#i keep wishing it was different but i know it has to be like this

[5sospenguinqueen]

Please, Please, Please | Max Verstappen x Singer! Reader

Summary:  What do you do when your ex-girlfriend moves on with another guy? Become needy and pathetic. But, when the guy brings you to tears, Max knows it's his time to save you from further heartbreak.

Warnings: barry keogan (i couldn't find any other men with her that worked), swearing, toxic relationships, pathetic max 

Requested: yes by many of you on the previous part 

Faceclaim: Sabrina Carpenter (she was used on the last one and yes, she's used a lot but I stole her song and her job so I'm also stealing her face)

F1 Masterlist

prev. || next.

part 4 will be the last part so it may seem a bit rushed but i didn’t plan anything else. sorry! these just seem to be getting worse as well, so i’m also sorry about that 

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maxverstappen1 just posted

liked by danielricciardo, liamlawson30 and others

maxverstappen1 a good effort from the team to start on the front row tomorrow 💪 let’s keep pushing tomorrow 🇺🇸

6,633 comments 

user1 twitter is claiming that max and kelly broke up

user2 okay but i actually can’t function until i know if max is free from kelly once more

user3 max please tell us if you and kelly have broken up

user4 i need max and kelly to be done forever this time 

user5 is it true that you broke up with kelly?

→ maxverstappen1 yes. now can we focus on the race

→ user6 @/yn_ln this means you can give him another chance 

→ user7 why would she want to after he ran back to kelly

(comments have been limited) 

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yn_ln just posted

liked by mclaren, actorbf and others

yn_ln surprise! if you have any questions, you can refer to my new single please, please, please 💋

13,850 comments 

user8 the two of them are so cute 

jennaortega i’ll give you all the kisses 

→ user9 i wouldn’t. not with all the men she goes through

→ oscarpiastri whoa now, there’s no need for that 

user10 don’t get me wrong. i’m loving all the new music. but my heart can’t handle all the new layers to this drama 

landonorris okay, little miss hollywood. that music video just proved you’d never do well in a film 

→ yn_ln oi, i act better than you do, mr hilton 

→ hilton we’d be happy to have you both

user11 ew, so she went from a hot motorsport driver to a subpar actor?

user12 wait, what? this wasn’t supposed to happen. she’s gone off script. max is single now, they were meant to be getting back together 

→ user13 she’s not his back-up plan. plus she’s way out of his league 

user14 don’t you think you might be putting strain on her new relationship? i doubt her new guy likes to see everyone preferring the old guy 

→ user15 hopefully that means he’ll leave and we can get her and max back

user16 has anyone checked on max?

(comments have been turned off)

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yn_ln just posted

liked by charles_leclerc, verstappencom and others

yn_ln how to lose a cake in 10 minutes 

16,334 comments 

alexandrasaintmleux the most beautiful birthday girl 

→ francisca.cgomes this dress is going to live rent free in my head 

→ yn_ln thank you for letting me show you both twenty different dresses

→ alexandrasaintmleux just wish you were taller so we could steal some of them 

→ yn_ln can’t believe you’d do this to me on the day of my birth 

→ oscarpiastri technically your birthday is tomorrow. this was just your birthday party

→ yn_ln thin fucking ice, piastri

user1 guys guys guys. verstappencom liked this. i repeat verstappencom liked this

→ user2 okay but that’s not max

→ user1 but it’s an advocate for max so 

landonorris dicaprio wouldn’t want you anyway. you’re too short

→ yn_ln i’ll make my boyfriend fight you 

→ landonorris i’m not scared of your polly pocket boyfriend

→ mclaren you can’t say stuff like this publicly, lan

→ user3 i swear none of them actually like her boyfriend 

→ user4 showing their support for max. he’s the only person who matches her beauty 

user5 no but the hand in the dress is somehow cute and hot 

→ user6 not with that guy. it should be max 

redbullracing happy birthday to our favourite popstar

replies

user7 what do you mean she had to pay for her own birthday meal on her birthday because her boyfriend wouldn’t

→ user8 not even wouldn’t but flat out refused 

→ user9 streets are saying it’s because he’s broke. not exactly like he’s raking in the job offers 

user10 so this man is lucky enough to get a chance with THE y/n l/n, then he refuses to pay for her dinner, and then he yells at her?? all on her birthday???

→ user11 he’s punching above his weight and clearly that angers him

→ user12 especially with the way she looked in that yellow sparkly dress today 

user13 someone clearly isn’t very smart. she writes a song for him - the first one she’s written recently that isn’t about max - and he does exactly what the song asks him not to do 

→ user14 how dare he try to embarrass our queen by yelling at her in front of so many people

→ user15 i’m starting to question if our girl does have good judgement. how could two men do this to her? 

→ user16 definitely doesn’t have good taste

user17 the audacity to yell at her in a restaurant of people, and then continue to do so after you were asked to leave because you were yelling at her

user18 and if i said i saw max verstappen pass them in the street, stop and turn, and start defending her, then what?

→ user18 he was literally yelling at this man whilst holding a crying y/n behind him, and rubbing her arm soothingly 

→ user19 we’d say you’re full of shit and have no tangible proof 

→ user20 this could be true because he was hanging out with charles and some of the drivers. and i just know alex sm got on the phone to her boyf and begged him to send the love of y/n’s life to save her

→ user19 pics or it didn’t happen

maxverstappen1 posted a new story yn_ln posted a new story

landonorris replied to maxverstappen1 i recognise the birthday girl's dress

landonorris replied to yn_ln who’s the 3rd person 👀 → wait why wasn’t I invited

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requests open

tag list

@omgsuperstarg @seonghwaexile @evie-119 @alejandrablacklupin @nina-or-anna-or-nora @shelbyteller @raynetargaryan2 @astroniii @raizelchrysanderoctavius @azuramicah @seasonswinter @chaoswithus @casey1-2007 @chemiru @strengthandstay @ivanag1rl@anayaverse @formulaal @ellelabelle @yara011 @callsignwidow @freyathehuntress @floweringlee @isagrace22 @sunny44 @lottalove4evelyn @danielshoe @paucubarsisimp @monacosprince @stereading @hoeforsirius @anilovessadbooks @armystay89 @cassofheartsss

sorry if i missed anyone. it wouldn't let me tag some of y'all

[writeriguess]

Can you do Katsuki x female reader where reader's daughter (who she had with another man years ago, her ex turned out to be abusive) finally warms up to Katsuki enough to start calling him her dad? The girl has traumas about her dad so it's a big step.

author's note: never mind about the GIF library—it only seems to work with certain tags. Katsuki's tag takes 5 minutes to load before throwing me with an error. I'll try adding GIFs to posts that actually load for me.

Piece by Piece

Katsuki had always been patient, in his own rough-edged way. He knew better than to force anything, especially when it came to your daughter, Aimi. She had every reason to be wary of men, of father figures, and he never blamed her for keeping her distance. He had seen the haunted look in her eyes when she flinched at loud voices, how she hesitated before speaking, always gauging if she was safe.

At first, she barely acknowledged him, only ever referring to him as "Mom’s boyfriend" or simply "Katsuki." It stung a little, but he never let it show. Instead, he showed up—again and again. Helping her with homework, cooking meals when you were busy, staying up with her when she had nightmares, and never pushing when she needed space. He wasn’t trying to replace anyone. He just wanted her to know that he wasn’t going anywhere.

There were tough days. Days where she barely spoke a word to him, locking herself in her room, the old memories dragging her down. On those nights, he’d stay up, making sure she knew he was around if she needed anything. Some nights she had nightmares. He heard her muffled cries through the door but never forced his way in. Instead, he left a cup of tea outside her door, a small note scrawled on it: "You’re safe. We’ve got you."

Slowly, she started warming up. Small things—like watching TV in the same room as him instead of avoiding him altogether. Asking him to pass the salt at dinner instead of pretending he didn’t exist. He took every small win, knowing trust took time.

Tonight was no different. You had fallen asleep on the couch after a long day, leaving Aimi and Katsuki alone in the kitchen. She sat at the table, lazily pushing around the remains of her dinner while Katsuki stood at the sink, washing dishes.

“You don’t have to do that,” Aimi mumbled, staring at the soapy water. “Mom’ll do it in the morning.”

Katsuki huffed, rinsing off a plate. “Tch. Ain’t lettin’ her wake up to a mess. She does enough as it is.”

Aimi was quiet for a moment, watching him. He knew that look—like she was debating something, turning it over in her mind. “You always help,” she said finally, almost accusingly.

Katsuki dried his hands and leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Yeah. So?”

She fidgeted, picking at the edge of her sleeve. “My real dad never did.”

His chest tightened, but he didn’t say anything. Just let her talk.

“He used to yell at Mom a lot. At me, too.” Her voice was small, but steady. “I used to wish he’d just leave us alone. But when he finally did, I still felt…wrong. Like maybe I wasn’t good enough.”

Katsuki’s hands clenched into fists, his nails biting into his palms. The urge to track down that bastard and make him regret every word, every bruise, every scar he’d left on them—it burned hot inside him. But this moment wasn’t about his anger. It was about Aimi.

He forced himself to take a slow breath. “That asshole had nothin’ to do with your worth, kid. He was just a piece of shit who didn’t deserve you or your mom.”

Aimi looked up at him then, really looked at him. “You’re different.”

He shrugged, trying to play it cool even though his heart was hammering. “Damn right, I am.”

She gave a small, almost shy smile. Then, barely above a whisper, she said, “Thanks, Dad.”

Katsuki froze. The plate in his hand nearly slipped. He turned to her slowly, his throat tight. “What’d you just say?”

She shifted, suddenly nervous. “I mean—only if you want me to call you that—”

He was across the room before she could finish, pulling her into a hug. He felt her stiffen at first, but then she melted into him, clutching his shirt with small hands.

“You’re damn right I do,” he murmured, his voice rough, thick with emotion. “You’re my kid now, got it?”

Aimi sniffled against his chest. “Okay…Dad.”

Katsuki held her tighter, pressing his chin against her head. He stayed like that, letting her feel the steady strength of his arms. After a few moments, she let out a small laugh, muffled against his chest.

“You’re squishing me.”

He grunted but loosened his grip slightly. “Tch. You’ll live.”

She pulled back just enough to look up at him, her expression softer than he’d ever seen. “I think I’m really lucky.”

Katsuki’s throat tightened again, and he ruffled her hair roughly to hide the way his eyes burned. “Damn right you are. Best damn dad you coulda picked.”

She giggled, a sound so rare it made his heart ache. “Yeah. I think so too.”

Yeah, he’d never let her or you go. Not for anything.

[vacate-et-scire]

*̩̩̥͙　-Your Tears Kill Me-ˏˋ⋆

Jason has seen you cry before.

A misty-eyed sniffle when you watched a sad movie. A few stray tears when you laughed too hard. That one time you got frustrated over something stupid and wiped your eyes before you even realized you were crying.

But this? This is different.

You’re sobbing.

Not quiet, not composed. It’s ugly, gut-wrenching, heartbreaking—the kind of crying that makes your whole body tremble, the kind that says this isn’t about one bad day, or even one bad week.

This is everything crashing down at once.

And Jason doesn’t know what to do.

He just stands there, stiff as a board, watching as you clutch your arms around yourself, shoulders shaking, breath hitching violently between sobs. You’re trying to talk—he can tell—but all that comes out are broken, gasping hiccups.

His heart clenches, because fuck, did he—?

"Hey, hey—" He steps forward, hands hovering awkwardly. "What happened? Did I—? Shit, did I say something?"

You shake your head wildly, but it does nothing to stop the tears.

Jason curses under his breath. "Then what? Talk to me, sweetheart."

But you can’t. Not yet. You’re still unraveling, like a dam finally bursting after holding back years of pressure. And Jason—who’s so good at fixing things with his hands, with his weapons, with sharp words and sharp instincts—doesn’t know how to fix this.

So he does the only thing he can.

He pulls you in.

You collapse against him like you were waiting for it, hands fisting into his shirt, your weight pressing into him like you’re afraid he’ll let go. He won’t. He won’t.

"Shh," he murmurs, running a hand over your back, his touch uncertain but there. "I got you. You’re okay."

You shake your head again against his chest, a choked noise escaping your throat. "I’m not."

Jason’s breath stutters.

Because he knows what it’s like to believe that—to feel like no matter how many times someone tells you you’re okay, you never are. And knowing you—someone who always smiles, always finds the light in things, always keeps going—are feeling that way?

It guts him.

"Fuck," he breathes, tightening his arms around you. "I—" He swallows hard. "I don’t know what to say, babe. I don’t know how to make this better. But I’m here. Okay? I’m right here."

You just sob.

And Jason? Jason just holds you through it. Through the shaking, through the gasping, through the way your fingers clutch at him like he’s the only thing keeping you upright.

He wishes he had the right words, wishes he could take whatever weight you’ve been carrying and break it over his knee like he does to every bastard who deserves it. But he can’t.

So he stays. He holds you, rocks you gently, presses kisses into your hair, murmurs reassurances even if he’s not sure they help.

And eventually, eventually, the sobs quiet. Your breathing evens out. Your grip on his shirt loosens, just a little.

Jason leans down, voice soft. "You back with me?"

You nod weakly.

"Yeah?"

A sniff. A small, fragile, "Yeah."

Jason lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. "Good." He presses his lips against your forehead. "Now, you wanna tell me what’s going on, or you wanna just sit here for a while?"

You don’t answer right away. But you don’t pull away, either.

And that’s enough.

So Jason stays. He holds you tighter, presses another kiss into your hair, and lets you breathe.

Because if you ever start breaking again, he’ll be right here to catch the pieces.

Every damn time.

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐚𝐢𝐧'𝐭 𝐧𝐨 𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡 | 𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

summary joel comes to pick you up from work, and after soaking up the night's energy for a short while, you finally let him take you home [fluff, kissing, 1.1k]

.・゜゜・ ・゜゜・．

There’s something different about the way he walks into a room these days. A gentleness as his eyes comb through the space to familiarize himself, not size up those in it. Tonight, Maverick’s buzzes with people desperate to forget the work week that now lies behind them. They laugh and drink and embrace the live music as it flows from the stage to wash their worries away. 

Joel expertly navigates through the crowd with a gruff string of excuse me’s and thank you’s. He'll never know whether they make way because of his manners or the broadness of his frame. From behind the bar, you watch him cross through a frenetic sea of patrons that part with every few steps he takes. The surrendered look on his face suggests that if he were twenty years younger, he’d allot time to work the room instead of having a one-track mind with a pin set on you.  

It’s not lost on him that your smile grows wider as he sits on the barstool before you. The chair creaks under his weight, but it’s a slight sound you have to strain to hear. He’s more interested in how the overhead lights bathe your skin in their warm glow.

There’s a quiet knowing between you, a familiarity that doesn’t need words to prove itself true. The moment he places his interlocked hands on the counter in front of himself, you brush your fingers over his knuckles before turning away. Upon your return, you place a bottle of Lone Star in front of him, condensation rolling down the sides. You twist the cap off for him.  

Joel nods curtly. “Thank you.” 

“No, thank you.” There’s a sparkle in your eyes. 

Joel raises the beer to his lips to quell his smile. You admire how his large hand nearly consumes the bottle. How Adam’s apple bobs with each steady sip. When he sets it back down, you tilt your head in a way that makes his smile bloom anyway. He gives up on trying to hide it, and you’re glad it’s a short-lived fight. The lines on his face become more pronounced, but he looks years younger. 

You cross your arms over your chest. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Joel commits the lilt of your voice to memory like he has countless times since meeting you a couple months ago. Each time, the note is different. A little kinder, a little fonder.

“Should be criminal hiding a smile like that.” 

“Thought you said you got off at six,” he changes the subject. “That was ten minutes ago.”

“I did,” you say.

Joel tracks you as you saunter from behind the bar to join him on the opposite side. 

“Figured if I lingered, it’d coax you out the parking lot.” You fix a rouge strand of his silver-streaked hair as an excuse to trace the shell of his ear and make him shiver.

“This seat taken?” You climb onto the stool beside him before he can answer. 

“Was sitting out there wasting my gas ‘cause of you.” He’s willing to waste way more than that.

“My sincerest apologies.” You give his thigh an affectionate squeeze. 

A month ago, Joel would’ve graciously pushed your hand away because of the thought of too many eyes. Too many trains of thought that could derail full steam ahead in the wrong direction. He learned from his father to keep his cards close to his chest—good hand or bad. In the end, all that mattered was how he deciphered their potential and chose to play them. But letting the world in was inevitable, and inevitability wasn’t always so bad.  

Joel takes another sip of his beer, this time to distract from the absentminded way you run your hand along his thigh, back and forth over his denim jeans. He wishes your touch was against his skin. You’ve always been so gentle that he’s begun to consider the possibility he could break after all. 

You briefly perk up in interest when the band starts playing a new song.

“We gonna sit here all night, or can I go ahead and take you home?” 

“What’s the rush?” 

“There ain’t one.” Life and patience are one and the same. “It’s just loud. A lot going on.” The type of scene that fueled him once upon a time.  

“We seem to be hearing each other just fine,” you say lightly. “One more song, okay?” 

Joel hums low in agreement. 

Thankfully, you hold fast to your promise. As the closing chord hums throughout the room, you stand and lead Joel out of the bar with one of his large hands at the small of your back. A few other patrons file out alongside you while others file in. 

Outside, as the Maverick’s sign glows bright, fluorescent red, the warm air is a welcome surprise. It’d been cooler the last few nights, and now there’s no need to hug your arms and walk swifter. Even though there are plenty of open spaces, you spot his charcoal f-150 parked further away than most cars. 

“How’d you know I needed to get more steps in?” You playfully peek back at him as he walks a few paces behind. 

When you’re seconds away from opening the passenger door, Joel rests a steady hand on your hip and uses it as leverage to turn you around. No sooner does his large frame crowd into your space until your back meets the metal of his truck. Every move is careful and intentional. Not a single second passes where he isn’t gauging your reaction. Ready to course correct on a dime. 

When a surprised smile curls at your lips, he dips his head down to kiss it away with a tenderness that aches. Joel’s beard is a welcomed brush against your skin. A pleasant weight settles low in your gut like a small stone finding its home at the bottom of a riverbed. 

He cups your cheek with a calloused palm as his lips move against yours. He takes his time. Let’s himself enjoy the softness of your lips, the privilege of your proximity. It’s the most spontaneous he’s been in a while, but the moment washes over him so seamlessly he can pretend he’s this brave every night. Pretend that his inhibitions don’t take the reigns more often than not. 

When he pulls away, his breaths fan over your lips as he looks down at you. There’s a palpable fondness in his gaze that makes you wish you could get lost in his dark eyes forever. He’s the constant you’ve been needing as life attempts to pull you every which way. Wise, strong, dependable.  

“Let’s get you home,” he murmurs gruffly, thumbing gently along your lower lip. 

The distant sound of rowdy laughter tethers you back to earth.

- 

Thank you so much for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. I promise I see them all! 

JOEL MASTERLIST 

ALL MASTERLISTS

[odileeclipse]

Had a funny idea based off the shanigans...imagine shadow milk x y/n x pure vanilla but well...an alternate of the crazies lol. Different anon so this can be its own series...say y/n is the type of shy person to be overly cautious and has two lovers...one who is safe and caring and trying to get them to be a bit more social while the other is daring yet also caring and trying to make y/n live a little!

While pure vanilla is gently coaxing them out of their shell and trying to keep them safe...shadow milk is trying to get y/n to be a little more daring, to live a little! Get that adreline flowing...so I can imagine the fun struggle between the two...both wanting y/n to get out of their shell in different ways. One wanting y/n to spend more time with fellow cookies while the other is trying to get y/n to he braver lol...can imagine funny convos between shadow milk and pure vanilla. Both talking about the other's approach to y/n and other stuff lol!

Between Light and Shadow

The silver glow of the moon bathed the garden, petals drifting in the evening breeze. You stood between two forces one warm and steady, the other elusive and sharp. “My dear, you need not rush,” Pure Vanilla’s voice was soothing, a gentle balm to your cautious heart. His golden eyes shimmered with kindness as he cupped your hands in his. “The world is vast, yes, but you do not have to face it all at once. We can start small perhaps attending a gathering? A place where you can feel safe, yet still take a step forward.” A soft chuckle slithered through the air, curling around your ear like a ghostly whisper. “And yet, they will never truly be free if they only take steps upon paths already paved.” Your breath hitched as Shadow Milk’s presence coiled around you, unseen yet so very there. His voice dripped with amusement, a murmur from the unseen corners of the night. “Come now, little petal… doesn’t your heart ache for something more? A taste of the unknown… a thrill you’ve never dared grasp?”

Pure Vanilla’s grip on your hands tightened ever so slightly, his warmth grounding you. “They do not need deception to grow, Shadow Milk.” Shadow Milk’s laughter was low, curling like smoke. “And yet, you would have them walk only beneath the sun, where all is safe and known.” His shadow stretched toward you, a whisper brushing against your skin. “What of the unseen wonders? The truths hidden in darkness? Wouldn’t you like to know?” Your pulse quickened, torn between the sanctuary of Pure Vanilla’s touch and the tantalizing pull of Shadow Milk’s words. Pure Vanilla sighed, his voice laced with patience. “I only wish for them to grow without fear. Not to be lured into reckless abandon.” “Fear?” Shadow Milk hummed, his voice curling at the edges like silk. “Or hesitation? There is a difference, dear Vanilla. And you know it.”

You inhaled deeply, then finally spoke. “What if… what if I tried both?” Silence. Shadow Milk let out a short, amused chuckle. “Oh? Both? You surprise me, little petal.” His grin widened, his mismatched eyes gleaming. “You wish to bask in the sunlight and dance with shadows? How intriguing.” Pure Vanilla tilted his head, considering your words. “Balance is important, but are you certain? I would never wish for you to be led into danger.” You nodded firmly. “I don’t want to just hide away forever, but I also don’t want to throw myself into things I’m not ready for. Can’t I have a little of both? A little safety, a little adventure?” Shadow Milk smirked. “Oh, I like this. You’re finally starting to break free from that cautious little shell.” He leaned in closer, his voice dipping into a whisper. “How about a test run, then? There’s a fancy banquet happening tonight. I say we sneak in.”

Pure Vanilla blinked. “Sneak in?” He sighed, already weary. “Shadow Milk, that’s hardly the kind of outing I had in mind.” “Oh, I’m sure it isn’t,” Shadow Milk purred. “You’d rather take them to a safe, dull gathering full of polite conversations and predictable outcomes.” “That ‘safe, dull gathering’ ensures no one gets thrown into danger,” Pure Vanilla countered, his expression exasperated yet fond. You giggled at their back-and-forth before slipping your hands into both of theirs, squeezing gently. “How about this? We go out together, enjoy the night, and see where it takes us. No reckless sneaking in… but also no hiding in a corner the whole time.” Pure Vanilla softened. “That… is a reasonable compromise.” Shadow Milk hummed. “Not as fun as my plan, but I’ll allow it. For now.” With an excited flutter in your chest, you tugged them along, stepping into the lantern-lit streets. The night was young, and with the warmth of Pure Vanilla’s kindness and the thrill of Shadow Milk’s mischief, you knew you were in for an unforgettable adventure.

[beautifullilacsky]

I remember my garden. The way the path was always cleared for everyone who wanted to pass and spend some time together. The explosions of color from different flowers and greenery, waiting to happily greet anybody who walked by. I still have a clear vision of my garden; how I felt so peaceful and happy in it, and how it welcomed the occasional visiter. I used to also visit other people's garden, and see all of their beautiful fields, appreciating every bit of it.

My garden has changed. The sun hid behind the clouds, and the flowers bloom less grand and bright. The flowers are still there though, but they are turned to one another instead of to the paths, not allowing anyone to see and smell their magic. Most of the time, the flowers were forgiving. Though now, when someone accidentally steps on a leaf or leaves behind a hint of trash, the flowers don't just show understandment and forgiveness. They grow bitter, and their focus on the negative things grows. Instead of focusing on how blessed we are to have a visitor, the flowers are constantly on guard, seeing when the visitor slips up. Every single mistake, even if so minor, gets noticed and amplified. The weeds seem to take over, and grow all over the paths and around the flowers. They want to keep people away. They aren't welcoming and kind, they are disruptive and full of disgust. They have also taken over the main gate, trying to keep it closed. Anyone who tries to enter, is seen as an intruder. Also, I am kept here into my own garden. The garden that seems to have lost its magic. The gardener, aka me, doesn't want to visit anybody else's garden. She sees how her own garden needs tending, and doesn't have any time nor patience for any other gardens. When other gardens are visited, the gardeners eyes no longer instantly go to the beauty of the garden. It sees all of the things that are off, the things that hold less beauty. There might be a whole bunch of stunning flowers bundled up together, but her focus gets drawn to this one stump of wood that lays on the path. "If you knew I was visiting, why did you not bother to clean up before I came?" Especially in their shared garden, she doesn't even want to take care of the garden, knowing the other will either not clean up, or will leave a new mess once the gardener has cleaned. "I don't want to tend to this shared garden, because you don't seem to feel the need to show it the same respect. Though, it also works on my nerves and hurts my feelings that the garden isn't cared for." Her own lack of care hurts, but she also wonders; why should I?

Is my garden something I need to fix? I miss my old garden. Though, should I just close my eyes and accept it again if somebody steps on my flowers? Even if it is an accident, or if that person has a different garden culture and finds that perfectly normal. I am honestly tired of trying to understand and accept others and their actions. I want to keep others out, and stay away from other gardens too. I wish to focus on my own, though I have seemed to have lost some green color on my fingers. My garden can't thrive by itself, even if we have seen it do so in the past. Just like trees connect with one another, the connection to other gardens makes mine shine and makes it stronger. Though, I do not want it. The more it's forced, the more resistance I show.

marigold

2024/06/29

[girl-lostconnection]

I'm so sorry you have to deal with people being so demanding, and I hope that they actually listen to your post and stop, cause it's just really rude in general.

On the other hand, I, for some reason, keep thinking about your story of reader dying and the 141 grieving and how, for me personally, when it comes to one of my loved ones, no matter how much time passes, I just can't stop thinking about them, craving their love, the way that they loved, and how you can see the similarities in others but it isn't quite right, it still doesn't feel the same, and you're just never left satisfied when you want their love again and no one else can do that, because it's not them. You're still loved, yes, but it's not the same.

Idk. I just was thinking about that and was wondering if that's what they might feel. They still have each other and love each other, but I wonder if there are times when they want or feel like they need it to be like reader's way to feel better on some days, where little things that upset them were originally made better by something reader did, but now that they're gone they're just left with that feeling to simmer.

You know one of the things I had to learn while dealing with grief — it doesn’t become smaller. You just get bigger, you get more experiences the older you get and all of that grief is still there. But grief is just what is left of your love for the person who is no longer there.

I think for them it would manifest differently but I can definitely see Johnny trying his best to keep going because he knows he has three more partners and they have to keep going and they have to keep living. Because Reader wouldn’t be happy with them just ending it all, because there is so much more time left, so many things they haven’t done. I think for him it would be one of the things that would eventually result in early retirement. He already lost a quarter of his heart when he lost Reader, he doesn’t want it happening again. And as much as he loves being demolitions expert, he knows there is a different type of life out there. One that can give him and his partners stability and safety.

I think Johnny would be the person that despite it all still sometimes talks about Reader like they are still there. He mentions references to movies and music and books, he draws them in his sketchbooks, he mentions that “this is the dessert they always wanted to try”. With time it turns into a warm kind of nostalgia, the love that he carries with him, his grief manifesting in trying to compensate for everything Reader wouldn’t experience by living through it himself. And by living on. When his time comes he hopes to see Reader again and say “see? I did well, didnae i? It was a good life. A long life, like you wanted. Bet you are proud of me”

Like i mentioned before Kyle took it in one of the worst hits, he’d keep holding onto Reader’s clothes and mementos as long as he can. He googles obsessively brands of clothes, he finds exactly the same articles because even if these get ruined or good forbid someone throws them out — he will know what to order. It won’t be the same, but he could pretend that it is. He already pretends that he’s alright, he already pretends that the hoodies he’s wearing with Reader’s name and rank are just part of his standard uniform.

I feel like Kyle is a person who has never experienced a loss this big before. He never lost someone who was this close, someone who’s still in his head, someone whose voice he keeps hearing when he talks to himself. Kyle likes to imagine that Reader never passes on. That they are still there, maybe noncorporeal, maybe he can’t see them, but at this point he’d settle for anything.

I think Kyle was never one for religion but whenever he passes church he’d get in to light a candle and say a quick not even a prayer but sort of a wish. Like that’s the only way he can chat with you, like something holy could really pass his “I’m okay, love, I’m eating well. Last mission was shite, but you know how it is. You no longer come to me when i dream. Are you upset, baby? I’m sorry, I’ll be more careful next time, i know you don’t like me getting injured. Just please, come back. I can’t sleep well without you.”

Simon would probably have the hardest times adjusting to the absence of Reader, because he takes the longest time to accept their death. He tries so hard to pull away from the moment where he would need to actually process the notion that it finds him itself and hits him with the force of minivan.

There is aching that he can’t relief, there is itch he can scratch — there is a person who he could tell any of his jokes and who’d not just joke in return but laugh at it and this person is gone. They are not coming back, he can’t even find them somewhere to watch out of the shadows, he can’t stalk them.

Losing people like that is always the hardest because with living people you at least can call/text/send a letter with a carrier pigeon. You can come back and open old wounds, you can pick up the fight, you can look them in the eyes and get some closure. Simon is not getting any. He fights every step of the way, he drags his feet. He’s easily agitated, he feels like hitting his head on the wall every time something stabs him from inside reminding that you are gone.

He comes up with a joke and yeah, of course he can tell it to anyone out of 141, but he wants to tell it to Reader. He wants to tell it to them specifically because they’d have a funny response which they’d choke out of themselves by laughing so hard he actually starts laughing. He misses it. He misses them. He misses their smell, the feel of them, the way he could talk to them and they would just get him so well like no one else would. He doesn’t just lose a partner when Reader dies — he loses a friend.

Price is…Price is complicated. He’s one to bottle it all up and throw it so deep down it may never come up other in his subconscious habits. He makes tea for five people and not four, he shops for five, he still buys the snacks Reader liked, he starts planning celebration for their birthday just on the back of his mind until he catches himself doing it and just forces it all down deeper.

Price would be a high functioning alcoholic in his grief, but still an alcoholic. He drinks a little more than he should, he forces down a drink he’d previously wouldn’t because he knows his limits. But it burns and it numbs and for a few hours he can breathe again. Alcohol allows himself to loosen a lid on everything he feels, it puts safe distance between his feeling and him and he actually allows himself to process some of them.

He cries, he ruins his office, he punches through the wall, he routinely throws up. Once he gets so drunk he actually starts having hallucinations, intoxication so severe he almost chokes on his own vomit. Soap finds him just in time to get him help. After this he gets out on suicide watch for 72 hours and the team would start actually guard him in shifts.

Price still drinks but now next to him there is always someone who also remembers his limits and doesn’t let him overstep them. John hates it at times. He hates himself much more though. He hates Reader sometimes too, because that’s not fair that they are gone. Because look what a fucking mess he is, love, bloody disgrace to drink himself under the fucking table.

Price has the fastest adjustment to Reader staying deceased but at the same time he can’t fully process his grief. Part of him is scared that he will drive himself mad if he does, another part just doesn’t want to. It’s stubborn and unhealthy but so what. He’s a captain, he lost soldiers before, he’s gonna deal with it this way.

But i think he’s also the second person who retires straight after Soap because he finds a new almost obsessively-desperate purpose in keeping his boys alive and well. He may be a fucked up man but his boys already lost one of their own, he doesn’t want to drag them through his death as well

[ellealyssum]

well-read ✦ zayne x reader ✦ fluff/smut ✦ 2.6k words

You knew better, but the little terror that lives in your brain that loves sowing seeds of doubt tells you that your loving boyfriend is actually keeping his distance because he thinks you're into tentacle porn now. Zayne likes to know what you're reading. It's not what he was expecting.

p in v sex, fingering, established relationship, yes they use protection, bookworm!reader, fem!reader, not suitable for readers under 18

okay so i'm like halfway through 'stalked by the kraken' by lillian lark and that's what inspired this. plus i need zayne immediately. (also if you're into tentacles that's cool they're just not my cup of tea personally)

also on ao3

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

 If Zayne were to write a list of things he loves about you it would be miles long. Just one of the things on that list would be your love of reading. 

 Zayne was a reader himself, although he spent most of his time with his nose in medical texts. As important as it was for him to keep up with the latest research in cardiology, he often wished he had the time to sit down with a different genre occasionally. Honestly, he was a little envious of you. You somehow always found time to read. Whether it be during lunch breaks, before bed, or even just for ten spare minutes while you were waiting for dinner to cook, you most likely had a book in your hand. And your library was vast. You devoured everything from epic fantasy to poetry to non-fiction on any topic that caught your interest. Zayne adored your intellectual curiosity. He was a firm believer that making time for reading was a good habit of self-improvement. So naturally, he took an interest in your current choice of book.

 It was later than he would have liked, bordering on 9pm. The smell of stir-fry and rice hits him as he walks through his front door. He spots you, curled up on his couch with a cup of tea and an open book in your lap. Flipping the volume closed with a satisfying thump, you meet his gaze with a bright smile.

 "Welcome home, love. I left some dinner for you on the counter."

 God, you were so good to him.

 "Thank you," he murmurs, making his way over to give you a chaste kiss. "I'll go and wash up first. Go back to your book."

 You don't need to be told twice. You were still in the exact spot he'd left you once he returned, donning a comfortable shirt and sweatpants with a contentedly full stomach.

 "Thank you for cooking, sweetheart. It was delicious."

 You don't close your book this time, used to a quiet after-dinner routine of flipping through your respective literature. 

 "No problem. I had to cook for myself, anyway, so I just made double of everything."

"Well, I still appreciate it," he adds, sinking into the sofa beside you.

 His eyes fall to your book. He couldn't tell what it was from the cover. You often covered your books with a simple strip of craft paper to ward off curious looks from your coworkers when you read on breaks. You simply didn't think they needed to know what you were reading about every day. You preferred to be inconspicuous, so a blank cover on one of your books was not an abnormal sight.

 "What are you reading?"

 It was a question he had asked hundreds of times, and that you had always been more than happy to answer. So the blush tinging your cheeks and the nervous twitch of your fingers was very odd, indeed.

 "Oh, it's just more paranormal fiction," you explain, conveniently moving the book away from him and placing it on the side table.

 "Just paranormal fiction, huh?" He strokes the backs of his fingers along your pink cheek. It was blissfully warm.

 "What has you acting so suspiciously then, hmm?"

 You huff and roll your eyes at him, the way you often did when he'd caught on to something you'd rather him not know.

 "It's..." Your brow furrows as if trying to solve a particularly difficult riddle. He gestures for you to keep talking. "It's a romance. A paranormal romance."

 He was a little underwhelmed by your response. You were known to enjoy a romantic film when you watched movies together, so why would reading a romance be a source of embarrassment?

 "Sweetheart, we've been together for months. We see each other almost every day. You think I don't know you enjoy a little romance?"

 You let out an exasperated sigh. 

 "It's just that... it's not a normal romance. It's... explicit."

 He couldn't help but chuckle. 

 "You don't need to feel any shame about reading erotica, my love. Especially not around me. You know, the man you're sleeping with?"

 "I know that." You turn in your seat to look at him now. "It's not exactly normal erotica, either."

 Oh, now he's intrigued.

 "How so?"

 He swears he sees a glint in your eye before you reach behind you and hand the book in question to him.

 "See for yourself."

・・・・・

 It had been two days since you'd last seen Zayne. Not for any particular reason, you were both just busy with work and hadn't had the time to communicate much outside of a few quick texts. This wasn't out of the ordinary, but you can't help but feel anxious.

 You shouldn't have given him that damned book.

 You didn't even care that it was your only copy and that you couldn't keep reading it. You knew better, but the little terror that lives in your brain that loves sowing seeds of doubt tells you that your loving boyfriend is actually keeping his distance because he thinks you're into tentacle porn now.

 That wasn't even true. Yes, the book you were reading was a romance about a woman who falls in love with (and fucks, multiple times) a kraken. Yes, it was pretty hot. But tentacles have never been something you've sought out and that wasn't about to change. This particular book was highly recommended on the few online forums you browsed, so you had decided to give it a shot, just out of curiosity.

 You think about your sweet, mostly-vanilla Dr. Zayne reading the sex scenes in that book and you wish time travel were feasible so you could go back in time and snatch it away from the version of yourself that for some reason thought it would be a funny idea to give it to him.

 But for now you needed to stop spiralling, because said sweet doctor was set to arrive at your apartment with dinner any minute now.

 Another five minutes and he was standing in your doorway, take-out in hand and looking surprisingly... relaxed? Changing into the house slippers you kept for him, he greeted you with a sweet kiss and began serving the food onto plates.

 Strange. You thought for sure he'd have at least some reaction. Maybe he hadn't read the book at all and you'd been worrying yourself to the point of being nauseous over absolutely nothing. Yes, that was probably it. He was a busy cardiac surgeon! Of course he hadn't had time to read your silly book.

 You managed to reassure yourself enough to enjoy a relaxing meal, the both of you filling each other in on your busy work days. Being the gentleman he was, Zayne followed you into the kitchen to help wash up once you were both done. He'd just handed you the last of the utensils to dry when he softly cleared his throat.

 "I read some of the book you leant me." You immediately freeze, not knowing what to expect. "I didn't realise you were into... that sort of thing."

 You bury your face in the towel you were holding. Oh God, he did think you were into tentacles now.

 "I fear I may lack the equipment necessary to act on such desires though."

 You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. His brow is furrowed. He looks almost disappointed that he doesn't have tentacles. Oh God.

 "I'm not into tentacles." Your voice is quiet. Embarrassed. 

 His relief is immediate. You might have laughed if you hadn't been so mortified. 

 "Well, what is it you do enjoy about the book, then? You were quite engrossed in it the other evening."

 You sit yourself on the countertop with a huff. There was no avoiding the topic now. When Zayne wanted to know something, he was going to find out.

 "It's not about the... appendages," you explain earnestly. "It's the emotions. It's about trusting someone so much you can show them your entire self, even in an intimate situation.

 He nodded, considering your words, his lower lip caught between his teeth. Speaking of intimate situations, fuck this man was hot when he was deep in thought. It was unfair.

 "Very insightful, love." He steps closer to you and you squeeze your thighs together a little in anticipation.

 "It seems I need to revisit the story."

 And with that, he turns on his heel and leaves you sitting on the counter all by yourself, stunned.

 Now you really regretted giving him that damned book.

・・・・・

 It had only been fifteen minutes but you were getting desperate. Fifteen minutes of using scrolling on your phone as a front for staring at him as he read. His foot was balanced on the opposite knee and is long fingers were splayed over the cover, occasionally coming up to readjust his glasses. You cross and re-cross your legs for what must be the tenth time. You can feel your clit throbbing, begging for some attention. You weren't even the one reading smut and somehow it was you fast approaching becoming a writhing mess. How was he so unaffected? He looked like he could be reading through medical files he was so nonchalant. What did he need to re-read this book now for anyway?

  "Zayne?" you ask in a feeble attempt to break his concentration.

 "Hmmm?" He doesn't even look up.

 Fuck this.

 Before you can chicken out you're striding over to him, taking the cursed book, knocking his foot to the ground and straddling him on your couch.

 "Enough reading." You let the book drop unceremoniously onto the carpet behind you.

 His shock only last for half a second before he's digging his fingers into your hips and pulling you closer.

 "Thank God, I didn't know how much longer I could last."

 You look down at him quizzically. "How much longer you could last?"

 He groans and pulls you in even further. He's already hard under you.

 "Thinking about you reading those things. Getting all hot and bothered. Touching yourself." Each sentence is punctuated with an open-mouthed kiss to your neck and collarbones. "I've been hard since I left the kitchen."

 "And so you sat down and read for twenty minutes? Silly man." You start unbuttoning his shirt, desperate to have your hands on his skin.

 "I wanted to give your very considered response to my question the thought it deserved." You ran your hands down his bare chest, enjoying the feeling of the ridges of his muscles against your fingertips. 

 "And what is your conclusion, Dr. Zayne?"

 His hands slide back to grip your ass. "You're the smartest, sexiest woman I've ever laid eyes on. I am in awe of you."

 You cup his cheeks in both hands, losing yourself in his beautiful eyes. No matter how many romance novels you read, no one could compare to this man.

 "You're perfect," is all you manage to get out before you bring your lips to his, so overwhelming is your need for him.

 You could kiss him forever and it still wouldn't be enough. Your hips have a mind of their own, rubbing your pussy along the ridge of his cock, the friction of the clothing between you adding to the heat between your thighs. You break apart to work off his shirt and he pulls your dress and bra down in one swift movement, baring your breasts to him, your nipples peaked and dusky pink. He immediately latches on, sucking one of the sensitive buds into his warm mouth. He's always been a sucker for your tits. Literally. 

 He works both your nipples, teasing and pinching whichever one is not in his mouth, being grazed against his teeth. Your arms are trapped at your sides under the straps of your dress and all you can do is moan wantonly and grind against thighs before he releases your tit with an audible pop.

 "Fuck, Zayne, more." You're begging him. Your pussy is dripping and so, so empty.

 "I know, darling, I know." He moves your dress up this time, removing it completely and leaving you just in your drenched panties. "Here or bedroom?" he asks.

 "Here. Can't wait." 

 He lifts you up slightly so you're hovering over him and moves your panties to the side, sliding two long fingers between your lips. "You're drenched," he notes, with a reverence to his voice.

 "Zayne, please."

 He doesn't make you wait, pushing both fingers into your cunt. You lean your head on his shoulder, mouth open, panting. His fingers pump in and out slowly, the soft squelching sounds they make driving you closer to the edge. His thumb rubs little circles into your aching clit, just the way you like it. And then he stops.

 You can't help the drawn out whine that leaves your throat.

 "Love, I'm sorry, but with you whining in my ear like that, if I don't get my cock inside you right now I'm going to come in my pants."

 You move quickly, unzipping his trousers and pulling out his dick, slightly curved and pink at the tip, shiny with his precum. He reaches into his back pocket for a condom and rolls it onto his length with swift strokes. His hands grip your thighs and he lets out a groan as you drag his tip along your swollen pussy, wetting him with your slick. He looks up at you, eyes dark with lust. "Ride me, sweetie."

 Your moans tangle together as you sink down onto his cock, taking him to the hilt. The perfect fit, every time. He's watching you with pure love on his face. "You're so gorgeous." His hands spread across your ass, helping you slide up and down along his length. "Touch your clit, baby. I want you to come for me." You think you could orgasm from his voice alone in this moment, but you do as he asks, your cunt clenching around him as you roll the stiff bundle of nerves between your fingers.

 "Close," you pant, eyes almost rolling into the back of your head. His cock feels so good inside you, stretching you just the right amount. "Come with me, Zayne, please, I need you." You're babbling, but he must hear you because he thrusts upwards into you, mouth on your tits again, chasing his high along with yours.

 Your orgasm rips through you, your head thrown back as you body twitches in pleasure. After a few more thrusts the spasms of your hole around his length has him pulling your bodies flush together as his cock jerks inside you while he comes.

 It takes you a moment to collect yourself, becoming aware of the sweat covering you and the wet mess you've left on Zayne's pants beneath your thighs. He pulls you in for a deep kiss before slowly pulling out of you. "I love you."

 You smile into his kiss. "I love you, too, my big snowman." 

 He runs his fingers through your hair as you rest your head on his chest, waiting for your breathing to regulate.

 "We should get cleaned up." You grunt in agreement but make no move to do so. Your eyes wander around the room, landing on the book you'd so carelessly tossed to the floor.

 "How much of that book did you read, anyway?" 

 He glances at where it landed. "Only up to your bookmark. I figured I should read the same amount as you as to properly gauge your thoughts on it."

 Always so thorough, your doctor.

 "How about we read some more? Together?" you suggest.

 You shriek as he stands up, picking you up with him, and starts carrying you towards the bathroom.  

 "An excellent idea as always, my love."

[cheyisagirlkisser]

Plsss another part of the librarian x vi fic !!! It was so sweet !! Maybe how reader reacts when vi is released?!? anyways ur writing is so beautiful so even if u don’t do a second part thank u for just writing that first one, it was AMAZING

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨. (𝐕𝐈)

warnings: fem reader who works at stillwater's library, former prisoner vi, angst (and comfort of course), making out but mostly tame.

a/n: this may suck i'm going through a bit of writer's block. trying to write this to help push through it so i hope it's still good!!

part one link here

You didn't know what Vi was released for, only that she won't be coming back. Overcrowding is the usual suspect, of course. An influx of criminals since the Jinx riots means there are cells that need filled. Vi's behavior saw a steady improvement. You can't be surprised that she was released.

Still, you think about her. Many times have you sat behind your desk and wondered what she has been up to. You try not to miss her because you want to be happy that she is outside of the suffocating walls of Stillwater, but it's hard when your natural instinct is to look up with hopeful eyes anytime the library door opens. It's never Vi that walks through.

She didn't even get the chance to say goodbye. Only a matter of seconds, and she was back in Zaun. You're left in confliction, and the days pass without a word from her. Is it so selfish to want her to reach out? Or maybe it's you who should be seeking her out. You're not sure anymore. The whole situation feels like a pressing headache.

Each day you work in Stillwater feels unique. Many office jobs are predictable: you sit down on a chair with wheels and type away. You organize papers or make copies when your boss asks so of you. Everything is predictable and organized. The days are same, and you imagine that they blur into one big timespan of a career. You can't exactly say the same for Stillwater on any occasion.

Sometimes, there are times when you seriously wish you could put your two weeks notice in. The time a prisoner threw a hardcover book at you was one of those times. Other times, you are reminded of why you signed up for the job in the first place. You get that feeling of motivation to keep on.

Today has been the former.

You finally walk through the streets of Piltover post-shift, your body ready for sleep, but your mind elsewhere. You think about Vi in these mundane moments when there are no other thoughts to fill the void. The tall buildings surrounding you feel almost suffocating, and you find yourself subconsciously take a left turn, crossing the bridge that binds the two contrasting cities.

You've always thought about the differences between Zaun and Piltover. When you were younger and impressionable, you were constantly warned about the undercity as if it was the boogeyman or bloody mary. It was something out of sight, out of mind. You were never given any reason or initiative to experience the horrors of poverty.

Now, you see it surrounding you. You see children in the streets in town clothing, weary mothers and the occasional father trailing behind them. You hear the violence like a ringing in your ear. You hear catcalls, some of them even towards yourself. As you take in the undercity with wide eyes, you pick up your pace. The alleyways are often empty, but you wonder if anything could be lurking within them. It's too dark to see anything but what luminates the streets and buildings, not the hidden passages that seem to overwhelm you even more.

Suddenly, your body is yanked into one. You open your mouth to scream, but the sound is muffled as you feel a warm hand cover it. You can't see exactly who it is in the darkness, but the voice sends a familiar warmth throughout your body.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Vi asks you, obvious annoyance in her tone. Something like worry or another indescribable emotion is hidden underneath the attitude, though.

You pull her hand away from your mouth, gasping for breath. "You scared me, jesus!"

"That doesn't answer my question." She presses. "Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to be down here? Especially with a target on your back."

"I've been wondering about you, okay? You haven't reached out, and I didn't even get to say goodbye!" You wrap your arms around her body in a tight, desperate hug. The embrace you expected her to return was met with a stiffness, but she didn't pull away.

"I didn't think you'd want me to." Her voice isn't as soft and sweet as you remember it to be. It makes you pull back.

"What? What do you mean?" When your questions are met with silence, you cup Vi's face. "What is going on? Did I do something wrong?"

Vi scoffs at that, but the bitterness in the expression isn't towards you. "You didn't do anything wrong. It's me."

"Vi, what do you mean? You didn't do anything." You try to search her face for answers. Your eyes trace over the sharpness in her jaw that seems to be even more carved from before, and you notice the emptiness in her cheekbones. You used to be worried for her in prison, and now you can't help but wonder why she isn't eating as much as she can now that she is free to do so.

"You don't understand what I mean. You really think we could ever work? You're a Piltie chick, and I'm just another piece of undercity trash. I'm not going to be anything more than that. You shouldn't be here with me." Vi tells you, voice wavering through she tries to say it all firmly. It's clear that the feelings that were there back in the library, the ones that turned into countless stolen kisses and promises of care are failing to be repressed.

You don't let her, though. You pull her in closer. She doesn't protest, even as you hate the tense feeling that settles deep within her due to her own insecurities. All you want is to wash away the rigid Vi, and replace her with the softness that you know still exists. The real Vi.

"Look at me." You softly say. Vi meets your eyes for the first time in a while. "I don't care about some stupid social dynamic. I just want you. I don't fucking care if I have to bring you back up to Piltover with me. I don't care if I have to stay down here with you! I just want to be with you. Don't leave my side again. Please, Vi." The desperation is there, and you don't try to hold back. You feel tears form in your eyes.

You don't get a verbal answer. You don't get much of any answer at first, as Vi stares back at you with wide eyes that remind you of just a few weeks ago, when everything seemed much more simple. Within the walls of the prison, things might've been difficult, but the feelings came easy. You just had to remind her of what it was like to feel them with you.

But the answer is exactly what you've been needing. Vi presses you against the alleyway and kisses you with all of her pent-up longing. Her lips are chapped, but it doesn't matter. She is real, and you feel her warmth travel to your body. Her tongue parts your lips in an act of desperation. She needs to make sure this isn't a dream. She needs to feel your tongue against hers and to know that you aren't just another drunken hallucination. The kisses lasts forever, and you feel each other everywhere. Her hands cups your face before trailing down your body and landing on your hips. Yours find the back of her neck and your fingers part through her hair, tugging at it when she presses against you in the right ways.

Eventually, Vi pulls away for air. She doesn't leave you in that alleyway, though. You feel her breath on your lips and her hands holding you close. Her embrace is tight and reassuring: she isn't letting you go this time. She isn't pushing you away, not after she has spent so long yearning to feel you again.

TAGLIST: @witzs, @bewareofmyglock, @ruelezz, @daughterofthemoons-stuff. want to be on my taglist? click here!

[zepskies]

Lol YESSS I know you love a bit of angsty heartbreak. 😜 Thank you so much, friend! Can't wait to see what you thought of the penultimate chapter. 💖

Oh, Micheal is just such a lovely, lovely person, isn't he? 😒 In the words of Taylor Swift: Michael doesn't measure up in any measure of a man...

oh God yeah, perfect quote for this pos, honestly. 😣

Hahaha omfg I loved Sam so much during this chapter! He was awesome!!! Go Lawyer!Sam 😎🤎 (And I have no idea if you intended for my mind to jump to Changing Channels and French Mistake Sam with these lines, but it did, so THANK you 🤣🫶)

LMAO I'm deaddd - Sam in Changing Channels is exactly the cadence of all his lawyering/"agreeing" with Michael to keep him talking. It's very "play your role" for sure! And French Mistake Sam is the icing on the cake. 🤣🤣🤣

I do understand his struggle after the war, but it's literally NO excuse to treat his wife like shit, cheat on her, lie to her, spend her money for his trashy sidepiece, and God knows what else. You don't want an anchor? Fine. Get divorced. The fact he keeps her around and won't let her find her own happiness after she literally saved his life is so mind-boggingly selfish smh The least he could to show his gratitude is not be a gigantic cuntface 🤬

First of all, LOVE that you dug up that Freddie gif. Leave it to you to find the perfect one there. 🤣🤣

And yes ALLLL of this! Louder for the people in the back!!!

That's exactly how I hoped readers would react to Michael's scene. Is he pitiable in a sense? Sure. Does he inspire sympathy? Maybe. But it doesn't excuse his selfishness, especially when you contrast him with Dean and his experiences vs. his actions.

Ugh, God, poor thing! 😭💔 With all the romanticism of that period sadly also comes the shame of taboo topics (not to mention feminism in general taking a backseat lol) Really feel for her here! Wish she wouldn't blame herself as much. Her husband is a dirtbag 😔

Ooof yep, that's something I hoped would come across as well. I wanted the reader to be strong but realistic to the time period in that sense. But it shows how her moral character differs from her husband. 🙄 Even now, she feels guilty for betraying him, even if she also doesn't. It's more the principle of it that she feels shame for, if not the actual emotional act.

SCREAMING 😳😳😳 The whole flower shop scene was like watching a train wreck. Poor Dean! So many stingers in those few sentences!! 😩 (And man, I wanna choke Michael!!! Buying flowers? Dinner? Are you fucking kidding me??? WHAT THE F–???)

Ughhhh God ikr? Poor Dean, indeed!! 😭😭 What's ironic is Michael doesn't know that that's almost exactly what Dean did to cheer her up the night before. So now, even Dean might be looking at his own actions as "not enough." But Michael has every shade of audacity, doesn't he? 😤

But did you stop the angst there? Nope! The reader part of me hated you, while the writer part highly commended you 😂💜

*snorts* honestly thank you - this compliment feeds me so much. 😂💕💕

I already knew it wouldn't be fast, but I knew this was going to be a problem. Where would she stay during this? Michael certainly won't have it, and I really fear for her safety here 🥺 (Reading the teaser for the last part, I think I have good reason to, even though I know you said once earlier I didn't need to. Still, you got me shaking here, girl 😅) Surprised Sam wouldn't think about that, considering everything he found out about the guy so far 👀

Ooh yes, these are all good questions! Her safety and where she'll stay is definitely a factor coming into play in Part 5. After what Sam has found out, he's going to make sure she's looked out for, for sure! 💜💜

This was such a dreamy, swoon-worthy movie scene *sighs* 😍🫠 And then they had to start talking, didn't they? Specifically Dean. The infamous DW self-loathing enters the AU 😆 I really just wanted to cover his piehole and tell him to stop talking, kiss her for real, and take her with you. Hide out in Kansas till everything blows over 😭

Ugh right?? Things started out so nice, why tf did Dean have to open his mouth? lmaoo

"I'm no good for you"!Dean has entered the chat. 😒 But no DW love story would be complete without a little self-loathing, right? 🙃

LOL love that image of literally covering his piehole.~

But I know it hurts, my lovely. I'm so sorry to do this to you. 🥲🤭

And I'm so glad the brothers had a long overdue chat as well! I still feel so incredibly heartbroken for Dean 😭

Oh yeah, Sam and Dean needed to have that moment - for Sam to see how much he was hurting big bro, and for Dean to get that off his chest. Ultimately though, if these guys can survive three years of the war apart, they can survive learning how to be brothers again too. 💜

I can't wait for the last part of this & how it all will tie together in the end! Eeeek! This is so, so, so incredibly good, friend!!! 😍😍😍 (And I get to read it on Patreon tonight too hehe 🩵)

Aww I love you so much for wanting to join my Patreon, friend!! I can't wait to see what you think of how it all shakes out--with much drama of course. you know me lmao 😘💖💖

BETWEEN THE CITY & THE STARS - Part 4

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: In the fall of 1945, Dean is having a difficult time assimilating back into civilian life after the War. He’s visiting his brother Sam in New York City, where he’s beginning to build up his law firm. At two minutes to closing time, you interrupt their evening to solicit a solicitor. Your request? You need help in order to divorce your husband.

AN: Now we get into the aftermath of the night before, with all the insecurity and heartbreak to go along with it. 💙

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Historical Epic

Song Inspo: “Danke Shoen” by Wayne Newton

Word Count: 4K

Tags/Warnings: Mentions of cheating, angsty angst, trauma/PTSD, and a cliffhanger…

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Part 4: Complicit

Sam would give Michael one thing. The guy damn well knew how to drink.

He didn’t stop all night, throwing back whiskey like it was cheap beer. His words began to slur, his movements sloppy, but he was still coherent. When he got up to visit the men’s restroom, Sam got up as well. Maybe he could get Michael talking.

Sam stopped the other man from tripping into the urinal. The two laughed it off, with Michael thanking him before he unzipped to finish his business. Sam did the same.

After washing their hands, Sam looked over and noticed Michael’s gaze lingering on his own reflection in the mirror. It was becoming a rough sight—his blonde hair no longer neatly coiffed, purplish rings under his eyes, the stench of alcohol clinging to his skin and clothing.

“You all right there, Milligan?” Sam asked.

Michael ran a hand over his face, sighing when it didn’t get any better.

“Fine,” he replied. “So, Winchester. What did you say you do for work again? Something about your own business?”

Sam nodded. “I started up a law firm.”

That much, he had to be honest about. It was all too easy for someone to look up his name in the directory.

“Sounds like a good outfit,” Michael said, with an incline of his head. “Every lawyer I know wears a Rolex.”

Sam chuckled, glancing down at his father’s watch. “Well, I’m not quite there yet.”

“Someday soon, I’m sure,” said Michael. He bumped Sam conspiringly on the shoulder.

“And you?” Sam asked. “What’s keeping the lights on at your place?”

Michael raised a hand to sort through his unruly hair, a dirtier blonde in this unflattering light.

“Well, you could say I’ve inherited a business of my own,” he said. “I run a meat packing plant down in the district.”

Sam’s attention piqued. There had been a meat rationing during the war, even some rumors and propaganda about “meatleggers,” black market operators.

“How’s it been with the rations?” Sam asked. “Been hard to even find a good carton of eggs lately.”

Michael gave him a slight smile. “Been on the turnaround, actually. I’ve been able to make some connections with vendors outside the city. A little grease on the palms makes a little go a long way, if you catch my drift.”

Sam slowly smiled and nodded. A little grease on the palms, huh?

“Do what you gotta do in the times, ‘s what I say,” Sam agreed.

Michael snorted. “Now you’re talkin’. That’s all we can do, you know. Try to make a thing work, with whatever scraps we get. Try to stay afloat.”

“Try to stay alive,” Sam rejoined.

Michael made a low sound of approval. He became more contemplative, crossing his arms as he once again glanced at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Sam’s gaze on the other man was perceptive, gaining ever closer to what seemed to be eating at the very core of him. Whether Sam actually believed what he was saying or not, each of his words was a test, a subtle nudge.

“You know,” Michael said. “I was shot down in France.”

Sam sobered further. Leaning against the counter, he retrieved two cigarettes and a lighter. He didn’t often smoke, but he thought it might keep the other man talking. He handed one over to Michael, and he took it gratefully. They lit up together and coiled musky tobacco smoke into the air.

“Where?” Sam asked.

Michael snorted, huffing a bit of smoke. “Lord knows. But when I woke up, I had stitches from here to here.”

He gestured to the back of his head, all the way to above his brow. It explained a small, but noticeable scar near his temple.

“And I had an angel standing over me,” he added, his eyes growing heavy. Guilty. “A bona fide angel. She’d stitched me up, she told me. She also told me I was lucky to be alive. The doc wanted to toe tag me and be done with it, but she thought I still had some fight left in me.”

Michael shook his head. “The next chance I got, I married her.”

Sam’s brows rose. He knew you had been a nurse, but he hadn’t known this part of your story.

“A wartime romance, huh?” he said. Michael quirked a smile.

“She was my anchor,” he said. “After it was all said and done, she followed me here, held my feet down to the ground. Sometimes she had to hammer me down, ya know.”

He hesitated, his eyes somewhat glazing over. He stared over Sam’s shoulder at something only he could see.

“But sometimes…sometimes an anchor just feels suffocating,” he said. “Sometimes, you need to forget your own damn name. Forget that your entire life and mortgage is in a warehouse that might as well be a freezer full a’ dead cow meat. And still, it smells a hell of a lot better than lying on a dirty cot—where the last guy who had your spot probably got his leg sawed off.” 

Michael considers the cigarette in his hand for a long while before he takes another puff.

Sam exhales smoke as well. He spent the last three years behind a desk, but he sees the same shaken core in Michael Milligan that he too often sees in his older brother.

“You know, Winchester, there’s two kinds of men,” Michael said, just a hint of a slur in his voice. “The ones who pray to live…and the ones who beg for it to be over.”

“And what kind of man are you now?” Sam asked. His tone was loose, but his gaze was sharp.

Michael snorted. He dabbed the butt of his cigarette on the inside of the sink before he threw it away.

“I’m the guy who can’t die,” he muttered.

He rolled his shoulders, as if to let the weight of his words and everything that came along with them to roll off his back. Then he pushed his way out of the bathroom, leaving Sam considering more than just half a cigarette.

That night after Dean left, you slept in the guest room instead of your bed. You couldn’t even bring yourself to sleep next to Michael when he stumbled in at four in the morning, especially now that you had seen his game with your own eyes. 

However, you also felt complicit yourself the next morning. You felt…ashamed. You took your vows seriously. You had never in your life thought you would be someone so brazen. You never thought you would dishonor your husband as well as yourself.

And yet. All while you got ready for work, hearing Michael’s snores from the other room, your mind was filled with warmth and memory—of Dean. His smile, his voice, his eyes, his lips, and of course, his hands. You couldn’t decide which of them was your favorite, but his hands were high on the list. 

You shouldn’t have let him in, you reminded yourself. You nibbled on your lower lip while you prepped the coffee maker. You should have told him goodnight at the door and saw him off. You should very well not have invited him up to the apartment, let alone drank with him, or let him touch you…

You paused while the sound of percolation and the smell of fresh coffee filled the kitchen. You looked up at yourself in the small mirror that hung on the wall. The woman looking back at you was conflicted at best.

Yes, you felt guilty. But at the same time, you didn’t. Was it really betraying your marriage if your husband had been doing far worse, and for God knew how long?

No. This wasn’t a marriage. This was a sham. A mockery of the very thing.

You frowned angrily and almost slammed the carafe on the counter when the coffee was done. Forcing yourself to take a few steadying breaths, you allowed that hate and anger to slowly drain out of you, and you smiled.

You marveled that you could smile at all, but it was only thanks to Dean Winchester.

What the hell am I doing?

Dean stared at the two bouquets of flowers. One was a bound bunch of red roses, the other was wildflowers and other colorful ones he didn’t know the names of. He was having a hard time deciding, namely because he didn’t know what kind of flowers you liked.

Because after all, he barely knew you.

He sighed down at the roses. They were pretty, but expensive. He could imagine your surprise, followed by your smile—the one that actually lit up your eyes and changed your whole face, made you sweeter, almost shy.

I’m buying flowers for a married woman.

The thought managed to make him pause, with a rough exhale of breath. The truth was, he’d crossed the line with you. More than once.

The hard part about it was, he didn’t really care. He did wonder if you cared.

He wondered if you’d be embarrassed to see him again. He wondered if you wanted to keep last night a memory, and nothing more. He wondered if he was better off booking his train home now, and leaving some kind of note for you with Sam. Dean didn’t think he wanted to see that look of mortification on your face, the whiskey finally cleared from your mind to see what he really was: a man with no job, no commitments, and very little prospects on the horizon.

“Ah, ‘scuse me,” a young man said from Dean’s left side.

“Oh, sorry,” Dean said, making way for the guy. He wasn’t quite as tall as Dean, lithe, blonde, and blue-eyed. He grabbed an arrangement of blue and yellow iris flowers from the case and took it up to the front. The florist seemed to recognize him.

“Oh, Michael! Been a while since I’ve seen you,” he said.

When the florist asked about you as well, the mention of your name rang between Dean’s ears. A feeling like inky claws raked through his chest; he raised his head from the roses and finally recognized Michael Milligan. He was the same man Dean had spotted in your wedding pictures hanging on the wall last night, right in the foyer.

“She’s all right,” Michael chuckled. “Truth be told, I’ve been working late this week. Hoping to surprise her tonight, take her out to dinner. Somewhere nice, you know.” 

“Oh, really? Why don’t you take her to that nice steakhouse off of Broadway…” the florist twittered on as he continued to ring up Michael’s order.

Anger and disgust prickled under Dean’s skin, his fists clenched at his sides. More than anything, he wanted to turn around and lay your husband out flat. If he thought one little bouquet and a Salisbury steak was going to wash him clean, then he was an idiot as well as a selfish bastard.

But Dean knew, deep down, that Michael would be just as justified to throw a swing right back at him.

So Dean left the flowers, the flower shop, and the entire busy street and all its blaring sounds behind.

During your lunch break, you quickly made the trek over to Sam’s office. He’d called you this morning with a story that only confirmed everything you’d inherently felt, and yet, some of it still managed to shock you. 

You didn’t even have the patience to wait until after work, but when you got there, he reassured you. It had taken him a few rounds of poker and discreetly following Michael and Dolores after they exited through the back of the club…but Sam had gotten the evidence not long after. They weren’t exactly discreet in the alley. Or in the nearby motel.

You had the envelope in hand filled with the pictures he’d developed from his camera.  

“You don’t have to look,” he advised. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“No, I want to see it,” you said. You took the pictures out, and your expression didn’t change as you look through them all. Each position captured was more compromising than the next between Michael and Dolores Daye. Apparently, he was paying most of her bills as well with your combined household funds. So part of your own money was financing his exploits.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said. He was sincere, with those hazel eyes of his.

You nodded and gave him back the envelope. “What’s next?”

“I went ahead and filed the petition. I’ll take this right to the clerk’s office myself.”

“How long will it take to be over?”

“As long as Michael plays along, should be quick. A few months at most, after he’s served the divorce papers and signs them,” Sam assured.

A few months? That wasn’t quick enough in your book, but you agreed with a nod. You got up from the chair opposite his desk. You hesitated there.

“Oh, I meant to ask…how’s your brother?” you said.

Sam began to smile, but he tempered it. “He just called before you came in. He let me know he was stepping out for a walk.”

“Oh, really? Did he happen to say where?”

You not only found Dean in Central Park, but close to the very same bench you two had sat on yesterday and talked the night away. He was surprised, but he smiled when he saw you. Your pace quickened, until you were hastening over to him. He welcomed you into his arms. He bent his head towards yours, stopping just shy of kissing you. Instead, he pressed his forehead to yours for a moment.

“Well, look who’s here?” he teased. “How’d you find me?”

“I stopped by Sam’s office,” you said, holding onto the lapels of his coat. A cold November wind pushed at you both, ruffling your clothes. “The paperwork is on its way. Soon enough, I won’t be a married woman anymore.”

He tucked a wild strand of hair behind your ear and smiled, but it didn’t altogether reach his eyes.

“How soon is soon?” he asked.

“A few months, according to your brother.”

Dean nodded, taking a deep breath. “That’s good…but, I need to head home for a little while.”

That made you pause, tilting your head in confusion. Though you supposed it made sense. He was only here visiting his brother. He was planning on going home eventually.

But surely, that was before we… You lowered your gaze.

“Back to Lawrence?” you asked. Again, he nodded.

“I need to take care of some things, figure out my next move,” he said.

You pulled away from him to brace yourself, and not just against the cold. “Well, when will you be back?” 

He stayed quiet, worrying you even more. There was a deep pit forming in your stomach, churning with unease.  

“Dean?” you prodded.

He stepped back in to grasp your arms gently.

“Sweetheart…the truth is, I don’t have much to offer you,” he said. “I don’t have a business to inherit from my folks. I don’t even have a job. I’m a man who was about as useful as a jackhammer, until the war ended.”

You frowned, resting a hand against his chest. “Dean Winchester, that’s not all there is to you.”

“Really. When did you figure that one out, in the whole week you’ve known me?” he asked. It was harsher than he meant to be, but he couldn’t help the words that were spilling out of his mouth. “Didn’t that get you in trouble the first time? I’d a thought you would’ve learned your lesson by now.”

You snatched your hand back, hurt filling your eyes. You turned to walk away before he saw your tears. You should have known. You should have known a man like him would never be serious. Not about you. 

As soon as he let the words go, Dean realized what he was doing. Yeah, he was frustrated, but it wasn’t aimed at you. It couldn’t be aimed at you.

God knew he didn’t want to hurt you, or for you to hate him. He really couldn’t stomach either thought, so he relented and reached out to grab at your hand, before you could get too far. 

“Wait,” he said, managing to pull you back to him. “I’m sorry.”

You tugged your hand to try and free yourself from his grasp. 

“You know what, maybe you’re right,” you said, your voice wobbling with anger, dismay, and tears. “Maybe I ought to stop letting a man get even an inch into my heart. At this point, it’s my own fault.”

“Stop,” Dean demanded. “No, it’s not.” 

He pulled you back into him, but you looked away from his imploring gaze. Your breaths grew shallow while you tried in vain to stop yourself from crying. It damn well broke his heart.

“It’s not your fault. I’m just an idiot,” He cupped your cheeks and wiped your tears as they fell. “But you…you deserve to be happy. With a man that can take care of you, protect you. A man who has a little more of his life figured out.”

“You’re just saying that so you have an excuse for toying with me. So you can keep chasing skirts,” you said, pushing at his chest. “Yes, your brother told me about all your little exploits.”

Dean took the blow, both proverbial and physical, with a raise of his brows. He guessed he couldn’t blame you for that one. Still, the disdain behind your words stung. He allowed you to break free of him.

You stepped back and straightened your clothes. You took in a deep breath that did nothing to calm you, and you uttered a humorless laugh.

“I suppose it makes sense. Why would you want anything to do with me?” You gestured down at yourself with a dismissive hand. “A-a walking mess. Even when I am divorced, that’s how people will see me. Damaged goods. I don’t even know how I’m gonna tell my parents.”

You covered your face against Dean and the rest of the world, and after weeks and months, you finally allowed yourself the one thing you hadn’t since your first inkling that your husband was being unfaithful. You finally allowed yourself to break.

The first sob shuddered through your body, followed by hot tears. You squeezed your eyes against them and wiped at your face in vain.

Dean broke too, in his own way. He gathered you into his arms, where he shushed you gently and pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

“I wasn’t giving you an excuse,” he said.

Despite how much you wanted to push him away, the deep, steady timbre of his voice pierced you and soothed you at the same time.

“I meant every word I said. I may not be the right guy for you, but don’t you dare take a scrap of what anyone else might say, you hear me?” he said firmly. “You’re beautiful. You don’t suffer fools like me, and you’re better than that sad sack excuse of a man deserves.”

You looked up at him with watery eyes.

“You’re a lot of things, Dean Winchester, but you’re not a fool.”

He shook his head, not wanting to argue with you anymore. He just kissed you, deeply, thoroughly, the way you always imagined a kiss should be.

Except that you realized…this was goodbye. So you took advantage of every second of it.

You met him with as much as he gave and reached up to touch his cheek. It felt a little rough under your fingers, just like you remembered. You would probably always remember that feeling, long after you left the park.

That evening, you packed as many bags as you could. You put together the savings you’d been collecting for a few months. It had been at your coworker Jess’s advice, ever since you started feeling the inkling that something wasn’t right in your marriage.

After you were all packed, you took one last, long look at the space you had tried to make your home. With one last tear trailing your cheek, you stepped out of the apartment. You took the bus uptown, where you later checked into a hotel. 

When your husband finally got home from work, he would find a one-page letter written in your own hand. 

For once, Sam was actually home in his apartment. He was helping Dean take his suitcase to the front door after calling a taxi to come shortly. Sam wasn’t happy about it though.

“You don’t have to go so soon, Dean,” said Sam.

Dean gave a humorless laugh. He grabbed his coat from the rack and threw it on.

“I’ve gotta get back to the house. It’s already been empty too long,” he said. Three years too long. “Fact is, I’m just getting in your way here.”

He couldn’t quite meet Sam’s eyes as he went to the door, but Sam stopped him with a pressing hand on his arm, tugging him back.

“Hey,” Sam said, his brows furrowed. “That’s not true. Where’d you get that idea?”

Dean raised his brows. “You mean the way you’ve haven’t been home more than a few hours a night? The way the only time I see you is if I go find you at that office. You should open up a Bed n’ Breakfast there. You’d make a double killing in this town.”

Sam wilted. “Dean, we opened the firm barely a month ago. I’m just trying to—”

Dean laid a hand on his shoulder, relenting.

“Hey, look. I’m not judging you, Sammy. I’m not,” he said. “You’re building something. I know that. I just need to go figure out how to do the same, whatever that means for me.”

Sam stared back at him, still with that frown. His guilt and reluctance to see Dean go was reflected in his eyes; those sad puppy dog eyes that used to get him out of almost any punishment with their parents when the boys were young. Before.

The corner of Dean’s mouth kicked up into a smirk.

“Don’t worry. I’ll see you again soon,” he said.

“How soon is soon?” Sam asked. It was something their mother used to say to John whenever he called late, promising he’d come home after long days in town buying supplies for the farm.

“The divorce papers will be served to Michael Milligan,” Sam added, pointedly raising his brows. “She…could use your support.”

Dean’s smile faded at the mention of you. His hand slipped from Sam’s shoulder.

“She’s got a strong head on her shoulders. She’ll be all right,” he said. He heard the honk of the taxi outside. He grabbed up his hat, set it on his head, and took up his bags. He turned back to Sam at the last moment. “I’m sure you’ll look out for her.”

It was somehow both a question, and an imploring charge. Sam sighed, but he nodded in agreement. His brother could be so very stubborn. Once he got an idea of what he thought he needed to do, there was almost no talking him out of it.

Sam opened the door for him and walked him out to the car, helping him with his bags. Before Dean could get into the cab, Sam stopped him. Their gazes met, but in that moment, no words were needed.

They pulled one another into a firm hug.

I’m sorry. I should’ve been there more for you.

Don’t worry about it. It’s already forgotten.

Dean released him first with a smile, and a heavy pat of Sam’s shoulder. He turned and climbed into the cab’s backseat. Afterwards, Sam watched the yellow cab take his brother away to the train station, feeling a weight in his heart that wouldn’t subside.

He would never know that Dean felt exactly the same way. Except that impossible weight felt a lot like your hand, gently laid over his heart.

Dean took up his suitcase as the train pulled into the station. He stepped up onto the platform and retrieved the ticket from his pocket, but he paused, hearing a familiar voice shouting his name.

He turned his head and saw Sam rushing to meet him at the platform.

“What’s the matter? What’re you doing here?” Dean asked in surprise. He didn’t like the wary apprehension written across Sam’s face.

“I just took a closer look at Milligan’s finances,” he said. “Before you go, there’s something you might want to know.”

AN: Come on, we needed at least one cliffhanger in this series! 😘 What do you think Sam rushed over to tell Dean? What did you think about their "goodbye," as well as her and Dean's goodbye? ...And are you ready for all the drama that's about to go down? lol 

Next Time:

Except the loud, insistent knock on the door broke you out of your thoughts. Straightening up with a frown, you set down your glass and went over to the door. Maybe it was Housekeeping coming up to bring you the fresh towels you asked for. The ones that had been laid out in the bathroom smelled musty.

You opened the door to a tall frame taking up room in the doorway. It was Michael, standing there both disheveled and steaming mad. He held your letter crumpled in his left hand. 

“Michael, what—what’re you doing here?” you gasped and stepped back. He followed you inside the room and slammed it shut. He looked around at your open suitcases in disbelief, then finally at you.

“What’s this supposed to mean, huh?” he demanded to know. He shook the flimsy piece of paper at you.

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A Father’s Teachings, A Mother’s Love

Yautja x Reader (Toddler!Version)

Summary: When your half-Yautja son’s instincts lead him to act out, it is up to your mate to teach him the true meaning of strength and honour.

The shriek of frustration echoed through the walls of your home, followed by the sound of something heavy crashing on the ground.

You exhaled, pressing your fingers to your temple as the pounding in your head only grew worse.

Your son, your beloved but utterly disobedient little half-Yautja son, was once again throwing a tantrum.

You had tried everything, calm words, firm commands, even attempting to hold him still in your arms like you used to when he was smaller.

But now, at three years old, he was stronger, faster. His Yautja blood made him stubborn, his instincts urging him to challenge, to push, and to dominate.

And unfortunately, today, you were his chosen target.

“Gah-dee!” he growled in his broken mix of Yautja and English, knocking over a chair. “Weak! No listen!”

You took a slow breath, trying to keep yourself calm.

He had been testing you all day, grabbing at things he shouldn’t, growling when you corrected him, ignoring your words entirely.

But the last straw came when he yanked your arm too hard, his tiny claws scratching across your skin.

The sting was minor, but the intent behind it cut much deeper.

Your eyes darkened. “Enough.”

Your voice was sharp, leaving no room for argument.

He bared his tiny fists, but when he saw the look in your eyes, hesitation flickered across his face. Even as young as he was, he knew he had pushed too far.

Before he could say another word, a shadow loomed over the both of you.

Your mate had been observing quietly, his sharp golden eyes taking in every act of disobedience, every defiant glare your son had given you.

He had waited, as Yautja fathers did, to see how you would handle the challenge.

But now, as his son crossed a line, he stepped in.

Your child's defiance momentarily stopped at his father’s presence. “You dare wound your mother?” The deep voice sent a shiver down your spine.

Your son huffed, attempting to puff out his chest, but your mate only tilted his head, calm but dangerous energy radiated off of him. Like a predator watching its prey.

“Mother is weak,” your son muttered, though his voice lacked its earlier confidence. “No fight. No strength.”

A deep, rumbling growl filled the air.

Your mate knelt before him, gripping the back of his tiny neck in a firm but controlled gesture, an unmistakable sign of dominance in Yautja culture. Not meant to harm, but to force submission.

Your son froze, his tiny claws twitching as he looked up at the father he so desperately wanted to impress.

“Strength is not in claw or fang alone,” your mate said, his voice slow and deep. “It is in restraint. It is in wisdom. It is in honour.”

Your son blinked, confusion evident in his eyes.

“She gave you life,” your mate continued, tilting his head toward you. “She has nurtured you, taught you, protected you. And you dishonour her?”

Your son shifted uncomfortably, his small mandibles twitching.

He was still too young to fully understand, but he knew his father’s disappointment was something he did not wish to bear.

Your mate released him, watching as he hesitated before turning to you. His large eyes, so much like his father’s, were filled with uncertainty and regret.

“I… I sorry.” His voice was small now, a stark contrast to the loud defiance of moments ago.

His little hands twitched as if wanting to reach for you but not knowing if you would allow it.

Your anger had not fully vanished, but as you looked down at your son, you saw past the misbehaviour of the child who simply wanted to find his place between two completely different worlds.

You knelt down and held your arms open.

He hesitated only for a moment before running into your embrace, his small body trembling as he pressed his forehead against your shoulder.

“I love you,” you whispered into his hair. “But you must never hurt me again.”

He sniffled, his small arms tightening around you. “I be good. I promise.”

Your mate’s approving growl was low but unmistakable.

He reached out, resting a large hand on both of you, solidifying the bond between the three of you. You looked at him, silently thanking him.

Parenting a half-Yautja child was never going to be easy, but as your son curled closer into your arms, you knew one thing for certain.

Love, honour, and strength would guide you.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[narcissistshandler]

i don't know if you are taking requests for the spiderverse but if so can you write about hobie with a reader (top of course) who is a virgin?

𝗦𝗢 𝗖𝗟𝗢𝗦𝗘 𝗧𝗢 𝗕𝗘𝗚𝗚𝗜𝗡𝗚

pairing. hobie brown x male reader

warning. amab! reader, top! reader, virgin reader, bottom! hobie, light sub!reader eager to please

a/n. I was surprised to receive 3 different requests for virgin!reader so here it is!

You, as a sane, educated, hormonal adult, were no stranger to sex. It was something everyone discovered early on, and after the disgust, revulsion, and aversion came interest and desire. Masturbation. But masturbating was very different from having real sex, you always knew.

Nothing like real, hot sex with your damn sexy boyfriend.

It felt like you could faint at any moment, your nerves all jumbled up in a bunch of pointless worry. Hobie, of course, led you to bed with an ease that made it seem like you had always been there, that you were supposed to be there. Without much questioning, he knew it was your first time and seemed eager to make it good for you.

You didn't have to think much, he would take care of everything.

You had been here countless times, but it had never been like this, none of the touching and rubbing from before felt anything like this. Just the way he kissed you let you know he was craving it as much as you were. It made you feel better about your lack of experience, knowing you weren't the only one feeling a little greedy. Hobie kissed you so hungrily, panting and whimpering when you pulled away to breathe, that made you wish you never had to breathe again just so you could keep kissing him forever.

You wanted him to enjoy this as much as you did, even though you were the inexperienced one here. Hobie knew exactly what he was doing, what he wanted and he didn't stop until he got it — you, naked, hard and almost delirious in his bed. Not that you were complaining. This was the closest thing to a divine experience you had ever had. Hobie shone like an fallen angel over you.

"You're holding your breath." He barely separates his mouth from yours to speak; his eyes remain closed and you feel each word being pronounced against your lips, moist with his saliva. With the separation, it's like you can breathe again. Breathing wasn't as important as kissing Hobie. "Is everything okay?"

Fingers twitch in the grip you have on his pointed hips, his weight burning into you, your skin sweaty and slick. Your thumbs run over the prominent bones there and his hips shake, his hard cock that you're hyperaware of, rubbing against your stomach, letting you know that yes, this felt good to him too. You wanted him to feel good so badly.

You take a moment to respond and Hobie sit up once more, resting his hands on your chest as he corrects his position. The shift makes him sink down onto you, pushing you even deeper into his channel. Hobie makes a satisfied sound, almost a purr, seeming content to just sit on you, with your cock pushing its way inside him. You, on the other hand, feel your head spinning. Hobie was so tight around you it was almost hard to breathe, even the prior preparation hadn't lessened the tight grip — you had then asked if it hurt, but Hobie groaned all the way until he took you completely.

"Too much?" Hobie asks, with a downright sinful swivel of his hips. You grip his hips tighter, unsure if you want to make him stop or beg for more.

It’s almost embarrassing, how easy and yielding he has you. But Hobie seems to like it. There’s a lingering curve of a smile on his mouth and he’s as talkative as usual.

But you were having difficulty finding your words. Your mind seemed to have short-circuited as you indulgently, followed Hobie's command to lie down on the bed and watched him slide one finger after another inside himself, stretching out for you. It was hot as fuck and you've been an stuttering mess ever since, tripping over your own words, most of what you said barely understandable. Damn, Hobie. Baby. That's so hot. You look so hot like that. Does it hurt? Does it feel good? Can I try next time?

Next time. That choice of words seemed to almost make Hobie cum right there, around three calloused fingers shoved up to the knuckles in his ass. He had then unbuttoned your pants with a hunger that made the button fly across the room and thrusting his feet into the mattress, guided your cock into his soft hole, sinking inch after wide inch without pause.

"Cat got your tongue? Where are your big words now, virgin boy?" Hobie jokes. The set of heavy silver rings on his fingers still glistened with traces of lubricant.

You took a deep breath. Fuck. Fuck. No porn compared. The hot hole like an oven around you, squeezing you like a vice, the slender body above you. Hobie was a sight that almost pushed you to orgasm in itself. You were determined to last, wanting to see Hobie cum before you let yourself go, it was easier thought than done. "It's not too much," you say. "You just feel so good I can't think straight."

Hobie laughs. A bright sound that goes straight to your cock, which twitches inside him. "That's the goal. Don't think about anything. Just focus on me." That was easy, so you nod, hands moving up his torso, passing over the hard nipples and back down his thighs, spread around you, because it was impossible to stop touching this man. "I'm going to ride you until you cum, then you can turn me over and fuck me until I'm hoarse from screaming your name. Does that sound good?"

Sounds like paradise.

"Yes," you gasp.

"Will you let me take care of you? I will make this night unforgettable for you." Hobie then begins to move, his leg muscles tensing as he begins to move up and down, slowly, taking his time, savoring your member dragging through his tight walls.

"Yes, of course. Whatever you want." Please, you almost begged. Not yet, even though you knew that before the end of the night Hobie would have ripped the word out of you. It didn't embarrass you, you would beg for it if that was what he wanted. You already knew that after today, if necessary, you would beg on your knees to be able to be inside him again. Hobie didn't have to do much to make this a night you'd dream about every day.

[concreteangel92]

Hi! I don't know if you're comfortable with writing this, but I cannot stop thinking about Nick Ruffilo's or Folio's, choose which one you want, younger sister being in a secret relationship with Noah or just hooking up with him and it ends up with her being pregnant. I'm truly sorry if you're not comfortable with it! But I love the way you write your fics and interact (don't know if it's the right use of the word, sorry english is not my first language) with your fans! Love you, hope you're doing well!❤️❤️

Noah Sebastian x female reader (Folio’s little sister)

No warnings

I’m so sorry this has taken so long as this was sent back in November! I hope you like this and it was worth the wait!

And thank you for your kind words, that’s so lovely to read, I always love interacting with everyone on here 🖤

Permanent Taglist: @flowery-mess @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @bloody-spades @lacy1986 @fadingangelwisp @theanarchymuse95 @w0manof-flesh44 @dream-machine-love @thisbicc @amelia-acero @badomensls @fadingintothegrey @tosoundlessdarkistare @ichoosetenderomens @hurricanesfollowyou @concretejunglefm @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @xmads-omensx @chey-h @xxkittenkissesxx @lyschko666 @rumoured-whispers

Let me know if you wish to be added!

Masterlist

You’d sat on the toilet staring at the pregnancy test within your shaky fingers with a knot in your stomach and a lump in your throat, the positive sign almost taunting you as a nauseous sensation washed over you.

You’d been in a secret relationship with Noah for about a year and a half now. It had started as a causal ‘friends with benefits’ situation, only meeting up when Noah was at home from tour and when you both needed to scratch that itch.

Then over the course of a few months it had turned into something more.

Random nights started to become proper dates, the ‘you up texts’ turned into all day conversations that made you grin like an absolute idiot and you’d find yourself staying the night in his arms instead of going home afterwards.

You two had never planned to fall for each other but you had.

The only problem? You were Nick’s younger sister.

Because it had started out casual, no one needed to know, you’d kept it a secret from everyone and it had actually made it more exciting for you both. When it became something more you both didn’t have the nerve have to tell your brother.

How would Nick react to one of his best friends sleeping and now seeing his baby sister?

He’d always been the protective older brother while you were growing up, never liking any guy that you’d been with, why would Noah be any different.

But now you knew you couldn’t keep your ‘forbidden romance’ a secret any longer, you’d have to tell him.

You were pulled from your thoughts when Noah appeared in the doorway of the bathroom with a soft knock.

“Babe?”

You looked up at his eyes, seeing the fear that matched your own and you nodded slowly.

Noah took a deep breath to compose himself and then came and knelt in front of you.

“Are you ok?”

“I’m…not sure….”

He nodded and took your hands in his.

“Do you want this baby?”

You looked at his calm expression, not being able to read him at all.

“Do you?”

Noah looked nervous suddenly.

“It’s….unexpected….I didn’t imagine I’d have kids at this particular time….but….I love you and there is no one I’d want a child with more than you”

A huge wave of emotions filled your chest.

“Really? You’d want this baby with me?”

Noah smiled and squeezed your hands tightly.

“Yeah….yeah I do….if you want the same?”

“I want this baby too”

Noah’s smile grew as he pulled you forward into a kiss.

“Looks like we are having a baby then”

You suddenly felt the knot in your stomach again.

“What about Nick?”

Noah’s expression became more subdued at your reminder of your reality.

“Then we’ll tell him….when you’re ready, we’ll sit him down and tell him everything”

•••••

You both decided to keep it quiet until you’d had the first scan before you told Nick.

You’d both felt the nerves this morning as you’d called Nick and asked him to come over yours.

“It will be fine, he’ll understand”

You gave Noah a look.

“I know my brother….I’m not completely confident that he won’t hate us after this”

Noah put his arm around you.

“No matter what, we have each other and we’ll get through this ok?”

You nodded and leant into his arms, feeling the warmth of his body and letting his comforting smell wash over you before you heard a knock at the door.

You both looked at each other and gave each other a look of encouragement before you went to the door and opened it to reveal your brother.

“Hey sis! Whoa…you look like shit, you sick or something?”

You rolled your eyes and moved aside to let him in.

“Oh shut up and come in Nick”

He wandered into the living room and was surprised to see Noah already sitting on the sofa.

“Hey dude?”

Noah nodded and gave a wave.

You came through and stood next to Nick.

“Thanks for coming over….we actually have something to tell you”

Nick sat himself down in one of your armchairs.

“Yeah?”

You stayed standing for a moment before you joined Noah.

“Yeah and you’ll probably be upset….but we never meant to hurt you or…”

“You finally going to tell me that you’ve been dating behind my back?”

You both sat and stared at your older brother in shock.

“What?”

Nick couldn’t stop the laugh as he responded.

“Do you really think I’m that stupid sis? I’ve known for ages now, everyone has!”

Noah sat more forward on the couch.

“How?”

Nick gave him a “really dude?” Look.

“For one you suddenly became the happiest man around…no way that was that normal…”

“Hey!”

“Second, every time we all hung out, you’d both be staring at each other and making heart eyes…it was gross. But painfully obvious, I’ve just been waiting to see how long it would take you guys to grow a pair and tell me”

You looked at Noah and then back at your brother.

“Wow…ok I didn’t expect that. We are sorry we kept it from you, we didn’t know if you’d be…upset”

Nick smiled. “My little sister dating one of my best friends? It was weird but I’m not mad, I trust you dude to look after her….and it’s actually nice to see you date someone proper instead of the losers you normally see”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes as he spoke to you with that end remark.

“Thanks”

Noah gently took your hand in his.

“Thanks man, it means a lot to know you’re ok with this”

You felt him squeeze your hand and you carried on speaking.

“There is….one more thing”

Nicks eyebrow raised up with a giggle.

“You’re not getting married are you?”

You pulled a photo out of your back pocket and handed it to him.

“Not exactly….”

Nick took the photo and his eyes went wide as he saw your first scan photo.

“You’re…”

You both braced yourselves for what was to come.

“I’m going to be an uncle, hell yeah!!”

Nick’s face was beaming as he stood up to hug you.

“You’re…you’re not angry?”

“Sis how can I be angry? It’s a shock but this is incredible news!”

You felt all the worry and dread leave your body as you hugged your brother back, Noah standing up next to you as he shook Nicks hand.

“I’m going to be the best uncle this kid could ever want and I’ll get them a little motorbike outfit so they can ride…”

“NO Nick!!”

[wordsofwhimsy]

𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚎𝚜 & 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎 - 𝙿𝚝. 2

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

【ＰＡＩＲＩＮＧ】 ⦂ Mark Grayson x Reader

【ＧＥＮＲＥ】 ⦂ Fluff, romance, & slight!tragedy

【ＷＡＲＮＩＮＧＳ】 ⦂ None

【ＩＮＳＰＩＲＡＴＩＯＮ】 ⦂ “Forrest Gump” by Frank Ocean

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

♫♪ This is love, I know it’s true… ♫♪

Mornings had always been hard for you.  Most days you struggled to even open your eyes, let alone get out of bed.  As a young teenager you mother had told you this was a sign of depression.  You of course, being a teenager, brushed off her concern.  It took several years for you to come to the same conclusion on your own.

Mornings with Mark were different.

The sun seemed softer, warmer, dripping through the blinds like honey.  The songbirds were a melodious symphony that gave you a sense of peace.  Your mind was blank as you slowly blinked into consciousness.  Mark’s sleeping form was the first thing you clearly saw as your vision came to focus.  He was laid on his side turned towards you, lips slightly parted, and his face completely relaxed.  He was beautiful, and you were in love.  Unable to help yourself, and perhaps even unaware of your own actions, your fingers reached out to trace slowly over his shirtless chest.  They moved gingerly over the plains of his abdomen, dipping into the valley between his pecks, and skirting along his defined collarbones.  In synch with your fingers finding his jaw, you leaned forward and kissed him softly on the lips.

Mark’s arms snaked around you in response, pulling you into a languid yet strong embrace.  His mouth moved against yours, melting you into a puddle on his bed.  “I hope I didn’t wake you up,” you murmured against his lips.

“No, no,” he assured between quick, soft kisses.  Then he paused and added, “Well, maybe.”  You rolled your eyes and pushed playfully away from him.  Chuckling he and pulled you back in, keeping you close. “Wait no I’m kidding, come back.”  You immediately gave up the fight and settled comfortably back into his arms.  He placed a kiss to the top of your head, and in that quiet moment you wished it could last forever.  That was until you felt a pang of hunger curdle in your stomach.  Knowing that an embarrassing growl was just around the corner, you asked,

“Would you want to go get breakfast?”

“That sounds good,” he responded, burying another kiss into your messy bedhead. “Get ready.  I know the perfect place.” 

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

“Konnichiwa!” A woman of small frame and jet black hair stood at your table side, a toothy grin painting her face.

“Konnichiwa,” you greet back with a small awkward chuckle.

“Are you Americans?” the woman asked, head slightly cocked to the side. 

“We are—sorry, we don’t know Japanese.”  You threw a quick glance to Mark whose eyes were fixed on you. 

“That’s okay~” the waitress responded promptly in a singsong tone. “What can I get for you?”

“I’ll have the pancakes.”

“I’ll do the tamagoyaki [a/n: this is a “sweet and savory omelette” that is a traditional breakfast option in Japan], please,” Mark added, his stare only now moving to look at the waitress. 

“Hai!” She gave a slight bow before heading off to presumably ring in your order.  Waiting to be sure the waitress was out of earshot you finally looked to Mark with an incredulous expression.

“Y’know, this is definitely not what I had in mind when I suggested breakfast.”  He flashed his pearly whites at you, apparently pleased with his choice.

“Trust me, Japan really has breakfast figured out.”  You chuckled before taking a sip of your water. “My mom and I come here sometimes.”  The unspoken question on your mind: did your father come too?  Instead, you say,

“Debbie makes some of the best pancakes, I’ll have to see if this place can stack up.”

“Pun intended?” Mark laughed.

“In all seriousness, I’ve never been to Japan before.  Tokyo is gorgeous!”  He hummed in agreeance.

“You should see the countryside.”

“If it’s anything like it is in anime’s I can only imagine.” 

“Honestly? It’s pretty close.” Your foot bounced under the table, still shaking off the jitters from the flight here.  You took another sip of water, dehydrated from the adrenaline rush.  Mark’s broken face came into view as you put the glass back down.  He tried to hide it, but you knew him well, and his pain spoke to you even in the silence.  Uncrossing your legs you slipped your foot from the sandal you were wearing and reached out to rub your toes over calf.  This seemed to bring him back to you, his body tensing for a moment then relaxing.  “I’m excited for you to try these hotcakes.  I’m telling you they are kind of ridiculously fluffy.  It’s like eating a cloud.”

You laughed, eliciting a grin from him. “Well now I’m really excited.”  Your morning continued on in this fashion, conversation staying to lighthearted subjects and an obvious all together avoidance of what happened yesterday.  A part of you wondered if he chose to eat on the opposite side of the planet in an attempt to avoid hearing any news stories or strangers’ conversations relating to the matter.  The thought alone left your heart burning in your chest.  As desperately as you wanted to talk to him and find out the details of the event, you would leave the ball in his court and wait patiently for him to be ready to open up.

Instead, you offered him wordless comfort in the small gestures of connection as you sat there together.  Rubbing your foot against his leg under the table, reaching over with your hand to rest on top of his, placing a kiss to the top of his head when coming back from the restroom.  It was the best you could give him, and though they seemed insignificant to you, they meant the world to Mark.  They were all he needed in that moment.

“Okay, don’t tell Debbie, but that might have been the best pancake I’ve ever had,” you confessed, leaning back in your seat with your hands placed on your stomach in dramatic effect.  Mark’s face lit up.

“I told you!  It doesn’t even make sense how good they are.”  You laughed at his excitement.

“Speaking of Debbie, is she working today?”  The joy melted quickly from his face, and yours mirrored the same emotion.

“I doubt it.  I should probably go see how she’s doing…”  You stayed silent but nodded your head in agreement.  Having paid the tab a few minutes prior, you both stood from the table and headed back to the small alley you’d landed in.  “Ready?” he asked, you now cradled in his arms with your arms wrapped around his neck. 

“Mhmm.”  You both move in synch towards each other, kissing slowly and deeply.  The feeling of his lips against yours never ceased to put butterflies in your chest, your toes coming to a point in pure bliss.  Your mouths moved together, complimenting one another effortlessly.  His tongue skimmed along your bottom lip but then pulled away shyly, sending chills down your spin.  By the time you broke away for air you were already high above the ground and moving just below the clouds.  You buried your face into the crook of his neck, still unable to handle the height after all this time.

Instead of thinking of how far up you were, you focused on the feeling of weightlessness you had when held in his arms.  For all his strength and otherworldly capabilities, he treated you like a delicate flower.  Doing his best to offer you the world while forever being mindful of your fragility.  He always kept you so secure, and flying like this in his arms left you with a feeling of almost ethereality.

Unknown to you, this feeling was requited in Mark – only he felt the weightlessness in his mind and heart.  He could never let you go, and had resolved long ago that you would be apart of his life forever.  Even in the centuries to come where you were dead and gone, you would live on eternally in his heart.

♫♪ I won’t forget you. ♫♪

[s1rawb3rry]

Riding Circles Around You

synopsis: Y/N spirals after seeing her ex... completely unaware to the fact that her closest friend, Heeseung, has been quietly falling for her all along.

word count: 2.5k

warnings: fluff fluff fluff, no smut, some touching, cussing, some angst tbh, low self-esteem, established friendship, heeseung is completely whipped for y/n while shes oblivious to it, hee is kinda a loser in love (i need him so bad...), so really its loser in love x loser also in love but doesnt know it yet

genres: uni AU, slice of life, student!heeseung x student!reader

pairing: enhypen Heeseung x reader

a/n: some tooth rotting hee fluff to satisfy my sweet tooth hehe, enjoyyyy

Taglist: @heestoleurgirl @stariekis @jaehoodies @morganaawriterr @luvashli @kireistrawberryjayla (comment if you want me to add / remove you from the list <3)

⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯

I have been in the same position for the last 2 hours. Sat on the floor, my laptop opened but the screen turned off a long time ago. My eyes lazily, and without purpose, move from my reflection on my laptop screen, to my socks, to the posters hung on my dorm’s walls. My wall clock reads 11:30ish am, I exhaled. I have already wasted so much time... but my frame feels too heavy to move. I have so much work to get to, but this empty– yet heavy– feeling overpowered my actions and thoughts. All I could feel is the crisp, late night air coming from my window into my suffocatingly small room, my messy hair softly moved with the breeze. 

I never knew seeing my ex, let alone with his new girlfriend, would paralyse me this much. We broke up a year ago and even left on good terms. I am genuinely over him, so my perplexity grew when I noticed how small I suddenly felt. I have no reason to feel any of this.  But for some reason, I do. And I hate that I do.

When the image of them together appeared again in the back of my eyes, I winced. It's exactly how I saw them a couple hours ago, my mind refusing to forget the image of the perfect couple: her arms wrapped around his, both of them laughing with that stupidly-in-love smile. His laughter died down before hers did, he looked at her as if she's the one who hung the stars in the sky. They looked at each other as if they were the only two people on earth, which worked in my favor because they didn't notice me. 

My clothes suddenly feel suffocatingly warm on my skin the more details I recall. My laptop was pushed to the side by my feet as I laid on the cool floor, trying to soothe down my burning body. Guilt started to eat at my bones when I noticed that I foolishly hated seeing him happier with her. I wished him and still wish well, but seeing that in front of me is different. It feels like I failed at something that I didn't even want to be anymore. Failed at being a girlfriend. That familiar feeling sank in my chest, the feeling of worthlessness and incompetence in every domain in my life. 

Before I could continue my warfare in my mind and list down my failures as a friend and a daughter, I heard a vibrating sound next to me, followed by my phone screen turning on, illuminating my dim dorm room. My heavy hand reached out for it while I stayed immobile. After blinking a few times to adjust to the brighter light, the text message became clearer.

“Hey, I will be at my dorm soon. We can facetime in 10”  - "Dumbass", Delivered 1 min ago

“Oh fuck me…” i mumbled under my breath, i completely forgot. Heeseung asked me to help him with this project a week ago. My heavy hands struggled to keep my phone up, feeling even more suffocated. Figures, keep proving what a great friend you are…

“hi, I'm sorry. I really don’t feel well… Can we reschedule?”  - "Me", delivered 3 sec ago

I froze in front of my phone, waiting for a response. My heart pounded in my chest, my palms sweaty. A second later my message was read. Another second later… nothing. I stayed in this position for 3 whole minutes, my eyes pacing between the time and the 'me, read 4 mins ago'. 

I turned off my phone, placed it on my chest and succumbed to my new reality: I’m a shitty friend, a shitty girlfriend and a shitty human. I lay there in silence, staring at the ceiling as if it could offer some sympathy or even relief from the sinking feeling in my chest. I closed my eyes to fight the tears that were threatening to come out. 

My phone buzzed again. My eyes flew open, How long have I been sleeping? I didn't want to check my phone, but my hand moved on its own.

“Look out your window. I might be outside with snacks.“ - "Dumbass", Delivered 30 sec ago

I frowned back at my screen, what is he talking about? Before I could figure out what to reply or do, faint jingles of a bell rang from outside my window. I rose to my feet in an instant and walked to my window. As my eyes scanned the quiet street, the faint jingles rang again. “I’m down here,” a voice whispered before chuckling. 

My eyes shifted to the source. There he was, Hee leaning against his bike, looking up at me like this was the most normal thing in the world. He wore his washout blue jeans and his worn out sneakers. His black hood covering his messy, slightly grown out hair. A small white plastic bag could be seen in his bike basket. When our eyes met, his smile grew and I contagiously smiled back. “Hee, what the hell?” I whispered back to him, amusement and confusion laced my voice. 

“Stop treating me like a food delivery service and come down.”  he whispered, adjusting his grip on his bike.  I hesitated for a second, still processing the absurdity of this situation. For just a second, he did look like a food delivery guy, I couldn’t help it but laugh. “You’re insane,” I muttered, shaking my head. A strange pull made me want to go see him,  “I will grab my phone. Give me a minute.” I said before disappearing back to my dorm.

As soon as I opened my door and headed toward the stairs, I could hear his bike bell ring again, faint and playful, like it was telling me to hurry. I rolled my eyes, a small smile tugged at my lips as I sped down the stairs. 

“Are you trying to wake up the whole building?” I asked once I reached the bottom. As I was walking towards him, he smiled at me, “just making sure you don't bail on me again.” he said, a teasing tone in his voice. I grimaced, remembering everything that just happened these past hours. I closed my eyes in embarrassment, not daring to look into his, “Hee, I'm so sorry. That was-" I started apologising but was cut off when I felt something tough and cold wrap my head. I opened my eyes once again to find his gaze softened, making that sinking feeling in my chest less heavy. 

“Hey, you’re fine,“ he said, his voice lower, adjusting the helmet on my head. “I’m not mad.” he continued, his eyes reassuring. I stayed quiet, words slipped away from me as I looked back into his big eyes. His big grin came back before he turned his back to me, “But I will only get you off the hook if you get on.”

I stared at him, puzzled, as he climbed on his bike. “Where are we going?” I asked, my body naturally finding its seat behind him, my arms instinctively wrapped around him. “Guess you’ll have to trust me.” he said, shrugging his shoulders. 

As I opened my mouth to argue, he jerked the handlebars quickly, making the whole bike shake. I yelped and, out of reflex, tightened my grip around him. His laugh echoed as I tried to catch my heart from the sudden movement. 

Before I could say anything, he pushed his leg and had the wheels rolling in a swift motion. The cool night air hit me immediately as we rode through the quiet campus, the breeze felt more refreshing than in my room.  The steady rhythm of the bike’s movement is oddly soothing, making my rest my cheek against his back. The warmth from him was a quiet contrast to the slight chill of the night. For the first time today, my thoughts weren’t so loud.

The campus lights blurred as we passed, we flickering through the trees, until finally, the buildings thinned and I spotted the dim glow of streetlights ahead. He slowed the bike to a stop and kicked the stand into place. He placed a gentle hand on my thigh, grounding me back to reality, “we’re here...” he said, his voice low.

I blinked, pulling my head away from his back. My eyes adjusted to the dim surroundings, taking in the empty space ahead. A playground. I unwrapped my arms from him and planted my feet on the ground. He nodded towards the swings, “c’mon, sit.” he said before he started to fish something out of his basket.

I started dragging my legs towards the swing as they found that heavy feeling again. I flopped on the swing’s seat, slowly swaying my feet as I lean my head on the swing’s cold metal chains. That feeling still clung to me—the weight in my chest, the unease I couldn’t quite shake. 

Hee pulled something out of the basket and started walking over. He held a small crinkly bag in front of me, it took me a moment to adjust to the lack of light to see what it was. My eyes widened once I realized, “Oh, you're kidding…”

He smiled at my reaction and tossed the bag of Hershey’s chocolate dipped pretzels into my lap. “I still judge you for loving those…” he said, watching me rip open the bag and pop one in my mouth, completely ignoring his comment. “Thank you,” I said, my words muffled by the heavenly pretzel in my mouth. 

As I chewed, I felt the swing creak beneath me. Hee’s presence lingered behind me, his hands brushing against my back. With a gentle push, I began to sway slowly, back and forth. “Alright,” he said, disturbing the quiet, “what’s going on?” 

For a moment, I let the swaying movement calm me, ignoring his question and the tight feeling it created in my chest. “I’m fine,” I said finally, keeping my eyes glued to my lap and the ground. I couldn’t see his face, but I’m sure he had that expression— the one that said he could tell I was lying. His voice was quieter now, “You don’t look fine.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, “I just saw my ex today…” I started, unsure how to start telling him everything. “Hated that guy,” he said abruptly, his voice laced with disgust. I snorted a laugh, “you hate all my exes.” I said, looking up at him while still swaying in the swing. 

“Yeah, can you blame me? He looks like a spoon.” he remarked. I bursted out laughing, making my swing halt its movement.

When my laughter died down, I found Hee unmoved behind me, looking at me with those bambi eyes. He brushed my hair out of my face, gently collecting it to the back, “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

The softness in his tone made my heart beat a little stronger. His warm hands lingered around my face and neck, leaving a buzzing feeling on my skin. “I don’t know…” I drifted off, trying to figure out what to say without sounding pathetic, “I think seeing him again, and seeing him happy, made me realise how I wasn’t enough for him. That made me thin I wasn't enough for anyone or anything.” 

Heeseung didn’t say anything right away, he just kept brushing my hand with his hands. “Y/N,” he said quietly, “you were enough for him. If he didn’t see that, that’s on him, not you.” he continued, “And the idea that you’re not enough for anyone or anything? We both know that's bullshit.”

I exhale, nodding in agreement, “I know, my thoughts escalated faster than I could ration, I believe.” I said, looking in front of me, focusing on the dimly lit playground. 

No more words were exchanged, the silence between us stretched for a moment. You could only hear the sound of my swing swaying. I could feel the breeze against my face, the sound of the night, and his presence behind me, steady and comforting. As I was lost in my – much calmer– thoughts, my eyes landed on his parked bike. 

“Hee?” I called out.

“Yes, pretty girl?” 

“I have a confession to make.” I announced. I could feel his touch on my back lose its rhythm for a moment, “you’ve got my full attention.” 

“I don’t know how to ride a bike.” I said calmly as a matter of fact, keeping my gaze in front of me. I furrowed my brows when I felt him completely pause his movement, making me turn around. When he saw my face, it dawned on him, “oh, you’re not joking." he said, almost to himself. “Why would I be joking?” I shot back, popping another pretzel in my mouth. 

“How have you managed this long without knowing?” He asked, sounding surprised. I shrugged, “been a passenger princess since birth,” I winked, looking up at him. He laughed, slowly moving from behind me, his hands leaving my shoulders. I watched his figure grab the bike and walk it right in front of me with a small grin, “Well, guess it’s time to change that.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, “I'm not so sure about that.” I said, shaking my head. “Come on, see it as an apology for canceling our plans,” he insisted, tilting his head to the side. I looked at the bike and then at him, those big bambi eyes looking back at me again.

I sighed in defeat and got up from the swing. He held the bike in balance while I held the handlebars and perched myself on the seat. I could feel the weight of the bike under me, “You want to kill me,” I whispered in disbelief. 

He laughed, “you got this, doll. Just go in a straight line. I will stay right next to you.” 

I took a deep breath and pushed my leg off the ground, making the bike move forward. The motion was jerky, “Oh my god,” I muttered to myself, trying to focus on keeping the bike steady. Hee was right behind me, “that's it…” he encouraged. I tried to focus, but the bike wobbled wildly beneath me, the wheels turning too fast, and my legs couldn’t keep up with the movement. I tried to straighten myself, instead I overcorrected, veering to the left, no longer having control over the bike. 

I shrieked as I crashed straight into him, sending both of us tumbling onto the grass. The bike clattered beside us, as we tried to catch our breaths from the adrenaline and the laughter. “I think you need more than just a straight line, doll,” he said between laughs, his face so close I could feel the warmth of his breath against my cheek.

As the laughter faded, we stayed lounged on the grass, facing each other. His eyes were closed, but a clear smile on his face. My eyes studied and traced the outlines of his features while I could, quietly soaking in the moment. "You really didn’t have to do any of this," He opened his eyes, catching my gaze.

He shrugged. "Yeah, well... it’s for you."

[makeila04]

Too many questions:

Russell Adler… why, even at 55, does he do what he does? Still on dangerous missions, conspiracies, wars, chaos, violence, blood, and above all, death. Why does he keep going at his age? If he’s already 54 and they’ve been trying to retire him since he was 49.

Maybe because… Adler doesn’t know how to be anything else. His entire life has revolved around the CIA, shadow wars, violence, and control. There’s no other version of himself outside of that. From Vietnam to covert operations in the Cold War and beyond, everything he’s done has made him who he is. For someone like him, retirement is death. The adrenaline, the tension of a mission, the certainty that his work has a purpose—it’s the only thing keeping him going. If he stops, if he accepts a normal life, then who is he? Adler stays in the field because without it, he feels like he has nothing.

Maybe deep down, he also believes he deserves to die like this. On a mission, in the line of fire, in his world. Not old in a bed, not as someone who stopped being useful. That’s not how he wants to end.

His explanation: If you ask him directly, he’ll probably give you a cold, practical answer. — “Because I’m good at this. Because someone has to do it. Because the world still needs people like me.” But if you insist, if you push him hard enough, maybe on a more honest night, after a few drinks, after looking you in the eye and knowing you won’t accept any cheap excuses, he might admit more: — “There’s no ‘after’ for me. There’s nothing else. There’s no peaceful life waiting at the end of the road. If I leave this, what the hell am I supposed to do?” Maybe there, in that moment, you’d see the real him. The man, not the facade.

(In fact, in COD Mobile, we can see Adler still working at an advanced age. He doesn’t retire like Woods in Black Ops 2, because even in another universe, Adler keeps working.)

Lost. Trapped. Unable to imagine a future where he’s not fighting a war, real or internal. Even though the COD Mobile universe is different, it surprises me that in that universe, Russell Adler ended up K.I.A. (killed in action)… even in his 70s or 80s… That already tells us a lot about him, his personality, his character, what we already know about him, and why he kept working even at that age.

The fact that Adler died in action even in his 70s or 80s says a lot about who he really is. No matter the timeline, no matter the universe, he never stops. If we follow his logic, retirement isn’t an option because he doesn’t know how to exist without a mission. His identity is so fused with war, violence, and control that, even as his body ages, his mind remains trapped in that world. He doesn’t want to die of old age. He doesn’t want to fade away in a bed, without purpose, watching everything continue without him. That would be worse than death. So he keeps going, no matter how many years pass, until, inevitably, he falls in combat. And, in some way, that’s how he would’ve wanted it.

And to top it off, in Black Ops 6 Zombies mode, don’t ask me how, but out of nowhere, Adler told me (verbatim): — “I wish we could all die in a blaze of glory…”

Also, when using the Monkey Bomb, there are some lines like:

“Honor. Sacrifice. Bravery. The creed of the monkey.” Clearly, he doesn’t just like this philosophy—he embodies it. That’s why he likes the Monkey Bomb.

_________________________________________________

Demasiadas preguntas:

Russell Adler...¿por qué aun a los 55 años hace lo que hace? Aún en misiones peligrosas, conspiraciones, guerras, caos, violencia, sangre y sobre todo muertes. ¿Por qué sigue así a su edad? Si ya tiene 54 años y ya querían jubilarlo desde que tenía 49 años. Tal vez porque…

Adler no sabe ser otra cosa.

Su vida entera ha girado en torno a la CIA, las guerras en las sombras, la violencia y el control. No hay otra versión de sí mismo fuera de eso. Desde Vietnam hasta las operaciones encubiertas en la Guerra Fría y más allá, todo lo que ha hecho lo ha convertido en lo que es.

Para alguien como él, el retiro es la muerte.

La adrenalina, la tensión de una misión, la certeza de que su trabajo tiene un propósito—es lo único que lo mantiene en pie. Si se detiene, si acepta una vida normal, entonces ¿Quién es?

Adler sigue en el campo porque sin él, siente que no tiene nada.

Tal vez en el fondo también cree que merece morir así. En una misión, en la línea de fuego, en su mundo. No de viejo en una cama, no como alguien que dejó de ser útil. Así no es como quiere terminar.

Su explicación:

Si le preguntas directamente, probablemente te dé una respuesta fría, práctica.

— “Porque soy bueno en esto. Porque alguien tiene que hacerlo. Porque el mundo sigue necesitando gente como yo.”

Pero si insistes, si lo presionas lo suficiente, tal vez en una noche más honesta, después de unas copas, después de verte a los ojos y saber que no vas a aceptar cualquier excusa barata, puede que admita más:

—No hay "después" para mí. No hay otra cosa. No hay una vida pacífica esperando al final del camino. Si dejo esto, ¿Qué carajo se supone que haga? 

Tal vez ahí, en ese instante, lo verías realmente. El hombre, no la fachada.

(De hecho en cod mobile podemos a ver a Adler aún trabajando a una edad avanzada, no se retira como Woods en black ops 2, porque aunque sea otro universo Adler sigue trabajando)

Perdido. Atrapado.

Sin poder imaginar un futuro donde no esté peleando una guerra, real o interna.

Si bien el universo de cod mobile es otro, me sorprende que en ese universo Russell Adler quedó K.I.A (o sea muerto en acción)... aún con más de 70 u 80 años... Eso ya nos dice bastante de él, su personalidad, su carácter, lo que ya conocemos de él, incluso porque seguía trabajando aún a esa edad. 

Que Adler haya muerto en acción incluso con más de 70 u 80 años dice mucho sobre quién es realmente.

No importa la línea temporal, no importa el universo, él nunca se detiene.

Si seguimos su lógica, el retiro no es una opción, porque él no sabe existir sin una misión. Su identidad está tan fusionada con la guerra, la violencia y el control que, aunque su cuerpo envejezca, su mente sigue atrapada en ese mundo.

Él no quiere morir de viejo. No quiere apagarse en una cama, sin propósito, viendo cómo todo sigue sin él. Eso sería peor que la muerte.

Así que sigue adelante, sin importar cuántos años pasen, hasta que, inevitablemente, cae en combate. Y, de alguna forma, así es como lo hubiera querido.

Y para rematar en el modo zombies de Black Ops 6, no me pregunten cómo, pero de la nada Adler me dijo (cito textual) “Ojalá todos pudiéramos morir en un resplandor de gloria…” También al utilizar al mono bomba hay algunas frases como: - “Honor. Sacrificio. Valentía. El credo del mono.” Evidentemente no solo le gusta esta filosofía sino que hasta la réplica y por eso le gusta el soldado simio.