#ghosts don't like it when you throw books at them

[tacobacoyeet]

just for fun | art donaldson x reader

warnings: PREQUEL TO LEVII'S JEANS, pregnant reader, dead grandma, mostly just fluff

listen while you read! cowboy carter masterlist

The hotel room was dim, the kind of quiet that only came when the city outside forgot to be loud. The hum of the A/C pressed against the windows, steady and cold. Lily was fast asleep in the adjoining room, her monitor glowing faintly on the nightstand, casting soft blue light across the sheets. The air smelled faintly of mint shampoo and the ghost of takeout, the curtains drawn tight against the hum of the world. Outside, traffic whispered through wet streets, but up here, you could almost pretend you were the only two people in New York.

You were propped against the headboard, your hand resting over the soft curve of your belly, barely showing yet—but enough that your shirts fit different and your balance shifted and Art kissed you differently now, always with a hand on your stomach like he could say hello early. Your legs were tucked under the throw blanket he insisted on packing every trip, even if it didn’t match the hotel bedspread. His grandma had knit it when he was a teenager—he said it smelled like summers and safety. It was unraveling at one corner, and you’d offered to mend it once, but he’d said no. He liked it frayed. Said it made him feel more real.

Across the room, he sat in silence, elbows on his knees, a towel loose around his neck, sweat from earlier long gone but his skin still flushed. His shoulder was wrapped in ice again—same spot, same ache, same lie he gave the trainers. It was just wear and tear, he told them. Just a strain.

You knew better. You could see it in the way he winced brushing his teeth, in the way he paused before lifting Lily up, as if bracing for something that never quite healed.

He hadn’t said a word since getting back. No comment about the hotel, no joke about the press conference, not even a half-hearted tease when you offered to order room service instead of going out. Just silence. And then:

"I’m gonna retire after the Open."

The words came out like an afterthought. Like something he’d rehearsed enough times in his head it didn’t sound real anymore.

You blinked. Closed the book in your lap. “What?”

He didn’t look up. “After New York. Win or lose.”

The room went still, like even the city outside was holding its breath.

He rubbed a hand down his face and exhaled. "I’m tired."

You said nothing. Not yet.

"I’m tired of chasing something I don't even want anymore. Of being on planes and in locker rooms and under lights that make everything look too sharp. Of pretending like it’s all still fun."

His voice cracked on the last word. Not in volume—just meaning.

You pushed yourself forward, folding your legs under you. “You’ve said that before.”

"Yeah,” he murmured. “But this time I mean it.”

He finally looked at you then, eyes a little red, face drawn and soft. And beneath all of it—relief. Something unburdened.

“I miss her. The porch, the smell of the tomatoes, the way she always knew when it was gonna rain. That place... it’s the only thing that ever made sense outside of you and Lily.”

He paused. His jaw tightened, but not with anger—with grief, dulled by time but not at all gone. "You know I still talk to her? In my head. Before matches. When I can’t sleep. When Lily says something that sounds like her."

You nodded gently, heart full. "She'd be so proud of you, Art. Of all of this."

A soft, watery smile tugged at his mouth. "Sometimes I still hear her humming. Or I’ll dream about the porch swing creaking, and I’ll wake up feeling like I’m ten again. Safe. Before all of this got so... loud."

You reached for his hand again, glancing fondly over at the monitor. “That’s why we named her Lily,” you whispered. “So there’d always be a piece of her here.”

He nodded, brushing his thumb across your knuckles. “I know. And every time I say her name, it feels like going home. Like she’s still watching.”

He went quiet again for a beat, then added, “She used to take me blackberry picking. Every July. We’d walk all the way to the back of the property with our buckets, and I’d always eat more than I brought back. She never scolded me. Just laughed and wiped the juice off my chin with the hem of her apron.”

You smiled, imagining it clearly. Imagining Art small and barefoot and sticky-fingered, freckles across his nose, laughter echoing in the shade of the trees.

“She’d bake a pie that same night. Crust from scratch. I’d fall asleep on the couch with purple fingers and sugar on my shirt, and the house would smell like warm fruit and flour."

He looked at you, eyes soft. “I want that for them. I want Lily and the baby to know what it’s like to fall asleep with pie in the oven. To run barefoot through grass and pick berries with their hands.”

You leaned into him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “Then let’s give them that. After the Open, we’ll go back. You can show them everything she showed you.”

He dragged in a breath. “I thought I could play through it. Keep showing up. Be the man they all expect. But I’m not him anymore. I don’t want to be.”

You reached out your hand. He took it like he was drowning.

"You really mean it?" you asked softly. “Not just a break?”

"No,” he said. “I want to go home. For good.”

His other hand reached for your stomach, rested gently there. “I want to be there this time. For all of it. Diapers and teething and midnight meltdowns. For Lily. For you.”

You felt your throat tighten, eyes burning. You squeezed his hand.

“Okay,” you whispered. “After the Open, we go home.”

Art leaned in and pressed his forehead to yours.

“Tennis was never just for fun,” he murmured. “I want to set a net up on the front lawn. So... maybe now... maybe now it can be.”

You smiled against his mouth. “Yeah. Maybe now it can.”

He let the silence settle for a moment, eyes drifting toward the baby monitor.

"What about Tashi?" you asked softly. "And Patrick? You told them yet?"

Art huffed a breath that sounded somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "Not yet. Tash’ll probably say I’m going soft. Patrick’ll pretend to be shocked and then try to convince me to go out drinking one last time."

"That sounds about right."

"They’ll understand," he said, quieter now. “They’ve seen it. The burnout. The way I flinch before matches now. Tashi caught me zoning out during warm-ups in France. Didn’t even yell. Just looked at me like she already knew."

You nodded. Tashi had always known how to read him. Better than anyone except maybe you.

"And Patrick?"

Art smirked faintly. "He’s been waiting for this. Keeps asking when I’m gonna stop pretending I still love it. He’ll probably show up at the ranch in a week with a six-pack and a dumb hat, talking about 'retirement rituals.'"

You laughed. “Tell him to bring sunscreen this time. He fried last summer.”

Art chuckled, the sound soft and warm as he finally leaned back onto the bed beside you, one arm behind his head, the other curled protectively around your waist.

"They’ll be fine," he murmured. "I just need them to know I’m okay. That I’m choosing something better."

You turned toward him, brushing a hand across his chest. “You already have.”

And he smiled—not the tired press-conference smirk or the tight, camera-ready grin. Just that boyish one you’d fallen in love with, the one he used to wear when he talked about fireflies and fresh peaches and Sunday mornings that lasted all day.

Then, without a word, he shifted closer and bent down, his mouth brushing against your belly. He closed his eyes and pressed a kiss low and sweet.

“Hey, kiddo,” he whispered. “Can’t wait to show you home.”

You reached down and ran your fingers through his curls, tears pricking gently at the corners of your eyes. Damn hormones.

Art looked up at you, smile soft and sleepy. “We’re gonna be okay, right?”

You nodded. “More than okay.”

He curled into you after that, one hand on your belly, his breathing slowing. The kind of peace you’d both been chasing finally finding its way between the sheets.

And for the first time in a long time, Art Donaldson fell asleep with a future he wanted waiting for him.

-----

tagging: @kimmyneutron @babyspiderling @queensunshinee @hanneh69 @jamespotteraliveversion @glennussy @awaywithtime @artstennisracket @blastzachilles @jordiemeow @soulxinxthexsky @voidsuites @elsieblogs @deeninadream @nozhdyved @asheepinfrance @cha11engers

[edbydraws]

So in Gravity Falls ghosts CAN be visible if they want to be, right?

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[lowrisemiller]

ʜᴏᴡ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴊᴏᴇʟ ʀᴇᴀᴄᴛꜱ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟᴀᴄᴇ ᴘᴀɴᴛɪᴇꜱ ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

| 3.6k words | masterlist | kissing, groping, oral f receiving, fingering, multiple orgasms, unprotected piv smut (every joel deserves it raw I don't make the rules), no prep (its okay tho), teasing, joel is a menace, he rips the panties, rough sex, joel is a MUNCH

pre-outbreak joel!

The house is quiet when you slip through the door. Lights dimmed, a warm amber glow spilling from under the hallway as you kick your shoes off. Rain taps gently at the windows. It smells like cedar and laundry, like him.

You walk past the kitchen, past the folded throw blanket on the arm of the couch—his reading glasses tucked into the cushion crease. A soft smile pulls at your lips.

Joel’s home.

Bedroom door cracked just enough to show the light flickering from the nightstand lamp. He’s lying in bed, shirtless, one arm behind his head, book forgotten on his chest. His eyes track you the second you appear.

“Hey, darlin’.” His voice is low, gravel warm with sleep.

“Hey.” You rest against the doorframe. “Didn’t think you’d wait up.”

“Wasn’t sure when you’d get home.” He stretches, slow and unhurried, the covers dipping low over his hips. “Didn’t wanna fall asleep without ya.”

Your stomach flutters. Stupid soft man.

You pad toward the dresser, undoing the buttons of your blouse one by one. His eyes follow. You feel it like heat on your skin. You fold your top neatly and set it down, slipping out of your jeans next.

Then—finally—he sees them.

New lace panties, soft lavender and sheer, with little bows on the sides. Not even remotely practical. Delicate and meant for his eyes only.

Joel’s whole body stills.

You turn toward the closet to grab a shirt, voice light. “I was gonna save ‘em for later.”

A low sound rumbles from his chest.

“The hell were you thinkin’,” he mutters, “walkin’ around in those, talkin’ about later.”

You glance over your shoulder just as he tosses the covers back. The book lands somewhere on the floor. He sits on the edge of the bed, legs spread, his gaze molten.

“C’mere.”

There’s no command in it—just the kind of drawl that makes your knees weak.

You walk toward him, heart fluttering. He reaches for you slow, calloused hands trailing up your thighs until his thumbs hook in the lace. His fingers trace the tiny bows like he’s reading Braille.

“Pretty little thing like you,” he murmurs. “Wastin’ somethin’ this sweet on later.”

“I was gonna change,” you breathe. “Figured you were tired.”

“Tired don’t mean dead.”

You laugh—and gasp when he pulls you gently into his lap, straddling one thigh. His hands cradle your hips, his mouth ghosting kisses along your belly, your ribs, just beneath the edge of your bra.

His voice is a low rasp against your skin. “This for me?”

You nod. His thumb tugs at one bow.

“Say it.”

“It’s for you.”

He hums like that’s his favorite sound in the world. Then he’s kissing your inner thigh, the lace dampening beneath the heat of his mouth. You shift, hands in his hair, gasping when he eases you down onto the bed, tugging the panties aside—not off—because he wants you ruined in them.

You’re breathless under him, spine arching as Joel drags his mouth up your thigh. One of his hands presses to your stomach, holding you steady like he knows you’re about to come apart.

“Such a goddamn tease,” he murmurs, voice warm and rough as his lips skim over the thin strip of lace. “Comin’ in here lookin’ like a dream.”

Your hips lift instinctively when his tongue flicks just where you need it. The panties are barely in his way—just pushed to the side—and it’s somehow worse that he leaves them on, like he’s savoring the sight of you still dressed for him.

You whimper, fingers digging into the sheets.

Joel groans low in his throat, clearly pleased. “That’s it, baby. Don’t hold back.”

His mouth is unrelenting—slow circles of his tongue, the soft scrape of his beard making your thighs tremble. He’s not in a rush. He’s never in a rush when it comes to this. Joel’s the kind of man who learns your body like a song, and he plays every note until you’re strung out and shaking.

You reach down, tugging gently at his curls, hips starting to buck against his mouth, and that’s when he grips your thigh harder, anchoring you to the bed.

“Easy, now,” he murmurs between licks. “I got you.”

Then he flattens his tongue, presses in deep—and you feel it everywhere. Heat floods your belly. Your breath catches.

“Joel—”

“Yeah,” he rasps, voice hoarse, mouth glistening. “Say my name just like that.”

He keeps going until you’re gasping, legs trembling around his shoulders, and when he finally lets up—when he kisses your thigh and pulls back, breath warm on your skin—you think it’s over.

But Joel’s not done.

He leans over you, pushing your legs apart, still tangled in lace. His cock presses hot and thick against your thigh, and you can feel how hard he is, feel the way he trembles just a little as he lines himself up.

“Think I’m gonna take you just like this,” he murmurs, voice thick with heat. “Pretty little panties still on.”

You moan at that, eyes fluttering shut as he presses inside—slow, deep, filling you completely. Your back arches, arms curling around his shoulders as he buries himself to the hilt.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “So goddamn tight. You feel that, baby?”

You nod, too wrecked to answer. The lace rubs against your hips as he starts to move, the slow, grinding thrusts more intimate than anything. You’re gasping into his neck, clutching at him as he rolls his hips—deep and steady, dragging every second out.

“I ain’t goin’ anywhere,” he murmurs into your skin. “You take your time. I’ll be right here.”

Your second climax builds slower, warmer—coaxed out of you with patient hands and thick, steady strokes. Joel kisses your jaw, your cheek, your temple as you fall apart under him again, and then he finally lets go, groaning your name as he finishes, hips jerking once, twice.

He stays inside you for a moment, forehead pressed to yours, chest heaving.

Then a quiet chuckle.

“Guess I owe you a thank you for those panties.”

You laugh, breathless. “Told you they were for later.”

Joel grins as he brushes your hair back from your face, still inside you, still tangled up in lace.

“Darlin’,” he says, “it is later.”

smuggler joel!

The door slams shut behind you.

Joel’s already pushing you back into the shadows of the storage room—his mouth crashing over yours, rough and frantic. His hands are everywhere, gripping your hips, shoving your coat off your shoulders, the scratch of his stubble dragging over your cheek.

You gasp into the kiss. “Joel—someone could—”

“Don’t care.”

You barely make it three feet into the room before he’s spinning you toward the wall. The concrete is cold through your shirt. His hand plants beside your head, the other slips beneath your waistband.

“You wearin’ what I think you’re wearin’?” he mutters against your neck.

You nod, breath hitching. “Yeah. The ones from the market—those lace—”

Joel groans. “Fuckin’ hell.”

Then you feel it—the sound, the rip, his hand fisting the waistband and tearing straight through the fabric like it offended him.

“Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you in these,” he growls. “Had to see for myself.”

Your cheek is against the wall, hips angled back as he shoves your pants down, baring you to the cool air and his calloused touch. The lace slips to the floor in tatters. You don’t even get a second to protest.

Joel’s already unzipping.

The room smells like gunpowder and sweat, dust rising from the floor as his boots shift behind you. He grips your hips—big hands rough and dirty from patrol, fingers biting into your skin like he needs to prove something.

“Wanted to fuck you so bad back there,” he mutters. “Watchin’ you walk ahead of me, swayin’ your hips like that. Knew you were wearin’ these.”

You moan when you feel him, hard and hot, thick against your thigh. He doesn’t ease in slow. There’s no time for slow. He grits out your name and pushes inside in one long thrust that punches the air from your lungs.

“Joel—!”

He groans against your shoulder. “So fuckin’ tight.”

You brace your hands against the wall, trying to catch your breath. He doesn’t give it to you. His pace is fast, brutal—desperate. Like he’s been holding it in for weeks. Maybe he has.

You cry out when his hand slips under your shirt, up your chest, palming your breast through your bra.

“Always so fuckin’ soft,” he pants, rutting into you. “Mine, yeah?”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Joel, yes—”

He grunts at that, slamming into you harder, his grip on your hip bruising. The slap of skin echoes in the room, filthy and fast, and your legs are shaking already, barely holding you up.

Then his hand moves down, between your thighs, two fingers slipping through the slickness he’s already made.

“C’mon, baby,” he growls, voice hot at your ear. “Wanna feel you come.”

You whimper, fingers clawing at the wall. “I’m close—fuck, Joel—”

“Yeah, you are. Let go for me. Right fuckin’ now.”

You cry out when it hits—tight, white-hot pleasure bursting behind your eyes. He fucks you through it, still muttering curses under his breath, hips stuttering as he follows you over the edge with a groan that sounds like it’s been buried in his chest for weeks.

You both collapse against the wall, breathing hard. Your panties are in shreds. Your legs are trembling.

Joel presses a kiss to the back of your neck. “That was overdue.”

You laugh—weak and hoarse. “Think you broke my pelvis.”

He grins against your skin. “Was tryin’ to.”

boston qz joel!

The knock at his door is sharp and fast. Urgent. Joel opens it with his pistol half drawn, but it’s just you—soaked from the rain, blood on your cheek, breath shallow like you ran the whole way here.

“They raided my place,” you pant. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

Joel doesn’t say anything. Just steps aside and lets you in.

Your pack drops to the floor with a wet thud. You toe off your boots. His place is cramped and spare—brick walls, broken heater, one chair, one cot.

No guest bed.

You eye the cot. Joel follows your gaze.

“You can have it,” he says.

You shake your head. “You’re too big for the chair.”

“I’ve slept on worse.”

You lift your brows. “Joel.”

He sighs, jaw ticking.

“We’ll share, then,” you say before he can argue. “Just for tonight.”

He doesn’t answer. Just nods, turns away, and grabs you a shirt. You change in the bathroom—wipe off the blood, clean up as best you can. When you step back out, he’s already in bed, turned to face the wall.

You slip under the blanket.

For a while, there’s just silence. Rain tapping against the window. Joel breathing steady. Your shoulders stiffen every time the bed shifts beneath him, every time your legs accidentally brush.

“You okay?” he mutters.

You glance over. He’s still facing the wall, but you can see the line of his jaw, the tight set of his shoulders.

“Yeah,” you say. “Just cold.”

Joel’s quiet for a moment. Then his arm slides back, palm open.

You scoot closer.

He pulls you against him—big and solid and warm. Your back to his chest, his arm slung around your waist, fingertips resting low on your stomach. Neither of you breathes for a second.

“This alright?” he asks, voice low.

You nod. “Yeah. It’s…good.”

It stays that way for a while. His body heat seeps into yours. His breathing calms you.

Then his hand shifts.

Lower.

You freeze.

He doesn’t move again—but his fingers are brushing the waistband of your panties now. You feel his breath stutter behind you.

“You knew you were gonna end up in my bed tonight,” he mutters. “Didn’t you?”

You squirm. “I didn’t know they’d raid my place.”

“But you still wore these,” he murmurs, slipping his hand down further, cupping you through the lace. “Sweet little thing. Always actin’ innocent.”

Your breath catches. His fingers rub slow circles, the fabric dampening under his touch.

“You want me to stop?” he asks, lips brushing your neck.

“No.”

“Good.”

He shifts behind you—hips pressing into yours, thick and hard through his boxers. He hooks your knee over his thigh, opening you up to him. His hand slips beneath the lace, fingers slick and rough and just barely enough.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “So wet already. Bet you been thinkin’ about this for weeks.”

You moan, rocking your hips back into his.

Joel groans, deep and low. “Don’t do that unless you want me to lose what little fuckin’ control I got.”

“Then lose it.”

You feel him tense—then shove his boxers down just enough to press against your entrance. Still behind you. Still slow. His hand lifts your leg higher, his other arm tight around your chest.

Then he pushes in.

You gasp, clutching the blanket. He’s thick, stretching you deep, your lace panties still hooked around one thigh. It’s filthy and hot and exactly what you’ve both been aching for.

“You feel that?” he grits. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ good.”

Your head tips back against his shoulder. He thrusts into you, slow and rough, the bed creaking under your bodies. You cling to his forearm, lost in the rhythm, lost in the heat curling low in your belly.

When he feels you getting close, Joel’s hand slides back down.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs. “Come for me. Right here in my bed.”

You break apart with a soft cry, your legs trembling, hips shaking. Joel follows with a growl, hips jerking once, twice before he buries himself deep and stills.

You both lie there, breathless.

The rain has stopped.

He brushes hair from your face. “You sleepin’ here from now on.”

You smile, turning in his arms to press your lips to his jaw. “Yeah. I know.”

jackson joel!

“You leave ‘em on purpose?”

Joel’s voice cuts through the quiet of his house, low and thick with that rough Southern drag that curls right down your spine.

The front door’s locked. The snow’s started to fall again outside.

His fingers hold the delicate black lace between two fingers, swaying slightly like a warning—or a promise. Ellie had waved them at him earlier in the week, grinning like the devil, told him she almost tossed them in the fire before realizing they weren’t hers.

You’d turned scarlet.

Now they’re dangling from his hand, that slow smirk playing on his face.

“Well?” he asks, stepping closer.

The fireplace crackles behind you. His house smells like cinnamon and pine and something he picked up from the bakery this morning. You’d promised to make him a pie tonight. Apple. Just the way he likes it.

But Joel’s only hungry for one thing right now.

You lean back against the kitchen counter, heart thudding.

“Maybe,” you murmur.

His brow lifts. “Maybe?”

“I wanted you to find ‘em. Just… not Ellie.”

Joel chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. “You’re trouble.”

He tosses the panties onto the table like a challenge, then closes the distance until his hips press yours into the counter, one hand bracing beside your head. His other hand coasts under your sweater, slow and warm and possessive.

“You walkin’ around town,” he mutters, “bakin’ pies, smiling like that—like you ain’t got your panties layin around.”

You squirm, breath hitching.

He leans in, lips ghosting over yours, not quite kissing yet.

“She said they were in my hiking boots, darlin’,” he adds, a little gruff. “Was that supposed to be some kind of message?”

You smile, innocent as sin. “Did you get it?”

Joel’s eyes flash.

The kiss is immediate—hot and deep, all tongue and teeth and quiet groans in the warmth of the kitchen. His hands explore like he’s been waiting weeks, sliding down to grip your hips, then lower, pulling you flush.

“Turn around,” he growls against your mouth.

You hesitate, but something in his tone makes your knees go soft. You turn, palms flat on the counter, back to him. He kisses the back of your neck, slow and reverent, while his hands travel under your skirt, pushing it up until the cool air hits your thighs.

He reaches for the lace again—those damn panties—and slides them slowly up your legs, back where they belong. His hands pause at your hips, fingers slipping under the elastic.

“Leave ‘em on,” you whisper.

He hums, satisfied. “You like makin’ me wait.”

You don’t answer—not when he pushes the lace to the side and drags his fingers through you, slow, methodical, feeling how ready you are.

Joel doesn’t rush. He keeps one hand on your hip and the other between your thighs, teasing you until you’re gasping softly, forehead pressed to your arm on the counter.

Then he pulls away, just long enough to undo his jeans.

You feel the blunt pressure of him against you, his hand guiding himself where you need him most.

He slides in slowly, a hiss through his teeth.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Always so good for me.”

You arch back into him, and his hands grip your hips hard as he starts to move. The rhythm is slow at first, deep and thorough, each thrust hitting just right with the lace still clinging to your thighs. The sounds of the fire crackling, your soft whimpers, and his low curses fill the room like a song only the two of you know.

“Thinkin’ about this all damn week,” he murmurs. “My kitchen. You in those little panties. Bent over like this.”

“Joel—”

He shushes you with a hand sliding up your front, under your sweater and bra, fingers finding your breast.

“Don’t you worry, baby,” he rasps, voice like gravel and honey. “Gonna give you every damn inch.”

And he does—again and again—until you’re unraveling in his arms, legs shaking, mouth open in a silent cry. He follows fast, hips stuttering against your backside, forehead pressed to your shoulder, breath hot and shaky.

When it’s over, he wraps his arms around you from behind and holds you there against the counter, both of you breathless, tangled in lace and heat and quiet laughter.

You tilt your head back against him. “So... still mad about the boot?”

Joel chuckles, nuzzling into your neck.

“Only ‘cause now I gotta start checkin’ all my shoes.”

[deikshen]

The Shen Yuan that dies - really dies. He actually dies and doesn't transmigrate, but well, you know, death is a timeless thing and the flow of time itself in the world of the dead is so weird lol So, well, let me make up that all the demons and ghost kings and cultivators inhabit this powerful timeless space where the dead also go, and oh, there's Shen Yuan now -

So, Shen Yuan is just a silly ghost fire filled with pent-up rage, damn shitty novel, damn shitty author. Is he “alive” for something? Because of how much he hates PIDW and its fucked up ending. Get a lower-ranking ghost body because he's just... angry at Airplane. His new form is, ah, well, different and weird, but he can grow his hair to go unnoticed, and can steal some robes.

Get a small job eventually just because he was bored and although he don't need to eat, it would be nice to have extra money - and the tea house owner doesn't care if he's a human or a ghost as long as he's not creepy with the customers and serves their tables. It's a routine that gives him the quick financial support to get bad books, complain more - and maybe he's getting stronger because of it? Because of his anger at mediocre authors and repressed anger? Does it even make sense?

At some point, Tonglu opens. Shen Yuan has headaches and the desperate feeling that he must go, as if he summoned. He tells his boss he's going to be out for ghostly reasons - his boss is like, oh, you needed a vacation anyway. And Shen Yuan goes.

It's a massacre, of course. A mix between the Hunger Games and the Purge, but Shen Yuan has something they definitely don't: a lot of knowledge in shooting video games. And he doesn't have a gun, but hey, he can shoot resentful spiritual energy and it works like bullets or something - he soon discovers that the more ghosts he overcomes, he becomes stronger. He has more power to throw, more skills, a stronger body.

Go to the kiln. Have bloody fights. At some point he gets a sword and it takes him forever and nothing like a training sequence to use it properly. And finally, the kiln opens and Shen Yuan comes out looking... Well, stronger.

He returns to the teahouse to change and take a bath. The owner tells him that it's been thirteen years, what the hell, but lets him in and gives him hot water and clothes.

Shen Yuan's new body and new abilities are strange to him. He notices himself taller. Stronger. His hearing and smell have improved. His abilities seem to be more wordy, as if he could persuade people if he spoke to them in a specific tone, as if his words could bind them. Well, it's not a bad way to be dead.

Shen Yuan tries to continue working at the tea house, but the humans are clearly terrified by the powerful ghost king aura in their area, so there are hardly any customers. Shen Yuan just sighs and decides to leave. He has some savings anyway.

Ghosts run away from him. Humans either try to kill him or hide. Shen Yuan is fed up; no matter if it is in the mortal world or the ghost world, people are gossiping about him and how he has not taken a Territory, about how unorthodox he is, about how they are waiting for him to start his killing spree one day.

Shen Yuan learns to change his appearance from creepy ghost to normal human, hide his resentful energy, and camouflage himself in the human world. It's a long way from his old tea house, and so many years have passed that the kind owner has probably already died, so Shen Yuan gets another job at a bookstore. Nothing unusual. Just a boy who was once from a wealthy family and was disinherited when his older brother took over the family leadership because of their bad relationship. Now he must work to live.

People swallow that story like a good meal, some even feel sorry for him.

And Shen Yuan is having a decent afterlife. Boring, mostly, but with good days. He reads a lot, gets angry a lot, writes authors letters that reach their desks without them even realizing how the hell did this crazy guy find his addresses. Let's just say he's having an interesting life.

Then one day, he meets Luo Binghe.

He... He literally knows that he's Binghe. It couldn't be anyone else but Luo Binghe. He does his investigations, and apparently, Emperor Luo Binghe exists, he has been there all along. It's not like Shen Yuan knew it; the ghost realm and the human-demon realm are divided, and even if they have a common mortal ancestor, demons and ghosts don't usually meddle in their own things.

Not that Shen Yuan wants to be cannon fodder anyway; he keeps his distance in Binghe, works at that bookstore, gives friendly greetings to his customers, and keeps sending angry letters to authors.

And one day Shen Yuan receives a direct visit from Luo Binghe at his door. With a letter in his hand.

"This letter was on my Second Wife's desk," Luo Binghe says, with a fake smile. "No one but her can open or read it, so this Lord wonders after discovering the resentful energy signature on the paper, what missives does this Ghost King exchange with one of the Emperor's wives?"

Shen Yuan is not surprised that Luo Binghe knows who he is - ever so OP the Protagonist! However, it is more difficult to explain that his wife actually writes cut-sleeved novels that the fact that Shen Yuan was reading and criticizing them in the first place.

Well, he's been dead for over a hundred years, really denying that he's at least bisexual at this point in his life...

[cherrygirlfriend]

─── YOU'VE GOT MAIL .ᐟ

...or reader going to a football game.

★ pairing.ᐟ frat!rafe x nerd!reader

★ summary.ᐟ rafe cameron is the golden boy of kildare university; certified frat boy, captain of the football team, relentless party animal with lines of girls to sleep with.

reader couldn't be more different; while she has the best grades in the whole school, she suffers from social anxiety disorder, and her social life is limited to her three best friends and the cat she secretly snuck into her dorm room.

both of them decide to join the anonymous chatroom for their campus, and start talking to one another, a friendship starting to form between the two; but neither of them know how different the other is.

★ author's note.ᐟ and we’re back!! hi hi hi. sorry for no new part last week, i was busy as hell. ANYWAY we’re finally meeting reader’s friends !! also guess who managed to finish three different fics today… whew.

YOU'VE GOT MAIL!

for the next two weeks, not a day went by that you didn't talk to MalachiConstant; the screen time on your phone almost having doubled. most of the time it was just surface-level stuff; talking about your days, about your interests... but at night, it... changed. it became genuine. real. like you were sitting under the stars together, talking about things that actually mattered.

MalachiConstant: y'know MalachiConstant: sometimes i kinda worry that i'm disappointing everyone around me

YOU: how come?

MalachiConstant: idk MalachiConstant: i feel like i'm fucking shit up all the time MalachiConstant: like i'm a screw up and disappoint everyone

YOU: well, i don't know if it helps, but.. YOU: you haven't disappointed me :).

MalachiConstant: knocking on wood

now, you were sitting with your friends at lunch, occasionally glancing down at your phone screen as if beckoning for the stranger to message you, your lips pursed in thought as the group around you kept chatting, wondering why the boy hadn't texted you all day.

"hey, everything okay?" one of your friends, zainab, asked, looking at you with widened eyes, startling you out of your little reverie. you turned to the girl sitting next to you, feigning a small smile, "yeah, everything's okay."

"she's being ghoooosteed." vivian teased you, causing you to roll your eyes.

"ghosted? by who?" emilia asked with excitement, vivian's statement clearly having piqued both her and zainab's interest.

"it's no one."

"she's lying." vivian grinned, drinking some of her iced latte, "she met someone on that website i recommended. kildareuchats. she told me they've been talking for a few weeks now."

"viv, i told you not to say anything." you groaned, hiding your face in your hand, feeling your cheeks warming up, your next words coming out in an awkward mutter, "only reason i told you was because you saw me text him in the first place..."

"whatever. the important thing is," vivian grinned widely, "our friend here thinks that he's a member of the football team."

"how do you figure that?" zainab asked, and you threw your hands up in slight frustration, "well, i don't know it for sure!" you said, "but he keeps talking about how he has practice, and... he does know a lot about football."

"hot. you're e-dating a football player. who would've thought?" emilia snorted, making you throw a singular fry her way. "i'm pretty sure they have a game tonight."

"oooh, we should go support your boyfriend." zainab squeezed your shoulder and you could feel your face turn warm with embarrassment, "we're not going. and he's not my boyfriend..."

"i can't believe i let you three talk me into this..." you grumbled under your breath, pulling your coat closer to your body, feeling the chilly autumn air in your bones as you sat on the bleachers, watching the game you understood nothing about; when you were younger, your father tried to get you into sports, but most of the time you simply snuck in a book so you wouldn't actually have to focus on it.

"don't try to play pretend." vivian nudged your shoulder and drank out of her slushie, "we all know you're dying to see your cyber-boyfriend."

"again, he's not my boyfriend."

"but you wish he was. bet you've already made him in the sims, and you two have a brood of pixel-kids."

"i don't even know what he looks like."

"well, if it is someone from the football team, he's gotta be at least semi-attractive. have you seen their group picture?" emilia snorted, "everyone is somewhere between seven and ten."

"it's definitely not thornton." vivian snorted, "dude has the emotional capacity of a slinky."

"viv, you do know that that's a dig on yourself?" you raised your brows, "don't think any of us forgot what happened between you two."

"jokes on you." the pink-haired girl stuck her tongue out at you, "i've already forgotten all about it."

"that's what happens when you spike your slushie with vodka."

"don't act like you could focus on this shit sober. besides, this is not about who i've slept with. this is about who you're dying to sleep with." vivian winked and took another sip of her slushie.

"well," you pursed your lips in thought, "he's in a fraternity."'

"that does narrow it a little bit..." zainab mumbled, "maybe maybank? i mean, you did have a crush on him for like, the entirety of freshman year."

"it wasn't a crush!" you held your hands up, "it was... a mere fascination. he had nice hair."

"ah, yes. you were having wet dreams about his hair." vivian snorted, and you smacked her forearm, pursing your lips into a pout as you looked at the field, "how about... mason? he's got that whole broody, mysterious smart guy vibe going for him. he definitely reads vonnegut."

"dodge is a pretty valid option. though, i don't know if chatrooms are his style." emilia tsked, "what about the captain? cameron?"

that suggestion caused vivian to snort and smack the other girl's shoulder, "rafe cameron? yeah, he definitely isn't the type to do that. i think his longest relationship was when a girl accidentally fell asleep in his bed after they hooked up, and he was too drunk to kick her out."

your eyes went to number 9, the name 'cameron' written above his number, making you shake your head and look away before you spoke quietly, "this is stupid. i don't need to know who he is. i don't want to know who he is." vivian wrapped her arm around your shoulder, tugging you close in a comforting gesture; you knew there was truth to your words, but you also knew that the reason you didn't want to know the identity of MalachiConstant was that you knew he'd be disappointed to know who you truly are. to know, that the girl he'd called witty and funny several times actually couldn't tell a joke without stuttering.

after the football game ended with your team winning, the four of you were making your way away from the field, only to hear someone calling out behind you

"viv! vivian, wait up!"

you turned your head to look at who was so eager to talk to your friend, a small snort leaving your lips, nudging vivian's side, "viv, it's your slinky." your friend looked at you with furrowed brows, following your line of sight to topper, the girl letting out an exasperated groan, "is it too late to hide?"

"hey, viv." topper gave the girl a lopsided grin that he surely thought was charming, his face slightly red from the game, "you came."

"most of the school came." vivian gave the boy a narrow, feigned smile before taking another slurp out of her slushie, "whatcha want, thornton?"

"well," the blonde scratched the back of his head while emilia, zainab and you grinned at one another, a strange contrast to the unamused expression on the pink-haired girl's face, "we're having a party, at our frat house. you should come if you feel like it."

"i'll think about it."

"you can bring your friends." topper glanced at the three of you briefly before his focus was fully on vivian once again, "hope to see you there."

"maybe." vivian said, turning around and continuing to walk away, the three of you following behind her, trying your best to control your laughter, "don't say a thing." she warned.

"come on, you've gotta come with me." vivian pouted, spinning around in your office chair, "i can't go alone, z doesn't do parties and em has an essay to finish."

"you know i don't do parties either." you mumbled, absentmindedly stroking angel's soft fur while shopping online for a birthday gift for vivian, "i think i'd suffer a stroke if i even tried to go to a frat party, of all things."

"please! i can't go alone, because then i'll end up hooking up with topper again."

"then just don't go."

"but then i'll have fomo! you know i love parties, i live for-"

YOU HAVE RECEIVED A MESSAGE ON KILDAREUCHATS FROM MalachiConstant. CLICK HERE TO OPEN.

you tuned out everything vivian was saying, instantly clicking the pop-up.

MalachiConstant: whatcha up to?

YOU: nothing much. YOU: trying to stop this annoying wasp from buzzing in my ear

MalachiConstant: a... wasp?

YOU: my friend. YOU: she's trying to get me to go to a party with her. YOU: it's essentially a babysitting gig, though.

MalachiConstant: one party won't hurt you MalachiConstant: wallflower

YOU: how do you know? YOU: what if i have a stroke the moment i step foot into that place?

MalachiConstant: c'mon MalachiConstant: what do you have to lose?

YOU: my dignity.

MalachiConstant: ah, yes. the dignified grandma. MalachiConstant: hey, if the party sucks you can just stand in some corner and send me messages MalachiConstant: might not answer immediately cause i also have a party

YOU: oooh, another frat party?

MalachiConstant: you know me so well MalachiConstant: i dare you to go, poe girl

YOU: this isn't elementary school.

MalachiConstant: i triple-dog dare you

you pursed your lips in thought, looking to vivian and narrowing your eyes at the girl, a pleading look on her face. you groaned, shaking your head in defeat and rolling your eyes, "fine, i'll come with you. but i have nothing to wear."

"don't worry." vivian jumped up from her seat with a victorious smile, ruffling your hair, "you're lucky i'm your fairy slut-mother. with piles and piles of slutty dresses and skirts. i'll go get us something to wear!"

you watched as the girl made her way out of your dorm, her long hair bouncing along with her "nothing too slutty!" you called out after her, before turning back to your computer.

YOU: if i die, i'm blaming you.

TAGLIST: @yktayy9669 @tinythebunni @dywho @melalsworld @akobx @samwinchesterisawhore @st8rkey @jjasmiineee @ltristessedureratoujours @a-lovers-card @uselessnewt @lunaleah @letstryagaintomorrow @cinnamqnnlatte @papapoy @kay133sposts @wtfisastiles @butterfly1c @emmiesummers @melodyyybubbles @toomanywhitelies @littl3loveydovey @scne-vampire @alwaysmaybank @mysticbby2009 @luna443 @drewstarkeyswife-7 @flowerluvr

[alienzil]

Okay so I saw this post and you know the types of fics where adult Danny moves to Gotham and winds up emotionally adopting one or more of bat kids or accidentally coparenting with Bruce (with or without a relationship between them)? I had the thought, what if Danny parented the bat kids but he started doing it out of spite?

Like, Danny moves to Gotham and runs into Batman and Robin one night while out for a late night flight and drops down to the rooftop to say hi.

Bruce sees this 5'6" twink that looks like a stiff breeze could knock him over and is so obviously new in town and thinks Gotham is going to eat him alive, he needs to leave before he gets killed.

Batman: Looming menacingly and in his deepest scariest Batman voice, "Leave. Metas aren't allowed in Gotham."

Danny: Offend! Excuse?! Who does this guy think he is?! 😡 Danny was trying to be polite here! "First of all, I'm not a meta. Second of all, rude much?!"

Batman: Does scariest bat glare. "Leave." Swoops off into the night.

Robin (Damian): "My father is correct. You should leave the city for your own safety."

Danny sees this tiny vigilante child with fierce expression and a sword and is just like awww, so cute! 😍 Then he noticed Robin had a small cut on his arm and his inner gremlin activates. If the rude flying furry can't take care of his own kid properly, Danny will do it better!

He bandages up Damian's arm, gives him a cookie and teaches him a neat sword trick before sending him on his way with a hug telling him he needs his sleep.

Danny goes out of his way to run into the bat kids and be the absolute best dad.

He takes Nightwing flying and throws him in the air so Nightwing can do all the fanciest acrobatic tricks.

He tracks down Red Hood and starts a book club with him (Danny may or may not have used his connection with Ghost Writer to get ahold of some rare books).

He eats waffles with Spoiler and trys out weird topping combinations that make them both make faces and laugh.

He makes new gadgets for Red Robin but carefully breaks them just a little bit and takes them to the teen so they can fix them together (it's enrichment!). He always insists RR keep them as a reward.

He follows Signal around during the day invisibly, making faces and doing tricks only Signal can see (he made him laugh in front of the police at a crime scene twice!).

All of the kids get his attention and love and Danny smugly thinks how Batman must be absolutely seething about his kids bonding with Danny and Batman missing out on all of it.

Danny started it out of spite but he does wind up genuinely loving the bat kids.

Batman definetly hates it when the kids are bonding with Danny and is extremely jealous (sulky Batman brooding in his cave about it).

Bruce's repeated attempts to intimidate Danny into leaving Gotham don't work and him telling his kids to stay away from Danny had zero effect (the terrible children don't listen to him at all).

So Bruce starts spending more time with the kids to compete against Danny. The bat kids love it and (little gremlins that they are) use the two of them against each other constantly.

Bruce:"Sorry Tim, I can't make it to your photography exhibit this weekend, there's a meeting with the Justice League."

Tim:"Oh that's fine... I'll just ask Danny to come." 😏

Bruce: Narrows his eyes and grits his teeth, "Actually, the Justice League needs to have contingencies in place to manage without my input. This would be a good time to test their capabilities. I'll skip the meeting and come to your exhibit."

With both of them competing to spend more time with the kids it leads to the two of them spending time with each other to be around the kids more.

After Damian catches a terrible flu bug, Danny spends an entire weekend at the manor babying him. This is when Bruce finds out Danny has known their secret identities for months and tries to get mad about it but Alfred puts his foot down, raises a judgmental eyebrow in Bruce's direction that puts a stop to that nonsense and sets up Danny with his own room in the family wing.

Eventually, Danny gets to the point where he spends most of his nights at the manor and he and Bruce consult each other on all major household decisions.

The whole family is at the manor one morning including Danny. Bruce has a meeting at WE and he and Danny are absently discussing their plans for the day at the breakfast table.

Bruce: " The meeting should take most of the morning and then I have paperwork this afternoon and a scheduled walk through on one of the new engineering projects. I probably won't be done by the time school let's out. Can you pick up Damian today?"

Danny: "That shouldn't be a problem. Would you mind swinging by the bookstore on the way home and getting my preorder? Jay and I just finished rereading the first book and we were wanting to start the second tonight before you all go on patrol. I'd rather not try to make it to the bookstore in school rush hour traffic"

Bruce: "Sure."

Stephanie watches Danny reach out and absently straighten Bruce's tie as they both get up to leave. Bruce grabs Danny's coffee thermos and hands it to him while they walk out the door.

Stephanie: "Sooo, bets on how long until they realize they're basically married?"

[bestruction]

A domestic life with him

Summary: Moving in together and how it affects your life

Warning: mentions of sex life

How do you move in together? 

You stretch out on the bed beside him, your legs tangled lazily with his, the curve of your back pressed to his chest. He thinks your room smells faintly of your shampoo and lavender oil. It’s quiet, and comfortable, like it always is when he is around you. Until you speak: 

“I’m gonna have to start looking for a new place soon,” you say, voice soft, fingers brushing against the edge of the sheet. “Ino and Sai are getting married, and... the rent’s too much for me to keep on my own.”

He doesn’t reply right away. You feel his fingers stop tracing idle lines on your arm.

“When?” he asks, quiet.

“A few months, maybe less.” You sigh. “I mean, I can figure it out. I’ll find something, I just—ugh, moving again, you know?”

There's a long pause and then, carefully, like he’s testing the words on his tongue, Sasuke says, “You could move in with me.”

You blink and turn your head just enough to look at him, like maybe you misheard. “What?”

His gaze meets yours—dark, steady, unreadable for a beat, and then softer. “The house is too big for one person anyway. And... you’re there all the time.”

“Yeah, but—” you pause, your heart stuttering a little. “Are you sure?”

He nods once, his hand brushing your cheek, his thumb ghosting over your skin. “It’s not just about space. I want you there.”

You swallow. Hard. Because it feels so real now. Not just stolen nights or secret kisses or warm meals shared over laughter. It’s him asking for permanence, offering something solid.

“Okay,” you whisper. Then smile, small and blooming. “I guess I’ll start packing soon.”

He leans in and presses a kiss to your lips. “Good,” he murmurs.

The moving 

It’s strange, seeing your life in boxes in the front hall of the Uchiha estate is cluttered with them—some labeled in your handwriting, others barely taped shut because you were in a rush that morning. It smells faintly of summer air and clean wood, and the hush of the house makes every sound, every laugh, every rustle of cardboard feel louder, more intimate. 

Sasuke shrugs off his jacket, setting it neatly on a chair. He’s already rolled up his sleeves, dark hair slightly tousled from carrying furniture. “Which one first?”

You grin and plop down on the floor in front of the closest stack. “Let’s start with the bedroom, I guess. Unless you’ve changed your mind and want me in the guest room after all.”

He throws you a look mildly offended, but faintly amused. “No. You’re staying with me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You sure? I know it’s a big step, me taking over your closet space and all.”

“I don’t use half of it,” he says, crouching next to you, pulling open a box. “And your things already smell like the house.”

That makes your chest tighten a little, the way he says already. Like you’ve always belonged there.

You two work in quiet rhythm, unpacking books, your favorite mugs, and a ridiculous number of skin care products that Sasuke side-eyes but doesn’t comment on. He helps hang your clothes, fold blankets, and adjust the shelves in the closet so your boots can fit.

It’s peaceful. Domestic. Almost too easy.

Until he opens a very special box.

You hear the rustle of fabric, followed by a distinct pause. You look over—and there he is, crouched beside a box labeled Miscellaneous – Bedroom, holding a pair of your lace panties between two fingers, expression unreadable but eyes gleaming with something undeniably smug.

“These are miscellaneous?” he asks smirking.

You nearly choke on your laugh, snatching for them. “Give me that, Uchiha!”

He leans back, holding them just out of reach. “You really packed these in the open. What if Ino had seen?”

“She’s seen worse, believe me,” you mutter, finally yanking them from his hand. “Pervert.”

“I don't remember seeing this one before...” His voice is quiet, teasing, a rare kind of mischief that only comes out when you’re alone like this.

You meet his gaze, cheeks warm. “Do you have a problem with it?"

“No,” he says, voice low. “But I’ll have a problem if I don’t see you in them sometime soon.”

You roll your eyes, trying and failing to hide your smile as you shove the box behind you. “Focus. We have like six more to go.”

Life together 

Living with Sasuke Uchiha is nothing like you imagined and everything you didn’t know you wanted.

At first, you worried the house would feel too big. The Uchiha estate is quiet, almost haunting in the early mornings, with the faint creak of wood and the distant rustle of trees filtering through the open windows. But Sasuke fills the silence in his own subtle ways.

You wake to the smell of tea—never coffee, he doesn’t like it—and to the soft clinking of ceramic mugs on the kitchen counter. Sometimes he’s already gone for training or a mission, but he always leaves something behind. A note. A pressed kiss to your cheek. A half-peeled tangerine on the table because you like them cold from the fridge.

You quickly learned he has his quirks. He doesn’t like when shoes are left out in the entryway. He folds his clothes with obsessive precision and always lines them up in the drawer, color-coded. He’s terrible at grocery shopping. He buys too many of one thing and forgets the essentials, like toilet paper. He reads late into the night, eyes darting across scrolls or books in silence, and when he’s deep in thought, he chews the inside of his cheek. He always showers before bed, and he takes forever drying his hair with a towel like he’s never in a rush for anything.

He’s also… kind of messy in unexpected ways. His weapons are everywhere—on the kitchen table, beneath the sofa cushions, tucked into flower pots by the window. Once, you found a kunai in the drawer with the ladles and nearly screamed. You told him off for it, and now there’s a basket by the front door labeled weapons only that you both pretend is perfectly normal.

Domestic life with Sasuke falls into an easy rhythm. You share the tasks without ever having to talk about it. He handles the heavy lifting, takes out the trash, cleans the gutters, and fixes whatever creaks or breaks. 

You cook most nights, though he surprises you with meals sometimes: simple rice, grilled fish, steamed vegetables. He’s better at it than you expected, even though he always acts like it’s no big deal. You clean together on Sundays, barefoot and comfortable, music playing low in the background as you sweep and dust.

There are small traditions now.

He always washes your hair when you shower together. It started as a joke, but he does it so gently, fingertips massaging your scalp, that now it’s your favorite part of the day.

You make dango together every other Friday, even though his always come out prettier.

On Saturday mornings, you sit in the engawa and drink tea, legs touching, eyes on the garden you've slowly brought back to life together. Sometimes, he reads aloud to you, voice quiet and steady. Sometimes, you just sit in silence. It’s never awkward.

And on the first of every month, you light incense for his family. He never asked you to do it, but you started once and he hasn’t let you stop. You kneel beside him in the family shrine, your pinky always brushing against his. He never speaks during those moments, but his silence is heavy with emotion, and afterward, he always holds your hand tighter.

Living with him is… peaceful.

Safe.

Sacred in a way you didn’t expect.

And maybe the house is still big.

But with your shoes by the door, your earrings scattered on the vanity, and your laughter echoing down the hall, it finally feels like a home to him. 

How does it affect your sex life? 

Living together shifts everything, your rhythm, your routines, the way your bodies fit around each other. So yeah, sex… sex changes too.

When you were sneaking around, it was always rushed, muffled, stolen between shadows and quiet moans swallowed into kisses so Ino wouldn't hear you crying his name. Now, there’s time. There's a whole house between you and the world. No one to overhear the bed frame hit the wall. No ticking clock.

Some mornings it’s lazy, drawn-out. He presses himself against your back, warm and half-asleep, and slides his hand under your shirt like it's instinct to hold one of your breasts and nipple between his fingers. Sometimes he doesn’t even say anything, just nuzzles into your neck and waits for your soft sigh before guiding your hips back into his to make you feel his boner. Other times he kisses the curve of your spine and whispers, “Turn around,” like he’s asking for something sacred.

You learn he likes to touch you when you talk. When you're sitting on the sofa reading or ranting about something Ino said over lunch, his hand is on your thigh, under your shirt, trailing idle circles. It doesn't always lead to more—but sometimes it does.

The comfort of routine gives him room to explore you, and you, him. He learns the exact pace that makes you cry out his name louder and that if he angles his cock up while pressing your belly down, it makes you forget your own name and he loves it so much, your face nearly gets him cumming on the spot all the time.

You learn how he likes his back scratched when he’s close, how his breathing falters when you tell him how good he feels, and how he loves it when you wake him up under the blankets, licking his tip.

He also takes his time kissing every inch of you, spreading your thighs slowly, tasting you until your legs shake. And he lets you see him—really see him—when he loses control. And God helps you when he does. 

Living together makes everything more intimate. It’s the way he lifts your shirt without tearing it off, how he looks at you when you’re on top of him, hands gripping his chest. It’s the quiet after when you’re still tangled up in each other, and he pulls a blanket over your bare bodies and murmurs something like, “You tire me out,” with that rare, soft smirk.

And there are new firsts.

The first time on the kitchen table, flour still dusting the wood. The first time in the engawa with the door cracked open and cicadas chirping loudly. The first time in the garden, in the shower... 

And every new "first time" he is careful, focused on making you feel good until cry actual tears of pleasure. 

Sex with Sasuke feels like coming home, like worship, like love, raw and real in every thrust, every kiss, every whispered “I fucking love you so much, pretty girl" 

[writerformanymuses]

The heartbreaking thing about a lot of viewers who haven't consumed the books is they don't completely see is WHY Lestat is near sobbing when he asks "Did you hurt yourself?"

Yes, for general reasons like he loves him and what not. But, don't forget, he also said, "I gave you to Armand. You tell me if that is saving."

In TVL, you get ALOT more of the Lestat/Nicky relationship. You see them bond, fall in love, and then Lestat have to contend with that love once he's kidnapped and turned.

Nicky does not take the vampirism very well. Nicky is a very desolate sort of character. Religious trauma to the max, and then throw in family trauma, gay repression, and then vampirism.

When Lestat leaves Paris with Gabrielle in TVL, he essentially leaves Nicky with Armand. He entrusts him into his care in a way, and Nicky chooses the fire. He can't endure as they call it. Naturally, it breaks Lestat's heart.

One of Armand's jobs as coven leader was to cull weak vampires who can't survive on their own or endure. So there is definitely room for S3 for them to show Armand pushing for Nicky to accept the flame.

With Louis, Lestat doesn't fight back in Paris and lets Louis go with Armand. Once again, he's entrusting someone he loves to Armand. Even if it's very much unwilling, but I'll give it to him for once for respecting a choice.

When Armand calls out to him in San Francisco, it's Lestat's worst nightmare. Louis is hurt, Lestat can't get to him. Armand either has allowed him to be hurt, hurt him himself, or did not protect him as Lestat wants him protected.

It is heavily implied Lestat thinks Louis died in San Francisco. In the books, Armand tells both of them the other died to keep them apart. Once again, the person Lestat loves is dead because of Armand.

Lestat, in his mind, has ultimately failed Louis, and so he falls apart as we see him do in 2x08. When Louis shows up, he cannot believe he's there initially. It's very clear he's only half there mentally. He has to ask him if it was all real and if he'd really been hurt because he has to know if it is really Louis. It's a question you'd ask the ghost of the person you love, but Louis CAN answer him.

Needless to say, please read the books if you're up for it. They are a riot.

[lyiswriting]

Plus size reader x stalker!OC

This is an original character! but I do get COD ghost and Ghostface vibes from him.

I finally caught him! The goddamn stalker that has been watching and freaking me out for months. I get that this might not have been my best idea but here we are! He's handcuffed to a chair and just looking at me. Watching my every move as I pace around the room indecisive if I should call the cops. Why do you do this? I ask sternly, I'm nervous but try not to show it but he knows better. Why not? Tilts his head, you're fucking gorgeous and entertaining. I scuffs that's not a good answer, there's a good answer to that?

Well...not exactly... I think you're precious, you hung the stars for me. Life has never been brighter, I love to watch your every move. How pretty you look asleep, cooking, reading, and writing. You fucking name it! His voice is rough and his eyes darken as he starts talking more. In the fucking shower he groans and throws his head back, even with his mask still on I can tell he's smirking. I look at him Your sick! Oh, but doll face you love every single second of it. I've read those books you fawn over, those are just fictional. He scuffs and shakes his head, maybe...but I laid in your bed, read your books when you didn't even know. I love your sheets and can't wait for when I get you in them.

You're a damn perv! As if that will ever fucking happen...I mumble as my hands shake trying to hold my phone steady. Once again, you love it. You love how I'm getting hard at just recalling all of this. That someone finally actually cares and loves you enough to lose his mind over you. To risk losing everything he has just because he can't stay away from you. Shifts in his seat look at how hard you have me, baby. I look at him shocked, how can he say that so casually. How can he be hard from all this!?

I don't get it, why go through all of this for me? I'm not special, not smart, not rich and totally not pretty according to society. Don't fucking say that! He suddenly barks making me jump. You are the epitome of gorgeous. He tilts his head as he starts to pant, I'm stupid for letting him keep talking. You think I would go through all of this for someone who isn't a diamond? For someone who looks like everyone else? He laughs and shakes his head no baby.

I'm being a nice guy to you and letting you fucking think you have the upper hand. So keep that little mouth of yours in check, he growls. I look at him and my body shaking in fear. Who the fuck do you think you are? I try to act tough, this is my house. You are the one that's handcuffed! I point at him as I walk closer I do have the upper hand! And what's wrong with me saying the truth? To the media I am not pretty,

I love your voice, he suddenly switched tones as he looks at me lovingly. I love the way you think, I love your body, no matter how big. I love every single mark and scar on it. You're my solstice. His soft tone suddenly goes rough again, but I won't let you talk about yourself in that way. I suddenly hear him grunt and something breaking. I back up as he stands the cuffs sitting on his wrists, broken.

[cherie-doll]

What if our MW Boys were in their teenage years and Reader is a Cheerleader?

oh, so we hitting that high school au?

ε price, ghost, soap, gaz, roach, alejandro, rudy, phillip graves, makarov, keegan, könig, horangi, nikto з

ଘ Price notices you slack off in class sometimes, but he's not close enough to offer you help. So instead, you are trying to figure out who is leaving notes in your locker and slipping outlines of class into your textbooks. In the library while you might be falling asleep from staying up late the previous night practicing for the upcoming school game, he is peeping at you over his book to quietly chuckle to himself at your sleeping form. He might correct or scold anyone else who is slacking off, but he gently corrects you and guides you to help you stay on top of your studies. His reward in this is just getting to be acquainted to you, otherwise you wouldn't associate with him since there is little to nothing in common between you two.

ଘ Simon being that quiet, tall and brooding kid everyone's too scared to approach but is crushed on by half the school. He receives a ton of love letters and confessions in his locker but he always throws them away. Sometimes, he doesn't even spare a glance at them before he's discarding them. He's almost always seen at the bleachers when you're doing practices with the rest of your team. He's the only one there who stays for the entire practice, from beginning to end, observing the routine. When you're not looking you can feel as if eyes were on you, burning into you as you moved. Yet, he always left before you were able to approach him. The other cheerleaders tease you for having a "stalker".

ଘ Johnny is that hot jock who's always had a crush on you. Well, he's dated a lot of girls but really you're the only one who's had him stuttering and nervous to ask you out. He takes you seriously but is afraid you'll reject him. He's seen you reject anyone else to asks you out, so he's afraid you'll barely spare a glance at him before ignoring him. He enjoys throwing parties but does it mostly in hopes that you'll show up, yet he's hesitant to approach you and when he does it's small talk that leads no where for him. For the first time in his life, he's looking down, biting his lip and awkwardly smiling trying to crack jokes to make you laugh. It's sort of cute seeing him flustered.

ଘ Kyle is the one friend who's stuck with you since you were new in school. He's the one who helped you with all your classes, with his gentle smile and warm eyes that made you feel like it was going to be alright. He had noticed you staring at the poster for the cheerleader tryouts and encouraged you to join. If it weren't for him, you'd never have made it. Not only was he a good friend, but an excellent role model of a student; straight A's and all got along with teachers and most students. He came to school in neat yet fashionable clothes, he looked so put together and you don't think you've ever seen him be stressed out even when it seemed like he was balancing so many things at once. He invites you out to the movies and other outings that could almost count as dates, is he trying to hint at something?

ଘ Roach is that secret admirer of yours you've been receiving gifts and letters from since the school year started. You don't know it's him because he's always sitting at the back of the classes he's in with you and is in the crowd, excited to see you when you're at games. He didn't reveal it was him until a school dance came around and you decided to give him a chance. Hey, he's kinda endearing, why not? He wasn't bad looking, that's for sure. You found his love to be a little of a puppy love, him sticking to you when he could and following you around. But he grew a little more confident and would take you places and show you things. "Hey, I want to show you something cool". And he'd have the most interesting, and a little weird, interests to fascinate you with. But he really did know what you liked, which was a huge difference to you from the hot jocks who seemed to be brain dead and only talk about what they liked.

ଘ Alejandro with his charming smile who makes everyone fawn over him. You notice him getting along with everyone and he's smiled at you a few times when you pass each other in the hallway and you can't help but develop a little crush on him. You're not sure if you are interesting enough for him since he always seems to be the topic of interest. He is simply someone who people constantly want to be around, he makes funny jokes and is charismatic. Little do you know, you've caught his eye. He is curious about you and observes you when he gets the chance. He thinks you must be quite popular seeing as you're on the cheerleading team.

ଘ You're sorta struggling in class and you've noticed Rudy is one of the top students. You feel dumb asking for help but end up deciding to get tutoring from him after school. Turns out he's the nicest person you've ever encountered and whenever you two stay after school to study he ensures you understand each lesson before moving on not caring about how late it is and you can't help but start to like him. So far, he's really the only guy who hasn't flirted or said anything inappropriate to you despite still wearing the cheerleading outfit with the short skirt/shorts when he tutors you. He's never let his eyes drift down to your body and all his gestures are careful and respectful. You just love a guy like that.

ଘ Phillip who has made it clear to the entire school that he is dating you. He is very loud when cheering for you at games you reconsider who is the real cheerleader here. Everyone knows he is a daddy's boy because he often has money on him and borrows expensive items like his father's cars to impress you when driving you around town. He knows you're not big on showy stuff so he takes the time to find out what you like, maybe simpler things, and taking you to do that. One of his favorite activities is picking you up after your cheerleading practice to eat at a diner he's discovered.

ଘ Makarov is the rich foreign exchange student. Many try to offer him help but he isn't worried about his education, if anything he preoccupies himself with other things. He doesn't bother being around people he finds bland so he often skips classes, not caring. Well, what about one day when he sees you practicing your routine out in the field? He watches from afar and finds it strange he cannot take his eyes off of you. He has good taste so he doesn't wait long before approaching you directly. He is upfront and it's honestly hard to reject him asking you out when he does it in front of the entire school, with a huge bouquet of flowers and an expensive present. All that just to take you somewhere out of school.

ଘ Keegan the cute alt guy who never shows up to the school games, sits at the back of the class just observing everyone else or completely absorbed doing his own thing and has like one other person he hangs out with. Still, his off-putting demeanor isn't his only trait as he was the one who scared off those bullies who wouldn't stop trying to corner you in the school library. You have no idea how to thank him other than giving him a free ticket to the next school game. He can only shrug and look at it before you say it'd mean a lot if he came since you don't know how else to thank him. That day, you make sure you look your best even if you are not sure if he will show up. But he really is curious and decides to show up. He could get used to showing you attention since you are worth his time.

ଘ The adorable new foreign exchange student you've taken an interest in. König seems to be very occupied with learning the school system and passing his classes. But he just so happened to catch your eye and you were planning on bagging him before anyone else could. You would loop your arm around his, your hand in the crook of his elbow, and pull him along with you while he just allows himself to be dragged along because he doesn't want to be impolite. He can't help but think your smile is nice and feels a little hot when you give him those eyes. But he's here to study not get sidetracked, how about you show him that a little distraction won't hurt his grades? He did tell you he wanted to branch out and socialize a bit more.

ଘ Skater boy Horangi who spends a lot of time outdoors practicing his skills, he listens to music on a speaker and is very honest you think he might be mocking you sometimes. In reality, he is trying to win you over by trying to make you laugh with his questionable jokes. Secretly, he may watch you and write down facts or try to capture your likeness on a sketchpad he carries around. He keeps it hidden because he is afraid what will you think of him if you saw how many pages you've filled up in that sketchbook of his. He tries to maintain that effortlessly cool boy image you probably have in your head. He is in fact a lover boy but doesn't want to admit it.

ଘ There aren't many things Nikto displays an interest in. Most people assume he isn't even human due to his nature of being extremely frank and blunt. Most students wouldn't believe someone as intimidating as Nikto was dating the cheerleader. It is like your own secret that he cherishes deep in his heart, since he doesn't have to share there is no risk of others taking it away from him. He looks forward to those stolen moments of the day where he can get away to some isolated place with you, like on the school rooftop, the woods near the schoolyard or underneath the bleachers where you can enter in your own world. He can be quite the sweetheart when you least expect it, since he expresses himself very sincerely it is hard not to think he is lovable.

[yandere-wishes]

✮⋆˙Red Hood and The Big Bad Wolf ˙⋆✮

⭒⌒★ Yandere! Jason Todd x Reader ★⌒⭒

゜。♡ 𝓕𝓪𝓲𝓻𝔂 𝓣𝓪𝓵𝓮 𝓐𝓤 ♡ ｡ ゜

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

*ੈ✩‧₊ Thinking about how similar Red Hood is to Little Red Riding Hood, not just in name but also in practice. At their core, they are both things, red things, that survive. Reborn from the lugubre maws of death, forced to live another day, carrying baskets weaved of anguish and instability.

*ੈ✩‧₊ Jason keeps the old picture book tucked in his jacket pocket. He can't quite remember where he found the fickle thing. Can't remember why he chose such an evanescent tale to cling to.

*ੈ✩‧₊ Or maybe he does, maybe he knows exactly why he runs his fingers over his inside pocket after every fight, just to make sure the eccentric fable is still in place. Maybe it's because he understands Red Riding Hood. Knows what she's been through, what it feels like to have your innocence stripped like skin being torn from bones. To be killed and revived all in the same breath. Maybe it's because he wants to know what happens next. What happens when Little Red learns to breathe again? He wants to ask her, beg her to tell him. To be the solution to all his problems.

*ੈ✩‧₊ "How do you swallow the trauma? What do you do with the phantom pain of your heart's reanimation? How do you make the darkness go away? Did you come back the same?

*ੈ✩‧₊ There is only one thing that makes them differ. One fundamental little thing...

*ੈ✩‧₊ Jason doesn't mind the wolf. Pretty pup prowling about. He blames it on his upbringing. He'd been taught to fall in love with such wicked things. From as early as he can remember he's watched bats chase cats across gargoyle-littered rooftops. Watched pretty girls throw themselves at bleached killers. That's why he's quick to be enarmed with the new villain terrorizing the Gotham streets. The girl in a wolf mask, planting bombs in jewelry stores and biting off her victim's ears.

*ੈ✩‧₊ There is nothing scary about the big bad wolf, Red Hood thinks, as he re-reads the page where the wolf and girl meet. Why fear pain when you've been to the end of the road? Why fear something when you're acquainted with its ending?

*ੈ✩‧₊ "Shouldn't wolves only come out when there's a full moon?" He swings in from the skyline, ironclad military boots lodging into your stomach pushing you back into a glass display case. "That's werewolves you idiot" you mumble out of breath, glass shards pocking at your spine. The ticking of your newest explosive rings melodically through the air. He's quick to cut the wires, to defuse your toy without a second thought. Professional you think bitterly as you pounce on his back looking for an opening of flesh to sink your teeth into.

*ੈ✩‧₊ The thing they don't tell you about dying is that you always come back wrong. Primordially, spiritually, the person who closes their eyes, is never the same one who opens them again.

But Red Riding Hood was lucky, her story ended before she realized that dreadful thing. Jason has to deal with it every day, the reverberating scars, the colorless world that fractures and breaks should he let his mind wander astray. The fact that his heart only ever truly beats when he sees the fluffy ears of your cowl and that damn bloodthirsty smirk.

*ੈ✩‧₊ Yandere!Jason Todd who's only brave enough to call it love after you stake a knife through his heart. The bulletproof vest and armor keep the damage away, but he can see the murderous intent shimmering in your eyes. It's only then that he pulls you down by the back of your neck. Lips to lips, a messy clash of anathema and apprehension. Your teeth gnaw at his lips while his tongue composes ballads on the roof of your mouth.

*ੈ✩‧₊ He wonders if Little Red ever went back for the wolf. If she ever dares kiss him with all the pain and anguish she has left in her body. Nicking her tongue on his razor-sharp teeth. Guiding his claws to ghost over her frail body. He wonders if the wolf can even hurt her. There's so little left that can hurt you when you've already felt the end.

*ੈ✩‧₊ He knows you stalk him, follow him even during the day. Sometimes he pulls you into the back alleyway. Knife at your throat as he soaks up your ethereal face. Mask on, mask off. In the end, you'd have found out anyway. His hands squeeze at your hips, needing the flesh, leaving his essence over your body. His lips danced over the back of your neck, biting tenderly at the apex of your shoulder.

*ੈ✩‧₊ You seem to like it when his knife cuts deep. When his punches crack bone. When his boots crush you into the pavement. You throw your head back and laugh, witty little threats spilling from your mouth. So this is love he thinks as your claws rake over his biceps ripping the muscle like ribbons, rummaging through the blood and tissue in search of bone. "Poor little puppy" he mocks "looking for a bone to chew on". "Shut up you tomato-looking freak" you scream as his teeth sink into your jaw, crunching of bone.

*ੈ✩‧₊ He thinks you look gorgeous when you're irritated, he thinks you're beautiful when your bloodthirst seeps through the anger. He bites back a moan as your knee nests into his gut.

*ੈ✩‧₊ Did Little Red ever talk to her mother again? Or did she hold a grudge, haunted by her betrayal of sending her into the woods unarmed, heartbroken that she never came looking for her? Jason's thoughts pound inside his head, picture-book illustrations flash before him of Little Red pushing her mother away, of tears streaming down her face, screaming, screaming, screaming. He hisses as his lacerations burn. Hand suspended, pushing down the urge to knock on his father's door. Bruce would know what to do...he always knows what to do. It's such a childish notion, he clings to. Even now, even after he was killed and left un-avenged Jason still wholeheartedly believes in the notion that Daddy will fix everything...He's halfway to the entrance gate when Bruce alls after him, cadence thick with grief and ache. Jason doesn't turn back, he runs and runs and runs.

*ੈ✩‧₊ Yandere!Jason who crashes through your apartment window. Pushes you back onto the bed and lies next to you as you squirm and scream. He wraps his arms protectively around your waist and nuzzles into the crux of your neck. Mumbling Little Red Riding Hood's tale until you fall asleep. "How did You know I love the story?" you ask, the next morning to the empty half of your bed. Last night's tremulous dread still laying heavy on your corpse.

*ੈ✩‧₊ Yandere!Jason who lays on his window seal, watching as the sun pokes through Granny Red's face. It's funny isn't it, in such a twisted way didn't he also die in his grandfather's house? Only to be reborn while he watched? Didn't the same thing happen to Little Red?

*ੈ✩‧₊ That night Jason dream he's was walking through the grass, headed for the forest behind Wayne manner. He's trapped inside his jejune body, the body of a boy wonder. Clutching a basket with a crowbar inside as dread dances in his stomach. His old red cape taut around his neck, suffocating, skin-tight. He's forgotten how to breathe, puerile fear of those ghoulish old trees clawing at his body. Through the dimness, through lose rays that escape the moon's greed he's able to spot you. Weaving through the bushes and trees, stalking closer and closer. He doesn't know whether to meet you halfway or retreat. Frozen like a robin being pounced on by a sickly smiling cat. His eyes meet yours, right before you attack.

*ੈ✩‧₊ Yandere!Jason who misses you, when he doesn't catch you on patrol, of course, he misses you, it's hard not to miss a broken bone. Hard to feel the sting of your wounds and forget who put them there.

*ੈ✩‧₊ Yandere!Jason finally realizes that he just can't bear to be away from you. This love, this mania, it's all for you. He needs you. He's got you corned, the end of a chase. You smile, all teeth and games, "You're pretty when sulk" you whisper, tracing claws up his chest, digging into the space between each ridge. "Oh really? How can you tell when I got this helmet on?" You laugh, coy and flirtish "I just do" you shrug. Pulling his helmet up, lips ghosting over his in a mockery of a kiss. Jason pushes forward, entraping your lips against his. Lost in intimacy he's quick to grab you, to drag you back to his apartment, to lock the doors and throw away the key. To keep the big bad wolf where she belongs, right next to Little Red Riding Hood.

   

🎀I feel like every Batson deserves a villainess to fall in love with. Let's call this one WolfWoman. TBH I feel like I want to write more for her in the future.

[wendichester]

Would love more sam x reader x dean (no wincest ofc)!! The drabble was wonderful! If you could write more that would be so cute and great, no pressure tho!!! LOVE LOVE UR WRITING BTWWE

༘ ⋆｡˚three’s a charm,

summary. dean wants you to be with sam. sam wants you to be with dean. you want both.

pairing. dean winchester x reader x sam winchester genre. steamy fluff

wordcount. 588

notes / warnings. almost smut, but we don't really go there. just the fact that you have two winchesters wanting you should be warning enough 🥴

ᯓ★ read part 1

It’s different now.

Not louder, not messier, not more complicated—though it should be, logically. But it isn’t. It’s easier. Like breathing. Like the weight you didn’t know you were carrying got lifted the second those two stubborn idiots finally got it through their thick skulls that you want them—both of them. Together.

It’s in the way Sam now kisses you openly in front of Dean, soft and slow like he’s memorizing the shape of your smile. It’s in the way Dean smacks your ass with a smirk two seconds later, calling you “trouble” and looking like he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

You’re sitting on the couch in the bunker’s library, tucked between them—because of course you are. Dean’s arm is draped across the back, fingers lazily brushing your shoulder, and Sam’s got a book in his lap but hasn’t turned a page in ten minutes. He’s too busy watching your bare thigh peek out from under one of Dean’s old flannels.

“What are you reading?” you ask, just to break the silence.

Sam startles slightly, then lifts the book. “Uh. Demonology. Just brushing up.”

Dean makes a noise of protest. “We’re not working tonight. That’s the rule, remember? No lore, no knives, no brooding unless it’s sexy brooding.” He throws you a wink.

Sam rolls his eyes. “You made that rule like twelve hours ago.”

“Yeah, and it’s a great rule,” Dean insists. “Especially the sexy brooding part.”

You nudge Sam’s leg with your foot. “He’s got a point.”

Sam sets the book aside with a long-suffering sigh that doesn’t fool anyone. “Fine. No brooding. But if a demon kicks down the door tonight, I reserve the right to say ‘I told you so.’”

Dean scoffs. “If a demon kicks down the door, I’m making you do all the stabbing. Me and sweetheart here are off-duty.”

You laugh, tilting your head back onto Dean’s shoulder. “Wow, chivalry is so alive.”

His fingers tighten just slightly on your arm. “I’m plenty chivalrous,” he murmurs into your hair. “Just… not when I’ve got both of you right where I want you.”

Your heart does that stupid little stutter it always does when Dean gets low and serious like that—voice rough around the edges, eyes sharp with something softer underneath. You glance over at Sam, who’s watching Dean with the kind of fond exasperation that makes your chest ache in a good way.

He catches your look and smiles, then leans in to kiss you. It’s slower than usual, deeper, like he’s trying to say something without words.

Dean lets out a low whistle. “Okay, not gonna lie, that’s hot.”

You break the kiss with a soft laugh and give him a pointed look. “Jealous?”

He scoffs. “Please. I invented jealous. But I’m not jealous now.” He leans in, mouth ghosting against your jaw, voice warm and sinful. “I’m just getting ideas.”

And just like that, the air changes—thicker, buzzing, electric.

Sam shifts closer, his hand sliding over your thigh with purpose now. “You said no working tonight,” he murmurs, voice pitched low.

Dean grins. “I did. And I’m keeping that promise.”

Your breath catches as both their touches converge—Dean’s lips on your neck, Sam’s hand tracing higher. This is still new, still tentative, but the trust? The heat? The love that pulses between the three of you?

That’s solid.

And as their hands find skin, mouths moving against yours like worship, like hunger, like home, you realize something else:

You’re not just lucky.

You’re right where you belong.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[lunaria-maharlika]

Pt2Danny Accidentally becomes the Ghost king, the president and the biggest threat to Bruce's social status.

Pt 1 link:

Part 2 Danny becomes the president.

Amity Parkers are the most adaptable people in the world. They're barely fazed by anything.

If you throw them into a situation that they are very unfamiliar with, it'll only take them five minutes to adjust before they start planning on how to live with this situation.

The Amity Parker mindset is: "Oh, I guess this is happening now."

So when the ghosts start attacking? The Amity Parkers immediately look for ways to avoid and protect themselves from the ghosts, not even questioning why ghosts are real. The only thing they think about is, "Damn, there's a ghost. I hope it doesn't attack the theater; I really want to see that movie."

When Phantom had his debut as a hero? The Amity Parkers started looking for ways to help, ways to keep out of his way (some to try and keep him away). The thought running through their minds was, "So this one is trying to protect us? Guess we have a hero now."

Amity Parkers don't spend their time getting mad at the sudden change of routine, the sudden loss of normalcy, or the broken buildings. Amity Parkers don't ask why and how ghosts are real, don't question if all ghosts are evil or if there are some good ghosts, and don't even think of how to get rid of them completely (they're part of the community now). They only look for ways to keep themselves from getting overshadowed. They definitely don't spend time thinking if the ghosts could bring more danger in the future or looking for more information for possible contingency plans. They aren't Batman; they believe that if the present is good, then the future will be better.

Point is, Amity Parkers are resilient and adaptable. They will take everything in stride and focus on the present. So what if some ghosts attack and block the street? They need to get to work, so they'll just drive around it.

After the whole Pariah Dark thing, they become liminal, gaining some form of super strength and glowing eyes (symptoms vary based on how strong the radiation on a person is). A normal human would think, "OH MY GOD, I'M DYING!" The Amity Parkers went, "Oh, cool, this is cool, but now I'm having a problem with opening doors without breaking the knob. Maybe the Fentons could do something about it, make stronger knobs or something."

When some babies started gaining some inhuman features? Some start floating? (Sharper ears, fangs. Babies adapt to things faster, so they get more ecto radiation.) The Amity parents went, "Is there a way to keep my child on the ground without leashing them like a dog?" Then proceeded to make a help blog for other Amity parents dealing with the same things.

So when the ghosts start becoming more of the community rather than enemies, the Amity Parkers just shrugged and asked for a book of ghost customs so they don't accidentally offend them.

When the Fentons started making ghost and human-safe items, no one even questioned why Danny had so much money and was funding his parents' research.

When Danny's name was almost (if not) in everything and he seemed to own most of the town, no one questioned it.

But everything changed when the GIW came again. Even the Amity Parkers weren't expecting this change.

The GIW waltzed in, claiming the liminal town was theirs to play with and started attacking everyone, including the Amity Parkers. The Amity Parkers went full defense mode, protecting the ghosts that were now their friends/neighbors/lovers, making sure that nothing would harm them.

They learned that it was Vlad who called on the GIW. He was pissed and petty that the crown was taken from him and decided to report his liminal town, pretending to be a "concerned mayor" who "wants his people to be healed."

The Amity Parkers were mad... they were furious.

And in the moment they saw Phantom fall to the ground, unconscious, and watched him de-transform from the hero King Phantom to the kid that owns and funds the most helpful companies in town, something changed. Something in the Amity Parkers changed.

Keep in mind that Amity Parkers don't change; they remain the same as they adapt to whatever change the world throws at them.

NEVER ONCE HAD THE AMITY PARKERS DECIDED TO MAKE A CHANGE THEMSELVES.

The first thing they changed? Their mentality. NEVER AGAIN WERE THEY GOING TO LET OUTSIDE FACTORS CHANGE THEIR LIVES. THIS IS THEIR TOWN AND IT WILL STAY THAT WAY.

God help the GIW for being their first victims.

An angry town of liminals, ghosts, and borderline gods, who have access to the Fentons' very destructive and effective technology.

Vs.

The regular GIW humans with anti-ghost tech they stole from the Fentons and nothing against liminals.

The battle was a swift victory, destroying not only the GIW in town but also all of its branches (and Vlad) with almost no traces of them even existing in the first place.

The change didn't stop there, however.

The Amity Parkers banded together with Team Phantom and the Fentons (minus Danny, as he is healing and shouldn't know about their plans; the hero should rest) and took out some of that ghost king money that Danny's trying to get rid of. They crashed the UN meeting while kidnapping the president of America.

The Amity Parkers have decided that Amity Park is theirs; it belongs to the people and its heroes. But how is it supposed to be truly theirs if they have to follow the rules of the country that funded the GIW?

A couple of death threats, bribing, more death threats and more money bribing to make sure the anti ecto acts are gone and the League of Bitches (Phantom called the JL that, and the Amity Parkers decided it was true) doesn't know about it, and a couple of hours in the nightmare realm (courtesy of Fright Knight, who happily participated when he found out what happened), and Amity Park was now its own independent country.

They decided that Tucker was to be a main part of security, letting him put up another firewall like the GIW did to make sure no one knows about their country. They don't want the League of Bitches or any outsider in the King's Haunt. It's theirs now; it belongs to the Ghost King of Amity Park, outsiders be gone.

And when it came to deciding who would be leader? There was no hesitation as they wrote down:

Daniel "Danny Phantom" Fenton, King of the Infinite Realms, King and President of Amity Park.

___________________

A couple of years later, Batman, finding hints of a "Lazarus pit" in Illinois, send Flash to look around for anything suspicious. Flash, hyper focused on following his gps, hits a wall, literally faceplants into it.He double checks his map, the wall wasn't supposed to be there. He goes around it, there no way in, no way out. He goes back to batman and reports.

Pt3 soon.

Tags as requested

@nana-mizu-shiki

@talia-scar123

[shesgaymichaelscott]

melissa x fem!reader where reader is jacob's sister and melissa says it's ok if she stays with them while she visits but they catch feelings fast. bonus points if reader decides to stay at the end (and maybe work at abbott?)

Sister, Sister

(really no warnings/tags, this is just a cute lil thing😇, fluff!)

Word Count: 6k

taglist <3: @writerspirit @schemmentigfs

~

"Melissa," Jacob said, following her into the kitchen like a particularly nervous shadow, "do you believe in the spirit of generosity?"

Melissa didn't look up from her coffee. "Jacob. You're already living in my house."

"Exactly!" he chirped, trying for cheerful but landing somewhere between guilty and manic. "And it's been so generous of you. The way you let me move in—and may I say, I've felt so at home, especially once I got over the smell of Vicks VapoRub in your bathroom—"

"You used my towel, Jacob."

"I said I was sorry!"

She gave him a look that could blister drywall. "What do you want?"

"Okay. Hypothetically. What if someone else needed a place to stay too?"

Melissa narrowed her eyes. "If this is about moving more of your jackets into my closet, the answer is still no."

Jacob laughed nervously. "No! Nothing like that! It's not for me. It's for... my sister."

Melissa blinked. "You don't have a sister."

"I do!" he said quickly. "You've just never met her because she lives in D.C. and has this wildly impressive life and she's very kind and beautiful and calm and basically the anti-me."

Melissa raised a brow. "So she's imaginary."

"She's real," he huffed. "And she's coming into town for a job interview. For a teaching job. At a charter school."

Melissa immediately narrowed her eyes. "Strike one."

"Or—" Jacob jumped in— "possibly at a public school if she can get her foot in the door. Which brings me to the thing I need to ask."

She stared at him over the rim of her mug.

"She was going to stay with a friend, but they had a pipe burst and now she doesn't have anywhere to go and I thought, well, I already live in your guest room—"

"—against my better judgment—"

"—and since she's only here for a few days, maybe she could crash on the couch or bunk with me or something? She's neat. Quiet. Way too nice for this family. You'll barely notice her."

Melissa sighed. She already knew she was going to say yes, and that fact alone irritated her. "Christ. Fine. She can stay."

"Really?!"

"Yeah. I got soft somehow. Must be all the estrogen from your skin care products."

Jacob hugged her. "You won't regret this! She's grounded. She's calm. And she's very pretty. Like, in a classic, non-threatening way."

Melissa narrowed her eyes. "Why would that matter?"

"No reason!" Jacob squeaked, backing toward the hall. "I'll go pick her up from the train!"

An hour later, you showed up on Melissa's doorstep wearing a soft sweater, nice jeans, and a nervous smile. You had a rolling suitcase, a canvas tote full of books, and a voice that made Melissa freeze when you said:

"Hi! You must be Melissa. Thanks so much for letting me stay—I promise I'll be a ghost. A very grateful, polite, dishwashing ghost."

Melissa blinked. You were warm. Pretty. Calm in a way that made the world around you feel quieter.

"Uh, yeah," she said, stepping aside. "Come in. Shoes off, thermostat's sacred, and don't let Jacob near the air fryer."

You laughed. "Noted."

Jacob wasn't wrong. You were easy. You complimented her throw pillows, helped her plate dinner without being asked, and when you sat at the table between her and Jacob, you looked more like you belonged there than he did.

She was supposed to be annoyed by the whole situation.

Instead, she kept glancing at you across the table—and couldn't stop wondering what your hair would smell like if you leaned just a little closer.

Melissa kept waiting for the awkwardness to kick in—for you to say something weird, or ask too many questions, or knock over a glass and apologize sixteen times. But you didn't. You just... fit.

Jacob did most of the talking (as usual), bouncing between stories about work and whatever book club he'd temporarily joined this week, while you laughed in all the right places and added thoughtful little interjections that somehow made Melissa want to talk more.

Which she never did. Not at dinner. Not like this.

When the food was gone and Jacob finally excused himself ("I have a call with my therapist-slash-poetry coach"), Melissa didn't even try to stop you from helping with the dishes. You stood next to her at the sink like it was something you'd done a hundred times before—easy, companionable, quiet except for the soft clink of forks in suds.

She handed you a towel. You dried the plates without her asking.

"So," you said, your voice low, not prying, "do you like working at Abbott?"

Melissa paused. Most people asked if she liked kids. You didn't. You asked about the school. The work.

She nodded slowly. "Yeah. I do."

You glanced over at her, eyes kind. "Jacob says the kids love you."

She snorted. "Jacob says that because he's scared of me."

"I can see why," you teased, a playful glint in your eye. "You're very... intimidating. What with the apron and dish soap."

That made her smile. Damn it.

A few minutes later, you both had full wine glasses and had settled on the couch. Melissa curled into the corner without thinking. You mirrored her without hesitation.

"So," you asked, "what made you become a teacher?"

She didn't usually answer that question. Not really. But you waited, not filling the silence, not pushing.

"Kids get overlooked," she finally said. "Especially the loud ones. Or the ones with crap going on at home. I figured if I could be the one adult that sees 'em..." she shrugged, "that'd be worth something."

You were quiet for a beat.

Then, softly: "That is worth something."

When you looked at her again, Melissa saw it in your eyes. You weren't just being polite. You meant it. And somehow that was worse.

She drained the rest of her wine and stood. "Alright, enough sincerity for one night."

You grinned. "My lips are sealed."

She showed you where the towels were, muttered something about how Jacob stole all the good toothpaste, and tried not to notice the way you lingered in the hallway a little too long, looking around like it already felt a little bit like home.

And when she turned back toward the kitchen—just for one last glass of water—she passed the guest room with the door cracked open.

And you were there.

Not dressed up. Not tucked in. Just... you.

Standing near the bed in a loose, faded T-shirt, wiping off the last of your makeup with practiced, absent swipes. Your hair was soft now, not styled, just hanging around your face like you'd had a long day and stopped pretending it didn't wear you out.

You caught her watching.

She expected you to jump, to pull the door shut.

But instead, you smiled—gentle, quiet, warm.

"Goodnight, Melissa."

Melissa opened her mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again.

"Night," she managed.

She walked away before she could do something stupid like ask if you wanted a cup of tea. Or tell you how nice you looked like that. Or admit that she didn't actually mind you being here.

That she liked it.

Instead, she lay in bed with the lamp off, staring at the ceiling, every soft part of her trying to win a war against the hard edge she'd spent years perfecting.

She was supposed to be annoyed.

She wasn't.

⸻

Melissa was already up when you wandered into the kitchen the next morning, your hair pulled half-up, eyes soft with sleep. You wore the same sweater from the night before, sleeves pushed up just past your elbows, and Melissa had to look away for a second because—Jesus—why was that so disarming?

"Morning," you said, voice still scratchy and gentle. "I didn't expect you to be up."

"I'm always up by six," she said, sliding a second mug of coffee toward you like it wasn't something she'd poured automatically the second she heard the floor creak.

You looked at it, then up at her. "You made me coffee?"

Melissa shrugged. "Didn't want Jacob ruining my ratio. He always adds too much creamer."

You smiled over the rim of the mug after your first sip. "This is really good."

"Don't tell him," she said, suddenly warm in the face. "He'll start expecting it."

You leaned on the counter across from her. "I already told him you're intimidating. But now I think I'm just impressed."

That made Melissa look up at you.

There it was again. That soft, real thing in your eyes. Like she didn't have to prove anything to you. Like you already saw her. And worse, like you liked what you saw.

"Do you always get this flirty before 7 a.m.?" she asked, trying to play it off, sipping her own coffee.

Your smile turned sheepish. "I'm only flirty when I'm nervous. I've got that interview this morning—remember?"

Oh. Right. The job. The possible move.

Melissa cleared her throat. "Charter school, right? In West Philly?"

You nodded. "Yeah. Not exactly my dream gig, but it's a start. Figured I'd try and move here either way. Be closer to Jacob. And—" You hesitated for half a beat. "I don't know. This place just feels... good."

Her stomach flipped.

She told herself it was the coffee.

"Good luck," she said. "You'll be great."

Before you could answer, chaos incarnate stormed into the kitchen (aka Jacob, wearing mismatched socks, a wrinkled button-up, and a righteous sense of urgency).

"Who touched my granola bar stash?!" he demanded, pointing wildly. "Melissa. Did you eat the one with the dark chocolate and sea salt? Be honest."

"I hid the one with the dark chocolate and sea salt," Melissa said flatly.

You held up your hands. "I swear I didn't touch the sacred snacks."

Jacob narrowed his eyes suspiciously but then noticed the coffee.

"Ooh! Did you make—" He took a sip from Melissa's mug and nearly choked. "Why is it strong enough to exfoliate my tongue?"

"Out," Melissa said, taking her mug back.

You grinned, grabbing your tote. "I should head out anyway. Wish me luck?"

Jacob launched into an elaborate two-minute affirmation ritual complete with finger hearts and a reference to Ruth Bader Ginsburg. Melissa just met your eyes and gave a quiet nod.

"Let me know how it goes."

You lingered for a second longer than necessary. Then nodded and left.

And Melissa stood there, mug in hand, throat dry, pretending she didn't feel like she'd just handed something important out the door.

⸻

"Wait, your sister is here?" Janine spun around so fast her curls hit Gregory in the face.

Jacob nodded, sitting on the edge of Barbara's desk. "Yep. She's in town for a job interview. Staying with me and Melissa."

Janine blinked. "With Melissa? And Melissa's okay with it?"

"I know, right?" Jacob grinned, proud and baffled. "I thought it'd be a whole thing. Like... Melissa would do that eye squint where you're not sure if she wants to kill you or just remove your spleen."

"She's very protective of her space," Barbara added diplomatically.

"I thought she hated houseguests," Janine whispered.

"She does," Barbara confirmed.

"Well, apparently not this one," Jacob said, pouring oat milk into his cup with a dramatic flourish. "She made her coffee this morning."

Janine's eyes nearly popped out of her head. "She shared her coffee?!"

"It wasn't just sharing. It was... intimate. They had, like, a moment. And Melissa didn't even threaten me."

Gregory shook his head. "Maybe she just likes your sister?"

Everyone froze.

Jacob slowly turned. "Gregory. With the dangerous ideas."

Barbara chuckled softly, then looked at Jacob. "Well, now I want to meet her."

Janine lit up like a lightbulb. "Yes! Bring her to Abbott! I need to see this mysterious Schemmenti-softener for myself."

You, meanwhile, had lasted approximately twelve minutes at the charter school before realizing it wasn't for you.

Maybe it was the cold tile floors. Or the way the front desk staff barely looked up. Or the framed quote in the hallway that read, "Rigidity breeds success."

Whatever it was, by the time the assistant principal used the word "compliance" for the third time, you were done.

You ducked into the parking lot and called the only person you knew in town with unfailing enthusiasm and a five-minute window between classes.

"Hey," you said, trying not to sound deflated.

Jacob answered instantly. "Did you get hired already?!"

"God, no. I barely got out. I think they wanted me to monitor bathroom breaks with a stopwatch."

"Yikes. That's a no."

"Big no," you sighed. "I still have time to kill before you're off. Should I just head home?"

There was a pause.

Then, "Come to Abbott."

You blinked. "What?"

"You're literally two blocks away. Come to Abbott. You can help in my classroom. We're doing paper mâché Egyptian tombs, and half of my students are allergic to glue sticks, apparently."

You hesitated.

He pushed. "C'mon. Janine wants to meet you. Barbara will adore you. And Melissa—"

"What about Melissa?"

"Melissa won't care," he said a little too fast. "Just come."

Twenty minutes later, you were standing outside the chaotic, sunlit doors of Abbott Elementary, tote bag over your shoulder, second-guessing every life choice—until the door swung open and Janine Teagues practically bounced toward you.

"Oh my god," she said, pulling you into a hug like you were long-lost family. "You're so cute! Jacob undersold you. Come in! Are you an Earth sign?"

You laughed. "Um, Taurus?"

"I knew it. Come on, I'll show you around before we go to Jacob's room."

The building was older, colorful, loud in the way that meant it was alive. Teachers ducked in and out of rooms, kids darted down the hall laughing, and everything smelled vaguely like crayons and possibility.

Barbara Howard greeted you with a measured nod and a warm smile. "Jacob's sister," she said, shaking your hand. "He speaks very highly of you."

"That's sweet," you replied, glancing at Jacob. "Though slightly suspicious."

Barbara chuckled. "You'll do just fine here."

And then—then—you passed her room.

Melissa was at her desk, arms crossed, eyes on something in her gradebook, red pen in hand like a weapon. She didn't look up.

But you felt her glance. Just for a second.

You smiled anyway. "Hey."

She looked up—briefly. "Hey."

Janine leaned in. "We'll be in Jacob's class if you need backup. Or a snack. Or a soul reading."

Melissa blinked at her, then looked at you again. "You here all day?"

"Just helping out," you said lightly. "Trying to stay out of trouble."

"Good luck," she muttered, eyes flicking to Jacob. "He's a magnet for chaos."

"I'll protect him," you grinned.

Something flickered in her expression—amusement? Fondness? She didn't answer. Just nodded and returned to grading, but her pen didn't move for several long seconds.

Jacob's class was... something.

You'd forgotten the raw chaos of middle school energy. These kids weren't afraid to test boundaries—or glue their tombs shut with Elmer's and an alarming amount of glitter.

But you handled it.

You redirected questions. You diffused drama. You helped one student design a sarcophagus lid while another asked if you were married, and when you said no, she whispered, "Miss Schemmenti is also not married," like she'd just discovered a critical piece of state intelligence.

At lunch, you sat with Janine, Barbara, and Jacob in the lounge while Gregory gave you a slow once-over, nodding politely.

"Jacob's sister, huh?" he said. "Didn't expect you to be so quiet."

"She's deceptively calm," Jacob added, mouth full of granola bar. "Like a duck on water. Serene on the surface, kicking like hell underneath."

"She's good with the kids," Barbara said warmly. "Very natural. I assume you're considering local options?"

You hesitated, and your eyes flicked—without thinking—toward the second grade classroom just down the hall.

"Maybe," you said softly.

⸻

That night, back at Melissa's, you helped with dinner again without being asked. Jacob flitted in and out, offering critiques from the sidelines, until Melissa swatted him with a dishtowel and sent him to set the table.

You sautéed vegetables. Melissa grilled chicken. You found a rhythm.

"You didn't mention you were good with kids," she said casually as she stirred something on the stove.

"You didn't mention you were watching me," you replied, teasing.

She smirked. "I wasn't."

"Sure."

There was a beat of silence.

"You made it look easy," she said eventually, a little quieter.

You shrugged. "It felt easy."

You turned and caught her looking again. Just briefly. But her expression had softened.

Dinner was relaxed. Jacob told an overly dramatic story about a student who tried to claim his tomb had been cursed, and you leaned into the table with a quiet laugh that made Melissa watch your mouth more than she should've.

Afterward, the three of you ended up on the couch, full and lazy, with half a glass of red wine each and Jeopardy playing low on the TV.

"Please," Jacob said, tossing a throw pillow over his face. "She's a human encyclopedia. I'm begging you not to buzz in."

You grinned, already sitting up straighter. "I can't help it. It's genetic."

"You're adopted."

Melissa snorted into her wine.

Ten minutes in, you'd correctly answered six questions in a row—without hesitation.

Melissa turned to you slowly. "You're a trivia nerd."

You nodded proudly. "Big time. My brain's basically 70% facts no one asked for."

She laughed—really laughed. "You're kidding."

"Nope. I used to run a bar trivia night back home. Thursdays were 'Obscure History' rounds. I got booed a lot."

Melissa looked at you like she was trying not to smile too hard. "You'd kill at poker."

"I'm terrible at poker," you said, dead serious. "I can't bluff for anything."

Jacob groaned. "Don't bond over gambling. You're encouraging her."

But Melissa wasn't listening to him.

She was watching you—with your socked feet tucked under you, your makeup off, a soft t-shirt that made your eyes look warmer somehow—and she was thinking about how easy it was to sit next to you. How you didn't fill the space with noise. How your laugh stayed with her longer than the punchlines.

Jacob dozed off partway through Final Jeopardy.

You and Melissa stayed up.

Quiet. Comfortable.

When she finally stood, stretching with a soft groan, she glanced back at you.

"You settling in okay?" she asked.

You smiled. "Better than okay."

And maybe she shouldn't have liked that answer so much.

The next morning, Jacob's class was knee-deep in paper-mâché chaos when you arrived—but instead of corralling middle schoolers again, he passed you a coffee and a sly smile.

"Change of plans. Melissa needs a hand today. Her aide called out."

Your heart thumped.

"Oh?"

"She didn't ask for you," he added quickly. "She just said she needed someone competent and not Ava. I filled in the blanks."

You sipped your coffee. "Did she... seem okay with it?"

"She didn't throw anything."

"That's your metric?"

Jacob shrugged. "She didn't throw something at me. So I figured we were good."

Melissa's classroom was calmer than Jacob's, but only in that it wasn't actively on fire.

She looked up from a spelling worksheet when you stepped in and didn't smile—but the slight softening of her eyes was just as good.

"You got drafted?"

"Apparently."

She nodded to the whiteboard. "We're doing compound words and then a read-aloud. And if Jacob asks about his pencil again, I told him you cast a protective spell on it."

You laughed and moved to her side instinctively. "Did I?"

"Clearly. He hasn't lost it all day."

By snack time, the kids were glued to your read-aloud voice. By lunch, Melissa had let you handle half the spelling review. By math, she caught herself watching you again—your hands, your patience, the way the students leaned toward you like flowers to sun.

She crossed her arms tighter and turned away.

She was not falling for Jacob's sister.

Barbara noticed. Of course Barbara noticed.

She stepped into Melissa's room during recess, leaned casually against the bookshelf, and fixed Melissa with that look—the one that could peel paint from the walls.

"She's good," Barbara said mildly.

Melissa didn't look up. "Mmhmm."

"Kind. Calm. The children like her."

"I noticed."

"And you like her."

Melissa finally looked at her. "She's Jacob's sister."

Barbara raised one regal eyebrow. "And you're a grown woman."

Melissa exhaled. "It's a bad idea."

Barbara's smile was faint but knowing. "Maybe. Or maybe you just don't want to admit you feel soft about something."

Melissa opened her mouth, closed it, then muttered, "I hate when you're right."

Barbara's chuckle was like gospel. "Then you're going to really hate what's about to happen."

Their staff meeting after school was supposed to be about art supply ordering.

It was not.

Because Janine, Gregory, Barbara, Jacob, and even Mr. Johnson had decided they were not letting you disappear.

"She's literally perfect," Janine was saying, hands waving. "She can teach, she knows kids, and she doesn't flinch when a second grader sneezes directly into her mouth! Hire her!"

Ava, on her phone in sunglasses, did not look up. "We already have teachers."

"We have a hallway ghost aide position open!" Jacob cried. "She'd be perfect!"

"She's from out of town," Ava said. "What if she's just here for vibes and brunch?"

"She applied to Liberty," Melissa said suddenly.

Everyone turned.

Ava squinted. "Why do you know that?"

Melissa shrugged, too casual. "She told me. After I said she was good with the kids."

Barbara sipped her tea smugly. Janine let out an audible gasp.

Gregory blinked. "So we all agree she should stay?"

"Yes," said everyone.

Ava groaned. "Fine. I'll talk to HR. But if she ghosts us after I start her paperwork, I'm sending her a Molotov in the mail."

Meanwhile, in the quiet kitchen back at Melissa's house, you were spooning pasta into a bowl and thinking about the kids who hugged you goodbye.

Thinking about the way Melissa's voice softened when she said, "You here all day?"

Thinking—maybe, maybe—you didn't want to leave after all.

⸻

The next morning started with rain, a stubbed toe, and Melissa offering you a mug of coffee with a gruff, "You good?" that sounded a little too much like don't leave for her comfort.

You nodded, hugging the cup. "I've got the Liberty interview after school."

She didn't look up from the toaster. "Right."

"They're big on tech integration, I guess. Lots of digital dashboards."

"That sounds like a nightmare."

You snorted. "Yeah, but at this point I need a job."

Melissa set the toast down harder than necessary. "Ava's supposed to interview you today."

You blinked. "What?"

"She's dragging her feet, as usual. But it's happening. After lunch."

"Wait, she actually said she'd do it?"

"She said if she had time between 'administering justice' and her lash appointment, she'd try."

You laughed into your mug. "That's promising."

Melissa didn't smile. Just looked at you—wet hair in soft waves, hoodie sleeves pushed up, sleepy eyes—and felt something crawl up her spine that she did not have time for.

"I'm just saying," she said, almost too casually, "you've already got people here who like you. That's worth something."

Your heart did a soft, dumb little flip.

But before you could answer, Jacob came crashing into the kitchen, soaked from the rain and ranting about a pigeon that stole his umbrella.

Melissa rolled her eyes and muttered, "Never mind."

⸻

At lunch, Ava finally remembered she was supposed to be doing something work-adjacent.

"Interview time!" she said, bursting into the teacher's lounge in a lime green tracksuit and sparkly slides. "Let's get this over with before I start reading your aura."

You blinked. "Wait, now?"

Jacob cheered. "Yay! You're gonna kill it!"

Barbara gave you a wink, and Janine practically dragged you to Ava's office, where a "job interview" was already in full swing. If you could call it that.

Ava had her feet on her desk and sunglasses on indoors. "So, tell me your name again. For legal reasons."

You blinked. "It's on my resume."

"Right. And what makes you wanna work at the greatest school in Philly?"

Janine popped up with a notepad like she was your agent. "She's good with kids, adaptable, certified in two states, and Jacob's sister but in a good way."

"I still say we make her co-assistant principal," Ava mused. "Then I don't have to attend meetings. Or answer emails. Or—wait, what's the job she's applying for again?"

You turned to Barbara, who gave you a rare, gentle smile from the seat beside Ava. "You belong here, dear. That's what we're saying."

You blinked. "All of you?"

A voice behind you—steady, low, familiar—answered.

"Yes."

You turned.

Melissa stood in the doorway, arms crossed like usual, but her eyes were soft. "You belong here."

And for the first time in a while, you believed it.

Back in the hallway after, Melissa walked with you in companionable silence.

"You're still going to Liberty?"

"I kind of have to. It's scheduled."

She nodded. "Right."

A beat.

"You know we'd take care of you here, right?"

You turned, a little startled.

Her eyes were dark, steady. "If you stayed."

You felt the air shift.

"Yeah," you said. "I know."

You didn't say it out loud, but you already knew the truth:

Liberty never stood a chance. You felt drawn to Abbott.

And maybe the people—one in particular.

Later than evening, Jacob left for a book reading at seven.

He hovered in the doorway with his tote bag and his excitement and his gentle insistence that you should come because it was "a very timely queer memoir and the author includes footnotes!", but you begged off, blaming a fake headache and an even faker yawn.

"I'll just stay in," you said, rubbing your temple. "Long day."

He bought it. Or pretended to. Either way, you waved him out and stayed behind.

With Melissa. Alone.

She didn't say much at first. Just went about reheating leftovers, her motions precise, practiced. You offered to help, and she handed you silverware and salad tongs without meeting your eye.

Dinner was quiet. Peaceful.

You sat across from each other, plates between you, the hum of the fridge filling the spaces where Jacob's chatter usually lived.

"I think I'm staying," you said eventually, voice low.

Melissa didn't look surprised. She nodded once. "Yeah?"

You pushed a piece of lettuce across your plate. "It's not just Abbott. Though it is that. I... haven't felt that wanted in a long time."

She looked up then. Met your eyes. "You should feel wanted."

You swallowed. "It's been a weird couple of years. I've moved around a lot. Never quite stuck. And I started thinking maybe it was me. That maybe I'm just not someone people... keep."

Melissa set her fork down.

"That's not true."

Your chest ached. "You don't know that."

"I know what I see."

You blinked.

Her voice was softer now, but steady. "The way my kids look at you. The way you listen. Like what they say matters."

You gave her a small, uneven smile. "Maybe I'm just good at pretending."

"You're not."

That stilled you.

She leaned back slightly, searching your face, like she wanted to say something more but didn't know how to get it past her teeth.

So you gave her a thread to pull. "Why do you care so much?"

Melissa's brow creased. "Because you matter."

Simple. Quiet. Like it had been true for a while now.

You didn't speak.

Just watched her, heart in your throat, as she reached for her wine and didn't drink it.

The air between you tightened. Subtle. Magnetic.

Your eyes dipped to her mouth.

And hers—to yours.

Neither of you moved. Not quite. But something shifted.

Her hand twitched like it wanted to reach across the table. Yours mirrored it without thinking.

Then she stood too fast, the chair scraping the floor. "I'll get dessert."

You blinked. "I didn't know there was dessert."

"There isn't," she said, already walking to the freezer. "But I got some stupid mini ice cream bars Jacob won't touch because they're not 'plant-based nostalgia.'"

You laughed, quietly.

She passed you one a minute later, sat back down. Didn't meet your eyes again for the rest of the meal.

But her foot bumped yours under the table and didn't move.

⸻

The next morning, you walked back into Abbott like you already belonged there.

Jacob met you at the front doors with a coffee and a proud older-brother smile that made your throat tighten.

"You look bright-eyed and extremely not-hungover," he said as you took the cup.

"High bar," you teased.

"Only the best for my beloved sister-slash-new favorite co-teacher. I told Ava you were coming in again, and she said, and I quote, 'Cool, free labor.' Which, honestly, is her love language."

You snorted, bumping shoulders with him as you followed him down the hall.

The school was warm. Familiar now. And terrifying in the way things are when you know you're already attached.

"I talked to Liberty," you admitted as you stepped into his classroom. "Told them I wasn't interested."

Jacob stopped short, eyes wide. "Wait. You—what?"

"I turned it down."

"You turned down Liberty for—" He gestured around you. "This?"

You looked around too. Paper mâché pyramids. Posters. Pencil shavings. Heart.

"Yes."

He stared at you. "Because of me?"

You smiled, soft and a little sad. "Because of you, because of the kids, because of Barbara and Janine and... because I didn't want to leave."

He caught it. The hesitation.

His eyes narrowed in a flash of older brother perception. "Because you didn't want to leave... who, exactly?"

You sat down at the student desk nearest you and busied yourself with straightening a pile of papers. "I'm not—"

"Melissa?" he said like a delighted accusation.

Your silence betrayed you.

"Oh my god. Oh my god," he whispered like it was Christmas morning. "You have a thing."

"I do not."

"You do. I knew it! I mean, it's classic. Grumpy redhead with a secret marshmallow center meets quiet, emotionally intelligent hot girl from out of town—"

"Jacob."

"You're basically a Hallmark movie."

You covered your face with your hands.

"I'm just saying," he went on, voice pitched with glee, "you two were literally staring at each other across the dinner table like you were in a period drama. I thought at any moment she was going to dramatically stand and declare her intentions."

"I nearly kissed her last night."

Jacob's jaw dropped so hard it may have unhinged.

"Are you kidding?!"

"No," you said quietly, cheeks warm. "But I didn't. She stood up. Got ice cream instead."

Jacob blinked. "God. That is the most Melissa thing I've ever heard."

"I don't know if I should tell her," you admitted. "What if I'm wrong? What if I misread it? What if I say something and ruin everything?"

Before he could respond, the door burst open.

"Did someone say romance?!"

Janine entered like a whirlwind of glitter and emotional intuition, coffee in hand, eyes bright.

Jacob pointed at you like he'd been waiting for backup. "She's in love with Melissa."

Janine gasped. "Knew it!"

You groaned, but Janine ignored it, pulling up a chair like this was an emergency meeting of the Abbott Elementary Love Council.

"Okay. We all see it. Melissa sees it. She just doesn't know what to do with it. Which is classic trauma response meets internalized tough-girl act. She needs a nudge."

You stared at them both. "A nudge?"

"Say something," Jacob urged. "Tell her. You don't even have to be weird about it. You could literally say, 'Hey, I like you. That's part of why I'm staying.'"

Janine nodded. "Boom. That's cute. That's honest. That's vulnerable."

"And if she doesn't feel the same?" you asked softly.

Jacob sobered. "She does."

Janine added, "But even if she didn't? You still belong here. You're not just Melissa-adjacent. You've got your own place here. We all feel it."

You stared down at your hands. Heart thudding.

You wanted to believe them. You wanted to believe that maybe this place—this person—could really be yours. But first, you had to stop dancing around it.

Before it passed you by.

Abbott's end of school day was always a kind of exhale. Students gone, halls quiet, the soft hum of the janitor's cart somewhere in the distance. Most teachers had packed up and left, or were hiding in their rooms pretending they had. You wandered the hall slowly, heart thudding in your chest like it had a deadline.

Melissa's classroom door was cracked.

You hesitated outside of it, one hand on the frame, willing your voice to work. When it didn't, you knocked gently and peeked inside.

She was alone, red pen still in hand, grading spelling tests with the same focus she gave her football bets and life in general.

"Hey," you said softly.

Her head lifted immediately. That unreadable look in her eyes again. "Hey."

"Can I come in?"

"Door's open," she said, but her voice had softened in a way that made it feel like more than just an answer.

You stepped inside, let the door close gently behind you. She didn't stand, but she leaned back a little, arm resting along the edge of the desk, like she was trying not to look too interested.

You cleared your throat. "I, um... I turned Liberty down."

She blinked. "Yeah?"

You nodded, stepping a little closer. "And Addington. And the other one."

Her brow furrowed. "You're running out of options, sweetheart."

"I know." You took a breath. "Except one."

That made her go still.

You moved to the desk slowly, heart in your throat. "Abbott was never the plan. But the last few days... it's felt like home. I haven't felt that way in a long time. Not at school. Not anywhere."

Melissa set the pen down. Didn't speak.

"And I think part of that is Jacob and the kids and the chaos and Barbara's very gentle judgment."

That made her smile, small and flickering.

"But part of it," you continued, voice just a little more raw now, "is you."

You saw her take a breath. Her hands flexed lightly on the desk.

"I feel something when I'm near you," you said. "Like I've found something I didn't know I was missing. And I don't want to go back to not feeling that way. So if I'm staying—if I'm really doing this—then I need you to know that."

Silence.

You swallowed. "Melissa?"

She stood. Slowly. Crossed the room like she was approaching a fuse that might spark too early. But her eyes never left yours.

When she stopped in front of you, you weren't sure what to expect—she was hard to read at the best of times—but her hand reached up and gently brushed a piece of hair behind your ear.

"I knew," she said.

Your breath caught.

"I didn't want to," she added, a little quieter. "Because it felt like too much, too fast. Like maybe I'd scare you off."

You gave a wet laugh. "That's Jacob's job."

She smiled.

Then, more serious: "But I don't want to scare you. I don't want to push."

"You're not," you said. "I'm here. I want to be here."

Her hand lingered by your cheek. You leaned into it, just slightly, and her thumb brushed your skin like she couldn't believe she was allowed to.

She leaned in—just a few inches—and stopped.

"Can I—?"

You kissed her.

Soft. Sure. Like you were making a promise.

When you pulled away, she looked dazed in the best way. Her voice was rough when she finally spoke.

"Jesus Christ."

You smiled. "That a good 'Jesus Christ' or a bad one?"

She kissed you this time.

Yeah. Definitely a good one.

Ten minutes later, you were walking side-by-side down the hallway, Melissa's hand brushing yours but not quite holding it. You couldn't stop smiling.

"You know," you said, "technically Ava hasn't even offered me the job."

"She will," Melissa muttered.

"And if she doesn't?"

"I'll threaten her."

You laughed. "You think that'll work?"

Melissa gave you a look. "You ever been threatened by a Schemmenti? Works every time."

As you turned the corner toward Ava's office, you glanced sideways at her.

"Thank you," you said softly.

She didn't ask for what.

Just bumped your shoulder and said, "Don't thank me yet. You still gotta survive picture day, parent-teacher conferences, and at least one fire drill where a kid pulls it because he forgot his homework."

You grinned. "Sounds like home."

She looked at you then—really looked at you—and nodded.

"It is now."

[ohbo-ohno]

idk if any of you have peacock/have seen ads for their show "teacup" but i can't stop thinking of smth similar with ghost (entirely unedited)

like, you buy a house out in the middle of nowhere - maybe a cabin, just to get away from society a bit. and you say you won't stay for long, but then you get used to things, start enjoying the peace and quiet you get away from all other human life, and you just... stay.

and then one day you go outside, and there's a giant spray painted ring around your house - enough for you to walk a bit but not so much that you can reach your garden. and there's a man standing maybe fifteen feet past the line, wearing a mask that covers his face, but clearly just staring at you. he's massive, casts a shadow that crosses over the line, but almost unnaturally still.

he tells you that he won't cross the line, that everything past it is still yours and safe. but if you cross the line in any way, you're his. the fact that you won't last long without food from your garden isn't something that needs to be said, you're already taking stock of the food inside your pantry.

you'd gotten comfortable out here in the wilderness, with your garden producing everything you could want. you never got into canning - bought a book on it, but never even cracked the spine. it's so much work, and you were perfectly happy with going to the garden before dinner and throwing something together with what you could get.

but now you're stuck. you see the man outside your window sometimes, walking around and around and around the circle, never passing it. every room in your house has a window, and there are days where you feel like he's following you, every time you glance outside he's just there.

you don't see him at night. you have no idea where he goes - god knows if he ever sleeps, you're not sure if he's even human - but you can't see him in the dark. the light from your windows doesn't stretch to the line, and the moon isn't enough to make him visible. once the sun goes down, he's just gone.

that's what gives you the nerve to step outside one night, long after it's gotten dark. you're hardly breathing as you tip-toe towards the line, eyes trained on your poor neglected garden - it's been several days since he first arrived, and no one has tended to your poor food. you're not even sure what you'll be able to get, if he's really gone.

he seems to be, or at the very least you certainly can't see him when you stop right at the edge of the line and look around. your flashlight illuminates the edge of the forest as you scan the trees, the circle of light smaller than you'd like. there's nothing.

you stand there for several more minutes, just staring at the food only a few feet out of reach. there's plenty of food that you know has already gone to waste, but you're hoping, praying there's enough to fight off your hunger just a bit, just long enough that you can think past the ache in your stomach long enough to attempt a plan.

(you'd been unable to think the first 24 hours, a creature of panic and nothing more. by the time you'd calmed even a bit, you'd been so hungry you could hardly breathe, then gotten sucked back into your panic after one look at your barren pantry. why had you never bothered to save food?)

your first step over the line feels like a crime. you almost squeeze your eyes shut just to wait for something to happen, but you force yourself to keep your flashlight active, not letting your eyes settle as you scan the forest again and again.

each step feels like you're stepping on glass, heart in your throat. it's dead silent in a way you've come to know the forest never is. the only thing keeping you from darting back inside is the desperate, animal need to eat.

you fall to your knees at the edge of your garden, plucking as many cherry tomatoes from the vine as you can, shoveling them in your mouth without even checking for bugs. there's nothing here but you and then man in the forest.

they burst on your tongue, cold and juicy and tangy and delicious. you feel delirious, having gone more than three days without eating by this point. the tomatoes could be spoiling on the vine, dotted with rot, and you'd still savor them like they're nectar.

you drop your flashlight after the first mouthful, desperate to use two hands and grab as many of the fruits as possible. the light illuminate just a small section of the trees ahead of you, blades of grass casting high shadows.

you only notice how much you've lost focus when the flashlight flickers off next to you. you can't move for a moment, juice dripping down your chin, paralyzed at the thought that he's somehow snuck up on you, made it to your side and taken your only light.

but he's not by you, you're still alone. you can feel it acutely, some instinct at the back of your head saying predator near, hide but not screaming in the way it had on that first day, when you'd been closest to him.

still, you're on your feet in the next moment, fruit abandoned in the dirt as you sprint back to your cottage. your not far from the circle, just mere feet, but it feels like an insurmountable distance.

you can feel him, he's right there you know it. the forest is quiet, the only sound the crunch of grass beneath your feet and your heavy breaths, but you swear you can hear his voice echoing in your head. not an inch past that line, love. then you're mine.

it's not a surprise when you're tackled to the ground, not really. still, you scream, tomatoes already churning in your gut and bile gathering in your mouth. your nails claw desperately at the colored grass, so fucking close to your safe haven, your cage.

"got you," he hisses over your shoulder, so heavy over you that you can hardly get in a breath. you scream soundlessly, face contorted in tear as you break your nails in your desperate digging. "you're mine."

the lights from your cottage seem like hardly more than the flame at the end of a matchstick as you're dragged away, your strength nothing compared to his as you're taken further and further from the safe haven he'd allowed you. by the time you hit the tree line, you don't have the energy to even try to scream.

[holdyourhandinmine]

𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕣𝕪 𝕨𝕒𝕧𝕖𝕤 | shauna shipman

♫ 𝕟𝕠𝕨 𝕡𝕝𝕒𝕪𝕚𝕟𝕘: cherry waves • deftones

⍟ from the beginning of your relationship you've always known shauna never really loved you ⍟

toxic!shauna, gaslighting, shaunas in love with jackie but with you, you love shauna anyways, i love toxic bf shauna

▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀

it starts off small at first- hardly noticeable unless you're actively looking for it. and had it not been for tai- you probably wouldn't have figured it out until it was too late.

shauna never really was committed to you fully- she'd blow you off for jackie at any moment.

sure, you understand it, they've known each other for as long as they could speak- and jackie, jackie is impossible to be mad at- she's the living embodiment of a ray of sunshine.

and shauna looks at jackie like she hangs the stars, moon, sun- hell, she looks at her like she's created the goddam universe.

she looks at you like that sometimes too- but there's something in her eyes, something in the way she moves that have an underlying sense of hesitation. her hands don't linger on your skin like they do with jackie- she recoils from you like you burn her, her tones clipped sometimes when you two talk, it's as if she can't wait to get the conversation over.

yet you still really love her.

and deep down, deep in your bones- you know she only loves jackie.

you dont think jackie means it- means to intrude on your relationship. she's just too wrapped up in this little perfect bubble she's created to notice her actions cause any harm.

jackie seems to be entwined in your relationship- even when she's not there, it's like a ghost of her lingers- thick, suffocating.

you ask shauna about her day, she says what jackie and her did, you ask how she's feeling- she mentions jackie was sad; and like some sort of fucked up co-dependent, symbiotic relationship, shauna is now sad too.

it's always jackie, jackie, jackie.

you remember the first valentines day that rolls around after you first got together- she gifts you poppies; jackie's favourite. you hate poppies.

you accepted them with a tight-lipped smile and gift her a new book, one she's been talking about for weeks, she kisses you hard- hands grabbing your cheeks to pull you in.

you get butterflies in your stomach.

it's the first time she's really touched you like she meant it.

-

you aren't apart of the team- but you've always orbited the same space as them. even before you liked shauna.

it's how you met her really- growing up near nat and van meant you would always sit and watch them kick a ball around. they tried to rope you in, but you've always been more graceful with your brain than your feet.

then they join the yellowjackets in high school- they meet lottie and tai, and now you've become a permanent fifth wheel.

lottie throws you an invite to a team bonding night, and you hesitantly show up.

you see her for the first time then. you remember it vividly- jackie wasn't there, she'd been out of town for the whole week and shauna looked liked a kicked puppy.

you've always loved animals.

you manage to crack a smile on shauna's face that night- and when van and you, are making your way home, she mentions shauna hasn't really been happy since jackie left.

your chest swells with pride.

-

it all comes to a head one night- you're up in her bedroom. her hands are tangled in your hair and you're sat in her lap, feverish in your make-out. it's quiet, so quiet you almost think you've misheard, but the way she stops for a second to gauge your reaction is unmistakeable. a quiet, little moan.

"oh jackie."

you pull away, reeling back in hurt.

shauna looks at you annoyed- like you were the one to fuck everything up.

"what?"

she says- annoyance seeping through, she taps her fingers on the bed, willing you to reply.

you want to cry- want to rip your hair out and slap her across the face.

"what?! what do you mean what?! you just called me jackie!"

"no- i didn't- you're being dramatic."

her voice is low, you reply to her, voice shaking.

"no- i heard you."

"i don't think so- come on, we've talked about this. you need to stop being jealous of jackie- she's just my best friend."

"i am not jealous."

"well why do you sound it then? if we're not going to make out you can just leave you know-"

she gets up from the bed- walking over to you, she grabs you by the hips softly.

"but i really don't want you to- i love you."

her big, stupid, brown eyes melt your dignity away and you stay.

-

you're at a party, leant against some car with shauna- she's brooding next to you, her dark eyes staring down jackie whose dancing with jeff.

you try to talk to her, but it seems nothing is sinking in- only when jackie turns in his arms and dances against him, does she down the rest of her drink and grabs your arm- pulling you towards her car in a hurry.

you can barely keep up, tripping over your feet trying to match her pace.

shauna shipman is relentless.

she shoves you into the backseat- climbing in after you.

she kisses you- hot, heavy, needy.

"tell me you love me."

"i love you shauna."

-

youre okay with being in love with shauna, even if she's in love with jackie.

you're happy to play along, happy to swim after her when she drowns in her infatuation with jackie.

cause she's good a pretending sometimes- good at pretending to truely love you, and it makes your heart fuzzy, and your knees weak. pathetic really.