#i keep trying to clear them out but i keep getting more and more

[stylesispunk]

"I only see daylight"

Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: What is waiting for you after life ends? Joel woke up to a life he had spent missing this whole time. You are there, Sarah is there, and a baby too. w.c: 1,7k (tiny baby) warnings: mentions of blood, crying, and mentions of an afterlife. I don't know if you believe in that but I like to think about it.

a/n: I don't know if you could consider this a fix-it fic, but I hope you do because I love this little idea I had the other day. I know it's short, but I have requests to work in and more "Blind faith" chapters to work in. Happy reading. Please remember to reblog and comment. I appreciate them very much.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

“Joel…Can I ask you something?” Ellie asked, clearing her throat.

He kept his eyes on the road ahead of them but gave a small nod. “Shoot.”

“Did you… I mean, before all this. Did you ever… you know. Love someone? Like, for real?”

Joel’s grip on his backpack tightened. For a moment, he wasn’t walking on that road anymore. He was somewhere else. Back when he was younger, with his baby girl in his arms and a woman’s laugh in his ears.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, I did.”

Ellie looked over at him, surprised by the weight in his voice.

“Who was she?”

He hesitated, then let out a breath. “Her name was… well, she came into my life the day Sarah was born. Her mother… she didn’t stick around. But she did. God, she did. Never asked for anything. Just… showed up with a smile and a cup of hospital coffee. Held Sarah like she was her own. She was her mother and she was my wife.”

Joel smiled faintly, a ghost of a smile. “We were together for years. Raised Sarah, built a life in Austin. Didn’t even get around to getting’ married. World ended a month before that.”

Ellie was quiet, watching him. “What happened to her?”

Joel’s eyes clouded. “The outbreak happened.”

He didn’t say more. He didn’t have to.

He still couldn’t say out loud how you died on his arms two days after Sarah.

How the smell of fresh coffee that filled the kitchen at home became the smell of blood sticking on his hands while he tried to keep you alive.

The snow fell fiercely outside the lodge. Joel’s breath ragged and shallow.

He couldn’t take the pain anymore. He couldn’t survive another punch against his face. He was dying.

He could barely see Ellie, screaming some feet away from him. Pleading.

“Joel, please get up.” “Joel, please” she choked.

Oh, his baby girl. He wanted to swallow all the pain, but his broken bones and body could barely bear the pain.

One push, one try. But something sharp on his neck stole his lasts breaths away.

His vision blurred. The world dimmed. In those mere last moments, last seconds. He saw them.

Ellie crawling to him.

But he also saw you. Beautiful as ever, eyes wet, reaching for him.

And Sarah just as she was that night in Austin, her smile breaking his heart.

Joel tried to speak, but no words came.

A tear slipped from the corner of his eye.

Then, nothing.

All went black.

For a moment, or perhaps forever, there was nothing. No pain. No cold. No Ellie’s voice calling his name. Just silence.

The soft chirping of morning birds. The faint hum of a ceiling fan. And the distant smell of fresh coffee.

Joel’s eyes fluttered open.

His breathing was steady, his body didn’t hurt. No blood. No searing pain in his ribs. No snow or cracked lodge ceiling above him.

Instead, a familiar ceiling fan turned lazily overhead, and pale morning light streamed through the curtains of his room.

At home, in Austin.

He sat up abruptly, a cold sweat clinging to his skin.

The bed side next to him was made, your side, neatly tucked like you always did. A glass of water sat untouched on your nightstand. The clock on the wall read 7:14 AM. The same perfume he had never got to forget lingered on your pillow, soft and warm, and so goddamn real Joel felt his chest tighten.

His hand shot up to his face — searching for cuts, bruises, something. But there was nothing. His hair was damp with sweat, but his fingers came away clean.

He swallowed hard, heart thudding in his ears.

What the hell was this?

Joel swung his legs over the side of the bed, bare feet pressing against cool wooden floors. He could hear movement in the kitchen, the gentle clink of a spoon against a mug, the scrape of a chair.

His throat closed up.

It was you, your laugh echoing through the house.

Soft. Carefree. Real.

And for a moment, he was terrified to move, terrified that if he stood and crossed that room, it would disappear — like every other goddamn thing in his life had.

But the pull was too strong.

Joel pushed open the bedroom door.

The house was just as he remembered it. The old photographs lining the hallway. Sarah’s soccer trophies. The faded denim jacket slung over the back of a chair. Everything untouched by fire, or blood, or the passage of time.

And then, there you were.

Standing in the kitchen, back to him, pouring coffee into two mugs. One of them — his old favorite. The one with the chipped rim.

You turned as if you felt his eyes on you.

That same smile. That same light in your eyes.

“Morning, stranger,” you teased, unaware of the storm brewing in his chest.

Joel couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.

He crossed the room in three long strides and pulled you into him, arms wrapping around your waist so tight it made you laugh, the mug nearly slipping from your hand.

“Whoa! Easy, cowboy,” you chuckled against his shoulder. “Bad dream?”

His hand cradled the back of your head, burying his face in your hair, drinking in your scent, the warmth of your body.

“I… I don’t know,” he rasped, voice thick.

“Hey,” you whispered, pulling back just enough to look at him. “I’ve been right here, Joel. I’m not going anywhere.”

And when you kissed him , soft, steady, grounding, it felt like everything broken inside him finally came home.

He kept his forehead pressed to yours for a beat longer, eyes shut, breathing you in like a man starved. But then, something shifted. His hand, still resting against your waist, slid down — and froze.

A gentle curve. A fullness where there hadn’t been one before.

Joel’s brow furrowed, his eyes snapping open. He pulled back just enough to look down, and there it was.

Your belly, round and unmistakably swollen beneath the soft fabric of your, his worn t-shirt. His mouth parted, but no sound came out.

You followed his gaze, a smile tugging at your lips. “Hey,” you murmured, resting your hand over his. “Don’t look so spooked.”

Joel swallowed hard, eyes flicking from your face to your stomach, then back again. His heart thundered in his chest, a thousand questions fighting for room.

And then you said it, soft and calm, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Ellie is right inside here.”

Joel’s breath caught.

That name.

Ellie.

The word carved through him like a lightning strike. His mind, already fragile, started to crack along the seams. He stared at you, at the tender way your hand cradled your belly, at the glow in your eyes, like this had always been your life.

“Ellie?” he croaked, his voice barely a whisper.

You smiled, brushing a thumb along his jaw. “Yeah?” you nodded, looking a bit worry because of his state. “Remember doctor says she’s stubborn already.” You chuckled, your eyes shimmering with a mix of joy and mischief. “Wonder where she gets that from.”

Joel staggered back a half-step, running a trembling hand through his hair. The room spun. A wave of warmth and memory and heartbreak crashing into him all at once.

He remembered Ellie. How couldn’t he? He remembered snow and blood and a lodge floor.

But here, here she wasn’t a girl with a mouthful of trouble. She was…

His and yours.

For real.

A future that had never existed. A life stolen from him, given back in pieces.

Joel’s vision blurred. His knees buckled slightly, and you caught his arm.

“Joel,” you whispered, concern flashing across your face. “Hey — hey, it’s okay. Breathe, baby. You’re alright. We’re alright.”

He clung to you like a man drowning.

Joel clung to you like a man drowning, his face buried in the curve of your neck, your hand stroking the back of his head, steady and familiar. You felt his breath hitch, the tremble in his arms. Whatever nightmare had clawed at him, it was still lingering in his bones.

Then, he heard the footsteps.

Light, quick steps padding down the hallway. The soft creak of the floorboard outside the room.

“Dad?” a young voice called.

Joel stiffened. His head jerked up.

And there she was.

Sarah.

Alive. Whole.

Framed by the doorway in her faded hoodie and denim shorts, backpack slung over one shoulder, a little messy ponytail, like she always rushed through it in the mornings.

“Dad, Mom — it’s getting late for school,” she groaned, rolling her eyes like any other teenager. “I already saw uncle Tommy waiting out front, and if I have to listen to him sing along to the radio one more time, I swear I’ll jump outta the truck.”

Joel’s breath punched out of him like he’d been hit. His lips trembled.

“Baby girl…” he rasped.

Sarah blinked, confused. “You okay, Dad? You look kinda… weird.”

You smiled gently, your heart cracking a little at Joel’s expression, and stepped toward Sarah, brushing a hand down her arm. “Hey, sweetheart — give your dad a second, okay? He’s just… he had a rough night.”

Sarah sighed, the way only a 12-year-old could. “Ugh, bad dreams again? Should’ve told him not to eat chili dogs that late.”

Joel let out a strangled laugh, a sound halfway between a sob and a chuckle.

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to Sarah’s temple. “Uncle Tommy’s taking you today. Go grab your stuff, and I’ll be out in a sec.”

Sarah groaned but turned, heading back toward the hall. “Tell him I call dibs on the front seat!” she shouted over her shoulder.

The moment she disappeared around the corner, Joel collapsed back to your arms, his hand dragging down your skin.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered.

“You’re safe, Joel. You’re home.” You promised as you caressed his neck with your fingertips

His eyes, wet and wide, met yours. “Is this… is this real?” His voice cracked like it was too fragile to ask. “You. Sarah. Baby Ellie. Is this…?”

You leaned, pressing your forehead to his.

“It���s real,” you promised softly. “It’s ours.”

And for the first time in years, in decades, Joel Miller cried.

He didn’t know what he had done to deserve to see this light again.

But whoever had mercy on him. Gave him the chance to live a second life in daylight.

With you, Sarah, and a baby, Ellie.

[myrkq]

HI I LOVE YOUR WRITING!!!!! IF ITS POSSIBLE, CAN YOU PLEASE MAKE A MARK FIC WHERE HE GETS JEALOUS OF THE ATTENTION THE READER GIVES TO THE OTHER MSRK VARIANTS

"Jealousy Jealousy"

Pairing: Mark Grayson x Mark Grayson Variants x GN! Reader

Featuring: Sinister Mark, Mohawk Mark, Full Mask Mark, Shiesty Mark, Prisoner Mark, Viltrumite Mark, No Mask Mark

Synopsis: You find yourself caught between Mark's many very desperate variants.

The sky above the prison cracked and churned, smoke and screams threading through the thick, choking air. Around you, the ground was littered with rubble and fallen inmates, some groaning, some eerily still. You barely registered it anymore, too focused on dragging an injured guard to safety behind a broken wall.

Above, he was fighting.

Mark. Your Mark.

His fists flew in vicious arcs, trading blows with a wilder, meaner version of himself — one with a mohawk and a wicked, wolfish grin that made your stomach turn. Each punch sounded like a thunderclap, shockwaves blasting the debris outward. Mark slammed Mohawk Mark into the ground hard enough to crack the concrete, and for a second, everything seemed like it was under control. You exhaled, steadying yourself against the wall— And then a screaming rush of wind nearly knocked you off your feet. Before you could react, another Mark — this one maskless, his hair a little longer, his face desperate — barreled straight into you. You gasped as his arms wrapped around you in a crushing hug, lifting you clear off the ground

"Oh my god," he breathed against your ear, his voice trembling. "I finally found you. You're even more beautiful than I remembered. I thought I lost you... I thought—" He pulled back just enough to cradle your face in his hands, staring at you like you were some kind of miracle he barely dared to touch. You opened your mouth to speak — "Wait—" — but the words stuck in your throat.

The moment shattered like glass

.

From behind, Sinister Mark appeared like a black storm, his expression twisted into something feral. Without a word, he grabbed you by the waist, ripping you bodily out of Maskless Mark’s arms with a brutal yank. "Back off!" Sinister Mark snapped, holding you so tightly against him you could feel the shudder of restrained violence under his skin.

Maskless Mark stumbled forward, face contorting in fury. "You son of a—!" He lunged — but Sinister Mark backhanded him so hard Maskless Mark went skidding across the rubble. "I said," Sinister Mark growled, voice dripping with venom, "back off!"

You barely had time to process the shock when another figure crash-landed nearby — Full Mask Mark, his dark visor flashing as he immediately stepped between you and Sinister Mark. "Release them," Full Mask Mark ordered coldly. "They're safer with me."

Then — as if the gates of hell had opened — more figures started descending one after another. Shiesty Mark vaulted over a wall with a cocky grin, landing next to Full Mask Mark and immediately trying to tug you free. "Come on, baby — you know you wanna get outta here with me."

Another Mark crashed down — Prisoner Mark, still in his grey jumpsuit, bruised and bloodied but smirking as he wiped blood from his lip. "Tch. You're all pathetic. They want someone real. Someone like me."

And then Viltrumite Mark floated down gracefully, arms crossed, looking eerily composed as he assessed the scene. "Clearly," he said mildly, "they’re overwhelmed. I'll take custody of them."

It was like a bomb went off.

Suddenly every single Mark was grabbing at you, shoving each other, snarling, punching — they swarmed over you like feral animals fighting over a single toy, claws out, snarling and snapping. You were jostled from one to the other — Sinister Mark’s brutal grip, Full Mask Mark’s iron hold, Shiesty Mark’s arms sneaking around your waist — each yanking you back and forth like you were the only thing keeping them alive. You could barely even get a word in — your mouth kept opening, but all that came out were tiny choked sounds as hands grabbed and pulled and voices screamed over each other:

"Let go!"

"They're mine!"

"You’ll just get them hurt!"

"They don’t want you, they want me!"

"Enough — or I’ll kill you all right here."

The prison yard was falling apart — debris raining from the sky, concrete cracked like broken glass under Mark's boots. He drove his fist into Mohawk Mark’s gut, sending the variant crumpling with a grunt of pain. Another hit, another grunt — just like every other fight before it. Mark pulled back, ready to finish it —but something caught his eye. Across the battlefield — past the smoke, past the rubble —

you.

You were struggling, trapped between a mob of familiar faces — faces that wore his own features twisted in desperation. His blood went cold. You stumbled back as Sinister Mark yanked you toward him, one gloved hand firm around your wrist. Maskless Mark barreled into him a second later, prying you free and holding you like you were something fragile. Then Full Mask Mark ripped you from Maskless, dragging you close with tense, gloved fingers. Shiesty Mark laughed and twirled you around into his arms, only to be tackled by Prisoner Mark a heartbeat later.

They were fighting over you like feral animals.

Like he wasn't even there. Mark froze, breathing hard, a deep roar clawing its way up his throat. Then he launched into the sky, fists clenched, heart pounding so hard it hurt.

"I'm coming—!"

He blasted toward you, faster than a bullet—

—but halfway there, a blur of motion smashed into him. Viltrumite Mark. He grabbed Mark by the collar and yanked him sideways mid-flight, spinning him out of control. "Stay out of this!" Viltrumite barked, shoving him hard. Mark growled and threw a punch, knocking Viltrumite back — only for Mohawk Mark to slam into his back next, driving them both into a spiraling dive. Before he could recover, Full Mask Mark was there, throwing a fist at his face. Shiesty tackled him around the waist, laughing.

"Welcome to the party, loser!"

Mark twisted free with a furious snarl, throwing them off — but by the time he looked up again, you were even further away, trapped between four desperate variants clawing and dragging at you. He could see you — wide-eyed, overwhelmed — getting pulled one way by Maskless, then the other by Sinister, then another as Prisoner Mark ripped you free. Mark roared and blasted forward again, elbowing through the chaos, getting grabbed and yanked every direction. Hands — all his hands — shoved and clawed and punched. Each Mark screaming over the other:

"They're safer with me!"

"You can't protect them like I can!"

"They don't love you the way I do!"

Mark finally got a hand on you — pulling you close — only for Shiesty to tackle him low, sending both of you tumbling. He barely kept you in his grasp, spinning midair, his arms locking tight around you. "I got you—!" he gasped — only for Sinister to crash into him next, ripping you from his arms with brutal force.

It was a mess. A storm.

Everywhere he turned, another version of himself was grappling, shouting, grabbing at you like you were the last star left in the sky. Mark groaned, shoving Full Mask Mark off his back, ducking under Shiesty's swinging punch, grabbing you again and getting yanked right back into the chaos by Maskless and Prisoner Mark clawing at his arms. You flailed, trying to keep your footing, groaning as you got pulled back and forth like a living tug-of-war rope. Mark gritted his teeth, chest heaving, blood pounding in his ears. This wasn’t going to be a clean save. This wasn’t going to be fast. He tightened his grip on you, glaring at the sea of versions clawing for you with wild eyes.

And through gritted teeth, he muttered: "This is gonna be a long fight."

[realcube]

— GOONER! FANBOY! KENMA

tws & tags ;; headcanons into short fic. nsfw mdni smut. cybersex. sex work. objectification. vibrators + self pleasure. nipple play. squirting.

GOONER! FANBOY! KENMA who has been watching your content since before you had one hundred followers.

FANBOY! KENMA who, despite being a massive streamer himself, lurks silently in your chat and enjoys your cute commentary and novice gameplay without saying a word. he knows that if he invited you to one of his own streams, your viewer count would likely increase exponentially, but he can't quite pluck up the courage to ask you. (and a part of him enjoys keeping you as his precious little secret gem)

FANBOY! KENMA tunes in to every single one of your lives. he'll drop whatever it is that he's doing to hear that dulcet voice, and see you awkwardly prattle on and charm your small audience with your eagerness to please.

FANBOY! KENMA whose heart would skip a beat when you notice him among your small pool of regular viewers, "hi, kudzuken! uh, i hope i'm saying that right. thanks for joining." you'd say into the camera accompanied by the most endearing smile. he'd then promptly donate $10 to your live-stream as a thank you for the jerk material.

FANBOY! KENMA is repulsed when he looks at your chat to see it overrun by trolls, spammers and perverts due to your lack of a moderation team. a bunch of weirdos online sending inappropriate comments on your body and seemingly innocuous statements that somehow read as creepy. ('love ur smile, babygirl..' 'keep sitting just like that!!!') and kenma can't helped but be disgusted, and partially because he knows he's just as perverted as these other internet trolls. his stare is also often stuck to your tits in those low-cut tops, or the inviting glossiness of your cute lips. he could get lost in those sweet innocent eyes for hours, imagining giving you a tight hug and feeling those soft tits pressed against his chest — just the thought alone was enough to cause a tent in his pants. but at least he had the decency not to type out all those lewd fantasies and post them to a public domain. that had to count for something, right?

FANBOY! KENMA who is disappointed but not surprised when you quit your online gamer gig to pursue a different type of live-streaming. your views were never great and hardly improving, and any subscribers you did have made it exceedingly clear they were only watching for your pretty face or hot body. so kenma couldn't blame you for trying to capitalise on your strengths and explore a career path you may be more suited for — in fact, it was a smart business move.

FANBOY! KENMA who was distraught, but still not surprised, when your camgirl account took off immediately and you gained over ten thousand subs in less than a week of creation, and the numbers were only growing steadily from there. every time he checked and saw your subscriber count had gone up, a small piece of him died. he realised it was parasocial and fucked up to be so upset by you, a content creator, receiving the attention of others, but truthfully, he missed when you were just his little secret.

FANBOY! KENMA figures that even though you were popular now, at least you were doing something that was (shamefully) far more appealing to him. he wasn't able to sleep for days before your first scheduled livestream in your new niche. no matter how hard he tried or how many melotonin gummies he ate, he just couldn't. he was too excited. and rightfully so.

FANBOY! KENMA who almost passes out twenty mintues into the stream. he was, of course, one of the first people to join, and the five or so minutes where you just sat there fully clothed and idled while saying, "i'm just gonna wait for some more people to join before i start.." was about the longest five minutes of his entire life. but the pay-off was worth it. he was hard and stroking it before the show even began, and had his first orgasm when you took your bra off to reveal your pebbled nipples. (but he's proud he lasted that long because he was about to nut as soon as you took your top off). his second and third orgasm came when you started fingering yourself on your gaming chair. he feels blessed to be able to behold your sopping pussy that he's been dying to see for who-knows long. it was more gorgeous than he could've ever imagined. in fact, every single part of your delicious body exceeded his expectations — and trust, his expectations were not low. you were nothing short of a idol in his eyes; a beautiful, cock-riding idol.

FANBOY! KENMA who, regardless of how famous you were, will always be your number one fan. he blabbers to himself about how sexy you are as he cums, he watches all your videos and live-streams and donates crazy amounts of money just to see that vibrator stuffed in your snug pussy go that little bit faster.

FANBOY! KENMA who is an og and can always tell when you are fabricating or 'faking' your reactions. he can identify easily when your clit isn't actually as 'sensitive' as you make it out to be for the camera and he most definitely knows when you fake an orgasm. but he can't really blame you. you've been fingering that desperate little pussy for ages chasing your high but you can't quite reach it and your subs are getting restless, so you just need to cave and give them what they want to see. it's business, and kenma gets that. but he swears to himself that one day you won't need to rely on your weak fingers or some shitty dildo, because he'll make you finish so good and so hard around his own cock.

FANBOY! KENMA that will subscribe and pay for whatever vapid, cashgrab content you release. low-quality nudey pics taken in your bathroom mirror? sold for $20. a blurry photo of you dressed as a slutty bunny on halloween? sold for $40. an upskirt you took when you couldn't afford an uber home from a bar? sold for $60. pair of used panties? sold for $100. jar of your bathwater? sold for $400.

FANBOY! KENMA that will always request private shows with you. his income fluctuates depending on how well his stocks perform or the current trends that denote the viewship on his own gaming livesteams. but regardless, he will ensure to put a pretty penny aside so he can offer a deposit for a private show. during which, if you accept, he'll refuse to show his face. he doesn't want you to recognise him as a semi-famous gamer and put a face to his simp account. he won't give you his real name either but it's okay, he gets hard just hearing you coo his username.. ':)

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

"kudzuken.." you tilt your head as you read the familiar username, "did i say that right?" you giggle awkwardly, afraid you may have butchered the name of your private stream donator — who offered $500 just for this twenty minute show.

kudzuken: yes

he replies in chat, and you smile. "perfect." you murmur, pushing yourself away from your desk and hopping out of your chair so you could show off your whole outfit (or lack thereof) for the camera. "i'm a bunny! hmm— wait, what noise do rabbits make?" you do a little spin, and kenma, on the other side of screen somewhere, was sitting utterly stunned. your 'costume' consisted of a furry grey bikini top, some floppy bunny ears on your head and to complete the look, a cute little pompon rabbit tail. and kenma quickly noted that you weren't wearing any panties, so it was almost a mystery how this tail accessory stayed put over your perky ass.

"i decided to dress as one because you said in my comments once that you liked the pic of me in my bunny costume for halloween." you mused, clasping your hands together as you sat back down in your oversized gaming chair. "so, i thought you'd appreciate this."

kudzuken: i do

you actually read his comments and pay attention to them? was this real life or was he having some kind of hyper-realistic wet dream?

you looked like a fantasy, all cute and exposed for him on his monitor — and just for him. your pussy on full display for him. idly fondling your own tits and palming at your cunt lewdly as a performance dedicated to him. albeit, you do show it to other men as well, but not right now. currently, it was only the two of you, and he felt connected to your bare body on a sexual and interpersonal level. the way your eyes bore into his through the monitor and your glistening cunt basically screamed his name. but he craved more. hence, he stroked his free erection while typing out his messages with his other hand.

kudzuken: take the top off

you pout at message, still teasing him by pushing your boobs together as you purr, "you know the rules, silly~ it's an extra fifty for any clothing remo--." and within an instant of the words exiting your mouth, your donation chime went off.

kudzuken donated $100 with the message: get rid of the tail too

you smile appreciatively at the money, and hum, "thank you.. but i thought the tail was quite cute." you giggle, making a playful jab at his eagerness to rid you of your little pompom tail which you thought completed your costume. little did you know, kenma loved the tail too, but he was even more desperate to see how you kept it on.

as promised, you unclasp your bra and make a show out of the release of your tits: pinching your nipples and rubbing them for the camera. you'd even feign a couple of light moans just for him — although, kenma could always tell when you were acting, but he appreciated the effort.

next was the tail. turned over and with your chest pressed against the back of your chair, you spread your ass to reveal the plug that jammed nicely inside your puckered hole, attached to a small rod that held the fuzzy tail. kenma was in awe as he watched you fidget with the plug cautiously, stifling moans in response even the slightest movement.

kenma was in awe, his grasp on his cock subconciously tightening as he increased his pace. he bit his lip from admiration at how sensitive you were in that little hole of yours, and how shy you were too. he noted how you'd face away from the camera or hide your expressions with your spare whenever the stimulation from the toy would elicit any reaction from you.

kudzuken: don't be coy. pull harder.

you sighed. hesitantly wrapping your fingers around the fuzzy part of the tail and inhaling a deep breath, before harshly tugging on the plug. it wasn't quite like ripping off a plaster. no, you had to pull for a bit and feel your ass contort and stretch around the foreign metal as it tried to escape the confines of your restrictive walls. groaning the entire time, body going limp against your chair. "ahh— i didn't think.. ngh.. it would be so— hah— hard!"

eventually, after a concerningly laborious process, you manage to yank it out. leaving it a cute little temporary gape that kenma would pay anything to fill with his tongue. but alas, he's hundreds of miles away and the best he can do is fist his aching dick while you shallowly finger your hole for the camera.

"i've been filming since super early this morning, kudzuken." you sigh, his username feeling a bit strange to utter in casual conversation, but you roll with it away. your fingers slowly graze your exposed ass and pussy lips as you drone, " 'm so tired now. just wanna cum n' relax. think we can do that together?"

kudzuken: yeah

"yay." you hum lowly, lazily shifting so you are sat normally, except you then sling your legs over the arms of your gaming chair, so your entire soaked pussy is on display for him. you rub sloppy circles over your clit while glancing between your cunt and the camera. "my hands are soo tired though," you whine, relaxing your head back, "mind if i grab something to use?"

kudzuken: don't mind

you could shove a lava lamp up your pussy for all he cares, he just wants to watch you cum. perhaps a very selfish an hedonistic view, but his tip is in agony and he just needs to see you writhing in pleasure before he nuts. otherwise, it's physically impossible for him to climax; it's almost a curse.

during the time his eyes were screwed shut and he was begging his body for just an ounce of relief, you had rummaged in your draw and found both your juul and your favourite vibrator. one went straight into your pussy and the other went straight to your lips.

you put it on the medium setting, so the little pink thing wasn't exactly tearing up your insides, but it still brought you an immense amount of satisfaction. like scratching a severe itch that had been persistent all day. it finally felt like you were being taken care of and you could relax.

"mm, that feels so good.." you purr, eyes closed and enitrely absorbed in the moment. hand wandering down your bare body and spreading your folds so kenma could get a perfect view of your favourite toy stuffed into your tight cunt. he could even faintly hear the buzzing noise. "hmm, this is the best way to de-stress after a long day, huh?"

although a part of him wondered what you could possibly be 'de-stressing' from considering you were a camgirl and you probably did stuff like this all day, the majority of him was so deeply involved in the moment that he didn't even have the mental energy to concern himself with his pedantic worries. instead, he drifted off into a fantasy of his own, imagining those slender fingers pumping his cock were yours.

kudzuken: the best

despite the brevity of his messages, you don't take offence. in fact, it suggests you're doing a good job if he's left with only one hand to type with. so you continue, legs spread wide as you gaze longingly into your computer webcam. your fingers rub sloppy circles over your throbbing clit, but for the most part, the pink toy was doing the heavy-lifting and was the reason your face would scrunch with pleasure every so often.

"nghh, feel so good.. want more.." you whine into the emptiness of your room, your eyes drifting shut and allowing your mouth to freely babble whatever cries appeared in your lust-glazed mind. "wish it was something bigger.." you muse innocently, knowing exactly what you do to him.

kudzuken: me too

and the most shameful part is that kenma knows your being flippant and trying to appeal to his perverted desires, but he doesn't care. it just eggs him on further to imagine his cock in the place of that humble little toy — jammed right into your snug cunt, where he belongs. whatever it was: your pussy, your hands, your mouth, he just wanted to feel you somehow.

"mmph, it's so nice to finally let go.." you say as a breathy whisper, eyes entirely shut as the corners of your lips curl into a faint smile, "can you tell how much i've been needing this?"

his eyes twinkled as he watched your pretty hole suck on the head of the toy as it vibrates within you. your walls were twitching yet you looked stunningly relaxed, limbs all spread out across your chair, as your body practically melts into it. your mouth hung open just a little bit to show a tantilising peek of your tongue. what kenma wouldn't give to insert his cock in there too.

his fingers stiffened around his dick at the mere thought, and before long, he had undergone his first climax, making a mess of both his hand and his black sweatpants. but thanks to you, he's got plenty of practise at this and has built up the stamina to go for multiple rounds. it didn't take long of watching your pussy flutter around the vibrating toy and hearing your melodious moans before he was fully hard again, stroking his length.

"mm, i think.." you murmur, legs beginning to twitch and shudder slightly, as you feel the pool of liquid heat in the pit of your stomach begin to stir and bubble. what was supposed to be a relaxing and tranquil experience, was quickling boiling into something far more intense. "i think i'm getting close.."

kenma's eyes light up at the thought, and his hand instinctually speeds up. originally laid back against his chair, upon hearing your desperate mewls about an impending orgasm, he hastily leans forward, engrossed in the screen afore him. paying attention to every little detail: the way your spread legs shake, your pouty and lewd expression, your drenched pussy and the slick gathering by your enterance around the toy, and how it dripped down to ass and formed a small puddle on the seat of your chair.

strands of your hair would fall into your face and poke at the corners of your agape mouth, which you would then have to swiftly brush aside before returning your hands to rub frantic circles on your clit. "ah, ahh— 'm so so close, boutta finish. can i? can i cum? please—" you plea to the camera.

kudzuken: yes kudzuken: cum pretty girl

it's as though his fingers acted on reflex, effortlessly typing the response in less than a couple seconds, all while his other hand still vigorously pumped his cock.

"nngh, okay, thank you, sir.. i— fuck!" you squeal , feeling light-headed as your orgasm overcomes you much earlier than you anticipated. you toss your head back in pure bliss as your knees tremble and you rock your hips against nothing, searching for more stimulation from the stagnant toy. despite it going at the same pace that previously relaxed you, the vibrator now felt like it was ravaging your sensitive insides, and all you could do was lie there and take it while your cunt walls convulse in defence.

"ahh— shit, i think— oh my god.." you cry, a second heat erupting within you shortly after you reached your high, as demonstrated by the fury of fluid that all came gushing out of you, with such a violent force that your vibrating toy was pushed out. "fuck's sake! nghh, 'ts too much! i can't, i can't!"

kudzuken: please

you scream and writhe in your chair as this powerful climax overwhelms your poor tired body, and all kenma can do is sit and gaze up at his monitor in awe. he is so astounded that he forgets to keep rubbing himself but the sight of your perfect pussy squiriting all over your chair and desk was enough to make him cum as well, and he released his second load across his clothed thighs again.

a lot of his semen dripped right back down his own shaft but he didn't care; if anything, it helped and served as lubrication. anyway, he was far to immersed in watching you submit to a blinding euphoria to care about the disgusting mess he was making of himself.

once you were done and your pussy has squirted out every last drop of sparkling fluid, you were left breathless and absolutely soaking. your wide-eyes gaze darted across your wet chair to your damp computer screen. you weren't looking forward to cleaning it all up, but alas, you sigh and relax back into your chair, "that was— so good. thank you, kudzuken." you heave, cute tits rising and falling with each deep exhale, "nothing feels better than cumming after a rough day.. it's like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders, don't you think?"

you were seeing stars and babbling nonesense, but kenma was amused by it.

kudzuken: thank you too

you smile weakly at the chat reply, "anytime." you hum, slowly sitting up and crossing your arms over your chest, "erm, anyway, i should probably start cleaning up and head to bed. 'm so tired, it's been such a long day. but this was fun, we should do it again sometime."

kudzuken: yes

"well you know where to find me." you titter, reaching forward to your mouse and keyboard so you can end the private live-stream, "bye. have a nice night."

kudzuken: bye (y/n)

was the last thing he was able to type before he was disconnected from the chat. and that was certainly not the last time you spoke. it was an expensive habit, but he'd keep paying to watch you cum before bed almost every night for two months straight.

[godjustkys]

SYPNOSIS: teaching cas how to fuck, and of course, dean is the willing subject to be used!

CHARACTER: male reader x castiel x dean winchester

NOTE: this was originally gonna be another drabble (pt2) but i started writing and noticed how long it got, so full one shot. this is longer, as a thanks to 800 followers!! hell yeah!!

p.s. requests are always open!!

WC: 2.7k

WARNING: dom!reader,, switch!castiel,, sub!dean,, creampie,, unprotected sex,, spit as lube,, learning experience for cas,, double anal penetration,, praise,, pet names,, light shy!dean,,

castiel was watching every single move of yours with wide eyes, blown pupils and parted lips. the way you prepped dean seemed utterly filthy but he didn’t care. dean was whining for the first time in his life, an arm thrown over his eyes to try and keep his face hidden. he was naked on the bed, lying on his back.

once you approached castiel, he stiffened up visibly, trying to seem more composed as he closed his mouth and furrowed his eyebrows a bit. “remember what dean did?” castiel paused. “which part?” he said softly, voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. “when i told him we have no lube,” you cleared up. “..he..” castiel paused once more, the imagery flashing through his mind again. he’s sinning, he knows he is, but damn it if it doesn’t feel a weird type of good. “you wanna fuck him, right? you don’t wanna hurt him, i assume?” you asked castiel, your lips ghosting over the corner of his mouth. the angel’s breath hitched, almost tilting his head instinctively, ready to deepen the nonexistent kiss. “cas?” you cooed softly, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. castiel blinked dumbly, not even reciprocating the gesture. “uhm, yes. no.” he said breathlessly. “don’t want to.. hurt him.” his eyes flickered to dean, who was now propped up on his elbows, watching the two of you with a pouty face.

you noticed it, too. the look on dean’s face. “okay, he’s getting pouty. open your mouth.” you turned your attention back to castiel, bringing up a hand to his lips. his eyes flickered with a hint of uncertainty, but he listened nonetheless. castiel’s lips wrapped around your fingers as you pushed them into his mouth. his tongue, hesitant at first, laved over the digits, trying to mimick what dean had done. he only knew because you made dean do it with his mouth open so castiel could see. his saliva coated your fingers generously. his pretty blue eyes, wide and unsure, never left yours, so full of need that it made your stomach clench. “good boy,” you muttered, sliding your digits free with a soft pop, the wetness of them glistening under the dim light.

you reached down and freed castiel’s cock with your other hand, swiftly, your wet fingers wrapping around his length and giving a few slow pumps, slicking him up. castiel made a soft sound that obviously escaped him involuntarily, his hands getting clammy. eventually, you deemed him slick enough and you guided him to dean. “spread ‘em.” you told him as castiel watched intently. with a small grumble, dean complied, spreading his legs slightly. pushing the angel forward, you made him step between the hunter’s legs. dean shifted, his eyes locking onto castiel’s. “don’t look at me like that..” dean mumbled out, rubbing a hand over his face. “can’t believe i’m actually doing this..” you lined castiel’s cock up against dean’s entrance, feeling the angel shudder at the heat. this was actually a pleasant surprise; castiel’s cock was nice and thick. if only he knew how to use it..

“push in slow,” you instructed, lips brushing against the shell of castiel’s ear. “make him feel every inch of you.” the angel’s hands hesitantly landed just above dean’s hips, his large, gentle hands hot to the touch. “are— are you-” he started, but you cut him off. “c’mon. look at ‘im. he wants you, you can see it in his eyes. you can feel the lust.” you spoke, moving a hand to dean’s knee to push his legs wider apart. dean scrunched his face up, throwing an arm over his eyes once again. castiel obeyed your previous order with a stuttery sigh, inching forward slowly, the head of his cock breaching dean’s rim. he pussied out though, retracting his hips back, before he solemnly spoke up. “dean looks like—”

“cas. he’s not in pain.” you muttered against the side of his neck, subtly urging castiel. he decided to try again, his hands trailing down to dean’s thighs, touch light. dean almost instinctively bucked his hips up, the touch of the angel’s hands truly making him feel ecstatic. he pushed in again, this time to halfway. both of them were breathing heavily. castiel’s face was flushed while the tips of dean’s ears turned red. dean, of course, like the slut that he was, pressed his hips down in order to get castiel all the way in. you tutted disapprovingly at his actions. “don’t do that, sweetheart. let cas take his time.” you warned him, and in return, dean whimpered. the sound had a very obvious effect on castiel as he stilled. hearing dean make those sounds because of him made him twitch inside. “all the way in, cas. all the way in.” you coaxed him, pressing a hand to the angel’s lower back. castiel nodded once as you guided castiel’s hips, pressing forward, watching as his thick cock disappeared into dean’s body, slow and ruthless. inch by inch, his hole stretched obscenely around the angel, swallowing him down until castiel was fully sheathed, balls flush against dean’s ass. “good.” you muttered to castiel, your hand rubbing up and down his back in a soothing gesture. “stay deep,” you started, your lips ghosting the shell of castiel’s ear, making him shiver slightly; he didn’t know his vessel was ticklish.. “feel how tight he is around you? how he’s clenching? he loves being full like this.” you spoke, castiel’s eyes not once leaving dean’s pretty body. dean mewled, pushing back, clearly greedy.

“fuck him slow at first,” you ordered. “make him beg.”

you stayed close, hand on castiel’s lower back to steady him as the angel pulled back, slow and shaky, before thrusting forward again. dean groaned loudly, pressing a hand over his mouth, every slow roll of castiel’s hips earning little broken sounds out of him. you watched as castiel fucked into dean with steady building confidence — hips snapping just a tad bit harder, faster, small groans leaving the angel’s lips at the sensation. sweat slicked both of their bodies, dean’s cock untouched and leaking precum over his abdomen. “harder, cas. he can take it.” you said, enticing castiel. you moved to stand behind the angel, pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck. castiel obeyed your order with a small groan, pounding into dean with a quite brutal rhythm that made the bedframe rattle. such a fast learner.

————

castiel’s fingers were digging into dean’s thighs, his eyes wide. dean was propped up on his palms, on either side of the angel. dean felt wrecked already; he hasn’t slept with many men, and he never bottomed. now to take two cocks? yours and castiel’s? fuck. “look at cas, dean, he’s the one inside ya,” you taunted, rubbing your hands over his hips. dean was on all fours, castiel’s cock still buried deep inside dean’s hole. you lined yourself up, the anticipation making dean moan. castiel felt his heart flutter weirdly, lips parting at the noises dean keeps emitting. “are you alright?” castiel asked worriedly, moving his head to catch dean’s gaze. you smiled at the question, very very slowly pushing the tip of your cock in. dean gritted his teeth as he scrunched his face up, muttering a small curse word. “relax dean,” you murmured, leaning over him, your chest pressing to his back. “you’re doin’ real good, baby,” slowly and steadily you pushed in, the pressure immense, almost unbearable. dean sought some sort of way to ground himself, to bear the pain, so, he moved his hands to castiel’s shoulders, gripping tight. in a moment of vulnerability, dean pressed his forehead to castiel’s, panting heavily. “f—fuck, fuck fuck fuck..” he breathed out in a broken voice. castiel being castiel, moved both of his hands up and gently cradled dean’s face. ‘how cute.’ you thought.

“shhh..” you soothed dean, running a hand up his spine. “you’re doin’ so good, takin’ us both.” you continued softly. it was slow going, your cock sliding in alongside castiel’s, the stretch obscene. dean let out a whiny, broken sob, legs trembling. when you were finally fully inside dean, pressed so tightly against castiel you could feel his heartbeat through it, you let out a drawn out, low and guttural groan. castiel’s lips ghosted over dean’s, torn between wanting to kiss him and wanting to make sure he’s okay. eventually, castiel kissed dean roughly, the latter letting out a muffled moan against his mouth. dean was extremely tight, but it was only logical. to fit two cocks inside him was task enough. “move.. fuck, move.” dean gasped out against the angel’s mouth, rolling his hips albeit the action broken and stuttery. with a sigh, you comply, pulling back slowly, dragging your cock around dean’s tight, gummy walls, then thrust forward again, grinding castiel’s cock deeper into him at the same time. dean moaned out a half choked sound, shaking his head barely against castiel’s forehead. you set a rhythm with castiel, moving almost in sync — when you pulled out, he pushed in, and when you filled dean, castiel pulled back. it was relentless, overwhelming, every single thrust making dean feel like he was going to split apart and god, he loved it. castiel was making desperate, broken sounds too, right in dean’s ear, panting heavily.

dean clutched at castiel’s shoulders desperately, white-knuckled, his body caught between you and castiel — he felt used, stretched, filled so full that he could barely think. his cock dragged against castiel’s stomach with each painful thrust, leaking, twitching helplessly. “sonovabitch..” he sobbed against castiel’s skin. “you’re perfect, so perfect..” you praised, pressing opened mouth kisses against his shoulders, keeping the steady pace, savoring the filthy, obscene tightness of his hole. castiel’s cock kept twitching as he inhaled dean’s scent. he thought dean smelt so good that he moaned. castiel’s hands slid into dean’s hair, grasping lightly, his touch almost reverent. “you’re so beautiful.” he breathed out and dean let out the most pornographic moan he possibly could. he shoved his ass back, greedy for every thrust, for every wave of pleasure and pain that burned through him. dean was stuffed full, his walls stretching wide with every relentless drive of your hips. the heady squelch every time you would pull back was so lewd it turned you on even more.

“more, pretty?” you asked softly, hips grinding cruelly, deeper inside him. dean nodded, the action itself barely interpretable, body trembling violently. castiel’s thrusts were shorter, sharper. dean continued babbling pleas and nonsense, anything to keep both of you inside him. dean’s fingers were kneading castiel’s shoulders, continuously letting out slutty sounds. between the brutal pace and your filthy praise, dean was losing his goddamn mind. he came with a wrecked whimper, cock pulsing against castiel’s abdomen, hot ropes of cum painting the angel’s skin. in response, the one under dean moaned, hips stuttering. dean’s entire body clamped down, squeezing both of your cocks like a vice, and oh, the sensation dragged both you and castiel over the edge instantly. you cursed hoarsely, hips slamming forward as you came deep inside him, castiel doing the same with a loud, guttural whimper. dean shook from the force of his orgasm. he completely collapsed onto castiel, clinging to him.

the both of you slowly pulled out of dean and the hunter whined softly at the loss. cum leaked out of his hole and down his thighs. you rubbed the head of your cock against it, smearing the cum. the moment dean felt it, he grunted, nuzzling his face into castiel’s neck. with a grin on your face you took castiel’s cock, pumping him slowly and he immediately got hard again. castiel looked at you with a small frown, wondering what you were doing. “first lesson done,” you told the angel, sliding his cock back in dean again. “lesson’s two about takin’ it.” you said, settling yourself between castiel’s legs, pushing the tip against castiel’s rim. “not prepped, but,” you trailed off, looking at castiel as he gasped, feeling dean start moving on his own. “think you’ll do just fine..”

pushing your cock all the way in, albeit with slight resistance, castiel shifted, mouth open in another soundless gasp. the way you filled him, the way dean was leisurely riding his cock.. it felt so, so good. “c’mon, dean. you can do better than that.” you cooed, rubbing up and down against the side of dean’s thigh as you kept a steady rhythm, thrusting into castiel. dean sat up, propping himself by his palms, on castiel’s shoulders again. dean’s face was flushed, eyes glossy, sweat making his skin glisten, his hair stuck to his forehead. he had this dazed look on his face that made castiel clench and his cock twitch. “there ya go,” you muttered, pressing a kiss between dean’s shoulder blades. dean rolled his hips down harder this time, drawing a ragged groan out of castiel as he sank fully onto his cock. the stretch, the pressure of you steadily pounding into castiel, and now dean grinding down onto him — it was almost too much. castiel’s hands trembled where they gripped dean’s hips, fingertips digging into sweat-slick skin hard enough to leave bruises. “that’s it, baby,” you praised, your voice low and rough. “show him how much you want it.” dean whined under his breath, thighs trembling with effort. his pace picked up, messy and desperate, rolling and bouncing on castiel’s cock while you kept fucking into the angel with steady, brutal thrusts. each movement shoved castiel deeper into dean, the force jostling them both. castiel let his head fall back against the pillow, mouth open in a helpless moan, his hips jerking up to meet dean’s frantic rhythm. every time you slammed into him from behind, castiel’s cock speared up deeper into dean, making the hunter keen brokenly, tossing his head back. you slowed your thrusts just a little, savoring it — the way dean’s thighs shook with the obscure amount of effort to keep riding the angel, the wrecked little gasps he made every time castiel bottomed out inside him. “you look so pretty like this,” you murmured against dean’s sweaty back, dragging your tongue up to his earlobe. “fucked-out, desperate for it.”

dean whimpered, clenching helplessly around castiel’s cock, which in turn made castiel whine, nails biting into dean’s hips. dean’s body was trembling violently again, the pleasure almost unbearable, the steady rub of castiel’s cock against his sweet spot and your thick, relentless thrusts into castiel making him dizzy. “ca-can’t..” dean gasped, eyes squeezing shut. “gunna— gunna cum—” you wrapped a hand around his throat loosely, tugging him back against your chest, holding him upright as you fucked into Castiel — as castiel, trembling and panting, fucked up into him. “not yet,” you growled against the shell of his ear, tightening your grip just slightly. “not yet, dean.” dean whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut harder, biting his lip against the desperate pressure building in him. castiel whimpered too, overwhelmed, his body tensing underneath dean, his hands glowing just slightly. his grace. “dean—” castiel gasped, voice breaking. the hunter moaned loud, desperate, grinding down even harder, trying to chase it, needing it. you groaned low, feeling your own orgasm rising like a tide, your rhythm getting rougher, more erratic, hips slamming into castiel with a filthy, wet smack. “cum with me, cas,” you panted, nipping dean’s ear. “fill him up again. make him feel how much you want him.”

that was all it took.

castiel groaned loud, thrusting up deep and holding dean down on his cock as he came hard inside him. the heat of it, the twitch and pulse of castiel’s cock inside him, was too much for dean — he shattered apart with a broken sob, cock untouched, spilling across castiel’s chest as he came hard, muscles spasming. you fucked castiel through it, gritting your teeth as dean’s orgasm milked castiel’s cock; and the way castiel’s hole clenched around your cock dragged you under too, spilling deep inside the angel with a harsh groan. dean’s shaky arms gave out and he rested his forehead against castiel’s cheek, his body heaving with each breath he took. castiel laid boneless on the bed, trying to regulate his own breathing. you wrapped an arm around dean, pressing lazy, possessive kisses to his shoulder as your hand slid down to palm his hip.

“tired already?” you asked them both, eyes half lidded with lust. “we’re not finished yet,” you said with a small, breathy chuckle. “we’re just getting started.”

[neoheros]

there are very little things in this world that sakusa deems valuable enough to not risk – his game, his career, his reputation, his name.

he isn’t a gambler but he is an athlete and when you’re in his shoes, playing in the big leagues, thousands of people watching, looking, judging, there are a lot of risks you have to look out for.

he has to be quiet, polite, say the right thing, say it in the right tone, say it in the right time, otherwise, he risks his job and reputation.

he has to be focused, agile, ready for any change in the volleyball world the minute - the second - it happens, otherwise, he risks getting left behind, getting replaced by someone better, newer than him.

he has to be a lot of things and the risks of not being any of it puts him in a corner - cold and confining.

all of it, he hates with a passion, he hates with an effort. so he doesn’t take any risks at all. not when it comes to his game, his career, his reputation, his name.

but you – you are probably the riskiest person he has ever met.

i mean, you guys work together for god’s sake. it’s an HR crisis waiting to happen. it puts everything he’s worked hard for at risk — his game, his career, his reputation, his name.

but still.

you always know the right things to say to him, always know the right time he’s gonna be there or the right place to sit where he sees you so clearly even in the middle of the court.

everytime you talk to him, everytime you touch him, everytime you say his name or bring him coffee, everytime you watch him play or everytime he sees you outside of work — there is a feeling in his chest and he almost hates it.

“there’s a new ramen restaurant in miyagi that i’ve been wanting to try…” sakusa clears his throat, standing a few inches away from the lockers as everyone gets their shoes on.

it’s a little bit after 4pm, practice for the day had just ended, and well, meian always tells him he needed to socialize more with the rest of the group.

the locker room is stuffy and sweaty and to be honest, he’s never really been fond of the smell wafting in the air, so he always makes it a point to be the first one out the door after he’s done changing.

today though, he stays, hangs around everybody, and even if he hates it, he goes, “does anyone want to come with me tonight?”

hinata looks up at him from his shoes, “sorry omi, gotta take natsu to the dentist after practice, i dunno how long it’ll take us.”

he gives hinata a short nod — that’s fine.

“kaashi and i are seeing a movie around 7, but next time, man, i promise.” bokuto says, his hand on his neck, apologetic, almost.

another nod — that’s fine, too.

well, at least now, sakusa couldn’t say he didn’t try to socialize more. it’s the preferable outcome for him anyway, he’s better going off on it alone.

atsumu’s voice tears him away from his thoughts, loud and too cheerful for someone who just performed 4 diving laps, “i could go with ya, omi!”

and out of instinct, he replies “no, thank you.”

his blond teammate looks like he’s gonna say something after his response but you speak before he gets the chance to.

“well, i don’t mind coming, omi.” you say, and he blinks - how long have you been there?

there’s a knot in his stomach. “tonight?”

(he thinks, please say no, please say no, please say no.)

you nod at him, “it’s gonna be snowing so some ramen would be perfect.”

he nods at you - unable to say anything else, really - and he clears his throat, looking at atsumu, who he’s now just been really appreciative of for existing all of a sudden.

“then it will be you, me, and miya?” he asks, and he wants to keep his voice quiet now, untrusting of it.

(in the corner of his eye, he sees hinata step on atsumu’s foot and he goes “ow, whaddya do that for!” bokuto gives him a look, similar to the one hinata has, and atsumu catches on.)

sakusa gives the three of them a warning look, begging, actually begging, anyone who’d listen in that silly head of his for them not to do anything stupid.

“sorry man,” atsumu flashes him a grin, and he feels his knees go weak. “i forgot i had some plans tonight, i don’t think i’ll be able to go.”

lord, forgive sakusa kiyoomi for he’s gonna kill somebody.

he wants to say something, but before he could, you beat him to it.

“perfect.” you smile, “more for us then. right, omi?”

sakusa swallows the lump in his throat, and gives you a short nod, “yeah.”

you gather your things in your hand, “i’ll come over to your place, then?”

(words that make his knees feel even weaker.)

another nod. “yes, that’s fine.”

and he regains his composure, the worst of it over, but before you turn to leave, you flash him another one of your smiles, and he wishes you would just go so he can feel his pulse return to normal again.

“it’s a date.” you say, and you’re out the door.

sakusa’s face has a whisper of a light pinkishness to it and unable to think about it too much, he blames it on the open window letting the cold in.

the second the door closes, the locker room erupts in cheers, “way to go, omi!” “you’re going on a date!” and “it’s finally happening!”

there’s a knot in his stomach, and atsumu claps him on his back.

he rolls his eyes at the group, shaking his head as he whispers something along the lines of “whatever” or “its not a big deal.”

but his face feels hot and his pulse feels like its drumming against his skin, but, he can blame that on the cold too.

the sun goes down quicker than sakusa hoped it would, it’s 6:47pm now and you’ll be arriving in no later than 13 minutes.

he takes a good look at his apartment, ransacked and messy, the complete opposite of its usual state.

there’s a knock on his door and he feels his heart beat out of his chest at the sound.

he opens it with a fervor, “i asked you to come 30 minutes ago.”

“it’s a 30 minute walk.” behind the door is atsumu, sheepish smile on his face, hands shoved into his pockets as he pushes past the brunette and into the apartment.

“woah, this place is a mess.” atsumu says aloud, even him surprised at the disarray.

“i didn’t know what to wear.” sakusa admits, and he feels embarrassment course through his skin.

“i’ll say.” the blond replies, but he doesn’t tease. “you alright, omi?”

sakusa sighs – he really isn’t. his nerves are killing him and there’s an intense nervousness that pools in his belly. you make him nervous, did you know that?

“maybe i should cancel.” he says, and he looks at himself in the mirror again — coat, scarf, gloves, check, check, check.

“what? don’t do that.” atsumu shakes his head, “it’s five minutes ‘til 7.”

he’s probably right, sakusa thinks, you’re probably on your way by now, and even with the chilling weather outside, he feels way too hot for his own good.

he takes off his gloves to alleviate some of the warmth, placing it on his dresser as he paces.

“you’re an asshole, right?” sakusa says suddenly, “punch me in the face, take me to the ER, and i will reschedule whatever this night is to when i’m readier.”

(he doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready, to be honest.)

“even if i do really want to punch you in the face right now, that is so not gonna happen.”

“being your friend is useless to me.”

“yet, i’m the one you called over here.”

the doorbell rings and the both of them freeze in their places, sakusa looks over to the clock and how is it 7 already? and must you be on time for everything?

you’re already here and his place is a mess and atsumu freaking miya is standing in the middle of his apartment.

he says the first thing he can think of, “hide.”

atsumu looks at him, “what?”

he insists, “hide now.”

“are ya nuts? your apartment is a shoebox, where the hell am i hiding in here?” atsumu shakes his head, and he follows sakusa’s eyes in response as he tilts his body to look over to the bed.

“no fuckin way, nuh uh.” he backs away, “i am not hiding under there.”

the doorbell rings again and atsumu feels the nerves getting to him too.

“please. i’ll owe you.”

and atsumu wants to say no - really, he does - he’s not some teenager caught with his pants down and has to be stashed away under a bed, but sakusa looks at him in a way that makes him unrecognizable.

sakusa may not know it, but everyone can tell, every single one of them on the team knows, just how much this means to him.

(after all, the only people in msby black jackals who don’t know that sakusa likes you are sakusa and you.)

so he relents, and he gets on his knees near the bed before he scurries off under it. “you so owe me for this.”

sakusa feels embarassed – ashamed, really. he’s actually invested in this - in this date, and he wishes he was kidding, but he’s not, and he hates it.

he opens the door, and you’re there, and it’s always nice to see you outside of work.

“hi.” he says, and he doesn’t know what else to say.

“hi.” you say back, and for a second, it’s quiet.

another second passes, “can i come in?”

and he wants to kick himself, “yes. of course.”

“it’s freezing tonight.” you make polite small talk, “good thing i wore my coat.”

“it looks nice.” he nods, and he is grateful you don’t say anything about the mess of his apartment. it takes him another beat to realize what he said, and he feels embarrassed, although he doesn’t know why, so he follows up, “the coat.”

he wants to hit himself. he sounds like he’s just talking about the coat.

“you as well.” he says again. “not just the coat, i meant to say. you and the coat are nice looking. both of you.” he wants to stop talking – why is he still talking?

he looks at you, “where’d you - uh - buy it?”

great, now he sounds like he wants to take the fucking coat.

there’s a sound almost like snickering coming from under the bed but before you could look over to it sakusa clears his throat again.

“i’m ready to go,” he says suddenly, “are you?”

you haven’t been able to get a word in all night it seems, but it makes you smile - amused, and you nod, “yes.”

the night starts off okay, it’s quiet though, and he thinks, are dates supposed to be quiet?

“you okay there, omi?” you break the silence, and he wonders if you can tell what he’s been thinking.

“yeah.” a short reply, “just cold.”

you nod, “ah.”

in an effort to keep the conversation going, and the sudden realization that he may be the reason why it’s such a quiet evening, he looks to the side, and tells you, as the two of you walk the pavement to the train station:

“i forgot my gloves.”

there’s a pink hue on his ears, and he’s grateful you don’t tease him about it.

you stop walking for a moment, so he stops too.

he watches you as you work, taking the left glove on your hand off and he says nothing when you ask him to give you his left hand.

“here.” you slip on your left glove on his left hand, and it’s a snug fit, but it is warm.

then you say, “do you mind?”

and he doesn’t know what you’re talking about until you put your - now, ungloved - left hand to his -also, ungloved - right hand. fingers interlacing.

“this way, it’ll stay warm, don’t you think?”

he doesn’t trust his voice and he’s more grateful for the snow now as he finds it being his excuse for how red his ears are getting. he can only nod his head, keeping his nose tucked in under his scarf.

his lips tremble and he’s not so sure if it’s from the cold or from you.

sakusa doesn’t gamble. he doesn’t like the risks of it all. he always feels there’s always gonna be too much to lose rather than gaining anything beneficial for him.

so no – there are very little things in the world he cares enough about for him to risk anything for.

“better?” you say, and he tries harder to focus on your voice rather than your warm hand.

“yes.”

you smile and he thinks it’s really nice. “so, why was atsumu under your bed?”

his face feels hot now, his first instinct to deny that there ever was any man named atsumu under his bed, but he knows that look you’re giving him, and he knows it would be pointless to lie.

still, he doesn’t know what to say to you.

“omi?”

but then again, he never knows what to say to you.

“… i asked him to come help me get ready.”

you tilt your head, “get ready for?”

the silence becomes your answer and sakusa feels his face burn. it feels like embarrassment – but it also feels like something else.

“oh.”

and unexpectedly, you laugh, and when he hears it, for the first time all evening, his nerves finally cool on him, and he laughs too.

you bump your shoulders with his, playful, “if it helps to know, i was nervous too.”

“because of me?” he doesn’t really believe you, he doesn’t think anything can make someone like you nervous, but you, on the other hand, make him nervous all the time.

“well, you don’t really talk to me at work,” you shrug, your voice sounding teasing, “i didn’t think you liked me all that much, to be honest.”

“sorry.” he says in quiet laughter, and he can’t bring himself to look at you.

you look at him though, and he wishes that you wouldn’t. he can hear the smile in your voice still, “for what?”

“for this shitty date.”

that makes you laugh even more and he feels like it’s gonna make him fall over.

“well, we haven’t even gotten to the restaurant yet so jury’s still out on whether it’s shitty or not.” you squeeze his hand, teasing.

(and he rolls his eyes, nerves gone, and feeling much better now that he’s talking to you.)

you are probably the riskiest person he’s ever met. you put everything on the line.

by all things considered, he should stay far, far away from you — you jeopardize it all, you could take all he’s ever worked for away.

but everytime you talk to him, everytime you touch him, everytime you say his name or bring him coffee — there is a feeling in his stomach that envelops his entire body and the corner he’s been backed into doesn’t feel as cold or as confining.

you smile at him and he wants it all: he wants to wake up next to you, he wants to fall asleep and you’re the last person he sees, he wants to drive you to work and he wants you to come home with him after the day is over.

“besides,” you say, and the snow may be cold, but his face feels warm.

your voice is soft, “you can just keep taking me on them until we get it right.”

the risk is you could take everything he’s ever worked for, his game, his career, his reputation, his name. but you smile at him and your hand is warm against his and your laugh feels like it’s gonna make him fall over, and he thinks, okay — take it all, it’s already yours anyway.

[7ndipity]

Their Crush Likes Them Back

Ot7 x Reader

Summary: What would happen if the members were so deep in their belief that their crush is one-sided that they're oblivious to the fact that the feeling is very much mutual

Warnings: lil angst, suggestive, swearing, not proofread

A/N: Thanks to @coffeedepressionsoup for this request! This honestly was so fun to write, and really helped me beat back my writer's block. I hope y’all like it! Based on this post

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Jin:

He’s been so focused on trying to hide his feelings and just being a good friend to you, that he doesn’t realize that you’ve not only caught onto his feelings, but that you’re also very into him and are actively flirting with him😫

You keep trying to subtly tip him off, giving him extra compliments and calling him petnames that make his ears turn bright red, but he just keeps brushing it off as you’re just being a really sweet friend.

You even tried triggering his jealous streak in an attempt to get him to speak up, like “If they’re not good enough, then who is, hmmm!?” but it always just ends with him mumbling something you can’t understand and him driving you home in frustrated silence.

It’s after one of these such nights that you end up blurting out your own feelings, since he won’t do it! 

When you finally tell him how you feel, he just sits there for a solid minute completely dumbfounded before managing to speak. “...are you sure? Like you’re not just saying that to make me feel better?” “ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?!”

Honestly not that much changes after you’ve talked everything out and made things official, at least at first. He’s very gradual in his shift into ‘boyfriend mode’, starting with smaller but sweet gestures like bringing you flowers.

The one thing that changes immediately tho is he now holds your hand/arm/waist everywhere you go. Doesn’t matter what you’re doing, he has to be holding onto you. You’re the most valuable thing in the world to him, and now that he has you, there’s no way he’s letting you go.

Yoongi:

As good as Yoongi is at hiding his feelings, you're the complete opposite, showering him with compliments and praise at every opportunity, turning him into the shyest lil meow meow, but you can’t help it, he deserves to know how amazing he is

You know you’re one of the only people that he feels fully comfortable being vulnerable and open with, which is why it hurts so much when he pulls away or gives the silent treatment after fights or gets too into his own head. 

This leads to more than a few arguments between you where you all but spell out how you feel about him, but he somehow still manages to twist it around in his head to be platonic.

It becomes abundantly clear that anything short of straight up kissing him on the mouth is just gonna be met with ‘oh, they didn’t mean it like that.’ Like mf I said you were ideal husband material! Get your head out of your ass!

When you finally do get him to understand that you like him, he gets soo quiet(you know that lil confused look he does where his eyes just go everywhere? that) like Yoongi.exe has stopped working, please reboot.

Once he’s had time to process and y’all talk everything out, he becomes the softest and most dedicated boy. Liike, now that he can actually show his feelings, he’s a fucking SIMP, constantly surprising you with little gifts and gestures, and just always staring at you with the softest heart eyes.

Hobi:

Very much like Jin in that he’s soo focused on being a good friend and not making you uncomfortable that he somehow misses how you’re very much simping over the man. Like it’s not even subtle, you’re always looking at him with literal stars in your eyes.

He tends to mirror your energy/behavior to match your vibe tho, which becomes a bit problematic bc you end up acting a lot more ‘couple-y’ than either of you initially realize. Like, it’s totally normal for him to snuggle and kiss you on the cheek, pay no mind to the fact that he doesn’t do it with anyone else but you.

(Jungkook thinks it’s hilarious tbh and keeps finding ways to put you two in forced proximity situations in the hopes that y’all will finally get a fucking hint and confess already!)

He kinda realizes he’s pushing the boundaries of what’s ‘okay’ for just friends, but he can’t help but be selfish when it comes to you, wanting to be as close to you as possible, even if he thinks it will never go anywhere, not realizing that you’re doing the exact same thing.

When you finally talk to him one night about how you actually feel, he doesn’t even think and just tackles you, kissing you until you both forget how to breathe

Instantly the most devoted boyfriend in the world. Texts you constantly, brings you flowers for every date or snacks when you hangout at each other's places. He kisses you constantly, always mumbling about “making up for lost time” when you tease him about it.

Namjoon:

I totally see this happening to him tbh. Like as in tune as he can be sometimes, he’s kinda oblivious when it comes to your relationship, even if it’s obvious to everyone else in your friend group..

He never really questions why you always happen to be free when he wants to hangout, or the fact that you always answer his texts regardless of the time of day/night.

What he does see however is how much it hurts you when he tries to pull away when he starts to get too into his own head about everything, making his will crumble almost immediately and coming back to you soo apologetic.

He doesn’t understand why you’re always so forgiving and willing to stick beside him through everything, no matter how many times you tell him it’s because you love him

I see telling him how you actually feel going one or two ways: you sitting him down and talking everything out super calm and maturely. or-

You blurting it out in the heat of the moment during a fight, resulting in a brief stunned silence and then you getting pinned to the nearest surface and kissing each other till you can’t breathe and then dragging each other to the bedroom…

You don’t really address it anymore after that night, you’re just dating now and thats it. (Tho, you may have forgotten to notify the rest of your friend group and so they don’t realize you’re together until you kiss him goodbye in front of them and Hobi drops glass in shock, lol)

Jimin:

It would be almost funny how oblivious he is, if it weren’t soo fucking frustating.

Like usually he’s the one flirting up a storm, flustering and confusing people left and right, but with you he’s turned into a complete mess, trying(and failing) to hide how shy and blushy you make him with just the smallest gestures.

Which you would think would help the two of you to realize that you’re both into each other, but nope, you’re just dancing around the obvious and driving everyone else in your friend group insane(Tae and Yoongi have a bet on who will actually make the first move)

Like he notices some of the little cues that you’ve been dropping that you might be into him too, but he honestly just feels like he’s imagining things because that’s what he wants to happen

(tbh he thinks you’re trying to kill him with how close and touchy you get sometimes because he wants to kiss you soo fucking bad)

When you finally get the courage to tell him, it’s quiet and intimate, at one of your apartments in the middle of the night while you’re laying on the couch or bed together talking about whatever, and he goes so still and quiet for minute you think he fell asleep or something before he suddenly rolls on top of you, grinning like an idiot and wrapping you up in the tightest hug ever and kissing you breathless.

You two dating isn’t that much different than when you were just friends except you’re somehow EVEN MORE CLINGY with each other(who knew that was even possible?! lol) constantly touching or holding onto each other or stealing kisses when you think no one’s looking

Taehyung:

Honestly? He’s lowkey aware of your flirty behavior, but he keeps trying to brush it off as “they’re just being cute” because he doesn’t want to accidentally misread things and fuck things up between you by trying to make a move that’s not wanted.

Nevermind the fact that you are very openly making your interests known. Like there’s nothing to misread here my dude, everyone and their grandma can see that I am absolutely smitten with you.

Notices your more jealous/clingy moments, but doesn’t quite recognize them for what they are or the reason for them. All he knows is that you’re hanging onto his arm and giving him attention, which he soaks up like the happiest lil sponge. Who cares if you’re a little overprotective of him? He thinks it’s cute.

Similar to Hobi in that he worries sometimes that he’s overstepping what’s okay for just friends for his own benefit, even though multiple friends have pointed out that you were actively initiating those moments with him too, it’s not just a one-sided thing

He fully refuses to believe it tho until one night as he’s walking you home and you admit to him that you wished that he was your boyfriend. He turns into the smiliest bean ever at your confession, latching onto you like a giant koala bear and refusing to let go for the rest of the night as you talk and share how you’ve both really been feeling.

Instantly shifts into teddybear boyfriend mode, super cuddly and calling you every petname he can think of. He jokes that he’s just catching up on all the stuff that you missed out on before, but he’s lowkey always been like this with you, he’s just free to finally give into those impulses and kiss you anytime he wants😊

Jungkook:

God bless this boy, he’s soo fucking blind it’s absolutely infuriating

Like neither of you are exactly subtle about your feelings towards each other, but he somehow always manages to miss your hints or flirtations. Like you could be walking around wearing a neon sign that says “I’m in love with you” and he would just be like “oh cool necklace Y/n!”😑

He notices how you tend to stick close to him whenever the two of you hangout together, which he loves, but somehow he misses the gooey-eyed looks you keep giving him.

He also doesn’t realize that one of the only reasons you put up with his possessiveness is because you keep hoping that he’ll fess up and admit his feelings, but he never does, always backing off at the last moment because he’s terrified of fucking things up with you.

Meanwhile you’re practically beating your head against the wall because he’s driving you insane.

Man literally doesn’t catch on fully until you grab him by the face and kiss him one night after an argument, freezing in shock for half a minute before reciprocating very enthusiastically.(everyone immediately knows what happened the next day tho because you’re both fucking covered in hickeys like 👀)

Refuses to leave your side from that point on, he’s now your personal bodyguard/house husband/assistant/ etc. Anything you need, he’s on it immediately. Always finding little excuses to touch you until you point out that he doesn’t actually need a reason anymore, and then he’s just touching/kissing you every time you’re in arms reach

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @feminympho @classicalelephant @dfqcsqueen @mother2monsters @comingupwithacoolnameishard @bo0ghol @seleneacyoflove @k4ngelz @universal-travel-er

[27spoons]

okay so someone said "nat backshots" and i said "say less" now you get a blurb of nat taking readers strap

nsfw blurb / smut / gn!afab!reader / porn no plot / strap-on used, referred to as cock / some ass smacking / nat cries at some point / size-kink nat agenda / blame the horny asses in the server / it's me I'm the horny ass / not proofread we die like coach ben at nat's hand/ wc: 1569 (nice)

she's already on her hands and knees by the time you pull the harness tight around your hips, her breath hot and uneven where her forehead presses into the mattress. a flush creeps down her spine, bright red that sharply contrasts the pale skin—it makes your mouth water. makes you wanna leave your fingerprints along the bony protrusions, so that she remembers who made her like this.

"last chance, nat," you murmur, voice low as your knees press into the bed behind her, letting the head of the strap brush against the inside of her thigh.

nat can only grunt in response—although it sounds more like a desperate whine than anything else—and her hips tilt back in a silent invitation. you know her well enough to know she isn't going to beg. no, natalie scatorccio doesn't beg. at least, not until she's fucked stupid and barely holding onto reality.

you let her stew in it a while longer. let her squirm. let her feel the size of it, how much you're giving her. when you finally take the translucent blue cock into your hands, you can't help but grin. nat can't fight the whole body shiver that rakes her as you start to run the tip through her folds. she's wet, but you knew that already, didn't you? she's always wet for you.

"oh, nat. look at you. you don't even know what you've gotten yourself into, huh?" you let your spit fall from your mouth onto the toy, lathering it across the ridged surface. "you think you can take all of it?"

"oh my god," nat groans, trying to shift her hips to get you in, "asshole, i've been with dudes before. just... c'mon..."

you chuckle and nudge your knee between her thighs, forcing them wider. she's dripping already, clear slick painting her inner thighs, but you don't let yourself get distracted. not yet. you've got a point to prove.

"yeah? how many of them made you shake like this?"

you let the tip of your cock catch on her entrance—just the tip—and push barely inside, enough to make her walls flutter around nothing, enough to make her hips jerk back instinctively, desperate to pull you deeper.

you hold her still with a firm hand on her hip, fingers digging into the soft skin. "feel that, baby?" your voice drops into a cruel taunt as you roll your hips in slow, maddening circles, just enough to tease the first inch past her entrance. "not even halfway in yet."

nat groans—long, low, and frustrated—and tries to rock back again, only to be met with your grip tightening, a silent order to behave.

she looks good like this. helpless. squirming. needy.

"squeezing me so fucking tight already," you murmur, dragging the words out as you pull back a fraction, letting the ridged head catch on her entrance on the way out. "gonna split you open real nice, huh?"

nat makes a sound of helplessness, and you can feel her walls fluttering, trying to pull you in deeper. 

greedy.

you deliver a sharp slap to her ass for that, clicking your tongue. "i thought i made it clear that you're not to move? when did you decide you could?"

nat whimpers, fingers fisting in the comforter to keep from swatting at you, but she stays put. she doesn't push back again. she knows better. you both know that.

"thought you were supposed to be tough?" another inch. slow enough to be cruel. the stretch forces another broken noise out of her, muffled by the thick blanket. "c'mon, nat. take it. take it for me."

when she doesn't respond, you draw your hips back again, just enough to make her feel empty, then immediately push forward and bury yourself to the hilt.

the sound the leaves her is sinful.

it's one of those times where pleasure blurs with pain, a fire burning in her veins as her body attempts to accommodate the sudden, harsh intrusion. the stretch feels like something out of a horror film and like taking a shot of pure ecstasy, and she can't help the moan that rips itself from her throat when your hips start to wiggle.

"fuck," nat gasps, voice cracking as her face presses harder into the mattress. she's practically trembling under you, arms straining to keep her up, muscles in her thighs twitching from the effort.

you let her sit there for a moment. trembling. split wide open around you. letting her feel just how deep you are. letting it burn.

"mm, you feel that, baby?" you whisper against the shell of her ear, your chest pressing flush to her back. "you feel so fucking full, don't you? can't even move, can you?"

nat whines low in her throat. you smile harder.

you hook an arm around her waist and pull her up onto her knees properly, forcing her to arch for you, forcing her to feel every goddamn inch. she scrambles for purchase, a shaky hand reaching back to grip at your thigh, your hip, anything.

"'s too much…" she mumbles pathetically, but she doesn't make the effort to pull away. she doesn't tell you to stop. in fact, her cunt only flutters around you, greedy and overwhelmed and aching.

"nah," you murmur, brushing her hair to the side so you can kiss the back of her neck. "you're taking it. and you're doing so fucking good, nat. so good for me." 

and then you rock your hips, just once, just enough for her whole body to jolt forward on the bed, a broken moan punching out of her lungs. she can feel every ridge on the surface—the saliva you spit on, her own juices, everything. it's all too much and not enough at once. 

"jesus christ," nat hisses, squeezing her eyes shut like it would help. like it would make it easier to take you.

the grin that splits your face borders on feral as you start a slow, brutal rhythm. shallow thrusts that barely pull out before sinking right back to the hilt, giving her no time to think or even breathe.

no, she can't think when all she can feel is you. inside of her, stretching her out, wrecking her tight, fluttering cunt with each snap of your hips into hers. 

nat collapses down onto her forearms with a strangled whimper, thighs shaking violently from the effort of staying upright. her hair sticks to the sweat-slicked skin of her back, panting so hard you can hear every wet breath she fights to take.

good.

you want her fucking ruined.

you fish a hand in her hair, tugging her head back enough to make her arch even deeper. making her take you even deeper.

nat sobs at the angle, but once again makes no effort to pull away.

she doesn't want to.

"shhhh, i know, baby," you mock, low and cooing in her ear, digging your hips back slow and snapping forward hard enough to make the bedframe creak. "doing so good for me. so good."

she nods frantically, barely even aware she's doing it, like her brain's short-circuited into pure instinct. like all she's ever wanted to was to be good for you, to take your praise down her throat and choke on it.

you slam your hips forward again, and nat actually yelps, the sound immediately breaking into a desperate moan as she lets you take.

"such a good girl," you whisper, breath hot against her ear. "taking my cock like this. fucking hell, nat. you're perfect. my perfect girl." you emphasize every word with a snap of your hips, never stopping to cease your relentless pace.

you can practically feeling her tightening, spasming around the strap like she's right on the edge of something, and the thought of her coming just from this? just from the fullness, the stretch, the weight of you inside her? well. it makes you slam your hips harder into her.

"gonna make you fucking come like this," you pant, voice ragged with exertion. "gonna make you fucking break—!"

if you could see nat's face, you would see the tears spilling from her eyes as ragged moans rip from her throat with every thrust you greet her with. what you see is how her body tenses under yours, all her muscles locking up like she's trying to fight it, trying to be 'strong' and not give in.

"don't fight it," you breathe, sweat running down your face in small rivets, "c'mon, nat. be a good girl. be a good girl and come for me. come all over my cock. show me you want it."

the permission was all she needed, and the moan that leaves her sounds like a sigh of relief. she falls apart for you with a raw, broken cry, walls clamping down so hard around your pistoning shaft that it makes your head spin. her whole body trembles and spasms through it, wrecked and ruined and perfect.

you don't stop moving. no, you fuck her through it. slow and deep, grinding your hips into her until her sobs turn into wails from the overstimulation, until she's clawing at the sheets and practically begging you to move faster—but never stop. no, she doesn't want that.

"good girl," you whisper again, brushing her sweaty hair back from her face as she gasps for air. "so fucking good for me, nat. always so good."

[raevpng]

in between (pt. 1)

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

requested by this anon <3

masterlist

summary: paige and azzi spending their quarantine together, and maybe realising their true, hidden feelings along the way.

a/n: hey everyone! as usual, it’s late at night i know but i just couldn’t get this out my head! i plan on making this fic pretty long so i decided to make this a two part fic! i hope you guys like this and as usual, let me know what you think <3

—

it feels like a fever dream, really.

the way azzi’s eyes widened at the news of paige visiting all the way from minnesota, the way azzi ran to her outstretched arms with no hesitation, the floral scent of her shampoo lingering in her sweater even when they pull away, the way azzi’s parents’ eyes shone with a knowing glint.

the sheer fact that paige was really here, standing beside her after long months of distance.

it was 2020. the world was just shuttering into stillness, the streets suddenly quieter, the air heavier with uncertainty – covid had flipped everything upside down, and when the commencement of lockdowns were first announced, paige didn’t hesitate — she knew exactly where she wanted to be.

she remembers pleading with her parents, voice earnest and slightly desperate over dinner. she argued that she hadn’t seen azzi in so long, that being apart felt wrong in a way she couldn’t explain. paige remembers whining and her solemn promises to to use her own allowance and paycheck for the tickets as well as to always wear a mask and sanitize everything in sight. it took a while and definitely lots of begging, but amy had finally caved after several facetime calls with tim and katie, who promised to keep her safe and fed. paige still remembers the way azzi had let out the loudest cheer when she heard the news, so loud that even her parents laughed through the phone.

it was familiar.

now, standing in the doorway of azzi’s house with a duffel slung over her shoulder, paige felt that warm, grounding comfort settle into her chest.

azzi walked beside her, fingers threaded with hers like it was second nature. she carried one of paige’s bags with her free hand while her parents followed behind them, chatting quietly.

“okay honey,” katie smiled, stopping at the base of the stairs, “i’ll let you two settle in while i finish dinner. call us if you need anything, or if azzi refuses to let go like the clingy little koala she is.”

azzi pouted, clinging tighter to paige as katie ruffled her curls. paige just laughed and nodded in response, heart warm and chest tight in the best kind of way.

azzi’s grip on paige doesn’t waver as they wobble to azzi’s small but cozy space, paige trying to suppress the soft, fluttery feeling she always seems to get when azzi was close to her.

“azzi,” she laughed, nudging her lightly, “you gotta let me go so we can unpack y’know?” paige laughs softly, her heart warming at the soft sound azzi makes as she separates from her, as if it’s physically hurting her to put even an inch of distance between them.

she mourns the loss of warmth of soft skin immediately, but decides to laugh instead at the younger who was giving her a tour of her bedroom as if she hasn’t been here several times before.

“i cleared this drawer for you,” she said casually, zipping open one of paige’s bags, “so you don’t have to go digging through your old suitcase the whole time.”

“hey!” paige feigns offence, snatching the bag from azzi’s hands to do it herself, “first of all, rude. second…thanks az, you really didn’t need to. i’m already crashing here for a while, i wouldn’t wanna bother you more.” she finishes, her sincerity making azzi’s eyes soften.

azzi froze for a moment, lips parting like she was debating something. her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve.

“you’re never a bother, paige.”

the words were soft. honest. and when she looked up again, her eyes were steady yet vulnerable in a way paige didn’t see often.

“besides…” azzi bit her bottom lip, like she was still considering if she should say it at all.

fuck it.

“i’ve really missed you. i always do, and i really need you here — with me.”

the quiet sincerity in her voice left paige momentarily stunned.

they’ve always been close – endless of facetimes till the dead of night, friendship full of inside jokes and subtle jabs that held an affectionate undertone. but even then, their friendship always lived in that in-between space, filled with banter and shoulder bumps, with rare, almost accidental tenderness. they didn’t really say things like this. they didn’t need to.

but recently, they’ve just been… more. more affectionate in their words, more affectionate through actions, and feeling that soft, fluttering feeling pools in their stomach… more.

and paige didn’t know what to do with the soft fluttering in her chest, or the way azzi’s words echoed in her head louder than they should. they always just chalked it up to the distance and the closeness of their friendship, but it’s easy to pretend that the blush in their cheeks when they get too honest is because of the lighting in their facetimes.

but standing here, in azzi’s bedroom, with azzi looking at her like that? yeah. paige didn’t think jokes were gonna cut it this time.

and the worst part?

she didn’t want to.

–

they settled into azzi’s room slowly, almost like slipping into a favourite, worn out hoodie – comfortable, familiar, something that felt like home. paige’s shared playlist with azzi sounded softly through her speakers, just loud enough to make the girls hum along yet still soft to let a comfortable silence breathe between them. the late afternoon sky was darker now, streaks of pink and gold painting the sky just above azzi’s dresser where paige was folding her clothes in.

azzi was laying on her stomach, her eyes crinkled in silent laughter as paige folded her clothes messily. “you fold your shirts so weird.” azzi teased, head tilted.

paige gasped, feigning offense as she clutched her chest dramatically, “i do not!”

azzi let out a snort, burying her face in her covers to muffle her laughter. when she looks up though, the atmosphere shifts noticeably as she meets paige’s eyes – so soft, tender, with an unnamed yet loving feeling swimming in her deep blue eyes.

the moment lingered, quiet, yet so full at the same time.

“hey,” azzi broke the silence suddenly, her voice softer now, “do you remember the first time we talked? like really talked, in facetime and everything?’

paige raised an eyebrow, amusement filling her features, “you mean the time you accidentally you called me cause you were trying to add me on snap?”

“okay first of all,” azzi groaned, hiding her face in embarrassment, “that was a very understandable mistake. second, you’re welcome, cause if i didn’t you wouldn't be here in my room hogging up my space.”

“uh-huh.” paige grinned, setting down the last of her clothes in the dresser, turning fully to face azzi, “i remember you getting so flustered you hung up after like, two seconds. didn’t even say hi or bye or nothing.”

“yeah because you looked too pretty and i panicked.” the words left azzi’s lips before she could catch them.

it was quiet for a beat, the soft hum of the fan and whatever song was still playing filling the air.

paige blinked as her heart stuttered. “what?”

azzi’s eyes widened, realization hitting her like a wave. she sat up slowly, avoiding paige’s gaze but not looking away entirely. her cheeks flushed the softest shade of pink that god – paige thinks it’s just unfair how pretty she looks. “i just mean… well yeah, you did. you looked really pretty, and i wasn’t expecting to actually see you face-to-face yet, so i kinda just freaked out.”

paige’s heart was hammering now, not from surprise, but from the way azzi looked at her with brown eyes so earnest – like she wanted paige to know the truth for once instead of hiding it in a joke. paige wanted to say something, knowing the silence on her end was stretching too long for it to be comfortable. so she blurted out the raw truth in her head, “i thought you were pretty too. still do.”

azzi looked up then, brown eyes meeting blue.

for a moment, everything else faded – the soft music, the buzz of the fan, the faint sounds of katie calling for dinner downstairs, it was still. it was just them, breathing in the same air, looking at each other like they had more to say but didn’t know how to say it yet.

paige let out a shaky laugh, chest tight, needing to defuse the tension before her heart gave out. “god, we sound like we’re in a movie right now.”

azzi grinned, that shy dimple that paige adored with everything in her making an appearance. “a really slow one.”

“the slowest,” paige agreed, nudging azzi’s leg with her foot, earning a soft smile from the other.

azzi paused, hesitation clear in her body language, but with rare boldness within her seizing her, she reached out and brushed a loose strand of hair behind paige’s ear, fingers lingering a moment too long on her cheek.

“but maybe worth it,” she said softly.

paige swallowed hard, the space between them suddenly feeling a little too charged, too electric.

“maybe,” she whispered back.

from downstairs, katie’s voice rang out again, jolting them from the moment.

“girls! dinner’s ready!”

azzi stood first, offering her hand to paige. she took it without hesitation, her fingers curling into azzi’s like they belonged there.

and maybe they did.

maybe they always had.

–

the dining room glowed with a warm light, scattered conversations around the table while paige and azzi settled to their seats which are, of course, right beside each other. the spread on the table was mouthwatering, paige’s stomach grumbling at the heavenly sight of baked salmon with roasted vegetables on the side, fresh garden salad in the middle, and a plate of steaming dinner rolls fresh from the oven. it smelled like home, like comfort, like everything paige had yearned for all this time, even if she didn’t know what it was yet.

tim sat at the head of the table, already two bites into his dinner with a satisfied groan, while katie flitted between making sure everyone had enough water and playfully scolding her husband for not waiting.

paige laughed softly, watching the scene unfold with a fond smile. she’d always loved being in the fudd’s home, similar yet so different from hers. louder in some ways, and softer in others, yet the unmistakable familial feeling settled in her chest, fondness overwhelming her as she watched the banter between azzi’s siblings and the teasing looks between tim and katie.

and sitting here now, thigh brushing azzi’s under the table, she felt it even more.

as they start eating, katie starts handing out food, “paige, want some veggies?”

before paige could even open her mouth to protest politely, azzi beats her to it. “yes, she definitely does.”

paige raised an eyebrow quizzically, nudging her best friend softly with her elbow, “damn, speaking for me now huh?” she teases, making the other stick her tongue out before plopping a few greens and baby corns on her plate.

“i just know you, that’s all. you need to be forced or else you won’t have anything healthy in you.” azzi teased, a little smirk tugging at her lips.

tim raised an eyebrow at the girls’ interaction, eyes twinkling with mischief, “you two have been awfully close lately.”

katie joins him with a soft hum, a small smirk forming in her lips as a light blush makes its way to the girls’ cheeks.

“we’ve always been close,” azzi replies, trying her best to seem cool and collected, choosing to ignore the heat in her face and instead reaches for a roll, passing one to paige without even looking.

Paige, on the other hand, seemed to have given up on trying, mumbling a silent thanks before stuffing it in her mouth trying to diffuse the stubborn blush that won’t go away.

tim just hummed in agreement, skeptical but clearly not wanting to push, “it has been a while though paige, we missed you around here! one of us more than the others.”

azzi just groaned at the implication, but paige smiled warmly at the confession. “well, the feeling’s mutual.” paige whispered, feeling a little bold.

and if azzi’s parents gave each other a knowing smile, paige didn’t notice.

not with azzi letting out a ragged breath while she reaches under the table to link her fingers with hers.

–

“your parents are crazy observant, huh?”

azzi looks behind her shoulder as she settles the dirty dishes in the sink, looking over at paige who was collecting the glass cups. “what do you mean?”

paige licks her lips, trying to decide how to phrase the mess of thoughts she had in her head, “i mean, they were just totally watching us the entire time.” azzi just shrugged.

“maybe they like seeing me dote on you,” she said with a teasing tilt on her head.

paige hums, “very true, you have been extra doting tonight. you want something don’t you” she narrowed her eyes suspiciously, making azzi laugh loudly at paige’s accusation.

“i have no idea what you mean, p.” azzi grinned, stepping closer to the blonde, “i’m just tryna be a good friend.”

“mhm.” paige hums, a bold idea popping in her head. feeling braver, she slips her hands around azzi’s waist, whispering in her ear, “you sure you’re not trying to make me fall for you?”

azzi’s breath catches in her throat, her heart beating so damn loud she’s almost sure paige can hear it. her hands slide to the other’s chest in such an instinctive way azzi didn’t know what to think of it. she learned in slightly, “maybe, and what if i am?”

it was paige who froze now, every ounce of boldness in her body dissipating at the reciprocation of azzi’s actions.

were they…flirting?

before paige could process the younger’s words, she stepped away suddenly, a satisfied smirk replacing the shy one that was there literally just a few seconds ago, knocking paige’s breath away.

“better get these dishes done.” she said, walking to the sink like she didn’t just completely flip paige’s world upside down.

paige stood frozen for a second, stunned.

what is happening right now? what is this feeling right now?

then came the oh moment.

“oh fuck, i’m so screwed.”

[dailyevans26]

he sets the tone

pairing: Dr. Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch x F!Resident!Reader summary: Dr Michael Robinavitch has had better days at work, Dr Cassidy Miller is determined they make it through. word count: 1.8k a/n: i have not written fanfic in years so please be gentle. have loved noah wyle ever since i stumbled upon er based on my parents rec and ever since watching the panic attack episode knew i had to write something, edited with a glass of wine so you've been warned. i will not apologise for how purely indulgent this is, oc looking after robby during and post panic attack, established relationship, oc is early 30's, robby is late 40s in my world. might be a small follow up or other adventures with cassidy and robby if there is demand. please also enjoy the little er easter eggs

✩☽

“Dana, have you seen Robby?”

The charge nurse halted, her eyes still darting around the Pitt. The aftermath of the shooting continued to revolve. Patients were scattered across chairs and in beds, doctors, nurses and med students still trying to mop up the mess. Cassidy could smell the blood seeping from her scrubs, leaving a metallic taste in her mouth. Scrub change, however, was the least of her concern. 

“Honey, I was going to ask you the same thing.” Their joint look was one of panic. Robby's bad day had started the minute he walked into the Pitt. A breakdown this late in the day was inevitable, if that’s what had happened, but Cassidy knew people still needed help. They needed Robby. It wasn’t the time for their attending to go AWOL. “He took Jake to see Leah,” Dana began.

“You don’t think?” Cassidy interrupted, scanning around the family room for a sign. 

“Go I’ll cover.” Dana gripped her arm reassuringly, before turning away and barking updates. 

Cassidy wove her way through patients and doctors. Head to the ground, trying to avoid being called in on any urgent cases. She passed Abbot and Mohan, both working on patients, their techniques getting progressively unorthodox as supplies continued to run out. Cassidy overheard them call out to Dana, looking for Robby. She had to find him before anyone else realised he was missing. There was already enough panic in the air. 

The anniversary of Adamson’s death was hard on all that knew him. A mass casualty was just the cherry on top. She wasn’t even meant to be working, Robby didn’t want her there to worry him. He was always looking out for her. It had started the day she’d walked into the Pitt, a fresh faced student doctor, completely unaware of the job she was about to begin. Dr Robinavitch, Robby, to friends, had been her senior resident. He was her anchor in a storm, a calming and patient presence in a sea of unease. He believed in see one, do one, teach one. Never afraid to take a student under his wing and give advice not criticism. Under his and Adamson’s tutelage, Cassidy Miller thrived into the doctor she was today. Just as calm, and as patient, steadfast and always ready to help.

They had started as co-conspirators, inside jokes, talks in the stairwell, shared early morning breakfast or late night dinners. He was her friend. But over time they became a team, they were partners. Talking each other off the ledge. Taking whatever feelings they would let out, limited as they were, and helping each other carry the burden. Robby could read Cassidy’s like one would flick through a magazine. Her thoughts and feelings always as clear as day. Cassidy was just as perceptive to Robby’s moods, and had over the years managed to tease more out of him than anyone else. They only thing stopping the two of them: Robby was 15 years her senior. It was what had stopped him making the first move, any move. However, life was short, they both knew that, and they couldn’t keep running from the inevitable (the amount of money on them getting together was also getting out of hand). 

So, when Robby asked Cassidy to not work on the anniversary. She understood. What she still couldn’t determine was why he was determined to work today. It was never going to end well. So, Cassidy had made plans. A bottle of wine and the ingredients for a lovely late night dinner still awaiting use in the fridge at home. She was unsure if, after the day, she’d even have the strength to open the bottle, let alone cook the three course meal she’d planned in her head. She was meant to be at home, waiting to take the weight off Robby’s shoulders after his bad day, as she had done before. As his friend, now as his girlfriend. She wasn’t meant to be covered in blood, striding through the Pitt, heart racing. 

Cassidy knew Robby was taking today particularly hard, losing Leah hadn’t helped. She had watched, stitching up patients in chairs, as he had done everything in his capacity to save her. Watched as Robby did everything he could for Jake, but some days everything just wasn"t enough. She knew he would feel like a failure. No matter how many patients he saved today, none would make up for the ones he lost. He had told her, more than once over the years they had worked together, that doctors that kept their feelings were going to get sick every once in a while, that was just how it is. Sickness always found them in the end. 

The family room had been repurposed again. It was where they were keeping those who hadn"t made it, surrounded by the paintings of green fields and happy woodland creatures. For a room that was meant to bring calm, it only housed trauma for Robby and Cassidy knew it. The grass would have been greener in any other room in the hospital. Taking a breath and steadying herself, Cassidy pushed the door open slowly. She glanced around, assessing the scene, taking in Robby hunched on the floor. One armed wrapped around his knees, a hand covering his face. He was mumbling, self-soothing as he fought to have oxygen in his lungs, shaky breaths heaving from his ribcage.  

Robby was covered in blood. None of it was his, and she knew she looked the same. 

Cassidy lowered herself down, sitting next to him, while still giving enough room for him to breathe. A gentle hand placed on his forearm. 

“Robby, darling, I need you to look at me, you need to breathe.” He continued to mumble, his hand clasping the chain around his neck. 

“Micheal, you’re having a panic attack, c’mon darling, breathe with me.” She sucked in a dramatic breath of air. Robby’s hand found hers as she counted down, slowly exhaling. Cassidy repeated the breathing and the counting, as her breath slowed, so did his. 

“Good, keep breathing.”

“Yo-you need to get back out there, they need you,” He whispered. 

"Right now you need me more.”

“Cassie,” his voice broke. He buried his face into the crook of her neck. “I couldn't save her. I couldn"t save either of them.”

“I know darling, I know.” She ran her hand through his hair. “But you can't think about that now, your team needs you out there, I need you out there, to help us with those who are still waiting.” 

“I can't.” He removed himself from her embrace, finally looking at her. His tears were barely holding in the corner of his eyes. Robby's head shook, defeat washing over his face. 

“You can.” Cassidy stood, holding out her gloved hand, “Take my hand.” A pause. Grasping her outstretched palm and stood, lightly brushing her away. Cassidy took a step back. Her eyes scanning for any lasting damage, his breathing had returned to normal. 

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” She asked, her hand resting on his forearm. 

“I'm fine.” He replied shortly, shrugging off her hand. 

“You are not fine.” 

“What would you know?” He bit back. Trying to get a rise out of her, push her away. Cassidy never took the bait.

“Enough.” She stared, her eyes boring into him until the anger seeps away. Robby kept his eyes trained at the door, but his shoulders sagged, head hanging low as a hand found his way through his hair. “We’re going back to work, we’re going to see as many patients as it takes for this shift, this day, to be over and then we are going home, together.”

“I don’t think–” 

“No arguments, as the doctor assigned to your care.” Robby snorted, finally making eye contact and raising an eyebrow. “As the doctor assigned to your care,” she pressed on, “I am putting you under surveillance for 24 hours.” 

“You're going to watch me for 24 hours?”

“I might also watch some TV and some Chinese takeout, but yes, I’m not leaving you alone darling.” 

“I don’t thin– I can’t, I can’t talk about it.”

“I don’t need you to talk to me about any of it Robby, I understand implicitly, and because I understand I"m not going to force you, but I"m also not letting you go home alone, okay?” He nods his head, his hand finding hers again and giving it a squeeze. Cassidy replies with a small smile, standing on tiptoes to gently kiss his forehead. Robby hated all forms of PDA, but considering the circumstances, she was happy to risk it. “C’mon, it’s just another beautiful day to save some lives.” Sarcasm heavily coating her words, as she quoted the inaccurate medical drama. He laughed, eyes rolling. 

“I should have never let you watch Greys Anatomy.” Cassidy lets out a short laugh, walking to the door, glancing over her shoulder. 

“Don't need to now I have a real McDreamy.” Red tints his cheeks, and ears, as the smile on her face grows. 

“Hey,” Robby said, grasping her hand and pulling her towards him, “I love you.” Cassidy wraps her arms around his neck, as his snake around her waist. The hug is brief but full of everything that won’t be said until their day has ended. 

“I know, I love you too.”

The moment the two of them exit the family room, Robby is pulled into another case. Cassidy takes a steadying breath before also returning to the throng, looking for her next case. 

“Hey, Cass, Robby alright?” Abbot asked, pulling her to the side, searching her face intently. His military training had kicked in the second patients started rolling up. Everyone needed to be on their A-game, there was no room for mistakes. They couldn’t have a weak link. 

“I talked to him, he’ll be just fine when this day is over, I think we all will be.” He grinned slightly. 

“Amen to that sister.” He put his hand up for a high-five and her palm collides into his. Jack holds her hand for a second, squeezing with reassurance. Her and him were a team, they would get Robby through this day, together. His hand drops at the sound of yelling. 

“Jesus Gloria!” Robby exclaimed, "The police are still looking, why don’t you go back to your managerial high tower and let the rest of us get back to work." Jack and Cassidy make instant eye contact as Robby storms off. 

“You talked to him huh?” Abbot teased, as you both drop what you’re doing to run to Robby. 

“I did the best I could.”

“Dr Miller, we need help over here!” 

“Go," Jack murmurs, giving her a shove in the right direction, “We’ve got Robby now.” Cassidy let herself be pulled back into the chaos of the Pitt, now wasn’t time to be worrying about Robby, he would be okay. When their shift ended, she would make sure of it. 

✩☽

[lottiesdolly]

anything for you

♡ shauna shipman x reader

The snow never really melts out here. Not even when the sun dares to peek through the trees and paint fake warmth across your face. The cold's permanent now, settled down into your bones. Just like Shauna has.

She wasn’t always like this, you would have remembered. Mean, colder than the air, and dangerous in ways that weren’t obvious until they were. You used to know her laughter. Her secrets whispered in the dark under shared blankets, limbs tangled, her pinky brushing yours when she thought no one was watching.

Now? She's watching everyone.

Except you, she watches you differently.

“You’re not going anywhere with them.” Her voice cuts through the clearing.

You blink, confused. “I was just going to help Natalie—”

“No,” she snaps, stepping closer. “Let Natalie help herself. You stay with me.”

You catch the flicker in her eyes. It’s not jealousy. It’s possession. Like she’s already imagining you walking away from her, and it kills her. Like it can’t happen. Not again. Not after Jackie.

“Shauna…” you murmur. “You don’t need to—”

“I do,” she interrupts, almost too quickly. “Don’t make me explain it. Just listen to me, okay?”

Later, you feel her watching you by the fire, her gaze heavy, even while she sharpens the blade of that old hunting knife. Her fingers are steady. Too steady.

She still touches you the same way when no one’s looking, slow, almost reverent. But there’s a new edge now. When she kisses you, it’s like she’s trying to brand you. Like she needs to prove you’re still hers.

“You’re the only thing out here that’s real,” she says one night, curled around you in the dark, voice thick with emotion she never shows anyone else. “If they try to take you from me... I won’t let them.”

And you believe her.

Shauna doesn’t sleep much anymore.

She just stares, at the ceiling of the cabin, the fire, the shadows between the trees. At you. Sometimes you wake up to her face inches from yours, eyes wide open, hair hanging loose and feral, like something pulled from a nightmare.

“I just like to watch you,” she says once, voice soft, like that makes it okay. Like it's sweet.

One morning, you try to step outside without her. Just for water. Just for air.

When she finds you, barely ten steps from the cabin, her voice is eerily calm.

“Are you bored of me?” she asks, as if she’s asking your favorite color.

“What? No, I—”

“You don’t need to lie.”

She steps closer. There’s blood on her sleeves, old and dry. You're not sure if it’s hers. You're not sure if you want to ask.

“You’ve been quiet lately. Looking at people too long. Laughing at stupid things Mari says,” she lists, tilting her head. “Makes me wonder if you’ve forgotten who keeps you safe.”

You try to explain, reassure, but she cuts you off with a kiss that feels more like a claim than comfort. Her fingers dig into your waist like she’s afraid you’ll vanish, dissolve into mist and snow.

“You don’t get to leave me,” she says, forehead pressed to yours, eyes too wide. “Not now. Not when I’ve already killed for you.”

You freeze.

She smiles.

“I’d do it again.”

[zepskies]

IF I STAY - Epilogue

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized!Reader

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

AN: By popular demand, I wanted to come back to these two for a hot minute, clear up some loose ends, and answer some questions Part 2 might have left behind for you. 😘

Song Inspo: “I Can’t Help Falling in Love” and “It’s Now or Never” by Elvis

Word Count: 6.4K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Major fluff, some spice, angst, hurt/comfort, family feels

❤️‍🔥 If I Stay Masterlist

Epilogue: Soul Surrender

The low familiarity of Arrested Development playing on the TV is the only sound filling your bedroom…other than your giggles. They come out in short bursts even though your body doesn’t stop shaking, twisting away from nimble fingers.

“Dean,” you plead. Your cheeks hurt from laughing but no matter how you try to escape, he follows you. His broad frame and strong arms curl around your waist from behind. His face buries into your neck, and you feel the shape of his smirk there while his fingers slip higher under your shirt and map a constellation across your ribs.

Well, it’s actually his shirt, the white buttoned-down hanging loosely from your frame. It barely covers your ass, and he likes it that way. All the better to tease you with a playful smack of a nice round cheek when the fabric rides up.

Your squeal morphs into more peals of laughter. Involuntary tears well up in your eyes, and one slides down into the pillow underneath your cheek.

“Baby, please—can’t fucking breathe,” you manage to say, panting and wheezing all squeaky-voice.

Finally, his long fingers fall still against your skin. His head perks up, and his smirk softens into a grin.

“Baby?” Dean repeats, quirking a brow at you.

You pause. While you catch your breath, your gaze lowers in an uncertain shade. You shift onto your back, where Dean is only better able to loom above you. Staring up at his handsome face like this still feels a little unreal. Just a couple of hours ago, you were a crying mess in this very bed.

Then there was a knock on your door. When you found Dean standing there looking stressed and desperate, you just couldn’t turn him away; nor could you deny what your heart had been trying to tell you for far too long.

“Uh, sorry, it just came out,” you say with a chuckle.

Before you can ask if it’s too soon for cute pet names, Dean leans down to capture you in a kiss. It’s slow and thorough, sparking a tendril of heat down your spine as his hand slides along your neck, framing your jaw. He thumbs at your chin after he pulls away.

“I like it,” he says. His eyes hold a cheeky gleam.

Your smile gradually reaches beaming proportions. He moves his hand down to your waist, and you squirm a little. You’re still sensitive from how much he teased you before. You grab his hand and bring it back up to your cheek instead.

“You’re more ticklish than Robbie,” Dean remarks. His smirk is back.

“He probably gets it from me,” you confess. Though your hands do some wandering of their own, slipping under the man’s arms and prodding a tuneless sonata along his sides. “But I’m thinking you’re just as bad, tough guy.”

Just as you suspected, Dean flinches and laughs on reflex. “H-Hey! Foul move!”

His deep voice runs higher, full of censure, but it just makes you grin harder. Seeing this big man crumple like a wad of wet paper has you mounting a full-scale attack of revenge. You manage to get Dean twisting over and onto his back, where you take full advantage of his weakness and straddle his lap.

He grabs you by the wrists and pins them together while he pants for breath. You grin down at him victoriously. He chuckles just at that look on your face.

“Think you’ve caught me, huh?” he says.

“I hope so,” you reply.

You soften at your own admission. Dean does too, releasing your wrists so he can get a comfortable hold of your thighs wrapped snug around his hips. You dip down to kiss him just as nice and slow as he treated you, sweet even.

You soon find yourself tumbled down to the bed, rolling to his left side. You huff a laugh at his manhandling, but you let him hold you close and savor the feeling of being here with him. It all happened. It’s still happening. He’s yours.

But…

“What do you think Robbie’s gonna say when we tell him?” Dean asks.

You pull back far enough to see his face, and you stroke his cheek. It’s a little prickly with stubble, but you don’t mind. Actually, the rasp of it against your fingers reminds you of other places it had tingled against your sensitive skin. Your cheeks begin to warm up.

You try to break out of those thoughts, concentrating on answering his question.

“Aw, he’s gonna be happy,” you say. The kid had already been asking the hard questions.

Why aren’t you and Daddy married? Why can’t we all live together? Is Benny gonna move in with us instead?

You do sigh though. “We have to think about how we’re going to tell him. Benny’s been in his life since he was born.”

Dean breathes deeply through his nose, and he nods. He brushes your cheek with the back of his hand, a touch that returns the softer smile to your face.

“Dean, we need to do better,” you say. “From now on, we need to be honest with each other, or we’re not going to get through what comes next. We’re going to keep hurting the people we love, including each other.”

After a beat, he nods solemnly in agreement.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“So,” you grasp his hand in both of yours. You draw enough courage to ask the question that’s been burning in your mind, ever since the haze of fraught emotions, lust, love, and passion began to ebb from the forefront of your mind, calming into a resting state of happiness and content. You stare up into Dean’s eyes.

“You said that you’ve loved me for a long time,” you say. “If that’s true, why were you with Lisa so long? Why didn’t you ever talk to me about this sooner?”

Dean hums low in contemplation, almost a rumble. He squeezes your hand, and he sighs.

“Aw, sweetheart. I was so fuckin’ stupid,” he chuckles half-heartedly. Your lips twitch.

“I was, what, twenty-six when we met?” he says. “You were even younger.”

“Twenty-two,” you supply knowingly. You and Sam had just graduated from college with Eileen and a couple of your friends. Sam had been about to start law school, with you starting at your first elementary school as a first-grade teacher.

“Yeah. In my case, young and dumb,” Dean says, with a shake of his head. He pauses in contemplation. Finally, he finds the courage to meet your eyes.

“All right, here it is,” he says. “After I thought you turned me down the first time, I met Lisa. Sam had mentioned some things that started to turn my head around on how I was living, all the hookups, the boozing, that kind of thing. I knew I’d screwed up with you, not calling you after we had our thing. So, I wanted to see if I could try something steady with someone, you know?”

He takes in a deep breath. “But after you told me you were pregnant, it all just fucking hit me, the way I’d totally changed your life, and mine. I was reckless. It made me want to grow the fuck up, I guess.”

You begin to rub his arm in comfort. “I was there too, you know. It wasn’t all on you.”

He smiles at you a little. You know he sees your point, even if he still feels responsible for knocking you up.

“The more I tried to make it work with Lisa, the harder it was.” He chuckles humorlessly. “Well, that part you know. Looking back, it was probably because I still wanted you. But every time Lisa and I broke up for some stupid shit, I felt like more of a fuckup. And every time I thought of you and me, and what that could be like, I uh…I guess I was afraid of being turned down again. Or worse, afraid of fucking up your life even more.”

Your frown trembles, with the sting of fresh tears in your eyes. Dean gives you a rueful smile.

“Vicious cycle, huh?” he says. “When you got with Benny, I thought I lost my chance for sure. So I guess I just…gave up. Settled for where I was.”

Another sigh falls from your lips, along with a couple of tears that bubble over and slip down your cheeks. You sit up in bed and take Dean’s face into your hands, a gentle hold, but a meaningful one.

“Well, first of all, I want you to understand something right now. I’ve said it before, and I’m going to say it one more time so you don’t forget it.” You look deep into his eyes. “You didn’t screw up my life. I’ve never looked at it that way, and I never will. Our son is best thing that could’ve happened to me, and I’m thinking to you too.”

After a moment, he nods. “Yeah.”

You nod as well. Glad to have that settled, you let go of his face so you can wipe the tear from your cheek.

“The last few years haven’t been perfect for me either,” you say. “But I love you, Dean. I want this to be the real deal, more than anything.”

Dean grabs your hand and gives it a squeeze. He’s tempted to drag you down for a heated kiss and a hell of a lot more—maybe a nice sequel for what you guys did on the couch, and two more times in your bed an hour ago. However, something you said strikes a small bell in his mind.

“You mean to tell me it wasn’t all Brady Bunch with Mr. Rogers?” Dean says, only half joking.

You give him a censuring look. “Hey, Benny doesn’t deserve that. He doesn’t deserve…any of this.”

Dean sobers. He knows you’re right, even if he has to stamp out a stab of jealousy. He feels sorry for his friend too…even if part of him selfishly can’t feel that sorry about getting to be with you.

But you rub at your forehead, a fresh load of guilt dumping over your shoulders. You know you’ll have to talk to Benny too. As incredibly happy as you are right now, you still feel horrible for how this all shook out. You never meant to hurt him or lead him on. From the beginning, you had really appreciated his help so much after Robbie was born.

“In so many ways, he was the kind of man I wanted. Kind, reliable, honest,” you say. Dean sits up with you now against the headboard. He listens intently, no matter how his stomach twists.

It takes you time to find your words, but you begin to explain.

You had loved Benny. You still do. But you realize now, only much too late, that you hadn’t been in love with him.

While your relationship with him had always been supportive and perfectly pleasant, a secret part of you had craved more. He wasn’t one to open up so easily about his day or his work, no matter how much you tried to coax it out of him. In fairness, you know he sees a lot of things on the job that aren't meant for civilian ears, but there are only so many monosyllabic answers you can deal with.

You, on the other hand, are a talker. You always have been. You just got the feeling, sometimes, that Benny was zoning out on you when you tried to connect with him. He even admitted once that you were a bit "too much" for him.

So you talked less. You bottled most of your thoughts inside…until they eventually spilled out with Dean. It’s always been easy to talk to him. On the whole, he’s seemed interested in your stories, even the ones from school. You feel comfortable sharing all the little things about your students that have made him smile, or laugh, or furrow his brows when you admitted your concerns or your fears for them, and especially for Robbie. Even if he was fixing your leaky sink or patching up a hole from when your son attempted some indoor practice with a slingshot made out of Lego and a tube sock, Dean listened.

He understands you. You appreciate that about him.

However, you know that you’ve been unconsciously comparing him and Benny in your mind.

No relationship is perfect, you often tried reminding yourself over the past three years, even through some of the tougher moments.

…Like in the bedroom. Benny was a patient man, and a generous lover. Of course there had been sparks between you two, certainly in the beginning.

However cliché it is though, you’d just never felt…fireworks. Electricity under your skin. The Godfather Thunderbolt kind of sexual connection that sunk into your blood and made your insides quiver.

Kind of like now. You’re blushing down to your neck trying to explain this part of it to Dean. He has a hand resting casually on your thigh, but once he works past his jealousy of even the thought of you and Benny between the sheets, the reality of what you’re saying finally hits him. A smirk slowly grows across his lips.

The way he brushes a thumb back and forth across your sensitive skin—it makes the hair on your arms raise and elicits another tingle down your spine.

“So what you’re saying is,” Dean says, his voice deepening like black velvet as he draws closer. “No one makes you come like I do.”

You snort, biting your lip in blushing embarrassment, as well as the prickle of arousal trembling in your core. Wetness blooms between your legs just at the sound of his voice. You can’t quite bring yourself to answer him, but it doesn’t matter. Your eyes give him all the confirmation he needs.

Dean lures you back into his arms, and into his kiss. He guides you onto your back and blazes a sensuous trail down your body, mapping every lush curve all over again with his mouth, tongue, and fingers, until you’re a writhing mess beneath him.

The next day, Robbie is confused when you and Dean go together to pick him up from your parents’ house. You called them ahead of time for a very important reason.

You sit Robbie down in the living room there in front of your parents, who are trying not to give away the punchline with their smiles (your mom stifling her tears). You take the spot beside him on the couch.

“What’s wrong?” Robbie asks, looking from you to Dean. There’s wariness and confusion in the boy’s eyes, just a couple shades of green off from his father’s. You and Dean share an amused look. The kid is so intuitive.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Dean says. He kneels down in front of him so that he’s eye-level with his son. “You know that your mom and I care about each other, right?”

Robbie quirks his head, but he nods. “Yeah. You’re friends.”

“Well, turns out…” Dean shares another look with you, this time a gentler smile as he takes your hand in his. “We realized that we want to be more than just friends.”

Robbie blinks a few times. He takes the information in faster than you would expect for a six-year-old, giving you his furrowed brows of confusion, suspicion…and hope?

“O-Oh. Really? Buuuut what about Benny?” he asks.

Again, smart kid. Dean looks over to you for guidance on this one.

You proverbially step in with a hand on Robbie’s shoulder. You take a steadying breath, but you explain in terms you know he’ll understand.

“I know how much you love Benny. I care about him too. I care about him a lot, actually…but he just wasn’t the guy for me,” you admit. You glance over at Dean, squeezing his hand. “Your dad is the guy.”

Robbie sits with his hands in his lap and visibly processes, his little face scrunched in thought. You don’t blame him for being confused, but you remain patient, softly smiling while you rub his back. You give Dean a guiding look, warning him with your eyes to wait for Robbie to ask whatever question he has next. You can see it brewing.

“Wait, so you guys like each other?” Robbie asks. “Like, like boyfriend and girlfriend?”

Dean chuckles. “To start with. I’m thinkin’ more like husband and wife.”

Your face falls into shock. Dean bites the inside of his lip. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but it’s already out of his mouth. Can’t put that toothpaste back in the tube, can I?

Robbie gapes at his dad, and then his mom. He looks at your joined hands.

Uh oh, Dean thinks. Did we break him?

Suddenly, Robbie’s lower lip wobbles, and he starts to cry. Your eyes widen further in surprise, and now dismay along with Dean.

…Until Robbie surges forward into his dad’s arms. Dean immediately wraps his arms around his son and soothes a hand over his head.

“What’s the matter, buddy? What’s wrong?” he asks.

Robbie sniffs. “Does this mean you’re gonna come live with us?”

Dean’s worry breaks—into abject relief. He smiles. When he looks up, he finds you smiling in relief as well, albeit with tears in your eyes. He holds Robbie closer and presses a kiss on the top of his head.

“You want that, huh?” Dean asks. “Want me to come live with you guys?”

Robbie nods, burying his face in Dean’s shirt. But there’s no hiding the way his little body shakes with quiet sobs. Dean’s own eyes are suspiciously glassy, even though he smirks at the way your lower lip wobbles too. He beckons you over with a hand.

You slip off the couch and kneel on the floor too, allowing yourself to get pulled under Dean’s arm. You rest your cheek against his shoulder and bury your weeping face into his neck. This moment is everything—everything you could’ve asked for.

Your parents come around the couch as well, with your mom lovingly squeezing your shoulders and your dad resting a fatherly hand on Dean’s.

Dean can’t help but smile, so hard that it nearly cracks his face. He didn’t think his heart could ever be this full.

Well. For once, that went better than I thought.

You tap your fingers around the wide cappuccino mug nervously. You sit in what you think is the most secluded corner of the café, a strategic choice. Your eyes flit to the door again when it jingles open, but it’s just a young blonde woman with a little Pomeranian tucked under her arm. She makes her way to the barista and places her order of a lavender matcha latte and an unglazed donut.

An unglazed donut? What’s the point? you think.

You shake your head and force yourself to expel a deep breath. You wish you could’ve done this over a week ago, but you respected Benny’s wishes. He’d needed more time, and really, that was the least you could do.

A few minutes later, the little bell above the door chimes again. The familiar footfalls of heavy boots alert you to the even more familiar black jacket and jeans combo. Benny comes into view, his eyes finding you across the room in mere seconds. His face remains stoic as he approaches you.

Even now, you have no idea what he’s thinking. Is he going to be icy toward you and not say a word? Is he going to shout at you, berate you, accuse you of wasting three whole years of his life? You would probably just sit here and take it, whatever it would be. You feel like you deserve it.

Instead, he just lowers into the chair opposite you at the table. He takes a breath and rests his elbows on the table. For a moment, he just stares back at you and takes you in, from your face, lightly done with makeup, to your pretty blouse, jeans, and ankle boots.

“You look good,” he says, his tone rueful. “You don’t gotta be scared though. Not like I’m gonna start cussin’ you out in front God and everybody.”

Your lips hint at a smile. His dry brand of humor briefly lightens you.

“You know me. Overthinking is my thing,” you say. Biting your lip, your gaze lowers to the way you toy with your fingers in your lap. “Look, Benny. I wouldn’t blame you for being angry with me. You can even hate me if you want.”

Benny crosses his arms on the table, contemplating. He eventually gives you a wry, melancholy sort of smile. “Part of me’s still mad at you, I won’t lie…but there’s no use in it. Not even hating you.”

He shakes his head, and he sighs.

“Truth is, Dean and I think a lot alike,” he says. His blue-eyed gaze meets yours. “Because the moment I met you, I liked what I saw. I just had the bad luck of him getting to you first.”

Your face burns with a blush. Once again, you bite your lip.

Benny huffs a wry chuckle. “This week, I’ve been thinking…maybe I shoulda seen this coming.”

Your brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“Believe it or not, I noticed things. Things, I didn’t want to at the time,” he says. His eyes fall away from you after a moment. “You remember when you were pregnant with Robbie, and you came to the firehouse with some cookies for everybody?”

You blink at that. “Yeah, sure.”

That was the day you thought that…well, you got a hint that Benny might like you. You’d dismissed it at the time because you were so damn pregnant, waddling and sliding around like a parade float. You had wanted to test out your latest recipe of chocolate chip cookies on Dean, and the rest of the guys at the firehouse.

“Well, I knew you went there looking for Dean,” Benny says. “I saw the way your eyes lit up when he finally came by. And I saw the look on his face when he saw it was you and me together, laughin’, havin’ a good time.”

He shakes his head. “I saw that look again when I went to visit you at the hospital, the day Robbie was born… Come to think of it, this all could’ve ended that day.”

You leaned forward in your seat, now hooked on his every word. A frown pulls at your lips, while a wry one tugs at his.

“If a man wants something, he fights for it. That’s something I’ve learned, what I’ve always known to be true,” Benny says. “I thought I’d lost my chance with you before then. But when you told me you were afraid of being alone, and I saw the way Dean was all wrapped up with Lisa…I thought, shit, I could be the man you leaned on. Why not me?”

The man pauses, as if sorting back through the catalogue of memories, feelings, thoughts. He meets your sad gaze.

“But I was selfish,” he admits. “I should’ve gone to my friend and knocked some goddamn sense into him, tell him to talk to you if he really wanted you. To be the man you needed him to be. To truly be there for his family. Now, here we are.”

You fold your hands in front of your lips as you process all of this, trying to figure out what to think, let alone what to say. You do know that this is the most you’ve ever seen Benny open up.

“So if I blame you, ‘cher, I gotta blame myself just as much. At this point, all we can do is move on,” Benny says. He becomes contemplative, rubbing his bearded chin. “I gotta ask though. How’s Robbie doin’ with all of this?”

You brush a couple of tears away from your cheeks, swiping under your eyes for good measure. God, when will I be done with all this damn crying? But you take a sip of your coffee just for something to delay your answer. You knew the question would come eventually, but it still hurts you, knowing it’ll probably hurt the man in front of you.

“He misses you,” you say.

And it’s true. Your son loves Benny too—a strong, solid presence in his life since the beginning.

“You’ve told him…everything?” Benny asks. “About you and Dean too?”

You nod. “We told him last weekend.”

Benny snorts. “Y’all didn’t waste no time.”

“We didn’t want to keep it a secret. I think that would’ve been worse.”

“Nah, I get it,” he says. He drums his fingers on the table in contemplation. After a while, his blue eyes meet yours. “The kid’s happy though, isn’t he?”

You nod, giving him an honest answer. Dean is already living with you. He’s just in the process of moving his stuff out of his and Lisa’s apartment. She’s going to finish off the lease in a few months, then move out of there herself.

However, through all of the adult chaos and logistics, Robbie is all beaming smiles and excited chatter when his dad comes home. The three of you eat dinner as a family. You and Dean get to tuck in your son together at night, and wake up together the next day, sharing more than just a bed and a morning cup of coffee.

“He is,” you say. “But look, you can come by and see him, if you want to.”

“I’d like that,” Benny nods. “Just to say goodbye.”

“It doesn’t have to be forever,” you say. Once again, guilt threatens to eat you alive. “You and Dean were friends long before I came into the picture.”

Benny’s lips hint at a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“That might well be,” he says, “but there are some things that are best left put to rest.”

You know then that he means more than just your relationship.

After a beat, he stands from the table. You attempt to take in a steadying breath as you get to your feet along with him.

“I’m sorry,” you say again.

“Me too, sweetheart,” Benny says. He takes your hand and gives it one final squeeze. Neither of you say goodbye.

It may not be the last time you see each other. It’s a small town, after all. But there’s a good chance that this will be the last time you and Benny will speak for a good long while.

A few weeks later, Benny’s cart crashes into something solid in the spirits aisle of the grocery store—another cart.

That bumps into a young woman’s ass, making her yelp as she loses her balance. The merlot she was considering slips out of her hand and shatters in a plummy spill across the linoleum.

“Aw shit,” she grouses. Her head swivels over her shoulder to find a wide-eyed Benny with a glare. “Bro! Are you serious?”

He snaps out of his reverie and immediately goes over to try and help. He pushes his own cart away goes over to her, mindful of the glass under his boots.

“I’m sorry, 'cher. My bad,” he says, reaching out a hand to her. Shards of glass surrounds her in her heeled wedges. They go nicely with her blue slacks and crème-colored blazer…which is now flecked with wine.

She accepts his helping hand, albeit with a raised brow. “Cher? What, the 'do believe in life after love' lady?”

Benny pauses, but embarrassment isn’t the only thing that makes him falter. He can’t help but notice her smooth, bronze skin, her hazel eyes, her shiny brown hair coiled in a soft wave. She’s beautiful. Her clothes are expensive. She’s entirely out of his league.

“Uh, no, ma'am. Just a token of where I’m from,” Benny says. He gestures to the spill at their feet while she manages to step away from it. “Here, I’ll pay for that bottle, plus another one for you.”

Her lips twitch upward. Cocking her head, she turns and points at the price tag under the bottle she’d grabbed up.

“You wanna buy me a $50 bottle of wine?” she says. Plus the one he spilled.

Benny smiles. “And dinner to go along with it, if you want.”

She blinks, her mouth parting in surprise. But he finally wins her smile too. She takes a $15 bottle off the shelf instead.

“Believe me, this one’s better,” she says. “Where are you from, exactly?”

“Louisiana,” Benny replies.

“Hmm, interesting,” she says.

He arches a curious brow. “You?”

Her eyes take on a playful gleam. “Greece. Yes, I’m new in town. Yes, there’s a semi-interesting story behind it. We’ll save that for dinner though.”

Benny chuckles. “Well, all right.”

When a grocery store employee comes over to assess the damage, Benny promises that he’ll cover it. He and the young woman make their way to the checkout together with their carts.

“So, uh, what’s your name?” Benny asks.

She glances at him with a smile. “Andréa.”

Six months later, Eileen tearfully accepts being your Maid of Honor. You go about asking her cautiously, knowing Lisa is still her best friend. Eileen is gracious though. She admits to you that she advised Lisa to break things off with Dean more than once in their “five-year rollercoaster.”

“She just had an idea of what she wanted for her life, you know? And she’s stubborn about it. She thought Dean was the One,” Eileen tells you that afternoon. You two sip from your wine glasses on her sofa while Robbie and his three-year-old cousin are with Sam and Dean, out at a baseball game.

“I told her that Dean seemed…well, divided. At least when it came to her,” she says. “But Lisa swore that he just needed time. Time to get the hang of balancing his job, Robbie, and his relationship with her. As much as I love Lisa, I just think she didn’t want to see the signs that he wasn’t in love with her. Not enough to make him stay.”

You feel conflicted for more than one reason. On one hand, you do feel sorry for Lisa. On the other hand, you wish she would’ve just let Dean go after the first time they had that blowout argument that got them kicked out of the local Denny’s.

You hesitate before you ask, “How is she doing?”

Eileen smiles, and she signs as she speaks, knowing you’ve been practicing your ASL.

“She’s good actually. She met a guy at a yoga retreat out in Sacramento. She’s moving there in the fall. Not really for him, but because she wants a fresh start.”

“I could see that,” you nod. It’s hard to move on with your life in a small town like Lawrence, Kansas, where everybody knows your business. You’re honest when you say, “I hope she finds what she’s looking for.”

Eileen nods in agreement. Then, her eyes shift with a conspiring gleam.

“So, did you hear about Benny?”

Your eyes widen. “No, what? Is he okay?”

“Oh, I can’t believe you don’t know.”

“Girl, what?!”

“He eloped with that girl from Greece. Sam told me. They’re on a plane right now, headed to meet her family in Kalamata!”

You gasp, covering your mouth with both hands. You laugh, mostly out of shock. Eileen laughs just at the look on your face. The two of you giggle and finish your gossip along with a bottle of wine.

You’ve never met Benny’s girlfriend…excuse you, wife. Your shock turns into concern, just for a hot minute. But the more you think about it, you know that the man isn’t impulsive. It’s not in his blood. So you also have to believe that he hasn’t made this decision lightly.

From the bottom of your heart, you’re happy for him.

You almost choke on a laugh when Dean doesn’t quite get the whole chunk of complimentary chocolate into your mouth.

“Come on, baby. I know you can open wider than that,” he teases.

You laugh harder, covering your mouth so you don’t drop anything. You have to set down your champagne glass on the edge of the tub, however precarious that might be.

“Babe, if you make me get anything on this dress, I may just have to kill you,” you say. Though your threat doesn’t have much effect with your shoulders shaking with laughter.  

You wiggle your toes in the hot water that’s risen up to your ankles in the tub while you and Dean sit on the edge. You’re severely regretting having a winter wedding, or at least just the part where you had to trudge through the snow on the way to your husband’s ’67 Chevy. Thank God it had just been a few minutes to the hotel.

For the sake of unfreezing your feet, the white satin and lace of your dress is bunched up high on your thighs, since you’re not quite ready to take it off yet. Dean has his slacks rolled up halfway to his knees while his feet warm up beside yours.

He looks edible himself. His suit jacket lies strewn across the edge of the king-sized bed, leaving his white dress shirt rolled up to the elbows. His tie is gone too, leaving quite a few buttons by his collar left open, and a tantalizing strip of tanned skin visible to your wandering eyes.

“What does it matter? Are you really ever gonna wear this again?” he says as he fingers the soft hem of your skirt. He then brushes the back of his hand against your arm, your shoulder, your cheek. You smile and lean into his hand.

“’Course I am. Whenever I wanna feel all pretty and bride-like,” you say.

Dean’s smile crinkles the corner of his eyes. He cups your cheek and brings you closer, but he stops just shy of your lips.

“Well, for one thing, you’re already beautiful. Two, you’re always gonna be my bride.” He punctuates that uncharacteristic cheesiness with a kiss that warms you down to your toes. You grab ahold of his collar and breathe into it, humming softly.

You part from him, just to tell him something that’s been burning on your heart.

“Can you promise me something?”

His thumb brushes against your lower lip, flashing you a little smirk. “Depends.”

Your lips press together, but you can’t help the smile trying to break through. You catch each button on his shirt with your nails to undo the rest of them, one by one.

“No matter what comes next, whatever arguments, fights, drama, all of it, promise me that you’ll remember right now. Tonight,” you say. “Remember that you’re my best friend. My love. The father of my kid. None of that ever changes.”

Dean pulls you in even closer by your waist. His long fingers run along the small round buttons lacing down your spine. Already he’s calculating how he’s going to pop every one of them open without ruining your pretty dress.

“It’s a promise, sweetheart,” he says. And just like the vows he made in that chapel, he means these words with every conviction. “None of it ever changes.”

Well, there are some things that change. They have to, after all.

One of the biggest ones happens almost a year to the day after your winter wedding. Your daughter is born on January 25th at exactly 12:05 A.M.

Dean calls her the best belated birthday present he’s ever gotten.

He wipes at his watery eyes when his brother steps into the hospital room, where only Dean and your mom had been allowed in during the delivery. (He wanted to avoid the clusterfuck of commotion that happened the first time you were in labor. You had wholeheartedly agreed.)

While Eileen stays behind for now with their son, Sam guides Robbie inside by his shoulders. The kid had been ambivalent about the new arrival when you and Dean first told him you were going to have another baby, but in the nine-ish months since, the eight-year-old has begun to come around to the idea of having a little sister. He approaches your bedside, encouraged by your tired smile.

“Hey, baby. Meet the baby,” you joke.

Dean welcomes Robbie over with a hand on his shoulder, squeezing warmly. Robbie hesitates, but he leans up on his toes to peer at the bundle wrapped in your arms. He considers her little face peeking out of the downy crème blanket. She wears a little pink cap to keep her newborn head warm.

“She’s beautiful,” Sam says, giving you a kiss on the cheek.

“She’s so tiny,” Robbie says. 

“You were just like that,” Dean says, “’til you sprouted up outta the ground like a stalk a’ wheat.”

Robbie gives his father an indignant look. “I didn’t pop outta the ground!”

You shush him softly, despite your shoulders shaking with laughter. Sam thumps his older brother’s back. The two share a look that’s suspiciously shiny, full of nostalgia.

Dean soothes a hand over Robbie’s head.

“You’re a big brother now, son,” he says. “It’s a big responsibility. Think you can handle it?”

Robbie looks a little uncertain. His gaze leaves his dad and falls on the baby. The more he stares at her peaceful sleeping face, the more she looks kinda cute to him. He smiles.

“Yeah,” he says.

He reaches out and gently touches her cheek. Her skin is soft and delicate. His fingertips are slow and careful.

You and Dean glance at one another. Your eyes blur over with tears, but your husband is there to lean in and press a kiss to your forehead.

“We still gotta decide on a name,” he whispers.

That, you know. It hasn’t been any easier picking your daughter’s name than it was your son. Sue you if you refuse to name your child after another rocker, no matter how badass Stevie Nicks is. 

You bite your lip, leaning your head on Dean’s shoulder as a giddy laugh pours out of you.

“Game on, baby.”

AN: And there we have it! We went a little deeper into some things that were implied and touched on in Part 2, but hopefully it feels like a more complete ending to this version of Dean and the reader's story, along with everyone else in between! ❤️❤️‍🔥❤️

In a couple of weeks, for those of you who read Smoke Eater, there will be a little sequel drabble that sees that version of firefighter!Dean getting another big piece of his dream...

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[derangedchameleon]

So. I have some thoughts on Haymitch’s sweetheart nicknaming.

My knee jerk explanation for Haymitch calling Katniss Sweetheart was that the first time he called her that, it slipped out (like he said) and was meant to be comforting (it was after Katniss had shot the apple from the pig mouth with the gamemakers and then spent hours sobbing in her room in absolute dread refusing to talk to anyone).

He uses the nickname twice more before the games (the time after the games, even Katniss interprets it as endearing, „nice job sweetheart“)

While I can intepret the following two as endearing… it’s hard. Even with the knowledge that Katniss reads aggression and condescension into everything. The second time he uses it, it’s when he‘s trying to coach her for her interview. He gets wasted and eventually ends with „I give up sweetheart. Just answer the questions and try not to let the audience see how openly you despise them.“ Katniss is being difficult to work with and sullen. His use of sweetheart here feels like a pointed contrast. A way of saying „you sure are behaving as the absolute opposite of a sweetheart.“

The third time is after she shoved Peeta and got his hands cut. She‘s worried that her reaction to Peeta’s confession wasn‘t convincing, to which Haymitch says „You‘re golden, sweetheart. You‘re going to have sponsers lined up around the block.“ Now. This one feels more like it could be comforting. But it still feels like a contrast. She just almost murdered the boy that gave her a huge boost.

They both feel very nasty, at least the one where he coaches her. And it bugged me that Haymitch would use this meaningful nickname in that way, it didn‘t feel in character. I chucked it up to continuity issues, Suzanne not having planned out everything, including the nickname being endearing from the start, and left it at that.

But then something Haymitch says in Mockingjay caught my eye…

It‘s after Katniss keeps ripping out her earpiece.

Quote:

Haymitch dumps the head shackle on the bed and whips out a tiny silver chip - „I‘ll authorize them to surgically implant this transmitter into your ear so that I may speak to you twenty-four hours a day.“

… Lou Lou? Holy shit!

So yeah… I think this man is just… prone to saying things. Regardless of their personal meaning and his own horrible history attached to them. To be clear I don‘t think he‘d actually authorise the transmitter implantation, but just the fact that he‘d suggest it is insane!

Anyway. Older Haymitch is absolutely wild, and I love him for it.

[donat-senpai]

Yandere Jinshi x chaotic reader

Please don't read this if you are uncomfortable with the yandere! tw: Jealousy, persecution Enjoy reading! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Everything highlighted in purple is Jinshi’s thoughts.

You constantly forget to bow to important figures, trip over your own feet, ask awkward questions... and laugh just a little too loudly. “They keep breaking protocol. I remember every mistake they make, yet somehow... I don’t feel annoyed.”

He finds himself listening for your footsteps. When you're in the corridor — he knows. When you're not — he knows that too. He's started noticing even when you're late by just a few minutes. “I should be focusing on the reports. Where are they? Who’s delayed them? Why don’t I know?”

Sometimes you leave little things behind in his office — a handkerchief, a ribbon, a feather. He keeps them. All of them. Hides them in his desk drawer. Sometimes, when he’s alone, he opens it just to look. “Their scent is almost gone. I should ask them for another handkerchief. Or... make them forget they ever left it here. That way, it’ll be mine.”

His jealousy is subtle. Almost invisible. You laugh with someone else. Thank another man for helping you. Bow just a little lower than usual. Jinshi only smiles. “I’ll remember his face. His name. His position. If he ever hurts them... or if they look at him too often...”

Sometimes you bring him strange snacks: “Try it, you’ll like it!” He doesn’t know where you find them. He doesn’t usually eat food like that — too unusual. But he accepts. Eats every last crumb. “Too sweet. But... if it’s from them, I’ll get used to it. I'll teach my body to crave their taste.”

“You're too perfect. It must be so boring. No chaos in your life at all,” you say with a laugh. “You are my chaos. And you don’t even realize how deeply you’ve already taken root in my life. All that’s left is to convince you to stay.”

Jinshi isn’t watching you. Of course not. He’s merely checking on the state of the garden. As always.

The fact that you happen to be there at the same time — a coincidence. Just like how he knows exactly who you're speaking to, what you're saying, and for how long. The physician needed help gathering herbs. Out of everyone in the inner courtyard, he chose you.

Laughter. Light and clear, like bells in the spring breeze. He loves your laughter. Usually.

Right now — he does not.

Right now, he wants to crush that sound in the throat of the one who drew it out.

Jinshi smiles. He approaches silently.

"Ah, you're here. How fortunate," he says, as if he hadn’t heard their entire conversation.

He doesn't spare the physician a glance. His eyes are only on you.

"I came for you. There's something… important."

You look up at him. Embarrassed. Offering a shy, awkward smile. But you follow, ready to do almost anything he asks. Because here, his word is law.

You belong to this place. To the harem. To his order. To his care. To his gaze. If anyone dares reach for you — they must be ready to lose a hand.

Jinshi gestures for you to go ahead. Once you've disappeared around the corner, he finally turns to the physician still frozen in place.

"In the future, please… delegate such tasks elsewhere." His smile remains flawless. "They are responsible for other, far more important duties. I'm sure you understand. After all, you seem to be a very busy man yourself."

And if not — Jinshi will make sure he becomes one

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Triumvirate 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, abuse by parental figure, kidnap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Based on this.

Summary: Three men take you away from an unhappy life.

Characters: destroyer Chris, Captain Syverson, Curtis Everett.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t

The tearing in your roots makes you whine. Your mom twists until your scalp feels ready to split, dragging you down the hall as she snarls. He pushes open the screen door and hurls you out with every ounce of spite. You stumble down the crooked steps and land in the dirt. 

“You no good fucking bitch,” she spits beside you. “How many times I gotta tell you to get out!” 

You turn over and look up at her. She snarls and puffs like a rabid beast. Her glare scalds. She hates you so much. She always has. 

She slams the screen door, then the inside one. You sit up and fix the backless sneakers on your feet. You check the scrapes on your knees and sigh. It’s not the first time, it won’t be the last time. 

How could you know she had someone over? You didn’t hear them. You thought she’d be happy to see the dishes done but that chore only riled her. She broke three plates before she latched onto you. Scratches blaze on your head. 

You get up and look across the street. Leah watches from her front porch, shaking her head as she puffs on a menthol. No one does anything. They only judge. Around here, it’s not exactly unusual. 

Your purse is inside, your phone too. Shoot. You’ll have to wait her out. Whoever she’s got in her room probably gave her some pills. She’ll be out of it soon. 

You’re not proud of that thought. You should be concerned. You used to be. Now you just accept what she is. You rely on it. Her addiction keeps her weak; keeps her from hurting you worse. 

You turn and trod along the street. You could go down to the corner shop and ask Darren to spot you a gatorade. He’s usually pretty understanding. He knows your mom and that you always come to pay for whatever she wanders out with. 

Twenty-one years. It doesn’t feel that long, yet it’s still an eternity. Things never change, they only get worse. Your mom’s hair turns gray and the lines in her face get deeper and her speech more slurred. You only get weaker, more tired, more passive. It’s just the way is. Why fight? Fighting only gets you hurt. 

A truck rolls by and the tires dust up dirt. You cough at the tan paint above the silver bumper. You watch the exhaust chuff out down the street and veer around the corner, just past the corner shop. 

You approach the Penny Mart and shield your eyes against the sun. The truck idles further down the street. You shrug and continue inside. 

Darren pop gum between his teeth. You wave and head for the fridges. You take out a red gatorade and come back to the counter. 

“Can I come back later?” You ask. “Mom locked me out again.” 

He gnaws on the gum and shakes his head, “uh uh.” 

“Oh?” The door chimes as another customer enters. “You know I’m good for it.” 

“Manny says no,” he shrugs. “Your mom threw a box of cereal at him.” 

“She... did?” You’re overly aware of the man behind. He clears his throat. “Alright then, guess I’ll put this back.” 

“Well, you know... I could bend the rules,” he smirks and winks. “Come in the back...” 

You grimace. “I’ll put it back.” 

You turn and march away, skin crawling at his suggestion. It’s not the first time but for him to do it in front of someone else, that’s humiliating. You open the fridge as the man steps up to the counter. 

“I’ll take a pack of lites and twenty on the pump. Throw in a red gatorade,” he says. 

You shut the door and drag your feet across the unmopped tile. This place matches the neighbourhood. You’re sure the prices help distract from the expiry dates, too. 

Footsteps circle around the shelves. The fridge opens. A whistle keeps you from leaving. “Girl, come get your drink.” 

You stop and turn to face the man. His head is shaved close but he sports a thick goatee. He wears a sleeveless flannel, the peek of a chain shimmering around his neck. 

“Um, me?” 

“Come on,” he beckons you. “Hot day out.” 

You hesitate and cross the store. People aren’t all rotten around here. Mrs. Haggin fed you more times than you can count and Ted let you hang around his garage on the hotter days. Still, strangers aren’t common and aren’t often friendly. 

“Thanks, uh, you didn’t have to do that.” 

“Two bucks,” he clucks. 

“Right.” 

Two bucks you don’t have. Pathetic. He holds the door open and you retrieve the same bottle of Gatorade. 

“Thanks again,” you say. 

“Never know. One day, someone might help me out,” he sniffs. 

He lets the door fall shut. You turn and walk away. He follows. You have a bad feeling as he stays close. He pushes the door open above your shoulder before you can. 

Stupid. He probably expects the same thing Darren wanted. You step out and to the side. 

“I can’t pay you back,” you offer the bottle. 

“Keep it,” he waves you off and drops off the pavement ledge onto the tarmac. “Have a good one.” 

“Oh, uh...” 

He walks away. Not a look back at you. You watch him approach the truck by the pumps. Tan with a silver bumper. They must’ve needed the top-up. 

You kick off the curb and drag your feet away. You’ll go down to the park and find a table in the shade. It’s swelter. The sun beats down on you mercilessly. 

You peel away the wrapper and twist the nozzle on the bottle. You drink thirstily as you step on the cracks in the pavement. ‘Step on a crack, break your mother’s back...’ 

The truck rumbles back at the shop and you hear it rolling toward you. It passes slowly and you pretend to examine the label of the bottle. As nice as it was, you’re not stupid. It’s pity. Everyone feels bad for you, but they don’t really care. 

You follow the trail through the tall grasses behind the condemned donut shop down to Smith’s Park. It’s not much of one. Mosquitoes buzz over a pond not much bigger than a puddle, tadpoles swirling in the shallows, and the trees sway over splintering benches and rotting picnic tables. 

You sit and suck on the bottle. Couple of hours and you can go home. Home... not really where you belong, just always where you’ve been. 

The brush rustles but you don’t pay any mind to it. There are coyotes around here but they’re skittish. Squirrels too but you don’t have much for them to steal. 

You put your elbows on the table and peel off the label on the bottle as the condensation soaks through. You lay it out flat on the wood. The dingy smell of the neglected boards clings in the air. 

A twig snaps. You look up as a shadow passes between the bushes. Some kids will come down to catch tadpoles. You did when you were young. Your mom dumped the toads down the toilet once they grew.  

Another crack. You twitch and look over your shoulder. You grip the bottle and turn straight. Your voice catches as you’re face with an unexpected best. A man in a ski mask. 

It’s so absurd, you think it’s a joke. Some of the hunters like to mess around but this isn’t the area for them. It’s not thick enough. They go up north. 

He’s big. The epitome of burly. He wears a grey tee shirt damp with sweat and cargo pants. He stares at you through the slits of his mask. 

“Um,” you stand. “Sorry, I was just...” 

You step over the bench and turn to head back down the trail. There’s another man. He’s in all black. He must be melting in this heat. You reel back. 

“Oh...” the back of your knees hit the bench. “I think...” you sidle along. “I’ll just...” 

You turn and run towards the thicket of wiry bushes. Before you can reach them, another man in another mask pops out. He wears a sleeveless flannel... 

You throw the gatorade at him and spin back. You’re caught by the other two men. 

“Shhh,” the one behind you hushes. 

You struggle with them, kicking the dirty, writhing as they twist your arms behind you. The man at your back secures your wrists together as the peel of duct tape tears through the hum of insects. 

“Please, who are you? Stop!” You whine. This can’t be happening. What the hell is this? 

The man in black keeps hold of your upper arm and signals with his other hand. A cloth covers your eyes. You whimper as it’s knotted behind your head. Another is shoved into your mouth. You gag. You’re shushed again. 

“It’s alright, darlin’,” you think the bigger man says. It comes from his direction as the man behind you pets your hair. “We ain’t gonna hurt you.” 

“Quiet,” another warns. “Get her legs.” 

You fight to evade their grasp blindly. You kick out and your ankles are seized and forced together. The duct tape winds around your ankles. 

Your eyes water behind the cloth. It’s more than fear, it’s realisation. You’re not going to go home, but worse, you don’t think anyone will care. They won’t even notice. 

You babble around the fabric in your mouth. You choke as you’re taken off your feet, carried between two men like luggage. You’re just a thing. Why is this happening to you? 

You squirm and shake, trying to break away from the arms hooked around your torso and legs. A hinge creaks, a car door, then another metallic whine. No, it’s not a car.  

You’re loaded into the truck bed and strapped down to the ridge metal. You blink as your eyes burn. You quiver in horror as you sense a deep darkness cast over you and the truck lurches. The door of the bed snaps shut and closes you in. 

Weight shifts in the axel as the muffled noise of the doors opening seep through. You whimper as the engine rumbles to life. You try to roll one way or the other. You can’t. 

The way they worked, so methodical, it assures you that there is no escape. There’s no loophole for you to find. You’re stuck. That suffocating realisation constricts in your chest. No, no, no. It can’t be real. 

You shudder and replay the scene in your head. It happened so fast yet as you relive it, it feels like slow motion. The large man, the man in black, the third one in his...sleeveless flannel. 

The cloying flavour of sugary electrolytes stick to your tongue. You shudder. The man in the store. He followed you? Why? 

Think about it. What did he see? A woman with no money. A woman alone. A woman wandering off into the shadows. 

How stupid. You would never expect it. Never think that anyone would bother. You always just stay out of the way and no one bothers you. Only Darren and his gross leers. Only Rob next door when his wife’s not talking to him. 

The truck bounces over the road. You can hear the other cars around you as they head into the city. Right through the mid-afternoon rush. How many people are driving by completely unaware of you hidden in the back. 

The pit in your stomach deepens and you whine. You try to scream. You can’t. You try to kick. You can’t. 

These men are taking you who knows where to do things you can’t imagine and there’s no one coming to save you. Just like no one ever came to save you from your mom. 

[bettystonewell]

IF YOU LEAVE

Chapter 1: Pretty in Pink

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester x Reader

In the spring of 1988, Dean meets the girl of his dreams, he just doesn’t know it yet. 2k words

Tags: fluff, angst, young Sam and Dean, slow(ish) burn romance, childhood sweethearts, friends to lovers, 80s, 90s, season three, spans three decades, eventual smut, Rufus - crotchety at any age

@chevroletdean is celebrating 500 followers with a writing challenge! Liane made the beautiful mood-board above for me to work with. You can find more about the Milestone Celebration HERE. I’m gonna try and finish this before the 18th, but consider this chapter my piece for the challenge 😘

Next Chapter

April 1988

The first time Dean saw you was in third grade, Mrs Petersen’s class, but it wasn’t until during recess on the second day that you spoke. Your hair in pigtails, him with dirt on his knees, and a simple exchange over a juice box, because you were yet to learn how to filter.

At that point, as children often do, you didn’t think to ask for each other’s names, and when both boys walked through Bobby’s front door that afternoon, and he asked “How was school? Did you talk t’any other kids today?” He got a smile and a grunt as both boys ran up the stairs to their room.

“That great, huh?” He scratched his forehead under his cap, and went back to the kitchen to continue supper, and the hex bag he was making up for Rufus. The idjit had shown up on his doorstep earlier that day.

“I thought you didn’t have any Rugrats?” Rufus thumbed to the hall he’d come out of. A bottle of Jack in the other.

“I don’t,” Bobby said. But just as Dean didn’t realise the significance of you in his life at the time, Bobby hadn’t realised the boys in his either.

Dinner was simple that night. Bobby wasn’t a chef, but he was determined to give the Winchester boys something normal for once in their young lives. It’s why he’d enrolled them in the local school in the first place. Bought them bags and shoes. New clothes for Sammy because Dean’s hand-me-downs were far too big for the little tyke.

He’d even taken them to a barber, somewhere he never took himself, and signed Dean up for the school lunch program.

Yeah, he was growing soft. Lucky he had Rufus to point out the fact further with his outright stares and grins.

He was just doing a good deed. Looking after the future. Wasn’t that a part of being regular folk? Never mind the lady ringing up his groceries at the supermarket had frowned at him when he didn’t have a valid excuse for why they weren’t at school that day or two days before that.

Balls. That’s what it was. And he’d kick Rufus’ if he were close enough to reach with his boot.

Comments about him getting old, also balls. If Rufus was dumb enough to keep hounding him, he deserved a gun to his sack. Don’t worry ‘bout his steel caps.

He cleared his throat. Took a swig of beer and then settled his eyes on Dean. The kid was a smartass, but he was respectable, and had to open up, eventually. “So, did you learn anything today?” he asked. Tried to force a smile onto his face.

But Dean only shrugged, still defiant he should’ve been out there with his father.

“Well, what about your teacher? What’s her name?” He knew she was a she from the paperwork, Mrs Peters, or something like that. He just didn’t bother to remember in front of Rufus.

It didn’t matter though, because Dean shrugged again and shoveled another bite of meatloaf into his mouth.

Kids.

“My teacher is Miss Reeves,” young Sam piped up. Kid was smart for a four-year-old.

“Yeah? And what’d you do with her?” It’d been a long time since Bobby had graduated high school. Had no idea what kids in preschool did, besides the ABCs, he supposed. “Did you, ah,” he looked at Rufus for guidance, but the idjit had none. “Did you colour…or…sing a song?”

“I used blue, and red, and green for the grass I draws.” Sam beamed.

Okay… “That’s great, kid,” Bobby said.

Rufus downed another shot of Jack. The glass, sharp against the table when he hammered it onto the linoleum top. “Real great.” His tongue clicked. “What about you Dean? You colour, too?”

But when Dean said nothing, “Didn’t think so,” tumbled outta Rufus’ mouth.

“You could’ve given him a chance to answer.”

“Didn’t need to. He’s not gonna. Look at him.” Rufus swiped his hand out in front. His brow raised when Dean did say something, though, and then he looked interested.

“I met a girl,” he said, resorting back to his former slouching when he noticed both men frozen and staring at him.

It was the loudest he’d spoken since living under Bobby’s roof. The first time he’d shown emotion other than attitude, and Bobby couldn’t help but smile. Until he thought harder about the issue.

Did he have to give these kids the bird and the bees talk, too? Hell no, he wasn’t!

His fingers scratched through his beard. That smile of his fell to a thin, pursed line. Bit of teeth spiking through the gap.

“A girl, huh? Like a girlfriend?”

“No!” Dean lost his chin to his neck. “She’s my friend, and she’s a girl.”

Simple. Obvious. Bobby felt the fool. Until he asked the all important question.

“What’s her name?”

What was your name?

Dean couldn’t answer that because he didn’t know. You were a girl, you’d been nice to him, and you didn’t like orange juice. That was the extent of it. You’d played your game after that. The one where he chased you, and you ran, much like what hunters did. Only, you weren’t a monster, and he didn’t hunt.

Not allowed to. Too young to do anything more than babysit Sammy and stay with Uncle Bobby.

He knew they weren’t related.

When he stepped into the classroom the next morning, books in hand, his eyes swept the room. No, he wasn’t interested in the US map, or the globe in the corner. He didn’t care that Mrs Petersen was scribbling sums on the board ready for the day’s lessons or for the tall boy with the extra tires whose farts created a war zone as he walked through the dust cloud.

No. He focused on you. Hair once again in pigtails, hot pink t-shirt and matching nails, which he thought little of because it was all too…girly, but then you smiled at him and his nose tingled as a result.

“Hi Dean,” you even said, and it was all he could do to not smile back as he took his seat in the row behind you and the Bat-signal drawn onto your right heel.

He needed to learn your name.

Of course, to a nine-year-old, “You like Batman?” was far more important. He asked you that when he sat down next to you at lunch that same day. The pale green plastic of his lunch-tray, just fitting in between yours and the boy’s to his left.

Your look of disgust was apparent even from your side profile, and unlike his smile, Dean couldn’t hold back his laughter when you turned. Not only did you spit out the word, “No,” but a sliver of strawberry jello came with it.

You wiped at your chin and poked your tongue out, which made him laugh harder.

“I like Michelangelo more, but my brother says he’s stupid.” Your head and eyes dropped to look under the table. “Didn’t like it when I told him the Ninja Turtles would beat Batman up.”

“Well, Leonardo might,” Dean said, and you frowned. “With his help,” he added.

His nose tingled again.

There was lots of that over the course of the week and the one that followed. Dean learned your name, and that your mom’s middle one was Mary. It only took a couple of extra days - but from the moment you bonded over your favourite cartoons, the two of you became inseparable, and Bobby was pleased.

Both Winchester boys had a chance at normal life. Well, semi-normal due to the talismans and arsenal in his basement.

And while Rufus refused to show his face again, as long as Sam and Dean lived under his roof, Bobby didn’t mind. He rather enjoyed that. But it didn’t stop other hunters and their problems from showing up on his doorstep, and on one particular Saturday morning after hearing from Bill Harvellle, he dug deep into his wallet for a couple of dollar bills and handed them to Dean.

“Why don’t you take your brother and that friend of yours to the arcade or somethin’,” he said, then narrowed his brows at the boy. “Call the house line ‘round five. Make sure it’s safe to come home.”

Dean took the money and shoved it in his front pocket. “Yes, sir.” He nodded once, and then grabbed Sammy by the hand and pulled him to the door.

The air was warm when they stepped outside. As Dean always did, he put the needs of his baby brother first, pulling off the four-year-olds jacket, then tying it ‘round his waist. He did the same with his and they were off. Sam on the handlebars of the bike Bobby had fixed up for them, Dean peddling with all his might into town.

It was hard work, and by the time they reached your house, he was out of breath, but it was worth it to feel the wind in his hair.

Cheeks puffed, neck hot and sweaty under the collar of his T-shirt, he knocked on your front door with a tight fist, and took a step back.

The dark wooden floorboards creaked underneath his sneakers. Footsteps from the other side moved closer, and he was soon met with your grinning smile and a bright pink scrunchie in your hair.

He scrunched his nose up, but that turned upside down when he saw the Ninja Turtle action figures in your hands.

“Hi Dean,” you said, peeking around him to look at Sam standing next to their bike. “You guys wanna come in and play?”

But they didn’t. Just as Bobby had suggested, Dean had other plans, and after checking in with your mom, the three of you headed to the local arcade.

Whirs. Dings. Whistles. The electronic piano jingles and a rocking soundtrack that tried its best to overcome everything else greeted you when the tinted glass doors rattled open. Lights, as far as the eye could see, of neon pinks, greens and blues and a carpet, littered with stains of mud and grass from the other kids already there, matched all that was overhead and surrounding.

Sammy clung to Dean even tighter. His little hands tugged on the base of his shirt. While on the other side of him, your face reflected the excitement hammering up his legs.

Until this stage in his young life, Dean had only been to an arcade once. The lucky timing of a classmate’s birthday party at a different school he spent all of two weeks in, well before being dumped here at Bobby’s.

That place was awesome, but this? It was awesome, too. There was just something about not being accompanied by adults that made it better.

Pacman and Donkey Kong called his name. Q-Bert, whatever the hell that was supposed to be. Space Invaders. Pin-ball and claw machines.

“Look! They have a Ninja Turtles one!” You pointed towards the back where a large machine plastered with their now fluorescent green faces stood out amongst the rest. “C’mon Sammy.” You grabbed the youngest boy’s hand and ripped him away from Dean.

“Hey, wait,” he called, but under all the noise, it was a lost cause.

With a huff, and one eye on you both at all times, Dean jogged over to the change machine by the door and swapped his money for quarters. You guys were the worst. Annoying. Impatient. Yet the way you grabbed the chair for Sam, and held it steady for him while he climbed up, had Dean’s nose buzzing again.

His nose buzzed like that every time he saw you. Playing games, eating lunch in the cafeteria. Riding your bikes through the streets of Sioux Falls, side by side, that same wind in your hair.

It’s just a shame it didn’t last long.

Never did.

Sam and Dean Winchester flew through towns as many times as there were months in the year, sometimes more. The Spring of ‘88 a rarity. Their stint at the local school and preschool, even rarer, and one soon forgotten.

Until 1997 when Dean found himself enrolling at another school in Sioux Falls.

He didn’t know the significance of that either, but he soon would. You’d make him.

Next Chapter

Am I shooting myself in the foot by releasing this part when I haven’t finished the rest? Probably, but I’m used to it. We’ll be diving into three stages in Dean and readers life in this one - up next - 1997.

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Reply All (H.S. Fic) | Chapter 5

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uni!harry x fem!reader PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

Summary: Y/N and Harry were childhood best friends, inseparable through every laugh, secret, and growing pain. But high school brought unspoken feelings and decisions that tore them apart, leaving both with unanswered questions. Years later, a class project challenges them to face their shared past and uncover the truths they’ve both been running from. And a wrong click unveils the past and what will be the future.

Word count: 4.3k

A/n: Hey! i'm sorry i said i was putting this up yesterday! but i got caught up with more stuff than i had planned! but here it is!

Warnings: No warnings this time! all happy things.

Juliet sat cross-legged on her chair, her phone abandoned on the desk. She was looking at you with that expression she reserved for serious conversations—the one where her brow furrowed slightly, and her lips pressed into a thin line of concern.

“Alright,” she said, breaking the silence. “Let’s talk about Harry.”

You let out a long sigh, leaning back against your headboard. “I don’t even know where to start, J. It’s… complicated.”

“It’s only complicated if you let it be,” Juliet replied, her voice calm but firm. “What do you want, Y/N? Deep down, what do you really want from all of this?”

The question lingered in the air, heavy with implications. You fiddled with the hem of your sweater, avoiding her gaze. “I think… I want to try. I want to give him a chance, but…” You paused, struggling to find the words. “It’s not that simple. I can’t just erase everything that happened. He hurt me. A lot. And it’s going to take time for me to trust him again.”

Juliet leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands. “That’s fair. And honestly? That’s smart. But if you’re even thinking about giving him a chance, you need to be honest with him. You can’t keep him in the dark about how you feel, even if you’re unsure. It’s not fair to string him along if you just want to be friends—or if you can’t see yourself trusting him fully again.”

Your chest tightened. “What if I don’t know yet? What if I tell him I’m open to something, and then I change my mind? Or what if I realize I can’t move past what he did?”

“What if a spaceship crashes into this dorm right now?” Juliet shrugged, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You’ll never know, What if you just tell him the truth when you get there. But here’s the thing: he seems willing to work for it. If you’re willing to meet him halfway—even if it’s just a little—you owe it to yourself to see where it goes. Set your boundaries, Y/N. Make it clear that this isn’t some instant redemption arc for him. But don’t shut the door entirely if you’re curious about what could be.”

You sank deeper into the pillows, Juliet’s words circling in your mind. There was a flicker of hope in her tone, but it wasn’t blind optimism. She believed in you—believed you were capable of navigating this messy, confusing situation.

“So, you’re saying I should talk to him,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Juliet nodded, her gaze unwavering. “Not just talk. Be honest. Be clear. And most importantly, be kind to yourself in the process. You’ve been through a lot, Y/N, but you’re stronger than you think. You’ve got this.” 

You smiled at her, even if she was a hopeless romantic, she was a real and a good friend.

🌷

You slid into your usual seat, the professor’s voice droned on as they explained the day’s agenda: more project readings. You focused on steadying your breathing. After all, this was just a class, not a lion chasing you—or so you told yourself.

Then, the professor called Harry’s name.

He stood slowly, clutching his notebook. For a split second, his eyes darted to you before moving to the front of the room. That brief glance sent a flutter through your chest.

Harry began, his voice soft but steady. “I talked about guilt—the kind that wraps around you and doesn’t let go. But guilt, I’ve learned, isn’t just about the past. It’s about what you do with it. It’s about whether you let it crush you or whether you use it to build something better.”

He took a breath, his gaze flickering to you for just a heartbeat before looking back at the class.

“I hurt someone. Someone who believed in me, who trusted me more than anyone else ever had. And I let them down. I don’t think I realized, at first, just how deeply I’d cut them. It wasn’t just about losing their trust—it was about losing... them. Completely.”

His words hung in the air, and you could feel every student in the room hanging onto them.

“For a while, I let that loss define me. I thought maybe that was it—that I’d written my final chapter with this person, and all that was left was regret. But then, I realized something. Regret isn’t the ending—it’s the starting line.”

Harry’s hand tightened slightly around the notebook as he continued. “So if life gave me even the smallest opening—I wouldn’t just take it. I’d prove, every single day, that I could be better. Not just for me, but for them.”

His voice softened, and this time, when his eyes met yours, they stayed there for a moment longer. “Because some people are worth more than your fear, your pride, or your mistakes. And when you’ve been given the gift of their time, their laughter, their trust... you don’t waste it. Not again.”

The silence in the room was heavy but warm, like everyone had just witnessed something profound. The professor finally broke it with a quiet nod. “Thank you, Harry. That was deeply moving.”

Harry nodded back and made his way to his seat, but as he passed by, you caught the faintest hint of a smile—a nervous, hopeful one.

You sat frozen, his words swirling in your mind like a melody you couldn’t quite shake. His regret, his determination, his... hope. It was all there, laid bare, and it felt like it was meant for you and no one else. 

When the class ended, you stayed behind, unable to move as the rest of the students filtered out. Juliet leaned over, whispering with a smirk, “So, still think he doesn’t deserve a chance?”

You didn’t answer—because maybe, just maybe, you were willing to give him one.

🌷

The library was quieter than usual, the faint hum of fluorescent lights blending with the soft rustle of turning pages. Harry sat at a corner table, surrounded by textbooks and loose sheets of paper. His pen moved steadily across a notebook, but when he saw you approaching, his hand froze mid-word.

“Hey,” you said, sliding into the seat across from him.

His lips quirked into a hesitant smile. “Hey.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You busied yourself with your bag, pretending to look for something while your mind scrambled to piece together the words you’d rehearsed. Finally, you looked up, meeting his expectant gaze.

“I’ve been thinking…” you began, your voice steady despite the nerves bubbling “About everything you said, and everything that’s happened.”

Harry set his pen down, giving you his full attention. “Okay.”

You took a deep breath, the weight of the moment pressing down on your chest. “I want to be honest with you. I don’t have everything figured out yet, but I know this much: I’m open to… seeing where this goes. To trying. But I need you to understand something.”

He nodded, his expression serious. “Anything.”

“This isn’t going to be easy,” you said, your words firm but not unkind. “You hurt me, Harry. And trust—real trust—takes time. If we’re going to try this, you need to be patient. You need to show me, not just tell me, that I can trust you again.”

“I will,” he said immediately, his voice soft but resolute. “I know I have a lot to make up for, Y/N, but I’m ready. Whatever it takes, I’m ready to do it.”

You studied his face, searching for any hint of hesitation or insincerity. But all you saw was determination.

“I believe you,” you said finally. “But I need you to know that if, at any point, I feel like this isn’t working, I’m going to be honest about it. And I need you to promise me you’ll do the same.”

“Always,” he said, his eyes holding yours.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a sliver of peace. It wasn’t the end of the journey—far from it—but it was a start.

🌷

Yellow post-its

The Apology.

Rifling through your bag after class, you noticed a yellow post-it, folded in half. Pulling it out, you immediately recognized the pink crayon lettering:

“I know I keep saying it, but I’m sorry. I mean it, every time. Even if you never respond, I’ll keep saying it because you deserve to hear it.”

The note wasn’t signed, but it didn’t need to be. You traced the edges of the paper with your fingers before carefully tucking it into your journal. A smile appeared on your face, unannounced

🖍️

You opened your notebook during a particularly dull lecture and found another yellow post-it stuck between the pages. The handwriting was unmistakably Harry’s, bold and messy, written in bright pink crayon:

“Good luck surviving this lecture. I think the professor’s voice might actually put us in a coma.”

You glanced over your shoulder to where he sat a few rows back. He wasn’t looking at you, but there was a faint smirk playing on his lips. You bit back a smile, tucking the note into your pencil case.

🖍️

You’d been staring blankly at your open notebook, trying to will yourself to start your assignment, when you noticed a post-it stuck to your laptop.

“You’ve got this. I know you do.”

The simplicity of the words, paired with the bright pink crayon, made you smile despite yourself. It was like he knew you needed a little push, even without being told.

🖍️

One morning, you found a post-it tucked under your coffee cup at the campus café.

“Sometimes I wish I could go back to the beginning. But since I can’t, I’ll just keep trying to make this new version of us something you can believe in.”

You held the note in your hands for a long time, the words sinking into you.

🖍️

During a particularly rainy day, you opened your umbrella and noticed something yellow flutter to the ground. A post-it, now slightly damp, written in that familiar pink crayon:

“Rain or shine, you’re still the brightest thing in the room.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly as you tucked the note into your pocket, shielding it from the rain. You felt your cheeks grow hot—you were actually blushing. The butterflies, those persistent little creatures, were going crazy inside you now.

Harry was making you smile, laugh, feel at ease. He made you feel comfortable in a way you hadn’t expected, and this—this shy, tentative way of flirting—was exactly what you needed. It wasn’t pushy or overwhelming. It didn’t demand an answer from you, didn’t insist on a conversation you weren’t ready for.

Instead, it was patient.

It was thoughtful.

It was him, giving you the time and space to figure out your feelings, while still making it clear that he was there. Always there, in the best way possible.

You exhaled, the sound lost beneath the patter of rain against the pavement. For the first time, the thought of giving this a chance—giving him a chance—didn’t seem so terrifying. It felt... warm.

You didn’t let yourself linger on the thought too long, though. You couldn’t—not yet. But as you walked back to your dorm, your fingers brushing over the note in your pocket, you couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at your lips. Maybe, just maybe, you were finally ready to let those butterflies take flight.

The door to your dorm clicked shut behind you as you stepped inside, shaking the light rain from your jacket. Your fingers lingered in your pocket, brushing over the yellow Post-it note tucked safely inside. You could feel the smile pulling at your lips, no matter how hard you tried to suppress it.

“Alright, spill,” Juliet’s voice rang out from her bed. She was lounging with her laptop balanced on her knees, but the moment she saw your face, her eyes lit up. “Why do you look like you just walked out of a rom-com?”

“What?” you asked, your tone pitched just a little too high. You busied yourself with hanging your jacket on the back of a chair, avoiding her gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Juliet’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, please. You’re grinning like a lovesick puppy. Something happened.”

“Nothing happened,” you replied, failing miserably to sound nonchalant. “I’m just... happy. Can’t a person just be in a good mood?”

Juliet shut her laptop with a knowing smirk and set it aside. “Sure, a person can. But you’re not just a person, Y/N. You’re you. And you don’t do ‘just happy’ without a reason. Now, tell me—does this have anything to do with a certain boy with a pink crayon?”

Your face betrayed you immediately, heating up in an unmistakable blush. “It’s nothing like that,” you said, waving your hand as though dismissing the idea. “He’s just... being nice. That’s all.”

Juliet’s smirk widened into a full grin. She crossed her arms, leaning back against her headboard. “Nice? Y/N, you’ve been giggling under your breath for the past five minutes. You don’t giggle. You hate giggling. You’re in love, and it’s adorable.”

“I’m not in love!” you shot back, flustered. You dropped onto your bed, pressing a pillow over your face. “He’s just... trying. He’s making up for everything. It’s nothing. I’m just... adjusting, okay?”

“Adjusting,” Juliet echoed, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Right. You’re just ‘adjusting.’ That’s why you came in here lookin like you just got handed a love letter.”

You groaned, still hiding behind the pillow. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re in denial” she shot back, nudging your leg with her foot. “But it’s okay. I’ll let you live in denial for now. Just know that when you’re ready to admit you’re falling for him, I’ll be here. And I’ll be so smug about it.”

Despite your embarrassment, you couldn’t help but laugh. Pulling the pillow away, you peeked at her, your smile betraying you once again. “Fine. Maybe there’s... something. But don’t make it a big deal, okay?”

Juliet’s grin softened into something warmer. “Deal. But for the record, I think it’s a big deal in the best way. You deserve this, Y/N. You really do.”

Her words settled in your chest, comforting and terrifying all at once. And as much as you hated to admit it, maybe—just maybe—Juliet was right.

🌷

The blanket was spread out over the soft grass, and the sky above you was painted in hues of orange, pink, and gold. The air was cool but not cold, and the scent of fresh grass mingled with the faint sweetness of the strawberries in the bowl between you and Harry. It was quiet except for the occasional chirp of birds and the distant hum of campus life.

“I can’t believe you still do this,” you said, gesturing to the array of snacks Harry had brought—sandwiches, chips, and your favorite chocolate bars. “You always overpack for picnics.”

He grinned, leaning back on his elbows. “I like being prepared”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “For the apocalypse?”

Harry chuckled, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “You never complained when I brought extra chocolate, though.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, reaching for one of the bars. “Fair point.”

For a while, you both sat in comfortable silence, watching the sun dip lower in the sky. The oranges and pinks deepened, and a gentle breeze rustled through the trees. You glanced at Harry, who was absently picking at the edge of the blanket, his expression calm but thoughtful.

“Do you remember that time we tried to have a picnic in the rain?” you asked suddenly, breaking the quiet.

Harry looked at you, a grin spreading across his face. “How could I forget? You insisted the rain would stop, and we ended up soaked.”

“And you still shared your hoodie with me,” you added, laughing. “Even though I was the one who made us stay.”

He shrugged, his smile softening. “You were freezing. What was I supposed to do?”

The memory hung between you, warm and unspoken. You leaned back on your hands, letting out a content sigh. “This feels... nice.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, his voice quieter now. “It does.”

You turned to him, and for the first time in a long time, the weight of everything between you felt lighter. The tension that had lingered for so long was replaced by something calmer, something easier.

“I missed this,” you admitted softly. “Not just... us being friends. But this. Talking like this.”

Harry’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, he nodded. “Me too.”

The sun was just starting to dip below the horizon when you reached for a strawberry, but your fingers brushed his instead. The contact was brief, but it sent a ripple through you. You looked up, your eyes locked with his. He didn’t move his hand away, and neither did you.

Slowly, tentatively, he turned his hand over, his palm open. You hesitated for a second before placing your hand in his. His fingers curled around yours, warm and steady.

The breeze picked up, ruffling your hair, and you glanced away, focusing on the horizon. But the butterflies in your stomach were impossible to ignore.

“I like this,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I like... us.”

Harry’s grip on your hand tightened just slightly, and you could feel the sincerity in his voice when he responded. “I like you”

“You do? why don’t you tell that to the whole class in an email?” you teased him, it didn’t hurt anymore, instead you knew you were going to remind him that for a long time.

“C’mon!” he said a bit embarrassed but laughing softly

For the first time, it felt like maybe—just maybe—this could be the start of something new.

🌷 As the days passed, Harry remained steady in his carefulness. Whether it was having your coffee ready with the exact amount of sugar you liked, cracking a joke that made you laugh despite yourself, or even just meeting your gaze with a look so genuine it made your heart skip—it was as though he instinctively knew how to make you forget the pain, if only for a moment.

Yet, there was a subtle resistance in you, a reflex you weren’t even aware of. You had grown so accustomed to the act of pushing him away that it became second nature, even when you didn’t mean it. Each time he reached out, whether through a small gesture or a tentative comment, a part of you held back. It wasn’t distrust, exactly, but a lingering fear that clung to the edges of your heart.

Juliet noticed before you did.

It started with her pointed looks during your conversations, her eyes narrowing slightly whenever you brushed off one of Harry’s efforts. At first, you thought nothing of it, assuming she was simply amused by the dynamic. But one evening, as you both lounged on her bed eating chips and scrolling through social media, she spoke up.

“You know,” she said casually, crunching a chip between her teeth, “you’re kind of an idiot.”

You blinked, startled. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” she said, smirking but not unkindly. “Harry. You’re still pushing him away, even when you don’t want to. It’s like your brain is stuck in fight mode while your heart is ready to wave the white flag.”

You frowned, her words unsettlingly accurate. “I’m not... I’m not pushing him away on purpose”

Juliet tilted her head, studying you with a mix of sympathy and exasperation. “Look, I get it. He hurt you—badly. But you’re different now. He’s different now. And it’s not like he’s rushing you or demanding anything. He’s just... there. Trying. If you keep shutting him out, you’re going to miss the chance to figure out what this could be.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but no words came out. Instead, you let out a sigh and flopped back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.

“I’m scared,” you admitted softly.

“I know,” Juliet replied, her tone gentler now. “But you don’t have to figure it all out at once. Just... notice when you’re pulling away. Let yourself lean in every once in a while. You might be surprised by how good it feels.”

Her words settled over you like a warm blanket, comforting yet challenging. Maybe she was right. Maybe it was time to stop letting fear dictate your actions. You didn’t have to have all the answers—but you owed it to yourself, and to Harry, to at least try. And that was the turning point for all this.

“But how do i let him know that without just saying it straight to his face, that’s lame” you said

Juliet raised an eyebrow “Oh, so now honesty is lame? The great Y/N, master of subtlety, can’t just tell him how she feels?”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing a pillow and smacking her with it lightly. “I’m serious, Jules. I don’t want to just blurt it out like, ‘Hey, Harry, guess what? I think I’m falling for you.’ That’s... weird.”

Juliet laughed, catching the pillow mid-swing. “Okay, okay. No grand declarations. But you don’t have to spell it out. Show him. Let your actions speak for you.”

You frowned, propping yourself up on your elbows. “Like what?”

“Like...Let him see that you’re not pushing him away anymore. Be more open. Let him catch you looking at him when he’s not paying attention. Laugh a little louder at his jokes. Maybe even let him win at rock-paper-scissors once in a while.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “I’m not letting him win. That’s non-negotiable.”

“Fine, keep your pride,” she said, rolling her eyes playfully. “But seriously, Y/N, the way you two are around each other, he’ll pick up on it. He’s not as clueless as you think.”

“So... just let it happen? No grand plan?”

Juliet nodded. “Exactly. Trust the process. Trust him. And trust yourself. You’ve already come this far—don’t overthink it.”

You sighed, letting her words sink in. “Fine. But if this goes horribly wrong, I’m blaming you.”

Juliet grinned, throwing her arms up in mock surrender. “Deal. But when it goes horribly right, I expect full credit.”

You laughed, a lightness settling over you that hadn’t been there before. Maybe Juliet was right. Maybe this didn’t have to be complicated. Maybe all you had to do was let go of the fear and lean into the moments—whatever they might lead to.

🌷

You and Harry were sitting cross-legged on the floor of your dorm, textbooks and notes spread out around you. He had insisted on helping you prepare for an upcoming exam, even though it wasn’t a subject he was taking. Juliet walked in, balancing a mug of tea in one hand and her phone in the other, pausing in the doorway when she saw the two of you.

“Am I interrupting something?” she teased, her eyes darting between you and Harry.

“Nope,” Harry said, leaning over to point something out in your notes. “Just helping Y/N understand some stuff”

You groaned, swatting his arm lightly. “Ignore him, J. He’s been making terrible puns for the past half hour.”

Juliet smirked, setting her tea down on the desk. “Oh, I don’t want to interrupt this play date, pretend i’m not here”

You shot her a look, but your cheeks betrayed you, heating up instantly. Harry just chuckled, unfazed, and continued explaining the concept like nothing had happened. Juliet caught your flustered expression and raised an eyebrow as if to say “Told you so.”

🌷

It was late afternoon, and you and Harry were walking back from the coffee shop. The air was crisp, and the golden hues of the setting sun made everything feel warm and surreal. Harry was quieter than usual, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets as you talked about your plans for the weekend.

“So, what are you doing Saturday?” he asked suddenly, his voice casual but his posture stiff.

You glanced at him, shrugging. “Not much. Probably catching up on homework or binge-watching something mindless. Why?”

“Oh,” he said quickly, as if he hadn’t expected you to ask. “No reason. Just... you know, thought maybe you’d want to do something. Together. If you’re free, I mean.”

You stopped walking, turning to face him. “Like what?”

Harry scratched the back of his neck, a shy smile playing on his lips. “I don’t know. There’s this... thing. A new art exhibit. Or, uh, we could grab dinner? Not that it’s a date or anything! Unless... I mean, it could be. If you wanted it to be. Or not. Totally up to you.”

He was rambling now, his cheeks flushed, and it was honestly adorable.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Harry.”

“Yeah?”

“Dinner sounds nice.”

His eyes widened slightly, like he hadn’t expected you to say yes. “Really?”

“Really,” you replied, smiling at him.

For a moment, he just stood there, looking at you like you’d just agreed to move mountains. Then, a grin spread across his face, so genuine and wide it made your heart skip.

“Okay,” he said, his voice a little breathless. “Great. Saturday then.”

“It’s a date” you repeated, starting to walk again.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him fist-pump the air, thinking you didn’t notice. You laughed under your breath, pretending not to see, but inside, the butterflies were in full flight.

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