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cressidagrey · 2 days ago

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The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 22

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes:

Mention of epilepsy and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose.

We are wrapping up loose plot threads so: Hungary 2024, WHICH I FIXED (kinda). My questionable understanding of racing strategy? Crocheting.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Radio Transcript – Hungarian GP 2024 Driver: Lando Norris (#4, McLaren) Lap: Mid-race, after McLaren undercuts Oscar Piastri

RACE ENGINEER (Will Joseph): “Lando, box this lap. Box, box.”

Lando: “…You’re kidding. You’re actually kidding.”

Will: “Lando, we need to cover the undercut. Box now.”

Lando: “Yeah, I bet we do.”

[Lando enters the pits, swaps to fresh tires, and rejoins ahead of Oscar Piastri.]

Will: “So, uh, we’re seriously doing this? We’re actually undercutting Oscar?”

Will: “Affirm. We need to consolidate track position.”

Lando: “Oh yeah? That’s what we’re calling it? Consolidating?”

Will: “Lando, we’ll discuss later. Focus on your out-lap.”

Lando: “No. I want you to tell me right now why we did that. Because Oscar was ahead. Oscar was faster. So tell me why we just screwed him over.

Will: “It was the best call for the team.”

Lando: “Oh, was it? Because last I checked, ‘the team’ includes Oscar, and you just threw him under the bus. And for what? Because from where I’m sitting, you just played us against each other for no reason.”

Will: “Lando, we need to manage the race. We’ll discuss later.”

Lando: “No, we’ll discuss now. Because Oscar went to bat for me when it mattered. He stood up when you lot wouldn’t. And this is how you pay him back? By screwing him on strategy?”

Will: “Lando—”

Lando: “I’m giving it back.”

Will: “Lando, we need you to maintain position.”

Lando: “Like hell I do. Tell Oscar I’m lifting into Turn 1.”

Will: “…Understood.”

Lando: Oscar— (lifts off the throttle, lets Oscar pass him back easily before Turn 1) —deserves better than whatever the hell that was.

Will: Lando, we didn’t ask you to do that.

Lando: Yeah? Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you made me the bad guy.

Will: This isn’t necessary—

Lando: No, what wasn’t necessary was playing stupid games with two drivers who actually trust each other. Fix your priorities.

***

Lando Norris – Post-Race Interview | 2024 Hungarian Grand Prix

Interviewer: Lando, P2 today after a tough fight with Lewis Hamilton. It was an intense battle right to the end—how are you feeling?

Lando: Yeah, I feel great! It was a proper race, a hard fight from start to finish, and I loved every second of it. I mean, Lewis is one of the best to ever do it, so going wheel-to-wheel with him like that, having to really work for that P2—it’s what racing is all about. I think we put on a good show today.

Interviewer: We heard some interesting radio messages during the race, especially around the swap with Oscar. Can you talk us through that situation?

Lando: Honestly, I just want to talk about how incredible Oscar was today. He’s been mega all weekend. He got pole, he had insane pace, and to take his first win—it’s so well deserved. I’ve been saying it forever: Oscar is that guy. He’s quick, he’s consistent, and I’m just really happy for him. It’s a huge moment.

Interviewer: Of course, but just to clarify on the swap—there was some tension on the radio. Did that impact your race at all?

Lando: Not really. My focus was on getting the best result for the team and making sure we maximized what we could. At the end of the day, Oscar won fair and square. I had my own battle with Lewis, and that’s where my head was. We went at it for a good chunk of the race, pushing each other to the limit, and I managed to come out on top. That’s what I care about—proper racing on track. That’s what people should be talking about.

Interviewer: Still, there were some discussions about team orders—

Lando: Listen, I’m not interested in making a big deal out of radio messages or politics. What matters is the racing. And today, we had an incredible race. Oscar got his first win, McLaren got a 1-2, I had a great fight with Lewis, and we showed what we’re capable of. That’s what people should be focusing on. That’s what matters.

Interviewer: Fair enough! A brilliant result today. Congratulations, Lando!

Lando: Cheers, mate!

Comments:

@/F1Fanatic99: Lando just straight-up refusing to engage in drama and instead hyping up Oscar and talking about racing? That’s my driver. 🧡 @/HamiltonGOAT44: Lando vs. Lewis was the battle we all deserved! Absolute class from both of them. @/NorrisNation: Lewis made him work for it, but Lando held his own. That was racing at its finest. @/PiastriP1: Lando literally said “I’m here to race, not talk” and I respect that so much. @/WDCOscar: We should be talking about how good Oscar was today, not team orders drama. Lando gets it. @/DriveToThrive: Lando dodging those drama-baiting questions like he's defending P2 against Lewis Hamilton. @/TeamOrdersSkeptic: I mean, it’s cool that Lando’s focusing on the positives, but McLaren kinda did him dirty, no? @/NotABot23: Maybe, but Lando said he didn’t want a free pass. He’d rather earn his position. @/OscarWins: At the end of the day, Oscar won fair and square. Even Lando said it. @/F1Conspiracies: He’s dodging the team orders talk because he doesn’t want to cause problems, but let’s be real—McLaren needs to sort their priorities. @/AntiTeamOrders: Lando acting like nothing happened when McLaren literally screwed him over lol. @/JustHereForDrama: He’s so media-trained. Wish he would just say what he actually thinks. ↳ @/McLarenStan: Or maybe he actually thinks Oscar deserved the win and doesn’t care about the radio stuff? @/HungaryGP2024: The real headline should be "Lando Norris beats Lewis Hamilton in an on-track battle," not whatever drama people are trying to stir up.

@/GridGossip: “He stood up when you lot wouldn’t.” 👀 Lando, bestie, you can’t just drop that and move on like it’s nothing. ↳ @/McLarenMafia: WHO didn’t have your back, Lando? Say names. ↳ @/F1Conspiracies: I wonder what that is about…and I have the bad feeling it’s the whole Lizzie situation… @/OversteerAndTea: So we’re all just supposed to ignore that Lando basically said McLaren didn’t back him up, huh? @/FormulaWhispers: What was going on behind the scenes that made Lando say that??? ↳ @/InsideThePaddock: Oscar has more backbone than people realize. Him going to bat for Lando is NOT nothing. @/F1InsiderTea: McLaren’s PR team is SWEATING right now. ↳ @/OrangeDrama: Like, are they just hoping we all move on??? Because I have QUESTIONS. @/PitWallMess: Oscar and Lando are such ride-or-dies for each other. It’s everyone else I’m side-eyeing. ↳ @/McLarenMasterplan: We need the full story. Spill, Lando. Spill. @/TeaAndTelemetry: Lando is never that blunt unless something seriously pissed him off. ↳ @/DataDorkF1: Oscar was the only one on his side and Lando made sure we knew it. That says A LOT.

@/DTSWriters: This better be a whole episode in the next Drive to Survive season because I NEED DETAILS.

@/OscarPiastriUpdates: This is the first time in history a driver has voluntarily unfucked a team’s strategy mid-race. Historic behavior.

@/TireDegEnthusiast: McLaren really thought they could manipulate their drivers like chess pieces and Lando just said ‘no ❤️’

@/F1TeaSpiller: This isn’t just about the race. That “Oscar stood up for me this week” line? Oh, Lando’s making a STATEMENT.

@/PurpleSectorStan: The way McLaren’s radio was DEAD SILENT after Lando gave Oscar the place back. They knew they fumbled.

****

The apartment was dimly lit when Lando stepped inside, exhaustion settling deep in his bones. He set his bag down by the door, stretching out his shoulders as he made his way toward the living room. Lizzie was curled up on the couch, her laptop open in front of her, but her fingers weren’t moving across the keyboard. Instead, she was watching him.

"Hey," he said, offering a weary smile as he settled down beside her. Her gaze trailed over him from head to toe, taking in every little detail. He'd never quite appreciated how perceptive she was before.

“Hey,” she said softly.

He leaned back into the couch, closing his eyes and exhaling. For a few moments, silence filled the space between them. He could hear the hum of the laptop’s fan, the distant sound of cars from outside, the sound of their breathing.

Finally, Lizzie spoke. “You were brilliant this weekend.”

He cracked an eye open, looking over at her. She was watching him with something akin to awe, her expression almost reverent. He wasn’t quite sure what he did to warrant that look. “Was I?” he asked, trying for nonchalance but lacking even half of the energy to pull it off.

"McLaren 1-2," she told him softly, one hand reaching out to cup his jaw and he leant into her touch.

Yes. McLaren 1-2.

Not thanks to the team.

"I watched everything," Lizzie admitted quietly. "The radio. The interviews."

Lando inhaled sharply but sighed. "Figured you would," he told her.

She ran her thumb over his cheekbone, a simple touch that made his exhaustion recede just a fraction. "You were incredible," she repeated softly. "Even when you were getting screwed over on strategy and had every reason to be angry, you just..." She exhaled. "You handled it so well. You were incredible."

She hesitated for a moment. "Did...McLaren didn't have your back." It wasn't a question.

It shouldn't surprise him and it didn't. Liz was too smart for her own good. Of course, she would pick up on that. Just like the press had picked up on it, even when he hadn't outright said what it was, that had happened...people weren't dumb. They would put together the pieces into something resembling the truth.

Still.

Lando sighed, running a hand down his face. "Liz-"

She shook her head. "I thought...I don't know, that maybe they just wanted to take their time to handle things after Silverstone. But that's not what happened, is it?" she asked him softly.

Lando clenched his jaw, looking away. He didn't know how to explain it without making her feel worse.

Lizzie’s voice was quieter when she spoke again. “Did they… did they try to stop you from saying anything?”

He swallowed, trying to figure out how to answer. “I-” he stopped, biting his lip. Honesty was the best option, wasn’t it? He took a deep breath.

“They tried. It was...it was a bit of a clusterfuck.”

Lizzie’s breath hitched slightly. “And Oscar?”

Lando huffed a small, almost amused breath. “He blackmailed them.”

Lizzie blinked. “What?”

"He told them that if they didn't release a statement condemning the abuse, he'd go back to tweeting like he did for Alpine," he recounted with a snort.

Lizzie stared at him before bursting into a fit of giggles. She covered her mouth, trying to keep herself from laughing. Her laugh was like music to his ears and some of the tension left him.

He grinned at her. “Yeah. And you know the funniest part?”

Lizzie shook her head, biting down on the edge of her hand to suppress a laugh. She looked adorable like that, her cheeks flushed from her little bout of giggles, and he was struck with the sudden urge to wrap her up in a tight hug. So he did.

She melted into his arms, burying her face against his shoulder, her giggles muffled. It took her a moment to regain her composure, and she gave a little sigh, pulling back just enough to look at him. “What's the funniest part?”

Lando grinned, shaking his head a little. “It worked.”

Lizzie stared at him, mouth parted.

“He actually threatened a multimillionaire team with Twitter,” Lando snickered. “He threatened to unleash an online world war and they caved like that.” He snapped his fingers, making her laugh again.

Lizzie ducked her head, her shoulders shaking with suppressed snickers. “Oh my God.”

Lando laughed helplessly, pulling her back toward him, wrapping his arms around her waist. She was warm, her body pressed flush against his. He took a deep breath, the scent of her filling his nostrils.

Lizzie grew quieter and looked at him. "Did...did they...was it because of me?"

Lando felt something twist in his chest. “What?”

She swallowed. “Did all of this—did they hesitate because of me? Because I’m the one people were targeting?”

Lando immediately reached for her hand, squeezing it tightly. “No. No, Liz, don’t do that. Don’t make this your fault.”

She looked down at their intertwined fingers. “It just… feels like I made everything harder for you.”

Lando’s grip tightened. “You didn’t. They did. The people who went after you, the ones who treated you like shit—they’re the problem. Not you. Never you.”

Lizzie let out a shaky breath. “I just… I didn’t want this to be a thing. I didn’t want you to have to put out a statement or make it worse—”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Lando interrupted, his voice firmer now. “You shouldn’t have to explain yourself, or justify your existence, or convince people that you’re worthy of basic human decency. That’s not your job.”

Lizzie bit her lip, still looking uncertain.

Lando exhaled. “Liz, Oscar didn’t do that because of you. He did it because it was the right thing to do. Just like I spoke up because it was the right thing to do. And if McLaren didn’t have our backs, then that’s on them. Not on you.”

Lizzie nodded slowly, eyes shining. “I just hate that you had to fight for it.”

Lando lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “I’d do it again if I had to.”

Lizzie let out a shaky laugh. “You’re stubborn.”

“You love it.”

She sighed. “I really, really do.”

He shifted a bit, pulling her onto his lap without thinking about it. She came without a second thought, settling on his thighs with ease. He wrapped his arms around her waist lightly, feeling the warmth of her seep into his skin.

She let out another shaky exhale, letting her head drop against his collarbone. He pressed his lips to the top of her head, wanting to soothe the worry out of her.

She felt so small in his arms. It made him want to cling to her, to shield her from the world and all of its bullshit. The urge to protect her was almost overwhelming.

"I made something while you were gone," she admitted, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

Lando quirked an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Lizzie hesitated for a second before reaching behind one of the couch cushions. When she turned back, she was holding something small in her hands—something that made Lando blink in surprise before bursting into laughter.

It was a tiny crochet version of Oscar Piastri.

Complete with a McLaren race suit and a little black and orange Pirelli cap.

Lando took the tiny Oscar from her hands, holding it up to inspect it. “No way.”

Lizzie grinned, a little sheepish. “I was stress-crocheting. And, well… given everything, I thought it was fitting.”

Lando laughed again, shaking his head as he turned the little figure in his hands. “He’s gonna lose his mind when he sees this.”

Lizzie smirked. “You think?”

“Oh, definitely,” Lando said. “He’ll pretend he doesn’t care, but he’ll be secretly obsessed with it.”

Liz looked pleased with herself. She leaned in to get a better look at the little figure in his hand. "I think it might be my best one yet," she told him with a smile.

Lando grinned, gently placing the little crochet Oscar on the coffee table before pulling her close again. Lizzie went easily. She draped her arms around his shoulders, her legs resting on either side of his. She draped herself against him like she always does, her body melting into his.

It had been a long few weeks. But somehow, sitting there with Lizzie—holding something she made with care, thinking about the people who had stood by them—it didn’t feel quite so heavy anymore.

***

Lando should have realised that it was going to happen one of these days.

So he wasn't that surprised, when the door to the McLaren Sim room swung open, and Oscar stepped in with a purpose. He barely acknowledged the engineers outside, his usual easygoing demeanor absent. The door clicked shut behind him, and the air in the room felt heavier.

Lando spun around in his seat, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. Oscar’s eyes pinned him to the spot, laser-focused on his every move. Lando couldn’t quite read the expression on his face, but there was something serious in the set of his jaw and the gleam in his gaze.

“Hey,” Lando said cautiously. “What’s up?”

Oscar folded his arms, leaning against the wall. "I heard the radio."

Lando shifted in his seat, feeling the back of his neck prickle. “Yeah. That.”

Oscar didn't say anything, just watched him with a hawk-like gaze. It was making Lando’s nerves itch.

He cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice even. "So you heard all of it then, huh?"

Oscar nodded, his eyes never leaving Lando’s face. "Yeah. Every word."

Silence fell between them, thick and heavy. Lando fidgeted with the hem of his hoodie, his fingers drumming an anxious rhythm against the fabric. He knew Oscar was waiting for him to say something, but the words felt stuck in his throat.

Lando ran a hand down his face. “Look, mate—”

“I didn’t do anything special.”

Lando blinked, caught off guard by how bluntly Oscar said it. “What?”

Oscar pushed off the wall, shaking his head. “You made it sound like I did something extraordinary, like backing you and Lizzie was some massive thing. But it wasn’t, Lando. It was just the right thing to do.”

Lando didn’t respond right away. Instead, he stared at the dashboard of the sim rig, feeling the weight of the last few weeks pressing on his shoulders. “Look,” he finally said, “whether you think it was special or not, you had my back. And I need you to know that I’d do the same for you. Always.”

Oscar scoffed, almost amused. “I know that.”

“No, I mean it,” Lando insisted, standing up. “What happened in Hungary? That’s not how I want to race you. If I gain a position on you, I want it to be because I overtook you—not because the team screwed you over.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a small smirk. “Are you worried you won’t be able to overtake me without a little help?” he asked, a mocking tone in his voice.

Lando shot him a look. “You know that’s not what I mean, you muppet.”

Oscar rolled his eyes. "You know, It wasn’t exactly hard. Lizzie’s great. And you…” Oscar hesitated before adding, “You’re my teammate. That means something.”

Lando swallowed, something settling in his chest. “Yeah. It does.”

A moment passed, quiet but not tense. Then Lando leaned over, rummaging in his bag. “Anyway, I got you something.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “If this is some weird way to thank me, I swear—”

Lando pulled out a red-and-white packet and tossed it over.

Oscar caught it, glancing down. Tim Tams. His eyes immediately lit up. “No way.”

Lando grinned. “Figured your maiden win deserved a proper celebration.”

Oscar inspected the packet like it was the best gift he’d ever received. “Alright. You’re forgiven for embarrassing me on the radio.”

Lando smirked. “Knew that’d do the trick.”

Oscar was already tucking the Tim Tams under his arm when Lando pulled out something else.

“Oh, and—Lizzie made you this.”

He handed over a tiny crochet Oscar, decked out in a McLaren race suit with a perfectly detailed little Pirelli cap.

Oscar stared at it. “She made this?”

Lando nodded. “Yeah. She crochets when she’s stressed. Said she needed something to focus on.”

Oscar turned the tiny figure over in his hands, running a thumb over the stitches. It was absurdly detailed—clearly made with care.

“She really didn’t have to,” he muttered.

Lando shrugged. “You didn’t have to either. But here we are.”

Oscar glanced up, expression unreadable, before slipping the crochet figure into his pocket. “Well,” he said, smirking slightly, “at least I got Tim Tams out of it.”

Lando rolled his eyes. “Never doing anything nice for you again.”

Oscar tore open the packet, popping a biscuit into his mouth. “Sure, mate. Whatever you say.”

***

YouTube Transcript - Belgian Grand Prix Fan Stage

Interviewer: "Lando, Oscar, after Hungary, there was a lot of speculation about your dynamic, especially with the radio messages and post-race comments. Can you clarify—was there any tension?"

Lando: [shrugging] "We talked. We’re fine."

Oscar: [grinning] "Yeah, Lando even got me Tim Tams and a tiny crochet Oscar, so I think that settles it."

Interviewer: [laughing] "A tiny crochet Oscar?"

Lando: [smirking] "Yeah. Well, technically, Liz got it for him. She crochets when she’s stressed, and I guess Hungary was stressful."

Oscar: [holding up a hand] "For the record, it’s actually very impressive craftsmanship. It even has little details on the race suit."

Lando: [mock serious] "Yeah, she put more effort into it than McLaren did into our strategy."

Oscar: [choking on a laugh] "Jesus, Lando."

Interviewer: [laughing] "Okay, so no hard feelings?"

Lando: [firmly] "Oscar deserved that win."

Oscar: [grinning] "And now I have a tiny yarn version of myself to prove it."

Interviewer: "Alright, good to know things are all settled!"

Comments:

@/F1Fanatic99: Crochet Oscar is probably better at strategy calls than McLaren. Just saying.

@/GridGossip: Someone better crochet a tiny Lando next so they can be besties IRL and in yarn form.

@/WheelToWheel: If Oscar doesn’t start bringing Crochet Oscar to every race, we’re gonna have a problem.

@/McLarenUpdates: Crochet Oscar is just proof that Lizzie is the best thing to ever happen to the McLaren garage.

@/EpilepsyAwareness: Imagine explaining to someone in 2018 that F1 Fandom would one day be obsessed with a crocheted version of Oscar Piastri.

@/SilverstoneStan: Crochet Oscar is a cultural reset. Every driver needs a tiny yarn version of themselves.

@/SpeedDemon19: New F1 tradition: every race winner gets a crochet version of themselves. Make it happen, FIA.

@/McLarenSuperFan: The fact that Lizzie made that is so cute. She really said 'supporting my boyfriend and his bestie through yarn.

@/MaxsOrangeArmy: Oscar got a trophy AND a tiny crochet version of himself? Peak career moment.

@/PitStopChaos: Lando’s next merch drop better include tiny crochet drivers or I’m rioting.

@/ChaosInTurn1: Lizzie is out here supporting Oscar more than McLaren did. Queen behavior.

@/F1Wifey: McLaren strategists should fear the WAGs, they have more team loyalty than half the pit wall.

@/WheelToWheelGirl: The fact that Lizzie crocheted through the McLaren strategy disaster is sending me. How much yarn do you think she used during Hungary?

@/RacingLogic: Oscar acting like a proud dad over his little crochet Oscar is the most wholesome thing to come out of this entire mess.

@/ToxicMcLarenFan: I NEED TO SEE THE TINY CROCHET OSCAR, PLEASE, OSCAR, I AM BEGGING.

@/SilverstoneElite: McLaren PR scrambling to figure out how to monetize Crochet Oscar as we speak.

@/PaddockInsider: Not Lando shading McLaren’s strategy while handing out handcrafted emotional support Oscars.

@/PitLaneDrama: The way Oscar is so proud of his tiny crochet self… we need a picture IMMEDIATELY.

@/FIAConspiracyTheories: Okay but McLaren better start strategizing as well as Lizzie crochets.

@/FastAndFearless: Petition for Lizzie to start selling crochet F1 drivers because I NEED ONE. @/McLarenPanicDepartment: Lando: ‘She crochets when she’s stressed.’ How much yarn does she go through dating him???@/MaraForPresident: LIZZIE MADE OSCAR A TINY CROCHET OSCAR??? SHE’S THE REAL MVP.

230 notes · View notes

awordsmith · 15 hours ago

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tongue-tied 𝜗𝜚 s.r

Spencer breaks up with you because he’s been arrested for murder. He refuses to see or talk about you and you–dumbfounded–force your way back into his life by becoming his lawyer.

who? spencer reid x known!reader when? s12 genre: novella content warning: a bit angsty in the beginning, open ending?, little mention of work stress/not feeling like enough/feeling too much... ..reid with warm care !! word count: 3.5k a/n: i had a really vivd dream about this scenario; i don't know if any of you know what tiktok shifting is, but it felt like that–where it was first person pov and i didn't know i was dreaming until i woke up...enjoy!!

The ceiling fan buzzed; you wiped your eyes and stood, heading for the switch when your phone rang on the table. Your heart leaped and you rushed back to the table, forgetting the annoyance that moments ago haunted you.

It was him–you grinned and clicked answer, “Spencer, hey are you b–

“—...”

“Hey,” frowning, you took a seat at your desk, pulling a leg up on the chair to lean on, “what’s going on? Are you alright?”

You heard his breath on the other side of the line. Shaky–it passe over you like a cloud. You felt tears spring into your own eyes. You were never equipped to handle things like this–Spencer knew that–he was the yapper and you were the listener–but he wasn’t yapping right now.

“Spencer, say something…” you bit your thumb, “where are you?” You stood, moving your hands around in search of your keys, “I’m coming to get you–

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to see each other anymore…”

Your keys fell from your hand and you dumbly slid back into your chair, glancing at the documents spread out in front of you–you had just finished a case that day–you were writing out your report and sorting the files in order. “What did you say?...”

There was no response, only heavy breathing. A tear broke free and you were quick to swipe it away.

“Where is this coming from?” Your voice, though quivering, full–you knew he could hear it–he could hear how pathetic you sounded, “did something happen in Mexico?”

You closed your eyes for a minute, before setting the phone down and putting him on speaker. This wasn’t happening–this was–what even happened?

“Spencer,” your voice grew louder, “dammit–Spencer answer me! I deserve a damn explanation!” You slammed your hands on your desk near your phone, knocking a few papers to the floor.

“...I know,” he dared to whisper–and then like that, the line went dead.

You slid to the floor, wailing.

No calls, no messages–you’d sent around 20 throughout the night as you fell in and out of sleep. You’d left 5 voicemails and still–nothing. You tried him again this morning when you woke up, once when you got out of the shower, once before you left the house, and once before you headed into the office.

At this point, you were starting to accept the fact that maybe it really was over–but that didn’t make any sense. He hadn’t blocked you–that was something? Maybe? Or maybe you were being delusional.

There had to be something bigger behind this–something you were missing–there was no way–not the Spencer that you knew–would do something like this–

“I love you, you know that?” He kissed your exposed shoulder, it was cold and you wondered if he had accidentally left a window open.

A giggle escaped you and pushed him off your back, “Spence–I need to–” Another laugh cut off your sentence as he kissed your neck, “Come on seriously,” you gave him a once over, “I need to work.”

He had an old, tall lamp that stood in the corner of his den–you remember helping him pick it out from the thrift store–Spencer was a thrifting-obsessed maniac. But you loved that about him. “Work can wait for tomorrow,” he whined.

You raised an incredulous brow, “Do I ever say that when Penelope calls?” His apartment had that same fresh parchment smell it always seemed to have.

“Fine,” Spencer sighed, “do you want takeout?”

You gripped the back of his desk chair, grinning, “I thought you’d never ask.”

There had to be some sort of misunderstanding–Spencer wouldn’t just up and do something like this to you, not after the year you’d been together. You were expecting to take the next step with him–not a breakup–

“This is great, I’ll email you some of the newer cases and you can take your pick.”

“Actually,” you grimaced, “I was wondering if I could take a few days off, one or two would be great.”

Your boss assessed you, his eyes roamed over your tired eyes and a messy ponytail. “Everything alright?”

Your lips pressed together and you forced the corners to turn upward, “yep, just…tired…”

He sighed and leaned backward, crossing his hands on his belly, “I see, well yes, of course–take as many days as you need.”

Your smile brightened slightly, “thank you, Sir, really.”

He called your name when you were at the door, and you turned back, waiting, “just something to keep in mind…he’s not worth it. Don’t let it stress you out too much, you’re a great lawyer. Okay?”

You took a breath and closed your eyes. When they reopened, you fixed them on your boss, “Thank you, I know you’re just being kind. But with all due respect, Sir, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The Beauru wasn’t too far away from your office, perhaps a few blocks. You made it there in 15 minutes with traffic and were stepping through the doors in 20.

You tried Emily’s cell, but she didn’t pick up, and none of the other team members were responding either–you called Luke, but he didn’t pick up. You thanked the receptionist for your visitor pass, she’d grown accustomed to your presence.

You typically had lunch with Spencer when his team didn’t have a case, sometimes he’d surprise you at the office super early or incredibly late when he wasn’t supposed to get back until the next day.

Which is why none of this made any freaking sense.

“Penelope Garcia,” you pushed open her door, but she wasn’t there. Recognition crossed your face when you saw her little fidgets and gadgets spread across her desk. Her computer was open, but locked. You frowned and stepped away from it. Should you just wait here?

Spencer normally accompanied you whenever you were at the Beaureu, you felt out of place without him. You huffed a sigh and sat in her chair, Spencer wouldn’t be able to resist spinning himself, the thought made you chuckle, but just as quickly, the memory of him dumping you via phone call crossed your mind.

Over a fucking phone call? You set your purse off to the side and swiped up on your phone again. There was something seriously wrong. You would get to the bottom of this if it meant forcing it out of everyone here.

“Ah, perfect timing,” you spun around, meeting Penelope face to…well waist.

“Uh…hi,” she said.

“You hesitated–” you jabbed a finger at her and stood.

“I–” she looked behind her as if you were on a reality TV show and cameras were hiding in plain sight, “huh?–wha–no, no no no.” She stepped forward, “whywhatar–e you doing here?”

You averted your eyes to the floor, “It's Spencer…”

“Oh,” she nodded, “he’s…not here at the moment…but I will–I can call you or text! You…if that’s what you…want.”

“Garcia,” you didn’t want to be mean. You didn’t want to be rude–but being around profilers all the time, she should’ve known how to hide her lies better.

“Okay–fine,” she waved her hands in her face, chest deflating, “but you can’t tell anyone I told you–least of all Reid–he’d…” she grimaced, “...hate me for life.”

“Garcia–”

“–Okay, right, yeah, you wanna–” she motioned with her hands and walked forward.

You followed her with your gaze, widening your eyes expectantly, “…well?”

“Oh boy– you’re gonna wanna sit down for this.”

“If there’s another woman Garcia, just tell me, I can take it–

Her eyes narrowed, “Oh no–God no–Ried would never–he’s crah–zy about you…trust me he never shuts up–anyway,” she shook her head and flailed her arms, “What I’m trying to say is that Reid would never cheat–he isn’t that kind of person. He–

“So then why!?”

“Reids in prison!” Her hands covered her mouth and her eyes grew, “oh my gosh I just said that–he’s gonna–he’ll never forgive me–

Your heart plummeted, “Spencer’s in…prison…?”

Penelope coughed up his file pretty easily. After getting her to spill the big beans on what happened in Mexico–or at least what Spencer had been able to remember, it wasn’t too hard to convince her that if Spencer hated her already, what would it matter that she do anything else?

You sped home, pulled into your complex, and ran toward your apartment. Upon locking the door, you set your things on your couch and took his files to your room. At a time like like this you really wished you had a pet, someone to comfort you–were it not for the surrounding circumstances, you could rely on Spencer. He was always there.

Which is why–despite his shitty breakup call–you had to be here for him, when he was at his lowest.

But first, you needed to cry.

A load of salty fries and two water bottles later, you were tying your hair back into a bun and grabbing a red marker. The copies Penelope had made for you proved to have nothing other than a few written statements from first responders–most of which did not favor Spencer–the crime scene photos, that were hard to look at, though nothing of which you hadn’t seen before.

And finally, his statement–his recollection pulled together in a jumble of phrases and half-sentences. Your heart lapsed again. You pushed everything in front of you and rubbed your face. It was getting late. Almost eight, you most likely weren’t on his visitation list–and if he’d kept all of this from you–he most definitely wouldn’t be expecting you.

Which is exactly why you had just one last favor to ask of Penelope.

You defended minor criminals whom you believed innocent on most, if not all accounts–the majority of the cases you took on favored your clients. You had slowly been working your way up to higher crimes–your last case had been a series of robberies, resulting in a shootout, though no one had died, the second it crossed your screen, you knew you had to take it.

This was your first murder case–though it wasn’t officially yours…yet. You needed more information, but first and foremost, you needed Spencer to agree.

Millburn Correctional Facility wasn’t the place you dreamt about when you wanted to escape reality–but Spencer was here, and he didn’t look happy to see you. The buzzer sounded and the doors were opened, the prisoners failed into the room in a straight line.

When he turned to face you, his expression became unreadable, you knew something was off then, because Spencer was always readable to you. His skin looked ghostly pale and his eyes looked a bit sunken–but that was still your Spencer behind the glass.

“What are you doing here?” Was the first thing he asked upon picking up the phone.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?”

A breath passed between his lips where words should have been.

“Spencer, why didn’t you want me to know? Why did you–this is why you broke up with me, right?” He remained silent, eyes scanning something on your shirt, “am I right?”

He shook his head, “you shouldn’t be here.”

“How could I not come?” Exasperated, you slammed a hand onto the table in front of you, lowering your voice when you met the gazes of the other visitors.

“Who told you, Garcia?” He scoffed, “Did she also get you on my visitation list–is that–is that how you’re here?–”

“–The better question is why you didn’t tell me yourself.”

Spencer shook his head, “I can’t believe she would do that–

“You asked them?” You grit your teeth and take a calming breath, “you asked them to not tell me? That’s why no one’s been picking up my calls or messages?”

“That’s–

“–It’s what, Spencer?”

He went silent again.

You leaned forward, pressing the phone to your ear, “What happened in Mexico?”

“I can’t–I’m not allowed to discuss that with you–

“No,” you sat back and crossed your leg, the pencil skirt you wore riding up your thigh, “but you can with your lawyer.”

“What? No.” He shook his head, “No. I’m telling you right now, I will never agree to that.” He looked so set in his decision. Your bottom lip quivered a bit, you clamped down to keep it from giving you away.

“I’m not taking no for an answer.”

The buzzer sounded again, “I already have a lawyer.” He shoved the phone back on its hinges and stood, you followed.

“I don’t care,” you shouted through the glass. Spencer’s eyes looked glazed over, you wanted to hug him–you wanted to breathe him in and tell him everything would be alright. But somewhere in you felt him drifting away, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t reach him.

“Don’t come back.” These were his final words before he was taken away.

The chair provided you with some stability–though tears pricked the corner of your eyes as you watched the back of him disappear. “Ma’am, it’s time.” An officer led you and the other visitors back through the doors, toward the front.

You wouldn’t give up. This was your case. You would make it yours.

“We can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s…nothing personal–”

“–Except it,” Emily sighed, “I’m sorry,” she murmured your name, looking at the picture of sorrow, “I really am, but…” she pursed her lips and glanced away, “you’re not gonna let this go?”

“How could I?” You scoffed and stood, “This case is mine, Emily–whether you decide to help me is up to you.” You headed for the door, but Fiona, Spencer’s current lawyer called you back.

You glanced at her over your shoulder, waiting. She glanced away and blew out air, “I appreciate you thinking about me, and I’m glad to know you have this much confidence in me…”

“But…?” Emily slumped her shoulders and nodded, “All alright,” you spun around to face her, meeting her resolve with a heavy heart.

“If you can get Reid to agree, the case is yours.”

You let out a breath and dropped your firm stance, tears springing into the corners of your eyes. You looked up and blinked them away, “thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“I think I have a rather good idea.” Emily’s smile was faint but evident.

“And thank you, Fiona,” you tried for a smile, surprised to find it somewhat genuine.

“Don’t be. This case is going to be rough–”

“Oh, and paired with the fact that Reid will never agree to it.”

“Wow, thanks for the confidence, Emily.” You snorted out.

She held up her hands, “I’m sorry, good luck.”

Emily watched you slip behind her office door and down the steps of the Beaureu. “Do you think he really won’t accept?” Fiona mumbled.

Emily turned toward her old friend and pressed a thing to smile to her lips, shrugging, “I have no idea.”

Fiona sat back down and ran her hands through her hair, “Yeah, but, I can tell why she’s so persistent.”

“Okay, why?” Though Emily had an inkling of suspicion herself, she never wanted to assume anything.

“Because she loves him–with her whole heart.”

“People in love do stupid things,” Emily clicked her tongue.

“Sometimes I wish someone would love me enough to do stupid things for me.”

“It’s a both blessing and a curse.”

“I’ll raise to that.”

The two friends laughed as their morning coffee cups met.

The prison was icky–perhaps you should have worn sweats this time. You crossed our legs, trying to ignore the stares.

“I told you not to come back here.” Spencer hissed.

“You don’t own me, Spencer. You cannot tell me what to do–

“–No, but I can take you off my visitor list.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me–”

“–Spencer!” Gosh, what was wrong with him!?

Fragments of his voice seeped through the speaker on the old landline. A hairsbreadth of a word, a name–your name.

You watched the phone in horror. Why–Why? Wasn’t he letting you help him? Did he not think you were capable? “Spencer.” You said in response. “Spencer. Spencer. Spencer.”

“Dammit.” He cursed and a guard asked if you were alright, of course, you were alright. He would never hurt you. That wasn’t him. Prison wouldn’t change Spencer–there was no way–

“Tell me something.” You urged, “Tell me something outlandish–something no one would know about unless they were…you.”

He flinched. His pupils dilated and you could tell he was thinking of what to say next. “Why are you doing this?”

The tone in his voice unnerved you. It reached the cracks in your body that led to your soul. He sounded tired–so tired from the last you’d been to see him. You would not be pushed down. You wouldn’t give in–this wasn’t scrabble or chess–this was his life. How could he not see that?

“You know why.” You watched him–every tick, every muscle; every movement, you analyzed, and perhaps overanalyzed, but you didn’t know another person who wouldn’t in your situation.

“Yeah,” he whispered, “I know.”

Two weeks later you were taken off Spencer’s visitor list, which was madness because you had thought you’d had this conversation already.

“Penelope Garcia,” you spun around in her chair.

“AH–Gya, you’ve got to stop doing that. I half-expect you to be petting an evil cat in your lap.”

“Why did he take me off, what’s going on? Has there been a break in the case? Nothing had come across my desk since Tara’s cognitive with him.”

Penelope averted her eyes and fidgeted with the chunky rings on her fingers.

“Penelope I’m serious. Why does he keep doing this? What is going on? Something happened? Right? That’s why he doesn’t want me to see him? I drove down there yesterday and waited two hours just to be told I couldn’t see him.” You weren’t seething, but you were close to it.

“I–I don’t know, honestly.”

“But you know someone who does,” you stepped forward, “Penelope come on,” you fell against the wall, holding in all your emotional turmoil that has caused you to have freak accidents. “I’m losing him, Penelope.” You swallowed and slid to the floor of her office, “I’m losing myself.”

“Oh, oh sweetie,” she crouched down, pushing hair out of your eyes. Her fingers slid across your tear-stricken face, “...Emily. Emily knows.”

You took a moment and sat up, gulping down your breakdown, then breathing out, “Thank you.”

Up until the new documents crossed your desk, you neglected to see Spencer. You couldn’t–you didn’t want to. Not after you knew the reason behind why he’d taken you off the list.

It was too much–this entire situation was too much. Sometimes you had felt like you were bearing everything on your shoulders alone and no one was asking you to–no one cared because no one had wanted you on this case in the damned first place.

“Cat Adams, that name ring a bell?”

“The psycho hitwoman you guys captured months ago?”

Rossi and Emily exchanged glances, “yeah…” she motioned for you to sit down, “you’re going to want to sit for this.”

The lights in her office seemed to grow brighter with each sentence that flew from her mouth. Your soul stitching itself back together, that was how you felt when you left her office. You were on your way to Spencer once more, he was free. He didn’t do it.

Hi false testimony wasn’t Scratch playing games–he really was just too deluded. He wanted to remember so badly, his mind gave him false memories.

It disturbed you more than you would have liked to admit. Spencer was a prodigy–a genius in simple terms–and if even he couldn’t trust his own brain in times like these, could you ever trust yours?

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” Spencer paced back and forth in front of you; JJ stood in the corner watching.

“She’s right, Spence, we can find another way–”

“–No. No, I can do this.” He ran a hand over his face.

“Hey–hey–” you grabbed his shirt and cupped his jaw in one of your hands, “it’s okay. I’ll be right outside.”

Spencer breathed you in, were it not for the stress he would have melted in your hands. He dind’t know how to express to you how deeply he had come to love you. You were the sun on his rainy days, you were leaves when Fall took them from the trees. The ocean when he was stranded on a desert island.

He wanted to walk into his house and find you curled up with a book in your hands, using his favorite blanket to keep the cold from reaching your warmth. He wanted to see you wearing the only t-shirt he owned, the one he’d been given when he had graduated from MIT; he wanted to curl up beside you on his couch like a cat and nuzzle his head in your lap.

There were so many things he wanted, but he wasn’t sure if he deserved any of them. “I–” he wanted to say I love you, but it didn’t seem like enough.

“I know,” you whispered. “I know.”

a/n: a little quick write, i hope you enjoyed cari!!

@darkmatilda @theylovemelody @kennedy-brooke

#spencer reid #criminal minds #fanfic #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #doctor spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #bau team #dr reid #spencer reid imagine #written by katherine

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sakuraszn · 20 hours ago

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﹒♡ CONFESSION ft. katsuki bakugo

cw: lots of fluff, flustered bakugo. he’s such a cutie

The ramen shop was packed, the air filled with laughter, chatter, and the rich aroma of broth and grilled meat. The entire Class 1-A had squeezed into the cozy little restaurant to celebrate Todoroki’s recent jump in the hero rankings.

Bowls clinked, chopsticks clashed, and the energy was electric as the group indulged in warm food and lively conversation.

And at the center of it all—Katsuki Bakugo sat stiffly, arms crossed, scowling into his half-finished bowl of ramen like it had personally offended him.

Not because he wasn’t happy for Todoroki.

Not because the food was bad.

But because of you.

You, sitting just a few seats down, laughing at something uraraka had said, your eyes crinkling, shoulders shaking.

And it was driving him insane.

For weeks—no, months—Bakugo had been dealing with this… feeling. This stupid, irritating, suffocating feeling every time you were near him. It was different from the rivalry-fueled adrenaline he felt in battle, different from the pride he carried when he improved as a hero.

It was something he didn’t understand, something he couldn’t control.

And he hated that.

But tonight… tonight was the night he was going to do something about it.

Or at least, that’s what Kirishima and Sero had forced into his thick skull before they even walked into the restaurant.

“Dude, you’ve been acting weird around them for weeks.”

“Just tell them! What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Oh, I don’t know, idiots, maybe they laugh in my face and never talk to me again?!”

“Oh please, she would never—”

“Shut up. I’ll do it when I damn well feel like it.”

But now that he was here, surrounded by people, nerves bubbling in his gut like an active volcano, feeling like it was a lot harder than he expected.

“Bakugo,” Kirishima’s voice cut through his thoughts, low enough that only he could hear. “You good, bro?”

“I’m fine,” Bakugo growled, barely glancing up as he stabbed at his noodles with his chopsticks.

Kirishima raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? ‘Cause you haven’t insulted Kaminari in like ten minutes. I’m starting to get worried.”

Sero snickered. “Pretty sure that’s a new record.”

“Shut the hell up.”

Kirishima and Sero exchanged glances before the redhead leaned in again. “Are you actually gonna do it?”

Bakugo exhaled sharply, gripping his chopsticks so tight they nearly snapped.

“After this.” His voice was firm. Final.

Kirishima grinned, nudging Sero. “Told ya he’d do it.”

“Hey, I had faith,” Sero said, shrugging. “Just not a lot of faith.”

Bakugo shot them both a murderous glare, but before he could verbally rip them apart, Iida clapped his hands together, signaling for attention.

“If I may have everyone’s focus for a moment!” Iida said, standing up. “I’d like to propose a final toast to Todoroki!”

Todoroki, who had been quietly enjoying his meal, blinked as everyone raised their glasses. “Oh,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “Thank you.”

“To Todoroki climbing the ranks!” Iida declared.

“To Todoroki!” the class cheered, clinking their glasses together.

You turned, smiling at the dual-haired hero. “You really deserve it, Todoroki. We all knew you’d make it far.”

Todoroki’s lips curled into a small smile. “I appreciate that, Y/N.”

Bakugo scowled.

It wasn’t Todoroki’s fault, but hearing you say his name like that, so softly, so encouragingly—yeah, it bothered him.

Not that he’d ever admit it.

As the night wound down, people started finishing up their food, settling their bills, and stretching lazily before making their way out.

“Damn, that was good,” Kaminari sighed, rubbing his stomach. “I think I ate too much.”

Mina laughed. “You definitely ate too much.”

One by one, people began saying their goodbyes, heading off in different directions toward the dorms or home.

And that’s when Bakugo knew—this was his moment.

You were slipping on your jacket, adjusting your scarf when he finally forced himself to move.

Kirishima shot him a thumbs-up from across the room, and Sero winked.

Bakugo rolled his eyes before stomping over to you, heart hammering wildly in his chest.

“Oi.”

You looked up at him, blinking. “Oh, hey, Bakugo! What’s up?”

He inhaled sharply through his nose. Okay. Just say it. Say it, dumbass.

But the words wouldn’t come out.

Instead, he found himself standing there like an idiot, fists clenched at his sides, staring at you.

You tilted your head, confused. “Uh… you okay?”

His jaw tensed. This was already going horribly.

And then—because frustration was the only thing that ever helped him push past his nerves—he blurted out:

“Are you really so oblivious?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

He groaned, running a hand through his hair before pointing at you aggressively. “You! You’re oblivious! Have you seriously not noticed?!”

Your confusion deepened. “Noticed what?”

He exhaled sharply, cheeks burning. His whole body felt like it was about to explode.

He had two options: Keep making a fool of himself or just say it and get it over with.

He squeezed his eyes shut, inhaled, and then—

“I like you, dumbass!”

Silence.

Bakugo cracked one eye open, stomach twisting into knots.

You were staring at him.

Not laughing. Not recoiling. Just… staring.

Then—

“You… like me?”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “That’s what I just said, idiot.”

A slow smile crept onto your lips. “You like me?”

His face turned an even darker shade of red. “Yes! Stop making me say it, damn it!”

You let out a laugh—light, airy, and filled with something he couldn’t quite place. “Wow,” you said, grinning. “I never thought I’d hear you say that.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t easy.” His voice was gruff, but his hands were twitching at his sides, resisting the urge to do something—anything—with them.

You stepped closer, peering up at him. “You know… I like you too.”

Bakugo’s brain short-circuited.

“…What?”

You laughed again, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I like you, Bakugo. Have for a while now.”

His heart stopped.

Then jump-started at triple speed.

“What?”

You shrugged, smirking. “What? Are you oblivious?”

His eye twitched. “You—you little—”

You poked his cheek and laughed. “Aw, don’t be embarrassed kat’ I’m just messin with ya.”

He exploded.

Not literally. But his entire soul combusted.

“Shut the hell up!” he barked, face practically glowing red.

But you just laughed again, softer this time. Fond. “So… now what?”

He swallowed, heart still racing. “Now… now you let me walk you home, dumbass.”

You beamed. “That sounds nice.”

And as you started walking together, Bakugo felt something strange settle in his chest.

Warm. Light.

Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

#✎ᝰ — sakuraszn !#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha x reader #bnha x reader #katsuki bakugo #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo x black reader #x reader #sero hanta #eijiro kirishima #denki kaminari #mina ashido #ochako uraraka

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nonranghaes · 3 days ago

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hyunjin feels the way your hand curls around his elbow, fingers pressing into his skin as you gently tug to get his attention. it flits away from the person he's talking to all too easily, and all it takes is you asking for a moment alone for him to agree to it. his heart is fluttering in his chest now as you guide him to the balcony, sliding the door open a little further so the two of you can slip through and stand out in the night air. it's slightly chilly, but he doesn't mind. not when he's next to you, a few steps away from the glass doors so that the two of you have privacy.

"so?" you rock on your heels, a little visibly nervous now. "did you like it?"

"i loved it." his voice is soft as he gazes at you. you'd thrown together a little party for him on short notice, complete with a batch of cupcakes that he found out from felix that you made for him yourself. "you didn't have to throw me a party."

you frown a little. "did you not want one?"

"that's not what i meant." he lowers himself onto the little outdoor sofa he helped chris pull up here an eternity ago, all for the promise of a warm meal when everyone else was too busy to help. the two had ended up sitting out here for hours, just enjoying the view. of course chris would let you use his place for this: it's his part in this plan, in making hyunjin feel loved. "i just meant... i know you did this last minute. and... i know it stressed you out. you don't have to put yourself through that."

"you're worth it." you settle next to him, hands in your lap. "i just... i really like spending time with you, hyunjin. and i like doing things for you, because you're sweet, and you're good at saying things i struggle with. you deserve the world." you look at him, gaze soft. there's something warm lingering in it.

and hyunjin realizes while you're rambling that things aren't as one-sided as he once thought. it's somewhere between you mentioning how much you love being around him when he lets you watch him indulge in his art and when you start talking about how you needed today to go perfect for him because he deserves it that it just hits him.

so he kisses you. just on the cheek (he's a romantic deep down, he thinks, and he doesn't want his first kiss with you to be right here where anyone could peek out and see and immediately yell back that the idiots have finally figured it out), but his lips linger against your skin for a few extra selfish seconds, and he thinks he can see the sparks as your brain short-circuits for a second when you go completely silent.

you turn to face him after a moment. "you...?"

he nods after a moment. "i do." his fingers curl around your hand, and he doesn't think much of it as he fans his fingers around his own wrist to slide a bracelet from his wrist to yours. it suits you more than him. "can i pick where we go?"

and you just nod. "i'd love that." but before either of you can move, you lean in, pressing a kiss against his cheek. "happy birthday, silly. i'm glad you're here."

#nonranghaes.thoughts #nonranghaes.skz #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids imagine #skz imagine #stray kids x you #skz x you #stray kids imagines #hwang hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin x you #hwang hyunjin imagine #hwang hyunjin fluff #hyunjin fluff #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #me when the drabble gets longer than i intend: oops

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zepskies · 9 hours ago

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Yay!!! Omg your comments here couldn't have come at a better time (after a long ass day of unfruitful apartment search lol). But how I know you raged at Part 2 AND parts of Part 1 🤣🤣. That Dean gif is TOO accurate for this chapter lmfaoo.

Plus Sam's interjections 😆:

First of all, I loooove Fools Rush In and haven't watched it in ages! You've been reminding me of all the good 2000s rom-coms lately 😎💕

Aww it's one of my favorite movies ever and I had just rewatched it recently before I got this request, so that's why it was probably subconsciously just embedded in my brain for If I Stay. 😂 YES the 90s and 2000s were the best for rom-coms I think. 💗💗

And "I Can't Help Falling in Love" was my wedding song (but the twenty one pilots ukulele cover). Since we got married in Vegas, I didn't want to go too Elvis, but still give a nod to it 😆

Omg really??? I like that version too, that's so fun! lol I get not wanting to be too "on the nose" with it. 😂😂 I was actually listening to the whole soundtrack for Fools Rush In and thought "I Can't Help Falling in Love" was the perfect song theme, along with "It's Now or Never" for Part 2. 😆❤️❤️

This was such a vivid image, btw. Instantly tells you everything you need to know about the bride and groom, and I'm fully agreeing with Dean's toast skills 😂

Ahh thank you hahaa! This was one of those little setup moments I had fun with, imagining Sam/Eileen as the power couple (Dean as his usual self), while the reader is more Dean's wavelength -- good burgers and delicious cake. 😜

He's the devil lol. Sam should've locked him up 😂

*snorts* Right? He has no business being allowed out with civilized people. 🤣🤣

And all her rambling made me realy fall in love with her! She's so sweet and a genuinely good human through and through ❤️

Awww I love that so much, thank you!! She's a softie for sure. 🥹❤️ I feel like when you work with elementary kids, you tend to have that kind of heart that's just big for everyone, and I felt like Dean would find that endearing (if fun to tease lol). 💓

This is such amazing foreshadowing btw 😂😂

LMFAO - exactlyyyyy. 😏

This was my first heart drop lol. I knew after that, they'd never get back to it 🙈

Ugh fuckin' Dean, amirite?! You just want him to get his head out of his ass. 😆

Sam went full bitch mode. It's my favorite Sam 😆

Girl saaaame. 👏🏽 Bitch Face activated. lol~

I fucking SCREAMED during this! You don't know how much. I wanted to shake that stupid boy till the earth trembled 🤣🤣

Ikr?? lmao what a dummy.

But omg you're so valid for this -- thank you for calling the reader out too!:

And I hated her for lying here instead of downright saying "Hey, I don't do casual. This was a one time exception for me" because then Dean could've said "Oh no, I meant a real date." This story is an amazing accumulation of what ifs. My mind was spinning 😅

She's certainly not perfect in this either. It's that way of kind of protecting herself from embarrassment, maybe trying to let him down easy too. 😅 And Dean not trying hard enough to make it sound like a date! This story really is full of what ifs and missed opportunities. I'm sorry for making your head spin on this one, friend! 😆😆

Aww, Benny, we truly don't deserve you 😭😭

Benny is literally the best and I can't bring myself to write him any other way. 😭

But he reacted in full Dean fashion. I never doubted he wouldn't be there for her ❤️ (Although not breaking up with Lisa was so incredibly idiotic. The frustrations that came from this gaaaah 😂)

LOL first of all, that Ross gif just about killed me. 🤣🤣 Inside Dean was like:

But he really pulled through for the reader, at least in this moment! He might be a hot mess, but he's still a good man with a big heart. 💗💗

He was so sweet here 😭❤️ My heart burst. And again, I just wanted him to dump Lisa and fucking be with reader grrrr

Ugh Goddd we talked about Lisa over on Patreon so I fully understand your hatred of her in Part 1. 😆 But that moment at the end with Dean and reader on the side of the road was honestly my favorite to write. There's a lot left unspoken, and if he'd just realize how much he already likes her (and was honest about it), maybe all the drama in Part 2 wouldn't have had to happen. 🤣🤣

Dude, fully triggered a Swiftie here at the end 🤣 But honestly fitting since this entire story pretty much has the drama and angst of a ten minute break up song 😆❤️ With that, I leave you till the next part where there will be just a row of gifs with people screaming and sobbing 🤪

Oooh forgive me I'm not a Swiftie (though I do like a couple of her songs!), so I'm sorry for unintentionally triggering you on that one! LOL but you're so right -- this whole fic is like an angsty breakup song (with a surprise happy ending 😝).

I can't wait to catch up with you after Part 2 drops!!

IF I STAY - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized!Reader

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

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

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

Word Count: 8.7K

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

❤️‍🔥 If I Stay Masterlist

Part 1: Fools Rush In

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

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

Your eyes widen. Oh…my…God…

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

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

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

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

Ooooh, right. That’s what happened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A man whore, are the words Eileen used.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You giggle against his lips. “Really?”

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

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

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

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

“Oh yeah?” he asks.

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

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

You smile. “Only if I get a turn.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You utter a breathy laugh.

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

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

“Aw, fuck,” he grunts.

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

Goddamn…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dean means to call you.

He really does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.”

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

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

“Hey, sweetheart. How are you?”

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

“Dean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your blush comes swiftly again, burning in your cheeks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Today, you’re absolutely stunning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Am I good?” he asks.

“Very,” you reply.

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

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

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

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

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

“I need to talk to you,” you whisper.

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

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

“Hey, are you okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Dean, I’m pregnant,” you confess.

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s…it’s me? It’s mine?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You know the feeling.

But he asks the most important question.

“What do you want to do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He holds you a bit tighter in response.

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

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

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

“Are you okay?” he asks knowingly.

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

“Yeah, I think I will be,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You tease him with a wink.

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

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

You give him a trembling smile through your tears.

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

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

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

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

“What kind of thing?”

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

But shit, here it goes.

“Well…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No such luck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Something wrong?” he asks.

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

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

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

“I’m okay,” you tell Dean.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dean!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Next Time in Part 2:

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

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

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

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

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

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

⋆˙⟡ Read Part 2 on Patreon now!

⋆˙⟡ Coming to Tumblr/Ao3 on 3/23

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kuurechr · 3 days ago

Text

notes : post star plasma trauma

It had been a couple of months since everything that had happened. It hadn't blown over, really. Suguru and Satoru had definitely changed. Shoko was, thankfully, still the same. Nanami and Yu were still in a fun trio with you.

But things were stable. And calm.

You never wanted to grow up. You never wanted to be called on another mission again, honestly.

There was no point in thinking about that today, though. Today was important. More important than any other day in the year.

It was Satoru's birthday.

Satoru's birth is revered and considered important for many reasons in the jujutsu world. It's something that is taught in the modern section of the curriculum. It changed the course of many people's lives.

But at Jujutsu Tech, no one thought of it that way.

"Happy birthday Satoru!" Shoko and Suguru cheered as Satoru walked into class.

Yaga smiled as Satoru sat down.

Ten gifts on his desk.

Three from the people in the room, four from other teachers and students and three from the first years.

"This is a lot," Satoru grinned.

And in truth, it wasn't. Not to Satoru Gojou, who'd gotten anything he'd wanted in the past 17 years of his life. He usually got at least 50 presents for his birthday every year; his family or other people who wanted to buy his favour.

Those presents didn't do anything for him though. They didn't make him feel happy, appreciated or loved.

The ones on his desk did.

Yaga, Suguru and Shoko let him take his time because they knew that; Satoru appreciated the love he got from these gifts.

He looked through every bag and tag. The one from Shoko had a pack of cigarettes inside, which Satoru threw back at her. Yaga also confiscated them.

Suguru bought him all the beauty products that Satoru was running low on (that he could afford), and wrote a heartfelt letter to his as well. Satoru couldn't contain his smile.

Others had given him basic birthday presents, some clothes and candies, even some cash, along with short cards.

You had only given him a letter though.

And even that, Satoru appreciated more than anything.

"Happy birthday!!" You and the other Jujutsu Tech students screamed as Satoru walked into his room. You had cleaned and decorated his room- which had very little to hide, thankfully.

"Thank you!" Satoru grinned, accepting the tackle that Suguru welcomed him with.

The day was filled with cake, and Satoru sneakily putting icing on everyone's faces to take embarrassing pictures, only unable to get Mei Mei.

In yours, you were able to get icing on his cheek as he took the picture.

Satoru lay back on his bed, in his messy room, as he looked through the pictures. He told the others that they didn't need to stay and clean- he wanted to, after everything they'd done.

He didn't like cleaning though.

He wanted to sit in it longer. The feeling of pure joy. Everyone talking loudly in a messy room, eating cake, with no worries. It had been a while since he'd felt this happy.

That was why he decided to knock on your door.

"Satoru?" You told him to come in before even asking him why he was at your door. "Are you okay?"

You cared too much.

"Of course I am," he answered. "I wanted to thank you."

"Yeah, of course." He stayed by your door, as you looked up at him in your night wear. "You deserved something better, but that was all I could put together with short notice, Yaga's been getting on my ass about"-

"Seriously." You looked up at him. Satoru didn't have his glasses on. He put his hands on your shoulders, leaning. "This was the best thing anyone's given to me. Ever."

"Did you open the letter?" You asked, blinking as water filled your lash line. Satoru smiled, meekly. "You weren't"-

"I just had a feeling. Thank you for saying that."

You looked down. "Of course, yeah. I was just being honest."

"Being honest is hard." You chuckled, humming in agreement. "And I'm going to try it too."

You raised your head a little.

"I've had a hard... well, it's been weird. Very weird. And you've really helped me the past couple of months. But... but it's more than that. I like being around you. I like talking to you. I feel happy with you. And... I just want to be with you more often."

"That's how I feel too," you answered quickly.

Satoru nodded, licking his lips, looking down. "But..." Your shoulders sank. "I don't think you should put up with me. Not right now. I think we should give this time. Because I need to feel better without you, too."

There was a long pause.

"Is... is that okay?"

This is the most unsure you've ever seen Satoru. You had known him for a long time. You truly got to know him once you began attending Jujutsu Tech. And since the Plasma Vessel assignment, you've started to see parts of him that you thought didn't exist.

You sighed in relief. "That's perfectly fine, Satoru. I want you to do that. Feel better about yourself. Feel comfortable with life again. And if you still like me, maybe we... we can think about that then. For now, Toru, just focus on yourself."

Satoru's heart sped up at the nickname. No one had called him that before. Unless it was in a mocking way. This was comforting, relaxing, soothing.

You had some doubt about him liking you in the future. But Satoru was unsure if this feeling could ever go away.

This feeling for you.

Happy birthday Satoru!

I hope you have an amazing day. You deserve it more than anyone else I know. Your year has been hard and I know it's taken a toll on you. I hope that this year, you don't feel this stress again. I hope I can ease your pain.

I think you're a great person. I'm so glad I know you so well now. I'm happy that you were born. Thank you for blessing me with your presence, oh great Satoru (figured I needed to put a joke in here- it's too sappy).

No seriously. Let's be serious for once.

You are a blessing. To me, to Suguru, to Shoko. To so many people. I know you were raised being told the opposite. But so many people care for you. I love you. And hey, I know that's not all of what matters in the world, but I hope it means something to you. Because you just being Satoru, plain Satoru, means the world to me.

#gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #jjk

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glitter-stained · 15 hours ago

Text

Look I don't like RHATO #25 for many reasons but if you're gonna talk about the beatdown and you don't like it you can just say "that issue had terrible writing" or "that's not my batman he would never do that"

You don't have to defend him, this isn't his first instance of abuse with any of his children or jason in particular but he's such a big and old character I understand not wanting to see him being an abusive parent ever (though in that case I advise you to just not engage in his and Jason's mainline relationship at all, at the very least not red hood!jason)

What does really really grate me though, is people trying to defend it because those reasonings are so hypocritical it's clear they just don't like the way Jason's character challenges the bat-status quo and that ends up literally just being abuse justification rhetoric again and again and I'm tired. If you're gonna be a hater can you not do it in a way that makes you sound like the parent who stands to the side watching their partner "discipline" the kid with a belt because "the kid is a bad kid that deserves to be punished."

-well batman is a hero and Jason is a criminal what was he supposed to do he can't play favourites! So, I call Batman a hero when he acts like it but sure, Batman is a vigilante. He fights criminals. Have y'all ever heard of this little term called "conflict of interest"? Yk when your personal connection to the case you're working means you are more likely to lose your cool and let your emotions affect your judgement beyond measure so it's important to delegate? That thing? Batman is always showing up in everyone's comic, the outlaws can have some reinforcement being called to handle Jason's case for once this is absurd, Bruce is more compromised than the cia agent i've been pegging for months in exchange for data. Fathers shouldn't have to arrest their sons.

-well Jason deserved it! Punitive justice, especially fucking punitive violence, is the enemy. It doesn't work for children and it doesn't work on adults and it's a ridiculous approach to harm reduction and recidivism prevention. Well, killing might work, but i don't reckon rhato#25 batman defenders would defend this*. I understand the cathartic appeal of wanting to see fictional characters you dislike punished, really, and the desire for vengeance in the form of punitive justice is normal and perfectly understandable; but however valid this emotion is, that doesn't mean actually enacting this brutality becomes the correct course of actions. Idk how else to say it but however evil you think the victim is it's still not okay to victim-blame. And sure, I can tell fiction from reality and know this isn't a real person, but when people say stuff like that it still tells me that the person who is saying this stuff believes that it's not abuse if the victim is evil. And when you're there, it only takes a bit of cognitive bias and dissonance and carefully worded narrative bending for the victim to be categorised evil and denied the respect of their pain.

(*this isn't about the death penalty. I do not support state violence)

People are so concerned with hating Jason's character and wanting to see him punished for his crimes they will bend things backwards to justify that a father brutally beating down his son in an extremely vulnerable moment while the son doesn't fight back isn't abuse because the character is inherently bad and thus deserves to be violently punished. And then we wonder why victims blame themselves or explain "it's different because it's me so the situation is unique, i'm a special case because i'm wrong", when this is the classic mentality in our societies.

Truly a mystery indeed

#dc #jason todd #dc comics #red hood #anti batman #anti bruce wayne #bruce wayne critical #batman critical #fandom critical #pissed off again #moral judgement is not permission to abuse #jfc

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avelera · 2 days ago

Note

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

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

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

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

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

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

1 ) Consider your setting and characters.

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

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

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

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

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

2 ) Consider what people would say instead.

And when considering what someone would say, consider:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#writing #writing advice #maggie rambles #hopefully some of this is helpful??

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youaremy-parkfilter · 3 days ago

Text

Something about ' you're my park filter '

I'm so random lol...my mind just went like that and Yes!

'you're my park filter' i mean this

211013 cutey sexy lovely jimin's bday. Like every others he also went live on his bday. Little boy felt little awkward since it was a long time after his life. He talked a lot...but still something was off. Like a life line option, he called jungkook to join him on his bday live. Within a fraction of time he joined too, wished him many times, even pretend to bring the cake ... the frequent hand shakes (i have no counts lol)

And when you notice, they talked like everything on the earth from him mom's kimchi to his new hairstyle-my poor boy accidentally spilled.

Then our president hobi enters, boom we got a shy jiminie there. Teases over teases..I wish I could see their faces . Only because of hobi, we got to know who prepared that cake ? Who prepared that creative caption on that cake? Hello Mr.jeon you even took that cake in your hand when you entered the studio before, did you even care to ask 'hey how is the cake, did you like it' and so on ?? No . When only jhope was curious about the lines, jungkook was fast to convey the message of that line thats jimin's birthday and jimin's solo song filter and he combined it. Thats when jimin came to know it was from jungkook. Such a warm moment imo🥹

Are words the only thing in a relationship which can convey love? What if actions can speak more than words? What if actions can bring so much warmth?

￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣

People are so stubborn that he didn't say this at jimin's face,that at jimin's face. People really need words !? More than 10 years and he have showed us more than enough that he care a lot about jimin. Even from their debut era, when the requirements where so not acceptable by him, he did it for the sake of doing it . That to push jimin away for fun, to make fun of him. From jimin's words we already know that jungkook used to say sorry for all these during night while the other pretend to sleep so he could listen. You think jungkook don't care ? He didn't care ? He won't care ? No, thats not the case. He is a pure soul, was a shy baby even to make eye contact with army from the beginning. As they grew up, he was inspired to be a dancer rather than a singer. He decided on that. They have discussed how jimin was shocked when he heard about this and how he wanted jungkook to be a singer, as an important member in their group like everyone. You think jungkook will never care about that person who stood always by his side day or night, ups or downs, happiness or sadness. You think Jungkook is some kind of ungreatful brat? That might be in your delulu fanfiction. In reality (what they have shown us, real reality is unknown to fans ) he seems very kind, generous, soft and care every other person. Too polite, a gentleman! So what made you think that jungkook never care about jimin ? Just tell me one reason why ? Just one !?

Keep the 'ship' aside. I never use that term to disrespect their bond. Never !

Now just think, when you say that jungkook never care about jimin, aren't you indirectly pointing out that he is a brat? An arrogant? The doe eyed boy which carry a galaxy in his eyes, who grew infront of ARMY, who claimed he loves ARMY the more - is arrogant? Is he faking?? How can you even bring this up ?? How can you ever think like that??

Whats your problem when it comes to jimin and jungkook? Why can't you digest the fact that they click each other easily. Just why ? Will it affect the rotation of earth?? Will it cause global warming 2 times more ? Just why CAN'T YOU accept the FACT ??

I want this fandom normalise jikook like every other duo ! No freaking ship !! Their bond should be respected! Their love should be valued ...

♡

i don't know how I reached this far, just talking about them and how fandom treats them fumes me like anything hahaha..

So.... My park filter, yeah ! You both deserve all the happiness and love. Keep going my loves

#jimin and jungkook #mingukkie #minkook #jikook #kookmin #bts jimin #bts jungkook

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sturnsblogs · 16 hours ago

Text

MEET AND GREET. PART 2.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Ever since that night, you and Chris had been texting nonstop. And maybe… calling too.

What started as casual conversations had turned into late-night FaceTime calls, inside jokes, and him finding every excuse to talk to you. It had been a month now, and Chris had been begging to take you on a date. But every time he asked, you had the same answer—“I wish, but I’m so busy with work.”

That didn’t stop him, though. If anything, it only made him more persistent.

And the paragraphs? Oh, the paragraphs.

Chris had a way with words, and he made sure you knew exactly how much he wanted to see you.

—

Chris: I swear, ma, you’re actually dodging me at this point. Just say you don’t wanna go out with me, and I’ll take my L like a man.

Y/N: Chris, stopppp. You know I want to, but I literally don’t have the time. I’m drowning in work.

Chris: I’d rather you be drowning in my love instead, but go off, I guess.

Y/N: Not you being dramatic.

Chris: Dramatic?? Baby, you got me out here writing paragraphs like I’m in a Wattpad story.

Y/N: Oh yeah? Prove it.

A few minutes passed before your phone buzzed again, and when you opened the message, your heart melted.

—

Chris: You don’t get it, baby. I’m actually obsessed with you. Like, I wake up, and my first thought is, “Damn, I wonder what Y/N’s doing.” And then I go through my day annoyed because you’re too busy to text me back as much as I want you to. And don’t get me started on the nights when I really wanna call you, but you’re passed out from work.

Chris: And yeah, I know I’m being dramatic, but can you blame me?? You’re you. You got me out here grinning at my phone like an idiot whenever you text me. It’s disgusting. I hate it. (I love it, actually. But whatever.)

Chris: So yeah, I’m gonna keep begging until you let me take you on a date, because let’s be honest—you owe me at this point. I deserve compensation for my emotional damage.

—

You stared at the screen, your stomach flipping.

Y/N: Chris, wtf. Why is this the cutest thing I’ve ever read.

Chris: Because I’m the cutest person you’ve ever met. Duh.

Y/N: I cannot stand you.

Chris: Then sit on my lap instead.

Your jaw dropped.

Y/N: CHRIS??

Chris: What?? I’m just tryna give you options, baby.

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling.

Y/N: Fine. I’ll think about it.

Chris: Nah, mama. You’re gonna do more than think. I’m getting that date. Watch.

—

Later That Night—FaceTime Call

You were lying in bed, barely keeping your eyes open as your phone balanced on your pillow, FaceTime open with Chris. He was propped up against his headboard, messy curls falling into his eyes, one arm behind his head as he stared at you through the screen.

“You’re literally about to pass out,” he teased, voice soft, amused.

“I’m not,” you argued, blinking slowly. “Maybe a little.”

Chris chuckled, shaking his head. “You work too much, ma. You need a break.”

You sighed, rubbing your eyes. “I know, but I’m just—”

Chris cut you off with a dramatic groan. “If you say ‘busy with work’ one more time, I swear to God—Y/N, please. Let me take you out. Just once.”

You bit your lip, feeling a little guilty. He had been asking for a month now. And honestly? You wanted to go out with him. More than anything.

You took a deep breath, hesitating before finally saying, “Okay.”

Chris blinked. “Wait, what?”

You smiled sleepily. “I finally found a day. For our date.”

His face lit up. “Shut up. You serious?”

“I’m serious.”

Chris sat up immediately, running a hand through his hair, grinning at the camera. “Nah, you’re lying. Say it again.”

You giggled. “I finally found time for our date, Chris.”

He let out a loud, dramatic “FINALLY!” before throwing his head back against his pillow. “Oh my God, I was this close to giving up.”

“You were not giving up,” you said, laughing.

Chris smirked. “You’re right. I wasn’t. But I was about to start plotting. Like, I was gonna show up at your job with flowers and make you feel so bad that you’d have no choice but to say yes.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you just agreed to a date with me.”

You shook your head, trying to fight back the grin on your face. “Yeah, yeah. I did.”

Chris’ voice softened a little, his playful smirk fading into something more genuine. “Good. ‘Cause I can’t wait to see you, baby.”

Your heart melted.

“Me too,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Chris smiled at you through the screen, eyes warm, lazy. “Alright, mama. Go to sleep before you pass out mid-call. I’ll text you tomorrow.”

You yawned, nodding. “Fine. But you better not back out now.”

Chris scoffed. “Oh, please. I waited a month for this. I’m locking you in.”

You giggled, giving him a sleepy wave. “Goodnight, Chris.”

“Night, baby.”

And as soon as the call ended, you buried your face into your pillow, grinning like an idiot.

You had a date with Chris Sturniolo.

—

The week passed in a blur, and before you knew it, Saturday had arrived—the day of your long-awaited date with Chris.

The morning had been filled with back-and-forth texts, Chris making sure you hadn’t suddenly changed your mind, and you teasing him for acting like you were about to ghost him.

—

Chris: Still locked in for tonight, right?

Y/N: Chris. We literally confirmed this 10 times already.

Chris: Yeah, but you could change your mind in the last 5 minutes and say you’re “too busy with work” again.

Y/N: I swear on everything, I will block you.

Chris: That’s crazy ‘cause you’re tryna block me from your heart too.

Y/N: GOODBYE.

Chris: Nah, ma. I’ll see you at 7. Wear something cute.

—

And now, here you were—standing in front of your mirror, heart pounding as you put the final touches on your outfit.

You had taken your time getting ready, wanting to look perfect. A little extra effort, just to make sure Chris would notice.

Meanwhile, across town, Chris was having a crisis of his own.

He stood in front of his closet, running a hand through his hair, debating between two shirts. “Why the fuck am I nervous?” he muttered to himself.

Nick, sprawled on Chris’s bed, rolled his eyes. “Because you’ve been obsessed with her for a month, dude. Just wear the first one, it’s fine.”

Chris groaned but eventually settled on a casual, but clean-cut outfit—something effortless but still put together. He stared at himself in the mirror, exhaling.

“This is nothing,” he told himself. “Just a date.”

Then, under his breath, “With the girl I’ve been thinking about every damn day.”

—

The Restaurant

The place Chris had picked was small and tucked away—a cozy little restaurant with dim lighting, warm ambiance, and the kind of charm that made it feel personal. He got there first, his leg bouncing slightly as he checked his phone, waiting for your text.

And then, finally—

Y/N: I’m here.

Chris barely had time to process before the door opened, and you stepped inside.

His breath hitched.

He had seen you through FaceTime, seen pictures, but this? Seeing you walk toward him, dressed up just for him? It was different.

You were gorgeous.

Chris immediately stood up, his smirk softening into something warmer, more genuine. His eyes ran over you, his head tilting slightly in admiration before he exhaled dramatically.

“Damn, ma.”

You bit your lip, suddenly shy under his gaze. “What?”

Chris shook his head, stepping closer. “You actually expect me to sit through this whole dinner pretending I’m normal about how good you look right now?”

Your face heated. “Chris—”

“Nah, for real, baby,” he said, grinning. “You’re stunning. You did this for me?”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. “Maybe.”

Chris leaned in a little, dropping his voice. “I like maybe.”

You laughed softly, feeling your nerves melt away as he pulled out your chair for you. “Gentleman behavior? I’m impressed.”

Chris winked, sliding into his seat across from you. “Only for you, pretty girl.”

And with that, the night had only just begun.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

A/N- What do we think?

My beautiful babies- @blushsturns @starrii-sturns @izzylovesmatt @chrisslut04 @jimmasterflashh @oopsiedaisydeer @csturnioloswifey @just-a-girl-1 @sturdyyolo @sturnslvtt @sturnbows @sturniolosrtewsexy @chriss-slutt @franticroads @thecrawlys @ribbonlovergirl @cass-sturn

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolos #sturniolo fanfic #chris sturiolo fanfic #sturniolo #chris sturniolo fic #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris x reader #touchy chris #chris

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sunsets12 · 2 days ago

Note

could you talk a bit more about the poem from the most recent chapter??

so beautiful!

I'm assuming this is Finnick's poem and not the song at the end of part 4 (if you are asking about the song at the end, honestly the genius page can probably explain it better than me)

Finnick's poem is an edited excerpt from Doll Parts by Hole. The lead singer of Hole was interested in Kurt Cobain and wrote this song about "her insecurity that someone as wonderful to her as him could be interested in her" (via Genius) , but I'll dissect it from Finnick's POV:

I am doll eyes, doll mouth, doll legs

I am doll arms, big veins, dog bait

These lines are about how he feels dehumanized by the Capitol, and how they use him as a doll essentially (both to play with and a sex doll). Big veins is a reference to heroin use, and while Finnick (in my fic) has never used heroin, it is a reference to how a lot of Victors turn to various substances to get through the day.

"Dog bait" again refers to the dehumanization of district citizens, and can be seen as an almost literal reference towards mutts in the arena or more metaphorical reference to how district citizens are thrown out and abused for whatever the Capitol needs.

Side note: "Dog bait," is actually "dog beg" in the original song, but it looks like Hole changed it to "dog bait" in their Peel Session. Idk, I've always heard the line as dog bait, and like that better, so I used that.

They really want you, they really do

They really want you, and I do too

And this is where we can see Percy come into play. Percy is an infamous Victor, both very attractive, unattainable, and a brutal and highly skilled fighter. Almost seeming inhuman in his capabilities. "They" in the first line refers to the Capitol, so by saying "and I do too," Finnick is almost equating himself to them in a derogatory way. We'll see this a bit more in the Finnick fic, but he has a LOT of self-esteem problems, especially when it comes to romantic relationships. He doesn't see himself as being worthy of Percy because of the abuse and exploitation he's suffered at the hands of the Capitol. He views Percy as too good for him.

I want to be the one with the most cake

Once again, this line hits at how he wants to love Percy and be with him, but he feels like he doesn't deserve it. It also eludes to "you can't have your cake and eat it too" so even though he's *technically* with Percy, they can't really be together openly because of the Capitol.

I love him so much, it just turns to rage

He loves Percy, and it's frustrating because they can't openly be together/he doesn't feel like he can fully give himself to Percy

I fake it so true I am beyond fake

Finnick is pretty much constantly wearing a mask (with minor exceptions when he's only around other Victors), so this goes back to him constantly feeling like he's not a real person/is a doll

Someday you will ache like I ache

He wants the Capitol to suffer. He wants retribution, even if he doesn't think it will actually happen

#the shark in your water #asks #tw drugs

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itwasntimethatdidit40 · 2 days ago

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Teaching is hard work.

Pairing: Tess Servopoulos x f!reader Rating: +18, MDNI, NSFW Words count: 3282 Summary: You ask your neighbor Tess for help because you’re about to meet your online crush, will it remain only a friendly help? Tags: AU, no outbreak, No Joel this time, queen Tess deserves her own moment to shine. This has been sitting in my drafts for at least two months, I finally finished it today and I'm going to post it immediately before thinking about it for another two months. Written for people who fancy women so it’s especially dedicated to my bi, lesbian and pan friends along with anyone of you who knows women are meant to be worshipped. If this is not for you, it's okay, I'll write something else sooner or later. WLW sex, WLW nsfw, oral (f! receiving), nipples play, scissoring, swearing, dirty talk, unspecified age gap (Tess is a little bit older than you), neighbor!Tess, bi!reader and bi!Tess, mention of Tess's son (alive and well in this), reader has barely no description, she has female genitalia and is slightly described to be a little curvy if you squint, switching pov, no proofreading, no beta, we're going down with this ship, I'm very sorry for any mistake. Let me know if you think I forgot some major tag and I'll add it right away. Thanks to anyone who will read, I really hope you'll like it. Comments and reblog are always appreciated ❤️

“So you want me to teach you how to pleasure a woman?”

Tess couldn’t believe her ears when you blurted out that, in the middle of her living room on a casual Saturday.

Jesus, you were her son’s babysitter and yes, you became friends with time but you never had such an intimate conversation, of course not.

What led you to ask her for advice?

“I met a girl online” you candidly admitted “And I like her so much but I…I’ve never been with a girl before and she asked me to visit her and…I don’t know, Tess, I’m scared of making a fool of myself”

Your voice was high pitched, anxious, a chirping sound like the cutest bird.

You were so sweet, all embarrassed looking at your shoes. You had never looked so awkward before. She had known you for some years now, ever since you started going around the neighborhood knocking on doors and offering to babysit for extra money.

You were skilled, kind and patient with her son, you always seemed to know what others needed before they told you.

That's why she was surprised to see you like this.

“Hey” she tried to say “It’s okay, you know, you’re actually right, being with a girl is different”

“How?” You asked, eyes wide, eager to learn.

She sighed and finally accepted her role as a mentor “Well, boys are quite easy to please, you know? You’ve been with them, right?”

She remembered Scott and Jeff and Robert and Luke after them, you’ve been quite successful in your college years.

All of them had come to pick you up from her house sooner or later.

You nodded “yeah.”

“With a girl, you gotta be focused on her, you gotta be sure to really listen to what she wants”

Tess had experience, she dated girls before and you know that, she never made her bisexuality a secret, despite what her older neighbors think.

It’s their problem, Tess doesn’t care a bit.

Her boyfriend was out of the picture as soon as she got pregnant, the bastard, at your age she was a single woman just trying to do her best for her son and she wouldn’t let anyone to make her feel guilty because she tried to have fun once in a while.

She saw you panicking, probably thinking you were not good enough and she tried to reassure you right away:

“Hey, you can do that, don’t worry.” She said, lacing her hand on you thigh “no need to be that nervous”

You sighed “okay, but how I make sure to touch her the right way?”

Your puppy eyes were almost too much to bear with, Tess felt a pang in her stomach.

“Just…show me, please” you exhaled.

Tess wasn’t sure what you were asking for but she tried to somehow make it clear for you.

“Well, uhm… try this, you go in really slowly with your index finger and curl it like this” her finger was suspended in the air in front of you “and then you do this” Tess explained, repeatedly tapping at nothing, rhythmically moving the second phalanx “see? You really have to make sure to reach that spongy spot inside her and tickling it. You’ll see she’s going to see heaven if you do this”

She smiled, stroking your arm, trying to give you comfort.

“Oh, yes, that’s basically the same I do when I…uhm…you know” you murmured.

“Yes, exactly. You’ve done this before to yourself, there’s no way you could do this wrong. And then maybe you could add another finger if she’s fine with that”

“Okay. Yeah, but…” you lowered your eyes again seeming uncertain, on the verge of asking something that really made you uncomfortable.

“Every person is different, how can I be sure that what I do to myself is fine for another woman?”

Tess held her breath, you were basically asking for a practical demonstration.

That’s what you were doing, right?

“Do you want me to show you?” She couldn’t believe what she just said.

What the hell was happening?

“I…yeah.” You admitted shyly “I don’t know how to use my tongue either” Tess winced, shifting on the couch like it was suddenly uncomfortable.

“What?”

“Please” you cried “I don’t want for this girl to think I’m a dumbass. I want to make sure to give her the time of her life and I don’t have anyone else to ask for help”

“Fuck” she muttered “I can’t dear, I mean, come on”

“I wouldn’t ask if I had other options. I’m running out of time, I’m supposed to visit her next weekend… please Tess?”

Tess was torn, she always found you cute but you were younger than her and basically her employer.

“This is so fucked up” she retorted

“I know” you whined, your eyes full of tears, you really were that desperate to make a good impression towards that girl.

“Okay” she sighed “but that doesn’t mean anything, alright? I’m going to show you just because you need to learn. No strings attached and this is not going to happen again.”

“Hopefully I’ll have a girlfriend next week so” you shrugged “don’t worry, I want nothing more than to be good for her”

You crossed your fingers and smiled a little and Tess’ heart melted.

You were so sweet.

Good thing her son was at an arranged playdate and the other mom wouldn’t drop him before 7pm.

You had some time.

“Let’s go to my bedroom”

She took your hand and led you through the corridor.

“Sit here” she gestured her king size bed.

You did and she looked at you for a moment.

“Okay then. First thing, we need to get comfortable.”

She sat on the edge, next to you.

“Is it okay if I put my hand on your hip?”

You nodded. ‘Sure.’

She slid her fingers along the waistband of your jeans and lingered on the softness of your side.

Curvy and lovely, your skin poking between your shirt and your pants was velvet under her digits.

Your breath hitched and you quivered a little bit.

“Relax” she whispered, raising her hand to your breast “it’s going to be okay”

“Now, what’s important is the built up, even more important than the act itself because you wanna make sure to really engrain in her brain that she needs you more than anything and you’ll be the one giving her the most incredible pleasure, do you get me?”

You nodded.

“Okay, so, you really have to go for foreplay first. Caress her, and be gentle at first. Create anticipation, make her want you to do more and more. Take your time, make her feel like you’re enjoying every inch of her body”

She had taken your breasts in her hand, marveling at how they perfectly filled her palms. You had let out a sigh as she whispered to you “would you take your shirt off, darling?”

With your consent, she had taken the lower edge and helped you remove it from your head.

Your breasts were embraced by a black lace balconette bra, almost risking to spill out as they stood before her eyes.

Soft and beautiful, that’s what you were.

She took back one of your tits in her hand and gently brushed your nipple through the fabric.

It stiffen immediately and Tess couldn’t help but licking her lower lip.

You mewl, eyes fixed on hers.

“Does it feel good?”

“Yeah” you purred starting to relax under her touch.

“Do that to her and you’ll see, she’ll be clay in your hands” she smiled and you smiled back, the most lovely smirk she had ever seen.

“Okay” you breathe and you don’t even seem embarrassed anymore but eager.

“Do you mind taking this off too?”

“No” You unhooked your bra like you weren't even thinking anymore, she helped you by sliding the straps down your arms and tossing it to the side on the bed.

Your naked breasts took her breath away. They were perfect, round, your skin smelled like heaven, your nipples were stiffen and delicious in front of her eyes.

Saliva pooling in her mouth, she felt a jolt in her spine, an invisible force driving her to latch her lips on them and stay there sucking and nibbling.

She tried to keep her thinking straight, she had to teach you, what about that stupid arousal invading her entire body?

So fucking wrong.

“Now, what you have to do is make sure to take care of her tits. A little nipple play is always good, you know? Do you play with your tits, baby?”

“Yeah” you shamelessly admitted “every time. It makes me real wet”

Tess smiled. You were so much better than you thought.

“Good. Now playing with her could be slightly different ‘cause you don’t know how much pressure does she likes when you grab them in your hands or if she likes her nipples to be tugged or twisted or anything. So you gotta ask nicely, okay?”

You swallowed and nodded, eyes focused on her.

And then you asked “how do you do that?”

Tess felt her heart stumping behind her ribcage “You want me to show you?”

That was a fucking dream. She wanted to play with your beautiful breasts the minute they were bare in front of her.

You said yes. Yes, of course.

Tess took one of them in her palm, weighed it and then lowered her lips to latch onto your hardened bud.

The way it fitted in her mouth, your velvet skin, your smell, all of it pushed her deeply into her lust.

Jesus, you were so damn hot and inviting,

She wasn’t expecting anything like that but then you moaned at her licking your nipple, her tongue swirling on it and she lose it.

She began sucking it. Sucking it strong and willingly like she had a purpose. Purpose of making you squirm real bad underneath her.

A fresh slick of arousal dampen her panties, immediately followed by adrenaline rushing to her head.

“Fuck” you groaned “Tess this is so… damn”

She smirked on your skin, your nipple still trapped between her teeth.

She pulled it and saw your eyes glossy and your lips forming a big o and she knew it.

You were losing it too.

She moved to the other breast, feeling you eagerly push it into her mouth like you couldn’t wait.

She teased and lick and sucked, swirling her tongue around your areola feeling like she was starved eating your tits like her last meal, wishing for you to come from just that.

You moaned again, praising her, burying your hand in her hair.

“Fuck, I wish I was good like you at doing this”

She parted from you whispering on your skin “you are babe, I’m sure you can do exactly the same or even better. She’s going to be so smitten with you. Wanna try? I’m going to be sincere and tell you if you’re doing it right”

You hesitated for a moment before saying, “Maybe later, I'd like you to show me how to eat pussy first.” You lowered your eyes in intimidation, looking at your erect nipples coated in Tess' saliva, letting out a long sigh.

Tess looked at you chuckling, and ran her knuckles across your cheek “as you wish, young lady. Lay down”

_________________________________

The room was silent, the bed soft and comfortable, it smelled of fabric softener and Tess' perfume, a fragrance of apple, jasmine and vanilla, with a hint of raspberry and lychee that made you think of summer, sunny days, fairs. You had never smelled anything like it, it was persistent but not annoying and it announced her presence as soon as she entered a room.

It was original and had personality, just like her.

Everything was bathed in a comfortable semi-darkness even though it was afternoon. The curtains were drawn and the sun only just managed to enter, refracting on the floor in long golden streaks and reflecting on the large mirror hanging above the dresser.

Tess lowered herself onto your body, starting at your neck, planting little kisses on your skin, slowly moving down to your chest, to the cleft between your breasts, to your stomach, further and further down until she reached the elastic of your panties. She gently ran her tongue over them, teasing you, never taking her eyes off your face.

You had always admired Tess, how she faced life with courage, how she had made her way from nothing and built a future for her son.

The free way in which she lived her sexuality was something else you admired about her.

She was gorgeous and exuded an impossible to miss charisma, the aura of a natural leader.

A brown-haired goddess between your thighs.

Tess's lips landed on your panties, just above your clit, her tongue darting between them for just a moment and making you gasp.

“Do you like it, babe?” She asked softly.

“Yeah” you replied under your breath.

“Look, eating pussy you gotta pay attention to all her reactions, if you see that she likes something you are doing, don't stop and start doing something else. Stay on that point for a while. Make her feel like pleasing her is truly your mission. Worshipping her will lead you to success”

She licked a long strip from the bottom up, over the fabric, and you gasped, clasping one hand in her hair, arching your back, silently begging for more friction. “Like right now, for example, I can see that you like this. So I'll do it again and again, until you beg me to fuck you.”

Staring straight into your eyes, she said, “Is this what you want? You want my fingers deep inside your tight pussy, don't you?”

You nodded. Yeah. It all started because you needed someone to explain things to you, someone to make you feel less of a dork, but at that moment Tess, disheveled and ferine like a wildcat between your legs with her hazel eyes fixed on you, was all you could think about.

And she was right.

You wanted more.

You wanted everything.

Another lick made you tingle, and you saw a mischievous smile spread across her face in spite of herself.

“Please” you whined. “Please what, baby?”

Her tongue traced the contours of your lips, occasionally sinking between them, always through your now-soaked panties.

“Take off my panties” you said with barely any strength.

Your head was light, dizzy, a jumble of feelings stirred in your chest.

Tess smiled, her fingers grasped the sides of your panties and slowly pulled them down to your ankles, then tossed them onto the floor.

“Someone is hungry, huh? Look at that messy pussy. She’s weeping. It’s all for me or you’re thinking about that other girl?”

“I…i don’t know” you tried to say.

Tess raised an eyebrow, wryly looking at you: “Oh, you don't know? Really? I guess your kitty knows better”

She leaned over your clit, sucking it between her lips. Hard.

You let out a loud moan, unable to control yourself, pulling Tess's hair so hard that you were afraid you'd pull out a lock.

“Oh yes, baby, I've always liked it rough” she whispered, before latching again on your clit giving you no respite.

You were so wet that her fingers easily entered you. Tess did exactly as she had explained to you a little earlier, curving them inside you until she reached that soft spot that made you see stars, and she began to thrust her fingers there.

And it worked. Exactly like she said. Better than anything any boy had ever done to you.

She continued to suck your clit, alternating with licks that made you tense up like a violin string, you could feel the sweat sliding down your spine. It was like she was making out with your cunt.

Her steady hands on your thighs held you obscenely open for her to feast on you.

Your pussy was crying out to be rammed by her mouth, more and more.

You bit your lip to hold back but your body betrayed you in every way.

“C'mon, baby, just let go.” She urged.

You could no longer hide it or pull back, she was driving you crazy.

“Fuck” you wailed.

“Yeah, I know” she cooed “It feels good. And you taste amazing, you know that? Let me tell you, if that girl doesn't want to eat your pussy every day of her life, she's really stupid.”

Your orgasm suddenly washed over you, like waves dragging you away, your eyes closed, and a long hoarse cry that came from the back of your throat.

Tess continued to eat you until she felt you relax, finally breathing normally. You opened your eyes to see her again between your legs, her chin soaked with your essence, her lips glossy and swollen.

She looked like she wasn't finished with you yet.

“You know, there's something else I can teach you”

You stared at her, wide-eyed. “What?”

The girl you'd met online had definitely unlocked something inside you, but you were no longer sure that you needed Tess just for her advice. Maybe there was more to it. Maybe, at that moment, she was giving you what you'd always wanted and kept secret even from yourself.

“Have you ever tried scissoring?”

“No” you purred shyly.

“While we're at it, we'll fix this too”

Tess winked at you, before quickly taking off her leggings and panties. You could just about see them, plain black panties with a thin lace trim.

Her pussy was right in front of your eyes, and it was exactly as you had imagined. Almost completely shaved, with the exception of a thin strip in the center, carefully trimmed.

Perfect outie pussy.

A trickle of her desire wet her lips and you instinctively licked yours.

She sat down between your thighs, maneuvering you like a doll, one of her legs on top of yours.

You knew it was over for you the moment your clits kissed.

A lewd, wet kiss.

She started to buck her hips into you. Slowly at first, making you savor the gliding, her hand firmly on your thigh.

It was a feeling you had never experienced before, a wetness you had never felt before, the sensation of your lips touching, of your clits sliding over each other, it made your head spin.

You too began to move your hips without even realizing it, writhing against her, feeling that all you wanted was to give her pleasure, make her come against you, and end up drenched in her juices.

The obscene squelching of your clashing cunts filled the room, bouncing off the walls, you bit your lips but you wanted to scream.

Scream for her.

“Tess” you stuttered with a throaty voice you’ve never heard coming out of you before.

And then you started repeating her name like a litany.

“Yeah baby, just like that. Keep going, give it all to me” she moaned.

You both ended up sweating and roaring at each other like some feral animals.

It ended all too soon, your second orgasm crushing on you like an earthquake, leaving you quivering and exhausted.

You lied on the bed trying to regain a normal breath while Tess collapsed on the opposite side, overcome by her pleasure.

“Fuck” she muttered “teaching is really hard work”

You laughed.

She approached you, leaving a kiss on your cheek. “Do you think you're ready now?”

You smiled tenderly “I think I've never been so ready in my life, thanks to you”

taglist (no pressure at all): @aurorawritestoescape , @baronessvonglitter , @milla-frenchy, @joelmillerisapunk , @probablyreadinsmut , @almostempty , @harriedandharassed , @thundermartini

#tess servopoulos #tess the last of us #tess x female reader #tess x f!reader #tess servopoulos x f!reader #tess tlou #the last of us #the last of us fic #wlw fiction

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