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aspenmissing · 2 days ago

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ʙʀᴏᴋᴇɴ ʙᴏɴᴇꜱ

ᴊᴀ��ᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ || 4934 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ʙʀᴏᴋᴇɴ ʙᴏɴᴇꜱ, ᴅᴇꜱᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋꜱ, ꜱɴᴀᴘᴘɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ʙᴏɴᴇꜱ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴏᴜʀ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ ᴇxᴘᴇʀɪᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʙʀᴏᴋᴇɴ ʙᴏɴᴇꜱ.

ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx/ᴘᴏᴡᴅᴇʀ ᴠᴇʀꜱɪᴏɴ

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ

JAYCE

The sun had long dipped below the Piltover skyline when Jayce finally saw the door to the hospital swing open. His heart jumped to his throat as Y/N stepped out, her arm encased in a pristine white cast. She looked exhausted, though she offered him a small smile. He was on his feet in an instant, rushing to her side.

"Y/N," he breathed, his hands hovering near her as if unsure whether to touch her or not. His warm brown eyes were flooded with concern. "How are you feeling? Does it still hurt?"

"I'm fine, Jayce," she said, her voice soft and reassuring. "It’s just a broken arm. I’ll live."

But that didn’t stop him from looking her over like she was made of glass. He took her good hand gently in his and began walking with her, his free hand instinctively moving to the small of her back to guide her. When they got home, he made her sit down immediately, fussing over pillows, blankets, and a glass of water she hadn’t asked for.

That night, when he finally sat beside her, he moved in to hug her but paused halfway, his arms hovering.

"Jayce," she teased lightly, though she couldn’t help the warmth in her tone. "You’re not going to break me."

"I just don’t want to hurt you," he murmured, closing the gap slowly and pressing a careful kiss to her forehead.

The weeks passed, and while Y/N grew used to her cast, Jayce never stopped treating her like she might shatter at the slightest touch. His constant doting was both endearing and exasperating, and Y/N found herself looking forward to the day her arm was healed if only to spare him the worry.

No matter what she tried to do, Jayce was always there, hovering, ready to take over before she even had the chance to begin. If she so much as reached for a glass of water, he was there to grab it for her.

"Jayce," she said one morning as she shuffled into the kitchen, her good hand brushing through her hair. "I think I can pour myself some juice."

But before she could even pick up the carton, Jayce swooped in, grabbing it with his usual efficiency and pouring it into a glass. He turned to her with a satisfied smile, holding the glass out like a peace offering.

"I’ve got it," he said cheerfully.

She groaned but accepted the juice, muttering under her breath, "I’m not useless."

Things only got worse when it came to her daily routines. One evening, as she stood in front of the bathroom mirror with her toothbrush in hand, Jayce appeared behind her, arms crossed.

"You shouldn’t be twisting your wrist like that," he said, his tone dripping with concern.

"Jayce," she replied, her tone flat, "I think I can manage brushing my teeth."

"Sure, but what if you accidentally put too much pressure on your arm?" He leaned forward, reaching for the toothbrush.

Her eyes widened in disbelief. "You are not brushing my teeth for me."

"Just let me help—"

"Jayce!"

He backed off, though he still watched her like a hawk until she finished, muttering something about how she was being "too stubborn for her own good."

The same scenario repeated itself with nearly everything else. When she tried to brush her hair, Jayce would gently take the brush from her hand, insisting, "I’ll do it for you. You shouldn’t strain yourself."

When it came to meals, he practically insisted on cutting up her food. One time, she tried to pick up a fork, only for him to gently but firmly take it from her hand.

"Jayce, I can feed myself," she protested, her voice tinged with exasperation.

"But it’s easier this way," he replied, as if it were the most logical thing in the world. "Just let me take care of you."

"You mean ‘smother me,’" she muttered, though she couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at her lips.

By the end of the third week, Y/N was ready to scream—or laugh, depending on her mood. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate Jayce’s care; it was just that his over-the-top devotion made her feel more helpless than her injury ever had.

Still, for all her frustration, there was no denying how much he loved her. Late at night, when he thought she was asleep, he’d press the softest kisses to her cast and whisper, "I’m so sorry this happened. I’ll take care of you, I promise."

And despite everything, Y/N couldn’t help but smile in those moments. As maddening as Jayce’s overprotectiveness was, his heart was always in the right place.

The day finally came. When the doctor removed her cast, Y/N sighed in relief as she flexed her fingers, revelling in the newfound freedom. Beside her, Jayce stood like an overbearing guardian, peppering the doctor with an endless stream of questions.

"How long until she’s fully healed? Is there anything she shouldn’t do? What about heavy lifting—can she—?"

The doctor smiled patiently. "She’ll need to be cautious for a while. The arm’s still regaining strength, so no overexertion or high-impact activities just yet."

Jayce nodded solemnly, taking every word to heart as if it were gospel.

Back home, the mood was lighter. Y/N was thrilled to have her arm back, stretching it gingerly and revelling in the small victories of brushing her own hair or pouring her own drink without interference. Still, Jayce couldn’t entirely suppress his protective instincts, hovering nearby like a nervous parent ready to jump in at the slightest sign of trouble.

That evening, the playful energy between them sparked into a full-blown argument when Jayce made a cheeky comment about Y/N’s cooking skills. Her response was swift—a cushion hurled directly at his chest.

"Oh, it’s on now," Jayce declared, his tone mock-serious as he lunged towards her with comically slow movements.

Y/N shrieked in laughter, dodging to the side, but he caught her waist, pulling her down onto the floor in a tangle of giggles. They wrestled half-heartedly, their laughter echoing through the room.

But then it happened.

As Jayce shifted his weight, his knee accidentally pressed against her recently healed arm. The sharp snap that followed was like a thunderclap in the room. Y/N’s laughter cut off with a pained gasp, her face twisting in agony as she clutched her arm.

Jayce froze, his eyes widening in horror. His face drained of all colour as he whispered, "Y/N?"

"Oh, no," Y/N groaned, her tone a mix of frustration and pain. "Jayce, I think you—"

"I broke it again," he finished, his voice cracking with panic. He scrambled off her, his hands flying to his head. "Oh, gods, I broke it again! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—I—"

"Jayce," she hissed through gritted teeth, trying to sit up despite the searing pain. "Stop panicking and help me!"

Her sharp tone snapped him out of his spiral. He was at her side in an instant, carefully cradling her as he helped her to her feet, though his hands trembled with guilt.

"I can’t believe I did this," he muttered, more to himself than to her. "I’m the worst. I’ll carry you to the hospital. Or, no, I’ll call someone—"

"Jayce," Y/N interrupted, her voice firm but soft. She reached up with her good hand to cup his cheek, forcing him to meet her gaze. "It’s fine. It was an accident. Let’s just get to the hospital before you spiral any further, alright?"

He nodded mutely, swallowing hard as he supported her out the door, his face a picture of guilt and worry.

By the time they reached the hospital, Jayce’s panic had given way to quiet determination. He sat by her side the entire time, holding her non hurt hand tightly and murmuring apologies under his breath as though the words could undo the damage.

When it was all over and they were finally heading home, Jayce couldn’t help but glance at her sheepishly. "You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?"

Y/N chuckled despite the dull ache in her arm, her tone filled with teasing warmth. "Not a chance, big guy. But for now, maybe stick to hugs instead of play fights."

Jayce grinned, though the guilt still lingered in his eyes. "Deal," he said softly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as they walked home. This time, he’d be careful. No more play fights—at least not until she declared herself ready.

VIKTOR

The shimmer of Piltover's golden hour streamed through the lab's wide windows, painting the room in hues of amber and gold. The soft hum of machinery mixed with the faint crackle of an experimental device on the far side of the room. Workbenches were laden with blueprints, half-assembled mechanisms, and jars filled with odd-looking components, all arranged in a chaos only Viktor could decipher.

At his desk, Viktor was hunched over a delicate contraption, his hands deftly twisting a screwdriver into place. His cane leaned against the table, but he occasionally reached out to tap it against the floor, the sound rhythmic and faintly metallic. It served as a subconscious metronome to his thoughts, a steady reminder of his focus.

Across the room, Y/N sat on a stool, her leg propped up on a haphazard stack of thick books, including a dusty tome on hextech theory. Her foot and leg were encased in pristine white bandages, stretching from her knee to her toes. A sleek crutch leaned against the workbench beside her, catching the light from the window as though mocking her injury.

“You know,” Viktor drawled without looking up from his work, his accent laced with wry amusement, “I did not think you’d try to match me in this way. I must admit, it’s flattering.”

Y/N raised a brow, reaching for a pencil from the cluttered table. She lobbed it at him with precision, and Viktor tilted his head just enough to let it sail past him. It clattered harmlessly to the floor, and he smirked, finally glancing at her.

“Flattering?” she asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’re lucky I can’t chase you down right now.”

“Lucky indeed,” Viktor replied, his tone thick with mock sincerity. “Though, I would have out-walked you anyway. My cane, you see, has years of experience. Your… crutch?” He motioned to it with a small flick of his fingers. “It’s still in training.”

Y/N let out a scoff, adjusting her position on the stool as she folded her arms. “Oh, we’re doing this, are we? For your information, I’ve already mastered the art of moving with this thing. Observe—grace in motion!”

She grabbed the crutch and pushed herself to her feet, balancing precariously as she exaggerated a swing of her body. She wobbled almost immediately, the crutch slipping slightly on the polished floor, forcing her to grip it tighter to avoid tumbling.

Viktor leaned back in his chair, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. A soft chuckle escaped him, low and smug. “Graceful indeed. Perhaps we should call it The Dancing Crutch.”

“Ha-ha,” Y/N deadpanned, planting the crutch back on the ground with a firm thud. “Alright, show-off. What makes your cane so much better, then?”

Viktor lifted his cane from its resting spot, twirling it lightly in his hand. “Ah, where to begin?” he mused, inspecting it with exaggerated reverence. “It is perfectly balanced, the weight distributed just so. It is an extension of myself—functional, elegant, and entirely superior.”

“Oh, please,” Y/N retorted, rolling her eyes. “Your cane squeaks when you walk too fast.”

His brow arched. “Squeaks, you say?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, her grin widening. “And don’t act like you don’t know it. Every time you sneak up on me, it gives you away.”

“Ah, but that is my plan,” Viktor countered, leaning forward slightly, the mischievous glint in his amber eyes growing brighter. “The squeak is a distraction. By the time you hear it, it is already too late.”

Y/N snorted, unable to hold back her laughter. “You’re absolutely ridiculous.”

“And yet,” Viktor said, standing with deliberate slowness, testing his weight on the cane before stepping forward, “I am still better at this than you.” He moved to the centre of the room, spinning the cane deftly in his hand like a sword. Twirling it once more, he planted it firmly on the ground with a dramatic flourish, bowing slightly as though he’d just performed for an audience.

“Precision and flair,” he declared, looking at her expectantly.

Y/N burst into laughter, clapping her hands. “Oh, Viktor, that was brilliant. You’ve missed your calling as a circus performer.”

He gave a mock bow. “Your turn, of course. Let us see the power of The Dancing Crutch.”

“Oh, you’re on,” Y/N said, determination glinting in her eyes. She grabbed her crutch, rising carefully to her feet and grimacing slightly as she adjusted to the weight on her uninjured leg. She turned to Viktor with a mock bow. “Prepare to be amazed.”

She swung the crutch around with wild enthusiasm, attempting to mimic Viktor’s movements. Unfortunately, her lack of balance and unfamiliarity with her "weapon" quickly caught up to her. The crutch wobbled, tangling her up as she flailed to keep from falling. She nearly toppled over before Viktor darted forward—well, as quickly as he could—catching her by the arm and steadying her.

“Impressive,” he teased, his voice dripping with amusement. “A technique I call The Flailing Crane.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him but couldn’t suppress her grin. “Alright, fine. You win this round. But I’m still faster than you, even with this thing.”

“Is that a challenge?” Viktor asked, his lips curving into a lopsided smirk.

“It’s a promise,” Y/N shot back, the same spark of mischief in her eyes that had lit their banter since the day she got her crutch.

It had been weeks since then, and now the crutch was gone—relegated to the corner of the lab, collecting dust alongside failed prototypes and forgotten tools. Y/N flexed her leg, testing the strength in it, the faintest twinge of discomfort reminding her of how far she’d come. She grinned at Viktor, planting her hands on her hips.

“Well, you’re in trouble now,” she said smugly. “No more crutch. No more excuses. I could outrun you without breaking a sweat.”

Viktor leaned against his cane, arching an unimpressed brow. “Ah, yes. Because speed has always been my greatest strength,” he said dryly.

“I’m serious!” Y/N laughed, rolling her shoulders like a runner preparing for a race. “You’d better keep that cane close, because you’re going to need it when I leave you in the dust.”

Viktor tilted his head, considering her for a moment. Then, the smirk returned, sharp and calculated. “If you are so confident, perhaps we should test this theory.”

Y/N raised a brow. “You want to race me? You’re on.”

He nodded, limping to the middle of the room with his cane tapping lightly against the floor. Y/N stretched her legs dramatically, shaking them out like she was preparing for a marathon. Viktor watched her antics with quiet amusement, adjusting his cane in his grip.

“Alright,” Y/N said, standing beside him and glancing towards the lab door, which would mark the finish line. “First one to the door wins. No excuses when I beat you, alright?”

“Of course,” Viktor replied, his voice smooth and innocent. Too innocent.

Y/N didn’t notice the subtle glint in his eye as they both readied themselves. She crouched slightly, her weight balanced on the balls of her feet. Viktor shifted his grip on the cane, his posture deceptively casual.

“Ready?” Y/N asked.

“Always,” Viktor answered, and the moment the words left his mouth, he swung his cane sideways with a quick flick, the handle knocking into her ankle just hard enough to unbalance her.

“OW!” Y/N yelped, stumbling back and clutching her ankle. She shot Viktor a look of betrayal, her mouth agape. “Did you just—?”

But Viktor was already hobbling towards the door as fast as he could, a triumphant laugh escaping him. “Forgot to mention,” he called over his shoulder, “it doubles as a perfect weapon!”

“You cheater!” Y/N yelled, still holding her ankle as the sting faded. “I can’t believe you!”

Viktor glanced back with a lopsided grin, his pace unhurried but victorious. “You said no excuses. You never said no strategy.”

Y/N groaned, finally shaking off the lingering pain and starting after him, though the head start he’d gained was enough to keep her behind. “When I catch you, you’re going to regret that, Viktor!”

“Catch me first,” Viktor teased, his voice light with laughter as he reached the door and leaned against it, tapping his cane against the floor with a flourish.

By the time Y/N reached him, she was laughing despite herself, glaring at him with mock indignation. “You’re lucky I don’t have my crutch anymore, or I’d be using it on you.”

Viktor chuckled, leaning slightly closer. “Ah, but that is why I struck first.”

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” Viktor said, his smirk softening as he straightened up, “you still cannot resist our games.”

Y/N huffed, shaking her head but smiling all the same. “Next time, no tricks.”

“Next time,” Viktor agreed, though the glint in his eye said otherwise.

Their laughter filled the lab once more, echoing off the walls as they walked back together, bickering and teasing all the while. And though Y/N silently vowed revenge, she couldn’t deny how much she enjoyed these little moments—moments where the weight of life felt a little lighter, shared with someone who made the world infinitely brighter.

JAYVIK

Y/N sighed, leaning heavily against the counter in the lab, her brow furrowed as she twisted a particularly stubborn component on the device Viktor had been fine-tuning all morning. Her frustration simmered just beneath the surface, every failed attempt to adjust the mechanism pushing her closer to snapping. Across the room, Jayce was humming some jaunty tune, his movements rhythmic as he tinkered with his own project. He seemed utterly oblivious to the quiet chaos brewing at her station. Viktor, however, stood nearby, his sharp golden eyes flitting between the blueprint and the device, his cane propped securely against the worktable.

“You’re twisting it wrong,” Viktor remarked casually, his voice tinged with that characteristic dry amusement.

Y/N groaned, throwing him an exasperated glance. “I’m not twisting it wrong!” she retorted, the irritation in her tone undercut by playful defiance.

“If you keep at it like that, you’ll break it,” Viktor warned, leaning slightly closer to observe her handiwork, his expression almost smug.

From his corner of the lab, Jayce chuckled, his voice warm and teasing. “Come on, Y/N. Viktor’s always right about this stuff. You know he’s been doing this since before you even stepped into a lab.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, shooting a mock glare in Jayce’s direction. “Oh, please. I’m not going to break it. I’ve got this under control.”

She glanced back at the device, her grip tightening on the delicate mechanism. She wasn’t about to let either of them have the satisfaction of being right.

“Y/N,” Viktor began, a faint note of warning creeping into his tone, “you’re applying too much—”

CRACK!

The sound reverberated through the lab, sharp and unmistakable.

It wasn’t the device.

Pain exploded up Y/N’s arm, sharp and unrelenting. Her breath hitched, and for a split second, she froze, willing herself to stay calm despite the agony radiating from her wrist. Viktor’s eyes snapped to her, his expression shifting from bemusement to alarm, while Jayce immediately looked up from his work, a frown creasing his features.

“That... wasn’t the device,” Jayce said slowly, his brows knitting together in confusion. He set down his tools and took a step towards her, his gaze scanning her face.

“It’s fine!” Y/N blurted, panic rising in her chest as she quickly shoved her injured arm behind her back. She forced a tight-lipped smile, hoping they couldn’t see the faint sheen of sweat forming on her brow. “I just—uh—dropped something! No big deal!”

“Y/N,” Viktor said, his voice low and sceptical, “what did you—”

“Nope! Totally fine! Nothing to worry about!” Y/N interrupted, her words rushed as she started backing towards the door.

“Wait, what—” Jayce began, his confusion deepening as he took another step forward.

“Don’t worry about it! Be back soon!” Y/N called over her shoulder, practically sprinting out of the lab before either of them could protest.

Hours later, Y/N returned to the lab, her arm encased in a pristine white cast. The nurses at the clinic had been kind—almost too kind—and had taken it upon themselves to decorate her cast with bright doodles and cheerful messages like “Get well soon!” and “Stay out of trouble!” While the colourful scribbles added a bit of charm, she couldn’t help but feel self-conscious as she stepped into the lab, hoping her absence had gone unnoticed.

She was wrong.

The moment Y/N crossed the threshold, Viktor and Jayce’s heads snapped up in unison, their eyes locking onto her cast.

For a moment, silence hung in the air. Jayce’s face twisted into a mix of confusion and disbelief, while Viktor’s expression darkened, his brows furrowing deeply as he leaned on his cane.

“What the hell happened to your arm?” Jayce demanded, his voice sharp as he strode towards her, his large frame looming.

“Nothing!” Y/N said a bit too quickly, holding up her injured arm as if to dismiss their concern. “It’s just a minor mishap. No big deal.”

“No big deal?” Viktor repeated, his tone flat and disbelieving as he limped closer, the soft tap of his cane punctuating each step. “Y/N, you are wearing a cast. How exactly is that ‘no big deal’?”

Jayce folded his arms across his chest, his stern expression doing little to mask the worry in his eyes. “You left here perfectly fine, and now you come back with that? What aren’t you telling us?”

Y/N shifted uncomfortably, her cheeks flushing under their dual scrutiny. She hesitated, then sighed. “It’s nothing, really. I might’ve... twisted something earlier while working on that device.” She gestured vaguely towards the workstation, her voice trailing off.

“Twisted something?” Viktor echoed, his sharp gaze narrowing. “Y/N, that is not a twist. That is a fracture.”

Jayce’s eyes widened in realisation, his voice rising. “Wait—are you telling me you broke your arm working on that? And you didn’t think to tell us?!”

“I didn’t want to worry you!” Y/N shot back, her voice small and defensive.

“Not tell us?!” Viktor’s cane tapped the floor sharply as he gestured at her arm. “You left the lab injured without explanation! Do you know how reckless that is?”

Jayce ran a hand through his hair, his earlier frustration giving way to something softer and far more concerned. “Y/N, we’re your partners. We’re supposed to look out for each other.” His voice gentled further, the warmth in his tone almost disarming. “You’re not just our colleague—you’re family.”

Viktor’s gaze softened at Jayce’s words, and he nodded. “Exactly. Next time, do not hide these things. Let us help.”

Y/N hesitated, guilt twisting in her chest as she looked between the two of them. Their worry was genuine, their affection undeniable. Finally, she nodded, offering a small, sheepish smile. “Alright. I promise.”

“Good,” Jayce said, a mischievous grin breaking across his face. “Now, let me see that cast. I’m claiming the first signature spot!”

“No way,” Viktor interjected smoothly, already reaching for a pen on the nearest table. “I have far better handwriting.”

“Oh, please,” Jayce scoffed. “Your handwriting is completely illegible. Let me do it!”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh as the two of them immediately began bickering, their usual competitive nature coming through. She raised her arm slightly, giving them a glimpse of the colourful scribbles already covering the cast.

“Well, you’re both too late,” Y/N said with a grin. “The nurses beat you to it. They practically had a race to see who could sign it first.”

Jayce blinked in surprise, his hand faltering mid-air. “Wait, they signed it already?” he asked, eyes widening as he inspected the lively messages and doodles that covered the surface.

Viktor leaned in as well, his golden eyes scanning the signatures. “Well, I suppose we’ve been beaten to the punch,” he remarked dryly, though there was a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I can’t blame them for getting in first.”

Y/N chuckled, feeling the warm, familiar weight of their presence. “Guess you’ll just have to wait your turn.”

Jayce raised an eyebrow, giving Viktor a pointed look. “Alright, fine. I’ll let Viktor sign it next.”

Viktor shook his head with a smirk. “I’m not signing last. That’s just not acceptable.”

“Oh, come on,” Jayce protested, folding his arms. “Your handwriting looks like a scribbled mess. I’ll go next.”

“Absolutely not,” Viktor said firmly, giving Jayce a playful but stern look. “I’ll make it look presentable. You’re just going to make it worse.”

Y/N laughed again, shaking her head at the bickering. “Alright, alright. How about this—both of you sign it at the same time?”

Jayce and Viktor exchanged a glance, both sizing up the situation. After a brief moment of silent deliberation, they shrugged in unison, reluctantly agreeing to her suggestion.

“Fair enough,” Jayce said, handing Viktor the pen with a mischievous smirk. “But just so you know, I’m still going next.”

Viktor rolled his eyes but grinned. “We’ll see about that.”

And so, despite their playful bickering, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a warm sense of comfort wash over her. They were arguing over something as trivial as whose signature went where on her cast, but in this moment, it was clear how much they cared. She couldn’t help but feel incredibly lucky to have such devoted, genuine people by her side.

A few weeks later, Y/N’s cast was finally removed. As the doctor carefully sawed through the plaster, Y/N’s thoughts wandered to the signed messages left behind by Viktor and Jayce. She couldn’t help but chuckle as the doctor handed her the cut cast.

“You know,” she said, “I’m pretty sure this cast must be worth a fortune by now. I mean, it’s got both of your signatures on it. It's practically priceless.”

Jayce chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t get any ideas, Y/N. I’m not buying it back.”

Viktor smirked from where he stood, tinkering with one of his machines. “Well, if we’re going to charge for it, we’d have to factor in the quality of our handwriting. Mine’s worth at least double.”

“Oh, please,” Jayce scoffed. “Your handwriting looks like a series of chaotic scribbles. No one’s paying top dollar for that.”

Y/N laughed, the weight in her chest lightening as she watched the two of them bicker. It felt good to be back, to be doing something familiar again.

The three of them got back to work, the familiar hum of the lab filling the air once more. Y/N had barely started picking up where she left off when she felt the familiar, irritating tightness in her wrist as she tried to twist a particularly stubborn piece into place. She applied more pressure, gritting her teeth as she tried to force it.

And then—CRACK!

The sound was unmistakable.

Viktor and Jayce both froze. For a brief moment, they exchanged a panicked look before their eyes snapped back to Y/N, expecting to see her wincing in pain or clutching her arm in distress. But instead, Y/N stood there with a wide grin, her arm outstretched, and her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Before either of them could speak, Y/N burst into laughter, her shoulders shaking with mirth. “You should have seen the look on your faces!” she exclaimed, wiping away a tear from the corner of her eye. “I didn’t break it again!”

Jayce blinked in confusion, his brow furrowing. “What? Then what was that crack? Are you telling me you didn’t—”

Y/N held up her hand, still laughing. She reached into her mouth and pulled out two perfectly raw pasta strands, holding them up for both of them to see. “I just bit into some pasta,” she said between giggles, “and it snapped! You two looked like you were about to faint!”

Viktor, clearly relieved, let out a deep breath and shook his head, a faint smile playing at his lips. “You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, still trying to process what had just happened.

Jayce, on the other hand, was still staring at her in disbelief. “I swear, I’m going to need a second to recover from that,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “You seriously got us again.”

Y/N winked at him, still grinning ear to ear. “Just keeping you on your toes. Besides,” she added with a mischievous gleam in her eye, “I needed to remind you both that I’m still the one in charge around here.”

Jayce rolled his eyes, though a smile tugged at his lips. “We’ll see about that.”

As the three of them returned to work, the air was light, filled with the easy camaraderie of old friends. Y/N was just as capable and spirited as before, and as long as she kept them guessing, Viktor and Jayce were more than happy to keep her around—broken arm or not.

#Arcane #arcane fandom #arcane fluff #reader insert #jinx x platonic!reader #jayce x reader #jayce x you #jayce talis x reader #jayce x y/n #viktor x y/n #viktor x reader #jayce x reader x viktor #viktor x you #vander x reader #silco x reader #jayvik x reader

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skibidi-hae · 19 hours ago

Text

ONLY WITH YOU

— kim minji x female reader

synopsis: after a long, exhausting day, minji comes home craving nothing but your presence.

genre: fluff.

warning: nothing.

wc: 692.

the door creaked open with a faint groan, and before you could even look up from your phone, you heard the familiar thud of kim minji’s bag hitting the floor.

you were barely sitting upright on the couch when minji shuffled over like a zombie—well, a very pouty, needy zombie.

“babe,” she whined, dragging out the word as if it physically hurt her. she practically threw herself onto you, wrapping her long arms around your waist and burying her face in your shoulder.

“hi, min,” you greeted, trying not to laugh at how dramatic she was being. “rough day?”

“don’t wanna talk about it,” she mumbled, her voice muffled by the fabric of your sweater. her arms tightened around you, and she squirmed, shifting until she was practically sitting in your lap.

“you’re clingy today,” you teased, brushing some of her hair out of her face.

“i’m always clingy,” she said, pulling back just enough to look at you, her lips jutting out in the most pitiful pout.

her eyes were big and pleading, like a puppy who’d just been told “no.” “can’t i just miss you?”

you bit your lip to hide your smile. “i never said you couldn’t. but you’re acting like you haven’t seen me in years.”

“i haven’t,” she argued, dramatically pressing her forehead against yours. “do you know how long today was? i swear the clock moved slower just to torture me.”

you tilted your head, raising a brow. “torture?”

she nodded emphatically, her chin digging slightly into your shoulder. “every second, i was like, ‘wow, i wish i could just hold her right now.’ but noooooo, kim minji has to go to schedules and pretend to be functional when all she wants is her girlfriend. damn... i missed you. so, so, freaking much. like... uh... like, the dino-sized missing!!”

her voice cracked slightly at the end, and you couldn’t tell if she was genuinely emotional or just that good at guilt-tripping you.

either way, your heart melted.

“i think you’re just addicted to me,” you teased, wrapping your arms around her as she clung to you like a koala.

“and what if i am?” she shot back, looking up at you with those sharp yet soft eyes of hers. her expression was serious, but the way her bottom lip jutted out betrayed how adorably sulky she was.

you couldn’t help but laugh again, leaning down to kiss the tip of her nose. “then i guess i’m stuck with you. forever.”

her pout immediately transformed into a soft, shy smile, and you could swear her cheeks turned the faintest shade of pink. “good,” she mumbled.

minji’s gaze dropped to your lips, and she groaned. “ugh, you’re so pretty. it’s unfair. i’m dying, and you’re just sitting here being all… perfect.”

“you’re such a loser,” you laughed, cupping her face.

“and i’m your loser,” she shot back without missing a beat, leaning into your touch like it was the only thing keeping her alive.

you rolled your eyes, but your heart was already melting. “do you want me to cook you something?”

“no,” she said immediately, shaking her head. “i just want you. just let me stay like this, okay? don’t move.”

her grip on you tightened, as if you might slip away if she let go. she nuzzled into your neck, sighing in contentment when you started running your fingers through her hair.

“you’re so clingy, kim minji,” you teased softly.

“only with you,” she murmured, her voice sleepy and affectionate. “you’re the best part of my day, you know that?”

your chest tightened, and you couldn’t help but kiss the top of her head. “you’re too sweet for your own good.”

“nope,” she said, smiling against your skin. “just sweet enough to make you love me.”

“mission accomplished,” you admitted, pulling her closer.

minji let out a happy hum, her arms wrapping even tighter around you. “good. because i’m not letting you go.”

and she didn’t.

even when you tried to move, she’d whine and cling to you like a baby bear, making sure you knew just how much she needed you that night.

a/n: support me i'm a nugu

#newjeans x reader #newjeans minji #newjeans #newjeans x fem reader #kim minji x reader #kim minji x you #minji x reader #kim minji #kim minji x female reader #fluff

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orchidseason · 17 hours ago

Text

Too Clingy...?

ִ ࣪𖤐 loser!ellie w x fem!reader

After weeks of tension with your roommate, you turn to your girlfriend Ellie for comfort. But when a teasing comment makes you question your place in her life, you distance yourself, afraid of being "clingy."

warnings ִ ࣪𖤐 word count 1.5k, college!AU, established relationship, anxiety (r), overthinking, hurt/comfort, misunderstanding, emotional breakdown, mild language, kissing

It had been a rough few weeks. The tension with your roommate had reached a breaking point, and you were finding it hard to breathe, let alone function. Every day felt like a struggle. You’d been feeling emotionally drained, constantly walking on eggshells, and trying to avoid conflict in your own space. Your dorm room had become a place of silence, and it felt like you were suffocating.

One night, after another argument with your roommate that left you feeling small and unimportant, you packed a bag and went straight to Ellie’s. You didn’t even need to text her beforehand—Ellie always knew when you needed her. Her dorm had become your safe space, the place where you could let go of all the tension and just breathe.

Ellie opened the door, her face softening when she saw you. She immediately pulled you into a tight hug. “Hey! Woah...what’s wrong?” she asked, her voice gentle.

You sniffled and buried your face in her shoulder. “My roommates a fucking bitch. She argues with me about the stupidest things and leaves passive aggressive sticky notes everywhere and then she just keeps-I just cant do it. Im so done."

Ellie tightened her grip on you, her hands running through your hair soothingly. “Shh, babe. You’re always welcome here, you know that. You don’t need to explain it all to me."

In the weeks that followed, you found yourself at Ellie’s more often than not. Being with her was an escape. You’d spend your evenings wrapped in the warmth of her arms, playing games, watching movies, or simply lying together in a comfortable silence. For the first time in a long time, you truly felt like you could let go of all the stress that had built up.

You and Ellie were lying on her bed, curled up together. You had your head resting on her shoulder while she played Minecraft on her phone, tapping away at the screen as you both enjoyed the quiet of the room. It was one of those perfect moments where everything felt in place. You didn’t need to talk. You didn’t need to do anything except be there with her.

Ellie talked suddenly, breaking the silence. She glanced at you with a teasing grin. “You’re really here every night now, huh? I might start calling you my official roommate. Getting a little clingy, mm?"

The comment hung in the air, and your stomach sank. The word "clingy" hit you like a ton of bricks. She said it with that usual mischievous smile, but something about the way she said it made your chest tighten.

Clingy.

The word echoed in your mind as you lay there, still and frozen. Had you been too much? Was she annoyed with you? You’d been spending so much time at her place lately, leaning on her for comfort when you didn’t know where else to go. Maybe she was tired of it. Maybe she was tired of you.

Ellie went on, completely unaware of how her words had affected you. “I’m just messing with you,” she said, laughing lightly, pressing a kiss to your cheek, "you know my favorite you is clingy you."

Still, you couldn’t shake the doubt. It festered in the pit of your stomach. Clingy. You wanted to push it out of your mind, but it was all you could think about. Maybe she really was tired of you. Maybe her joke had truth lining in it and she was wanting some space from you.

You stayed quiet, too lost in your head to respond. When the moment passed, you quietly gathered your things, not looking at Ellie. “I should head out... I’ve got a lot of work to do,” you said, your voice soft and distant.

Ellie didn’t seem to notice your change in energy. She was already absorbed in her phone again, focused on the game, not on you. She didn’t look up when you left, but if she had-she would not have let you leave.

As you walked out, your heart felt heavy. Had you been too much? Too clingy? Ellie had always been understanding, but that comment, though playful, made you spiral.

You didn’t go back to your dorm. Instead, you found yourself at the library, hiding away from the world. You tried to focus on your schoolwork, but the thoughts wouldn’t stop swirling in your mind. Was she really tired of you? Had you made things awkward? You didn’t want to burden her anymore, but the more you thought about it, the more you questioned whether she really wanted you around.

Days passed, and you kept your distance. You couldn’t bring yourself to reach out to Ellie. Maybe she was right; maybe you had become clingy, and now you were giving her space to breathe.

You didn't respond to her texts and calls and you're sure that's what set her off to finally just track you down on your shared location one afternoon.

While you were hunched over a stack of textbooks in the library, you heard a familiar voice.

“Hey,” Ellie said softly, making you jump. You didn’t even need to look up to know it was her. “Haven’t seen you around in a while. Everything okay?”

"That's good news, isn't it?"

She looks confused, a little hurt, "what...?"

Your throat tightened, and before you could stop it, all the thoughts you’d been bottling up poured out. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” you said, voice cracking. “It’s just... It's me. I’ve been overthinking everything since you called me clingy. I know it was a joke, but Ellie it's true. I spend so much time at your dorm, in your space. I didn't want to overwhelm you anymore so I just-"

Ellie knelt in front of you, her gaze softening. “No, hey stop that,” she said gently, taking your hands in hers. “I didn’t mean it like that. I was just messing with you. I love having you in my dorm, I prefer it. You’re not clingy. You never could be. I’m sorry I made you feel like you were.”

You bit your lip, feeling the weight lift off your shoulders, but the hurt was still there, lingering. “I didn’t want to make things weird, and here I am making it weird."

Ellie smiled, brushing a hand over your cheek. “You could never make things weird, babe. I promise."

You blinked back tears, suddenly overwhelmed by how much you needed to hear those words. Ellie leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’m always here for you, okay? Don’t shut me out.”

You smiled, finally feeling like you could breathe again. You nodded, feeling safe in her arms as she held you close.

“I love you,” you whispered.

“I love you too,” Ellie replied, leaning in after to press a kiss to your lips.

taglist // @kaykeryyy

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littleslaywrites · 9 hours ago

Note

Can you write about reader giving hotch the silent treatment, but it turns into a smut

silent treatment | aaron hotchner x bau!reader

nsfw, mdni

summary: when aaron yells at you after a case, you give him the silent treatment, but he’s determined to get you to talk.

word count: 1.9k

cw: smut, dom!hotch, brat!reader, spanking, unprotected sex, p in v, hair pulling, use of "good girl", slight size kink

You knew Aaron hadn’t yelled at you because he was mad. He was scared, worried about your safety when you took what he called an “unnecessary risk”. You disagreed completely, justifying the risk with the fact it saved the victim from further harm. Besides, you weren’t hurt beyond a mild concussion, not even having to go to the hospital.

Even though you knew he was just upset over the thought of losing you, you were still embarrassed about the public scolding. It’s not a great feeling to have your boyfriend reprimand you in front of your coworkers.

Rather than arguing back, you stayed silent. You knew you’d lose if you tried to defend yourself. So you simply stared at him, watching him tire himself out on his tirade.

“Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?” he said when he was done chewing you out.

You only shook your head in response, turning around to get in the car. The whole team was tense, knowing your silence does nothing to calm Hotch down. You caught Emily and Morgan exchanging a look, signaling the awkwardness the upcoming jet ride would bring.

Hotch got into the driver’s seat, meeting your silence. He wasn’t going to chase you, not in front of his team. You two were locked in a battle. Even on the plane, you opted to read a book, putting on your headphones when you thought he might try to talk to you.

Upon landing, you cut in front of him, getting into your shared car. You almost got in the driver’s seat, knowing it’d make him even madder, but you knew you could only bother him so much before he snapped.

“How long are you going to keep this up?” he asks when you pull into your driveway. Instead of answering, you walk into the house, not waiting for him behind you. Usually you’d enter together, falling into your usual routine of unpacking and relaxing. He immediately notices this change, and storms in behind you. You had a time advantage, as he had to close the garage door and grab his bag. By the time he’s inside, he can hear the shower running. Trying the bathroom door, he realizes you’ve locked it. You never lock the door.

While you’re trying to cool off in the shower, Aaron is sitting on the bed, not even bothering to change, only taking off his jacket and throwing it over the dresser. He’s simply fuming waiting for you to emerge. He’d make you talk, no matter what it takes.

When you come out, you’re wrapped only in a towel. You intend on walking past him to get to the closet, but he grabs your arm, stopping you in your tracks.

“You better start talking before I have to make you.”

You know his threat is empty, and tear your arm away to move past him.

“Y/N,” he says, in that commanding voice you like a little too much.

Before you can get the closet door open, he comes behind you, pressing himself against you. Your breath hitches, both from surprise and the feeling of how much larger he is physically. He’s pulling out all the stops, knowing just what’ll make you comply.

“This little stunt you’re pulling stops now.” His words are spoken in your ear as he leans against the door, trapping you between his arms.

You almost decide not to be mad at him in that moment, but remembering the lecture he gave you earlier makes you think he needs a little more teasing. You slide down the wall, crouching down to escape him.

Hotch knows he must be beet red at this point. You’re defying him in a way you’ve never done before. You hadn’t disobeyed him before or after you started dating, always respecting his authority as your boss. Your stubbornness was endearing when it wasn’t targeted toward him, but now he was clenching his jaw in anger.

You don’t make it far before he grabs you, turning you around to face him. His hands are on your waist, gripping you tightly. Leaning his forehead against yours, you can feel his heavy breathing. His clear anger brings a smile to your face. He may have physical power over you, but you have control over all his emotions in the moment.

He doesn’t speak for a second. You can see his brain working to figure out an interrogation method that’ll get you to talk. Running out of ideas, he pulls the towel off of your body, letting it drop to the floor. He reaches around, grabbing your ass and bringing you closer to him. You can feel his breath on your eyelashes.

Even standing completely exposed in front of him, you’re still not satisfied, staying silent to urge him on. His hands are all over you, groping shamelessly. You refuse to give him even a whimper. You’re not even looking at him, staring straight ahead. Taking a hand away from your body, he grabs your hair and pulls it so you make eye contact with him. Meeting his eyes, you feel his pupils burning into yours. His anger is visible in his gaze, studying you for any sign of remorse. Seeing none, he turns you around, pushing you so your face down on the bed with your feet planted on the ground. For the first time since you started your silent treatment, you let him control you, not moving from the position he pushed you down into.

He presses his hips into the back of yours, and you can feel his hardness. Another smirk comes across your face. You love the effect you have on him. He grinds into you a few times, before reaching around your waist and pulling you back up.

“Is this what it’ll take to make you talk?” he says, hands moving to play with one of your breasts. “Are you going to make me fuck the attitude out of you?”

Getting no response, he manhandles you onto the bed so you’re on your knees and he’s behind you. Aaron gently wraps a hand around your neck, nipping at your shoulder. He’s biting, marking you up in the places he knows your shirt will cover.

His hands leave you, and you hear the sound of his belt coming off. You don’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him, but you can assume from the pause that he’s taking his pants off. When he wraps his arms back around you, you realize it’s not just his pants, but all of his clothes. Teasingly, you move your hips back, grinding on his now unclothed crotch.

He holds back a groan, not wanting to give in to your games. Drawing his hand back, he spanks you— once, twice, three times.

You’re also fighting your own sounds, biting your lip to choke back a whimper. Your face is pressed into the mattress now, arms weak from the impact. If this is your punishment, you might never speak willingly again. You try not to wiggle your hips too much, still trying to hide your pleasure.

Aaron isn’t fooled, thumbing at your slit, feeling the wetness that’s gathered. The mattress mutes your heavy breathing, but the way you clench around nothing at the simple touch is sign enough of the effect he’s having on you.

“You can’t hide from me, baby,” he says, the only warning before he pushes into you fully.

A shiver running through your body, you moan, the first noise you’ve given him all night. He chuckles, knowing you’re defeated. The full feeling has you forgetting any reason to be mad at him. Your arms are near useless now, weak as he slowly drags in and out of you.

He’s thrusting slow and deep, at a pace he knows will keep you right on the edge. Gripping your hips, he pulls you so close that your back arches mindlessly.

Leaning down so his chest is pressed against your back, you can feel his form. You imagine how he must look, panting above you. Your breath quivers, focusing on the way you can feel every detail of his cock at his measured pace.

Still too proud to beg, you begin pushing your hips back into him, searching for more stimulation. He knows you too well, remembering just the speed that’ll leave you wanting more.

Sensing your need for release, he grabs ahold of your hair, pulling you up to whisper in your ear. “Tell me what you want.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, you consider your options. You’re still mad at him, not over the shame of his biting words. But with one hand tangled in your hair and the other squeezing your hip, you let go of your dignity.

“Aaron,” you whine out, still gathering words.

He tugs on your hair, a signal that it’s not enough.

“Please, I can’t–” You’re trying to form full sentences, but the way he impales your sweet spot has your brain nearly blank.

“Use your words, y’n,” he says, punctuating your name with a sharp thrust.

“I need to cum.” If not for his hands supporting you, you’d be flat on the bed. “Please let me, Aaron.”

“Only good girls get to cum,” he grunts into your ear, stopping his thrusts to simply grind against you, “and you’ve been bad today.”

You cry out as he stills. “Please, I’ll be good. I’ll be your good girl,” you beg.

He starts to thrust into you again, content with being back in control. He removes a hand from your hair, pushing you down by the back of your head so your knees aren’t even supporting you anymore. Your whole body is flat, hips pushing back into him as he speeds up.

You can hear every groan and grunt as he presses his body on top of yours. You’re too focused on the warmth in your stomach to care about the moans you’re producing. Again, you have no words to say, but this time it’s not by choice. Aaron’s cock feels too good for you to have any thoughts other than him.

When you start fluttering around him, he knows you’re close. Determining that you’ve had enough punishment, he keeps the pace, reaching around to grab a breast that’s been pressed into the bed.

Closing your eyes, you let your release overtake you. One of your hands grabs at the sheets, searching for an anchor as you get lost in your orgasm. You don’t realize it in your haze, but you’re calling out Aaron’s name. The sound of your voice and the feeling of your walls grasping for him brings him to his own orgasm, stilling as he fills you up.

He collapses on top of you for a second, comforting you with his weight. Even as he rolls off of you, you stay face down, still recovering. He has to turn you over himself and pull you into a tight embrace for you to come back to reality.

“Don’t scare me like that again,” he says, reminding you of the reason he yelled at you in the first place. Just annoyed enough to not say anything, you simply curl in closer to his chest.

“Are you sorry for your behavior?” he asks.

Sensing an opportunity, you grin into his chest and shake your head.

Sighing, he turns you over so he’s on top of you again. Both of you are more than aware you’ll keep this up for as long as you need. As Aaron captures you in a deep kiss, you prepare yourself for a long night.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner smut #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner one shot #hotch x reader

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kaynanarie · 1 day ago

Text

Eyes of Gold (Part 12)

(A WukongxReader story inspired by Beauty and the Beast and Lutung Kasarung.) (First) (Prev)

“Where are you? Please come out?”

The whispers of a familiar voice roused you from a restless sleep. You yawned and blearily squinted around you, trying to remember where you were. The shadowy silhouettes and dust tickling your nose brought back memories of a storage room. It had been daylight when you first hid but now, night had shrouded you in disorienting darkness. You sat curled up in the corner, wondering how much time had passed and if it was safe to finally leave.

A quiet creak startled you as the door swung open. You watched a shadow silently creep in, slow and low to the floor. As you grew more accustomed to the dark, the form of a small monkey took shape. A familiar monkey with glowing, golden eyes.

“Peaches, are you in here?”

You sat up from your hiding spot in surprise. “Shihou?”

As soon as he saw you, Shihou dashed across the room and flung himself onto you. He clung to your shoulder and patting your face with his tiny paws. “Are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?”

“I’m fine,” you assured the monkey, wrapping your cloak around him in a warm hug. “What are you doing here? Won’t you get in trouble?”

“I was worried.” Concern, relief, and disapproval flashed across his face when he met your eyes. “You didn’t return to the mountain after the demons left.”

“I guess you heard about the attack, then?”

“Yes.” His frown pulled into a scowl, teeth bared as he glowered at the floor. “If I had known Bull Demon King was here, I never would have let you leave alone.”

You ran a hand through his fur, feeling him relax under your soothing touch. “It’s okay, you didn’t know.”

“Why didn’t you come back?”

“I was helping the villagers,” you said, sitting back down with Shihou perching on your lap. “Thankfully, no one was hurt; just some damaged buildings. But when my sister heard the demons were gone, she came to see for herself. Elder Gran sent me to hide until she left but I guess I fell asleep.” Gentle brushes smoothed his agitated fur back into place. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

Shihou sighed and nuzzled against your shoulder. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

“Thanks to your hair.” Shihou suddenly looked worried when he met your gaze. You quickly explained to calm his concern. “It protected me when the bull tried to attack. Sorry I lost it. I think Sun Wukong took it with him…” you trailed off with a yawn.

“Don’t worry about it. As long as you’re safe, that’s all that matters,” the monkey said with a relieved smile. “You should get some rest. We can return to the mountain in the morning.”

Shaking your head, you forced yourself to stand, keeping Shihou balanced on your shoulder. “No, we should leave now while everyone else is asleep. I’ve already stayed too long and my sister might catch us trying to leave it we wait.”

“If you insist,” Shihou agreed hesitantly. “There were guards posted around the village when I snuck in. I can guide you around them but we’ll still have to be careful.”

You nodded. “Okay. Let’s get going.” Pulling your cloak close and Shihou closer, you slipped out of the storage room and through the empty house with careful steps. At the front door, you paused to peek out.

Tilting his head, Shihou listened and pointed down a side street. “No guards for now. That should be the fastest route out of town. Once we’re outside the village, I can take you the rest of the way.”

With a final glance, you hurried down the alley and into the shadows. The night was thankfully empty, the rest of the village sleeping off a stressful day. Only moonlight and icy wind filled the streets as you weaved between buildings. Distant voices on the winter breeze occasionally floated by. Each time, you would freeze and Shihou would listen but the guards were too far and too distracted to be of concern.

It took longer than expected and exhaustion was quickly catching up. Your steps were clumsy, your body weary, and yawns plagued you with every other breath. Even your eyes were fighting to slip close between heavy blinks.

Soon, you reached the edge of the village, shivering from bitter cold and fatigue. You almost cried seeing the great stretch of field and looming mountain still left to traverse.

“I’ve got it from here,” Shihou said, nimbly flipping off your shoulder. In a puff of smoke, he transformed and landed in his taller demon form. You weren’t sure if it was your own tired mind or the moonlight softening his features but his figure seemed more striking than usual. It was only made worse when he smiled at you; warm, golden eyes brightening his handsome face. “Come on, up you get.”

You were still recovering from your drowsy admirations when Shihou turned and knelt away from you. “What?”

“I said I would carry you before and this will get us back to the mountain faster.” He grabbed your hand and tugged you forward so you were flush against him. Looping your arms around his neck, he held your knees and stood, easily hoisting you onto his back. “Ready?”

Too tired to protest, you only nodded and nestled against his warm shoulder. “Yeah, let’s go home,” you mumbled sleepily.

Shihou startled and stumbled a bit but quickly recovered with a brisk pace. “Sure thing, Peaches. You get some rest; we’ll be there in no time.”

You closed your eyes and drifted off, only half aware of your surroundings. Shihou’s rhythmic steps, quick and sure; his hold never faltering. Winter chill shifting to a summery heat, chasing away your lingering shivers. The quiet ambiance of the slumbering jungle settling around you as the mountain welcomed you back. It was comforting and familiar and gently lulled you to sleep.

The next thing you knew, Shihou was setting you down amongst plush blankets and fluffy pillows. As he turned to leave, you caught his hand and clung to it. “Stay?” you asked, smiling soft and sweet. Your half open eyes caught his flustered face but he didn’t shy away. Instead, you felt him shuffle into bed next to you, hugging you against him in a comforting embrace. Warm fur tickled your cheek, carrying his soothing scent of peaches and stone. You snuggled closer as you felt the tug of sleep pulling you back under.

“Goodnight, Shihou,” you whispered.

The last thing you remembered was his purred, “Goodnight, my Peach,” and the gentle press of lips to your brow.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

~🍑 Peach Friends 🍑~

@joyfulllittlething @iluxurycruisedthatship @drspecialhell @moondrop39-dovewing70 @happycarp @chibifox88 @rutabaga-menace

(If you would like to join the tag list, let me know!)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Something fluffy and cute with the return of Shihou! Just to share the vision of the soft boi, he's absolutely inspired by various artworks I saw of the 1996 Journey to the West. Thank you so much for reading, all the wonder feedback has kept me motivated! Until next time!

You can also find this story on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60643669

#Monkey King x Reader #Monkey King #Sun Wukong x Reader #Sun Wukong #Eyes of Gold #Shihou #Shihou the Monkey #Shihou x Reader #Beauty and the Beast #Lutung Kasarung #Fairytale and Folktale Inspired #Journey to the West #JTTW #Black Myth Wukong #BMW #KayNanArie #Peach Friend

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missaengg · 6 hours ago

Text

Because I Love You...

Pairing: Caleb x f!reader Tags: spoilers for Caleb's main route, angst, mention of drugging, yandere Caleb if you squint Word Count: 851 He'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, even if it means becoming the villain in your story. Because he loves you… A/N: Inspired by Homecoming 1-10: Heart's Crossing. Also, I play in Korean so I used oppa instead of gege!

The pills don’t take long to work.

Caleb watches you sleep from the threshold of his – now your – bedroom.

You look serene, lying there asleep in his bed.

Caleb crosses the room, the click of his boots echoing in the silence. Turning down the light, he sighs. It’s just like you to leave it on before going to bed, though he knows why you did – why he had to resort to this.

He sits beside you and pulls the blanket higher on your shoulder, as if it’s something he’s done many times before. On impulse, Caleb starts to brush a stray lock of hair from your face, but hesitates at the last moment, taking your hand instead. He cradles it gently, noting how small and delicate it feels in his large, calloused palm.

“If I kept you here with me like this… Would you think I’m being too selfish?”

He doesn’t hide the longing he feels in his voice. Caleb brings your hand to his forehead, desperate to quell the ache gouging his chest and the regret choking all the air out of his lungs.

“But it’s only us now.”

Caleb closes his eyes, nuzzling your fingers against his brow. He lingers for a moment, a fleeting respite before he returns to selling his soul. He’s not sure what he hopes to find in your touch – comfort or strength? Or, he muses, perhaps what he truly hopes to find is your forgiveness.

Caleb scoffs, a bitter chuckle escaping him, laced with self-loathing. He hates who he’s become. He hates that protecting you has led him to this, even though it was necessary.

It’s not that he thinks you’re incapable. He knows that you can handle yourself, that you’re brave and tough. But sometimes you can be so foolish and naive, it terrifies him. It shakes him to his core to know that one day, you might not make it home.

It was wrong to trick you, to pretend those sleeping pills were cold medicine. He knows, but he tried to warn you, and you wouldn’t listen. You never listened.

His foolish, headstrong princess, always running into danger without thinking of the consequences, without thinking of yourself.

He always knows when you’re lying to him. He knew when you were lying to him as a child. He knows you’re lying to him now. Like the night Viper dared to come after you, and the night you asked to meet classmates for dinner and a movie, even before he discovered your gun.

He knows you so well, that if left up to your own devices, you’d do that same reckless thing you always do – charge into a dangerous situation without a second thought, even as fever weakened your body.

It kills him to lie to you, to keep secrets, to make promises he can’t fully keep, but the truth would only hurt you. His only wish is for your happiness – a life free of pain, full of laughter and light, while you wear that brilliant smile he loves.

He lowers your joined hands from his forehead, his gaze falling on your sleeping form.

“Let’s say I had noticed these threats that were lurking around you earlier…” He narrows his eyes, anger flashing in their galaxy-colored depths. “Knowing then what I know now… none of this would’ve happened. Right?”

Beneath the storm in his gaze lies a fierce resolution.

I’ll protect you with everything I have, until my last breath. I won’t let Ever touch you. I’ll do whatever it takes – even if it means becoming a villain in your story.

A notification pops up on his wrist communicator, casting an eerie glow in the dark room.

Cleanup operations begin shortly. Awaiting Colonel’s orders.

Caleb scans the message quickly, furrowing his brow. It vanishes when he flicks his wrist. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself, then turns his focus back to you, blissfully unaware of his inner turmoil. With a rueful smile, he presses a soft kiss to the back of your hand.

I’m sorry…

I’m sorry I’m not the same Caleb you once knew…

I’m sorry I’m not content with just being your oppa anymore, that I want to be something more…

As your warmth lingers on his lips, Caleb makes a vow you’ll never know.

“Don’t worry. This nightmare will come to an end. I promise.”

Caleb brushes his lips against your fingers one last time before gently placing your hand back on the bed, fighting every urge to stay by your side. He stands abruptly, straightening his back and pulls on his cap in a manner befitting that of a Farspace Fleet Colonel. As he exits the room, a steely resolve burns in his cold, amethyst eyes.

He feels the distance between you grow with every step. He’s acutely aware that every decision he’s made and will make, every lie, every secret, will only push you further away, widening the chasm until he’s so far gone, he no longer deserves a place by your side.

But it’ll all be worth it, as long as you’re safe…

Because I love you…

Tag List: @william-rex

#missaengg writes #caleb love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #lads caleb #lnds caleb #caleb x you #caleb x reader #caleb angst #caleb #love and deepspace #lads #lnds #love and deepspace fanfic #lads fanfic #lnds fanfic

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tokkiwrites · 2 days ago

Note

Hiii!! Happy holidays!!! I hope it’s all good with you and I hope 2025 will be absent perfect!!

Can I request a Sergei fic invited by pillow talk by Zayn?

Sergei Kravinoff x F!Reader nsfw

His hand doesn’t leave yours, not right away. Instead, his thumb brushes over your knuckles—slow, deliberate, almost as if testing what this moment means. You don’t move, don’t pull away. Maybe it’s because part of you doesn’t want to. Maybe it’s because the air between you feels heavier than it ever has before, and the idea of breaking it feels impossible.

“You make it sound so simple,” you say, your voice quieter now, almost lost beneath the steady hum of the fire. Sergei’s eyes flicker up to meet yours, that same intensity settling in them like a storm barely restrained. “It is simple. You just don’t want to admit it.”

You narrow your gaze, his words cutting through you like a blade you don’t quite know how to wield. “And what, exactly, is ‘it’?”

His smile returns, faint but sharper this time, and it feels like he’s letting you in on some secret you were never meant to know. “You and me,” he says simply. “This.”

The word lands between you, unrelenting. Your heart stumbles, tripping over the way he says it so easily, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like it’s not the most terrifying thing you’ve ever heard. “Sergei...” You hesitate, unsure what you’re even trying to say.

But he doesn’t let you finish. “Don’t overthink it,” he murmurs, his voice low and raw in a way that makes it feel like a promise. “Sometimes, you just have to stop running and let yourself feel it.”

You don’t know if it’s the words or the way he says them, but something inside you cracks. Something you’ve been holding onto for far too long. You glance at him, and in his eyes, you see a reflection of everything you’ve been too afraid to admit: desire, fear, vulnerability, longing.

“Okay,” you say finally, the word barely a whisper.

For a moment, neither of you moves. It’s like the universe itself is holding its breath, waiting. Then, slowly, Sergei leans in, his hand tightening around yours, his warmth brushing against you like the beginning of something you’re not sure you’re ready for but can’t bring yourself to resist.

His lips hover close to yours, a breath away, and for a moment, it feels like time slows. The air around you thickens, heavy with everything unsaid. It’s not just the tension of the moment—it’s the weight of every glance, every word, every brush of his hand that’s brought you here.

When he finally closes the distance, his kiss is deliberate, like everything Sergei does. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing—just raw, unfiltered intent. His hand moves to the back of your neck, his touch warm and grounding, as though he’s anchoring you to him.

You let yourself sink into it, your hands finding their way to his shoulders, the heat of him radiating through the thin fabric of his shirt. There’s a kind of desperation in the way you cling to him, as though this moment is fragile, fleeting, and you’re terrified it might shatter if you let go.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breathing uneven. His hand remains on your neck, his thumb tracing slow circles that make it impossible to think about anything other than him.

“You’re dangerous,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. He huffs a quiet laugh, the sound rough but not unkind. “I could say the same about you.”

You pull back just enough to meet his gaze, and the intensity there steals whatever words you thought you might say next. His eyes aren’t just looking at you—they’re seeing you, in a way that makes you feel both exposed and safe all at once.

“I’ve spent my whole life running,” you admit, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “From people, from feelings. From anything that might hurt.”

Sergei’s thumb pauses for a moment before continuing its slow, steady rhythm. “I know,” he says quietly, and there’s no judgment in his voice. Just understanding.

The fire crackles behind you, the warmth of it mingling with the heat radiating from him. “But this... you...” You swallow hard, trying to put words to the storm of emotions swirling inside you. “You scare me, Sergei.”

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away. Instead, his hand slides down to cup your jaw, his touch firm but gentle. “Good,” he says, his voice steady. “Because I’m scared too.”

The confession leaves you breathless. You’d never thought of Sergei Kravinoff as someone who could be afraid of anything, but the way he says it so openly, so honestly. it makes you believe him.

And somehow, that makes it okay.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you stop thinking, stop running. You let yourself stay. In no time he gets both of you naked, and as if it's the first time, you cant help but shy away a bit. Pulling you closer, his calloused palms travel across your torso, tracing the curves so perfectly. Your already messy hair and burning body invited him to climb over you completely. One of his thumbs press over your lips. "Open."

You do as you're told, parting your puffy lips and letting Sergei’s finger slip in. "Wider." he demands, pushing in another digit, traveling well past your tongue and into the back of your throat. It makes you gag slightly, but you moan around his fingers. He smiles proudly, thrusting his fingers into your mouth and slicking them up before removing them. You're left gasping for air. "Good girl." you shudder.

he motions you further on your back before lining his fingers with your exposed core. "m gonna work you out a little, baby, yeah? then make you take my cock." he doesn't hesitate for long. the slick and wet noises fill the room as Sergei pushes his fingers inside, causing you to buck your hips agains his hand. Your head turns to the side as you try to hide that growing warmth in your cheeks. those two fingers worked into you, turning you into a incoherent mess. A familiar feeling was building up inside your lower belly. "gotta come, baby?" he coos, mocking you. "can't have you do that. Need to feel my cock buried deep inside of that pretty pussy first."

his tainted words make your brain all fuzzy, soft whimpers and pleads parting from your agape mouth. "p-please" his fingers slip out of you, the feeling of emptiness being short lived as Sergei pushes inside of you full force. This is the first time you've felt something like this. His hips snap against your, eyes digging into you as if eating you alive. He's merciless, grabbing you by the cheeks harshly and making you look down at your belly, where a familiar bump was visible. "See that, baby?" He laughs. He was so deep inside of you. You can't help but squeeze around him.

"there's my good g-girlㅡ" he groans in utmost pleasure, roughly hitting just the right spot over and over. he pulls out almost completely before snapping his hips forward again, causing you to moan louder, breath hitching as his cock brushed, and probably bruised, your velvety walls.

"I'm gonna fill you up so good, love." he leans down and rasps into your ear "p-lease, Sergei" you cry out, gripping him by his broad shoulders, the thrust quickening. he frowns, closing his eyes as he tightly grips you by your thighs. "gonna come all over my cock, baby, huh?"

with one last harsh snap of his hips, he sends you both into heaven and back. You each finish, and you can feel his come pooling inside of you. Your mind and vision blurry, you manage to whisper out a soft "I love you." Sergei falls next to you, pulling you closer to his chest as he kisses the crown of your head.

#aaron taylor johnson x you #aaron taylor johnson characters #aaron taylor johnson x reader #aaron taylor johnson smut #aaron taylor johnson #sergei kravinoff x reader #sergei kravinoff #kraven the hunter x reader #kraven smut #kraven x reader

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dreamlanderin · 2 days ago

Text

You don't see me, part 3 (Sam x reader)

Summary: Time apart. Follows on part 2

Warning: Blood. Demons. Angst if you squint

Words: 8k

Boys, I wish I could’ve explained this in person, but I knew you wouldn’t let me leave. I’m not walking away from you or the fight—I’m walking toward the person I promised I’d be when I first joined you. I need to find her again. Don’t look for me.

That’s what you’d left behind. Nothing for Sam, no apology, no explanation beyond those carefully chosen words. No indication of where you were headed or when, if ever, they might see you again. They’d been confused at first.

Dean came looking for you not long after Sam regained consciousness. His knocks on your door echoed down the empty hallway, sharp and impatient, but no answer came.

At first, Dean feared the worst. The memory of you clutching your side during the hunt came rushing back, sharper now with the realization that he hadn’t checked on you after they got Sam stabilized. He’d been too focused on his brother, on Ruby, on the chaos. The idea that you might’ve bled out alone in your room made his chest tighten painfully. “Damn it,” he muttered, his fist pounding against the door one last time before he shoved it open. The room was eerily pristine, the bed made, the surfaces cleared of the usual clutter. It was too perfect, and for a brief moment, Dean thought you’d been taken—dragged out of the motel while he’d been distracted.

His gaze swept the room in a panic, catching on the empty closet and the missing duffel bag that used to sit by the foot of your bed. That’s when he saw it. The note lay folded neatly on the nightstand, your name scrawled on the outside in your unmistakable handwriting. Dean crossed the room in two strides, snatching it up with shaky hands. He read it once, then again, the words sinking in like lead. You weren’t taken. You’d left.

For a long moment, Dean just stood there, staring at the note as his jaw clenched tighter and tighter. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered under his breath. His grip on the paper tightened, crumpling the edges as a wave of anger surged through him. You were hurt. You were supposed to stay and recover. And what the hell did you mean, Don’t look for me? Did you really think he was the kind of guy who could just sit back and let you walk away?

Dean stormed back to thier room, the note clenched in his fist. When he reached the table, he slammed it down in front of Sam, who was still pale and sluggish, slouched in his chair.

“She’s gone,” Dean said bluntly, his voice tight. Sam blinked, his brows furrowing as he reached for the crumpled note. “What do you mean, gone?”

“Read it,” Dean snapped, pacing the room like a caged animal. Sam’s eyes scanned the letter quickly, his face darkening with each word. When he finished, he set the note down carefully, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Why?” he asked, his voice quiet but strained. Dean stopped pacing, turning to glare at his brother. “I don’t know, Sam. Maybe because she got tired of patching us up and watching you play tug-of-war with a damn demon?”

Sam flinched, guilt flashing across his face. “Dean—”

“She didn’t even say goodbye, Sam,” Dean said, his voice breaking for just a second before he covered it with a sharp exhale. “What the hell does that mean?”

Sam’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. Dean let out a sharp exhale, raking a hand through his hair as he stared at the note again. “I don’t get it. She was one of us. We’re supposed to have each other’s backs.” Sam hesitated, then said quietly, “Maybe that’s why she left.”

Dean froze, his shoulders tense, but he didn’t argue. The words hung heavy in the air between them, unspoken truths pressing down like a weight neither of them wanted to carry.

Finally, Dean grabbed the note and stuffed it into his pocket, his expression hardening. “She said not to look for her,” he muttered, heading toward the kitchen. “But I’m not making any promises.”

Sam sat in silence, staring down at the table. The faint sound of Dean opening and slamming cabinets echoed in the distance, but his mind was elsewhere.

He thought about the way you’d looked at him in the motel room, the quiet pain in your eyes when you leaned in and told him, It’s me, Sam. He thought about the moments before that—your hands pressed to his chest, your voice trembling as you told him to hold on.

And now you were gone.

Sam closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair with a heavy sigh. “Stupid,” he whispered, the weight of your absence settling over him like a shadow.

He’d been out of it last night—so much of it felt like a blur now. But one thing he remembered, clear as day, was the moment you got attacked by the Shadow Stalker. You’d screamed and before he even had time to think, he was already throwing himself between you and that thing. The impact had been brutal, the creature’s claws raking through his chest and shoulder as if he were nothing. He’d felt the burn of his body hitting the ground, the sharp ache of ribs threatening to give way. By the time he realized what had happened, he was already in the Impala.

His head was resting on your lap, the faint scent of blood and dirt mixing with the metallic tang in his mouth. Everything around him was hazy—the sound of Dean shouting, the rumble of the car engine, the warmth of your hands pressing against his wounds to stop the bleeding. You’d said something to him—your voice soft, steady, and full of worry. He couldn’t remember the exact words now, but he remembered the feeling of it.

He’d tried to reach out then, his hand brushing against the fabric of your jeans as he fought to lift it higher. He’d wanted to touch your hair, to brush away the blood he’d noticed streaked across it. But his strength had failed him, and before he could manage it, the darkness pulled him under again.

And now you were gone

The fever dreams had come and gone in waves. Something in the dark was always following him, its shadowy tendrils creeping closer no matter how fast he ran. There was a light ahead—distant, wavering, always just out of reach—and he chased it. He wasn’t sure why, but the instinct to reach it burned through him.

Then his eyes would open, and the real world would filter in, fragmented and confusing. Voices, sometimes low and steady like Dean’s, other times higher and softer. Was it you? He thought it was, but then the voice would shift, distort, and become someone else entirely. Ruby? No. It couldn’t be Ruby. Could it?

Heat pressed against his skin, making him sweat despite the cold ache in his body. Everything had hurt—sharp pangs in his chest, dull throbs in his head—but none of it mattered as much as the exhaustion. It weighed him down, pulling him back into the haze of his mind where the dreams waited.

Things blurred together there: distorted faces, shadowy monsters, fragments of hunts long since passed. It all swirled in a chaotic fog, except for one thing that stood out with perfect clarity. You.

You were there, in the midst of it all. You looked at him, said something he couldn’t quite hear, but the feeling in your voice reached him. It was grounding, pulling him toward you even as the darkness clawed at his edges. He’d opened his eyes again, and there you were, sitting by his side and he had mumbled something, he can't remember much of what he had said. Something about You and not regreting protecting you? He’d barely gotten the words out before the edges of reality blurred again. His mind flickered, pulling him back into the haze, but not before he noticed someone else in the room. Ruby. Why was she here? The thought barely registered before his head lolled to the side, his strength fading once more. Darkness crept in again, pulling him under before he could make sense of anything.

By the time he regained consciousness, the worst of it had passed. The fog in his mind had lifted just enough for him to make out the dimly lit room and the distinct shapes within it. Dean was slouched in the chair beside the bed, his arms crossed and his head tilted to one side, deep in sleep. Sam’s gaze shifted to the other figure in the room—Ruby, leaning casually against the wall with a lazy grin. “Finally awake, huh?” she said, her tone dripping with amusement. Sam frowned, the residual confusion making his head feel heavy.

Everything hurt—his chest, his shoulder, even his pride—but most of all, he felt a strange relief that everyone seemed to be okay. Dean was alive, and he could only assume you were too, though the room was conspicuously missing your presence. “How long?” His voice came out rough, barely more than a whisper. “A couple of hours,” Ruby replied, pushing off the wall and crossing the room toward him. “You were a mess. Guess I saved your ass again.”

Sam blinked, trying to sit up, but the sharp sting in his shoulder quickly convinced him otherwise. Ruby was at his side in an instant, her hand brushing against his arm to stop him. “Easy there, champ. Don’t go pulling those stitches.” He hesitated, glancing at her hand before looking away. Something felt off. Maybe it was the hazy memories of the hunt or the way her voice sounded too smooth, too deliberate. Or maybe it was the guilt gnawing at the edges of his mind, the feeling that he’d somehow let everyone down by getting hurt. “Where’s—” he started, but Ruby cut him off. “Not here,” she said, her tone sharp but casual.

It must have been the look on his face that made her continue.“Does it matter? They’re fine. You need to focus on getting better.” Sam frowned but didn’t push it. His throat felt dry, and the ache in his body made it hard to think straight. Ruby crouched beside him, her dark eyes narrowing as she studied him.

“You’re still weak,” she said after a moment, her voice softening into something almost sympathetic. “That thing did a number on you. And if you don’t bounce back soon, it’s gonna happen again.”

“I’ll be fine,” Sam muttered, his voice hoarse.

Ruby smirked, shaking her head. “You’re stubborn. I’ll give you that.” She straightened up, pulling a small blade from her pocket. The sight of it made Sam’s stomach churn, even before she dragged it across her palm, letting a thin line of blood well up against her skin. “You know what you need,” she said, holding her hand out toward him.

Sam stared at it, the sight of the dark, rich blood stirring a mix of instinct and revulsion. He knew she was right—her blood could heal him, give him the strength to recover faster than his body ever could on its own. He’d done it before, too many times to count. But this time… This time, something felt different.

“I don’t want it,” he said, his voice firmer than before. Ruby raised an eyebrow, her grin fading into something colder. “Don’t be stupid, Sam. You’re not gonna get better on your own.”

“I said no.” He pushed the words out through gritted teeth, his gaze meeting hers with a stubborn determination. Her expression darkened, the easy charm slipping away to reveal something more dangerous. “You’re seriously gonna let yourself waste away out of what—pride? Morality? Don’t forget who pulled you out of that mess.”

“I remember,” Sam said quietly, the weight of his words heavier than she might’ve expected. He thought of the hunt, of you running into danger without hesitation, of Dean working tirelessly to keep him alive. He himself didn't quite understand why he was turning a cure down, maybe that Shadow Stalker had infected his mind in a way that made him desperate to keep the dark out. And demon blood, was as dark as it could get.

“This isn’t the answer.”

Ruby’s jaw tightened, and she stepped closer, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. “You’re being reckless. You think you’re stronger than you are, but you’re not. Without me, you’d be dead. Without this”—she held her bleeding hand closer—“you’re useless.” Sam’s chest tightened, a flicker of doubt threatening to take hold, but he pushed it down. He shook his head, forcing himself to meet her gaze.

“I’m not in the mood for this.”

Ruby’s smirk faltered for a split second before settling into something sharper, colder. “Not in the mood?” she repeated, her tone laced with mockery. “This isn’t about your mood, Sam. This is about staying alive.”

But it wasn’t just about staying alive, and they both knew it. He could feel it now—that gnawing pull, the faint burn in his veins that left him restless and raw. He hated that part of him, the part that had grown dependent on her blood, that craved the rush of power it gave him.

It had started small, just enough to stay sharp, to keep fighting. That’s what he’d told himself, anyway. But over time, it had become something else. He couldn’t ignore the way his heart raced when she answered his calls, the way he’d catch himself checking his phone like some desperate junkie waiting for a fix. Ruby wasn’t just a partner. She was his dealer, and every time he gave in, it felt like she tightened the chain around his neck. “I’ll figure it out,” he said finally, forcing the words out past the lump in his throat. “Just… not now.”

Her smirk returned, cruel and knowing. “You’re such a cliché, you know that?” she said, leaning down slightly, her dark eyes boring into his.

"Afraid Dean might see?"

He didn’t respond, his jaw tightening as he looked away. She wasn’t wrong, and that only made him hate her more. Ruby huffed out a laugh, short and bitter. “Fine,” she said, straightening up. “You do you, Sam. But don’t expect me to keep cleaning up your messes when you’re too proud to ask for help.” She wiped the blood on a rag, her movements brisk and annoyed, before tossing the stained cloth onto the table. “You know where to find me when you change your mind,” she added, her voice softening into something almost seductive. Her boots echoed against the floor as she walked away, the door clicking shut behind her.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Sam stayed where he was, staring at the ceiling, his hands clenching into fists. The ache in his body was relentless, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as the ache in his mind.

He hated himself for wanting it. For the small, traitorous part of him that considered calling her back.

Not this time, he thought bitterly. Not now. But the doubt lingered, clawing at the edges of his resolve.

It wasn’t just the craving—it was the shame that came with it. The knowledge that he’d let himself fall this far, that he’d traded pieces of himself for power he wasn’t even sure he wanted anymore. He hated what it said about him, about the choices he’d made.

That’s why he kept it to himself. Dean didn’t know. He couldn’t know. The thought of telling him, of seeing the disappointment and anger in his brother’s eyes, was unbearable. Dean always believed in fighting with what you had, not what you could take, and Sam knew this would cross a line Dean couldn’t forgive. And you? You would see right through him. You always had a way of peeling back the layers he tried to hide behind, exposing the things he wasn’t ready to admit—not even to himself. You’d dig and dig, your concern masquerading as stubborn determination, and it would only be a matter of time before you uncovered the truth. He couldn’t let that happen.

So he kept you at arm’s length. It wasn’t fair, and he knew it. But it was easier to push you away than to risk you looking at him the way he was afraid you might. Like you didn’t recognize him anymore.

Sam sighed, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. The room was quiet now, the only sound the faint hum of the motel’s air conditioner. He hated how tangled everything had become—how every choice he made seemed to push him further away from the people who mattered most.

You’re gone because of me, he thought, the words heavy and bitter.

He leaned back against the chair, his gaze drifting to the empty space where you might’ve sat if things had been different. If he hadn’t been too much of a coward to tell you the truth. The truth was... no he couldn’t say it. Even now, with the ache in his body and the haze in his mind, that truth would remain his for now. Still, he felt asif if somehow he had become this terrible monstrous thing. He didn't deserve you or Dean.

Sam let out a shaky breath, his chest tightening with a mix of regret and resignation. He wanted to tell himself it was better this way, that you were safer without him dragging you into his mess. But deep down, he knew it wasn’t true. The truth was, he didn’t know how to fix this. Not the addiction, not the distance he’d created between himself and Dean, and definitely not that coldness you’d left behind. For now, all he could do was sit with the weight of it, the silence pressing down on him like a punishment he knew he deserved.

The sound of drawers slamming and the clatter of gear being thrown into a bag jolted Sam from his thoughts. He blinked, lifting his gaze to see Dean storming around the room, his jaw tight and his movements sharp with frustration. “What are you doing?” Sam asked, his voice hoarse from disuse. “What does it look like?” Dean snapped, tossing a handful of shotgun shells into his duffel. “I’m going after her.” Sam frowned, pushing himself up a little despite the protest in his shoulder. “Dean… she left a note. She doesn’t want us to go after her.” Dean froze for half a second before turning on his heel, his eyes blazing as he pointed a finger at Sam. “Don’t start with me. She’s hurt, she’s out there alone, and you think I’m just gonna sit here and twiddle my thumbs because of some damn note?”

“She’s not stupid,” Sam said quietly, his voice careful. “She knows how to handle herself.”

Dean scoffed, slamming his bag shut with a force that made the whole table shake. “Yeah? Well, she didn’t handle herself too great when she went toe-to-toe with that Shadow Stalker. Did you forget how banged up she was? I sure as hell didn’t.” Sam clenched his jaw, the memory of your bloodstained shirt flashing through his mind. He hadn’t forgotten. How could he?

“She’s trying to figure things out,” Sam said after a long pause. “She needs space.” Dean let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he shrugged on his jacket. “Space? That what we’re calling it now? Sam, she didn’t even say goodbye to you. She didn’t say goodbye to either of us.”

“That’s not the point,” Sam muttered, looking away.

“No, the point is she’s out there somewhere, bleeding and pissed off, and I’m not just gonna let her disappear without a fight. So why are you, huh?” Dean’s voice softened slightly, though the fire in his eyes remained. Sam didn't know how to answer him.

“We’re family, man. We don’t leave each other behind. That’s not how we do things.”

Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair as he leaned back against the chair. “What if you chasing her just makes it worse? She doesn’t want to be found, Dean. You saw the note.”

Dean paused, his hands tightening around the strap of his bag. For a moment, the anger in his expression faltered, replaced by something rawer—fear, maybe, or guilt. “Yeah, well… tough,” he muttered, his voice quieter now. “She can hate me all she wants, but I’m not gonna sit here and do nothing. Not when she might need us.” Sam didn’t argue, but the doubt lingered in his mind. He didn’t want to admit it, but he wasn’t sure if Dean’s stubborn determination would bring you back—or drive you further away.

Dean grabbed his keys, his movements resolute as he headed for the door. “You staying here or coming with me?” Sam hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. His body ached, his mind was a mess, and the thought of going after you filled him with equal parts hope and dread. “I’ll stay,” he said finally, his voice low. “You’ll move faster without me.” Dean stopped at the door, glancing back at his brother with a look that was equal parts frustration and understanding. He didn’t push it, just nodded once before stepping out into the night. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Sam alone with the echo of his brother’s resolve—and the weight of his own inaction. He didn’t deserve to find you.

✦────────────────────✦────────────────────✦

You’d hitched a few rides over the past day, bouncing from one truck stop to another as you slowly made your way north. The drivers didn’t ask too many questions, and you didn’t offer much beyond polite thanks and vague mentions of family up the road. It kept things simple, and simple was exactly what you needed. After that you were on a bus, the long ride stretching out before you as the highway unraveled into the distance. The seat was stiff, the air stale with the faint scent of old upholstery and spilled coffee, but it was quiet. That was what mattered most—quiet and distance.

It had taken another day or two to reach Bobby’s. You’d mapped it out in your head, calculating the stops and connections with the kind of precision that came from years of tracking hunts. But this wasn’t a hunt. This was something different, something heavier, and the weight of it sat in your chest like a stone. Youd leaned your head against the bus window, the blur of fields and trees rushing past. The weight in your chest was familiar now—regret, guilt, and something else you couldn’t quite name. You’d left to find yourself, but the question remained: Could you even recognize her anymore?

Bobby would have a place for you—you were sure of that much. Or atleast that was your thought process on the bus. He always had room for strays, and you were no exception. But the thought of facing him, of explaining why you’d left, twisted your stomach into knots. Bobby wasn’t one to beat around the bush, and you knew he’d see right through you the moment you walked through his door. You sighed, closing your eyes as the bus rattled on. You didn’t have all the answers yet, and maybe you wouldn’t by the time you got there.

You started to feel silly about the whole thing—walking away like this, leaving behind a life you’d fought so hard to build. Maybe you should’ve stayed, if only to see if Sam was okay. The image of him lying on that bed, pale and broken, flashed through your mind, and for a moment, your resolve wavered.

But you dismissed the thought almost as quickly as it came. Staying would’ve only made things worse—for him and for you. You’d spent enough time trying to patch up the cracks in everyone else’s lives while ignoring your own. This wasn’t about Sam, or Dean, or any of it. This was about finding yourself again, about keeping a promise you’d nearly forgotten you’d made. Still, as the bus rumbled down the highway, a small, stubborn part of you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d made a mistake. If maybe, just maybe, you’d left something behind that you weren’t ready to let go of. And let me tell you, it wasn’t easy being back at Bobby’s.

The creak of the porch under your boots, the smell of motor oil and dust in the air, the piles of junk and old car parts scattered around—it should’ve felt like a refuge. But it didn’t. Not now. You leaned on the porch railing, staring out at the yard. Everything about this place screamed familiarity, but you couldn’t shake the weight pressing down on you. Being here brought everything bubbling up—the doubts, the guilt, the question of whether leaving had been the right thing to do. This was where you'd met the boys, and all just came flooding back to you.

When you’d shown up on Bobby’s doorstep, he’d just squinted at you like he could read the whole story written on your face. No lectures, no questions. Just a gruff, “Well, don’t just stand there like an idjit. Get your ass inside.” That was Bobby for you. You ended up, sat, in his kitchen, hands curled around a mug of coffee you hadn’t even taken a sip from. Bobby leaned against the counter, arms crossed, his eyes sharp and waiting. “You look like hell,” he finally said. You almost laughed at how matter-of-fact he was. “Thanks, Bobby. Nice to see you too.” He raised an eyebrow. “You want nice, you’re in the wrong house. What’s goin’ on?” You sighed, staring into the coffee like it held some kind of answer.

“I left.” His face didn’t change, not much. Maybe a flicker of something in his eyes. “You mean the boys?”

You nodded.

“You just up and walked out on ’em?”

“It’s... complicated,” you muttered, setting the coffee down. “Sam got hurt—real bad—and it just... it felt like everything was falling apart. There’s this distance now. Between all of us. Between me and him.”

“Sam, huh?” Bobby said, and there was something in the way he said it that made you feel like he already knew more than you’d told him. You rubbed the back of your neck, staring at the table. “I couldn’t stay, Bobby. I was... I don’t know. Waiting, I guess. Waiting for something to get better, for something to change. But it didn’t. And in the meantime, I was just... losing myself. Trying to fix everything, trying to keep up. I couldn’t do it anymore.”

Bobby didn’t say anything for a minute, just tipped his head like he was weighing your words. Then he let out a deep sigh. “And now you’re here. Lookin’ for what, exactly? A pat on the back? Somebody to tell you it’s all fine and dandy?” You flinched a little but shook your head. “I’m just... I need space, Bobby. To figure out who I am outside of all this.” He nodded slowly, his face softening just a little. “Well, you got space here. Long as you need it. But listen to me—run all you want, you’ll still be you when you get where you’re goin’. That’s what you gotta reckon with. Not Sam, not Dean. You.” You nodded, swallowing hard. He wasn’t wrong. He was never wrong. “Appreciate it,” you said quietly.

“Don’t mention it,” Bobby grumbled, straightening up and heading for the fridge. “You want somethin’ to eat, or you just plan on sittin’ there starin’ at that coffee all night?” It wasn’t easy being back at Bobby’s. But maybe that was exactly what you needed.

The days at Bobby’s passed slowly, a strange blend of familiarity and restlessness. You threw yourself into work—cleaning up the salvage yard, organizing his cluttered shelves, fixing up a few busted cars. Anything to keep your hands busy and your mind too occupied to wander.

But even as you distracted yourself, the silence pressed in, no matter how much you tried to ignore it. Every now and then, you’d catch yourself glancing at your phone, half-hoping, half-dreading to see Dean’s name or a text from Sam. You’d received a few over the past few days, but you ignored all of them. The calls went unanswered, and the texts were left on read. The only message you sent was a short, vague reply: I’m safe. Don’t worry. It wasn’t enough to stop Dean from trying. He never took “don’t worry” for an answer, and his persistence made it harder to stick to your resolve. Every time your phone buzzed, your heart clenched. Part of you wanted to pick up, to hear his voice and let him lecture you into coming back. But you couldn’t do that—not yet.

And Sam… well, you weren’t sure you could face him even if you tried. The memory of his pale, bloodied face haunted you, along with the weight of the words he’d mumbled before slipping into unconsciousness. You matter. You’d wanted to believe him, wanted to hold on to the warmth of that moment. But it had been fleeting, and when Ruby’s name slipped into the air between you, it shattered everything you thought you’d felt.

You dismissed the thoughts as quickly as they came. Staying wouldn’t have fixed anything. It would’ve only made things worse—for you and for them. You’d spent too much time trying to hold everyone together, trying to patch up cracks in people who didn’t even want your help. This wasn’t about Dean, or Sam, or Ruby. It was about you. And you’d promised yourself, long before you even met the Winchesters, that you wouldn’t lose yourself again.

Bobby didn’t say much at first, just watched you work with his usual scrutinizing gaze. He let you settle in, his silence almost comforting in its predictability. But that didn’t stop him from throwing in the occasional jab. “You gonna do somethin’ useful today, or you just plan to stand there lookin’ like a lost puppy?” he asked one afternoon, leaning against the doorway as you sorted through a pile of old hunting gear. You huffed, rolling your eyes as you held up a rusted blade.

“I’m cleaning up your mess, Bobby. I’d say that’s plenty useful.” He snorted, but there was a softness in his eyes that told you he wasn’t as gruff as he pretended to be. “You keep that attitude up, you’ll fit right in with the junkyard.” Later that evening, as you sat in the kitchen nursing a mug of coffee, Bobby finally cut to the chase. “So,” he started, settling across from you with his own mug. “How long you plannin’ on mopin’ around here?” You frowned, your fingers tightening around the handle.

“I’m not moping.”

“Sure, and I’m the King of England.” He raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “You’re not foolin’ anyone, kid. Least of all me.”

You sighed, staring into the dark liquid in your cup. “I just needed some space, Bobby. That’s all.”

“Space is fine,” he said, his voice gruff but not unkind. “But space don’t fix what’s broken. You know that as well as I do.” Your chest tightened, and for a moment, you didn’t say anything. When you finally looked up, his gaze was steady, unrelenting in a way that made you feel like a kid again. “I couldn’t stay,” you admitted quietly. “It felt like I was… drowning. Trying to keep everything together, trying to be everything for everyone. And Sam…” Bobby tilted his head slightly, waiting for you to finish. “There’s something going on with him,” you said, your voice faltering. “Something he’s not telling me—or Dean. I tried to figure it out, but every time I got close, he’d shut me out.”

Bobby didn’t respond right away, just tapped a finger against the side of his mug as he mulled over your words. Then, after a long pause, he said, “You’re not wrong about the boy.” You blinked, sitting up a little straighter. “What do you mean?”

He let out a sigh, his gaze drifting to the window as if he were debating how much to say. “Dean called me a while back. Said Sam’s been… different. Edgy. More than usual.” Your stomach twisted. “Did he say why?” Bobby shook his head. “Not in so many words. But he mentioned Ruby’s name a couple times. Said Sam’s been spendin’ too much time with her.” The mention of Ruby sent a chill down your spine.

“He’s in love with her,” you said, the words bitter on your tongue.

Bobby’s eyes narrowed, his face hardening slightly. “Love’s a strong word. More like… she’s got her claws in him real deep. Sam’s a smart kid, but he’s also stubborn as hell. He thinks he’s doin’ what’s best, but I got a feelin’ he’s diggin’ himself a hole he can’t climb out of.” The knot in your chest tightened. You’d seen it too—the way Ruby hovered just close enough to keep him tethered, the way his shoulders relaxed when she was around. You hated her for it, hated the way she seemed to know exactly how to pull Sam’s strings. “He’s gonna get himself hurt,” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper. Bobby sighed, his gaze softening. “Maybe. But that ain’t your problem to fix.” You nodded, though the words didn’t settle as easily as they should’ve.

That night, as you sat on the porch with a blanket draped over your shoulders, you stared up at the stars and tried to make sense of everything. The silence was deafening, broken only by the faint chirp of crickets and the distant rustle of wind through the trees. You thought of Sam, of the way his eyes had searched yours in that motel room. You thought of Dean, of his relentless determination to keep everyone together. And you thought of yourself, sitting here now, wondering if you’d done the right thing. The stars didn’t have any answers. Neither did you. But as the night stretched on, you realized that maybe Bobby was right. Maybe space wouldn’t fix what was broken.

You missed them.

✦────────────────────✦────────────────────✦

Dean’s knuckles tightened around the wheel of the Impala as the miles ticked by. The road stretched ahead in a blur of asphalt and scattered headlights, but his mind was somewhere else. The crumpled note sat in the passenger seat, the words burned into his brain no matter how hard he tried to shake them. Don’t look for me. Like hell he wouldn’t.

He’d started at the last place they’d been, retracing your steps like it was any other hunt. Truck stops, diners, gas stations—he grilled anyone who might’ve seen you, his tone sharp and clipped, his patience nonexistent. A few vague descriptions matched your appearance, but they all pointed in different directions. It was like you’d vanished into thin air, leaving only breadcrumbs that barely stuck together. He pulled into another gas station, the fluorescent lights humming faintly overhead as he parked the car. The clerk inside barely looked up from his magazine as Dean approached the counter.

“Seen her?” Dean asked, slapping a photo onto the counter. It was a candid shot, one Sam had taken months ago during a rare quiet moment between hunts. You were laughing at something Dean had said, your head tilted slightly, your hair catching the light. The clerk squinted at the photo, his chewing gum slowing as he considered it. “Maybe,” he drawled. “Couple days ago. Hitched a ride with a trucker headin’ north.” Dean’s jaw tightened. “You got anything more specific?” The guy shrugged.

“Didn’t catch where they were goin’. She looked like she was in a hurry, though.”

Dean muttered a curse under his breath, snatching the photo back as he turned toward the door. Every lead was colder than the last, and with each dead end, the knot in his chest tightened. You weren’t making this easy, but he hadn’t expected you to.

Back in the Impala, he rubbed a hand over his face, exhaustion creeping in around the edges. He hated this—hated not knowing where you were, if you were okay, if you even wanted to be found. But none of that mattered. Not to him. Not when the thought of you out there alone, hurt and vulnerable, gnawed at him like a wound that wouldn’t heal. “Damn it,” he muttered, slamming his hand against the steering wheel.

A memory flashed, sharp and uninvited—your laugh filling the air during a rare quiet night on the road. You’d been teasing Sam about something, and the sound of it had made Dean smirk despite himself. Now, that laughter felt like a ghost, haunting the empty space you’d left behind.

With a heavy sigh, Dean started the car and pulled back onto the highway. He wasn’t giving up. Not yet.

Sam sat alone in the motel, the silence pressing down on him like a weight. Dean had been gone for two days now, chasing after you with the kind of determination Sam couldn’t bring himself to muster. His shoulder still ached from the hunt, the stitches pulling every time he moved, but that wasn’t what kept him up at night. It was you.

He stared at his phone, your single message still sitting there like a taunt. I’m safe. Don’t worry. Safe, sure. But the “don’t worry” part? That was impossible. Sam leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair as he exhaled slowly. The truth was, he wasn’t just worried about you. He was worried about himself—about the way Ruby’s presence lingered like a shadow in his mind, about the pull of her blood and the power it gave him. About the way he couldn’t seem to stop craving it, no matter how much he tried. You’d seen it, hadn’t you? Seen the cracks he’d been trying so hard to hide.

Maybe that’s why you’d left—not because of the hunt, not because of the fight, but because you couldn’t stand to watch him fall apart. His phone buzzed, pulling him from his thoughts. It wasn’t you. It was Ruby. Sam stared at the screen for a long moment, his chest tightening as the familiar rush of guilt and need washed over him. He didn’t answer. Not this time. But the doubt lingered, clawing at the edges of his resolve. And as the silence settled over the motel once more, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was too far gone to fix any of it.

Was he being pathetic? Yes. But he also had an idea of where you might have gone, and that at least gave him some comfort. It was better than thinking you were out there with no plan, no destination. That wasn’t like you. You always had a plan. Still, the idea of you being gone didn’t sit right. He thought, at some point, to go to you. That maybe if he apologized… or said something—anything—you’d come back.

Maybe it wasn’t too late to fix whatever it was that had pushed you to leave in the first place. He just didn’t know what to say. It was a lot emptier without you. The motel room was cramped and quiet, the kind of quiet that made the cheap wallpaper and sagging furniture feel like they were closing in. Dean had gone out for food—or maybe just to burn off his frustration somewhere else—and Sam was left alone, staring at the scattered papers on the table. It was their usual setup: lore books stacked high, scribbled notes, and a laptop balanced precariously on the edge of the bed. But it didn’t feel right. Not without you.

You always brought order to the chaos, sorting through the mess with a sharp eye and steady hands. Without you, it just felt like clutter. Sam sighed, leaning back in his chair. The motel’s AC unit rattled faintly in the background, doing little to cut through the stale air. His phone sat on the table in front of him, the screen dark, but he couldn’t stop glancing at it. He thought about calling you again, even though he knew you wouldn’t pick up. He thought about texting, about saying something that might make you reconsider. But every time his fingers hovered over the keyboard, the words felt wrong.

Too little, too late. Instead, he’d scroll through the texts you’d sent before—all the quick updates, the late-night jokes, the “be careful” warnings that were more about you worrying than the hunt itself. It felt like a lifetime ago now, like they belonged to a different version of himself. One who hadn’t let things spiral so far out of control.

The truth was, he didn’t know how to fill the void you’d left behind. Sam ran a hand through his hair, staring at the phone again. He’d sent you one last text the night before, short and to the point: We’re still here. Wherever you are, just… stay safe. You hadn’t replied. He tried to tell himself that it was fine, that you needed space, but the weight in his chest said otherwise. He wanted to believe you were okay, that you’d find what you were looking for, but doubt crept in every time he closed his eyes. What if you weren’t okay? What if you were out there, hurt or worse, and he wasn’t there to help

The door creaked open, and Dean walked in, his boots heavy on the floor. He had a bag of takeout in one hand and a six-pack in the other, but his face was set in that hard, determined way that made Sam’s stomach knot. He dropped the food on the table and slumped onto the bed, his shoulders tight and his jaw clenched. “Anything?” Dean asked, his voice clipped. Sam shook his head.

“Nothing.” Dean let out a sharp exhale, dragging a hand down his face. "She's headed north" he pauses “Figures. She’s probably with Bobby.”

“Maybe,” Sam muttered, though he didn’t sound convincing. Dean glared at him, his frustration barely contained.

“You think I’m wrong?”

“I don’t know, Dean. I don’t know anything right now.” The room fell silent, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Dean cracked open a beer and took a long swig, his eyes fixed on the floor. For a while, neither of them said anything. Then Dean broke the silence

“She’s out there, Sam!” Dean snapped, slamming his bear on the table. “We can’t just sit here and do nothing!”

“And what do you want me to do, Dean?” Sam shot back, his voice sharper than usual. “I can barely move without ripping my stitches open. You think I can chase after her in this state?”

“That’s a damn good excuse, all you've been doing is mope around” Dean snarled. “You let her walk away. You just let her leave, Sam!”

Sam flinched at the accusation, his jaw tightening as he pushed himself up. “She didn’t leave because of me,” he said quietly, though the words felt hollow even as he spoke them.

“Bullshit,” Dean hissed, his voice low and cutting. “She left because you pushed her away. Because you’ve been too wrapped up in whatever the hell is going on with you and Ruby to notice anything else!”

Sam’s eyes flared with anger, but he didn’t deny it. "You think I don’t feel guilty?” Sam shot back, his voice raw. “You think I don’t lie awake wondering what I could’ve done differently? I know I screwed up, Dean.” Dean’s glare softened, but only slightly. “Then fix it,” he said, his tone low and firm. “Before she’s too far gone.”

✦────────────────────✦────────────────────✦

You use to like the porch, use to come here a lot when you were younger. One night, after hours spent organizing Bobby’s shelves just to keep your hands busy, you found yourself sitting on it with a bottle of whiskey. The sky above was inky black, pinpricked with stars, the kind of night that would have felt endless and peaceful under different circumstances. But the quiet only made the storm in your head louder.

You stared at the bottle, your fingers curling around it tightly. “What the hell am I doing?” you muttered under your breath.

The answer didn’t come.

Instead, the memories crept in. Sam’s pale face, broken and bleeding on the bed. Dean’s shouts, frantic and sharp, cutting through the chaos like a blade. The weight of it all crushed you from the inside out, suffocating and relentless. Then there was Ruby, a name that hung in your mind like a noose, tightening with every passing second. And then this porch, it took you back to all those years ago, this was where you guys had met:

“We’re John’s boys,” Dean said simply, like you were supposed to know exactly what he was talking about.

“And?” You squinted at the pretty boy in a leather jacket, the sun high in the sky as you stood in the doorway. You were wearing something close to shorts and a flannel, a shotgun casually tucked under your arm.

“Look, sweetheart, we—”

“What my brother means,” the taller one interrupted smoothly, cutting Dean off before he could finish, “is that we’ve driven a long way, and we just want to talk to Bobby, if you don’t mind.” He smiled a polite, almost apologetic smile.

You glanced between them, your grip tightening on the shotgun as they lingered just outside the doorway.

“Names?”

“I’m Dean, and that’s Sammy—”

“Sam. Just Sam,” the taller one corrected, shooting a glance at his brother.

Your gaze shifted between them, taking in their clothes—well-worn boots, layers that were functional more than fashionable. You frowned. “You’re hunters?”

“The best,” Dean quipped, his tone dripping with self-assurance.

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Aren’t you a little young?”

Dean’s smirk faltered for a second, replaced by a slight frown before he quickly composed himself. Beside him, Sam gave a small, polite smile.

“Thank you,” Sam said, his tone light, almost amused.

You tilted your head, considering them for a moment longer before stepping back slightly. “I’ll call him down,” you said, your voice firm. “But if you try anything, I’ll shoot you. Got me?”

“Loud and clear,” Sam replied calmly, his tone easy and steady.

Dean, however, looked a little annoyed, his jaw tightening as he glanced at his brother.

You stepped back inside, leaving the door open just enough to keep an eye on them as you turned to yell toward the stairs. “Bobby! You got visitors!”

That’s how you’d first met them. You’d been staying with Bobby for a while, helping out where you could, when they’d just showed up one day, and then again and again, until their appearances became less like interruptions and more like routine.

They had a way of pulling you in, those brothers. The kind of presence that made everything else seem smaller, quieter. Enough so that, one day, when they headed out, you’d gone with them. And you never came back.

That was a few years ago. A lot had changed since then.

You took a long swig from the bottle, the burn in your throat grounding you for a fleeting moment. But it didn’t stop the tears that welled up, hot and unrelenting.

“Shit,” you muttered, brushing them away roughly. You hated this—hated feeling weak, hated that you’d run, hated that even now, you couldn’t stop thinking about them.

The door creaked open behind you, and Bobby stepped out. His footsteps were heavy but unhurried, his presence as steady and solid as the creak of the porch under his weight. He didn’t say anything at first, just leaned against the railing beside you. His sharp, knowing eyes seemed to cut through the dark.

For a long moment, the silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. Then, finally, Bobby broke it. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with cryin’, you know.”

You huffed out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, well, it doesn’t fix anything.”

“No,” Bobby agreed, his tone gruff but not unkind. “But sometimes it helps you figure out what’s worth fixin’.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with truth. You didn’t respond, just stared at the bottle in your hands. That was a day or two ago, but the memory of it still burned in your chest, raw and unshakable.

Today, you’d just finished up on one of the trucks while Bobby insisted on cooking, though it hadn’t done much to settle the noise in your head. You felt too embarrassed to meet Bobby’s eyes after that night on the porch, like your vulnerability had left a mark you couldn’t scrub away.

The house was quiet now, the faint sizzle of the scrapyard humming in the heat. You threw the towel over your shoulder and leaned against the hood of an old truck, letting out a deep breath.

The day had passed slowly, dragging on like it was trying to remind you of everything you weren’t ready to face. But that was the point, wasn’t it? Distance. Space. Time to figure out what the hell you were even doing.

And then you saw it.

Out of the corner of your eye, a figure shifted just beyond the tree line. At first, you thought it was a trick of the light—a shadow flickering in the heat. But the longer you stared, the more certain you became. Someone was there.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you wiped your hands on a rag and stepped away from the truck. “Bobby?” you called, your voice cutting through the stillness.

No response.

The figure moved closer, stepping into the clearing with a calm, deliberate stride. The sun glinted off dark hair, and as they drew nearer, your chest tightened. Sharp features came into focus, along with a confident smirk that sent a chill down your spine.

“Ruby?”

She stopped a few feet away, her gaze sweeping over you like she was sizing you up. Her smirk widened, her dark eyes glinting with amusement. “Long time no see.”

Your stomach twisted, and your grip tightened around the wrench in your hand. The cool steel felt like the only solid thing in a moment that threatened to unravel completely.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you asked, your voice sharp, almost shaking.

Ruby’s smile deepened, a dangerous edge to her expression. “Let’s just say I have a vested interest in your little soul-searching trip.”

✦────────────────────✦────────────────────✦

Dumm dummm daaa. (Please let me know if you guys are bored with this, because I know this one is not as fun as part 2)

Feedback is always welcome ;)

#fanfic #supernatural #x reader #x you #dean winchester #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader #imagine #sam winchester

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asterafroditis · 12 hours ago

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𐔌 . ⋮ wake up, sleepyhead.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆Silver x gn! reader

𓏵 704 words

ᝰ.ᐟ 3rd Person POV, no pronouns used, established relationship with reader, angst, hurt/comfort

sorry if Silver is ooc, I'm not too knowledgeable on his personality (◞ ‸ ◟ㆀ) feel free to like, reblog, or leave a comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

Silver loves you with all his heart, but no matter how much he tries to tell himself that, the guilt never truly goes away. He doesn’t doubt your love or patience— if anything, he feels like he doesn’t deserve them. How could he, when every moment spent with you feels like a moment stolen by his uncontrollable slumber?

It wasn’t as if you didn’t know. From the very beginning, you’d been well aware of the spell placed on him as a child. You’d told him countless times that it didn’t bother you, that you understood this was something he couldn’t control. But Silver couldn’t stop the self-reproach that grew every time he awoke to find your face patiently waiting for him.

He hated the way it always played out: an afternoon spent together under the dappled sunlight of a quiet forest, with you happily chatting away about something or other. Then, without warning, his eyelids would begin to droop, his head would grow heavy, and no amount of willpower could stop him from succumbing to the pull of sleep.

When he awoke, there you were, still by his side, smiling softly as though nothing had happened. But Silver could see the faint concern lingering in your eyes, could feel the way your hands hesitated for just a second longer before reaching for his. And that was what crushed him most of all—that you cared so much, even when he felt he didn’t deserve it.

“Why don’t you leave me?” he asked one day, the words slipping out before he could stop them. His voice was quiet, trembling with the weight of everything he’d kept inside. “You don’t have to waste your time with someone like me. You could be with someone who could give you all the time in the world... someone who wouldn’t fall asleep in the middle of your sentences.”

Your eyes widened, shock flashing across your face before quickly softening. “Silver, what are you talking about?” you murmured, stepping closer to him.

He shook his head, unable to meet your gaze. “I... I don’t want to be a burden to you. You deserve someone who can give you their full attention, not someone who spends half of your time together unconscious. I feel like I’m stealing from you.”

“Silver,” you whispered, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “You’re not stealing anything from me.”

“But I am!” he burst out, his voice cracking under the weight of his guilt. “Every time I fall asleep, I take away time we could have spent together. I feel so selfish for holding you back like this... and I can’t even stop it. I can’t change it.”

You waited for a moment, letting his words settle before speaking again. “You’re right,” you said softly, surprising him. “You can’t change it. And that’s okay. I don’t need you to change anything, Silver.”

He looked at you then, eyes wide and searching. “But why?”

“Because I love you,” you said simply. “And being with you means accepting every part of you, even the parts you might not like about yourself. When you fall asleep around me, it’s not a waste of time. It’s a reminder that you feel safe enough to let your guard down. That you trust me enough to be vulnerable.”

Silver’s breath hitched, his heart clenching painfully at your words. He wanted to believe you, wanted to let go of the guilt that weighed him down. But it was so hard.

You reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. “You’ve spent your whole life protecting others, haven’t you? Always on guard, always thinking about everyone else. But with me... you don’t have to do that. You can rest, Silver. I don’t mind. In fact, I love that you trust me enough to do that.”

For a long moment, Silver couldn’t find the words to respond. His chest felt tight, a strange mix of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. Slowly, he lowered his head, letting his silver hair fall into his eyes as he whispered, “Thank you.”

And for the first time, he allowed himself to believe, just a little, that maybe he wasn’t stealing your time. Maybe, just maybe, you were giving it willingly.

#۶ৎ qka daydreams!#twst #disney twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x you #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst silver #twst silver x reader #silver vanrouge #twst silver x you #light angst #hurt/comfort #silver vanrouge x reader

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rubyuji · 8 hours ago

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She got the Ruby ๋࣭ ⭑🎸⊹ ࣪ ˖

“No way. I never knew how much I needed this kind of chaos until you showed up.” ᝰ.ᐟ

Genre: Slowburn, Fluff

AU: University AU

Pairing: Music Major!Woozi x Afab!Reader

Warnings: None

Synopsis: Jihoon had never been one for romance or dating—no one had ever truly caught his eye. But everything changed when he saw you bathed in the glow of red light at Soonyoung’s party, your ruby lips captivating him and making his heart race like never before. Why could you, a stranger, leave him so utterly spellbound?

Note: User rubyuji finally publishing a fic about her bias?! LMAO to be completely honest, this fic had been in my google docs for so long that I'm surprised it made it out despite the writer's block. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it! Don't forget to like + reblog as form of support!

W.C: 8.3k

Dating was never an option for someone in Jihoon’s league. His packed schedule aside, he barely left the house most of the time. Whenever his friends—emphasis on tried—attempted to introduce him to someone, the feedback was always the same: he was either too busy or seemed completely uninterested.

It wasn’t entirely his fault, though. Jihoon had never quite found his footing in the dating world. Either the idea simply hadn’t appealed to him, or the person his friends introduced was too different for him to find common ground.

“Oh, come on! We’ve introduced you to, like, six people already, and you didn’t like any of them! You’re hopeless, Jihoon,” Soonyoung whined, dramatically flopping onto the couch beside his friend.

Jihoon barely spared him a glance, rolling his eyes as his fingers continued to move across the keyboard.

Soonyoung was a great friend—Jihoon couldn’t deny that. Even if he didn’t always show it, he cared about the guy a lot. But sometimes, Soonyoung could be a handful. His intentions were always good, sure, but Jihoon wasn’t ready to dive into the complicated world of relationships or love. Not now, not when all he could focus on was graduating, as if his entire life depended on it.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but being in a relationship is the least of my worries right now,” Jihoon sighed, closing his laptop with a faint click.

As if on cue, his other friend, Wonwoo, emerged from Jihoon’s room, looking like he’d just rolled out of bed after a long nap.

“You barely leave the house and hole up here like a damn hermit. You should take some time to relax once in a while, you know?” he quipped, leaning against the doorframe.

Jihoon rubbed his temples, his brows knitting together in mild frustration. He knew his friends meant well, but their constant prodding was starting to feel like a broken record.

Soonyoung suddenly gasped, drawing curious looks from the other two men. “How about this? We’re heading to my frat tonight—I’ve got a party planned. Maybe Jihoon could find someone to mingle with. It wouldn’t hurt, right? And if you end up hating it or don’t meet anyone, you can leave. No pressure.”

Jihoon’s mouth fell open like a fish out of water at Soonyoung’s suggestion.

He didn’t mind parties per se, but Soonyoung’s events were... something else. Case in point: Soonyoung had once woken up on the frat’s lawn after one of his infamous ragers and called Jihoon to help clean up the trashed house. But that was a story for another day.

Still, Jihoon found himself considering the idea. He hadn’t left his apartment in nearly a week, and after working nonstop, a change of scenery might not be the worst thing in the world.

Jihoon wasn’t a prude—far from it. He simply preferred to conserve his energy and steer clear of activities that drained him too much.

It was just part of his nature, and honestly, one of the reasons he couldn’t see himself dating someone too outgoing or high-energy. Still, this party might be an opportunity to step outside his usual bubble and meet someone new—someone who wasn’t just a direct connection to his friends.

“I’ll go this once, I guess. But if it’s a bust, I’m leaving immediately, like we agreed,” Jihoon sighed, his tone resigned.

From the kitchen, he heard the unmistakable sound of Wonwoo spitting out his water in shock, while Soonyoung erupted into cheers, dancing around the room like he’d just won the lottery.

Jihoon rolled his eyes but knew he couldn’t show up looking like a mess. If he was going to meet someone, he might as well make himself look presentable.

On the other hand, you weren’t exactly a fan of the party scene either. So why were you at Junhui’s frat, holding a red Solo cup, half-listening to Mingyu and Seokmin discuss some new workout Mingyu had discovered?

“Hey, are you even listening to me?” Mingyu huffed, snapping you out of your daze with an exasperated look.

You smirked, taking a sip from your cup. “Mingyu, you’re the biggest gym rat I know—besides Chan and Seungcheol. And Seok, don’t think you’re safe either. I’m not even surprised you found another workout to torture us with next week at the gym.”

Mingyu groaned dramatically while Seokmin burst out laughing at your comment. Shaking your head, you got up from your spot on the couch.

“Alright, I’m gonna go look for Saerom,” you announced, giving them a playful wave before weaving through the party crowd.

“If you see Minghao, let him know I’m looking for him,” Mingyu called after you. You gave a casual two-finger salute in response before heading to the kitchen, relishing the sudden drop in noise and the smaller crowd.

Saerom was leaning against the counter, deep in conversation with Jihyo. When they spotted you, both waved you over.

“Hey, have you guys seen Minghao anywhere?” you asked as you joined them.

Jihyo shrugged, and Saerom shook her head. “Mingyu’s looking for him, right? Well, no sign of him yet,” Saerom replied.

“Figures,” you chuckled. “Also, can you believe the party’s host is MIA? Imagine Soonyoung being late to one of his own ragers for once. That’s wild.”

Saerom laughed as she refilled your cup, the three of you slipping easily back into lighthearted conversation.

Before your friends can give out another remark, you guys hear Soonyoung’s boisterous laughter coming from the living room. “Looks like I spoke too soon?” You pout in faux disappointment.

“Hey, isn’t that Lee Jihoon? Isn’t he in your class, Rom?” Jihyo pointed out, her finger directed toward the familiar face standing beside Seungcheol. Your brows raised in surprise.

As far as you know, Jihoon, along with Seungcheol, Wonwoo, and Mingyu, lived off-campus. So seeing him here was unusual—he was practically an anomaly in these parties, appearing only on rare occasions.

“That’s crazy, he’s actually at a party right now,” Saerom giggled. “We should go over to Soonyoung and see what’s up.”

You found yourself following your friends without much thought, a sudden interest in Jihoon sparking inside you.

He looks insanely good in that black button-up, and those forearms— The thought immediately made you snap back to reality, shaking your head slightly as you tried to regain focus.

“Y/N! Saerom, Jihyo! Looks like you made it too,” Soonyoung laughed, his voice bright as he spotted the three of you. Your friends rolled their eyes playfully, clearly used to Soonyoung’s usual antics.

“Yeah, we know she’s your favorite,” Jihyo teased, raising an eyebrow. “But seriously, how did you manage to convince THE Lee Jihoon to come to one of your wild frat parties?”

Soonyoung shrugged casually, glancing over at Jihoon, who was deep in conversation with Wonwoo and Junhui across the room.

“I don’t know. We talked about the party a while ago when we were at his place. I mentioned it, and he’s been holed up in his apartment all week, so I thought maybe he could use a break,” Soonyoung explained, reaching for a random Solo cup Jeonghan handed him, the latter seamlessly inserting himself into the conversation.

“We also kinda wanted him to meet someone, but... that’s out of the question for now.” Soonyoung almost sighed as he said this, clearly not expecting much.

Your friends laughed at his comment, their attention drifting back to the conversation, leaving you free to let your gaze wander. It landed on Jihoon, just as it had moments ago.

You couldn’t deny it—Jihoon was undeniably attractive, and he was definitely your type. But you had no idea how to approach him, especially since you’d barely exchanged a word with the guy.

“Interested in Jihoon, huh? Can’t blame you. Soonyoung, Cheol, and practically everyone else has been on his case about getting a girlfriend—or at least starting to date someone,” Chan suddenly appeared beside you, causing you to jump in surprise. You hit his shoulder playfully, and he chuckled.

“I’ve barely spoken to him,” you sighed dramatically. “The only other time I’ve seen him was at Mingyu’s birthday, and the most we exchanged was him passing me a plate and me saying ‘thank you.’ I highly doubt he remembers that, considering he barely even looked at me.”

Chan laughed again, but this time he grabbed your arm and started pulling you toward the dance floor as the music grew louder and the crowd tipsier.

“Fine, take a moment to think about it. But for now, let’s dance! Give it your all—you didn’t take all of Soonyoung’s and my classes for nothing, right?” Chan yelled over the music, his grin wide.

You couldn’t help but laugh as Chan spun you into a playful dance battle, challenging you to keep up. Just then, the lights suddenly flickered off, and Junhui’s makeshift spotlights sprang to life, bathing the room in a kaleidoscope of vibrant colors.

While you and Chan lost yourselves to the beat, Jihoon made his way over to where Jeonghan, Wonwoo, and Minghao were lounging, the latter two likely too lazy to join the chaos on the dance floor. He plopped down onto the beanbag next to Jeonghan, who glanced at him with mild curiosity.

“I didn’t expect to see you here. What made you change your mind?” Jeonghan asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jihoon shrugged casually, taking a sip from his Solo cup filled with Coke Zero. He wasn’t much of a drinker, so he had opted out of anything stronger.

“Soonyoung and Seungcheol insisted I needed to get out of the apartment and let loose a bit. I’d been holed up there all week, just going back and forth between home, university, and the gym, so I figured I’d give it a shot,” Jihoon explained, his gaze drifting to the dance floor.

His eyes found Mingyu in the middle of the dance circle before flitting over to you.

As you danced alongside Chan, Jihoon’s eyes lingered on you, captivated by your movements. Seokmin and Seungkwan were in the middle of their own dance battle nearby, but Jihoon couldn’t tear his focus away from you.

You looked... familiar. He was sure you had been at Mingyu’s birthday party, and he had seen you with Soonyoung around campus, but he never really paid much attention until now.

It was almost as if everything slowed down for Jihoon at that moment. He took in every detail—how you looked so effortlessly good while dancing, how the red light seemed to make you glow. Red was his favorite color, and seeing the hue reflected in the lipstick on your lips only made things worse as he tried to hide how drawn to you he felt.

“Dude, why are you so thirsty?” Soonyoung’s voice snapped Jihoon out of his daze, and he immediately felt heat rush to his face. Wonwoo laughed, clearly noticing Jihoon’s flushed ears, while Minghao tried to suppress a smile.

Jihoon was finally making progress in his love life, and his friends couldn’t be more proud of him for stepping out of his shell.

“Finally, someone’s caught your attention,” Soonyoung teased, his grin widening. “Do you want me to bring Y/N over?”

Soonyoung’s plan was falling into place perfectly. The fact that Jihoon was showing interest in you—of all people—was just ideal.

You were everything Jihoon needed. Well, almost. You weren’t big on the party scene and preferred staying in, though you did go out more often than him if invited by the right people (the ‘right people’ being Mingyu).

You had a personality that could easily draw people in, and on top of that, you were the full package: pretty, smart, and kind. But being as perfect as you were also meant that you had no shortage of admirers.

“You know, Y/N’s great. She’s practically Seungcheol’s other half,” Jeonghan said, clapping his hands enthusiastically.

Everyone around them was practically buzzing with excitement, seeing Jihoon finally step out of his comfort zone. Honestly, Jihoon felt a strange surge of courage; for once, he was ready to take a risk.

“I mean, if she’s that amazing, why not? But how do I even approach her?” Jihoon asked, glancing over again. This time, he saw you dancing with Mingyu, your smile outshining every light in the room.

“Y/N’s laid-back. She can talk to anyone if you just let her be herself,” Wonwoo chimed in. “She’s a bit of a yapper, but in the best way possible��everyone feels comfortable around her.”

Jihoon didn’t get a chance to respond because, just then, you and Mingyu started making your way toward their group, which set off an eruption of teasing from all sides.

You waved at the guys before gently ushering Mingyu off to have fun with the others, then settled on the couch beside Wonwoo. It just so happened to be the seat directly across from Jihoon.

“Y/N! You’re not really into the party scene. What made you come?” Soonyoung called out loudly. You shot him a questioning glance and laughed.

He knew you enjoyed a party every now and then, but then your eyes caught sight of Jihoon sitting next to him, and suddenly, you understood.

“You know I enjoy the occasional party, Soonyoung. Today’s no different—I just wanted to let loose a bit,” you replied, leaning forward on the couch to grab an empty red cup from the table. You filled it with whatever concoction was in the bowl nearby.

“Is this spiked, by the way? Don’t wanna end up drugged or anything,” you joked, raising an eyebrow. Wonwoo shook his head to signal that it was safe and that you trusted his judgment.

“Oh, and Y/N,” Jeonghan chimed in, “Jihoon here actually wanted to talk to you. Why don’t you two take a moment?”

A smile tugged at your lips as you realized this was your chance. Chan’s words echoed in your mind—a lot of people sought after you, but no one had ever really stood out—until now.

Jihoon caught your attention in a way that felt different, and with a little liquid courage in your system, you felt ready to take that first step. You were grateful for the alcohol, knowing that without it, you might’ve been a complete mess by now.

“Well, we’ll leave you two alone then,” Jeonghan smirked, causing you to flush. You noticed Jihoon looked just as flustered as your friends began to leave the room one by one.

An awkward silence settled between you, and you decided to make the first move, choosing to go with the flow.

After all, what did you have to lose—other than your dignity if Jihoon didn’t respond?

“I take it you’re not the most sociable type? Or a huge partygoer?” you chuckled awkwardly.

Jihoon chuckled too, nodding as he noticed your flustered demeanor. Just moments ago, you had seemed so confident, but now seeing you shy around him gave him a strange sense of comfort.

He wasn’t used to many women approaching him, especially since he had no experience in the dating scene. Soonyoung and Seungcheol had quite literally thrown him into the deep end.

Jihoon scratched the back of his neck nervously, his eyes meeting yours for the first time since the awkward silence.

"I guess you could say that," he said, his voice soft but a bit unsure.

"I’m more of a quiet type, not really into the whole party scene. But Soonyoung and Seungcheol… they’ve been pushing me to get out more. I’m not used to this kind of thing."

He gave you a small, sheepish smile, as if trying to lighten the moment. There was a warmth in his expression, a vulnerability that surprised you. It made you feel like you weren’t the only one navigating uncharted waters.

You couldn’t help but smile back, your own nervousness easing a little. "I get it. I’m not really a party person either," you replied with a chuckle.

"I like the idea of letting loose, but it always seems a bit overwhelming. I’m more of the 'quiet drink in the corner' type myself."

Jihoon laughed softly at that, the tension between you both melting away just a little bit more. It was strange, but in that moment, you both seemed to find common ground in your shared discomfort.

There was something about the way Jihoon looked at you now, something less guarded, as if he was starting to feel more comfortable.

"Yeah, I get what you mean," he said, his tone a little more relaxed.

"I’d rather be at home, with my laptop and music. At least there, I don’t have to deal with—" He paused for a moment, glancing around the chaotic party. "All this."

You laughed, nodding in agreement. "Exactly. There’s something peaceful about just being at home, away from all the noise. But hey, at least we’re both getting out, right?"

"True," Jihoon said with a smile that made your heart flutter. "I guess we’re both stepping out of our comfort zones."

You looked around for a moment, the buzz of the party now seeming a little more tolerable. "I wouldn’t say I’m exactly ‘stepping out’—more like ‘dragged out’," you teased, raising an eyebrow.

Jihoon chuckled at that, and you noticed how his eyes lingered on you for just a moment longer than usual.

The playful banter seemed to ease the nerves you were both feeling. It was refreshing to talk to someone who understood that sometimes, a quiet escape was more appealing than all the loud distractions in the world.

As if to prove his point, Jihoon glanced toward the dance floor, where his friends were causing even more chaos, and let out a long, exaggerated sigh.

"I swear, they get louder every time. I feel like I might go deaf just by being around them."

You laughed at that, and before you knew it, you were both talking more comfortably, sharing little details about yourselves. You were beginning to realize that maybe, just maybe, this night wasn’t as bad as you had originally thought.

"By the way," Jihoon said after a beat, suddenly looking a little hesitant again.

"I hope I’m not being too forward, but… if you’re not busy later, maybe we could grab a drink or something? I mean, I know this place is kind of… well, loud, but it could be nice to talk more, you know?"

Your heart skipped a beat at the offer, and you tried to hide your surprise with a smile. "Yeah," you replied, a little more confidently than you felt. "I’d like that."

The moment hung between you two, and for the first time that night, the noise of the party seemed to fade into the background, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of quiet connection.

The next day, you found yourself sitting with Mingyu and Seungkwan at a quiet café, the bright morning sun filtering through the windows.

You had been eager to tell Mingyu about your interaction with Jihoon the night before, especially after how much your friends had teased you about it.

Seungkwan, ever the curious one, was also there, sipping his coffee with a raised eyebrow, clearly interested in hearing what had happened.

"So," Mingyu started, leaning forward with a grin.

"How was last night? Did you end up talking to Jihoon like you said you would?" He shot you a knowing look, clearly trying not to make it too obvious that he was playing matchmaker in his own way.

You chuckled, feeling a bit sheepish at the memory.

"Yeah, we actually did talk. I mean, it wasn’t anything super exciting or dramatic, but we had a decent conversation. He's... surprisingly easy to talk to, you know?"

Seungkwan raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "I thought Jihoon was like the silent, brooding type. What did you guys even talk about?"

You shrugged, a smile playing at your lips as you recalled the night.

"We mostly talked about how neither of us are really into the party scene. We ended up bonding over how much we’d rather stay home than deal with all the noise. It was actually kind of nice, just... quiet, you know?" You caught Mingyu’s knowing smirk and rolled your eyes.

"Stop it. I’m just saying we connected a little more than I expected."

Mingyu and Seungkwan exchanged a glance, and Seungkwan raised his cup in a mock toast. "Well, looks like you’re in the clear then. It’s not every day someone gets Jihoon out of his shell."

"Right?" You laughed, trying not to let your excitement show too much. "I didn’t expect it either. But I guess he’s not as intimidating as I thought."

Just as Seungkwan was about to say something else, your phone buzzed on the table. You grabbed it, expecting a random message, but when you saw the name on the screen, your heart skipped a beat.

It was Jihoon.

Hey, it’s Jihoon. I got your number from Cheol. Would you be free to hang out after your classes are done today?

You couldn’t help but smile as you read the message. Your friends were watching you closely, no doubt noticing the shift in your demeanor.

"You okay there, Y/n?" Mingyu asked, a teasing grin on his face. "Something got you smiling like that?"

You bit your lip, quickly typing out a reply, trying not to let your excitement show too much. Sure, I’d like that. I finish class around 4. How about then?

As you hit send, you glanced up at your friends. Seungkwan was grinning widely, clearly having caught onto what was happening. "Well, well, well," he said, his voice dripping with mischief. "Looks like someone’s got a date on their hands."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips.

"We’re just hanging out," you said, trying to play it cool. "But yeah, I guess we’ll see how it goes."

Mingyu raised his cup again, his grin widening. "You know, I always knew Jihoon had it in him. I’m just glad someone finally got him to make a move. Let’s see where this goes."

You couldn’t help but feel a little giddy at the thought. Jihoon had actually asked you to hang out. After everything that had happened last night, this felt like the beginning of something new—and you were more than curious to see where it would lead.

The afternoon passed in a blur, and as soon as your last class ended, you hurriedly made your way back to your apartment to get ready for your date with Jihoon. You were a bit nervous but also excited—this was a new experience for both of you, and the idea of spending time together in a more intimate setting had you feeling hopeful.

As you walked into your apartment, you were greeted by the sound of music blaring from the living room. Yerin, your roommate, was lounging on the couch, scrolling through her phone.

“Whoa, slow down there!” Yerin called out with a teasing grin as she looked up from her phone. “A date tonight? Are you rushing to see him or something?” She raised an eyebrow and put down her phone, clearly enjoying the playful jab.

You froze for a second, a flush creeping up your neck. “I’m not rushing! I just... want to look good, okay?” You quickly grabbed your clothes for the evening from your closet, trying to brush off Yerin’s teasing.

Yerin sat up on the couch and leaned forward with a sly smile.

“Uh-huh, sure. You know, I was starting to wonder if Jihoon was actually real or if he was just a figment of your imagination. But now it looks like you’re actually getting ready for him.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “Shut up, Yerin. I’m just trying to make sure everything goes well tonight.”

Yerin laughed, crossing her arms. “I’ll be here, waiting to hear all the details when you get back! I’m expecting the full scoop.”

You quickly finished getting ready, making sure to choose a stylish but comfortable outfit. You knew Jihoon wasn’t exactly the flashy type, so you opted for something that felt both casual and a little special.

Once you were done, you grabbed your bag and walked out of your room. As you stepped out into the living room, Yerin was still lounging on the couch, her eyes glinting with mischief.

“I’m serious, I want the full report later,” she called as you made your way to the door. “Have fun, and don’t forget to text me when you’re on your way back!”

You chuckled, throwing her a playful wave before stepping out the door.

When you arrived at the restaurant, Jihoon was already waiting for you outside. He looked a little nervous but also endearingly handsome, standing there in a smart button-up and dark jeans. His eyes lit up when he saw you, and his expression softened into a smile.

“Hey,” Jihoon greeted, stepping forward. “I hope this place is okay. I figured it might be more... private for our first time hanging out like this.”

You smiled back, feeling a surge of affection for how thoughtful he was. “It looks perfect. Very cozy, just what I needed after a long day.” You gently bumped your shoulder against his as you greeted him.

Jihoon seemed to hesitate for a moment, then reached into his bag and pulled out a small bouquet of red roses. Your heart skipped a beat as he offered them to you, his cheeks turning slightly pink.

“I... I thought these might brighten your day.”

You were momentarily taken aback by the gesture. Jihoon wasn’t the most outwardly romantic person, but the red roses made it clear how much he was putting himself into this. “Jihoon, these are beautiful. Thank you,” you said, your voice softer than usual.

“Of course,” Jihoon mumbled, his ears tinged with pink. “I wanted to make tonight a little special.”

You took the flowers, your heartwarming at the gesture. "You definitely did."

Jihoon led you into the restaurant, a sleek, modern spot known for its great ambiance and exquisite food. As you stepped inside, the dim lighting, soft music, and cozy atmosphere made it feel like the perfect setting for a first date. You quickly spotted the table he had reserved, a secluded spot with a view of the rest of the restaurant.

You sat down, and for a moment, there was a brief, awkward silence.

"So," you started, trying to ease the tension, "you’ve clearly got some taste. This place is nice."

Jihoon chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, I actually googled a few places... and picked one that looked like it wouldn't make me look too much like a rookie. Not that I’m exactly experienced in this stuff," he admitted with a sheepish smile.

You couldn’t help but smile at his honesty. "Don’t worry, Jihoon. I’m definitely not an expert either. We’re both figuring this out, right?"

Jihoon nodded, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and nervousness.

"Yeah, we’re in this together."

The waiter approached, and after a brief moment of looking over the menu, you and Jihoon placed your orders. As the waiter left, Jihoon met your gaze again, his expression softening.

"So," he said, leaning in a little, his tone quieter now, "what’s been keeping you busy lately? Besides... school, obviously."

You laughed softly, feeling more comfortable now that the initial awkwardness had passed. "Honestly? Between classes and spending time with friends, I’ve just been trying to make some time for myself. It’s been a lot of balancing everything, you know?"

Jihoon nodded, his eyes reflecting a deeper understanding.

"Yeah, I get that. I’ve been stuck in my routine lately, just going to class, the gym, and back home. It feels like the same thing every day, so I figured... maybe it was time to break out of that a little."

You smiled, a soft laugh escaping you. "Well, you definitely made the right decision tonight. It’s nice to step out of the routine every once in a while."

Jihoon smiled back, his gaze lingering on you longer than usual. "Yeah. And I’m glad it’s with you."

The words hung in the air between you, but instead of making things feel heavy, they only added to the warmth between you both. Just then, the waiter arrived with your drinks, and the conversation shifted to lighter topics as the evening progressed.

As the weeks passed, Jihoon and you began to fall into a comfortable routine.

After each of your classes, you’d find yourself grabbing a quick bite to eat at the diner near campus, or sometimes just walking home together, talking about everything from random observations to deeper conversations about life.

It had started off a bit awkward, but now, it felt effortless, like you had both found something meaningful in the mundane moments.

Jihoon was starting to appreciate the routine. It wasn’t something that had ever appealed to him before—he’d always been the kind to keep to himself, going through the motions of class, gym, and home without seeking much beyond that. But with you, he found himself looking forward to these little moments.

He loved hearing about your day, even the small things you thought were unimportant. Your laughter became a highlight of his afternoon, and as silly as it might’ve sounded, he loved walking beside you, his hand brushing against yours as you talked.

One particular day, after a long class, Jihoon met you outside the building, your usual spot. His eyes softened when he saw you, and despite the crowds, he only had eyes for you. You were wearing a loose sweater and jeans, your hair tucked into a messy bun, looking effortlessly cute.

“Hey, ready to go?” Jihoon asked, offering you a small smile. You nodded, pulling your bag over your shoulder.

“Yeah, just finished my last lecture. Let’s get food, I’m starving.”

“Same here,” Jihoon replied, glancing down at his phone. “How about that diner? I’m craving their fries today.”

You laughed, nudging him with your shoulder as the two of you started walking. “You and your fries. But sure, that works for me.”

The walk to the diner was filled with comfortable conversation, the two of you easily slipping into familiar banter.

As you entered the diner, you found your usual booth by the window and sat down, already chatting about how your day had gone. Jihoon, for the first time in a while, felt completely at ease.

Then as you two dug into your food, Jihoon noticed something he hadn’t before—how he found himself looking forward to this part of his day.

He was actually looking forward to seeing you, to sharing these moments. And it wasn’t just about the food or the walk anymore; it was about spending time with you.

Later that week, Soonyoung, who had been hanging out with Jihoon more recently, couldn’t help but notice the subtle shift in his friend’s behavior.

Jihoon, who used to brush off talks about relationships or showing any kind of emotion, had been smiling more, his mood noticeably lighter. Soonyoung wasn’t exactly one to shy away from calling things as they were, and it didn’t take long for him to notice what was happening.

“Okay, what’s going on with you?” Soonyoung asked one day, leaning against the doorframe of Jihoon’s room, a teasing smile on his face.

Jihoon, who had been lounging on his bed with his laptop open, looked up in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You’re different,” Soonyoung said, crossing his arms. “You’re actually smiling. You’re not as... grumpy anymore. Did you get a new pet or something?”

Jihoon chuckled, shaking his head. “No, no new pet. Just... you know. Life’s good.”

Soonyoung raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk forming. “Uh-huh. So, it’s ‘life’s good,’ huh? Is this about Y/n?”

Jihoon froze for a second, his eyes widening. He wasn’t exactly trying to keep things a secret, but Soonyoung was quick to catch on. “What?” Jihoon tried to brush it off, but it was no use.

“I knew it,” Soonyoung said, grinning. “You’ve got a thing for her, don’t you?”

Jihoon let out a frustrated sigh, but a soft smile tugged at his lips. “It’s not like that. We’ve just been hanging out a lot lately. I’m not sure what’s going on.”

“Oh, please,” Soonyoung laughed, throwing himself onto Jihoon’s bed.

“I’ve known you long enough to tell when you’re crushing on someone. You’ve been acting differently, Jihoon. You actually care about your schedule now. You used to skip meals like it was nothing, but now I see you going to class early, and I even saw you texting Y/n before your last lecture yesterday.”

Jihoon felt his cheeks heat up. “Okay, okay, you got me. But it’s not a big deal.”

Soonyoung sat up, his grin never fading. “You’re so obvious, man. You’re just making it worse by trying to act like it’s nothing. Just admit it: you like her.”

Jihoon sighed but couldn’t help the smile that broke out across his face.

“Fine, I like her. Happy now?”

Soonyoung let out a dramatic gasp. “I knew it! Jihoon’s got a crush! You two are so cute. But seriously, don’t mess it up.”

Jihoon ran a hand through his hair, the smile still on his face. “I’m trying not to. It’s just... I’ve never really done this before, you know?”

Soonyoung patted Jihoon’s back. “It’s all good. Just take it easy. You’re doing fine. Just keep being yourself.”

As the conversation ended, Jihoon found himself thinking about how much he had changed over the past few weeks.

He wasn’t just going through the motions anymore; he was actually living, enjoying these moments with you. And he couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—there was something more to explore between the two of you.

It was a Friday night, and you were at your apartment with Yerin and Jennie, sprawled across your couch with snacks, blankets, and plenty of gossip.

The three of you had been best friends for what felt like forever, and sleepovers were a tradition. You’d all gathered to catch up, share some laughs, and spill some tea—this time, about your not-so-secret crush.

Yerin was curled up with her phone, scrolling through TikTok, while Jennie, ever the gossip queen, was snuggled under a blanket beside you, eagerly waiting for you to spill the details.

“So,” Jennie said, raising an eyebrow and giving you a mischievous smile. “How’s Jihoon? Been seeing each other a lot lately?”

You paused for a moment, unsure if you were ready to admit just how much you liked him yet. But you knew your best friends well, and there was no point in holding back.

They’d seen you go through a million crushes, and they weren’t about to let you keep this one under wraps for long.

“I mean…” you began, glancing at Yerin for support, “It’s been nice, really nice. We’ve been hanging out a lot lately—like, almost every day after class.”

Jennie’s eyes immediately widened. “Wait, what? Every day? Are you telling me that you two have become, like, regulars at that diner near campus?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” you chuckled. “We get dinner there after classes, talk about anything and everything. It’s kind of become our thing.”

Yerin, who had been half-paying attention, looked up from her phone at the mention of Jihoon. “Wait a second, hold on. I thought Jihoon was this… grumpy, antisocial guy. You know, the one who never really goes out?”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too,” you said with a small laugh. “But honestly? I think he’s just been waiting for the right person. And I guess… maybe I’m that person.”

Jennie grinned widely, her eyes practically sparkling with excitement. “Oh my god, I knew it! I saw the way you two were around each other last time, and I was like, ‘Something’s going on here.’ You two just click.”

Yerin raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “So, how does he feel about you? You’ve been spending all this time with him. Have you two… talked about anything serious yet?”

You took a deep breath, feeling the fluttering in your chest as you thought about Jihoon.

“We haven’t really defined anything yet. I think we’re both just taking things slow. But honestly, I feel like there’s a connection there, something real.”

Yerin smiled knowingly, setting her phone down. “I can tell you like him, Y/n. And I’m glad he’s making you happy. Just make sure to take it slow and enjoy the ride. You don’t have to rush into anything.”

Jennie, ever the romantic, added, “Yeah, but also, when are you two going to make it official? I’m dying to hear how this all goes down.”

You laughed, brushing your hair out of your face. “I don’t know if we’re at that point yet. We’re still just figuring things out.”

“Right, right,” Jennie teased. “But I know how you are, Y/n. You’re gonna make him fall for you, and it’s going to be cute. You two are a total power couple in the making.”

You rolled your eyes, but deep down, you appreciated their support. “I’m just trying to enjoy these moments with him right now. But… I don’t know. I think I’m starting to like him more than I expected.”

Yerin leaned back, resting her head on the pillow, clearly satisfied with the conversation.

“You’re allowed to like him, Y/n. Honestly, I think Jihoon’s a good match for you. He’s different from the guys you usually go for. He seems like he genuinely cares.”

Jennie gave a dramatic sigh. “I’m already calling dibs on being your maid of honor whenever you two get married.”

Yerin snorted, throwing a pillow at Jennie. “Are you trying to jinx it already? Slow down, lovebird.”

You laughed, feeling a warmth in your chest as your best friends teased you. It felt good to talk about Jihoon, to let someone else in on what you were feeling. It was different from all the other crushes you’d had, and you knew that it was only the beginning of something special.

But for now, you were content to take it one step at a time, with your friends by your side and Jihoon slowly making his way into your heart.

After a long and stressful week of finals, you were finally free. The relief that flooded over you was immense, and the anticipation of meeting Jihoon made it even sweeter.

You had both been texting throughout the week, but with finals consuming all of your time, you hadn't been able to meet up. Tonight, though, was different.

Jihoon had messaged you earlier, asking if you wanted to meet up once you were done with everything. You could already feel the excitement building in your chest.

As you walked out of the library, the crisp night air greeted you, and your phone buzzed in your pocket. Jihoon’s message appeared on the screen:

Jihoon: "Hey, I was thinking we could grab dinner. You deserve a break after finals. I’ll meet you at that place we like near campus, yeah?"

You smiled at the message and quickly typed back:

You: "Sounds perfect. I’ll be there in 15 minutes."

You quickly made your way to the restaurant, the weight of finals lifting off your shoulders with each step.

When you arrived, you spotted Jihoon waiting for you outside, his usual shy smile lighting up his face as soon as he saw you. He looked great, as always, but there was something about him tonight—something more confident, like he had been looking forward to this just as much as you had.

“Hey,” you greeted, your voice already filled with warmth.

“Hey, Y/n. How was the last exam?” Jihoon asked, his voice a little more relaxed than usual, but still filled with genuine interest.

“It was tough, but I’m just happy it’s over. I could finally breathe,” you said with a smile.

Jihoon chuckled softly, pushing open the door to the restaurant and letting you go in first. The place was cozy, with dim lighting and soft jazz music playing in the background.

You’d been here a few times before, and it always felt like the perfect spot to relax and enjoy good food.

“So, what’s the plan now that finals are done?” Jihoon asked as you both sat down. He’d already taken the liberty of ordering a drink for you, something you’d mentioned you liked in passing weeks ago. It was a small gesture, but one that made your heart flutter.

“Honestly, I just want to take it easy and catch up with you,” you said, your voice gentle. “I’ve missed this.”

Jihoon smiled, and you could tell he felt the same. “Same here. I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

After you both ordered your meals, the conversation flowed effortlessly. It was easy with Jihoon, like you didn’t have to worry about the awkward pauses or overthinking what you said. It just felt natural.

You talked about how your finals had gone, the stress, and everything in between. Jihoon, despite his quiet nature, opened up more than usual, and you could tell the weight of the past week had lifted from his shoulders as well.

As the evening went on, Jihoon casually leaned back in his chair and seemed to hesitate for a moment, almost as if gathering his thoughts. You didn’t mind the pause, enjoying the quiet comfort of just being in each other’s company.

“I know we’ve been through a lot recently with exams and everything, but… I’ve been thinking about something,” Jihoon began, his voice soft.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What is it?”

Jihoon took a deep breath, and you could see the hint of nervousness in his expression. “I’ve really enjoyed these past few weeks with you, Y/n. More than I expected, honestly. I know we’re both busy, but I want to see you more. Not just as a friend… but as something more.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt a blush creep up your neck. “Jihoon…”

He smiled shyly. “I’m not good with words, but… I really like you. A lot. I want to be with you. Would you be my girlfriend?”

The words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, the realization hitting you hard. You had felt the same way, but hearing him say it out loud made everything feel more real.

A smile spread across your face as you reached out, taking his hand across the table. “Yes, Jihoon. I’d love to.”

The relief on his face was instant, and you could see the happiness in his eyes. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear that.”

And in that moment, with the lights of the restaurant casting a soft glow around you, everything felt right. It was the perfect end to a stressful week—and the beginning of something even more beautiful.

After dinner, Jihoon suggested that you both head to his place. He had mentioned before that he had a small studio where he worked on his music, and tonight, it seemed like the perfect time to finally show you what he’d been working on.

“You know, I was thinking of taking you to my studio,” Jihoon said as you walked side by side toward his apartment building. “I’ve been working on something… and I think it’s time I share it with you.”

You raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “Something? What is it?”

Jihoon just smiled, his gaze a little more secretive. “You’ll see.”

Once you arrived at his place, Jihoon led you up to the small studio in the corner of the building. The space was cozy, but you could immediately tell it was filled with character.

There were posters of old-school musicians on the walls, a few vintage records stacked neatly in one corner, and the warm light from a desk lamp illuminated a red guitar leaning against a chair.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Jihoon said, gesturing to the couch. “I’ll just grab my guitar.”

You sat down, looking around the room, the quiet hum of anticipation settling in your chest. Jihoon moved around the room, picking up the guitar and tuning it for a moment before sitting down beside you.

His fingers brushed the strings, testing them one last time, before he looked at you, his expression soft and sincere.

“I wrote this song a while ago,” Jihoon began, his voice low, almost as if he were gathering courage. “And honestly, I didn’t know if I would ever share it with anyone. But when I started to really think about it, I realized… you’re the inspiration for it. I wanted to play it for you.”

You watched him, your heart already fluttering. “Jihoon…”

With a soft breath, he started playing, the chords flowing from the guitar as if they had been meant for this moment. The melody was gentle at first, and as he sang the lyrics, his voice blended effortlessly with the soothing tune.

It was clear that every word was carefully chosen, every note filled with emotion. And as the song progressed, you could feel the weight of his words hitting deep.

The lyrics were simple but beautiful, each line a reflection of how Jihoon saw you—his "ruby"—his muse, his heart’s desire.

As the last note faded, Jihoon set the guitar down beside him and looked at you, his eyes slightly unsure. “I… I know it’s a lot, but I wanted you to hear it. Because you’re the one who inspired it.”

You were silent for a moment, taking in everything—the song, his vulnerability, and the realization that Jihoon had really opened up to you in a way he hadn’t with anyone else. It took you a second to gather your thoughts, but when you finally spoke, your voice was soft, filled with sincerity.

“That was beautiful, Jihoon,” you whispered, your heart swelling. “I can’t believe you wrote that for me.”

Jihoon’s expression softened, and for a moment, he looked a little embarrassed. “I didn’t know how to tell you. But now, I guess there’s no hiding it anymore.”

You smiled, reaching out to touch his hand. “I’m really glad you did.”

There was a brief silence, but this time it was comfortable, filled with the weight of the connection you shared. Jihoon looked at you, his eyes full of warmth and something deeper. It was clear to you now—he had fallen for you, and he had done it in the most beautiful way possible.

After a few beats, Jihoon spoke again, his voice quiet but steady.

“You know,” he began, his tone playful but filled with sincerity, “you really have a way of turning my entire routine upside down.”

You raised an eyebrow, still feeling the warmth of the music and his words. “Oh really? What do you mean by that?”

Jihoon chuckled softly, the sound low and comfortable.

“I mean, my life was pretty predictable before you came around. Gym, classes, music, rinse and repeat. But now, it’s like—” he trailed off for a second, gathering his thoughts, “—I actually look forward to getting out of bed in the morning, you know? To seeing you.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, but you couldn’t resist teasing him. “Oh, so I’m just some distraction now, huh? Are you telling me I’ve become the highlight of your boring routine?”

Jihoon’s eyes softened, a smile curling at the corners of his lips as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping just a little. “If that makes me sound like I’m complaining, then yes. You’re the perfect distraction. The best one I never knew I needed.”

You let out a small laugh, not able to hide how happy that made you feel. “I don’t know if I should feel flattered or worried.”

“You should definitely feel flattered,” Jihoon teased, tapping the back of his hand against your knee. “But seriously, I’m really glad you’re in my life now. It’s like... you’ve made everything a little more exciting.”

You met his gaze, the playful air between you both still hanging, but something deeper flickered in his eyes now—something genuine, something real.

“Well, I’m glad I’m not just some distraction then,” you said, shifting slightly to face him fully. “And here I thought you were going to tell me I was ruining your carefully planned life.”

Jihoon chuckled, shaking his head. “No way. I never knew how much I needed this kind of chaos until you showed up.”

There was a brief pause, and then Jihoon leaned in a little closer, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “You know, it’s nice having someone who actually doesn’t mind the mess I call my life.”

“Well, good thing I’m here then,” you replied with a wink. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Jihoon smiled, a mix of playfulness and tenderness in his expression. “Good. Because I kind of like this version of my life now. With you in it.”

With that, he gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, and as he did, you both shared a quiet moment, the atmosphere charged with the kind of ease that came only with truly being yourselves around each other.

The hum of his guitar, still resting by his side, seemed to match the rhythm of the moment. And as Jihoon leaned back into his seat, he added with a cheeky grin, “Also, just so you know… if you ever need a song to get stuck in your head, you’ve got the perfect one now.”

You laughed, nudging him lightly with your shoulder. “Yeah, I think that’s gonna be stuck in my head for a while. Especially when it’s your fault.”

Jihoon’s grin widened. “You’re welcome,” he teased.

44 notes · View notes

lizziesloopy · 2 days ago

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Younger Daryl vs Older Daryl sex ⚠️

Saw someone else do this, but wanted to put my own interpretation on it.

Younger Daryl would be avoidant, not like super dirty and agressive like most people say, just avoidant. I mean sure yes he could be a bit harsh, but never too harsh.

Hates making eye contact during sex, strictly doggy style or having u bent over something. Or if u ride him and don’t look at him/have ur head down on his shoulder

This man would NOT last long. And definetly have a hard time with self control.

I don’t think he has a lot of experience, so he’d be a bit clumsy but pretend like he knows what he’s doing because he doesn’t wanna hurt his ego.

Never ever stays with u or sleeps after sex, he finds it uncomfortable, too vaunerable.

Speaking of vaunerability, he doesn’t like when u can see his scars for too long, so he puts his shirt back on right after u guys finish

Likes having something like the tv going on in the background because the silence makes him anxious

Hates the idea of shower/bath sex because of his back scars

Despite not being the most affectionate lover, he will still clean you up after, even if it’s just a tissue or a ‘u need anythin before I head out?’

Hard and fast. It’s not that he wouldn’t enjoy slow sensual sex, he’s just not quite sure how to do it, and frankly the idea of it kinda freaks him out, being that intamite with someone. So instead he sticks to fucking you like a horny teenager.

Learns most of his skills from porn or Merle, speaks for itself.

He tries his very best to finger you, even if it’s just a little bit before sex, although he’s not very good at it. He’s one of those guys that puts two fingers up there like he’s on some kind of mission and is constantly checking ur face to see if he’s making it at least somewhat pleasurable for you.

He will not utter a single word while fucking you, might as well think he’s mute

BOOM SHAKALAKAAA YES GAAAAAWDDDDD

Older Daryl is much different 🤗🤗🤗

He’s still quiet for the most part, but he’s alright with the occasional talking during sex now, especially if it’s something that turns you on

He takes his sweet sweet time with you. As he’s gotten older, his stamina has gone down, therefore your pleasure, is most of his motivation

Prefers being in a position see your face, but if he needs or wants to look away or close his eyes, he can.

Munch munch munch munch munch

Eats pussy like it’s a home cooked meal after a 9 to 5, purely because he enjoys it, but also you do too

Very protective/affectionate during sex. I mean that as In like he is big on holding you with his arms, keeping you close, smelling your hair, making sure the windows and curtains are shut. He does not like the idea of anyone acidently seeing or hearing you two

Shower sex is a must have, but that definetly comes in at a later part of your relashionship. He really has to trust u to be open to that kind of thing

Always smokes a ciggerete after or sometimes even during sex, helps him relax

Has now learned the ways of the fingering masters. Professional curl and hook

Likes holding ur hair or making sure it satay out of ur face while u two are doing it, not in like a kinky way, more of a comforting way

#tumblr fyp #fypツ #fyp #the walking dead #daryl dixon #twd #drabble #fanfiction #fypage #norman reedus #not sfw #smut #vs

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bagholes · 6 hours ago

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English subtitles for Johanne Sacreblue

You've probably heard of a parody of Emilia Pérez (produced by a Mexican trans woman!!!) called Johanne Sacreblue. The whole thing is in Spanish (and French, obviously), so I translated the whole thing to English (see read more)

While I wasn't involved in the production of the original short, I'm Mexican and I have a degree in Translation and Applied Linguistics, so hopefully you'll enjoy my translation. Please give the video some love and don't give Emilia Pérez more attention!!

!!!!!!!! ENGLISH SUBTITLES !!!!!!!!!

(Hey! I'm a professional translator, and I translated the whole thing in English. Please upvote so more people can enjoy this video!)

Ah, nauseating France.

Home of wonderful food such as baguettes, croissants, and more.

Lots of wonderful people live here.

Obviously, we’re French.

This might look like a love story,

but open your eyes and pay attention!

In France there’s rising burglary rates.

But why tell you about France when I can show you?

Welcome to la France!

♫

Welcome to la France.

A unique and special country.

Where you’ll know what it means to truly love. Love, love from France.

Live the experience of this place.

[Homer Simpson voice] Wow, classy.

Maitre D': Good evening, sir. Would you please leave without a fuss right now?

Homer: OK.

Welcome to la France

where you’ll get your heart stolen,

and your wallet, too.

Welcome to la France,

but if you’re Muslim, homosexual, or Black,

I want you to stay back.

Crêpes? Les crêpes? I didn’t shower today.

I’m not worried. I smell just fine.

Like rats, sweat, and wine.

The cheese I eat smells better than me,

but my perfume can take care of it.

I love feeling superior.

Here’s some rapping just because.

Oh, mon ami. Merci. Sacré bleu. Comment tu t’appelles? Merci. Déjà vu. Bon voyage! Pizza, kwason.

It’s croissant, croissant, croissant!

Welcome to la France

where you’ll get your heart stolen,

and your wallet, too.

Welcome to la France,

but if you’re Muslim, homosexual, or Black,

I want you to stay back.

Hit it, Mbappé.

Viva Cinco the Mayo!

Long live cakes!

Marie Antoinette!

Long live cakes!

My fucking crêpe still hurts when I think of you

Part 1: surprise and challenge.

Maybe all those years living in a ranch were good for him.

He wasn’t living in a ranch!

He lived in Mexico City for ten years.

Same thing. It might as well have been a jungle.

Mexicans are savages.

Do you know what they do to cheese over there?

They eat it fresh!

I don’t think he copied their ways.

He’s still a good Frenchman.

He better be. I expect no less.

He’s my only son.

All the suffering in Mexico must’ve gotten rid of his rebel nature.

He’ll be the perfect man. The perfect male successor for the largest baguette company in France.

My son. My manly son.

Did I already mention that my son is a man?

He’s here!

Maman, papa… bonjour!

Son of a-

[title credits] Johanne Sacreblue. Directed by someone with ADHD.

What were you up to in Mexico?

I learned how to open a beer using a bill.

Jonathan is using a dress, Bridgitte. And he has breasts! What do you think he was up to in Mexico?

Now my name is Johanne.

Nonsense! You’re not getting the company. No way.

That’s fine. I don’t even want it.

Honey, it’s your future. You’re our only DAUGHTER. You have to take the position.

You’ll get the company. End of story.

You don’t even want me to own the company!

Because I didn’t think it’s what you wanted!

Why did we stop speaking French?

What did you say?

Nothing. I got confused.

I’ll tell you something: remember the Ratatouille? They gave us this letter. They challenged us to the national France competition to decide once and for all what’s better: baguettes or croissants.

Do you want to enjoy your fortune? Win this competition and manage the company. Or go back to Mexico to eat guacamole.

For the last time, no! You won’t get the company.

I’m the only one who’s always loved croissants.

I’m the oldest son. It’s my right.

Your right? How can think that about your brothers?

Any of them could do a good job.

Hugo can’t get over his artistic phase and he’s addicted to sniffing paint thinner!

I’m not just sniffing paint thinner! Yellow paint makes me happy.

Mario Hugo! Good luck with his twangy voice.

Mario Hugo: I agree with my beloved brother, but I love you, my family.

No one knows what you’re saying!

Dugo is young! Why can’t it be me?

Well, first of all, you don’t have a penis!

Oof. Gotcha.

I’m trans. Other than that, I haven’t changed at all.

Does it really affect you that much?

I’ve made myself clear: anything that affects our family affects me!

It’s not that we don’t love you, honey, it’s just that… you embarrass us.

You’re not even an Hugo!

Yes, I am! I’m [French accent] Arturo! (Translator’s note: the rhyme got lost in translation. Sorry about that).

“Arturo” isn’t “Hugo”!

Yes, it is! Ar-tu-ro!

Where did you get that?

Well… Chofls!! The letter!

The Sacrebleu have invited us to the Great Paris Competition. We will show once and for all what food item best represents our country! If you beat that family’s stupid transexual, you’ll get the company

I don’t know what to do, bestie. I don’t want to own that goddamn company.

And why don’t you learn how to do something?

Because if I do it, they’re gonna cut me off, and I’ll be an unemployed, 28-year-old trans woman who has no life skills.

Why don’t you just tell your father that you don’t want to do it and that you won’t do it?

It’s too late. I have no choice.

Bestie, I’m so sorry you can’t enjoy your fortune with no commitment.

It’s awful…

Good evening, ladies. What can I get you?

I’ll have some French molletes.

I’ll have chicken.

Of course, ma’am. How shall we cook it?

Anything is fine as long as you kill it as cruelly as possible.

Excellent choice, ma’am.

Anything else? Would that be all?

That’ll be all. Well, actually, I think I also want-

You said that would be all! You must assume the consequences of your decisions. Rot in hell! [spits]

Oh my, what a great service!

I know! They have the best customer service in France! Okay, so are you signing up for the competition?

I really don’t have a choice…

Bestie, you can do anything. You’re stronger than every woman I know, and I’m not just saying this because you used to be a man…

Thanks for the clarification.

You’re gonna compete and you’re gonna win.

Emily, you have no idea how much that means to me. You’re the only reason I wanted to come to Paris. I wanted to see my friend Emily in Paris. It was the only reason I wanted to come tot this city: see Emily in Paris.

Oh là là, I know! Everyone tells me that! What I don’t get is why you don’t want to compete. This is such an honor for France-

It’s just that there’s a lot of things I don’t understand since I came back. Why are we so impolite? Why do we love animal cruelty? And why exactly do we hate Muslims?

Because it’s fun!

Yeah, maybe, but have you ever considered that it’s wrong?

Oh my God! You’re right! I’d never thought about it! We’re awful!

Oui!

What we do to birds… we drown them in cognac! Why are we doing it? Who thought of that?

I don’t know.

I feel.. dirty! I want to take a shower!

I knew I wasn’t crazy!

Seriously… I never thought that we were doing something wrong. I always thought that people who get minimum wage liked how we treat them. No wonder they sent you to Mexico… You’re crazy.

I got sent to Mexico for being trans.

They sent you to Mexico because you’ve been hallucinating. You’re seeing Marie Antoinette.

I’m not hallucinating! It’s the actual ghost of Marie Antoinette.

Marie Antoinette: don’t listen to hear. She dresses like a Guatemalan. I’m as real as my tragic death. They should behead her for having such damaged hair.

There’s no point in knowing the truth about France. At the end of the day, I’m just an ordinary French millionaire with enough money to live for four days. There’s nothing I can do.

Marie Antoinette: [unintelligible] sleep paralysis at night.

If you win, all of France will listen to you.

Ladybug: Welcome to the most important competition of la France, where France’s most important families will make a very important decision.

Cat Noir: that’s right! We’re here to make a very important decision. What food best represents France: baguettes or croissants?

Our fellow citizens will know what we’re talking about, but for those dirty foreigners that only know how to use soap…

Wear perfume!

We’ll explain the rules.

There’s two events: whoever wins both will be victorious!

The first even will be a race! The first one to reach the Eiffel tower, touch it and say our catchphrase “we give up!” will be the winner!

Without further ado, we’re heading to the competition!

It’s the best race I’ve seen years!

The Ratatouille throw a croissant to the Sacreblue and almost slashes her throat. It’s cat-tastic!

But Johanne takes the lead with 400 rats, and she wins the race!

Rats! Meow!

Here she comes!

Vive la France!

Your love for croissants ends here. What an embarrassment!

Don’t feel bad, honey. I never really expected anything from you.

Arturo, I’m not gonna lie…

Brother, defeat will only make you stronger.

What?

You’re a great man. You’ll make it.

Can I have five French dollars to buy yellow paint? I want to paint.

Later that night in some French dumpster

♫

I’m just a trash man in Paris.

Another piece of trash in Paris.

But I’m also the greatest trash

I’m the trash man.

I’m such trash that I made a fortune using other cultures.

I’m such trash that I enjoy cancelling last minute

because I’m scared

that they’ll see my tiny baguette.

I don’t have the guts to say that I fucked up.

I’m scared to know what people think of me

If I’m a good guy or just a bald bad guy

I’m such trash that it’s embarrassing.

I thought Karla Sofia was from Puebla.

I’m such trash that I wrote a musical about narcos.

“Penis to vagina, woman to man.”

What the fuck was that shit, bro?

I’m disgusting, don’t you see?

Part 2: from hate to love

Why did you ask me to meet you here?

[sigh] I came to ask you to stop fighting over something as dumb as bread.

Baguettes are just bread, but croissants are France itself. It’s in our veins, in our wine, in the air we breathe!

Arturo, wait, don’t do it!

[coughing]

You can’t take a deep breath in France. Dumbass.

Whatever. You’re just saying this because you’ve been away for a long time. You’re nothing but a chimichanga lover.

Cinco de Mayo!

How dare you!

Does it make you feel good to be a man hitting a woman?

Actually, yes. Now I get why we do it.

I’ve had enough! I can’t take it anymore! What’s wrong with France? Why do they like to hit women? Why do they like racism? Can’t you see that what we’re doing is wrong?

Actually, no. I had never thought about it. I never considered that… Oh my God… We’re monsters! What are we doing? We must put an end to this!

But how?

You’ll do it with me. With your amazing arguments, we’ll change France.

Do you think it can be done? But how?

Oui, mademoiselle. If you let me win the second event, it’ll be a tie, and they’ll have to listen to us according to the French rules I hadn’t mentioned before.

I don’t know if I can trust you.

Trust me, mademoiselle. Trust this stinky French heart.

Alright. Kiss me.

Do you want me to kiss you?

Yes. Give me a French kiss.

Here it’s just “a kiss”, stupid

Welcome to the second competition!

This is the most fabulous competition! It’s the racism competition!

That’s right, Cat Noir! And for those stupid Americans who don’t know what we’re talking about, in this competition, participants are given a total of 30 minutes to deport and catch as many immigrants as possible.

Everything is allowed: from making up crimes to blackmailing!

Each Muslim is worth 5 points. However, participants can get extra points from hate crimes against Muslims, Black people, Latinos, members of the LGBT community, and fans of Emily in Paris!

Let’s watch the racism competition!

We apologize for the technical issues. Cat Noir had a fanatic episode.

It was amazing! With a great lead, our winner, Arturo, was victorious. So we’ll have to call this a tie.

Oh! For the first time in more than ten years, we’re getting some words from our ten French emperors!

Stop!

There… won’t be… a tie!

This decision will no longer be postponed.

Declaramos abierto el duelo final.

And it’ll happen right now.

Because I love Queen Marie Antoinette.

The final duel…

It’s the fight to the death with baguettes!

Good luck! And may the Frenchest win. Yes. Oui. Oui. Oui.

[Elmo]

Part 3: destiny

Fight to the death with baguettes?!

I think there’s gonna be a fight to the death with baguettes.

What? Fight to the death with baguettes? What’s that?

Oh, fight to the death with baguettes. I’ve heard about it. I think they’re gonna fight to the death… with baguettes.

[gasp]

Johanne: I don’t want to fight to the death with baguettes with you.

Arturo: Neither do I, but we have no choice.

J: Yes, there is. Haven’t they considered that this is wrong?

No!

Arturo: Papa Johns!

Papa Johns: I pitted your families against you with a little help from whom you love the most… your butlers.

Arturo: Chofls!

Johanne: Wigles, why?

Wiggles: I’m sorry, madame. I need the money, and you haven’t given me raise in 25 years.

Papa Johns: I’ll destroy you so the greatest French food gets recognition: French fries!

Johanne: You’re losing a lot of wine.

Johanne: you have a rat on your head!

Papa Johns: this tiny chef taught me his secrets, and I used them for evil.

Wigles: I think I got Stockholm syndrome due to so many years of labor exploitation.

And that’s how we got away from the bad guy, Mr. French ambassador.

Controlled by a rat… The nightmare of every French. Ladies and gentlemen, that’s how Johanne Sacreblue and Arturo Ratatouille restored the glory of France. What a captivating story you’ve brought us, full of pain and social commentary. Is there anything else you would like to add before we run out of funds?

Well, actually, yes. As many of you know, I went to Mexico, and my fellow Mexicans asked me to bring a gift to France when I came back, and what a better person to give it to than the ambassador?

Oh, what wonderful surprise have you brought from Mexico? Could it be some wonderful Mexican tortillas?

Wait… Is that-

Yes, a cake. Un gâteau.

[Credits]

And that’s the story of how your parents saved la France.

Thanks for telling me these stories, grandma.

My grand-son. My grand-son, a boy…

[sigh]

♫

Tito, my grandson Tito (translator’s note: another rhyme that got lost in translation. Sorry again). Tito, tito. My grandson Tito.

You smell like frog legs in the morning.

You smell like you haven’t showered in weeks.