of your mind with pleasure. With feeling. His fingers plunged into your pussy and you cried out. 

“Shh, shh,” he whispered.

Right. Right. There was an entire kid taking a bath at the moment. And here you were letting his dad play with you like a damn fiddle. You couldn’t find one ounce of regret. One ounce of shame. 

His fingers helped you find heaven, light exploding behind your eyelids as your stomach twisted and caved from the pleasure he was delivering. His left hand tightened on yours as you got closer and closer to your orgasm. 

“Fuck, fuck me. Please,” you begged. You needed to know what it felt like. Needed to know right this second what he felt like getting inside you. Your pussy was empty, aching, begging for his dick and you pushed your ass into his bulge to get him to cave. 

Terry groaned and pushed into you, pushing your hips against the edge of his dresser. He moaned as he dry humped against you, timing his wrist movements with his strokes. 

“No condom,” he panted in your ear.

“Please,” you begged. You whined, you cried. You didn’t have a fucking clue what you were saying, only that you needed that bulge inside you. NOW. 

Terry bit your ear. “I’m not gonna endanger you,” he said. 

You collapsed forward. He leaned against your back and then got down to business. Rubbing your clit in circles until you leaned up on your tip toes and bit your lip as you came, flooding his fingers with your slick as the orgasm rocked you on the spot. 

Your world quaked, cracked in half, and then was brought back together by Terry’s grunts and groans. As you came down, you panted and huffed, no energy left in your body. Terry withdrew his fingers and then brought his fingers to his mouth and suckled.

You watched him in the mirror as he closed his eyes. “Fuck,” you huffed. 

Terry winked at you as he adjusted your panties and your dress. You opened your mouth plenty of times but there were no words to be found. What could you say? What could you do? 

“Helllooooooooo,” Troy called out. He sounded as if he had been calling out for a minute. 

Terry adjusted himself and then kissed your neck. “Don’t move,” he said.

He left the room and you heard him talking to Troy. He told the boy to brush his teeth and Troy tried to argue until Terry threatened to check his toothbrush. Troy laughed and his footfalls ran back to the bathroom. 

You were still stuck in the same position you were before, hands planted on Terry’s dresser as if his command not to move had to be followed to the letter. You looked down at the pictures on his dresser, of his smiling wife and son. 

Yet somehow…fuck her. You didn’t feel any guilt fucking her man in what used to be her bedroom. You didn’t know where she was or if she was even coming back. You didn’t hold any expectations. Only that you wanted what you wanted and you weren’t going to apologize for it. If this was the only thing you got from Terry, then so be it. Because it was…life changing. 

Terry re-entered the room and closed the door behind him. He wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed your shoulder. “We’re going to talk about this.” 

You nodded. Yes, there definitely needed to be a discussion about this. “Not tonight,” you said.

Terry tilted his head at you. “I mean…we both need to cool down and Troy needs you. We’ll talk tomorrow? When you get home?”

Terry looked as if he wanted to argue. He rubbed his goatee and sighed heavily. But he had to know you were right. The last thing you wanted to do was interrupt Troy’s routine. Doubly so now that his mom wasn’t home. God, that poor kid had enough to deal with. 

Terry nodded but turned you around to look at him. He grabbed your chin and forced you to look him in the eyes. “We’re going to talk about this. Tomorrow. When I get home.” 

You nodded. Terry pulled you close, giving you a tender, beautiful but way too quick kiss and then let you go. You gathered your nerves and then left his room, looking out for Troy. Not seeing him, you hurried over to your homework and gathered it up, stuffing it into your backpack haphazardly. 

You were ten kinds of turned around. You needed to freak out about this before you could have an adult conversation about what happened between you. Time to lock down your emotions and feelings so that when Terry gave you “that talk”, the one about how this couldn’t happen again, you would be prepared. You wouldn’t embarrass yourself by begging, screaming, throwing up for not having another chance to explore more. 

But…you said you’d be happy with this. And you would be. You so would be. This was…honestly the best outcome you never planned for. You finished and pulled on your sweater and walked towards the front door.

Terry called out to Troy that he was walking you next door and you said goodbye to Troy. The night didn’t seem quite so cold this time around. Perhaps your body was still flushed, reliving the best orgasm of your life. 

Your shoes crunched beneath your dead lawn as you hopped up the porch. Terry stopped you with a hand on your arm. He rubbed his thumb back and forth but didn’t say anything.

What was there to say? He rocked your world? He shifted your axis? Up was down and down was up thanks to the power of his fingers? His fingers. Lordy lordy. Maybe you wouldn’t survive getting fucked by him. You were glad one of you had the presence of mind to be safe and not fuck without a condom. 

“Tomorrow,” you promised.

Terry nodded and then waited for you to get inside before trudging back to his place. And no matter how many times you tried to feel bad, the only thing you could think of was his face as he moaned and his fingers buried to the knuckle in your pussy.

I just ain't slowing down any time sooooon. The Secret Terry Richmond Files

Taglist:

@planetblaque @chaos-4baby @amethyst09 @ciaqui @we-outsiiiide

@browngirldominion @iv0rysoap @thecookiebratz @harmshake @00aijia00

@judymfmoody @multiversefanfics @tvchi @xo-goldengirl @superhoeva

@avoidthings @lovedlover @blackgurlnhermoods @flydotty @sageispunk

@semi-yah @halfreal-and-halffiction @motheroffae @melaninpov @pinkpantheris

@slutsareteacherstoo @blackerthings @dreamsinfocus @brattyfics @mermaidchansons

@monaeesstuff @henneseyhoe @blowmymbackout @charismablu @playgurlxoxo

@misskiki90 @miyuhpapayuh @satoruya @starcrossedxwriter @yamst3rdamctrl

@steampunkprincess147 @sweettea-and-honeybutter @theblacklewinsky @soft-persephone @notapradagurl7

@thegreatlibraryofalex @amyhennessyhouse @hihellogoodbyebruh @becauseimswagman1

[fadebolt]

I don't have much more to add here.

It portrays its message in a very overt manner - and I think that very much works for its benefit. The real world equivalent of this type of cycle is a lot subtler, and seems a lot more innocuous on the surface. But by exaggerating it, and making it a lot more 'clear', the reader gets a really good idea of how horrid it actually is, which they possibly wouldn't have taken note of, otherwise.

It's funny how I also learned of Metamorphosis through my high school literature class, and it was the piece that stuck with me the most (rather than something from the beautiful Hungarian materials, which was the vast majority of what we covered).

Though a large part of why I remember it is also how much I actually physically struggled to get through it. From what I remember, it was somewhat visceral, and I had to make sure to occasionally take little walks, and keep the window open, so that I wouldn't start feeling dizzy/sick. (Just note that I also imagined it to be a lot more gruesome, than how a lot of the art portrays the story. I also have a bit of a vivid imagination (which decided to picture Gregor as a giant centipede, for some inexplicable reason), and I get the same dizzy/sick feeling when I look at detailed images of cells, so I'm almost certainly an outlier here. Don't ask what's going on with my brain, cus I honestly have no idea.)

But its themes were also incredibly well portrayed, and dare I say, have actually affected me. Because not only has it highlighted the vicious cycle that neurodiverent people go through, but also that 'trying to become 'normal'' is neither a feasible, nor an ideal solution, and is not something that anyone should be fully forced into. Despite its grim undertones, Metamorphosis actually encouraged me to try and stand out in a positive manner, instead of being stuck as an 'insect that is poorly mimic-ing what 'normal' is like', the way the main character did.

It's inspiring, but in an unusual way. It's hard to put it into words, but I think any neurodiverent person will get it.

So yeah, I can absolutely recommend it to anyone who's looking for a more dark story with creepy elements that tackle some heavy psychological subject matters. I wouldn't say it's for everyone, but if you are part of the target audience (which... most of you Tumblr users are xd), then it's absolutely going to be one of your most memorable and impactful reads.

And it's a really pleasant surprise to see that it's so popular and well-known on this site. The story certainly earned that ^-^

[lizardsfromspace]

It's tempting to call out evangelicals on grounds of hypocrisy - on ignoring the teachings of their own religion - but to them, it all makes sense, because they've developed a framework that basically amounts to Jesus having no real philosophy

They acknowledge the many verses about caring for the poor etc, but take it either as a code or of lesser importance. It's not about changing society, it's about individual charity, but not about compelling people to be charitable, just that it's nice. When Jesus spoke of the "least" of society, that wasn't about helping marginalized people, that was either about Christians, or about what side to take in the war that happens after the rapture. Simple. You may think "wait, but right before that it mentions caring for the poor, sick, and imprisoned" and their answer is, as I understand it, that you can just read every verse of the Bible in isolation from every other verse and it still makes sense on its own, so it doesn't matter (for reference, the New Testament wasn't split into numbered verses until 1551, when they were decided on by a random Frenchman)

This doesn't make sense on many levels. Anyone outside the sphere would point out that, religion aside, it would be really weird to have a story about someone telling a bunch of people to help the poor and then reveal "actually, it was all about events that will happen thousands of years after everyone present was dead! Nothing that was said matters to you or most people reading this!" Like what's the point. But within the sphere they have so many rationalizations, like how it's taken as writ in evangelical circles that it's okay to be rich because the "Eye of the Needle" was a specific gate in Jerusalem that was merely difficult to get through. Meanwhile, outside their culture, no references to that gate exist, because it didn't exist

One fun strain of this thinking is this

The Good Samaritan is a parable that ends with the directive to "go and do likewise". So clearly, the real point of the story is that you can't do anything. Jesus told everyone to go and do likewise to prove that nobody can ever show the impossible love to...help a guy who got robbed? Because Jesus was perfect, all advice from Jesus can be disregarded, because nobody can follow it because they're not Jesus

This idea, that every story Jesus told was just about how nobody can ever be like Jesus, is a thing in those circles and it's such a baffling foundation for a religion. Follow our messiah, who told us to be nice to people, but we know all the secret messages about how all those stories meant we SHOULDN'T be nice to people. Their sacred text is not a guide to living, it's a textbook for the apocalypse and how to go to heaven disguised as a guide to how you should be nice to people and help poor people. But a bunch of well-off white people discovered the secret parts of the Bible absolving them of the responsibility to care about people, so

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Every Day That You Want

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, tooth-rotting fluff, pregnancy, pre-established relationship, marriage proposal

Summary/Warnings: You have big news for Dean. News you have to tell him, wether he likes it or not. You really hope he likes it, though.

Author's Note: Kind of a prequel to another fic of mine (Still You Want Me), but can be read alone. I just love putting big scary men in normal situations.

Word Count: 2.9k

You can do this. You’ve been to hell and back, you’ve killed angels, you’ve survived at least three apocalypses, and you’ve helped raise the Anti-Christ. This should, comparatively, be easy. 

It’s not. It’s the most daunting and terrifying thing you’ve ever done. It’s just words, but you’re going to choke on them because they could ruin your life. You’ve rehearsed in front of the mirror until your voice didn’t sound like yours anymore and nothing you said seemed real. It had been like repeating the same one word over and over again, until it’s nothing but an odd sound. Until it meant nothing.

But this has to mean something. You have to be able to say this to Dean, and you have to try and not get lost in the possibilities of how he’ll respond. He won’t leave you—Dean would never leave you—but he might tell you he doesn’t want this, and then you’ll have to make a choice. You don’t want to make a choice. You don’t want to hear Dean tell you that, with the lives you lead, this wouldn’t be a good idea. That it doesn’t matter what either of you want, because this isn’t something you get to have.

You want to have this, though. You want to have Dean and the baby. You want to have him as you’ve always had him before—strong and tired, always fighting because it’s all he knows how to do, but resting his head on your chest in the dark and humming against your lips when he kisses you—but you also want to have him in this new way. Where he’d smile for more reasons than just you and Sam and Cas. Where he’d get to direct some of that undying loyalty to someone who’d never be ungrateful, who’d would see him as a hero in a way he might finally believe. 

He’d be so good at it. Dean would spoil the kid, and teach them everything he knew, and care for them more than he’d ever care for himself. It breaks your heart sometimes, how he doesn’t kill himself for Sam, and he doesn’t drink himself to death for Cas, and he tries to get better for you, but he still doesn’t really know how to look in the mirror and not see a shadow.

And this would be the piece of him that’s never been tainted. The piece of him that crawls over you in bed just to hold you, that still watches cartoons and gets excited when he sees a cool car or hears an awesome drumline. The part of him that still cares, against all odds, and cares so much you’ve been worried it would kill him. The part of him that’s so simply made of light and love, crushed under years of his soul being bruised and beaten.

A part of him that won’t break. A part of him you love just as much as the rest of his wreckage, but that you still try to tend to, because you’ll love him the same if it vanishes, but you don’t think he deserves that. Dean deserves to only have that piece of him expand, to have it absorb all the love you throw at him, to grow until he can see it too. Until he can believe it’s there.

You know that it’s all so fucking hard. That Dean will never be all light, but you wouldn’t ever expect him to be. You know that a baby won’t fix him, not by far, but you also know it will show him he can create something. That he doesn’t poison everything he touches. 

That he made something entirely good, with you.

And if he tells you he doesn’t want this, you’ll live with that. You’ve lived with worse.

But you don’t even want to try to live with it. You’ll probably have to, but you’d like to pretend you won’t. 

The most you’re daring to pray for is that he doesn’t freak out. But angels don’t really take your calls anymore. 

So you’ll just have to hope.

You’ve set this up perfectly. There’s a pie in the oven that you will not let burn. There’s bacon and pancakes on a plate waiting for him when he finally gets his ass up. You have the whole bunker to yourself, because Sam’s off to see Eileen.

You’re not allowed to tell Dean that—Sam says he gets annoying—but you will in order to get him in a better mood. Sam’s fatal mistake was believing that you wouldn’t do anything to make Dean happy. So this is really on Sam. He’s the one that introduced you to Dean in the first place. Just because you were his friend first doesn’t mean he didn’t lose your automatic allegiance the moment he said this is my brother and his brother was the hottest man you’d ever seen. 

Sam should’ve known better. His big head should’ve understood that letting you anywhere near Dean—let enough so close that you’d be allowed to fall in love with him—would have always resulted in you using his secrets against him to make Dean happy, so you could slip in the fact that you were pregnant with Dean’s baby as easily as possible. 

Like any sane person would.

Although you have been up for hours, after only sleeping two. And you might be losing your mind. But anyone would lose their mind in a situation like this. Waiting for their dumb boyfriend to wake up so they can change his life forever. 

But Dean’s still asleep. You’re starting to get worried. He usually sleeps in late, especially after hunts, but not this late. Not past noon, long enough for you to stress eat half of his pie, then make a whole second one. Not long enough for the coffee to go cold three times.

You’re about to go check on him when he appears in the kitchen door. Bleary eyes and mussed hair, his glazed eyes focusing slightly when they land on you.

He starts to shuffle towards you, and you forget everything you’d rehearsed. He looks sleepy and adorable, and you’ve seen him like this before but you’d like to see it a million times more. You’d like Dean to always drop his head on your shoulder and wrap his arms around your torso, to always slump over you with a low hum. To always kiss the crook of your neck and let out a long breath when your hands snake around his neck and your fingers tangle in his soft hair.

You could have him like this forever. 

You just have to tell him. 

“Dean-“

“Why’re you up.” He speaks against your skin, his voice slurring slightly, tugging you a little closer. “’S early.”

“It’s 3pm, baby.” You draw back to smile at him, and he just blinks at you. “You’ve been knocked out for fourteen hours.”

He shakes his head, pouting slightly as he takes your hand in his. “Nah. Doesn’t feel it. C’mon.”

Dean starts to walk away, taking you with him, and you’re snapped out of the daze.

“Wait,” You pull on his grip, and he turns with a frown. “Where are you going?”

“We’re goin’ back to bed.”

You give him an amused look, your affection briefly overpowering your panic. “We?”

He nods, tugging your hand in his until you’re pressed right against his chest. “Only up ‘cause you weren’t there. Need to get my girl back to bed, you need sleep too-“

You do need sleep, but until you tell Dean, you might as well be injecting caffeine right into your bloodstream.

“But I made you bacon-“

“Course you did.” He grins, pressing a light kiss to your nose. “You’re awesome, baby.” 

You feel your stomach flutter, and at this stage it has to only be nerves, but that doesn’t make anything easier. “Can we please eat?”

Dean hums, scanning carefully over your face. “You eat already?”

“I had some applesauce-“

“Then we’re good.” He starts to move again, and now you’re attached to him like a magnet. You couldn’t move away if you tried. “Bed.”

You’re frayed and wired and on edge, trying so hard to find the will to insist he stay and eat, but Dean’s so warm and suddenly you’re drunk on him. He’s sturdy and soft in all the right places, herding you back to bed with hands on your shoulders and mumbled praise about being his dream girl, making him bacon for breakfast and lovin’ him more than he deserves, and you wish you had enough backbone to just shout at him that he does deserve your love. He deserves whatever you can give him, including a baby that he needs to know about now before you explode.

But he gets you back into bed, splaying his body over yours and pinning you down.

“Didn’t see Sammy,” his head is buried in your chest, his voice muffled against your skin. “Where’dhe go?”

“Eileen’s.” You sigh, running your fingers through his hair. “I’m not supposed to tell you that, though.”

Dean chuckles, his hands drawing slow circles on your hips. “You’re a little backstabber, sweetheart. I’m never tellin’ you anything again.”

“I’m backstabbing Sam for you.” You shrug, smiling at the air. “I’d never backstab you.”

“’S exactly what a backstabber would say.”

You giggle. “You’re tired, Dean. Your brain’s not working right. Maybe if we get up-“

“Not getting up.” He grunts, squeezing your body. “Not until you get your own fourteen hours.”

“I’m okay, Dean-“

“No. Sleep.”

You sigh, squirming slightly under him. “You know, it’s bad for you to sleep in. It’ll mess up your circadian rhythm-“ 

Dean tilts his head up, frowning at you. “What’s going on with you?”

“I, um-“ You swallow, your whole body suddenly far too warm. “Huh?”

“You always make me sleep extra after hunts.” His voice is a little stronger, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Why’re you suddenly trying to get me up?”

“Nothing’s going on-“

“No.” Dean’s sitting up now, rolling onto his back and pulling you over his lap, his gaze stern. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“There’s nothing wrong either-“

He says your name, squeezing your waist as he rubs his jaw. “Please just tell me. If it’s a body we can hide it, but I need to know if it’s a monster body or person body-“

“Why the hell would it be a person body-“

“I dunno, but if it is you gotta tell me, so I can grab the salt.” He cups your cheek, offering you on his charming, downright boyish grins. “I’m not letting any ghosts haunt your hot ass, babygirl.”

“Thank you.” You mumble, dropping your brow to his. “But it’s not a body.”

“So there is something.”

“Yeah.” You whisper. “But I… I’m not-“

“Hey,” Dean leans back, holding your gaze as he tucks some hair behind your ear. “Whatever it is, I don’t care. I’m helping you.”

You swallow, squeezing your eyes shut. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs, like it’s simple. Like this will really be that easy. “For you? Always.”

It takes deep breathes, and hands curled in Dean’s t-shirt—gripping him hard, making sure he won’t fly away or vanish into the air when you speak—but you do it. You run over your entire rehearsal one last time and let it all go, because Dean’s right here, in front of you, and you just need to-

“I’m pregnant.”

You say it, and he doesn’t vanish into nothing. Dean just stares at you, eyes wider than you’ve ever seen them, and whispers, “With a baby?”

“Yeah, Dean.” You offer him a small smile. “A baby.”

“My- my baby?” 

You open your mouth with a slight frown, and Dean’s hand flies to cover your mouth before you can speak.

“Wait, shit, I didn’t mean it like that, I’m just-“ He groans, his eyes seeming to drive right into your soul as his voice because hoarse. “You’re sure? That you’re… growing one?”

You wish you could read him better right now. You’d laugh at him saying growing one.

Instead you just nod, and it’s like something flips in Dean. He grins—wide and toothy and unrestrained—and you barely have time for the relief to hit when he’s kissing you. Long and deep and passionate, until you’re dizzy and grinding down onto him, falling over his chest and clinging to his shoulders.

“Dean,” you gasp as he dives down to kiss a line over your collarbone. “Shouldn’t we, shit-“ He starts suck on a soft spot behind your ear, and all your exhaustion is starting to catch back up with you, so everything is really just a haze. “Don’t we need to talk-“

“No,” he mutters, rutting slightly up into you and chuckling against your skin when you whine. “Just need you, baby, need to- son of a bitch!”

Dean’s yanks himself up and twists to his bedside table—his hand on your hips holding you steadily against him—scrambling around the drawers as he mutters low words you can’t hear.

“Are you okay?” You ask, your hand fisting in his shirt once more. “I mean, I know you might have doubts about-“

You’re cut off as Dean surges back up to kiss you again, this one shorter and soft, but still firm. 

“No doubts, sweetheart.” He mutters against your lips. “And I’m better than okay. I’m fucking amazing.”

“Good.” You sigh, pulling back to scan over his face. “What was that, then?”

Dean smiles at you, and it’s… nervous. He’s almost never really, truly nervous, but this smile has no edge, no carefully designed charm. It’s just Dean, purely him, smiling at you like you’re holding his heart in your body.

You kind of are.

“I know I, uh, I don’t say it enough. You know I’m not good at saying it. But I do love you,” Dean says your name, and you blink at him. This sounds like a speech. “I love you so much it drives me insane. And I’d never want this, want a baby, with anyone but you. But, I, uh, I want all of this. Whole stupid, apple pie thing, just with you.” He takes a long breath, his eyes never leaving yours. “Marry me.”

You gape at him. “What?”

“Marry- shit, wait-“ Dean reaches slightly behind him, grabbing a small box, and pops it open with his thumb. There’s a diamond ring inside, and it looks like a real one. Not the ones you’d use on cases, that would give you a rash for a week after. This looks… carefully made.

Made for you.

“Dean-“

“Marry me?” Dean looks between your slack jaw and the box, his voice almost nervous. “Please?”

“I-“ This is going better than you could’ve ever even imagined. You’re not sure how to handle it. “I don’t want you to marry me just because you knocked me up-“

“Baby, I didn’t pull this ring out of my ass.” He drawls, his voice a little firmer. “I’ve been getting ready to ask you for months. I was going to kick Sammy out next week, make a picnic in the library-“

“Really?”

“Yeah, I-“ He frowns. “Why’d you think I was poking about your ring size?”

“I don’t, um, I don’t remember you doing that.”

Dean laughs, shaking his head slightly. “That’s good. I was worried I ruined it. I, um-“ he glances down at the ring, his face falling back to the nerves, and you realize you haven’t actually answered him yet. “I haven’t-“

It’s your turn to kiss Dean, and these words aren’t difficult to say at all. “Yes,” you whisper, pressing another, smaller kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’ll marry you.”

“Awesome.” He grins, and the ring is barely on your finger when he’s diving back into you, kissing you until you can’t ever remember anything has been difficult in your life. 

You yawn right as Dean pulls away, and he chuckles. 

“You alright, sweetheart?”

You hum, nodding. “I’m good. So good. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Dean says your name in your ear, and it’s quiet and gentle. Not like a secret, but a promise. “How’s a day in bed sound? We can try and get you pregnant again.”

“That’s not how it works, babe.” You giggle, folding a little deeper into his hold. “I’m gonna have to buy you some books.”

“I’ll read them.” Dean kisses the top of your head, and you can feel his smile on your skin. “For you.”

“Thank you.”

“Course.” He sighs, squeezing your body slightly. “We’re having a fucking baby.”

“Yeah.” You smile, and there’s that piece of him, shining on the surface. All joy and wonder for something that’s really just good. “We are.”

End Note: Dean Winchester in my head this is indeed the life you live every day. Season 15 isn't real it can't hurt me.

Title from Waste by Foster the People

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature @sthefferrete @lyarr24

@deansbbyx @bakugotypecrashout @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

@youdontknowe @nyrtopia @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco @elle14-blog1

@impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde @itsdearapril @apobangpo-0613 @alwaystiredandconfused

@arcticwisteria @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @jackles010378 @godhelpthisbtch

@ilovedeanwinchester4 @sleepykittycx @immastealurkneecaps @star-yawnznn @maddie0101

@chi-raz @lori19 @wynnthewynnderful

[honeyhotteoks]

across stardust - two (j.yh); section two

summary: you and yunho have worked together for years, idol and makeup artist, but until today you’ve never touched him skin to skin. when the world tilts on its head from just a brush of his cheek, you realize he’s so much more than a crush, he’s your soulmate.one | two (section 1); (*section two) | three | four 🔗read on ao3 ✨across stardust pinterest board

note: i hope everyone enjoys this chapter. it's wildly fluffy and wildly romantic, and then deliciously smutty so i hope everyone enjoys. **this part was too long for tumblr's new word count guidelines! please check out the FIRST half of this part, here!

tags/warnings: idol!yunho, makeup artist!reader, fem!reader, soulmates au, soulmate identifying marks, soulmate tattoos, tattoed!reader, suggestive language, allusions to a past ex who pressured her into things she wasn't ready for, anxiety etc., and finally the smut; heavy makeouts, grinding, oral f!receiving, convos about oral m!receiving, lots of fingering, lots of cock touching, earth shattering soulmate sex, rough sex, soft!dom/pleasure!dom yunho and wide eyed sub!reader, heavy on the dirty talk, HEAVY on the praise. we got a lot of good girls in this one, and good god tagging for gratuitous use of pet names from yunho. lots of missionary and missionary adjacent positions, spooning sex to idk he's on his back and she's on top but laying on him it's hard to describe but by god is it hot please enjoy

pairings: yunho x reader

genre: fantasy, romance, smut || soulmates au

word count: 28.1k

**did you read section one of part two yet? if not, click here!!

Slowly, ever so slowly, the hazy cloud starts to lift. You’re both still shaking, Yunho hiding in your shoulder, his lips brushing against your pulsepoint as he comes back down from his high. Your fingers are locked tightly on his back still, legs pinning him to your pelvis, and it takes time for you to breathe through the last bits of dizziness and start to feel some kind of normal again. 

Finally you feel him exhale out an intentional breath and kiss your shoulder before pressing up on his forearms to look down at you, “Am I crushing you?” He lifts a bit of his body weight off, but you keep your arms locked. 

“Don’t go,” You say, holding him steady. 

He smiles dreamily, and shakes his head, “Not going anywhere,” 

Your legs fall slack on either side of him and you let your hands slide down to rest on his chest, “Good,” 

His eyes flick down over your bodies, to where you’re still connected hip to hip and with the fog of your newly cemented bond lifted, you feel a pang of his concern, “Did I hurt you?” 

You shake your head, smoothing your hand over his chest, “Mm-mm,” 

“You sure?” He takes one of your hands in his and gently kisses your knuckles. 

“You would have felt it if you did,” You remind him, “looks like we were right, we really were made for each other,” 

He rolls his eyes and smiles at your soft teasing, “Uh-huh,” 

You thread your fingers with his and tug him back down to where you rest in the pillows, kissing him as you do, “Mm,” you sigh, “do you think it will feel like that every time?” 

“If it does,” He laughs, “I’ll never make it out of this bed, I better resign now,” 

You nudge him, “Not funny,” 

“It’s a little funny,” He kisses you again, “but maybe I should, just keep you right here on my cock all day,” 

You shiver at his words, “And I’m the tease,” 

He laughs a little but squeezes your hand, “If it feels like that every time, I’m not teasing,” 

Your stomach flips pleasantly at his words, “Well,” your fingers skate down his chest, “we do have three days,” 

“That’s true,” He murmurs, his brow quirking playfully as he pecks a kiss to your lips, “do you have any objections to me keeping you right here?” 

You shake your head, “We’ll have to eat at some point, though,” 

“I’m pretty sure we can manage having sex in the kitchen,” He nips at your lip.

“My kitchen’s pretty small,” 

“I’m very creative,” He counters, his kisses traveling down your jaw now. 

You sigh, breathy as his tongue catches on your throat, “W-where else?” 

He huffs a laugh, “Shower,” 

“Of course,” 

“Couch,” His teeth tug gently at your earlobe and your muscles flutter and clench. Yunho groans lightly, and you feel his cock start to stiffen up inside you again. 

“And then?” Unconsciously, your legs start to widen just a little more. 

“The wall,” His voice is low and warm in your ear, “how see-through is that window, anyways?” 

Your eyes roll and you twitch under him, fingers tightening on his skin, “It’s reflective glass, you c-can’t see through it,” 

Yunho hums pleasantly, sucking at the pulsepoint of your neck and sending a shock of heat down your body, and you feel him start to stiffen up inside you again. A little breathy sound bubbles from your lips, and his hips grind down into yours just a little. His jaw tightens, muscles tense, and you feel him rock hard again and pressing insistently at all your sweet spots. 

“A-again?” You shiver. 

“Baby,” He sighs and chuckles, “all night,” 

Part of you thinks he’s kidding about that, but with that look in his eyes you know he’s more than serious. 

“Usually I’d need a little bit,” He admits, shifting up to his knees and dragging his hands down your body, “but you make me crazy,” 

You nod, moaning as his cock shifts inside you with the position change. Nothing has ever filled you like this, felt like this. The stretch is delicious, the way he seems to reach the tenderest places in your cunt that makes you see stars. The dizziness from the bonding a moment ago has dissipated, but the searing heat is still there, and you shiver, his fingertips skating over your tattoo before his hands find a home on your hips. 

“What do you say, baby? Can you take me again?” His hips pulse slowly, a torturous drag in and out to tease you. 

“Fuck yes,” You moan, one hand flying up to the wall behind you to brace yourself. 

“God, you sound pretty,” He pulses his hips again, punching a surprised moan from your throat, “exactly like that, I’m addicted to that sound.” 

He’s so verbal now that you’re not both swimming in the sensation of your newly forged bond, that night on the phone really was just a glimpse into who your partner is behind closed doors, his idol persona left on the concert hall floor. 

”J-just like that,” You nod, gripping the sheets. 

“Like that?” He teases, dragging you down onto his cock with his hands on your hips, “Yeah?” 

You moan again, “Harder,” 

“Fuck,” He curses, hands tight, sure to bruise, “we’re going to be so good together, aren’t we?” 

Before you can respond, he answers your plea with his hips, picking up the pace so that each pulse forward is met with the drag down of your body, connecting your bodies with firm, sharp snaps, the sound wet and wanton. 

“Y-yes, yes,” You all but sob, pleasure arcing through your belly and a fresh sheen of sweat breaking over your brow. 

Yunho groans, roughly fucking into you in just the way you needed, his body slick with sweat and glistening in the low light, his muscles flexing and relaxing with every snap of his hips. 

His mouth falls open, thumbs digging into your belly where he grips your waist, “Fuck, baby, you’re so tight,” 

Your cunt clenches, “You feel so good,” 

“That’s my good girl,” He breathes, his eyes hazy and lips parted as he watches you coming apart beneath him. 

You moan hard at the praise, your belly fluttering and clenching at the memory of how he talked to you that first time. You’ve thought of it dozens of times, desperate for exactly this, “Yes,” you whine, “I love when you call me that. Love when you talk to me like that,” 

Yunho shudders, his hips stuttering in pace and he groans, “Yeah?” 

“Don’t stop,” You reach for him, nails brushing over his skin as you try to get your hands on him. 

“Not stopping,” He assures you, but his hips do slow as he says, “what else do you like, hmm?” 

You can feel his curiosity, and his arousal too, the way he wants to know every button that makes you tick. Your slick channel pulses around his cock and you sigh in the sheets, “What do you think I like?” 

A half smile quirks his lips and he slows his pace to a stop, “Are you trying to tease me?” 

Your cheeks heat, caught under the exactness of his gaze and the rolling ripple of arousal through your body. 

“Cute,” He murmurs again, but he rolls his hips once hard to make you moan, “so pretty when you moan for me,” 

“God,” You have to pull your eyes away. 

“Don’t be embarrassed,” He brushes your hips with gentler hands. 

“I’m not,” You drop a hand over your face.  

“You’re blushing, baby,” His fingers loop under yours and pull your hand away from your eyes. 

“Don’t pretend it doesn’t turn you on,” You counter, “I can feel you,” 

“Oh?” He quirks a brow, rolling his hips, “You can feel me?” 

“Shut up,” You groan, flutters rolling through your abdomen.

“Let’s see if I can make you really embarrassed, hmm?” 

“Yunho,” You manage, but you’re caught under him, the press of his hips and the firm pressure of his hands.

”You’re mine, right?” His fingers skate over your body as he adjusts himself onto his knees between your splayed open thighs, “You trust me?” 

Anticipation buzzes inside you, your mouth running dry. In this position you’re completely exposed, his eyes raking over your every inch, and when his tongue darts out to wet his lips with his tongue, your breath quickens

“Do you?” He prompts softly. 

“Y-yes,” 

He smirks a little, and then he settles on his heels and squeezes your thighs, “You like when I grab you,” he says, “I can feel your little jolt of excitement every time I do this.” He squeezes again for good measure, and just like he said your stomach jumps. 

“You’re my soulmate,” You sigh, “of course I like it when you touch me,” 

“Mm,” He nods, his hands skating up your skin until he’s cupping your breasts, “fair, how about this?” 

You soften, “That’s nice,” 

“And this?” He squeezes a little and you swallow to keep your composure, but when he finds both your nipples with his thumb and forefinger to give them a gentle pinch, you pant, “This?” 

He watches your eyes go glassy, and you’re sure he can feel the liquid fire pooling in your belly. 

He pinches them again, this time adding a little more pressure and tugging them upwards a bit before he releases. 

You moan sharply, fingers locking down on the bedding beneath you at the sharp zing that passed from your chest to your achingly neglected clit. 

“Is that nice, baby?” He tugs again, “Or am I being too rough with you?” 

He’s teasing you, and you shiver, “Not too rough,” 

The muscle in his jaw tightens but he lets that pass, cataloguing it and moving on, “And I think we’ve already established you like my hands,” 

“No surprise there,” You sigh. 

“My fingers?” He slides his hands up, and your heart starts to beat faster in your chest. Yunho settles one broad hand at the base of your throat, his fingers circling your neck gently. He doesn’t apply any pressure, but the way his thumb and index finger brace each side of your jaw has you trembling in his hold. 

You swallow, throat bobbing against his palm. 

“You do,” He murmurs, his voice a little rougher. With his opposite hand, he ever so gently touches your lips with the pads of his fingers, and like you’ve done it for him a thousand times before you let your mouth fall open. 

He drags his fingers over the curve of your lower lip again, and your cunt spasms around his cock where it's still buried inside you. He smiles at your reaction and then he hooks two of his fingers over your lip, resting on your teeth. 

You gasp sharply, your tongue pressing against the pads of his fingers. 

He waits, his patience a challenge, and then you melt. You dip your head forwards to accept his fingers into your mouth, letting them slide back on your tongue, your lips closing around them so that when you drag your head back you can suck them just a little. 

You can taste yourself on his skin and he groans, “Good girl,” 

Your core clenches again, but as his fingers slip free from your mouth you pulse your muscles again to tease him this time, “You’re easier to read than you think,” you tell him, “I know what you like too.” 

He smiles, full of cheek, and shifts back to roll his hips, “Yeah?” He slides his hand down, spreading it wide over your belly, “I like being inside you,” 

“You like,” You start but he shakes his head.

”I like being buried so deep I can feel it here,” He presses down with the heel of his hand and thrusts forwards, driving his cock into you, and the tight sensation of his cockhead punching into your g-spot leaves you moaning, all teasing forgotten at the sudden sensation of pleasure at his hands. 

Yunho drops over you properly now, gathering you back into his arms and pushing your legs back open wide with a tilt of your hips. He kisses you hard and then his hips start to pulse, “I like knowing this little pussy belongs to me,” 

“Oh, fuck,” You grip down hard on his shoulders. 

“That’s it,” He tips you back, rolling into you, “open up for me,” 

You moan hard, arching into him. 

“Fuck,” He curses low in your ear, “sweetheart, you feel incredible,” 

You nod into his shoulder, “S-so do you, don’t stop,”

“The best thing I’ve ever felt in my life” He manages. 

“Yunho, god,” 

“That’s right,” He slips a hand under our leg, sliding up the back of your thigh to pin you open, “so good,” 

Hot need arcs up your spine, belly tight with burgeoning pleasure, and you shudder a broken sob into his skin, “Please, please,” 

He thrusts hard, groaning with every jut of his hips, “Fuck,” he pants, “you want to know what I really like?” 

“Yes, yes,”

”I like you like this,” His kisses travel over your slick skin, “messy, begging for me,” 

“For you,” You babble almost mindlessly. 

“I like you coming,” He moans, “I could watch you come forever,” 

“Fuck, god,” Your head falls back to the mattress. 

“I want to make you lose yourself,” His pace steadies, and he drops his hand from your leg to the sheets for better leverage, “I want to watch you go so cockdrunk you don’t even know what sounds you’re making, how loud you’re being for me,” 

“Yunho, oh my god,” Your moan is rough, deep in your chest. 

He drops his forehead to your hair and nods, “Exactly like that,” 

Your body is starting to move on its own, your thighs trembling, and your hips canting upwards to catch more friction on your clit as he fucks you, and you whine in heady need. 

In a flash, his hips lock down hard, your body arching into his chest as you start to see the bursts of color behind your tightly shut eyes, but he doesn’t stop moving. Yunho grinds down, rocking his hips to give you extra pressure, and with needy jerks of your body you hump artlessly up into him, pleasure rolling up from your clit as he cock sits heavy and thick inside you. 

His lips connect with your ear as he drops his body weight over you, hands gathering you close, “That’s it, greedy girl,”

Sparks roll up your spine and you moan into his shoulder. 

“That’s it,” His hand slips down and cups your ass as you shudder, “take it, take it,” 

You gasp sharply, nails digging into his shoulders, “Oh, god, oh fuck,” 

“There she is,” He says hot at your cheek, his face leaving heavily against yours, “there’s my girl,” 

You moan, and he circles his hips, grinding deeper.

“You like taking every inch of me, baby?” He flicks your nipple sharply, “You like knowing you were made for me?” 

Your orgasm feels like it’s a breath away, ready to pull you open in a snap, and you sob beneath him, “M-more,” your head falls back as you scramble beneath him, heels digging into the mattress as you arch and try to bring yourself up and over the edge. 

“Come for me,” He kisses you, wet, fast, “come on babygirl,” 

“Ah, ah,” You press your eyes tight, holding him like a lifeline as you reach for it, “p-please, I want to come for you so bad,” 

“That’s it,” 

The pressure in your body builds, but you can’t reach it, and you ache to push your hands between your thighs. In a flash, his hands pulse on your skin, and he kisses you once more before pushing up and away from your body and drawing his cock halfway out of your aching center. 

“No, no,” You reach for him, eyes fluttering open in the hazy dim. 

On his knees once again he starts to rub your clit, his thumb pressing firm circles, the slick sound of it making your eyes roll back. 

“God,” You curse, a ripple of pleasure running through you like a spasm. 

He licks his lips, watching your face intently as he works your swollen bud, “Yeah? Do you need this to come?” 

The husky tone of his voice makes it sound like dirty talk, but you know he’s also asking for real, learning your body for the first time. You nod, “Usually, but, it’s not,”  

“Shh,” He pulls back, sliding his cock out of your wet warmth and kissing your knee before letting your legs fall slack to the mattress and shifting to your side, “I want to give you what you need,” 

“You are,” You tell him as he kisses you, nuzzling into you. 

“I can feel it,” He reminds you as he slides behind you, spooning you now and caging you in with his arms, “I know what you need, let me give it to you,” 

You shudder, melting as his hands slide over your body, “Mm,” you sigh, “I was j-just going to say I don’t think I need it with you,”

“But it’s better?” He asks, lifting your leg and hooking a hand under your knee. 

You angle your hips with an arch of your back, opening yourself to him, and gasp as he directs his cock back into your slick hole, “N-no,” You manage, “I don’t know,” 

He kisses your shoulder, “Let’s find out,” 

With a swift punch of his hips forwards he seats himself again and you moan, gripping down on the pillow under your cheek. 

“There we go,” He croons and you moan into his bicep. He hums, fingers teasing your slit as he pushes in and out, “is it better because I’m bigger?” 

“Yunho!” You gasp as he thrusts again, head falling back against the top of his chest. 

“Do I hit your sweet spots, jagi?” His voice is hoarse with his own need. 

“Yes, god,” You moan. 

“Tell me,” His middle finger finds your clit again, “say it,” 

You babble a response through a taut moan, “You’re so big,” 

“And?” He bites down on your shoulder, rubbing faster.

“You’re the,” You gasp as his hips punch back and forth sharply, “oh, fuck, yes, you’re the biggest cock I’ve ever had,” 

“Good girl,” He moans, “that’s my good girl,” 

Hot pleasure rolls through you at his words and you whine. 

“Feels good?” He teases. 

“So good,” You manage, “so, so good,” 

“Let go,” He kisses your cheek, gritting his teeth to focus on working you with his fingers an the steady pulse of his hips at the same time, “let it go and come,” 

Your hand flies to his forearm, gripping onto him as you cry out, and he pants behind you, kissing any part of your skin he can reach in this position.

“Good girl,” He murmurs low, “just hold onto me,” 

He slides his other hand from your knee to your hip to brace you steady and then he starts to adjust the pace of his hips, still slow, but firmer now so that every snap of his hips strikes a wet smacking drumbeat through the room as he circles his fingers on your slick clit. 

Heat rockets through you, your nails digging into his forearm, and then you feel it. Just a little more will take you right over the edge, and you choke out a breathless moan, “Please, please,” 

“Come,”

Your stomach tightens, legs trembling, and when it hits you crack open in his arms. The wave takes you just the same as before, and distantly through the ringing in your ears, you can hear the muttered pleas of Yunho as he feels the rush of your pleasure through the bond.

You’re boneless, both of you shaking, and then he wraps his arms around you properly and rolls onto his back, your body laid prone across his chest. His cock stays deep inside your pulsing core as you turn, but with a hiss he jerks his hips back and pulls out. 

“Baby, oh my god,” Your chest is heaving, and you reach back for him, finding his cheek. 

He’s quiet, shuddering beneath you.

“You didn’t come?” You manage, still breathless.

He shakes his head against yours, “Don’t want this to end too soon,” 

“We have days,” You tell him, “now please, I want you to feel good,” 

His hands tighten on your hips as he weighs your words, and then with a slow shift of his hips you feel his cock start to press at your entrance again. He slips home with ease, and you moan at the sudden stretch of him again, his cock thick and pulsing with his almost orgasm. 

“I,” He pulses his hips once and groans, “oh, I’m not going to last,” 

“Don’t stop,” You urge him again, “please, just take me,” 

He moans, his stomach tightening, and then he starts to move.

He’s pumping in and out of you now, pinning your back to his chest with his arms banded around you as he rolls his hips and you can feel the tether in him start to fray. He’s getting close, but even without the bond you’d know it. His breath is thready, a hot pant against your ear, and your bodies slide together with slick sweat. 

He feels unreal, stretching you wide with every rhythmic stroke, but you feel his heart hammer when your legs start to fall closed, your walls tightening around him. 

“You’re mine,” He breathes, “s-so beautiful for me,” 

“All yours,” You sigh, and this time with intention you draw your thighs tight together. 

The position is tangled, muscle straining and almost an accident, but suddenly his cock has never felt bigger or thicker or perfectly positioned to hit that spot again and again. He groans, and holds your hips firmly to bounce you back down into every thrust as he chases his release.

Your head falls back over his shoulder, and you reach up to brace yourself on the wall behind your heads, your other hand still cupping his cheek and holding his face to yours. 

“Shit,” He curses, “so tight, fuck, babygirl,” 

You moan, “Please, yes, yes,” 

“So tight and,” he babbles against your cheek, “fuck, still taking every inch of me,” 

“So deep,” You gasp as his pace increases, and your eyes slam shut, a bubbling snap of pleasure rolling up your spine.

”God, I’m,” He shudders, moaning in earnest now, “b-baby, I’m close,” 

You feel his need, suddenly striking you through the unmasked connection of the bond, and though he doesn’t ask you for anything, beg you at all, you know exactly what to give him. 

You moan, arching your back to take his cock inside just a little more with every stroke, “Yunho,” your fingers lace into his hair and you turn your head to find his ear, “come,” 

He huffs, fingers pressing bruises into your hips.

”I’m all yours,” You tell him, voice husky, “this pussy is all yours, all yours,” 

“Mine,” His hips snap harder, a punishing pace, and you feel the taut edge of his pleasure. 

“Made for your cock, baby,” 

“Fuck,” 

“No one’s ever fucked me like this,” You pant, knowing exactly what your words will do to him. 

He groans, burying his face in your shoulder.

”C-come inside me,” You beg, “make me yours,” 

His teeth sink into your shoulder, his hips erratic, “Mine, mine,” 

“Yes, baby, please,” You rock your hips, taking over the rolling motion where he’s started to falter. 

“I’m,” His words are cut off with a groan, and his hips slam up twice more before he holds himself in deep and you feel the hot sensation of his cum pumping inside you. 

His orgasm yanks you down into your own in an unexpected flash of sensation, your vision fuzzy, head dizzy, and your body jerks in ecstatic fits and starts as you moan, wanton and wordless in his ear. 

“One more,” He murmurs, recovering from his own heady orgasm faster than you, his hand pushing between your locked thighs, middle finger circling on your pulsing clit, “just one more,” 

Your hips jerk with overstimulation and you whine, “I can’t,”

”Yes,” He kisses your forehead, bracing your body with one and while his other blissfully tortures your aching cunt, “come on, sweetheart,” 

“Yunho, oh, oh, God,” Your orgasm stretches, his fingers cresting you straight up into another shuddering peak. 

His body curls around you, dipping to the side when you jerk, holding you into his chest as he works you through it. The sound of his tender voice carries you up, “There we go,” he croons, “oh, god I love you,” 

“C-Coming,” Is all you can manage, and your body folds in on itself, your orgasm white hot and almost painful. 

He shudders as he feels you finish, and slows his fingers, “Good girl, come. I love you so much, can you feel me inside you, baby?” 

You manage a nod, moaning into the sheets, riding it out with rocks of your hips until it turns from pleasure to sharp overstimulation and you whine, pushing his hand away. 

“I got you,” He wraps you up tight, spooning you from behind, “shh, you’re okay,” 

Trembling, you pull his arms to your chest, using him as your anchor as he shifts his hips and finally uncouples your bodies.

“You’re okay,” He repeats, “just breathe,” He kisses your hair softly, soothing you with gentle touches as your breath returns. 

“M-mhm,”

”You’re perfect,” His lips travel to your shoulder, “I love you,” 

“I love you too,” You murmur, resting your lips on his knuckles. 

“Love you, love you,” He mutters against your skin, and you sink into him, a contented smile on your lips. 

You lay wrapped up together for what feels like hours, both of you coming back into your bodies slowly. His arms slacken, and you slowly roll onto your front, cheek against the cool sheets as you recover from the whirlwind of bonding.

He murmurs sweetness against your spine, massages circles into your hips, and little by little your mind reconnects too. 

Yunho sidles down in the bed, cuddling you from behind, “Are you hungry, sweetheart?” 

You shake your head a little but you say, “Maybe a little,” 

“Let’s go downstairs, I’ll fix you something,” He says, even though it’s your apartment. 

You smile and shake your head again, “Five more minutes?” 

He kisses your shoulder and you feel him nod, “Five more minutes,” 

Cocooned in his warmth, and in the perfection of your bed, you let yourself relax. 

More than five minutes have come and gone when he finally speaks again. Yunho’s fingers skate up and down your spine, slowly tracing each vertebrae like he’s making a mental map of you, “When did you get your first one?” 

“Hmm?” You sigh, looking slightly over your shoulder at him. 

“Tattoo,” He clarifies, now ghosting his touch over the large crane on your back, “you have so many, but when did you start?” 

You stretch in the sheets, and roll towards him, shifting onto your back now and twisting your arm to show him the delicate lines of your first tattoo, English script in faded black. desire.

He passes the pad of his thumb over the lettering and the corner of his mouth quirks up. 

“Not because of the song,” You laugh softly, “I was seventeen,” 

“Hmm,” He lets his fingers travel up, studying more of your lines of ink, “young,” 

He traces the lines of the flowers, the fan, the stippled black and gray twisting across your skin. 

“I know,” You tug the sheet up a little higher, tucking it around your naked body to ward off some of the chill of your apartment, “I just wanted to do something reckless for once, but then once I started,” 

He nods, listening, waiting for more. 

“I think I wanted to get under my parent's skin,” You admit, “they were already so disappointed in me, so I thought why not give them something to be really disappointed in?” 

He frowns a little, a crease between his brows, “I hate that you felt like that,” 

“I’m okay now,” You promise him, “Hana and I rarely see them, just holidays and phone calls on birthdays, that kind of thing.” 

He nods, pressing a kiss to your hair, “Still,” 

You give him a tiny shrug, and you find yourself reaching up to your soul mark and brushing it, “For a while I was just running, from them and then from this,” 

“Your mark?” He asks softly.

 You nod, “It was a reminder of that house, of how much they didn’t believe in it. They never even wanted Hana and I to daydream about it, to wonder what it would be like to find our soulmate. They were so set on us following the path they laid out, and for a long time the mark was a reminder of what I wasn’t supposed to want.” 

He swallows tightly, and you feel his discomfort at your words, the flicker of anger in his gut. 

“I’m alright,” You continue, “but the tattoos started like that. First something to provoke them, and then something to distract myself from seeing this. I thought about covering it, but,” 

“You did?” His eyes widen. 

“I considered it,” You tuck your hand in his and give him a squeeze, “but then I realized that the farther I got from believing this could happen for me, the closer I got to what they wanted all along,” 

He studies your expression for a moment and then scoots closer, tucking your bodies together and cupping your cheek, “When did you start believing it could happen again?” 

You remember it so clearly, the pact you made with Iseul, the lines you wrote in your journal that year. You smile and look up at him, “When I got the job at KQ, Iseul and I went out for celebratory drinks when I received the offer letter,” 

His expression softens, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone.

”I decided it was time to grow up,” You explain, “so we agreed that we would date, have fun, and keep looking for the one, but we’d never settle down for less than our soulmate, no matter how long it took to find them.” 

Yunho dips towards you, kissing you tenderly, “I love you,” 

Tucking into his chest you nod, “I love you too,” 

His arms loop around you, cuddling you so that you’re nestled into his warmth, “For what it’s worth,” he murmurs, his fingers carding through your hair, “however you came to them, they’re beautiful, you’re beautiful,” 

A brief flicker of tears pricks the back of your eyes and you press a kiss to his sternum, “Thank you,” you kiss him again, “I love them now, and now I get them for myself,” 

He hums, nodding with his lips on the crown of your head, nuzzling you gently. 

For a moment it’s quiet, just your heart and his beating in time against each other, but then your stomach tightens as you realize something you’ve been neglecting.

 You sigh heavily, “I need to call Hana,” 

“You haven’t told her?” He asks, despite already knowing the answer.

 “No, have you told your brother?” 

His hand stills on your back, “I texted him,” 

Your eyebrows raise, “You texted him?” 

He nods, “Is that alright?” 

“Of course,” You say in a rush, “I just, I don’t know, I’m surprised.” 

“We don’t see each other often,” Yunho says, “but we’re close. It felt strange not telling him something this big in my life,”

You nod, “Exactly.” 

He brushes a hand up and down the length of your back again and then starts to untangle his body from yours, “How about this, can I use your shower?” 

“Sure,” You’re about to tell him where it is, all the little quirks, but he keeps going.

”After, I’ll run back to my place and pick up things for the next few days,” You strangely hate the idea of him leaving, but you know that was always part of the plan considering he didn’t bring anything with him, “while I’m busy give her a call,”

”It’s late,” You find yourself protesting. 

He smiles, “It’s not, you’re nervous,”

You rub at your chest, feeling the curl of anxiety there, “Yeah,” 

“She loves you,” Yunho reminds you as he pulls himself out of bed, “and she knows what having a soulmate feels like, she’s going to be so happy for you, for us.” 

“You’re right,” You breathe.

 “I know you miss her,” He adds softly, “and I know you want to tell her, let me give you the space to do that.” 

Warmth expands in your chest and all you can do is nod. 

He smiles wide, pressing a kiss to your forehead and then he stretches, “Alright, shower’s this way?” Yunho nods towards the obvious path towards the bathroom. 

You nod again, and he sighs, “Perfect,” 

He disappears down the hall and for a brief moment you’re alone with your thoughts. You let your gaze go unfocused towards the ceiling, and you just feel for a moment. You feel different, lighter and heavier at the same time, like all the cells in your body turned over at once, but the knotted rope between you and him feels thicker, corded, braided, unbreakably sure. 

For the first time in weeks, all of a sudden, you feel like you can call her. 

You rub your chest again, rolling out of bed and making your way across the lofted bedroom on slightly shaky legs before finding your robe on its familiar hook and wrapping it around yourself, a smooth silk in floral and dark red. With a deep breath, you pin up your hair and find your phone. The sound of running water comes through the bathroom door, so you make your way downstairs for a bit of privacy and to get a cool glass of water. Once you’re tucked into the familiar corner of your couch with a downy blanket over your lower half, you find Hana’s contact in your phone and you call. 

She picks up after a few rings, “Hello?” 

“Hey,” 

“Was your flight delayed?” She asks, her bright voice soothing you instantly, “You always call me when you get in,” 

“It wasn’t delayed,” You tell her honestly. 

“Ah,” She says, “did you crash immediately? Take a crazy nap? You know that will fuck with adjusting back to the time zone,” 

“Hana,” You sigh, and all at once you wish he was next to you. 

“I know, I know,” She makes a sound, tongue against teeth, “I’m just saying,”

  “I didn’t sleep, or I mean, I did on the plane,” 

“That’s good,” You hear glasses clinking on her side of the line.

  “What are you up to, am I interrupting?” You ask.

  “Hmm?” She says as if she didn’t hear you, and then corrects, “No, sorry, nothing really just some chores,” 

“Oh, good, I thought it might be too late to call,” You admit.

  “It’s only nine,” Hana says and you can practically picture her eye roll. 

Upstairs the sound of your shower taps turning off draws your attention and your eyes flick up to the landing. 

“So, your flight was okay?” Your sister’s voice in your ear brings you back to the present and you nod. 

“Yeah, listen,” 

“Oh,” She cuts you off, “Em wants to know how you liked Paris, you didn’t post anything on Instagram she was devastated,”

  Em, Emmanuelle, Hana’s wife and your sister-in-law, born in Korea but half French on her mother’s side, who spent every summer in Lyon. Of course she would want to know how your first trip to France was, and your head was so wrapped up in Yunho you didn’t even think to text her.

  “I loved it,” You tell your sister honestly, “so much, I’ll send you both some pictures as soon as,” 

“You better,” Hana interjects again, “Em’s right here she’s asking if you had time to see the city?” 

“A little, but, Hana,” 

The door upstairs opens, and Yunho quietly pads back to your lofted bedroom, one of your white towels slung low around his hips. His hair is wet, mussed from rubbing a towel through it, his chest pink from the hot water and steam. Just seeing him makes you feel at ease, and he meets your eyes, “You okay?” He whispers. 

You nod, and he searches for his clothes strewn all over the floor of your bedroom. 

“Hana, what?” Your sister prompts, and you realize it’s not the first time she’s said it, “y/n, are you okay? You sound weird,”

Suddenly, you’re deep in a memory. Hana’s tear streaked face in the hallway of your first apartment, a backpack on her shoulder and a defiant jut to her chin. Sixteen years old and standing her ground more firmly than you ever had in your life up to that point, the strength in her voice when she told you she found her soulmate and she wasn’t going to give her up. 

“y/n?” Hana says again, concern laced through her voice. 

You find Yunho on the landing, watching as he rubs a towel over his hair again, and the words finally tumble out, “I found him,” 

“You, what?” She asks, confused.

  “Hana,” His eyes flick to yours and you find yourself smiling, blush creeping back into your cheeks, “I found him,” 

The penny drops, “Oh my god,” 

”I know,” You reply, and Yunho grins, watching you from the landing.

  “Oh my god?” Hana all but shrieks and you laugh as she reacts, calling to Emmanuelle, voice muffled briefly as she shifts the phone. 

“I know,” You manage. 

“Is he French?” Hana babbles, “That would be insane, that would be crazy if both of us,”

  You duck your head in laughter, “What? No, no he’s not French,” 

“What countries were you in? How the hell did you bump into him - abroad of all places, that’s why it took so long, that’s what I was always saying,” She rambles a mile a minute, and it’s always so hard to slow her down once she gets going, barely taking a breath between sentences. 

“Hana,” You cover your mouth with your hand, “Hana, he’s not foreign, he’s Korean,” 

Yunho’s still smiling as he comes down the stairs, but he’s not dressed to leave, he’s dressed comfortably in just his t-shirt and his boxer briefs. Relief fills you with the knowledge that he’s not about to leave, and he watches you quietly as you try to navigate your sister as she jumps from conclusion to conclusion. 

  “That’s even crazier,” She says, “how the hell did you bump into another Korean outside of Korea while you were working constantly?” 

“Let her tell the story,” You hear Em’s voice in the background. 

“Am I on speaker?” You laugh. 

“You are now,” Em replies this time, “hi, y/n,” 

“Hey Emmie,” 

“I have your sister restrained,” She says, but you hear an irritated huff from Hana, “now, tell us what’s going on and this time Hana’s going to listen,” 

“Shut up,” Hana gripes quietly, with no real malice. 

“You love me,” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Hana says, “alright, I’m sorry, I’m listening,” 

Yunho waits patiently, but the moment you reach for him, he crosses from the foot of your stairs to your place on the couch. He had felt it, how much you needed him here, that much you’re sure of when he twines your fingers together. With his touch as a tether, you finally tell them, “I didn’t bump into someone random, and you cannot say ‘I told you so’,” you start off, “but, it’s Yunho. My soulmate is Yunho,” 

There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other side of the call. Hana is rarely stunned silent, but you wait. She knows the group well, from her teasing when you first started there all the way through listening to you tell her stories about work. There’s no doubt in your mind that she remembers your quietly guarded crush. 

“Is he treating you well?” She finally asks, emotion thread in her voice. 

“Yes,” You breathe.

  “And you love him?” 

“Yes,” 

She pauses, “And he,” 

“Yes, Hana,” You roll your eyes, but feel the rush of tears, “obviously,” 

Yunho brushes his thumb over your knuckles and gives you a squeeze. 

“God,” Hana says with a little gasp, “you’re bonded already, aren’t you?” 

You slide a little to the right to get closer to him, “We are,” you confess. 

For a moment you brace yourself, nervous at her reaction to not being told sooner, especially after everything you’ve been through together. At the anxious tumble of your stomach, Yunho separates your hands and reaches around to pull you into his chest and presses a kiss to your temple. 

All your fears disappear in a matter of seconds. Hana laughs sharply and then she’s right back to herself, “Oh my god, I don’t care I have to say it, I told you so.” 

You grin, a few tears spilling over, “Hey,” 

“When have you ever had a crush that lasted longer than a day?” She exclaims, “I knew it,” 

“Hana!” It’s Em who exclaims this time, taking the words right out of your mouth and you fall apart into laughter. 

Yunho laughs too, softly against your hair and you blush and cover your cheek with your hand at the knowledge he can hear your sister’s teasing words. 

“I’m just saying I knew,” 

“God, stop,” You curl into yourself, your face in Yunho’s neck, “you’re embarrassing me,” 

“Holy shit,” Hana exclaims, “is he there?” 

Yunho slides his hand over your thigh and smoothly shifts you into his lap so he can wrap his arms around you, and you sigh, “Yeah, he’s here,” 

“You sound so happy it’s freaking me out,” 

“I am happy, Hana,” You confess, “I’m really, really happy.”

She takes a breath and you can hear the emotion caught in her voice too, “When can I come up to Seoul? We’re overdue for a visit,”

“Soon,” You promise her. 

“The minute you’re free,” She says, “Em and I will make the time, you just say when,”

“I’ll look,” You nod, relaxing into Yunho’s hold, “but soon, I promise.” 

“I want to meet him,” She insists.

“He wants to meet you both too,” You tell them, and Yunho nods against you. 

“His schedule must be crazy, but,”

“Han,” Em interrupts, and you can practically see your sister in law calming her wife with gentle hand motions. 

“I should go,” You finally say into the phone, “but I miss you,” 

Yunho’s hand smooths up and down your back.

“I miss you too, Hani-ya,” You haven’t called her that in years, your beloved little sister who grew up too fast, but the familiar affection slips out of you with ease. 

“I love you,” She says, “I’m so happy for you, I’m so,” 

You swallow tightly and find Yunho’s hand again, “I know, it’s how I felt when you told me about Em,” 

Hana laughs, the sound wet with tears, “Oh my god,” she sniffs and you hear her voice muffled as she scrubs the tears from her cheeks, “I knew we’d both find them, mom and dad were too shitty for us not to be happy now,” 

You smile, nodding with your head on Yunho’s shoulder, “That I know for sure,” 

There’s a brief moment of silence, both of you collecting your own emotions, and then Hana sighs, “I’m sorry, I’ll let you go, but let us know about coming up.”

”I will,” 

“And, y/n,” Your sister says, a mischievous edge back in her voice, “tell him he better take care of you, okay? Tell him to pick you first, okay? Every time,” 

Your throat constricts, and Yunho’s lips brush against your forehead. Before you can get your voice back in control to answer her, he does it for you, “Tell her I already have, I will,” 

You clear the emotion from your throat, “Did you hear that?” 

“Yeah,” Hana manages.

 “He’s got me,” You tell her honestly, “I promise,” 

Hana takes a breath, “Good,” she sniffles, “now stop talking to me and go get laid or something, if we keep talking I’ll keep crying,” 

You laugh a little at your sister’s attempt at deflection, “Yeah, or something,” 

“I love you, I’ll see you so soon, okay?” Hana says. 

“Soon,” You promise again. 

“Bye, unnie,” Em cuts in, affection in her voice, “we are so, so happy for you.” 

“Thank you,” You smile, “I’ll send you some pictures of France, I’m so sorry I forgot before,” 

“Ah, that’s okay,” Em says warmly, “I think you had better things to focus on,” 

Yunho squeezes your hand. 

“Take care,” She says, “we’ll see you soon,” 

“You too,” 

Em ends the call, and you let your phone slip back into your lap, letting out a sigh of relief and exhaustion against him. 

Yunho stays quiet for a moment, giving you a second of space, and then he kisses you and leans down to find your eyes, “Baby?” 

“Yeah,” 

“You okay?” He murmurs. 

You nod, pressing your lips to his and sinking into him, “I am,” you reply softly when the kiss breaks, “thank you for staying,” 

“I realized I couldn’t go tonight,” He says, “I need to be with you a while longer,” 

You squeeze his hand still laced in yours.

Yunho’s eyes are glassy with his own unshed tears, and he swallows and blinks to get himself together before he brings your knuckles to his lips and gives you a tender kiss, “I will, by the way,” he says gently, “pick you first,” 

You know what he’s talking about, his life in the public eye and his new life with you behind the scenes. You feel his honesty, his confidence, the truth in his words, and all you can do is shake your head. You never want him in that position, especially after everything he’s worked for, “You won’t have to.” 

“But I will,” He promises it to you like a vow, sealing it with a kiss, “I always will.” 

“I will too,” You whisper, “I’m not giving this up,” 

“You won’t have to,” He echoes, a soft smile on his lips. 

His kisses are soft, tender now, and he holds you close as he reminds you of all the ways he loves you. Your quiet apartment cocoons you together, a pause in time just for tonight. Night ticks by and Seoul moves outside, but in each other’s arms you stay still, a stone jetty holding steady in the push and pull of the tide. 

[sunshine6ixty]

i think this is where i've landed with the whole gaiman thing.

some background, i was a gaiman girlie. i paid money to see him speak, i volunteered for a signing, i've taken pictures in front of the world's largest carousel; hugely formative, resonated on a level that nothing else i've encountered did, and so on and so on etcetera. (i got to say "mr gaiman i wouldn't be who i am today without your books" to him, which is a Different Flavored Memory now than it once was, i can tell you)

and like. though his books had a familiar and fond place in my life, i'd already gotten to a point of... nebulous disenchantment? not disgust or anything-- just that nature was taking its course, and i was drifting away. i started reading neil gaiman at age... what, thirteen? maybe eleven? and i read his work consistently for a while. i'm in my thirties now, and i haven't been keeping track, but i've read american gods once a year for at least the past five years. it was just... kinda time, in a way. he seemed like he'd said what he had to say, and was coasting in a perpetual victory lap, which i was fine with. i'd just... keep picking at the gaiman books again when i was bored.

and i remember thinking, around when i first noticed this distance i'd been feeling, that i was just... running dry. things felt stale and i didn't know where to look to change that.

and then this all happened.

and all of a sudden, my perception of this person has been wrenched into a completely new perspective. just, twisted sideways, seams popping, eyes bugging, can't-unbreak-the-action-figure wrenched. the spell is broken, in an ironically gaiman-esque way, and this mythic figure (~*nEIL GAIman*~) is revealed to be just a shitty, spoiled brat of a complete fucking monster.

i've read the article, i've heard the stories about how weird he was for doctor who, i've seen not-unreasonable allegations of plagarism floating around-- suffice it to say, he's just a shit of a dude. he's... not special. not really. he's a good writer who said one thing with his work, and lived another. who saw something that resonated, and put his name on it. who said something that we felt, and said he gave it to us.

and i realized, from this angle, that the reason i was feeling so dried out was likely because neil gaiman (some might say purposefully) took all the fucking air out of the room. like, nobody was neil gaiman, right, so what right could you have to try to do a neil gaiman? he was the only gaiman. the apex of gaiman. peak gaiman. the mystical, profound, monotheistic god of dark poetic storytelling.

but like. he wasn't. it turns out, he was just a shitty dude. magic or no, he was mostly just entitled.

and i think that sort of broke something in me. if the curtain was pulled back and there was just a weird, shitty little dude in there, then what the fuck have i been doing? in an... i-should-probably-talk-to-a-therapist-about-this sort of way, neil gaiman kept me from writing! like-- i was a kid who took pictures of graves at age five, who made up a story about a child bricked up in the school belltower who's ghost still wandered the halls (and published it in the school newspaper, next to what flavor milk does mrs k's 5th grade class prefer), who believed there was a door to another world beneath their neighbor's ornamental bush, who mapped the lost city (/junk dump) in the open space drainage ditch! this is the stuff i did before i knew gaiman! i liked gaiman because i was into this stuff already, and then after a while, without me really noticing it, neil gaiman became this stuff. the only source of it. the only rightful creator of a gaiman.

and like... if you know you can't do it like neil gaiman, because he's him and you're not, you kind of start despairing before you even begin, right?

fuck that.

i think, what i can take away from the whole debacle is this: it's time for all of us who have ever felt like this to do a gaiman.

... by which i mean, make our art. not the other stuff.

you have every right to be as audacious as neil gaiman with your art. take it as seriously, tell everyone it's as important. put that thing down on paper; the thing you otherwise wouldn't.

look, chances are, you're actually a better person than neil gaiman. he sucks. he was a skilled craftsman, but skill can be learned. what he did was practice and talk himself up. and there is nothing magical about neil gaiman that hasn't also run beneath our fingertips.

there was never anything unique about ~*neiLGAiman*~. not really. neil just made him up to be the special-est most darkest and dreamiest boy there ever was, and it was a fucking lie, and its insidious the degree to which it ate an entire genre.

because, honestly? i want to read more shit like neil gaiman! i've been hungry for more of what he said was solely his for so fucking long! i want to see what weird, fever-dream stories we've all been sitting on because he ate the entire ecosystem! i want to read all of the beautiful, terrible, fucked-up magical things from everyone that never saw the light of day because neil was too busy basking in it!

and now that the mask is off, it's fucking time. i'm going to take my shit back, neil. fuck you.

in a weird, fucked-up way, what a relief.

[creamecafe]

Fate by "Design" | Salesman x Artist!Fem!Reader

Summary: While doing art in a subway, the Salesman offers you to play Ddakji, a chance to win money. But you wanted his number, when you win your acquaintance with the salesman becomes much more.

Pairing: Salesman x Artist!Fem!Reader

Warnings: fluff, flirting, allusions to smut/sex, but not explicit

Word Count:

Author's Note: This was requested by Crazy4herluv on my Wattpad book Squid Game Imagines/One-Shots. This is also my first Salesman work, so I hope you enjoy!

*Icon used for this header above that I made in PicsArt is from Pinterest. Divider is from @cafekitsune in this post*

Want a request for a Squid Game character like this one? Check out my post, read my request guidelines and send a request!

Read on Wattpad & AO3 here

The sounds of the almost isolated subway and people walking is the highlight of your daily routine. You had moved to Korea to work for a art company and you do sketches by hand.

It paid very good money but in your free time you liked to be in the subway and do art for others like New York. People would walk and stop to see what you possibly could be doing.

A lot of the time, couples, parents with their kids or even old people would ask for a drawing each day and you get paid at least $130-200 at the end of the day.

Your art simply consisted of charcoal sketches of the person who requested for the art as semi-realistic as possible with a watercolor splash in the back if they ask.

Sometimes you notice while you're drawing or sketching away looking for people to draw, you would see a man in a black suit.

He had black hair and was always carrying a suitcase with him. He was also very handsome, you thought. When you took the time to actually analyze him or look at him, not in a creepy way you thought, you noticed that he would throw something on the ground and slap people.

This guy must be insane, you thought. Slapping people everyday, but it didn't stop you wondering who he really was. You thought of going up to him and asking if he would like his own portrai. But you were nervous of asking such a good looking guy and you are an artist in the subway, so he was way out of your league.

Today felt like any other day. Until one person, the guy in the black suit came up to you. You were going to pack up for the day when you accidentally dropped pencils and other supplies on the floor, then rolled around. As you were on the ground picking up the supplies, you saw polished black shoes stop and turn in front of you.

You look up and see him. The guy in the black suit looks down at you while you're trying to pick up your stuff.

"Good evening ma'am. I have a question for you."

You got up from the floor and brushed off the germs from yourself from the subway ground.

"Hello sir. I finished my hours for the day drawing so I can't accept any art requests right now I'm sorry. You could always come back tomorrow if you like."

"I'm not asking for a drawing. I'm asking if you would like to play a game."

A game? Is this guy Billy the puppet you thought?"

"What game?" You asked?

"It's called Ddakji. Have you heard of it before?"

Ddakji. It should sound familiar but you felt like you don't know it.

"I don't think so. What is it?"

"It's very simple. You fold two pieces of paper, usually of bright colors as it's a children's game like an envelope and the goal is to throw down the paper as hard as you can so the other person's paper flips over."

"What's the point of playing the game?"

"If you win, I'll give you money. A hundred thousand won."

Your eyes widened at what he said. A hundred thousand won? That amount of money to get while doing art in a subway could take a year or two. Yet here's this handsome well kept money offering to you.

"And if I lose?"

"Well usually I slap people until they win or just give up." That explains why you see this man in the subway grounds slapping people and throwing stuff down.

"But seeing how creative you are. How about a portrait of me? Use all your creativity and imagination you can and give me something."

"Ok. I'll play. But I can change something?"

"What is it?" He turns his head to express curiosity. It's rare that people would ask for a change of things while playing, conducting he's the one in charge.

"If I win, I get to have your number."

The salesman is surprised at your boldness to ask him out.

"My number? You could walk out with a hundred thousand won. What could my number offer to you?"

"Well I might see a better prize than money. I see a real piece of art right here." You raised your eyebrow smirking

He smirks at you. This was going to be interesting he thought.

"We have an agreement then?"

You nodded. "I lose, you get a portrait. But if I win..."

"You get my number." The salesman nods smiling. "Five in a row you have to win." He then pulls out two colored orgami tiles of red and blue from his suit jacket.

"What color would you like?"

"Red/blue" you said.

"Alright then. Ladies first."

You look at him and then the ground. 10 in a row you can do this. You took a deep breath and slammed the envelope on the ground. The guy then slams his envelope on the ground flipping yours around.

It created a loud slapping sound and echoed that it startled you. You look up scared he was lying to his word and might actually slap you. You close your eyes and prepare for it.

"What are you doing?" The salesman asks

"Aren't you going to slap me?"

"You don't have to worry. I wouldn't slap a pretty face like yours. I only want a drawing."

Opening your eyes you took a deep breath. At least you wouldn't be slapped.

"1-0" The guys says. You assumed that was his keeping score

You pick up your envelope and roll up your sleeve. You threw it down but it didn't flip the salesmans. He picked his up and slammed it down flipping yours again.

"2-0". Now the chances of getting this guys number seems low and you might look like a fool. You were weren't to give up just yet. You relied on your skills of carrying an easel and so many supplies per day to the game.

Taking a deep breath, you slam down the card and it flipped the guys. You were smiled wanting to jump for joy.

"2-1" You put up 2 fingers with one hand and 1 finger to the guys face.

He said nothing but smirked. Talking wasn't his thing, you noticed. Probably why you found him attractive.

The salesman picks up his card and slams it and your flips over. It was a continuous picking up and flipping cards. You were getting better as the points were getting higher.

Now the score was "7-8". You were becoming tired and kinda wish you were home right now, sleeping. But

The salesman threw down his card and flipped yours. Now it was 8-8. A tie. Just two more and you get his number. You threw yours down and it flipped over. 8-9. Another slam from the guy and it was 9-9.

This was it. You weren't sure you would have enough energy to draw that portrait of his that he wanted. But you needed enough energy to finish this game.

You slammed it down and saw it flipped over. I won, you thought to yourself. Did I actually win? You thought.

"Congratulations. You won ma'am." The salesman smiled.

Those words felt unreal. "Yes! Yes!" You jumped around happy.

"Now, you asked for my number. I suppose you wouldn't have a piece of paper to write down my number, would you?"

What kind of question was that? You were a artist. Blank papers is all you carry. You grab your sketchbook from your bag and a pen to give to him.

He took it from your hands and wrote down his number fast. He gave it back to you and you saw it.

"What do you plan to do with that number, Miss?"

"I was wondering maybe you want to go out?"

"We can do that. Can I pick the place?"

It was the least you could let him do as he offered you money and kept true to his word to give you his money.

"Sure. I'll text you when I'm available. I might see you here too. Who knows?"

He nodded your response smiling.

"You have a good day madam"

"You too" God how you loved how formal he was and calling you madam and ma'am, even though you weren't really that old.

When you went home, you were exhausted but still smiling and excited that you got the guy's number. You texted your name so he could have yours saved as well. You went to bed, wondering what it could lead to. Possibly just one date or even more.

The next day, was the same thing. Wake up, eat breakfast, pack your things and head to the subway. You kept fixing yourself up for the salesman, wondering if he would come by.

He always comes by, you thought. He just has to. You scanned around the subway to see where he is as you didn't want to move your spot. After an hour had passed, it looked like he hadn't been around.

Maybe asking for his number was a bad idea, that he was avoiding to talk to you, you thought. A man walked by and dropped something not that far from you. It looked like money. Seeing this you get up, pick up the bill and try to call out for the man. But it looked like he was already gone. It was

Written in a black permanent marker, it says “Look at your phone ma’am”. Without thinking you check your phone and see a message. Meet me at the park at 4:30 PM. No need to dress so fancy but wear something you feel pretty in.

Blinking your eyes rapidly, you couldn’t believe what’s in front of you, more likely what’s on your phone. He’s actually texting you. The weird quiet but handsome black suit guy is texting you. You packed your things and went home and went to get ready to meet him in the park.

It was nothing special that you wore. Just a simple sundress/pantsuit but it was still one of the nicest outfits you had in your wardrobe. You kept wondering just what the man in plan for you. Walking around the park, you see the man still in his suit, hands in front looking around, possibly waiting for you, you thought.

Smiling, you walk up to him. When he sees you, he smiles with no teeth but still showing joy. He reaches out a hand. Looking at it hesitantly, you took his hand. The salesman then took your hand, bowed a little and kissed the back of your hand gently. You felt your heart skipped a beat when he did that.

“Hello ma’am. We meet again.”

“Hi. Were you the person that gave me the bill?”

“Maybe, a beautiful woman like you deserves more.”

Was this a dream? Were you dreaming or is this real. This man seemed to good to be true. You two walked to what would be your first date. The place he picked out for the first date was an art museum. It displayed the finest arts across the worlds and many different paintings. The salesman would ask about each piece and how did it make you feel. You responded to many of his questions but kept looking around. You guys kept talking and asking each other questions to get more acquainted with each other.

After the museum, he took you a some place to eat. Then you guys went to get ice cream. He paid for everything and asked if there’s anywhere else you would like to go. If you tried to pull out your card or even cash to pay for your own things, he would refuse so and said he got everything and that anything you wanted he’ll get for you. It had been late, so he dropped you off home and asked how was everything and if you enjoyed it.

You couldn’t thank him enough for the wonderful day you had comparison to just drawing in a subway for hours. Before you left his car, there was a slight tension between you guys that it could be cut with a knife. The man wanted to say something else but couldn’t stop looking at your lips. Looking at him, you see his hands reach towards your face and cup it as his lips softly touches yours.

His lips were so baby smooth and his cologne was so sharp from his neck, it felt like a gas hyptonixjg you. You cup his face, grazing it with your thumb. He pulls away, still looking at you with such yearning. Your thumb still on his face grazed his lips as you said goodbye and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Ever since that night, you two have been dating. He would take you on dates to other places. Mostly just walks in the park or art related stuff that you like. Your small kisses would turn into small makeouts into something more. He would sometimes, well mostly go over to your place and sleep over. In the mornings he would make breakfast in his underwear. You wish you could draw him right then and there.

He loves to pose for your art or whatever reference you need for your assignment in class. Once a month, he'll take you out to the art store to get whatever supplies you need. Your messy clothing consisted of paint or oil pastel stains is opposite of his clean, ironed and steamed suit. But he loves it either way.

The only time that he was out of the suit was when he was in bed with you. But other than that, you wanted him to be a bit more fun. You wanted to him have more color. Seeing those videos of online of couples doing painting of each others to see both of your art skills.

You begged the salesman to do wit you and he finally agrees. Squealing you get everything ready, canvas, paints, brushes, water and paper towels. You had 10 minutes to try to get each other’s features as accurate as possible

Time passes and both of you guys are done. You show your art of him and it’s him in his suit, pretty accurate and semi realistic but some details were missing. He nods and says it’s impressive of how much you can get done in less than hour.

You ask for his painting and he turns his Canva around and you see you in an almost renaissance like painting. Your mouth dropped and all felt like years of your art skills go away to just 10 minutes.

“What! How’s that even possible? Why didn’t you tell me you were good at art?”

“Well two people can’t be the artists in a relationship. One has to be a muse, to inspire the other.”

You scoffed at his bullshit. He just didn’t want to brag. An idea came in your mind. You grab a paintbrush and leave a stroke of red paint on his face.

“If you want to be a muse, why don’t you have some color on you?”

Smirking, the salesman takes this as a challenge and grabs his paint brush and paints across your face too.

Now you guys were having a paint battle. You tried to paint him more but he lightly grabs your arm and stops you. He leads you the floor, where he’s now on top of you. Seeing this as an opportunity, you grab a bottle of paint that’s open and smeared on his white shirt. He laughs at this and rolls you over where you’re now on top of him, straddling him.

Nothing was said between you both as you kept looking at each other. Like that night of your first date when you guys first kissed. Putting your head down you kiss him and he put his arms around on your back. The paint on your guys’ face mixed with each other. Breath was running out so you decided to stop. Your heart was beating so much just as he was trying to catch his breath too.

Now you’re forever grateful you asked for his number then taking the money. It’s a better reward than what the salesman had to offer you, as you got him, yourself. It felt like a dream come true. Even if it was, you didn’t want to wake up. Everything of being with him was like straight art. Maybe it was meant to be. That day you accidentally dropped your pencils and he came up to you. It could be called fate by others. Fate by design you like to call it.

He was right, one has to be the muse in a relationship and the other an artist. But to him, it was the thing he was missing the most. An new reason to be in the subway that fateful day.

Taglist:

@deffreal, @cocofia143, @sorry-meme, @elizabeth-hatake, @nini-0808, @hobinistaworld, @ineedsmootching, @alittlebitofeverything , @happyfrog7681 , @tiuhiatus, @goofiestgoober27, @jayyyourbabe, @ninahorikoshifr, @ikeithy , @vampiregirlxoxo, @ouwioworuuu, @cloudysxkura, @l4venderia, @anthea1239, @iidontwannadiealone,

Navigation | Main Masterlist | Squid Game Masterlist | Squid Game Men Masterlist | Salesman Masterlist | Join my taglist

[checkeredflagggs]

The Story of Us: Chapter 3

pairing: logan sargeant x famous!fem!singer

summary: logan and you have been keeping a secret from everyone but it might be time for it to come out

a/n: while I do my best on most of my works to be race neutral, this one is very very very self indulgent 🤷🏻‍♀️

a/n2: this is part 3 of 4/5, which will be released when they’re finished and I’m using pretty much everything from Taylor Swift

a/n3: I still don’t understand instagram so - no one but those that follow you can see a private accounts comments (even on a public post). Also I still hate twitter so I’ve replaced it with Bluesky.

a/n4: Also timelines? Never heard of them. This is set in 2024 but I’ve moved Miami to before Australia

a/n5: I’m pretending that the race schedule is known more then a year in advance so…

Part 1 Part 2

y/n

liked by charles_leclerc, georgerussell63, logansargeant, landonorris, and 12,284,124 others

y/n: loving the tour, missing the simple days

view all comments

user1: never seen someone so fucking pretty

↳user2: absolutely jaw dropping

user3: adding several things to my bucket list

↳user4: same!

↳user5: I just want to add her cloths to my closet

not_oscar: this is gonna cause so much trouble oh my god y/n

↳not_y/n: 😂🤭😂😉

↳not_oscar: i give it minutes before those losers start posting vaguely similar photos…

↳not_logan: no bet dude. It’s gonna happen

alexandrasaintmleux: Tu es aussi magnifique que les œuvres d'art sur les murs. You're just as stunning as the art on the walls.

↳charles_leclerc: Comme tu l'as dit, mon amour. As you said, my love.

↳user6: bringing in reinforcements??

↳user7: well at least it’s not cheating now I guess 😂😂

pierregasly: On ne devrait jamais avoir à porter ses propres sacs pour faire ses courses! One should never have to carry their own bags when shopping!

↳francisca.cgomes: Je t'ai bien appris. I’ve taught you well.

↳user8: oh boy the desperation…

georgerussell63: what’s you current read? I’ve been looking for some recommendations!

↳user9: How Not to Flirt with Someone Not your Girlfriend and Dumbassery 101

↳user10: 😂😂

alex_albon: do you offer horse riding lessons?

↳user11: don’t…don’t you own a horse???

↳user12: I think the drivers have passed from desperate into just being sad…

landonorris: visiting New York soon — any suggestions?

↳user13: getting a life maybe?

georgerussell63

liked by carmenmmundt, alex_albon, lilymhe, and 1,283,123 others

georgerussell63: Love those London days

view all comments

user14: …so this is blatant y/n bait right?

↳user15: absolutely!

↳user16: I think my favorite part of the season so far is how fucking stupid these drivers turn in the face of y/n…

↳user17: it has been funny to watch

oscarpiastri: why are you posting London photos? We’re in Japan?

↳georgerussell63: its call a photo dump Oscar

↳oscarpiastri: I think it’s actually called stupidity…

↳not_logan: 😂😂 please continue to call them out

↳not_oscar: well someone has to and it’s obviously not gonna be you…

↳not_y/n: not yet at least…

↳not_logan: the next part of your plan??

↳not_y/n: 🤭

↳not_oscar: you mean to tell me you actually have a plan for this madness?!???

user18: call him out Oscar!

↳user19: fighting for his best friend really…

user20: you can tell these aren’t recent because it’s still FUCK ASS cold in London right now

↳user21: oh my god I didn’t even notice that…🤣🤣

sargeantnation

liked by not_y/n, user, user, and 834,244 others

sargeantnation: not the weekend that Logan wanted but boy did he look good while he was there

view all comments

user22: made it further than his teammate did…

↳user23: barely

user24: you’ll get it next week Logan!

user25: did you see the look on vowles’ face??

↳user26: he definitely need acting lessons

↳user25: right? Like dude can you try and act like you actually like both of your drivers?

↳user26: I fear for Logan…it took so long for his contract renewal and vowles all but said he would have gone with someone else if they were an option…

↳user25: do not even speak that into existence!!!

user27: such a let down after last week…

↳user28: not everyone is max verstappen!

↳user27: going from a podium to last place though…

↳user26: and remember how lackluster vowles congratulations were for it??

↳user25: 😬😬😬 not. good.

Private Messages

pierregasly

liked by charles_leclerc, francisca.cgomes, user2 and 1,928,223 others

pierregasly: Missing those summer days and beach dates 🩷

view all comments

user29: hmmmm…not liking this

↳user30: the blatant attempt to shoot his shot at y/n completely overlooking his gorgeous girlfriend? liked by francisca.cgomes

↳user29: yeah that 😂

oscarpiastri: this is…not it

↳pierregasly: you’re supposed to be Norris’ problem — not mine

↳oscarpiastri: I’ll be everyone’s problem

↳user31: show them how it’s done Oscar!

charles_leclerc: enjoying that sunset? 🌅

↳pierregasly: enjoying the company more 🩷

↳user32: hopefully it’s Kika!

y/n_nation

liked by carlossainz55, alexandrasaintmleux, iamrebeccad, and 11,124,135 others

y/n_gossip: Weeks into her tour, y/n has brought out multiple new outfits for her highly talked about Eras tour. Here’s a carousel of some our favorites!

view all comments

iamrebeccad: she could be a model…

↳carlossainz55: ¡Sabrías hermosa! You would know beautiful!

↳user33: girl go back to your actual boyfriend and leave y/n alone 😭😭

user34: is this a safe space? Can I say something?

↳user35: do it regardless

↳user34: I’m starting to believe user19…

↳user19: HAHA

↳user35: you summoned them

↳user34: brb putting on my clown hat 🤡

alexandrasaintmleux: Des couleurs si magnifiques ! Sur un magnifique modèle 💕 Such gorgeous colors! On a gorgeous model 💕

↳charles_leclerc: Presque aussi magnifique que toi. Almost as stunning as you.

↳user36: …👎🏻

user19: i have more proof for you people if that’s something that you need

↳user53: how??? Neither of them have posted anything even vaguely related to them being in a relationship

↳user19: after all this time you still doubt me??

↳user53: of course not but really?

↳user37: I’m gonna start my own crazy train — you guys are dating

↳user19: I’m gonna block you

↳user37: MORE PROOF

charles_leclerc

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, pierregasly, user, and 2,145,924 others

charles_leclerc: I’m laughing on the car ride home with you ♥️

view all comments

user38: oh so now we’re blatantly quoting y/n’s songs now?

↳user39: well she’s been ignoring her apparently many boyfriends 😂

alexandrasaintmleux: Toujours, mon amour Always, my love

↳user40: girl he’s trying to cheat on you

this comment has been deleted

↳user41: anyone else catch that?

↳user40: 😑😑😑

oscarpiastri: oh it’s so good you and Alex are taking time together

↳not_y/n: thank you for your service 🫡

↳not_oscar: I expect something for this

↳not_y/n: summer break with me and Logan?

↳not_oscar: sure

↳user42: thank you king for your continued service

alex_albon: going shirtless? For free?

↳charles_leclerc: anything for the fans

↳alex_albon: is that what we’re calling it nowadays?

↳logansargeant: 😂😂

user43: user19 can you give us more proof please

↳user19: I WOULD LOVE TO

↳user53: please stop screaming

Bluesky

logansargeant

liked by not_y/n, georgerussell63, oscarpiastri, and 1,284,923 others

logansargeant: a full heart and a full living room

view all comments

user44: I need more photos of boyfriend Logan in my life

↳user48: I just need Logan as a boyfriend

not_y/n: 🥰🥰🥰 I love you so much Logan

↳not_logan: I love you too. More then I can ever say

oscarpiastri: thanks for the sleeping place

↳logansargeant: it’s always open for you

↳user19: ☝🏻☝🏻 LOVER CODED

alex_albon: when am I gonna get an introduction?

↳logansargeant: soon I promise — but she has a plan

↳alex_albon: can’t argue with that I guess 😂

↳logansargeant: oh I never argue with her…

↳user53: user19 they have a plan???

↳user19: well she’s a mastermind liked by logansargeant

user49: THATS NEW YORK, PARIS, LONDON

↳user19: I TOLF YOJ

↳user19: Welcome to New York, Paris, London Boy, and Lover! All in one post!

iamrebeccad

liked by carlossainz55, alexandrasaintmleux, francisca.cgomes, and 2,334,235 others

iamrebeccad: race dates and date dates 🩶

view all comments

carlossainz55: Chicas impresionantes! Stunning girls!

↳iamrebeccad: thank you my love

↳user50: 🤮

this comment has been deleted

user51: user12 was right…it didn’t take long at all for the wags to jump on the y/n train…

↳user12: ok but I am seeing a vision

↳user52: is the vision a Carlos-y/n-rebecca threesome? liked by carlossainz55, iamrebeccad

↳user12: yes it is

alexandrasaintmleux: lunch tomorrow?

↳iamrebeccad: sorry plans tomorrow! Day after?

↳alexandrasaintmleux: plans or plans 😂

↳iamrebeccad: plans

y/n_gossip

liked by logansargeant, landonorris, carlossainz55, and 18,234,023 others

y/n_gossip: y/n and y/n_nation has been posting videos and teasers of these vaults — thoughts?

view all comments

user54: music video?

user55: merchandise? It’s been awhile since they’ve dropped anything new!

maxverstappen1: new music?

↳user56: car boy I know you’re used to being fast but we don’t demand new music around here

↳user57: we’re gonna have put together a pamphlet on how to act aren’t we…

↳user58: not a bad idea actually…

not_oscar: why do you keep doing this y/n???

↳not_y/n: sorry not sorry 😂

↳not_lilyz: ohhh new music??

↳not_y/n: yes!

↳not_lilyz: oh my god i can’t wait!

↳not_y/n: I’ll send some voice notes for you my love 🩵

alexandrasaintmleux

liked by charles_leclerc, iamrebeccad, user and 1,192,469 others

alexandrasaintmleux: Voir l’art, c’est conna��tre l’amour. To see art is to know love.

view all comments

user59: stunning

↳user60: she really is

↳user61: can charles fight?

user12: user52 ok this or the other?

↳user52: definitely charles-y/n-alex liked by alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc: Alors j'ai été béni tous les jours. Then I’ve been blessed everyday

↳user63: i am begging at this point…

↳user64: no I get it 🤤🤤

↳user63: what? Eww no. I’m begging them to realize they’re promoting cheating…

logansargeant

liked by oscarpiastri, alex_albon, williamsracing, and 923,824 others

logansargeant: Not how I expected Australia to go but we preserve — let’s go Alex!

comments have been limited on this post

alex_albon: thanks for the support!

↳logansargeant: of course!

oscarpiastri: mom said to plan on dinner at our place this weekend

↳logansargeant: yum!

y/n

be the first to like

y/n: it’s time to open the vault — and release all the secrets. Tomorrow — 26 new tracks

be the first to comment

Private Messages

Taglist

@anamiad00msday @suns3treading @daniskywalkersolo @awritingtree @justheretoreadthxxs @coral7161 @lost4lyrics @mastermindbaby

[sirxlla]

It Comes Naturally

----------------------------------------------------

Warnings: Fluff, Pregnancy, Slight Angst

Prompt: "Dad things he does subconciously" with buck (request by anon)

Notes: female reader, italics are actions and thoughts.

-With that said it's all under the cut-

A lot of the fatherly things he did initally came out in ways of making sure that you had properly bandaged your finger or carrying you to the bedroom when you fell asleep on the couch. It was just casually caring for your partner as one should, like making sure you had enough dinner or that you got to work safely.

As time went on in the relationship progressed, you noticed how fatherly he seemed to Chris. How he would help him every single time he had the opportunity, maybe with homework, girl talk or other general things.

Buck is so kind and attentive, most of the time he can tell how someone's feeling just by looking at their face or reading the room. He is always so good at making sure to clock your emotions and how you're feeling.

"Baby, what's wrong?" He asked as he came into the room.

"I promise it's nothing." You had said not wanting to put your shitty day on to him.

"I know that's entirely bullshit." He smiles, gently grabbing your chin so he can gaze into your eyes.

"I'm just having a rough day, I'm remembering some shit from my childhood." Your eyes slightly teared up as you are trying your hardest not to cry. He pulled you into a hug and everything starts to feel right, his hugs were all encompassing. You know how they say that everything faded and it was just you and him? Like the movies. That's exactly how it felt with him his hugs were just the best thing you could think of whenever you're feeling like shit.

His dad behavior seem to spike when his sister had a baby. Every single time that Maddie needed a babysitter he was the first person to jump on it. He tended to carry Jee around everywhere, showing her how he does everything even if she can't understand.

"And this is the smoke alarm." He held her up so she could see the smoke alarm. There was no rhyme or reason to the things that he showed her just random things around the house like the top of the fridge, the pantry or the microwave. Of course considering the fact that she's a baby she has no idea what's going on but she enjoys it just the same.

You often caught him watching Bluey, Max & Ruby, Blue's Clues or whatever TV show he had put on for the little girl, he had gotten sidetracked and sat down and started watching it. Of course it started the same way it does for every other father where they glance at the TV and slowly get sucked into the plot of the episode. A couple of times you've caught him passed out on the couch with her because the both of them had fell asleep watching television.

In a way he is very much an uncle but in so many different ways he is like a father, he's patient, kind, and understanding. Evan is the perfect partner and the perfect person that you could see yourself building a life with.

When there's a problem he always talks it out with you and you both come to an understanding and say sorry because what he says is that "it takes two people to argue" and both of you are to blame; apparently this is something that Maddie taught him when she essentially raised him. It was a way of making sure everyone felt understood and cared for in any type of relationship, it took him some time but he did realize it slowly that it was indeed true in most situations.

Evan isn't just fatherly but motherly as well, he's perfect with kids, he's a fantastic partner and a wonderful human being.

It was really early in your relationship and neither of you had talked about it, having kids. So when you saw that little blue plus sign you're nervous, not because you don't want this but because you're worried it's too soon.

"Baby, I-" You take a breath as you come out of the bathroom in your pajamas. Buck is remaking the bed that both of you didnt have time to do this morning. He hears the worry in your voice and turns around.

"Hey..." He sits at the end of the bed and pulls you between his thighs, those ocean eyes staring into yours with love and care.

"I- um... I missed my period and I didn't think anything of it because I've been stressed. You know with everything that's been happening, the fires and all?" You tell him, your heart heavy in your chest. He just listens as he knows that you'll continue when you're ready, his hands slowly rubbing your hips in silent support of whatever you have to say.

"...We- We only had one test laying around." You handed him the test and watched his reaction on his face, it took a minute of his brain processing but a huge smile covered his face.

"Oh! Oh my God! Baby, you're pregnant! This is- this is good news, this is great news!" He pulled you into his lap and hugged the doubt and worry out of you.

"You're not mad? It's really early in this relationship and I really didn't want to push anything on to you." You started crying cause you were so sure he'd be upset cause generally a lot of guys would be, it was a relief.

"Mad? Baby, I've never been happier. You- You're amazing. We can do this. Right? You wanna keep it, dont you? If you don't its okay but I just-" Evan starts to get nervous as he speaks cause he realizes he doesn't want to force any decision on you or make you feel obligated to keep this baby if you don't want to.

"I- Yeah. I do." Tears pouring down your face and onto his neck.

"You're going to be the most gorgeous mother out there." Buck rubs your back as he tries to help with the tears that are dampening his shirt You had never had this type of support in your life and you knew at this exact point you wanted him in your life in any way possible.

If at some point down the road you guys didn't love each other the same way that you do now, you know that you would want him in your life as a friend at least just to have him in your life. You'd always have a connection to him and that was even before you got pregnant, but now there was a bundle of life growing within you that was part you and part him stringing the two of you together forever.

"I'm going to be here with you as long as I breathe, I promise." He whispers into your ear before pulling back so he can see your face. Buck covers your salty tear filled face in kisses.

He always knew exactly what to do to make you smile and this was no exception, the love he gave you and the compassion and care was to be unmatched by anyone no one could make you feel like this but him.

Masterlist

[jewishcottontails]

hey! i am so happy your experiences have been positive. unfortunately, every single goy i have ever interacted with has said something really weird or antisemitic towards me after finding out i am jewish, with no further reasoning beyond that. my friends cheered for the columbia protests in which students chanted “october 7th everyday” and “go back to poland” to american jews! my friends shared and continued to uplift jvp even after they had gone on to say jewish people should not pray in hebrew! (among other things..) my (antizionist!) jewish friends cannot post anything related to being jewish without receiving comments about freeing palestine!

on a separate note, to “pick the right side” is to fight for justice and equality, tikkun olam, and to hold empathy for every innocent person.. which means also understanding cheering for a violent attack where jewish people and goyim alike were raped and killed not only on shabbat but on simchat torah at a musical festival is also wrong! there is nothing unjust about fighting for palestine, but when your idea of fighting for palestine is to tell jewish people to renounce their culture or cheering for them to die instead thats not…um…well thats not really fighting for palestine… if you’re saying pick a side hamas/israel then you don’t seem to care about people from either palestine or israel as far as i can tell, because you’re looking at human lives as “born in the right place” and “born in the wrong.” and you’re looking at other jews as “evil apathetic zio monster” or “A Good One :)” (so long as they are not mourning their lost loved ones who may live in Israel?)

again, i am so happy your experience being jewish in non-jewish communities has been positive. not everyone has that privilege, zionist or not! i personally do not tell anyone i am a zionist or even hint towards it, and i have lost lots and lots of friends on the basis of being jewish. i hope there comes a time you can look at the world beyond yourself and develop empathy and understanding. 😊

additionally no ones knows what zionism is and apparently you don’t either 😵‍💫 as all it does is put a name to an ideology that has been engraved into judaism since we were slaves in egypt. have you never attended a passover seder? you’ve never said “next year, in jerusalem!” as every seder ends with? you’ve never read torah, as the jews are guided to the land of israel? you’ve never celebrated sukkot, or chanukah for that matter? youve never fasted for tisha b’av? if you think zionism is a belief that inherently even so much as challenges palestine’s existence??? then, you don’t know what zionism is—and for you to call it antisemitic, you definitely don’t know where it came from.

whatever is hateful to you, don’t do onto others. go and learn!

It's insanely sad to read post after post of gentiles talking about how at least we all have each other and all we can do now is draw strength from our queer and leftist communities bc Jews literally cannot do this. Like you all completely and so utterly turned your backs on Jews this year and we have no one. Except other Jews. Who make up 2% of the American population. It's so great for you all that you can hold hands and sing Kumbaya but you made supporting Hamas and retweeting twitter funny men with literal terrorist hate symbols in their usernames normal. So no some of us cannot draw strength from the queer and leftist communities. Some of us just have to sit here and take it as you all reassure each other that none of this is your fault even though it so obviously is.

[inthelibrarybtw]

get to know college!basketball!captain!rafe

college!basketball!captain!rafe who has loved sports since he was a kid, fell in love with basketball when he was around 10 and took it seriously from that moment on. he wants to go professional after college if he can but is also working on his finance and administration degree. He has always been very smart and doesn’t worry a lot about grades but understands the importance of them, reason why he got a full ride in college and got recruited for the basketball team. who is very disciplined with everything that he does, once he commits to doing something he will do it and will do his best. he loves going out with his friends but also likes to stay in, secretly he loves cooking all thanks to his mom and his sister. 

college!basketball!captain!rafe who is very cocky and a flirt, knows he is good-looking and that’s the reason why everyone thinks he’s a player, he has never had a girlfriend in college. Everyone seems to know him and or fall for him, he doesn’t really care about it but it boosts his ego. He has been around a bit yes, but not as much as people think, he is picky even if he doesn’t like to admit it. He thrives on teasing people, especially his friends but he’s also very kind and intentional, not everyone gets to see this side of him. His family is very important to him, he has a good relationship with his parents and sister. 

college!basketball!captain!rafe who is very easy to please, just some good food, music, and his friends and he can be the happiest man alive. who loves watching movies and of course, never misses one basketball game, usually watches them with his dad or his friends, it’s his favorite thing to do. Has never missed one basketball practice since he was 10, just the very counted times he has been sick. His love language is physical touch, gifts, and acts of service the last two he prefers giving them than receiving them. Quality time could be added to but in very specific scenarios. His favorite artists are J. Cole, The Weekend, and Kanye. who is also a dog guy, every time he sees a dog he asks if he can pet them. 

college!basketball!captain!rafe who loves being an older brother but sometimes he wishes the age gap wasn’t that big, fortunately, he has a cousin his age who might as well be his sister. they grew up together and are kinda inseparable thanks to that. He usually goes to her to talk about his feelings, since he knows he won’t get judged by her. he’s not the best at showing his feelings, or so he thinks, usually his eyes speak volumes, and anyone can see it but him. no, but really, talking about how he feels sometimes can be the hardest thing he can do. he tends to put everyone first and even if he’s this confident guy when it comes to his feelings he’s anything but. 

college!basketball!captain!rafe who is incredibly perceptive about how other people feel as long as the feelings are not directed at him because then he’s blind. who likes to take time to get to know someone and help as much as he can. who also can easily get angry when things don’t go his way and when this happens he prefers not to talk to people in case he says something he doesn’t really mean. If he’s really frustrated he tends to isolate himself to calm down but if he needs to talk to people he will be very cold towards them, and he immediately regrets it.

authors note: i always have trouble writing intros because i don't know what you should know before reading and what you should discover while reading but i finally finished it. i'm very obsessed with him, and i hope you guys too :)

taglist: @zyafics @maybankslover @niaunoffical @marleymarleymarleymarley @rafesbabygirlx @akobx @papercranesandinkstains @masonmountme69 @winterivory if you want to be added send an ask or comment! :)

REBLOGS, COMMENTS AND LIKES ARE ALWAYS WELCOMED

INTHELIBRARYBTW ✧.*

[mumms-the-word]

I know I’m screaming into the void here but do not witch hunt people with AI accusations

As someone whose job for the last two years involved me reading and rereading essays and creative fiction written by my students (a group of writers notorious for using AI despite being told not to because they worry about their grades more than their skills) let me tell you straight up that detecting AI in any written work isn’t straightforward

AI detection softwares are bullshit. Even Turnitin, which is supposedly the best, has an error rate that is slowly increasing over time. They’re not reliable. The free ones online are even worse, trust me

“Oh but it’s so obvious!” Sure. If you’re trained to notice patterns and predictive repetitions in the language, sure. I can spot a ChatGPT student essay from a mile away. But only if they haven’t edited it themselves, or used a bunch of methods (Grammarly, other AIs, their friends, a “humanizer” software, etc) to obscure the ChatGPT patterns. And it’s easier with formulaic essays—with creative fiction it’s much harder.

Why?

Well because good creative fiction is a) difficult to write well and b) extremely subjective. ChatGPT does have notable patterns for creative writing. But it’s been trained on the writing that is immensely popular, writing that has been produced by humans. Purple prose, odd descriptions, sixteen paragraphs of setting where one or two could be fine, all of that is stylistic choices that people have intentionally made in their writing that ChatGPT is capable of predicting and producing.

What I’m saying is, people just write like that normally. There are stylistic things I do in to writing that other people swear up and down is an AI indicator. But it’s just me writing words from my head

So can we, should we, start witch hunts over AI use in fanfic when we notice these patterns? My answer is no because that’s dangerous.

Listen. I hate AI. I hate the idea of someone stealing my work and feeding it into a machine that will then “improve itself” based on work I put my heart and soul into. If I notice what I think is AI in a work I’ve casually encountered online, I make a face and I stop reading. It’s as simple as that. I don’t drag their name out into the public to start a tomato throwing session because I don’t know their story (hell they might even be a bot) and because one accusation can suddenly become a deluge

Or a witch hunt, if you will

Because accusing one person of AI and starting a whole ass witch hunt is just begging people to start badly analyzing the content they’re reading out of fear that they’ve been duped. People don’t want to feel the sting or embarrassment of having been tricked. So they’ll start reading more closely. Too closely. They’ll start finding evidence that isn’t really evidence. “This phrase has been used three times in the last ten paragraphs. It must be AI.”

Or, it could be that I just don’t have enough words in my brain that day and didn’t notice the repetition when I was editing.

There’s a term you may be familiar with called a “false positive.” In science or medicine, it’s when something seems to have met the conditions you’re looking for, but in reality isn’t true or real or accurate. Like when you test for the flu and get a positive result when you didn’t have the flu. Or, in this case, when you notice someone writing sentences that appear suspiciously like a ChatGPT constructed sentence and go “oh, yes that must mean it’s ChatGPT then”

(This type of argumentation/conclusion also just uses a whole series of logical fallacies I won’t get into here except to say that if you want to have a civil conversation about AI use in fandom you cannot devolve into hasty generalizations based on bits and parts)

I’m not saying this to protect the people using AI. In an ideal world, people would stop using it and return back to the hard work of making art and literature and so on. But we don’t live in that world right now, and AI is prevalent everywhere. Which means we have to be careful with our accusations and any “evidence” we think we see.

And if we do find AI in fandom spaces, we must be careful with how we handle or approach that, otherwise we will start accusing writers who have never touched AI a day in their life of having used it. We will create a culture of fear around writing and creating that stops creatives from making anything at all. People will become too scared to share their work out of fear they’ll be accused of AI and run off.

I don’t have solutions except to say that in my experience, outright accusing people of AI tends to create an environment of mistrust that isn’t productive for creatives or fans/readers. If you start looking for AI evidence everywhere, you will find it everywhere. Next thing you know, you’re miserable because you feel like you can’t read or enjoy anything.

If you notice what you think is AI in a work, clock it, maybe start a discussion about it, but keep that conversation open to multiple answers or outcomes. You’re not going to stop people from using AI by pointing fingers at them. But you might be able to inspire them to try writing or creating for themselves if you keep the conversation open, friendly, and encourage them to try creating for themselves, without the help of AI

[keepthedelta]

#in general i find the whole racing versus winning thing to be very interesting#and the way some drivers believe in the sanctity of racing and others believe in the sanctity of winning fascinates me

Deltinha can you expand on this concepts? I got fascinated by them after reading the tags.

Thanks!

it kind of started when i listened to some of the sky sports podcasts where they were talking about the mclaren team orders situation. and i found what jenson said versus what nico said to be very interesting.

jenson was defending mclaren's policy of just letting their drivers fight it out on track, arguing that the racing was what the sport was supposed to be about. but then when nico was asked about it (on a different episode) he argued that mclaren should be using team orders to help lando because the point of the championship was to win, and you have to take every advantage you have because you don't know if or when you're going to get another chance.

and it made total sense to me that each of them was making that particular argument given who each of them is. jenson's whole thing is racecraft, he has such a unique driving style and was so admired for his racecraft even when he wasn't the fastest driver that it made sense for him to value the actual racing element above anything else. when he was talking about the team orders and mclaren's history of not issuing team orders, he said that he and lewis took wins off of each other, and if they'd been given team orders one of them probably could have won a championship [during the vettel/red bull dominance years]. but i think jenson could only say that because he already got his fairytale championship in 2009, and because he has canada 2011 to his name. if he didn't have those, particularly the wdc, i think he would look at his mclaren years very differently. and although jenson beat lewis across a season, lewis was overall the stronger driver, and if mclaren had given team orders, it's quite likely jenson would have been the one ordered to help lewis rather than the other way around. so in that sense, mclaren not having team orders and prioritising the "racing" helped jenson out a lot.

equally i think it makes total sense that nico values the winning over the racing. he spent a very long time being a very good driver in very bad cars, and when he finally got a good car, he had to face off against the most successful driver of all time. so it makes sense that the racing is not enough for nico, because it was never enough to be good, or even great, it was important to win. all of the effort he put in, the extremes he went to were not about becoming a better racer, they were about winning, and being able to call himself a champion. since retiring he's said that the only part of formula one he missed was winning, and although he's remained a part of the racing world, he's never raced again, unlike jenson who has raced in multiple other series. in the end it was the winning that fulfilled nico, and once he had that, he felt able to explore other worlds. additionally, i think nico's insecurities/self-esteem issues really affect this. he said in an interview that he didn't believe in himself at all throughout his career. while other drivers have talked about the need to view themselves as the best driver, and believe that given the right circumstances they can be champion, nico talked about how he never believed that, and so the thing that kept him going was his commitment to it. he committed to that championship 100% because he believed in the value of it. and that's why i think he argued that mclaren should have given team orders to help lando because he believes in the inherent value of a championship and of winning, and believes that you should commit to that, even if you don't win, rather than hoping the win comes to you.

there are some drivers that talk about racing as a priority and some that talk about winning as a priority, and i think it's interesting to see which is which, and why they've come to that conclusion. and with charles specifically, i think it would be incredibly interesting to see him choose between winning with anyone for the sake of winning over the possibility of winning with ferrari because of the ferrari of it all. what matters more to him, a championship, or a potential championship with ferrari?

[aibidil]

It's wild to me how every doctor seems to ignore low ferritin despite very, very clear guidance from every medical authority that ferritin below 30 is iron deficiency with—or without!—anemia. I have mentioned my low ferritin to multiple doctors but no one seems to think it matters, so I'm over here paying for ferritin tests (which I'm glad you can do, to be clear, but why should I need to?!? If you're in the US, check out Life Extension's lab tests, they're cheaper than ordering directly from Labcorp), trying to interpret results, and coming up with a treatment plan on my own. And like, I have a PhD, but NOT IN THIS! So far over my head.

My most recent research deep dive showed that usually with chronic illness and inflammation, ferritin is high (and that's bad and portends bad outcomes), but it's almost impossible to find info about low ferritin and MCAS. It's hard to avoid the conclusion that these doctors really just do not know.

If it's useful for anyone reading, I've had good luck with the heme iron tablets called Simply Heme. They're animal-based, so they're heme iron, which is more easily absorbed and doesn't have timing precautions like non-heme supplements. It also hasn't caused me any GI issues like the non-heme I've taken. They're expensive. :( But I've got my ferritin up to 40-70 (from a low of 12). I wish I knew how important it is to try to get it even higher (eg. to 100) and if I should be prioritizing that, but I have no one but strangers on the internet to guide me.

MCAS update: since starting iron treatment with the aim to get my ferritin stores over 100 for migraine prevention, I’ve finally been able to raise my protein intake.

(Hey, did you guys know that while some MCAS patients present with abnormally high levels of ferritin, low ferritin can cause mast cells to degranulate? And mast cells store and release ferritin when they degranulate, so it’s like a shitty ouroboros of self-fulfilling misery? I didn’t. No one told me, the person with a mast cell disease and chronic lifelong anemia 🙃🙃🙃)

This is a big deal for me because even after years of treatment, this time last year I was living on 7-16g of protein a day because attempting to eat more than that was priming me for an anaphylactic reaction.

As of today, after 3 months of consistent iron treatment, I’m able to eat 50-60g a day.

Progress!!! 🎉

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Barter 2

Warnings: suggestions of death, I am a dark blog and I write dark things.

Summary: You are bargained to be wife to the witcher if he can slew the beast in the village.

Character: Geralt of Rivia

**note, I am not a Witcher genius or aficionado and so I may get some things wrong.

As usual, I appreciate any and all feedback and enthusiasm. Please reblog and leave a comment. Love! 😍

You watch the witcher set off into the fog from between the slats of the barn. It’s been a fortnight crammed into the space. The stench has faded to something tolerable but the tension hasn’t. 

The now orphaned maiden clings to your arm. That’s what she is now. The man in black all but confirmed it. His horse tramps off into oblivion without hesitation as he sits tall in his saddle, disappearing into the haze. You sit back as your companion sniffles. 

“They’re dead? All of them?” 

“It would seem,” you sigh and lean on the wall.  

Your sister was a sweet girl but even before the revelation, you had little hope. Especially as your mother went to search and did not return. Your father has only you and your brother left. Marsh is a child still but he will grow into his legacy, so long as you father lasts that long. 

“How could this happen to us? Why Krescent? We are a good pious village,” she whines, her sniveling grating your addled nerves. 

“Bad things happen to all, regardless of prayers,” you resign. 

“That is blaspheme,” she accuses. 

“It is the truth. It has happened to all in the wretched place. And if this witcher should be able to slay the evil, then I too shall walk off to my own doom, only a living one.” 

She looks at you with her watery eyes. They are such a pale shade of green that they look almost yellow. She always reminded you of a swampy witch, the ones in the stories you whispered so the elders did not hear. 

“I suppose...” she begins, “marriage is destined to all. It shouldn’t be such a surprise.” 

“To him?” You wonder grimly. “Perhaps, at least, I will be away from this cursed land, that I should not look upon it and think of my...” your voice catches as the witcher’s words crash upon you. Your legs buckle and you slide down the wall and fold against your knees. “They truly are gone.” 

Caralyn mops away her tears as she kneels at your side. Your own eyes do not weep though your chest concaves. You brace your head as your elbows rest on your knees. You take a deep breath. 

“My father did not protest,” you murmur. “He is too dumbed without my mother to do anything.” You look at her, still hunched, “you must promise to look after Marsh.” 

“I promise,” she avows and brushes your sleeve softly. “I will keep him close to my own brothers and sisters, now that it is up to me to see to them.” 

You nod and frown deeper, “I’m deeply sorry for your parents, Caralyn. They were always so kind.” 

“So kind, I do wonder why it should be them instead of me,” her eyes spring with tears again and she lowers herself to her bottom. She wipes her nose messily and heaves.  

You wring your hands. You wonder the same of your mother and sister. How can it be that Lessa would wander off and you would be left behind to miss her. Your mother was always the order in your life and now it is chaos. 

Along with grief, is more terror. What should happen should the fogler, or whatever he called, it not desist? What if the witcher were to defeat the monster? Should he really claim your hand? A wife?  

Caralyn is right, it is not great surprise to be wed. It is a young woman’s fate but this... what sort of wife can you be to someone like him. The tainted. The sort spat upon at even the lowest tavern. 

“He was not... hideous,” Caralyn suggests as if reading your thoughts. 

You scrunch your nose at her, “how he looks is the least of my woes.” 

“Tall. Strong.” She offers. 

“Car, stop,” you chide. 

“You must... must try to hearten,” she shifts closer so her legs touch yours and she leans a little, as if to comfort you. “As our mothers would always tell us, we must be good wives one day. No matter who. I’m certain if you prove a good loyal wife, he would not treat you as one of his beasts.” 

You stare at her and hum. She is not incorrect. You were never to choose your husband so it should be that it doesn’t matter so much who it is. Only that you serve him well. 

“A man is a man, even if witcher he be,” she declares.