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[qualitygts]

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[vanishingscreens]

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[seumyo]

bakugou’s never been happier to do this alongside you.

The sound of Bakugou’s ringtone—specifically one for those calls—the kind that only came when villains decided to cause trouble at ungodly hours—jolted him awake on the second ring. The kind that meant neither of you were getting any more sleep.

He groaned loudly, his voice raspy from sleep. “Son of a—” He didn’t even finish the curse as he snatched his phone and squinted at the glowing screen. “What the hell is it this time?”

Beside him, you stirred, mumbling groggily as you pulled the blanket over your head. “Is it another one?” you asked sleepily, your voice muffled.

Bakugou ignored you for the moment, his phone pressed to his ear as the barking voice of the dispatcher filled the room. His brows furrowed deeper, his scowl turning deadly as he listened to the report. “Villains in the old district? At this hour? Those bastards don’t sleep or somethin’? Yeah, yeah—I got it. We’ll be there.”

He slammed the phone down on the bed, letting out a deep sigh as he scrubbed a hand down his face. “Goddamn it. I hate this stupid job.”

You let out a small laugh beneath the blanket. “Liar.”

Bakugou glared at the lump of fabric that was you—his partner. “What’d you just say?”

“You heard me,” you teased, peeking out just enough for him to see the drowsy smile on your face—which can barely be seen with the dim light of the moonlight outside the bedroom window. “You love this job, Kats. You’d combust without it.”

“Like hell I would,” he muttered, standing up and running a hand through his already messy hair. “I’m only outta bed ‘cause I don’t trust those extras not to screw up.”

“You’re up because you want to. Big difference.”

“Whatever.” Bakugou shot you a glance over his shoulder. “Hurry your ass up. Don’t got time for you to sit there all cozy like we ain’t got villains to blow up.”

You didn’t budge.

“Give me two minutes. I just need to—hey!”

Bakugou had moved without warning, stomping back to the bed and scooping you up in one fluid motion. You let out a surprised squeak as he effortlessly picked you up, blanket and all, and cradled you against his chest.

“Katsuki!” you protested, trying to wriggle free. “What are you doing?!”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, barely sparing you a glance as he carried you toward the door. “You’re slow as hell when you’re tired. This’ll save time.”

“You can’t just carry me every time we get called in!”

“Watch me.”

He stomped down the hallway, his bare feet thudding against the wooden floor, while his voice dipped into a string of curses. “Stupid villains. Stupid middle-of-the-night calls. Stupid hero work. I’m gonna blast whoever’s causing this into the next century.”

You couldn’t hold back your laughter now, your head falling back against his shoulder. “You sound like a cranky old man.”

“Keep talkin’ and I’m droppin’ you,” Bakugou threatened. “Why the hell are you laughin’? Think this is funny?”

“Very. You’re like my happy pill.”

“Yeah? And you’re heavy,” he grumbled, though the way he carried you effortlessly said otherwise.

“Excuse me?!”

A corner of Bakugou’s mouth quirked up as he looked down at you, amusement flickering in his eyes despite his perpetual scowl. “I didn’t say nothin’. Quit wastin’ time.”

You smiled against his shoulder, listening to him grumble about this whole ordeal. He sounded pissed—like the world had wronged him personally by waking you two up—but you could see the truth in his actions. His grip was steady, his movements careful as he carried you to where your hero gear was waiting. It was such a Bakugou thing to do: grumble and complain, but still take care of you without hesitation.

By the time you make it to the gear room, Bakugou carefully sets you down on your feet. You wobbled slightly from the sudden shift, and Bakugou’s hand instinctively shot out to steady you.

“Oi, don’t fall on me now.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you murmured, rubbing your eyes before turning to grab your hero suit. “You’re way too grumpy for someone who just carried me all the way here. Admit it—you love being a hero.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“You do, though,” you teased, already halfway into your gear. “I know you do.”

Bakugou clicked his tongue, but he didn’t argue. Instead, his voice softened just enough to make you pause. “I wouldn’t do this job if it meant leavin’ you to deal with shit alone.”

You stilled, looking at him from the corner of your eye. He was standing by the doorway now, fully suited up and waiting for you, his face set in his usual determined scowl. But something about the way he looked at you, about the small, unspoken truths in his words, made your chest feel warm.

“Y’know, you’re so sweet to me at the most inconvenient times. Why can’t you say things like that when I don’t look like I’ve been ran over by a truck because I’m sleep deprived?”

“Die.”

“Is that your way of saying you love me too, Ka-tsu-ki?”

He scoffed. “Hurry up, dumbass. We’ve got work to do.”

“Ha! You didn’t deny it, so I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Shut up, you’re annonyin’.”

You smiled faintly, finishing the last of your preparations before walking over to him. “But you love me.”

“Of fucking course,” Bakugou said, opening the door and stepping out into the brisk night air. “Let’s go. Those idiots could only hold out for so long ‘cause they really had to call us in.”

You followed close behind, still smiling to yourself as you fell into step next to him. Despite his grumbles, despite the curses under his breath, Bakugou had never been happier. Because at the end of the day, no matter how ungodly the hour, you were always there—and as far as he was concerned, nothing else mattered.

Because he loves this job—especially when he’s doing it alongside you.

SEUMYO © 2024, PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[tbaluver]

hello! I hope you're having a nice day ✨

can I request LADS men reaction to MC sending them videos of their baby like it's either them saying their first words or anything adorable since the men are away from home for quite a while and MC and their baby misses them ehe (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

Sending Them Baby Videos When They're Away- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader genre: fluff fluff c/w: for sylus there's mention of him using his evol to x_x someone, no gore tho a/n: hihi anonnie! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ this was such a cute concept to write and i had to write this immediately (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ ) ‧º but i dunno if i did this justice so if it didnt, you alr know just pretend this doesn't exist ദ്ദി ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ ) anyways them as papas are such a cute concept i have so much of it in my drafts that i'll post soon ): enjoy reading and have a nice day or night anonnie ! (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

He was sent away for a mission for a couple days due to fluctuations of Wanderers in the area. Unfortunately if he was by himself, it wouldn’t have taken days but his teammates were dragging him down.

His phone chimes, signaling a notification from you. Opening his phone he sees a video you had sent him.

“Rahhh!!” Your son squeals, hitting his toy sword at your plushies that you both won a couple years ago. Your laughter was in the background, making his lips tug into a smile. He missed you both as he watched the video. He was quick to text you back.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎: is he protecting mommy

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎: it seems i have taught him well

He clicked off his phone, determination bursting through him. He wants to go back home. The warmth of your laughter and the sight of your son, drove him forward. This mission dragged on way too long, he was going to finish this himself.

He moved swiftly, slashing his sword with precision. The hours flew by as well as the number of Wanderers. Without any word to his teammates from the mission, he headed out. He couldn’t wait to see the look on you and your son's face when he walked through the door.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎:  i’m on my way home now. does our son need a partner to protect you?

Zayne:

Zayne isn’t easily distracted except when it comes to you and a box of macaroons. Now if it was you and a box of macaroons that would be a deadly combo.

During his meetings or when he’s about to head into a surgery, he always lets you know if he’s occupied so you know he won’t be able to reply right away. But right after all of that is over, he’ll immediately check his phone for you and ignore any of his notifications.

But when he’s in his office, the moment he receives a message from you, he can’t help but glance away from the reports he needs to file or send over to the nurses. Your messages always pull him in no matter what.

He unlocks his phone and is instantly met with another cute video of your baby daughter. She’s wearing his freshly clean white coat, which she had pulled from the laundry basket. She’s also wearing his oversized shoes that are comically too big for her tiny feet. “Papa!” She squeals, her face lighting up with a silly smile as she looks into the camera.

A soft laugh escapes his lips and he can’t help but replay the video a couple more times, his heart melting each time. It’s as if he can hear her giggles through the screen. With a wide smile curling up on his lips, he texts you back.

☃︎ ♡: How adorable. I think we need to get her one that’s her size

☃︎ ♡: I have one more break after I finish this report. I can call you both when I finish.

☃︎ ♡: I’ll finish up my work quickly so I can get home sooner.

Rafayel:

He didn’t want to be at this art exhibition, or quite frankly any art exhibition if you weren’t there. All he could think about was being home with you and the babies. Leaving them behind felt like one of the hardest things he could ever do.

You sent him a cute and chaotic video while he was away. “Quick, show daddy what you just did!” you exclaimed, as you aimed the camera at your baby waving a crayon clumsily in their tiny hands while you cheered with enthusiasm. “Glub! gub gub!”

He couldn’t help but let out a wide smile, his little baby was going to be just like their papa, an artist in the making and even better they were learning Glubglubnese. The video ends up with your other baby blowing bubbles to their sibling and they start wailing.

Watching the video, his heart ached with longing for his family. He was a father. He was your husband and he shouldn’t have to miss out on all these precious moments he has wanted with you for a long time. He wanted to be there in person and experience the joy with you.

He texts you while making long strides to the exit, ignoring all the reporters and critics that tried to approach him.

𓆟:  tell them to stop being cute until i get back

𓆟: cutie im on my way

𓆟: i miss you and my little glub glubs

𓆟: getting the fastest plane ticket there rn

𓆟: see you soon cutie ( ˘ ³˘)

Sylus:

He was away for another business deal for a couple of days, a business deal that shouldn’t have taken this long and Sylus was getting irritated. “Mr. Sylus, we’re really sorry! Please give us a couple more days! We don’t know what happened to half of the inventory!” The man begged with desperation on his face but Sylus did not have the time for a couple more days.

Before Sylus could respond, his phone chimed with a familiar notification. He raises a finger, signaling for a moment while Luke and Kieran keep the restricted men distracted.

Opening his phone, he was met with an adorable video of your baby daughter. She was dressing up Mephisto in her doll clothes, her giggles flooding through the speakers of his phone. “Caw....” Mephisto caws defeatedly, his head drooping down. “Caw! caw!” Your daughter squeals, her laughter and yours was infectious as she lifts him up in the air, dashing around the living room with pure joy.

He couldn’t help but chuckle, a smile tugging at his lips as he watches the video. Once he clicked off his phone, a sigh escaped his lips. His heart ached with so much longing for you both and he couldn’t bear missing even more precious moments with you and your baby girl.

As Luke and Kieran snicker, stepping aside, crimson swirls began to surround the men, slowly suffocating them until they vanished into thin air.

“Send their team another warning. We’re going home.”

𓅪: The business deal is finally finished. I apologize for the wait, sweetie.

𓅪: I’ll call you both before I get on the plane. I hope I didn't miss much.

𓅪: I'll pick up more doll clothes for her on my way back.

Once he was in his private jet he couldn’t wait to have you and his baby girl in his arms again.

[2tarbell]

MEAN SOMETHING — KOOK!READER

only one person knew how to handle your drunk best friend…

(drabble. © 2tarbell 2024)

you were going to end rafe cameron.

on the one night, the one night, you wanted some alone time and to be away from the boys, he decided to get sloppy drunk. of course, your other best friends have no idea how to take care of a drunk person and you honestly wondered how they even took care of themselves. which left you to slide on some slippers and drive over.

now as you stood before the front door in your victoria’s secret yoga pants and pink sweater, waiting for topper to answer it, you wonder why you let yourself get pulled into shit like this.

it’s rafe, that’s why. that’s always the reason why.

the door swings open to reveal a frazzled topper and kelce, you would’ve laughed at them if you weren’t so pissed. they took in your attire, the prissiness still evident even your pajamas. but you looked slightly disheveled, something they didn’t see often. both boys snorted at the sight of your bunny slippers but you quickly cut them off.

“say anything and i’ll chop your dicks off. where is he?” you seethed.

your tone brooked no argument and they both stepped aside to let you sashay in. kelce had his keys in hand as he mumbled something about rafe being ‘in his room’ and ‘on the floor’.

god was really testing you tonight.

you shooed them away, locking up the door behind them and stomping up the stairs. just praying he wasn’t choking on his own vomit or something.

the sight that greeted you literally made you pause and take out your phone, nails tapping the screen as you took a picture. rafe cameron, laying on his back and seemingly enthralled by the ceiling fan. it was genuinely amusing and kind of adorable. but the bottle of whiskey sitting next to him reminded you of your duty.

“rafe. sit up.”

his head snapped up at your voice, a boyish grin on his lips. he looked younger when he was drunk, stress and age having melted away.

“heeey, baby, whaddaya doin’ hereee?” he slurred, a low rumbly version of his voice.

you stepped closer, standing over him. hands on your hips as you looked down at him. his eyes were hardly open but you didn’t miss how they trailed down your figure.

“making sure you don’t die — get up.” the words were sharp in attempt to make him seriously listen.

he giggled and sighed, pushing up to rest on his elbows. the movement had his head spinning but he didn’t give a shit. just needed a better look at his pretty best friend.

“oh, y’know it turns me on when y’talk to me like that…”

you poked his side with your foot a bit harshly. patience wearing thin, you glared down at him.

“you’re such a pain in my ass—“

“mmm, love your ass,” he hummed but then groaned when you kicked him again, harder.

“rafe, i am so serious right now—“

with a childish huff of annoyance, he lifted himself off the ground but then immediately flopped face first on his bed. small victories, small victories.

you were happy to see dumb and dumber had enough brains to leave a water bottle with him. you grabbed it off the nightstand and perched at the edge of the bed next to the drunken 6’2 baby. a delicate hand rubbed his back; despite being annoyed at him for getting this drunk, you were still worried.

“hey, babe, c’mon — turn over. you need to drink some water…”

rafe unceremoniously flipped over, long legs dangling off the side of the bed. he sat up slowly and groaned at each movement. the room was nonstop spinning, so he decided to focus on one thing: your face. a smile worked its way onto his lips before he could stop himself.

you looked so beautiful, all worried and doting on him. blue eyes stared at your features (like he didn’t already have them committed to memory). the tent in his pant caught your eye and he watched as your eyes rolled. despite the memories of nights spent tangled up with him, you couldn’t believe the audacity he had.

“no way you’re seriously hard right now—“

“mmm, can’t control it around you.”

his smirk was frustrating you, in more ways than one. no, you wouldn’t do anything while he was this drunk. he knows that. yet he still tries to lean up and—

the water bottle presses to his lips, you trying to ease him into drinking and ignoring the bulge you’ve become all too familiar with. his betrayed expression made you snicker. this wasn’t the time to let fantasies run wild. kicking off your slippers and tucking your legs beneath you, you leaned closer.

“c’mon, rafe,” your voice was sweet, so sweet. he couldn’t do anything but take large gulps of water, trying to please you. he was a dumbass but you smiled at his eager approach.

“okay, okay — slow down before you jus’ throw it all up…” the giggle you let out settled right into his bones. rafe found himself wondering why you were just friends. he thought that a lot lately.

“go out with me.”

he definitely thought he sounded more debonair than he did. in reality, half of the words he spoke just flowed into each other. but he kept that low drawl that always sent you reeling. you couldn’t do this, couldn’t approach that territory. not now. you’d be happy if you never did.

“rafe—“ you tensed up.

“no, seriously. you’re— you’re gorgeous and y’put up with me. i mean, c’mon—“

the deep sting to your heart wasn’t something new. but it felt stronger this time, more painful. with a sigh, you set the water back down on his nightstand, brushing his hair back as he continues to rant.

“i think we get along great. y’know y’ten times better than— than any other chick i’ve been with— shit, any chick on the island—“

a bittersweet smile graced your lips. rafe noticed they were devoid of any pink or gloss. you really got out of bed just to come and take care of him? that’s gotta mean something.

“c’mon, doll face… gimme a reason y’shouldn’t.”

his words trailed off into contented hums when you started to scratch his scalp. boys are so easy. but boys aren’t rafe.

“i’m a bitch.” the resignation in your voice was telling. being a bitch, being called one wasn’t something new to you. these days you accepted the word with pride, reclaiming it in a sense. but you knew rafe, kook boys, and hell even pogue boys didn’t want a bitch. you were too much for most people.

the scoff he let out made you smile, cheeks dimpling and fingers twisting his hair. he shook his head with a frown and rested a large hand on your waist.

“nooo, y’not.” the words punctuated with a squeeze.

“i am—“

rafe reached up and cupped the back of your neck, silencing any chance to speak or protest. you know what that touch meant: ‘i’m talking now’.

“you’re beautiful. and— and smart and good.” his whispered words are drunken and mumbled. but you felt like your heart might explode, a heat pushing through your veins and replacing the blood with rafe.

rafe, rafe, rafe.

“best girl i know... yeah?” he urges, squeezing the back of your neck. your heart thumps faster at the pressure. you nod, because what else can you do when he speaks to you like that?

with a satisfied hum, he smiles. the action completely softens his face and it blows you away every time. you’re pressed closer, leaning over him, and he’s staring at you like he can’t believe you’re real.

“that’s my girl…”

you can’t tell who leans in first, but soon you’re locking lips with your best friend. something that shouldn’t be familiar and exhilarating as it is, but continues to be every single time. the kiss that you share is more gentle than you two have ever been with each other. in your complicated relationship, it was always hot and rough.

but this… this was slow and comforting. he tasted like whiskey and you let your lips part just slightly, a tentative lick of his tongue into the warmth of your mouth made you feel weak.

rafe was alight with want. he’d always wanted you. wanted to be in your presence. wanted to hear your voice. wanted to have you beneath him. wanted to be beneath you. he wanted it all. maybe it was the whiskey talking, but nothing had ever felt more right than when your hand cupped his cheek and your lips where on his.

“you should sleep…” your voice was hardly recognizable, soft and hesitant against his lips. he didn’t have to to ask, you knew he wanted you to stay. and you know you couldn’t have left if you wanted to.

so, you let him wrap his arms around you and nestled into his neck. and when he starts to snore like he always denies he does, you felt like things might be okay. despite it all, he was gonna be your rafe.

[lebab]

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[hometoursandotherstuff]

Whatever this 1960 thing in Running Springs, CA is, it has a pending sale. 2bds, 1ba, 784 sq. ft. $250k. We have to see what it looks like inside.

Entering the front door. OK, so here we see the sweeping ceilings matching the roof lines. Neat how they got a carpet to match the shapes & colors. Looks like a kitchen counter to the left of the entrance.

They've got a TV there, but no chairs in front of it. Is that a cut-out square in the entrance and a step up? That's weird.

Cute little retro fireplace in the corner, but I don't see any seating, if this is supposed to be the living room.

Looking at the space from the kitchen, there doesn't appear to be much room for anything. This sink strikes me as odd- is that a drain on top?

So, this is the kitchen. Dated.

The standard, preferred oak cabinets of the period, laminate counters, no dishwasher. This would be adorable if it was upgraded.

Since there's only room for 2 chairs at the counter, maybe the space where you come thru the door is meant for a table. Kind of odd that they put the sink there, instead of by the window.

Maybe this room is meant to be the living room, then. There isn't a whole wall and it looks like they also have a portable screen. This home is confusing.

Okay, so this must be the living room with access to the deck.

Then this would be the primary bedroom. Nice, if you like angular spaces.

The bath has cool gray fixtures. Too bad they couldn't get a toilet seat to match.

Plus, a fiberglass tub unit.

The patio isn't very wide and features a large shed.

The shed appears to be raised. There's no garage, but lots of room for parking.

The yard is fenced, but needs work, b/c it's just dirt, and there's also a smaller shed.

The 7,182 sq ft lot appears to go uphill.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Company that makes millions spying on students will get to sue a whistleblower

Yesterday, the Court of Appeal for British Columbia handed down a jaw-droppingly stupid and terrible decision, rejecting the whistleblower Ian Linkletter’s claim that he was engaged in legitimate criticism when he linked to freely available materials from the ed-tech surveillance company Proctorio:

https://www.bccourts.ca/jdb-txt/ca/23/01/2023BCCA0160.htm

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/20/links-arent-performances/#free-ian-linkletter

It’s been a minute since Linkletter’s case arose, so I’ll give you a little recap here. Proctorio is a massive, wildly profitable ed-tech company that sells a surveillance tool to monitor students while they take high-stakes tests from home. The tool monitors the student’s computer and the student’s face, especially their eye-movements. It also allows instructors and other personnel to watch the students and even take control of their computer. This is called “remote invigilation.”

This is ghastly in just about every way. For starters, Proctorio’s facial monitoring software embeds the usual racist problems with machine-learning stuff, and struggles to recognize Black and brown faces. Black children sitting exams under Proctorio’s gimlet eye have reported that the only way to satisfy Proctorio’s digital phrenology system is to work with multiple high-powered lights shining directly in their faces.

A Proctorio session typically begins with a student being forced to pan a webcam around their test-taking room. During lockdown, this meant that students who shared a room — for example, with a parent who worked night-shifts — would have to invade their family’s privacy, and might be disqualified because they couldn’t afford a place large enough to have private room in which to take their tests.

Proctorio’s tools also punish students for engaging in normal test-taking activity. Do you stare off into space when you’re trying through a problem? Bzzzt. Do you read questions aloud to yourself under your breath when you’re trying to understand their meanings? Bzzzt. Do you have IBS and need to go to the toilet? Bzzzt. The canon of remote invigilation horror stories is filled with accounts of students being forced to defecate themselves, or vomit down their shirts without turning their heads (because looking away is an automatically flagged offense).

The tragedy is that all of this is in service to the pedagogically bankrupt practice of high-stakes testing. Few pedagogists believe that the kind of exam that Proctorio seeks to recreate in students’ homes has real assessment merit. As the old saying goes, “Tests measure your ability to take tests.” But Proctorio doesn’t even measure your ability to take a test — it measures your ability to take a test with three bright lights shining directly on your face. Or while you are covered in your own feces and vomit. While you stare rigidly at a screen. While your tired mother who just worked 16 hours in a covid ward stands outside the door to your apartment.

The lockdown could have been an opportunity to improve educational assessment. There is a rich panoply of techniques that educators can adopt that deliver a far better picture of students’ learning, and work well for remote as well as in-person education. Instead, companies like Proctorio made vast fortunes, most of it from publicly funded institutions, by encouraging a worse-than-useless, discriminatory practice:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/24/proctor-ology/#miseducation

Proctorio clearly knows that its racket is brittle. Like any disaster profiteer, Proctorio will struggle to survive after the crisis passes and we awaken from our collective nightmare and ask ourselves why we were stampeded into using its terrible products. The company went to war against its critics.

In 2020, Proctorio CEO Mike Olsen doxed a child who complained about his company’s software in a Reddit forum:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/01/bossware/#moral-exemplar

In 2021, the reviews for Proctorio’s Chrome plugin all mysteriously vanished. Needless to say, these reviews — from students forced to use Proctorio’s spyware — were brutal:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/09/04/hypervigilance/#radical-transparency

Proctorio claims that it protects “educational integrity,” but its actions suggest a company far more concerned about the integrity of its own profits:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/16/unauthorized-paper/#cheating-anticheat

One of the critics that Proctorio attacked is Ian Linkletter. In 2020, Linkletter was a Learning Technology Specialist at UBC’s Faculty of Education. His job was to assess and support ed-tech tools, including Proctorio. In the course of that work, Linkletter reviewed Proctorio’s training material for educators, which are a bonanza of mask-off materials that are palpably contemptuous of students, who are presumed to be cheaters.

At the time, a debate over remote invigilation tools was raging through Canadian education circles, with students, teachers and parents fiercely arguing the merits and downsides of making surveillance the linchpin of assessment. Linkletter waded into this debate, tweeting a series of sharp criticisms of Proctorio. In these tweets, Linkletter linked to Proctorio’s unlisted, but publicly available, Youtube videos.

A note of explanation: Youtube videos can be flagged as “unlisted,” which means they don’t show up in searches. They can also be flagged as “private,” which means you have to be on a list of authorized users to see them. Proctorio made its training videos unlisted, but they weren’t private — they were visible to anyone who had a link to them.

Proctorio sued Linkletter for this. They argued that he had breached a duty of confidentiality, and that linking to these videos was a copyright violation:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/10/17/proctorio-v-linkletter/#proctorio

This is a classic SLAPP — a “strategic litigation against public participation.” That’s when a deep-pocketed, thin-skinned bully, like Proctorio, uses the threat of a long court battle to force their critics into silence. They know they can’t win their case, but that’s not the victory they’re seeking. They don’t want to win the case, they want to win the argument, by silencing a critic who would otherwise be bankrupted by legal fees.

Getting SLAPPed is no fun. I’ve been there. Just this year, a billionaire financier tried to force me into silence by threatening me with a lawsuit. Thankfully, Ken “Popehat” White was on the case, and he reminded this billionaire’s counsel that California has a strong anti-SLAPP law, and if Ken had to defend me in court, he could get a fortune in fees from the bully after he prevailed:

https://twitter.com/doctorow/status/1531684572479377409

British Columbia also has an anti-SLAPP law, but unlike California’s anti-SLAPP, the law is relatively new and untested. Still, Proctorio’s suit against Linkletter was such an obvious SLAPP that for many of us, it seemed likely that Linkletter would be able to defend himself from this American bully and its attempt to use Canada’s courts to silence a Canadian educator.

For Linkletter to use BC’s anti-SLAPP law, he would have to prove that he was weighing in on a matter of public interest, and that Proctorio’s copyright and confidentiality claims were nonsense, unlikely to prevail on their merits. If he could do that, he’d be able to get the case thrown out, without having to go through a lengthy, brutally expensive trial.

Incredibly, though, the lower court found against Linkletter. Naturally, Linkletter appealed. His “factotum” is a crystal clear document that sets out the serious errors of law and fact the lower court made:

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1aB1ztWDFr3MU6BsAMt6rWXOiXJ8sT3MY/view

But yesterday, the Court of Appeal upheld the lower court, repeating all of these gross errors and finding for Proctorio:

https://www.bccourts.ca/jdb-txt/ca/23/01/2023BCCA0160.htm

This judgment is grotesque. It makes a mockery of BC’s anti-SLAPP statute, to say nothing of Canadian copyright and confidentiality law. For starters, it finds that publishing a link can be a “performance” of a copyrighted work, which meant that when Linkletter linked to the world-viewable Youtube files that Proctorio had posted, he infringed on copyright.

This is a perverse, even surreal take on copyright. The court rejects Linkletter’s argument that even Youtube’s terms of service warned Proctorio that publishing world-viewable material on its site constituted permission for people to link to and watch that material.

But what about “fair dealing” (similar to fair use)? Linkletter argued that linking to a video that shows that Proctorio’s assurances to parents and students about its products’ benign nature were contradicted by the way it talked to educators was fair dealing. Fair dealing is a broad suite of limitations and exceptions to copyright for the purposes of commentary, criticism, study, satire, etc.

So even if linking is a copyright infringement (ugh, seriously?!), surely it’s fair dealing in this case. Proctorio was selling millions of dollars in software to public institutions, inflicting it on kids whose parents weren’t getting the whole story. Linkletter used Proctorio’s own words to rebut its assurances. What could be more fair dealing than that?

Not so fast, the appeals panel says: they say that Linkletter could have made his case just as well without linking to Proctorio’s materials. This is…bad. I mean, it’s also wrong, but it’s very bad, too. It’s wrong because an argument about what a company intends necessarily has to draw upon the company’s own statements. It’s absurd to say that Linkletter’s point would have been made equally well if he said “I disbelieve Proctorio’s public assurances because I’ve seen seekrit documents” as it was when he was able to link to those documents so that people could see them for themselves.

But it’s bad because it rips the heart out of the fair dealing exception for criticism. Publishing a link to a copyrighted work is the most minimal way to quote from it in a debate — Linkletter literally didn’t reproduce a single word, not a single letter, from Proctorio’s copyrighted works. If the court says, “Sure, you can quote from a work to criticize it, but only so much as you need to make your argument,” and then says, “But also, simply referencing a work without quoting it at all is taking too much,” then what reasonable person would ever try to rely on a fair dealing exemption for criticism?

Then there’s the confidentiality claim: in his submissions to the lower court and the appeals court, Linkletter pointed out that the “confidential” materials he’d linked to were available in many places online, and could be easily located with a Google search. Proctorio had uploaded these “confidential” materials to many sites — without flagging them as “unlisted” or “private.”

What’s more, the videos that Linkletter linked to were in found a “Help Center” that didn’t even have a terms-of-service condition that required confidentiality. How on Earth can materials that are publicly available all over the web be “confidential?”

Here, the court takes yet another bizarre turn in logic. They find that because a member of the public would have to “gather” the videos from “many sources,” that the collection of links was confidential, even if none of the links in the collection were confidential. Again, this is both wrong and bad.

Every investigator, every journalist, every critic, starts by looking in different places for information that can be combined to paint a coherent picture of what’s going on. This is the heart of “open source intelligence,” combing different sources for data points that shed light on one another.

The idea that “gathering” public information can breach confidentiality strikes directly at all investigative activity. Every day, every newspaper and news broadcast in Canada engages in this conduct. The appeals court has put them all in jeopardy with this terrible finding.

Finally, there’s the question of Proctorio’s security. Proctorio argued that by publishing links to its educator materials, Linkletter weakened the security of its products. That is, they claim that if students know how the invigilation tool works, it stops working. This is the very definition of “security through obscurity,” and it’s a practice that every serious infosec professional rejects. If Proctorio is telling the truth when it says that describing how its products work makes them stop working, then they make bad products that no one should pay money for.

The court absolutely flubs this one, too, accepting the claim of security through obscurity at face value. That’s a finding that flies in the face of all security research.

So what happens now? Well, Linkletter has lost his SLAPP claim, so nominally the case can proceed. Linkletter could appeal his case to Canada’s Supreme Court (about 7% of Supreme Court appeals of BC appeals court judgments get heard). Or Proctorio could drop the case. Or it could go to a full trial, where these outlandish ideas about copyright, confidentiality and information security would get a thorough — and blisteringly expensive — examination.

In Linkletter’s statement, he remains defiant and unwilling to give in to bullying, but says he’ll have to “carefully consider” his next step. That’s fair enough: there’s a lot on the line here:

https://linkletter.opened.ca/stand-against-proctorios-slapp-update-30/

Linkletter answers his supporters’ questions about how they can help with some excellent advice: “What I ask is for you to do what you can to protect students. Academic surveillance technology companies would like nothing more but for us all to shut up. Don’t let them silence you. Don’t let anyone or anything take away your human right to freedom of expression.”

Today (Apr 21), I’m speaking in Chicago at the Stigler Center’s Antitrust and Competition Conference. This weekend (Apr 22/23), I’m at the LA Times Festival of Books.

[Image ID: A girl working on a laptop. Her mouth has been taped shut. Glaring out of the laptop screen is the hostile red eye of HAL9000 from '2001: A Space Odyssey.' Behind them is a tattered, filthy, burned Canadian flag.]

Image: Ingo Bernhardt https://www.flickr.com/photos/spree2010/4930763550/

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

Eleanor Vladinsky (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Canadian_flag_against_grey_sky.jpg

CC BY 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

[w1w2]

A Contract of Silence

Part 1 | Next part

Giselle x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 6k

Synopsis: A young mute woman is drawn into the world of a powerful CEO through an unexpected proposition that could change her life and her family’s future forever.

Notes: I've been obsessed with When the Phone Rings lately, and it has been inspiring a little.

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

Y/N’s heart pounded as the elevator doors glided open to the executive floor of Uchinaga Couture. A soft chime signaled her arrival, and she stepped out hesitantly, her worn flats making barely a sound against the pristine marble floors. The space around her was intimidatingly sleek, high ceilings, gold-accented furniture, and white walls so spotless they practically glowed under the recessed lighting. Every inch of the space radiated power and exclusivity.

The air was cool and quiet, the only sounds were the faint hum of the air conditioning and the distant clicking of keyboards from the rows of assistants stationed in glass-walled offices. It was the kind of silence that felt heavy, like it demanded perfection from anyone who dared to linger too long.

Y/N clutched her bag tightly against her chest, trying to steady her breathing. Her mind raced, replaying the cryptic message she’d received from Giselle Uchinaga’s assistant earlier that morning.

“Miss Uchinaga would like to see you in her office. Immediately.”

Why would Giselle Uchinaga, the CEO of one of the world’s most renowned fashion houses, a woman so influential she rarely made public appearances, want to meet with her? Y/N wasn’t even an intern yet.

Her fingers instinctively reached for her phone in her bag. She’d been rehearsing a polite introduction during the entire elevator ride, but now, standing here surrounded by the grandeur of Uchinaga Couture’s upper echelon, her words felt hollow. Would she even be able to speak at all in the presence of someone like Giselle?

The receptionist sitting behind a minimalist gold and glass desk barely glanced up from her screen. “Miss Uchinaga is waiting for you,” she said, her tone clipped and professional, as though this sort of summoning happened every day.

Y/N nodded. She smoothed the front of her blouse, realizing with dismay that it was slightly wrinkled from her hurried commute.

The receptionist gestured toward a pair of imposing glass doors at the far end of the hallway. They stood like gates to another world, one Y/N wasn’t sure she was ready to enter.

She hesitated, but the receptionist’s pointed look left no room for second guessing. Forcing her feet to move, Y/N approached the doors, each step feeling heavier than the last.

The office beyond the doors was even more magnificent than the hallway. Vast and bathed in natural light, it was dominated by floor to ceiling windows that offered an uninterrupted view of the city skyline. The desk at the center of the room was a masterpiece of sleek mahogany, polished to a mirror finish. Behind it sat Giselle Uchinaga herself.

Y/N had seen Giselle in magazines and online, always poised, with an untouchable elegance that made her seem more like a mythical figure than a real person. In person, that aura of control was even more pronounced.

Giselle didn’t immediately acknowledge her presence. She sat with her back straight, her silky black hair falling like a curtain over one shoulder as she studied the glowing screen of her tablet. A fountain pen rested delicately between her fingers, tapping soundlessly against the desk. Her tailored navy suit accentuated her sharp features, and even seated, her posture exuded authority.

“Miss Y/N,” Giselle said finally, without looking up. Her voice was smooth and controlled, with a faint edge of disinterest. “Have a seat.”

Y/N obeyed quickly, lowering herself onto the leather chair in front of the desk. It was so soft and luxurious she worried for a moment that she might sink into it entirely. She folded her hands in her lap, trying not to fidget as she waited.

Seconds stretched into what felt like minutes. Giselle remained focused on her tablet, her fingers scrolling through unseen files with practiced precision.

Y/N used the opportunity to glance around the room. The walls were lined with black shelves holding a curated collection of awards, framed magazine covers, and bound portfolios. Every object seemed to scream success, as if Giselle’s achievements had been distilled into physical form.

When Giselle finally looked up, Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. The CEO’s almond-shaped eyes were sharp and assessing, like she was dissecting Y/N with a single glance.

For a moment, Y/N felt like an open book under that gaze, every secret and insecurity laid bare. The weight of it was suffocating, but she forced herself to meet Giselle’s eyes, refusing to shrink under the scrutiny.

“I assume you’re wondering why I called you here,” Giselle said, leaning back in her chair. Her tone was calm but carried the faintest hint of impatience.

Y/N nodded quickly.

Giselle’s perfectly manicured hand gestured toward a sleek black folder resting on the desk, though she didn’t open it yet. “I’ve reviewed your file, Miss Y/N. You have an impressive work ethic. Resourceful. Determined. Someone who doesn’t back down when faced with challenges.”

Y/N blinked, unsure whether Giselle was complimenting her or simply stating facts. Her file? She’d almost forgotten she’d even applied for a position as an assistant in the accounting department months ago, an opportunity that had seemed impossible even then.

“I have an opportunity for you,” Giselle said, her voice deliberate, as though testing Y/N’s reaction. “But before I explain further, I need to know one thing. How far are you willing to go to help your family?”

The question hit like a thunderclap. Y/N’s lips parted instinctively, but no sound followed. Her breath caught in her chest, her pulse roaring in her ears as her thoughts spiraled.

Why was Giselle asking something so personal? How much did she know about Y/N’s situation?

Giselle’s gaze didn’t waver, her expression unrelenting. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken tension.

Y/N’s fingers trembled slightly as they curled into her lap. She wanted to ask what Giselle meant, to demand clarification, but the words never came. They never could. Instead, she lifted her head, her eyes locking onto Giselle’s with a quiet intensity.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she inhaled slowly, trying to project steadiness. Her gaze was resolute, though her chest tightened with fear, she refused to look away. If Giselle wanted to test her resolve, she would show it, even if only through the unwavering determination in her expression.

For a fleeting moment, something flickered in Giselle’s eyes, curiosity, perhaps, or the faintest glimmer of approval, but it was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared.

Giselle didn’t wait for a response. She leaned forward slightly, her fingers brushing the edges of the black folder on her desk.

“Your father left you and your family in an unfortunate position,” she said, her tone clinical, devoid of any trace of empathy. “The debts he accrued are substantial, and your current situation offers little opportunity to escape them. Correct?”

Y/N flinched at the bluntness, her chest tightening as though someone had reached in and exposed every hidden part of her life. She hesitated, her fingers twitching toward the phone in her lap. Finally, she picked it up, her movements deliberate, and began typing.

“Yes.”

She held up the screen for Giselle to see. The stark simplicity of the word felt both shameful and raw.

Giselle’s gaze flicked to the phone, her expression remaining unreadable. She gave the faintest nod of acknowledgment before continuing.

“I’m offering you a way out,” Giselle said, folding her hands neatly on the desk. “But it requires your cooperation and your discretion.”

Y/N blinked, her curiosity piqued despite the knot of unease tightening in her stomach. She typed quickly, her fingers trembling slightly.

“What kind of cooperation?”

The corner of Giselle’s lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. “I need a fiancée.”

Y/N froze, her eyes widening. For a moment, she was sure she’d misread the words that had just left Giselle’s mouth. Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard, uncertain what to say. Finally, she typed.

“A fiancée?”

“Yes,” Giselle said, her tone as even and detached as if she were discussing a routine business transaction. She leaned back in her chair, exuding an air of unshakable confidence. “My reputation has... complications. Certain people perceive me as cold, unapproachable. The board at Lueur, with whom I am negotiating a highly lucrative partnership, values the appearance of stability and warmth in their collaborators. I need to project that image.”

Y/N stared at her, stunned. Her fingers moved instinctively, typing out the only question that made sense.

“Why me?”

“You,” Giselle said, her sharp gaze locking onto Y/N’s, “are the perfect candidate. Young, vibrant, and unknown to the media.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted as she read Giselle’s words. Her mind raced, struggling to process the sheer absurdity of the situation. She typed slowly this time, her hands shaking.

“I don’t understand. I’m just an applicant. Why would you choose me?”

Giselle’s lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, she appeared to weigh her response, then answered with calm certainty. “I’ve done my research. Your background is compelling, your work history suggests you’re resourceful and adaptable and most importantly, you’re desperate.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her chest tightening at the final word. She lowered her phone slightly, breaking eye contact for the first time.

“You have no other options, Miss Y/N,” Giselle said, her voice firm but not unkind. “This arrangement would benefit both of us. You’ll help me secure the partnership with Lueur, and in return, I will pay you enough to clear your family’s debts entirely and provide a stable future for yourself and your family.”

Y/N hesitated, her mind a whirlwind of emotions. Humiliation, anger, and a flicker of reluctant hope. She stared at her phone, her vision blurring slightly. With trembling fingers, she typed.

“And if I say no?”

Giselle’s expression didn’t waver. “Then you walk out of this office, and we go our separate ways. But consider this carefully, opportunities like this are rare, and for someone in your position, it could mean the difference between struggling for decades or starting over.”

Y/N stared at the words on her screen, her heart pounding. Giselle’s words weren’t a threat, they were a calculated statement of fact.

This wasn’t a choice. Not really.

Giselle leaned back in her chair, her sharp gaze never leaving Y/N, and slid the black folder across the desk with a single, precise motion. The faint sound of the leather cover gliding against the polished wood echoed in the otherwise silent room.

Y/N hesitated, her fingers hovering over the edge of the folder. Slowly, she reached out and pulled it closer, her heart pounding as she flipped it open.

Inside, the contract was laid out in meticulous detail. The dense paragraphs of legal jargon were daunting, and Y/N’s eyes flitted over the page, struggling to focus. Certain phrases stood out like beacons, each one hitting her like a punch to the chest.

“Exclusive agreement.”“Media appearances required.”“Strict confidentiality.”

Her throat tightened as the magnitude of the arrangement settled over her like a heavy fog. This wasn’t just a deal, it was a meticulously crafted performance, with no room for mistakes.

“This isn’t a charity, Miss Y/N,” Giselle’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. Her tone was firm, but there was a hint of expectation, as if she were testing how Y/N would respond.

Y/N glanced up, her fingers still clutching the edges of the folder. Her mind swirled with questions, fears, and doubts, but she forced herself to focus. Taking a deep breath, she picked up her phone and typed quickly before turning the screen toward Giselle.

“What exactly do you expect from me?”

Giselle’s gaze flicked to the screen, and a faint, almost imperceptible smirk curved her lips. “Professionalism,” she said. “You will follow my instructions, attend events as required, and present yourself as a devoted partner. In public, we will be inseparable. In private, however, we will remain strictly separate.”

Y/N’s fingers flew across the screen again, her anxiety spilling into her typed words.

“And if I mess up?”

The question hung in the air, and Y/N watched as Giselle’s expression hardened slightly. The CEO leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk, her fingers steepled in front of her.

“Then the deal is off,” Giselle said, her voice cold and unwavering. “And you’re on your own.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted at the bluntness of the ultimatum. She tightened her grip on her phone, her chest tightening as the enormity of the situation loomed over her. She quickly typed another message, her hands trembling slightly as she showed the screen to Giselle.

“You mean... everything ends? No payment?”

Giselle nodded once, her expression unchanging. “Exactly. This is a transaction, Miss Y/N, not a handout. If you fail to meet the expectations outlined in that contract, there will be no second chances.”

The weight of those words settled over Y/N like a lead blanket, heavy and suffocating. Her eyes dropped to the folder again, scanning the tightly packed lines of text that seemed to stretch endlessly.

She hesitated before typing another question, her fingers pressing against the screen more forcefully now.

“What happens if someone finds out this is fake?”

Giselle’s gaze sharpened, and for the first time, her calm exterior seemed to harden further. “They won’t,” she said simply, the steel in her voice leaving no room for doubt. “As long as you adhere to the terms of the agreement, no one will suspect a thing. I’ve accounted for every possible variable. Any leaks or suspicions will only arise from carelessness, yours, specifically.”

The words sent a chill through Y/N, but she refused to look away. Her fingers hovered over her phone as she considered her next move. Every logical part of her told her to walk away, that this was far too risky, far too overwhelming. But the memory of her family’s desperate situation, the crushing weight of her father’s debts, made her stay rooted in place.

She swallowed hard, then typed a final message.

“What happens if I succeed?”

Giselle’s expression softened, just slightly. “If you succeed, your debts are gone. You’ll have enough money to start over, far away from whatever struggles brought you here. And,” she added, her tone shifting to something almost imperceptibly lighter, “you’ll have the satisfaction of knowing you helped secure one of the most important deals in this company’s history.”

Y/N read and reread the words on her screen, her chest tightening. The stakes were high, terrifyingly so, but so was the reward. She could picture her family, free from the weight of her father’s mistakes, finally able to move forward.

After what felt like an eternity, Y/N stared down at the open folder before her. The dense, unyielding text seemed to blur as the enormity of what she was about to do settled over her. Her hand hovered over the pen resting neatly beside the folder, trembling with hesitation.

Her thoughts raced. Signing this contract would bind her to a life she couldn’t fully comprehend, a world she wasn’t prepared for. But walking away wasn’t an option, not with her family depending on her.

Y/N picked up her phone and typed a message, her fingers moving slower than usual as doubt gnawed at her resolve. She turned the screen toward Giselle, who watched her with patient intensity.

“What if I change my mind later?”

Giselle’s sharp eyes flicked to the screen. For a moment, her expression softened, not with kindness, but with something close to understanding. “Then I suggest you don’t sign,” she said, her voice calm but resolute. “Once you commit, there’s no room for second guessing.”

Y/N swallowed hard, the answer hitting her like a stone. Giselle’s unyielding certainty was both intimidating and strangely reassuring. This was a woman who never faltered, who didn’t allow for failure.

Her hand tightened around the pen. She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling as she steadied herself. Slowly, deliberately, she lowered the pen to the page and began to sign her name.

Each stroke of ink felt heavier than the last, like an invisible weight pressing against her hand. Her name, once complete, seemed foreign and final. This was it, the moment that changed everything.

When she finished, Y/N set the pen down carefully, the faint click of metal against wood echoing louder than it should have. She slid the folder back across the desk, taking one copy of the contract for herself and tucking it neatly into her bag, her eyes darting up to meet Giselle’s.

Giselle picked it up without a word, her fingers flipping through the pages with practiced efficiency. Her sharp gaze scanned the document, ensuring every detail was in place. Finally, she closed the folder and set it aside.

“Welcome to your new life, Miss Y/N,” Giselle said, extending her hand.

Y/N hesitated, staring at the outstretched hand. She’d expected this moment to feel more... transactional, but now that it was here, the reality of what she’d agreed to seemed overwhelming. Slowly, she reached out, her hand meeting Giselle’s.

Giselle’s grip was firm, her palm cool and steady. There was no warmth, no reassurance, just the unspoken promise of professionalism.

Releasing her hand, Giselle leaned back in her chair, her expression unreadable. As Y/N stood, clutching her phone tightly, Giselle’s voice stopped her just as she reached the door.

“Remember,” she said, her tone low but resolute, “this is business. Nothing more.”

Y/N froze for a heartbeat, then nodded.

The glass doors closed behind her with a soft click, sealing her into a world she wasn’t sure she could navigate. The quiet hum of the floor seemed louder now, the weight of her decision pressing down on her chest.

As she stepped into the elevator, her reflection stared back at her in the polished steel walls, unsure, but resolute.

This was her choice. There was no turning back now.

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, and after the short walk Y/N stepped out into the bustling street. The late afternoon sunlight stretched across the buildings, painting the city in hues of amber and gold. Pedestrians moved around her in a blur, business people rushing to catch cabs, couples strolling hand in hand, and tourists snapping pictures of the skyline.

But Y/N barely noticed any of it. Her thoughts weighed her down, each step feeling heavier than the last as she weaved through the crowd.

The weight of the signed contract in her bag felt almost tangible, like an anchor tethered to her future. Her grip tightened around the leather strap of her bag, so firm that her knuckles turned white. She had done it. She had agreed to step into a world she barely understood, tethering herself to a woman who felt as untouchable as the city’s towering skyscrapers.

Giselle’s words echoed in her mind, cool and precise, as if they had been carved into stone.

"Welcome to your new life."

Her new life. Was it really hers?

She felt a pang of uncertainty, the same pang that had risen in her chest as she’d signed her name on the dotted line. It hadn’t felt like liberation, it had felt like a pact with something she couldn’t quite define.

Y/N slowed her pace as she passed the entrance to a quiet park, the bustling noise of the city receding like a distant hum. The shade of a row of oak trees stretched across the grass, offering a temporary reprieve from the chaos of the world outside.

Her feet carried her to an empty bench near a fountain, its soft trickling water providing a soothing contrast to the relentless rhythm of her thoughts. She sank down slowly, her shoulders sagging under the invisible weight she carried. The smell of freshly cut grass filled the air, but it did nothing to lift the heaviness settling in her chest.

Y/N pulled her phone from her bag and stared at the blank screen. Her fingers hovered over the device, poised to type something into the notes app, but no words came. She didn’t know what to say, to herself, to the universe, to anyone.

The screen dimmed, and Y/N let the phone drop into her lap with a soft thud. She leaned back against the bench, her head tilting toward the sky. The golden light filtered through the leaves above, dappling her face with shadows and warmth, but it couldn’t reach the chill that gripped her heart.

Her breathing slowed, and with the stillness came the memories, unbidden and relentless, rising to the surface like ghosts she could no longer keep buried.

She was ten years old the last time she heard her father’s voice. It was a warm evening, much like this one, when she’d sat cross legged on the thick carpet of his study, her fingers trailing absently over the edges of a well worn storybook. The smell of his cologne, cedarwood and something faintly spicy, lingered in the air, mingling with the faint scent of the leather bound books that lined the shelves.

His desk, usually an organized chaos of papers and trinkets, was unusually cluttered that night. Contracts, ledgers, and letters spilled across the dark oak surface, the symbols of a crumbling empire he had worked so tirelessly to build.

Her father had always been her hero. His laughter had a way of filling every corner of the house, and his warmth made even the darkest days feel like they carried a glimmer of hope. But that night, something was different.

His usual smile was absent, replaced by a furrowed brow and a tightness in his jaw that Y/N didn’t fully understand but instinctively feared. His movements were hurried, his hands shaking slightly as he shuffled through the papers in front of him.

“Papa?” she had asked softly, her voice breaking the heavy silence.

He stilled for a moment, his shoulders rising and falling with a deep breath before he turned to her. His eyes, so often kind and full of life were clouded with something she couldn’t name. He crossed the room in three quick strides and knelt in front of her, his large hands gently gripping her small shoulders.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice steady but laced with urgency. “I need you to listen carefully, okay?”

The seriousness in his tone made her heart race. She nodded, her gaze locked on his face.

“No matter what happens, no matter what you see, you have to stay quiet. Do you understand? Don’t make a sound.”

His words wrapped around her like a cage, cold and unyielding. She opened her mouth to ask why, but the look in his eyes stopped her. There was no time for questions, no room for explanations. He pulled her to her feet and led her to the far wall of the study, where a towering bookshelf stood filled with thick tomes and small mementos.

Before she could ask what he was doing, he pressed his hand against the side of the shelf, triggering a soft click. The bookshelf shifted slightly, revealing a narrow doorway. Beyond it was a small, dark room she had never known existed.

Her father knelt again, placing both hands on her shoulders this time. “Stay here, sweetheart,” he whispered. His voice wavered, just for a moment, before he steadied it. “Don’t come out until I tell you. And remember, no sound.”

The fear in his eyes mirrored the growing terror in her chest. She wanted to cling to him, to beg him to stay with her, but he gently pushed her into the hidden space before she could.

“Be brave, Y/N,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Then he closed the door, sealing her in darkness.

Y/N pressed her hands against the cool walls of the hidden room, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure it would give her away. Through a thin crack in the door, she could see her father return to his desk, his movements quick and tense. He sat down, his back straight as if bracing himself for something.

Minutes later, the front door burst open with a thunderous crash.

Y/N flinched, her hands flying to her mouth to stifle a gasp. Harsh voices filled the air, angry and unfamiliar. Men in dark suits stormed into the study, their faces obscured by the dim light.

She watched as her father rose to meet them, his posture firm despite the chaos that followed. The men surrounded him, their movements calculated and menacing.

“You know why we’re here,” one of them said, his voice cold and cutting.

Her father’s voice was calm but resolute, though Y/N couldn’t make out every word. She caught fragments “not fair,” “family,” “too far” but the argument was heated, the tension in the room palpable.

One of the men slammed his hand against the desk, making Y/N jump. Her father stood his ground, his expression unreadable.

The man’s voice rose, sharp and angry. “You should have kept your mouth shut.”

There was a flash of movement, something metallic glinting in the dim light.

Then came the deafening crack of a gunshot.

Y/N froze, her breath catching in her throat as her father’s body crumpled to the floor. Time seemed to stop. The dark pool spreading beneath him was all she could see, staining the polished wood of the study.

Her heart felt like it would burst as she clamped her hands over her mouth, her small frame trembling violently. Tears streamed down her face, hot and endless, but she didn’t dare make a sound. Her father’s warning echoed in her mind like a mantra. Don’t make a sound. Don’t make a sound.

The men stood over his lifeless body for a moment before one of them spat something cruel under his breath. Then, as quickly as they had come, they were gone, their heavy footsteps retreating into silence.

When the house finally fell quiet, Y/N stayed frozen in the hidden room, too terrified to move. It felt like hours before she found the courage to push the door open.

The study was eerily still, the papers on her father’s desk fluttering softly in the breeze from an open window. She stumbled toward his body, her legs shaking so badly she nearly fell.

“Papa?” she whispered, her voice cracking. Her small hands reached out to him, shaking as they pressed against his arm. “Papa, wake up.”

But he didn’t move. He didn’t speak. The warmth she had always associated with him was gone, replaced by a cold, lifeless shell.

The weight of her grief was unbearable, suffocating her as she knelt beside him, sobbing silently. At that moment, something inside her broke.

From that day on, Y/N never spoke again.

The official story was that her father had taken his own life after his company went bankrupt. The newspapers were ruthless, painting him as a failure who had crumbled under the weight of his mistakes. The debts, they said, had been too much for him to bear.

The truth, however, was far darker. Y/N had tried to tell someone, anyone. In the days that followed the horrific night in the study, she had opened her mouth countless times, desperate to describe the men who had invaded their home, to explain how they had taken her father’s life.

But every time, the words got stuck.

Her throat would tighten painfully, and the memory of her father’s lifeless body would crash over her like a wave, pulling her under. The gunshot, the men’s cold voices, the dark pool of blood, it all came back too vividly, paralyzing her. No matter how much she wanted to scream the truth, her voice refused to cooperate.

At first, her mother didn’t seem to notice. She was too consumed by her own grief and the weight of what had been left behind. Lawyers had come and gone, each one bearing bad news. The company her father had built was gone, swallowed up by his debts, leaving nothing but bills they couldn’t pay and creditors demanding what was owed.

Y/N had tried to help, using the scraps of courage she had left to write down the truth in shaky handwriting. But when she’d handed the paper to her mother, her hands trembling, her mother had barely glanced at it.

“Not now, Y/N,” her mother had said softly, her voice heavy with exhaustion. She’d set the note aside and never brought it up again.

Y/N had crumpled the paper in her hands, the rejection stinging more than she expected.

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N stopped trying to speak altogether. What was the point? Every attempt ended the same way, with her throat closing up, her heart pounding, and tears burning her eyes. The trauma sat in her chest like a stone, making it hard to breathe, let alone speak.

At school, teachers and classmates would ask her questions, their faces twisting with confusion when she wouldn’t respond.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” “Why won’t you talk?”

The questions only made it worse. She wanted to answer, wanted to explain, but her voice was gone. Instead, she would shake her head and look away, her cheeks burning with shame.

Her teachers contacted her mother, concerned about her silence. But her mother, overwhelmed with grief and the mounting debt, had little energy to address the issue. “She’s going through a lot right now,” her mother had said. “She’ll speak when she’s ready.”

But Y/N wasn’t sure she ever would.

Their once beautiful home, with its sprawling garden and cozy rooms, was sold within months of her father’s death. The furniture went next, piece by piece, until their lives were stripped down to the bare essentials.

They moved into a cramped apartment in a part of town Y/N had never visited before. The walls were thin, the pipes rattled when the water ran, and the single window in the living room overlooked an alleyway filled with dumpsters. It was a far cry from the life they’d known, but her mother said it was all they could afford.

Y/N had watched as the stress wore her mother down, the vibrant woman reduced to a shadow of herself. Lines of worry etched themselves into her face, and her shoulders seemed permanently hunched from the weight she carried.

Y/N hated seeing her mother like that. Hated the hopelessness that seemed to hang over their tiny apartment like a storm cloud.

It was then, at the age of ten, that Y/N made a promise to herself. She would do whatever it took to help her family.

For months, Y/N relied on gestures and written notes to communicate. She would scribble messages on scraps of paper or point to things when she needed something. It was clumsy and frustrating, and more often than not, people misunderstood her.

One day, during a particularly frustrating moment at school, her teacher handed her a flyer.

“Have you thought about learning sign language?” the teacher had asked gently, her voice free of judgment.

Y/N had stared at the flyer for a long moment before taking it. She wasn’t sure if it would work, but it was worth a try.

The next weekend, her mother took her to her first sign language class at a community center downtown. Y/N felt out of place at first, surrounded by people of all ages, each with their own reasons for learning. But as the instructor demonstrated simple signs and encouraged them to practice, something shifted.

First time in months, Y/N felt like she had a voice again.

She practiced obsessively, her fingers fumbling at first but growing more confident with time. She learned to sign her name, simple phrases, and eventually, full sentences. The fluid motions of her hands became second nature, and with every new sign she mastered, she felt a little piece of herself returning.

Sign language became her lifeline, a way to express herself without the fear that had stolen her voice. It wasn’t perfect, many people didn’t understand it, and she still relied on her phone or written notes in those cases, but it was hers.

As she grew older, Y/N poured herself into her studies. She took on part time jobs after school, working long hours at diners, grocery stores, and anywhere else that would hire her. Every penny she earned went toward the family’s expenses or into a savings jar she kept hidden under her bed.

But no matter how hard she worked, the debt loomed over them, a constant reminder of her father’s death and the men who had taken everything from them.

Y/N refused to let it break her. She had resolved, then and there, that she would claw her way out of the darkness, no matter what it took. For her mother, for her siblings, and for herself.

She just needed an opportunity.

Y/N stared down at her phone, the sleek black screen reflecting her tired eyes and the faint streaks of sunlight filtering through the trees. Her thumb brushed against the edge of the device, but she didn’t unlock it yet. For a moment, the world around her blurred, the muted chatter of children playing in the park, the distant hum of traffic, the rustling of leaves in the soft breeze. None of it registered.

Her thoughts were louder than any of it.

She had signed the contract.

The realization settled over her. She had sealed her fate, tethering herself to a woman whose world was as cold as the steel skyscrapers that loomed over the city. She had done it not for herself, but for them, for her family.

Her mother’s face floated to the forefront of her mind, etched with exhaustion from years of carrying a burden she was never meant to bear alone. Y/N remembered the way her mother used to smile, bright and unrestrained, a beacon of warmth in their home. But over the years, that smile had become rare, a faint shadow of what it once was. Y/N wanted to bring it back.

Then there were her younger siblings, still so full of life, so full of hope. She thought of her sister sketching dresses at the kitchen table with crayons, dreaming of becoming a designer. She thought of her brother, meticulously building castles out of old shoeboxes, telling anyone who would listen that one day he’d be an architect.

They deserved to dream.

Sliding her thumb across the screen, Y/N opened her notes app and stared at the blank space. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitating for a fraction of a second before she began to type.

“I’ll make this work.”

She stared at the sentence, her lips pressing into a thin line. The words weren’t just a promise, they were a lifeline, a tether to something stronger than her fear or doubt. They were a reminder of why she couldn’t fail.

Y/N’s chest rose and fell with a slow, deliberate breath. Her fingers brushed across the screen again, and for a fleeting moment, she thought about typing something more. Something about the uncertainty she felt, or the weight of the decision she had made.

But no. This was enough.

Sliding the phone back into her bag, Y/N stood. Her legs felt unsteady at first, like a newborn fawn’s, but she squared her shoulders and steadied herself. She couldn’t afford to falter now.

She cast one last glance at the park around her. A couple laughed as they walked hand in hand, their carefree joy like a far off memory. A boy chased after a kite, his delighted shouts rising above the rustle of the breeze. For a moment, she let herself imagine a life where she didn’t have to bear the weight of the world on her shoulders.

But that wasn’t her reality.

Giselle’s world was cold and unyielding, a place where people were assets and trust was a rare commodity. Y/N knew that stepping into that world meant losing pieces of herself, her warmth, her softness, maybe even her hope.

But it was also her chance to escape the shadow of her past.

For her family, she would endure anything.

With that thought anchoring her, she turned on her heel and walked away, the echoes of her determination carrying her forward.

[samsno1]

Flowers

Castiel x GN!Reader

i love his eyes. that's it, that's the tweet. guys...this is very sweet but i don't know if i'm satisfied?? tell me what you think, writing castiel is very hard, lawd

Summary: In a hunt, a flower appears over your pillow after you come back to the motel room at night. Who left it there?

Warnings: FLUFF, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, i pictured s4/5 cas in this, use of y/n, sweet confession, NOT PROOF READ, that's it? english isn't my first language

WC: 2.5k

You can learn how to change Y/N for your actual name here

enjoy!

When you started hunting with Sam and Dean one of the last things you expected to encounter was an Angel, especially after discovering they aren't “harps and halos" like in the books you read as a kid, but instead soldiers and sometimes assholes.

Castiel was an exception to the “asshole” part, he was actually very sweet when it came to you and the boys. Helped you, saved you and cared for you. In that sense, Cas was just like the Angel stories, a guardian of the humans he was in charge of.

And for you, it was fun teaching Cas about humans and how they behaved, helped him when he didn't understand Dean's pop culture references, got him to watch classic movies and listen to music and he was always very keen into doing so, curious and intrigued in what you explained to him.

Those big blue eyes always gave you his full attention, sometimes with that little frown that you started to call “The Angel Frown” while he questioned you about something that, to you, was basic knowledge. You were always as patient as possible with him, always clarifying what you could in words he could understand and that ended up always making him come to you for help.

In conclusion, you and Cas got closer and you started to catch yourself staring when he wasn't looking, admiring his smiles, drowning into his sapphire eyes and wishing that he had just more doubts about how people acted so you could spend more time with him.

You knew, from what Castiel told you, that Angels and feelings, human feelings at least, weren't compatible and that things such as love and romance weren't truly a reality for him and his siblings, they were warriors after all, created to serve their Father and that was it. 

Even when Castiel rebelled for the Winchesters, letting go of the “I don't serve men” mindset was difficult but you, Dean and Sam were there for him. You were more understandable then the brothers because you knew Cas was trying his best.

And because you fell for the Angel, but nobody needed to know that.

One night you arrived at the motel room you were staying at, after waving goodnight to Sam and Dean, them going to their separate room.

You opened the door and sighed deeply in exhaustion. It had been a long day of questioning and more questions appearing then those answered. At first you guys thought of a vengeful spirit, then cursed object, then witch. All of those possibilities were still up and it was driving you three insane. People were dying and you felt useless.

Once you closed the door and threw your stuff in the closest table you turned to your bed, where your bag was placed to get some clothes to take a well deserved shower. But, when you looked at your pillow, you noticed a single pink flower sitting over it and you furrowed your eyebrows.

You approached the flower slowly, skeptical about it, your hunter instincts telling you this wasn't good news. You slowly reached for it, as if it could bite your hand off, and picked it up. You analyzed the plant, very confused and grabbed your laptop.

You searched until you found a flower similar to the one you were holding and learned it was a Camellia. You looked between the screen and the flower and you searched up what a pink Camellia meant because, as much as you knew, flowers weren't really something you looked into.

What you found was shocking. According to the internet, a pink Camellia represents admiration and appreciation and Camellias and general represent love and affection. You widen your eyes at the flower in your hands, looking around your empty room as if someone would pop up and explain what this was doing at your bed. Wrong room?

You couldn't think of anybody that could give you this willingly. It definitely wasn't Sam or Dean because, first, they spent the whole day by your side and, second, unless they meant it platonically, the boys didn't see you like that. You loved them and they loved you, of course, but, to them, you were like a sister Dean loves you like he loves Sam, the same way Sam loves you like he loves Dean and vice-versa.

The only person that came to your mind was…No, it couldn't be, he said himself, love for him was basically unachievable but you couldn't help but wonder, even if your rational brain said it was stupid to think Cas would mean that. You smiled at the flower, that tinge of hope lightning inside you.

You looked around the room to look for something you could fill up with water and found an empty beer bottle. That'll do.

You washed the bottle to get the smell of alcohol off and filled it up with water, placing the little flower inside.

The pink color of the petals clashed with the transparent green of the bottle and you smiled at that. It looked cute in a way. You thought, even if this didn't come from someone you knew, you were keeping it, at least the flower.

You left the makeshift vase in your nightstand and took your stuff to the shower, peeling off your suit and your tie on the way, leaving it on the ground as you locked yourself inside the bathroom.

In these moments, Cas thanked his abilities of becoming unseen because you arrived just as he was leaving the Camellia over your pillow. He spent the day researching flowers, finding an interest in how humans always gave them to the people they cared about or to the ones who passed. He wanted to give you one to show you that he cared for you and also as a thank you for being patient with him for a long time.

He always felt happier around you, a warm feeling inside him always seemed to bloom. He felt the need to be close to you, like you were a human magnet. Everytime you looked at him he felt a weird feeling in his stomach, your smile was always something he felt the need to chase, he wanted to see it always in your face. He admired the way your eyes would shine when you were talking about something you liked.

When he saw you placing the flower on the nightstand with a smile he felt that weird feeling in his stomach again. He would do anything to see that look on your face again.

That hunt lasted a week, taking you three too long to figure out it was a witch and even longer to find said witch and to say you guys were fed up was an understatement. 

For that long week you dared to say you missed the Angel, you thought about calling him, praying to him, multiple times but what were you going to say when he arrived? Missed you? I just wanted to see you?

Everything you thought sounded too intimate so you discarded the idea of calling him.

But two more flowers appeared on your pillow after that pink Camellia. A Peony that you learned meant for the Chinese something along the lines of “the most beautiful” and a stunning Carnation in a light red shade that represented admiration. At this point you were very intrigued about who was the one giving you the flowers, Castiel still on your mind. You didn't want to get your hopes too high, you were probably overthinking it anyways, making your heart speak louder than your brain.

You were lying on your bed, staring at the tiny bouquet of three flowers given piece by piece to you. It was your last night in that room, Dean having insisted he needed the sleep so as to not crash the Impala from tiredness. You had offered to drive as you weren't as bad as he was but, of course, that was an immediate no from the older brother so all of you settled for one more night.

As you close your eyes and start to fall asleep, a sudden flutter of wings gets your attention. It's dark in the room so you take a peek and for sure it's Cas. You hold back a smile and close your eyes, pretending to be sleeping.

You feel the Angel approaching the bed, his presence making your heart quicken in your chest. From what it sounds like, he's just standing, watching you and you start to feel very nervous.

Castiel on the other hand arrived to see your sleeping form and couldn't help but watch. You looked peaceful, your breathing was calm and you looked…pretty. Cas thought all his father's creations were wonderful but he felt like you could top them all, literally, in your sleep.

He had another little flower in his hand which, to him, had a very self-explanatory name, a Forget-Me-Not.

He spun the blue flower on his fingers, debating if he should leave it inside the vase or besides you, over your pillow. 

He approached you and while he was placing the flower next to your head he felt a gentle hand wrap around his wrist and instantly froze on the spot.

You opened your eyes and looked at his near-horrified face. You smiled at him.

“Got you” You said, a little above a whisper and looked at the flower he was holding. That one you knew the name and what it meant and you felt warmth spreading through your cheeks, not just at that one flower, but knowing now that all those flowers you received came from Cas.

“I'm sorry for disturbing you” He said as he retreated his hand and you held the Forget-Me-Not. He was tense, not looking at you.

“So you were the secret admirer leaving me these flowers?” You asked as you slowly sat up on the bed and placed the blue flower inside the bottle with the three others. You placed both your hands over your lap, fidgeting nervously with your fingers. “Why?”

He looked around. What was he supposed to say? Himself barely knew why he was doing this but it felt right so he kept going with it. He noticed that the flower meanings resembled things that he felt or thought of you and he enjoyed collecting them for you, especially after you kept them.

“These flowers all have a meaning behind them” He started “Take them as a thank you for…being helpful with my understanding of human behaviors” 

You smiled stupidly at that. The way he said it sounded like something he had rehearsed before coming to you to say it, the words too polite. But yet, that's one of the things you liked about him.

“You didn't have to Cas…They are beautiful, thank you” You said and looked at the flowers again, biting your lip. You felt his eyes on you, it was always intimidating. You knew that it was just the way he was, look right into your eyes while you talk to show you had his full attention, his beautiful blue orbs hypnotizing.

Cas analyzed every aspect of yours as you sat in front of him, his eyes wondering over your figure and his hands moved faster than his thoughts and he reached for your shoulder, his palm traveling from your shoulder blade to the end of your upper arm and back up, tracing a pattern over your skin. He longed to touch you and be closer to you in a way he couldn’t explain so, in this moment, you both alone, he decided to fulfill this wish.

You widened your eyes and looked up at Castiel who was entranced by the movement of his hand, goosebumps flaring up on your skin.

“Cas?” You said and acknowledged your call with a hum “What are you…?”

He finally looked at you, his hand steadied on your shoulder.

“When I’m around you I always feel this need to touch you, be closer and this…” He shakes his head, finding a word to define how he felt. “Warmth comes over me everytime you smile”

His eyes bore through yours and you could only stare back at him, shocked.

“Cas, you’re saying–”

“I think I might love you, Y/N” He interrupted. The way he said it sounded like a confusion, a slight approach, as if he was tiptoeing around the thought, not sure if he wanted to grasp it or just keep his distance.

You were dumbfounded. He sounded so sincere and your heart started to beat faster, his hand over your shoulder felt like it was burning through your skin. It all made sense, the flowers, the way he was always keen on talking to you even when you did most of the talking and he just listened with a faint smile and pure interest, he just didn’t know because he never felt like this before, he didn’t know what loving was like.

You landed a hand over his cheek, your eyes practically watering with an emotional overload at his words. You thumb rubbed the light stubble on his cheek and you pulled him in for a hug. You wanted to kiss him so bad but you were on a baby steps basis with the Angel.

You hugged him tightly, his hands hesitantly wrapping around your frame as you let out a deep breath. When you pulled back, you didn’t pull away completely from him looking between his eyes and his mouth, a giddy smile on your face.

“I think I might love you too Castiel” You said and he widened his own eyes, a light chuckle coming out of you at his reaction.

Your chuckles were cut off by his lips on yours and you gasped in surprise. His mouth was as soft as you expected, his lips moving against your in perfect sync. He was impressively a good kisser, one of his hands gently holding at the back of your neck while the other slid down to your waist.

You felt like a bomb had exploded inside you, a foreign feeling of happiness spreading to every single cell on your body as your arms wrapped around his neck to hold yourself when he sat on the bed, pulling you over his lap, making you yelp.

You both pulled away, your arms still wrapped around each other and he had a light smile on his face. You one hundred per cent had a shocked look on yours, your cheeks hot and breathing heavy.

“Where’d you learn that?” You asked, absolutely knocked by the kiss.

“Dean told me a thing or two” He said and you couldn’t help but laugh, your body shaking against his as he also chuckled. “It seems like I did great?”

You stopped your laughs and looked in his eyes, drowning in their ocean blue. You gave a peck to the corner of his mouth.

“You did amazing” You said as one of your hands played with the hair at the nape of his neck and he pulled you in, the warmth spreading through both of you yet again, never wanting to let go.

A/N: Notes and reblogs encourage me to keep writing, feedback helps me make those writing better. Thank you for reading, XoXo.

[cosmicalily]

"till you tell me to leave" - a bangchan oneshot by @cosmicalily

author's note: i found a half-written draft for this in my old google docs with my other email account and immediately knew i needed to do a rewrite.

warnings: angst (breakup, exes to lovers)

Three days, twenty-three hours and fifty-nine minutes.

Four days.

Four days and one minute.

Another sleepless night. You didn’t mean to count the minutes, but your eyes remained fixated on your phone, half watching the clock, half staring at the lock screen you’d neglected to change.

Everything around you brought back floods of memories that you didn’t want to deal with. Pictures from photo booths, his arm slung around your shoulder, his hand on your cheek, his lips pressed to your forehead. The one hoodie you’d managed to hold onto, even after he’d packed all his other belongings up when he left. The pre-workout he kept in the back of your pantry. His toothbrush in your bathroom drawer. 

He’d been yours in every way, and you’d been his.

Maybe this was why you’d been so scared to love your best friend; you knew that more came with risk, chances of slamming doors, crying each other's names, and duffle bags hastily filled.

Even when you’d ended things, why were you still writing pages, when he’d been the one to close the envelope? Why were you spending hours nestled on the couch in his hoodie, staring at a black tv screen, unaware of the world around you?

new message from 'channie'

i think i left my hoodie at yours. you home?

i’m driving over.

A part of you wanted to run into the bathroom, brush your hair, remove the two-day old mascara on your eyes and change into something nice. A part of you remembered he’d seen you in every single form, and he loved you regardless. 

He used to tell you how beautiful you were every minute of the day, even when you felt anything but. Did he miss saying those things now? Or did he have another girl to call his angel, his baby, his darling? 

Just the thought made you feel sick to your stomach.

new message from 'channie'

outside.

Taking a deep breath and slipping on your sneakers, you began walking down the hallway of your apartment building. Even though the elevator wasn’t broken for once, you wanted to take the stairs. You needed time to think, and time to turn back if you felt the need.

Why were you so easily coming to him? Well, technically you weren’t, were you? He wanted his hoodie back, presumably the one you were currently wearing.

He’d broken your heart. No, not broken. Slowly tugged at it, until nothing that remained was a dull ache and your pulse.

You thought about turning back, about yelling in his face, about simply bursting into tears and curling up into a ball at the bottom of the staircase, until your neighbour came and yelled at you for disturbing everyone’s sleep at 12:29am.

You thought about these things, but you never felt like acting on them.

What was the point, anyway?

You never would have meant it.

You spotted his familiar black car, the scratch on the bottom from when he’d practised parallel parking, the Sharpie stars you’d drawn with him whilst drunk on his windscreen. You felt your heart swell a little, and even more so when the figure inside the vehicle turned his head to look directly into your eyes.

In silence, you walked over and sat down in the passenger seat, doing your best to look at everything but him. He nodded, pressing his lips together in a thin line, and started the engine. He looked down at your torso, noticing his hoodie, but didn’t make a move to retrieve it. You didn’t attempt to take it off.

“I miss you,” you whispered, barely audibly.

“Hm?”

“Your seatbelt isn’t on,” you replied.

“I was in a rush.”

There was a sudden quiet. The click of his seatbelt, then yours, then the gentle hum of the car as he began to drive.

“You’re wearing the hoodie I left,” Chris finally said softly, eyes focused on the road ahead.

You ignored him. You didn’t really know where he was taking you, and you honestly couldn’t care less. He almost felt like a stranger. A stranger you’d poured your heart out to, and spent hours with, pressing kisses to each other's faces whilst watching movies, watching work out in the gym, cooking food for and dancing while doing the dishes with. A stranger who had been the vast majority of your firsts, who knew your body like the back of his hand, and spent long minutes in the latest and earliest hours loving you, worshipping you.

A stranger who’d been your everything.

As you drove in silence, apart from the soft rhythm of his playlist in the background, his hand found its way to yours, and gently caressed your fingers, as if asking for permission.

You allowed your palm to open.

His fingers tucked into yours, and his thumb brushed against your hand. 

His hand felt warm, familiar. His fingertips were calloused; a result of the way he gripped his pen when he frantically wrote his lyrics late at night.

The car slowed down, then stopped completely. He’d pulled over on the side of a road, in the middle of nowhere. It was ghostly silent, and the trees cast shadows through the headlights.

It was oddly comforting.

“I fucked up.”

“I know you did, Chris.”

He covered his face in his hands in frustration, letting go of yours in the process. Your hand felt a sudden coldness.

“I didn’t . . . I don’t know why I left you. I nearly called you, right after I left. I thought . . . I thought you’d want space, thought I shouldn’t have to put you through anymore. And you were getting fed up with me, I didn’t think you wanted me anymore.”

“I was still in love with you.”

“Was? Past tense?”

“I still love you. I didn’t necessarily fall out of love, Chris, I just . . . I felt like I lost a part of me. Everything felt familiar and distant at the same time, and there were traces of you everywhere. I couldn’t sleep.”

“I can never sleep.”

“I know.”

“I’ve been sleeping even less since I left. The bed’s cold.”

“Same with mine.”

You paused, staring at each other. Chris faced you properly.

“I’m still in love with you. And I’ll try forever if it means I can make you fall again.”

You smiled a little, letting your hand trail up his arm and wrap around his shoulders, resting your face in his warm neck. His hands moved to your waist, moving under his hoodie and settling on your bare skin.  “We should probably get some sleep,” you mumbled into him.

“Your place?”

“Our place. I still have your toothbrush, I think. And more than one of your hoodies.”

“Even if you don't, it doesn't matter,” Chris replied, clasping your hand in his again and gesturing to the backseat. His duffle bag sat there, zipped up, seemingly untouched since he’d left. “I’m coming home. If you’ll let me, of course.”

“You won’t leave?”

“Not unless you say so.”

“So never?”

“Never.”

taglist: @hyunjiiza @velvetmoonlght @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @btch8008s @yaniluvs @ellemir2404 @bellarellasstuff - comment, dm or send an ask to be added

[thanosscross]

All for show 3/? - Choi Seung Hyun/T.O.P x American! Pop-Star! Reader

Summary: After being caught by your manager, Christopher, for leaving the country, you're left with a big decision to make, stay in Korea, and risk everybody's jobs, or go back to America and kiss your new dream life goodbye.

Warnings: Some Angst for your lovelies!

Staying with Seung Hyun was like a dream for you, there wasn't underlying stress, no pressure of being perfect, just having fun with your boyfriend. You were taking small steps, both of you wanting to make sure, that what was going on between you, lasted, but both of you were enjoying every moment together.

It’d only be six days though, before Christopher would be blowing your phone up with different lectures and threats. Of course, it’d also be whenever Seung Hyun would be out recording with the boys, and you weren’t about to bother him with this while he was working. So you sat in his bedroom, your back against the bed frame as you stared at your phone screen, watching as new texts came in every few seconds.

‘Y/n. If it’s true you left the country I swear’

‘You’re seriously in South Korea right now?’

‘Do you know how unprofessional it is to just take off like that? What if you had something scheduled?’

‘You’re ruining your own career being a selfish brat.’

‘And if you don’t ruin it, I’ll make sure it’s the last thing I do because you don’t deserve any of this.’

‘I knew I never should’ve wasted my time on some sorry warm body’

‘I swear I will come to Korea myself just to knock some sense into your stupid fucking head’

As more texts flooded in, you started to grow scared, the more you didn’t reply, the angrier that Chris got. You weren’t sure what had gotten into him, he had never acted like this before, but it was making you terrified to return back to your country. You watched as your phone went off with calls from Christopher before a single text came through from your assistant

‘Christopher just fired everybody, what the hell is going on? Are you okay?’

You tried to hold back your tears, calling her quickly, you never wanted any of this to happen, you never thought it would ever come to this point “y/n? Honey? What’s going on?” Your assistant, Casey, asked softly, you could hear Christopher’s muffled shouts in the background “He found out I left the country, C-Cas, he’s like..for real threatening me, I don’t know if I should come back” you whimpered, trying to calm your nerves as you heard your friend huff “don’t let him scare you. He’s nothing but some small dick, wannabe pop star, short ass, dumb, narcissistic, piece of shit of a man” she listed off, smiling whenever she heard you giggle softly over the phone. “Where’s your man, huh? I’d think you’d be all over him before you had to come back home” she added on, trying her best to change the subject, you sighed a bit, trying your best to tune out the muffled threats of your manager being shouted in the background “he’s recording for a new song..he should be home in awhile” you whispered before flinching slightly whenever you heard the door open over the phone, and Christopher’s shouts become much louder “are you on the phone with her?!” He shouted before you heard Casey’s shouting loudly, telling him to fuck off before calling out that she’d call you back in a little bit.

Leaving you alone in the home, your phone was still blowing up, this time worse than before, the fact you were talking to Casey and not him just fueled his anger even more. “Aein! I’m home!” Seung Hyun called softly as he closed the front door behind him, trying to track you down somewhere in the home.

Whenever he finally managed to find you, his heart would break slightly “y/n?..what are you doing?..” he asked softly, watching as you tried your best to shove your clothes into your suitcase “I-i can’t stay here, C-Chris found out I left t-the country, and if I don’t show back up there by nine tonight their time, everybody is going to lose their jobs” you whispered, dropping your arms in defeat, you should’ve known this was going to happen. With your luck, you should’ve known this wouldn’t work, Christopher wouldn’t let it, not without him having every bit of control over it. Seung Hyun rushed over, grabbing your hands gently “Aein..my love” he replied, pulling you into a tight hug as you just leaned into his touch, not wanting to leave, but you never meant to cause any damage by coming here. "Do You want to leave?" He asked softly, holding you close as he swayed with you slightly, you just shook your head quickly, wrapping your arms around him as you sighed "No, I don't.." You stopped yourself from explaining further, he had enough to stress about, he didn't need to stress additionally about your stuff. Seung Hyun sighed, he wasn't sure what to say, until it finally dawned on him "Aren't you his biggest star? Why not just employ your own staff, and then sign on to a different company? With how big you are overseas, I'm sure it could work" He explained, slowly leading you to sit down on the bed with him, You just shrugged nervously, trying to hold back any new tears, this was really hard to deal with.

"What if nobody wants me?.." You whispered, looking at your shoes, trying your best not meet his gaze, knowing you'd immediately break down if you did. "My love, now that's just silly, I'm sure you could even find an agency here to sign with" He protested, wrapping his arm around your shoulders to pull you close, you just stayed quiet, you wanted to tell Seung Hyun everything involved in the situation, but you didn't want him worried, or him feel like he was obligated to help you. "I-I don't know..- If I go back..-" You stopped yourself, growing frustrated at the fact you weren't finding the words you needed to, Seung Hyun just watching you intently, wanting to help you in any way that he could. "I'm scared to go home, alone" You whispered, staring at the wall, trying to ignore the way your hands shook as you slowly slid your phone to him "Chris is really, Really mad.." You added on, leaning into his hold, as he opened your phone, starting to read through your message. You could tell as his grip on you tightened, and his breathing became unstable, he was getting more towards the threatening messages. "What the fuck? 자신의 협박이 불법이라는 사실을 몰랐나요? 신고하셨나요? 그는 말 그대로 당신을 해치겠다고 협박하고 있어요, 내 사랑 (Didn't you know his threats were illegal? Did you report them? He's literally threatening to hurt you, my love)" He asked quickly, cupping your cheeks gently to pull your attention towards him "I-I don't know what to do" You whimpered, you had been signed under Christopher's company for years, you grew up with him through your late teen years, and early adult years, so the thought of leaving and going where new, also terrified you, just as much as the idea of staying did. "Y/n, You need to leave his management" He whispered, his tone still stern and demanding, trying to tell you that you really had no other choice, he wouldn't let you have another choice. Seung Hyun loved and cared about you way too much to let you deal with your manager any longer, he knew the moment he saw you fighting with him for the first time, that Chris was not a good guy in the slightest. "Where would I go? Where would I sign? Seung Hyun, I love you..but I'm stuck" You ranted, standing back up to start packing again, you needed to get back home before Chris takes things too far and tries to go after Seung Hyun, in retaliation. "My love! You could go anywhere!" He argued, huffing whenever he noticed you weren't going to back down, You had to do this, you had staff members with kids and families to take care of, that couldn't afford to lose their jobs.

Seung Hyun watched for a moment, before ultimately deciding, he was going with you. As he stood up and started packing his own clothes, neatly folding them and laying them flat in his suitcase. "W-What are you doing?" You asked, grabbing his hands gently, stopping him from his task "If you're this set on going back to deal with his stupid ass, then I'm going with you. I'm not going to allow you to do this alone" He explained, turning to face you, you just huffed, between your frustration with Chris, and your anxiety, you couldn't fathom why on earth, Seung Hyun would want to come deal with this bullshit. "Why? You have your own job, your own stressful bullshit here, so why would you want to add on someone else's bullshit?" You asked, dropping your hands to your sides, tilting your head, trying to understand him and his thought process. "Y/n...You're not just someone else, and I'm not adding it on. I love you, Aein, and your bullshit..is my bullshit" He explained, pulling you into a tight hug "Anything you have to go through, my love, I'll always be by your side, that way there's not anything scary, that you ever have to go through alone again" He explained, trying his best to word it properly, you just sighed, dropping your head onto his chest, trying not to cry again, this time by the pure sweetness of Seung Hyun. "Why are you so charming?" You groaned, wrapping your arms around him tightly, looking up to meet his gaze. Seung Hyun just offered you a sympathetic smile as he rubbed your arms gently, motioning to your suitcases laying on the bed "So..Are we going to America?" He asked softly, knowing if so, he'd definitely be scheduling a meeting with your manager.

Whenever you'd land back in L.A, you'd try and hold on to Seung Hyun's hand the entire process of going out to the car you had waiting outside. "Love?...Swear you're not going to start anything?" You whispered, you knew you'd have to have a conversation with Christopher, especially if you were pulling out of your contract with him, and you also knew Seung Hyun wasn't going to let you do it alone, especially with how Chris has been acting towards you. "I can't make promises, my love, I can promise I'll try to wait until you're not present" He whispered softly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as you approached the car, Christopher standing outside, rolling his eyes at the image of you both walking out. Seung Hyun could feel his blood start to boil as he approached the car and your manager, his body felt tense, and he could feel his stomach start to do flips from how much anger ran through his body. "So nice of you to actually show up and do your fucking job" Christopher spat, watching as you silently got in the car, keeping your eyes trained on your boyfriend as he stared Chris down before he climbed in next to you.

The ride to your managers office was silent, the air in the car was filled with tension so thick, you could barely breathe. Your eyes were glued to the floorboard as your brain went over every possibility that could happen, once you arrived at the office space. "I don't see why we can't have the conversation now?" Seung Hyun spoke lowly, not taking his eyes off of Chris, as you took your hand in his, you took a deep breath. "This isn't a conversation that involves outsiders, it is a business meeting between a pop-star and her manager" Chris replied in a snappy tone, causing your head to shoot up quickly, giving him a glare, his comment being all you needed for that final boost of confidence to quit. "It's not a conversation at all, Christopher. I'm terminating our contract, I've spent my ten years with you, and I thank you for all you've done for me, but I don't want to be working for someone like you" You explained, trying to keep a professional tone, but it ended up just being laced in disgust, Chris scoffed, laughing loudly "Seriously? You get with a new guy and all of a sudden you're some badass now? Hey, Y/n, question, whenever he leaves you, like he will, what will you do, huh? You'll be nobody, with nothing" He spat, you squeezed Seung Hyun's hand tightly whenever you felt him tense, harshly, silently letting him know you could handle it. Seung Hyun couldn't help it, just like the first time he watched you fight with Christopher, he didn't like seeing someone disrespect you like that, especially with knowing how you felt about yourself.

"No. Christopher, you don't get to make me feel bad anymore, I might've played the part for half my life, but I am so fucking done. You are nobody, Christopher, understand that. You might've helped me get gigs, but that's all you did. You are nothing but the ugly fucking face behind my FORMER management team, I am the one who made myself, I am fucking everything behind my name!" You shouted as the car stopped, letting the three of you out in the parking lot, you couldn't hide your smirk as you spotted the paparazzi rushing over "Come on, let's go handle this inside, Y/n. Don't act like this" Chris growled, going to grab your wrist harshly, Seung Hyun quickly stepping between you two to stop him, instead grabbing Chris's shoulder/collarbone tightly "Put your hands on her, and You'll have a lot more than how she's acting to deal with" Your boyfriend growled back, shoving him back as he let go of his grip on your manager, not breaking eye contact as he stared Chris down, not ever backing down until you rested your hand on his chest, having him step away slightly "Thank you, love" You whispered before turning your attention back to Christopher "I should've fucking listened to everybody years ago, they all told me! Don't fucking sign her! She's got no talent, just a body! I thought I could make something out of that body! But nope! Nothing but a warm body" He seethed, you could feel yourself getting more pissed, but instead of blowing up, you just broke out into laughs "Really? Everybody told you that? Little 'can't pull a bitch' Christopher had so many people saying don't sign?" You laughed holding a hand over your chest "I'd say you're adorable, but the sight of you, physically makes me fucking sick" You spat, walking closer to him huffing "My lawyers will be in contact, in regard to anything else? Call Casey, or any other of MY staff" You added on before turning to walk towards the bus stop, you'd be damned if you took one of the cars driven by his drivers. "Oh! And Christopher?" You called sweetly before turning around "At least my warm body, has more talent in it than you'll ever have in a lifetime" You smiled, waving goodbye to him in a smartass manner before grabbing Seung Hyun's hand as you walked onto the bus.

The moment you sat down, you could feel yourself starting to have a panic attack, all of the adrenaline wearing off, making you realize how stupid it was to do that, and then leave him there to twist the story to paparazzi. "Hey, hey! That was amazing" He whispered, cupping your cheeks, forcing you to look at him "Personally, I would've liked to kick his ass, but, You handled that perfectly, my love" He whispered, pulling you into a hug as you continued to panic, trying your best to shield your face from any other bus riders, or paparazzi trying to get a picture of you through the bus window. "I just ruined my life" You cried, holding onto his jacket tightly "You didn't ruin your life, my love, nothings ruined, but, we did leave all of our luggage in the trunk of that car" He chuckled, watching as you looked at him, trying to keep a straight face before giggling loudly "Oh my god, we totally did" You laughed, hugging him tightly before pulling away, trying to read the map ahead to figure out what stop, you needed to get off at. "Seung Hyun...now what do I do?" You asked quietly, your knee bouncing slightly as you glanced at your hands, where your fingers were inter-laced tightly together "What do you want to do, my love?" he whispered, pressing your knuckles to his lips gently, his question made you really think, what did you want to do?

"I..I think I want to make different music" You whispered after a moment, looking up to meet his eyes, smiling as bit as he looked at you with such love and admiration. "Yea? What kind?" he asked softly, standing up as you made it to your stop, Seung Hyun following close behind you. "I think I want to just..write what I feel, and my real feelings, not the feelings people tell me to have" You explained, walking towards your neighborhood as you swung your and Seung Hyun's hands slightly. "Well, whatever you decide to do, my love?..I'm here for you, every step of the way" He whispered, wrapping his arms around your waist whenever you finally made it to your home. "I appreciate you, I swear, I appreciate you more than anybody" You whispered, cupping his cheeks gently as you smiled "It's really not a problem, my love. I love you so much, and I'm not going to let any person put their hands on you, especially not in front of me" He whispered, pulling you closer by your hips as he smiled softly "He wouldn't of actually grabbed me, I wouldn't of let it get that far" You giggled, caressing his cheek gently, smiling as he pressed a quick kiss to your forehead "I want to believe you...I really do, but, you are smaller than Ji" He joked, laughing as you shot him an offended look, giggling along with his laughs "Hey! I could kick anybody's ass" You smiled, standing up on your tippy toes to press a kiss to his cheek "Sure you can, my love, either way, I'll always be by your side for every fight" He whispered, moving a hand to cup your cheek as he pressed his lips against yours, you smiled against his lips as you moved your lips against his. You felt so powerful and enthralled with Seung Hyun, he was perfect, in every possible way, and him defending, and protecting you? Just made you even more in love with the man. As you slowly pulled away from Seung Hyun's lips, you never noticed the single hidden paparazzi person, hiding across the street, getting your entire interaction with Seung Hyun.

As you and Seung Hyun winded down from the very eventful day, you laid in your bed together, resting your head on Seung Hyun's chest as his arm was wrapped around you. As you laid there, you huffed loudly, your phone blowing up just like before, this time with a mixture of texts, calls, twitter notifications, instagram, news, all of it. Leaning over Seung Hyun's side, you grabbed your phone giggling as you felt him press his lips to your neck quickly before you laid back down on the bed, feeling your heart drop as you read the first notification on your screen.

'GLOBAL POP-STAR Y/N L/N SEEN SHARING INTIMATE KISS WITH CHOI SEUNG HYUN ALSO KNOWN AS T.O.P FROM K-POP'S BOY GROUP BIGBANG, OUTSIDE OF HER L.A. HOME'

Shit.

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First story after the face reveal! I'm so excited!! What do you think lovelies? A lil angsty, but I promise next part with be so much more fluffier!! <333

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Taglist!!!

@onyxmango

@ag02212023

@acehasmyheart

@mitchko11

@learninglinesintherainn

@seunghyunwifey

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@jajabro

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@i-might-be-vanny

@cheese10001

@live-laugh-lovef1

@c1delight

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Gray Woman 2

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

Summary: You meet a man who tests your patience. (grumpy!short!reader)

Note: To those who didn’t help me resist this beast, I blame you.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The bank is at peak hours. The rush used to make you dizzy but these days you barely notice the changes. There's always someone else waiting. There's always someone upset about money and it's usually their own fault.

You tap through a transaction, working from muscle memory as you ask the usual questions, hit the usual keys. You hand over their card and point them to grab their receipt from the machine on the other side of the glass. The take both. You're used to the the lack of a 'thank you'.

You wait for the next customer. When no one shows, you peer up towards the line corralled behind the stanchions and cords. A man in his suit, more interested in his phone than reality. A woman behind him clears her throat, "excuse me."

He jerks away from her as if she spit on him and scoffs. He rolls his eyes and tucks away his phone as his eyes flit up to you. He approaches as he continues to feel around under the chest of his jacket. He reveals his black card as he gets to the counter and slaps it down.

You watch him dulcetly, "hello, sir. How can I help you today?"

He scoffs again, this time louder. "That's Mr. Hansen, remember?"

You look at him, this time with actual consideration. Your customers are usually nothing more than faceless silhouettes. He sports a bristly mustache and shaved sides. Quite the look to go with his patterned suit jacket.

"I get a lot of customers, sir," you reach through to take his card and he catches your fingers. You flinch, just a little, and try to jerk your hand free. "Sir, let go or--"

"Yeah, yeah," he chortles and releases you as he slants his lips defiantly, "you call over those fake cops standing at the door. What do you think they'll do about it, sweet cheeks?"

You feel a crease between your brows but you don't bit the bait. Some people just want to spread their misery. You quickly snatch the card and swipe it through the machine. His account pops up on the screen.

"What do we need today?" You ask.

"Hm, besides a coffee and some afternoon delight," he snickers, "I need you to move some money for me, sweetheart."

You ignore the epithet. It happens often. The 'hons', the 'sweeties', the 'girls'.

"I'll need an ID." You say.

"We've been through this," he snips. "Just do what I tell you."

He steps closer to the window and you turn to blink at him. He stares back at you. He grimaces, "you really that stupid? You forgot me already?"

"Like I said, sir, it's busy--"

"Go get Veronique, right now," he demands, his nose almost touching the glass.

You put your feet on the bar and step down to the floor. You move stiffly, if not deliberately slow, and shuffle in your flats toward Veronique's cubicle. She sits behind the frosted siding and you tap on it before peeking around.

"Customer," you shrug.

She huffs, "ugh, I swear."

She stands up and leaves her cell phone on the desk. You back up and wait for her to pass before you follow her. She struts to your counter and in an instant, her posture changes.

"Mr. Hansen, you're back!" She chirps, "comment ca va?"

"The damn crow you got squawking back there is asking for my ID again."

"Is she?" Veronique hisses, "forgive me please. I promise, we will make sure this doesn't happen again." She turns and points to your chair, "just do what he say and stop bothering me. Mr. Hansen is a VIP customer. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," you answer. You already know you'll get a lecture later so you don't hold back the subtle snipe.

You get up on your seat and face Mr. Hansen, "what do you need? Money where?"

He chuffs out derisively, "I know your fucking with me, doll face. You remember me."

You neither confirm or deny. Truly, you deal with so many demanding managers and executives, that you might have seen him an hour ago and not realise it.

"Are we moving money out of the checking?" You ask.

He sighs and shifts, leaning on the ledge as if trying to see around your screen. He grumbles before he speaks up. He tells you what to do and you acquiesce. He gives you an account number to wire money out then announces the end of your work.

"Good girl," he winks as he stands straight.

"Do you need your receipt?" You ask as you reach for your mug, tasting the cold peppermint tea.

He watches you sip and his cheek ticks. "I need that about as much as you need that stick lodge up your ass."

It's a bit more on the nose than you're used to. Usually they call you a bitch or just huff and puff and stomp out. His effort is a bit too much. Especially if he thinks himself so important.

"Have a good day, sir," you close out of his account with a click. "Mr. Hansen," he snarls.

"Alright," you say and try to see around him, ready for the next in line. He hesitates before he backs off. When he does, a squat woman comes up and hands you a check. She slides through her bank card and ID. You put it through the scanner then ask her what account to deposit or if she needs cash.

As you issue her receipt, you glance up. That man stands by the door, his face furrowed in distaste as he glares across at you, then he spins and strides out. Hm, maybe it wasn't the same man… you can't tell that far away.

You wish the woman a good day and the next customer comes up. You peek at the clock. Still a while left. Sometimes it feels like time slows down, like the bank isn't subject to the typical laws of time a space. A special purgatory just for the forsaken tellers behind their windows.

[heechwe]

canine intuition | 𝐬𝐣𝐲

୨୧ pairing: sim (jake) jaeyun x fem!reader ୨୧ word count: 1.4k ୨୧ genre: fluff, hints of comedy ୨୧ tags: established relationship, marriage!au, expecting!reader, layla's basically the smartest girl in the room ୨୧ synopsis: Sometimes your dog knows what's going on before you do. And shenanigans ensue when she uses her knowledge to protect you, whether you want her to or not. ➸ For the birthday boy and his beautiful fur baby ♡

“Layla, you’re not coming back inside until you use the bathroom, missy,” you warn the pup. With her head angled to the side, staring up at you in confusion, she must be wondering why you’re refusing to let her back into the house. And you typically would cave if it weren’t for the fact it wasn’t so early in the morning.

When you began dating Jake, you wondered if and how Layla would warm up to you. It scared you more than meeting his parents, if you were being honest. Canines, like their feline counterparts, had a supernatural intuition about people. If she didn’t like you, what did that say about where your relationship would end up in a few months?

Luckily, you both got on perfectly. The two of you were practically thick as thieves by the time Jake proposed and eventually added the wedding band to your finger.

Now, with a beautiful house and adjoining backyard, walks with Layla have become a less-frequent occurrence. She gets more than enough exercise in her new, grassy oasis. It’s only when she needs to go out and come in that either you or Jake have to get up and tend to her physically.

Today, though, she has yet to use the bathroom. Jake had to head out early for a meeting with his business partners and left you to take over the household duties.

Despite your orders, she doesn’t seem to budge on her stance to come back inside. Her persistence mirrors her father’s to the letter, making you smile.

“Layla, once you use the bathroom then I’ll—“ You feel a sudden rush of bile hit the back of your throat, causing you to press your hand to your mouth. Was it the coffee you just drank, or the quick breakfast burrito you scarfed down before letting Layla out?

“I might have to—“ The next second, you’re running to the bathroom at lightning speed. Your knees slam against the tile floor as you bury your head inside the toilet, the contents of your stomach emptied out in a second. Layla scratches on the back door with rapid paws. You can hear a whine behind the screen as you wipe your face with a piece of toilet paper.

Layla runs through the door once you’ve cleaned yourself up, and she jumps up to check on you in an instant. Her paws press lightly on your stomach, her head tilted again at that signature angle when she’s concerned.

“Don’t worry, honey. I’m alright.” You scratch her behind the ears, hoping to appease her anxiety. There are lingering traces of queasiness, but you decide to rest on the couch for a while in hopes of making it go away. Layla doesn’t leave your side for the rest of the morning, forgoing her breakfast to keep her head nestled warmly in your lap.

Layla’s odd behavior continues into the next day.

It’s a modern marvel for Jake to leave work early. Client meetings run long enough as it is, so getting alone time with him at this point in his career is a gift you contable treasure.

You’re cooking a quick lunch for the two of you when Jake wraps his arms around you. Your husband presses sloppy kisses into your neck, his hands exploring your body as he holds you snug against him.

“Honey,” you chide him, trying to mix the macaroni in the pot without letting any stick to the bottom. It will be a bitch to clean—and much less scrape out—if you don’t keep a close eye on it. He knows this, but he clearly has other plans on his mind.

“We can eat later. Right now, I’d rather have dessert,” Jake whispers into the crook of your neck. He reaches around you to turn the stove off, his mind made up.

When you turn around to face him, you’re met with his signature grin, the cheshire cat smile that made you fall in love with him without much effort plastered across his face.

“Maybe I wanted to eat mac and cheese, how about that?” You counter as you run your fingers under his shirt. His skin is warm to the touch, the ripples of his muscles igniting a fire deep in your stomach.

“I think I can change your mind,” he teases.

When he grazes his lips against yours, pressing you harder against him, that’s when Layla loses it.

She begins barking loudly at her father, making him immediately take his hands from your body to lean down to her level. She stands in between you two with fierce attention, the fur on her back brushing your legs.

“What’s wrong, girly girl?” He asks, all sensuality gone from his expression. His concern for her welfare and yours was one of the many reasons you loved him, his affection and loving words for “his favorite girls” always squeezing your heart in a vice grip.

Layla nuzzles her snout against Jake’s palm, but she makes no move to stray from her spot against you. You cross your arms, frowning. “Layla, what’s up with you lately? Mommy’s fine,” you assure her.

“Maybe she wants to go for a W-A-L-K.” Jake spells out the words, wiggling his eyebrows and walking in the direction of the hooks that hold his coats and her leash. “Is that what you want, baby? You want to go for a walk?”

Layla’s ears perk up instantly, her tail wagging in all directions before Jake puts her in her harness. The moment forgotten as the two of them head out the door, you wonder what’s up with her and how to help her feel better moving forward.

The next week, you feel worse for wear. You think back to that day in the kitchen, realizing how oblivious you were to the way your body would turn against you. The nausea was something you could handle. But now, your body is all kinds of sore, mostly in your chest and pelvic region.

You would pass it off as normal premenstrual symptoms, but the pain is foreign on some level you can’t explain. If only you could put a proper name to it, maybe it wouldn’t nag you so much.

Layla whimpers the entire day, snuggled into your side as though she believes her body can provide some relief for your aching one.

By the afternoon, you call Jake to take your mind off of the overbearing discomfort. He begins to talk about the newest project at the firm and his role in landing the contract, but once he hears Layla’s array of cries, he changes his focus.

“Is something going on?” You hear the concern in your husband’s voice immediately, and your heart clenches at his tone.

“No, no, baby, I’m fine. She probably just needs to pee.” At the worst time possible, a cramp makes you gasp in pain.

“I’m coming home,” Jake says with finality, no room for any further discussion.

By the time he makes it home, he brings a large bowl of chicken noodle soup and a brand new heating pad to your bedside.

He runs his hands through your hair as you cry, reminding you to eat as much of the soup as you can stomach.

“Next time, please don’t make Layla the messenger,” Jake jokes, kissing the crown of your head. The girl in question sits nestled against yours and Jake’s feet, satisfied she’s done her job to make sure you got the help you needed.

The sun peers into the bathroom and shines down on the two pink lines staring back at you. The truth of what’s been in development for the past few weeks hits you with full force. Any normal woman would be hyper emotional at the news or terrified at her life changing as she knows it. For you, all you can do is stare down at your dog and laugh.

“You knew this entire time, didn’t you?” You ask Layla although she can’t reply, tears of joy and humor running down your cheeks. She just looks up at you with the same cocked head and wagging tail.

You turn back to the three pregnancy tests that rest on top of the marble counter, all of them confirming what the pup knew to be true many days ago.

Call it canine intuition, feminine senses, or a little bit of both. It’s anyone’s guess.

What isn’t up for debate is whether or not you’ll tell the man you love the news when he gets home.

When he does, he carries a bouquet of flowers in his hands. “Saw these on my way home and thought of you,” he says, beaming.

You grin and press your mouth to his softly. “I actually have something for you too.”

You guide him into the bathroom, his eyes immediately locking onto the tests near the sink. In classic Jake Sim fashion, his eyes go wide and his billion-megawatt grin appears on his lips. “Are you serious?”

You nod your head, the waterworks from earlier coming back.

He encases you in a tight hug, his body shaking with his own barrage of emotions. His voice is trembling when he says, “I’m gonna be a dad.”

He kisses every free space of your face, landing finally on your lips in a tear-stained but beautiful kiss. “How long have you known?”

“Just for a few hours.” You see Layla in the doorway, your pup smiling at the two of you. “But someone actually knew a long time ago.”

@yvnempire @sjylouvre @mini-mews @jayparked @heesuncore @yoursjaeyun @sungbeams @jenoslutie @loserlvrss @pars-ley @lovetaroandtaemin @wonwovy

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 ౨ৎ˚₊

@kvanity-main @sweetvenomnet @onedoornet @sayxonet @violetanet @svthub @whipped-kpop-creators

[bunnysbrainrot]

A Lesson in Manners

Relationship: Dean Winchester x f!Reader

Content: Romantic tension, protective Dean, alcohol consumption, a weird guy ft. the way Dean handles it.

Summary: After a long, exhausting day of hunting, Team Free Will unwinds with drinks at a nearby bar. You're enjoying your time until a stranger decides to pester you, but that won't go unnoticed by Dean.

The signature purr of the Impala faded as Dean turned off the ignition, releasing a heavy sigh, a defeated and tired noise. Whatever nasties they have down here in Georgia have been difficult. All signs in this case were pointing to a djinn, but without getting in closer, there was no way to be completely sure.

That risk was left to Sam and Dean, as they had told you yesterday, when the research finally fell into place.

Sam's lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at his laptop screen, his brows twitching. He deadpanned and looked to his brother, "Djinn. How the hell didn't we think of that yet?"

Dean matched Sam's frustration with a scoff. He simply shook his head.

Djinn were unfamiliar to you still. Though you had done a fair bit of research, helpfully guided by Sam, and learned quite a lot. But, you also knew that research and experience were very, very different for a hunter.

"Awesome, so... what?" Dean inquired, raising a brow at Sam. You sat in the small armchair in the boys' motel room, looking between them. "We gonna go into blood-sucking paradise-dream-world again?"

Sam flashed a quick smile, "Let's just hope it doesn't come to that. Do we have any more lamb's blood?"

Dean's expression changed to annoyance, "Not after that dickbag Balthazar used it for that stupid parallel-universe crap." He crossed his arms over his chest and threw his head back in thought. "And where are we supposed to get it, anyway? We're in the middle of friggin' nowhere."

"Cas?"

"If we could even get a hold of him."

"I'm sure he's still listening, Dean. I know he's been here and there for a while, but-" Sam explained.

Whirling to face his brother, Dean countered, "'Here and there'? Sam, we basically wait three to five business days for him to give us anything. If he's so focused on Heaven right now, let him stay up there."

You had seen Dean's rising upset with his friend for a few weeks now, seeing the angel's presence less and less. Castiel didn't indulge any details, and kept recollections vague - but, the lack of transparency had been taking a toll on the group.

He’d been absent for two weeks now. Nothing.

Dean's lengthy sigh showed his stress. He brought a hand up to his brow; Sam rolled his head to stretch his neck in the passenger seat.

"I need a fuckin' beer," Dean breathed.

You laid a hand on his shoulder from the seat directly behind his - Sam was more conversational on long drives, so sitting on the left side gave good distraction in the long hours on the road. Dean craned his neck to you, looking to you expectantly.

Because as much as he didn't like to admit it, Dean craved the moments when you touched him.

You couldn’t tell if you spooked him, judging by the way Dean froze in his seat, eyes boring directly into yours. A grin spread across your face, "Let's get shitfaced."

Dean shook his head and pointed to you, "You don't wanna get to shitfaced level with me, sweetheart. Just a few beers. Plus, I’ve seen you get tipsy even after one."

Each of you started stepped out of the Impala, respectively stretching your achy legs, or arms, or backs or neck and everything else. No matter the hunt, the soreness remained the same. You released a groan as you lean backward, flexing your stiffened spine. Dean neared and landed a gentle pat between your shoulders to get you moving along.

You noticed how quickly Dean pushed ahead to open the front door, before you had the chance to lift a finger. He looked into the cracked door - an assessing glaze cast over his eyes. Always on the lookout for danger.

Who could keep you safer than Dean Winchester?

After all of his impressive feats so far, it’d be hard for someone not to admire Dean. Saving the world was easier on the drawing board, and with having been to hell and back, you couldn’t fathom the willpower he gained to push past it. Not a semblance of that traumatic experience showed in that handsome, stoic face.

Dean pressed the door ajar to make way for you and Sam. You scanned the tables and stools at the bar; patrons scattered around in clusters, each chattering and laughing amongst themselves.

The thick smell of liquor filled the air. You noticed the hints of whiskey, oddly reminding you of Dean, and the way that scent mixed with his cologne. You memorized that smell from his occasional hugs, or times where you’d sit together, and you’d wondered if he could hear your heart hammering in your chest.

Sam led the way toward a taller table in the corner of the joint, settling in a stool closest to the back emergency exit. You eyed the stool at the outer side, but a creeping feeling dawns on you - someone is staring. Settling into your stool, you took the chance to swivel around, looking for the source of that persistent feeling.

At the bar, a man with a scruffy beard had his eyes trained on yours, roving over your form in the chair. You exhaled, fighting back the feeling of disgust, and turned back to Sam, plastering on a terse smile.

“What is it?” Sam asked, his brows furrowing in concern.

You paled slightly, the man’s stare still honed in on your back, “Dude at the bar has a staring problem.”

Sam leaned casually to reach for his pocket, craning his head for a swift second. A glint in his eye told you he’d found the perpetrator. Footsteps approached from behind - a familiar pattern, one you’d heard every day, and without turning you’d known it was Dean. A careful brush of his hand between your shoulder blades eased you, a gentle reminder he was here.

“Bottoms up, buttercup,” Dean teased, placing a shot of amber liquor in front of you, himself, and then his brother.

Three lime wedges rested on a plate, along with a salt shaker. You glance at Dean with a ‘seriously?’ look, and he gave a signature Winchester grin. You did say you wanted to get shitfaced. And hell, it could help with that looming creep. You licked the back of your hand and sprinkled some salt.

“To figuring something out,” you proclaimed, raising the shot glass. The boys follow your lead before clinking them on the table, and tossing their heads back.

The tequila burns the back of your throat, but the lime helps you ignore it. Sam held a steady face while Dean grimaced at the burn.

You giggled softly, “Can’t handle tequila, Dean?”

He flashed a toothy grin, and a quick middle finger. Your giggle evolved into a bright laugh that drew one from Sam, too.

“Bet you couldn’t handle pool, though,” countered Dean.

Sam eyed you from the side and threw a knowing smirk. You’d never back down from a challenge, especially when it was Dean testing you. There was a desire to beat him at his own games, to show him you could match his skill and then some.

Then there was the chase of it - cycles of teasing comments and passing glances, but never a break in the tension.

Your voice lowers, “I’ll take you on any day, Winchester.”

The jest made Dean grin. The chase was on again.

Sam stayed behind when you and Dean claimed a vacant pool table, letting you set yourselves up for the perfect one-on-one.

Dean nodded to you and eyed the cue ball. You bend at the waist over the table, and felt the creeping feeling again. It radiated along your spine to the nape of your neck, as if your body was set ablaze under the stranger’s stare.

Until suddenly, you had company.

“Say, think you could spare me a game when you’re done, beautiful?”

The voice matched the face. It was nasally with a copious amount of douchery; another entitled asshole who got involved when he wasn’t wanted.

Across the table, Dean’s brow twitched.

“Listen bud, we’re just getting started here. Plenty of other folks in here who can play you,” the edge in Dean’s tone was a warning in and of itself.

You hitched a breath awaiting the man’s reaction.

Out of the corner of your eye you spotted Sam sliding off his barstool, slowly making his way closer to your pool table. He idly looked at his phone, but kept a watchful glance.

“I’m sure you’ll have the time for another one, right, baby?” The stranger’s words slurred stupidly. He didn’t address Dean with meeting his stare, and instead fought to have yours. He closed the gap between you two further - the smell of alcohol lingered on him, thick and nauseating.

You bark, “You’ve got ten seconds.”

“Oh…. hic… ten seconds ain’t enough for me, sweetheart..”

Dean’s voice was taunting, probably trying to pull the dickbag away from you, “It’s plenty for us.”

Finally, the man looked to Dean, straightening his posture at the height difference. He was lean, but couldn’t hold a firm stance, by the looks of it. The man scanned Dean top to bottom before turning back to you.

Before crossing a crucial line.

A foreign hand stroked your spine, making you recoil. Anger contorted your features as you warned him yourself.

“Try that again, fucker,” you spat with disgust. You could still feel the touch on your back. Gross.

The man’s lips tug into a smile, and the anger continued to brew. Of course, you were not the only one with that bubbling rage. Dean has closed the distance before you could register he’d moved at all.

Dean loomed over the man with a haunting glare. To add fuel to the fire, the man had the gall to grin at the threat, raising his hands to Dean’s chest.

“Come on, jus’ gavin’ a lil’ fun,” said the stranger.

In one swift motion, Dean collected the man’s wrists with one hand, and delivered a hook with the other.

The blow knocked his head to the side. Other patrons turned to the scene unfolding - some turned back to their drinks, some kept staring. You gasped when Dean landed another strike, sending the man tumbling to the floor with a resounding thud.

“Dean, that’s enough, he’s-“

He didn’t react to your objection.

Behind the commotion, Sam’s eyes widen with shock, though he smiles with satisfaction at the takedown.

A final shove put enough distance between you and the pathetic drunk. You turned to see the bartender giving Dean a stern look, but they return to filling a pint glass.

You panted softly while the stranger walked away, bracing his bloodied chin with his hand. You looked to Dean and found his attention back at the pool table, letting out a frustrated grunt. There wasn’t a way to thank him. No need. The man had made great strides in protecting you, enough to reassure that you didn’t have to offer thanks. It came naturally, protecting one another.

Sam made his way back to the table and returned to his stool, shaking his head in disbelief, a smile on his face.

What a night, right?

It was Dean’s voice that brought you back to your senses. That same voice that calmed you, that ignited your body to its core.

“Alright, sweetheart, you go first.”

——

“Dammit, whathefuck- that isn’t fair-“ you protested. You’d lost, but kept trying to knock the striped pool balls into the pockets, insisting that there was some sort of rule to let you go until you were fully done, including the cue ball.

Sam handed you a glass of water, which you sipped on immediately. Your fingertips slowly grew numb against the cold glass.

Dean chortled as he collected the pool balls, “Shitfaced and pool don’t mix well, do they?”

You let out a tipsy laugh and shake your head at him. The moment stilled, where the rest of the scene faded away. Dean scanned you over, and held a too-long look. A small spark lit behind his eyes.

“Let’s getcha home.”

Thank you for reading! I liked this idea, and I think it could easily have a second part. Vote in the poll or me know in the comments if you’d like to see where this goes!

[supernaturalfreewill]

You groped for your phone in the darkness and squinted at the bright glare of the screen. Dean Winchester. "H—hello?" you asked groggily. "Dean? What's going on? Are you okay?"

"I'm outside. Can you let me in?"

"What?" Now, you sat straight up in bed and started to climb out and pull on your slippers and a sweatshirt. "It's 4 in the morning," you said, heading through your dark house to the front door.

"I know... I've been here since two," he said.

"Oh. Okay... I'm—I'm coming." You hung up and pulled open the front door to see a somewhat pale and shaky-looking Dean. He hardly let you get it open before he wrapped you up in a tight hug.

"You're okay. Thank God," he murmured, shutting his eyes as he held you and breathing in your familiar smell.

"Yeah? I'm fine. W—what's going on?" he followed you back inside and you shut the door on the night.

He shook his head. "I had this nightmare—You were—" he shook his head. It was too horrible to repeat. "It doesn't matter. I just needed to make sure you're okay and—I guess it made me realize something."

You were peering at him with a soft frown, clearly worried by the middle-of-the-night surprise wake-up. "What's that?" you asked.

"Along with Sammy and Cas, you're the most important damn person in the world to me. And I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you. I mean it. I don't think I could—" he broke off again and gulped. He hugged you again, just as tightly as before.

You hugged him back. "It was just a nightmare, Dean. I'm okay."

"Yeah. Yeah..." he murmured. He didn't want to let you go. It had all seemed far too real.

Prompt: "It's four in the morning!" / "I've been here since two."